The city began to stir itself. A lad driving an ass with panniers piled with vegetables came up the street to the gate. A cart laden with charcoal lumbered up, followed by more carts full of sacks and hay. Heads poked out of windows; a child squalled; doors opened. An old woman who sold hot pies came and set up a board close to Father Merlin, and asked him for a blessing. He blessed her and her pies, and his long jowl looked hungry. “Good father, is it a fast day?” “No, goodwife; I will eat—and thou shalt be paid in heaven.” She gave him half a pie on a dock leaf, and Merlin made a meal. The gate had opened, and the carts rolled over London Bridge. Merlin followed them, drawing his cowl down and walking like one deep in holy meditation, his hands muffled in his sleeves. Merlin passed little companies of men pushing over the bridge—men with cowed and sullen faces, who were slinking back to the villages whence they had marched with such noise and tumult. The city itself still owned an air of emptiness and of fear. Companies of men-at-arms were riding through the streets, seeing that no crowd rallied, and whenever he heard the clatter of hoofs Merlin drew aside into a passage or doorway. It was still very early when he came to Carter Street and sat down on the horse-block outside the gate of the Wardrobe. The gate had not opened yet; the street was empty. Merlin told his beads. He was in a white sweat of fear, for this audacity of his meant that his neck was stretched out under the edge of an axe. His eyes were red and restless under his grey cowl. So much hung on the temper of a groom or a servant. He heard chains fall and bars withdrawn. The gate opened. A fat, red-headed porter came and stood in the entry, straddling wide with his feet, his thumbs tucked into his belt. He sighted the grey friar and stared. Merlin rose and went to the gate. “My son, I have watched all the night, for my need is urgent. Life and death hang on it. I must see the King.” The porter eyed him apprisingly. “The King is abed, Master Friar.” Merlin pulled out his crucifix and held it towards the man. “My friend, would you win the King’s thanks? I have words that are for the King’s ear, and for his alone. I know what I know. See—I kiss the Cross; now let your lips touch it.” The porter obeyed him. “My son, I will make thee serve God, St. Francis, and the King. I will put fifty gold pieces into thy pocket, for the King will give thee whatsoever I shall ask. Take me to the King’s chamber. Let no one meddle. Thou canst search me if thou thinkest me a fool with a knife.” The porter led him into his lodge, and searched him from top to toe. “Now, speed thee; let no lords and busybodies meddle; my words are for the King alone.”