Chapter XXIII: The Black Death, and the Peasants' Revolt

In those days, the great men of the land were rich and they dressed gaily in silk and fur, gorgeous were their jewels, and their scabbards were decked with beauteous workmanship. From their bridles jangled the merry bells, as they followed their hounds to the hunt.

The court too was magnificent. The King gave bounteous feasts and there were many dishes set before the guests.

"There came in at the first course, before the King's self,

Boars' heads on broad dishes of burnished silver,
Flesh of fat harts with noble furmenty,
And peacocks and plovers on platters of gold,
Herons and swans in chargers of silver,
And tarts of Turkey full pleasant to taste.
Next hams of wild-boar with brawn beglazed,
Barnacle-geese and bitterns in embossed dishes,
Venison in pasties, so comely to view,
Jellies that glittered and gladdened the eye.
Then cranes and curlews craftily roasted,
Conies in clear sauce coloured so bright,
Pheasants in their feathers on the flashing silver,
With gay galantines and dainties galore.
There were claret and Crete wine in clear silver fountains
Rhenish wine and Rochelle and wine from Mount Rose
All in flagons of fine gold; and on the fair cupboard
Stood store of gilt goblets glorious of hue,
Sixty of one set, with jewels on their sides.

When the banquet was over the guests washed their hands in rosewater and partook of wine and spices in another chamber.

But the poor were much oppressed. Their fare was very simple, a loaf of beans and bran, an oaten cake with cheese or curds and cream, and sometimes perhaps parsley and leeks or cherries and apples in their season.

Of the poor ploughman, the poet sang,

His coat of the cloth that is named carry-marry,
His hood full of holes, with the hair sticking through them;
His clumsy knobbed shoes cobbled over so thickly,
Though his toes started out as he trod on the ground,
His hose hanging over each side of his hoggers,
All plashed in the puddles as he followed the plough;
Two miserable mittens made out of old rags,
The fingers worn out and the filth clotted on them,
He, wading in mud, almost up to his ankles,
And before him four oxen, so weary and feeble,
One could reckon their ribs, so rueful were they.
His wife walked beside him, with a long ox goad,
In a clouted coat cut short to the knee,
Wrapped in a winnowing sheet to keep out the weather,
Her bare feet on the bleak ice bled as she went.
At one end of the acre, in a crumb-bowl so small,
A little babe lay, lapped up in rags,
And twins two years old tumbled beside it,
All singing one song that was sorrowful hearing,
For they all cried one cry, a sad note of care.

A year after the siege of Calais, a great sorrow befell all men, for a little ship coming out of the east brought a terrible plague, called the Black Death. And the wind blew the plague from the south to the north, and as it passed, the towns were left desolate, for the rich escaped into the woods and many of the poor died. In Bristol, "the living were scarce able to bury the dead and the grass grew several inches high in Broad Street and High Street."

When the wind reached the border of Scotland, it changed and blew from the north-west and down the eastern coast of England it sped, slaying thousands by the way. When it was gone, the lords could find but few to gather in the harvest and those that were left demanded high wages. Many landowners turned their fields into pastureland. For one shepherd and his dog could look after many sheep and there were merchants in Calais ready to buy English wool.

In vain did the lords beg the King to forbid the labourer to ask for hire. If a man fled from his lord's land, whereon he was born, he should be branded with the letter F for fugitive, but still the peasants got away and offered themselves for hire in other places and those for whom they laboured were glad to have them.

The peasants had many grievances. The wars with France had cost much money and the taxes were heavy. There were few who gave thought to the labourer and his troubles, for the monks had become idle and rich, and the friars had forgotten their vows and the priests their duties.

Among the people, there was a band of sturdy men, who had learned to read and who took ideas of freedom from the Bible. They preached that the peasants should take up arms against the King and his lords, for they said, "they are clothed in velvet and warm in their furs and their ermine, while we are covered with rags. They have wine and spices and fine bread and we oat cake and straw and water to drink. They have leisure and fine houses, we have pain and labour, the wind and the rain in the fields. Yet it is of us and our toil that these men hold their state," and the people said

When Adam delved and Eve span
Who was then the gentleman?

So the peasants planned to march to London to seek the new King, the boy Richard II, who was but fifteen years old, and "armed with clubs, rusty swords and axes, with old bows, reddened by the smoke of the chimney corner and old arrows with only one feather," they came to the city, only to find that the gates were shut.

Then they threatened to burn and slay, and the citizens in their fear said, "Why do we not let these good people enter into the city? They are our fellows and what they do is for us." So the gates of the city were opened and the peasants sat down in the houses to eat and drink and afterwards they burned the dwellings of foreigners and great lords and slew many.

The King was left alone in the Tower, for the courtiers had fled, and desiring to speak with the rebels, he rode out to an open space beyond the city where they were gathered, and there he entered in among them and said to them sweetly, "Ah, ye good people, I am your King. What lack ye? What will ye say?"

Such as understood him answered, "We will that ye make us free for ever, ourselves, our heirs and our lands."

"Sirs," said the King, "I am well agreed thereto; withdraw you home into your houses and into such villages as ye came from and leave behind you of every village two or three and I shall cause writings to be made and seal them with my seal, the which they shall have with them, containing everything that ye demand." They said, "It is well said, we desire no better," and so they returned to their own homes.

The King could not keep his promise to the peasants, for the lords were stronger than he, yet not long after this time we find the peasants more free and labouring for hire.