A Clerk of Oxford, and His Adventures in the Barons' War

In every point he sided with Henry. All that the Barons and Commons of the realm had been struggling for these many years was to be set aside. England was to be given over to the Pope, and to be governed by aliens; for the award gave the King full power to choose his own counsellors, and as all men knew, he had scarce a single favourite who was not a foreigner. Everything was to be as before the Provisions of Oxford had been drawn up; and the French King wound up by counselling both parties to lay aside rancour, and live at peace, whilst he urged upon his brother of England to grant an amnesty to his Barons. It was the kind of award which any discerning man might have expected from one like Louis of France. He was a king who desired absolute power in his own realm, and although he had not abused that power as Henry had, he would not on that account uphold the subjects of the neighbouring kingdom against their sovereign. The marvel is that a man so far-seeing and astute as De Montfort had ever pledged himself to be bound by the award of France. He might surely have foreseen, as it seems to us, what the nature of that award would be.

England was furious – that part of it at least which followed the fortunes of the Earl. The bulk of the nation at that time, at any rate in the large and populous districts, was all for the cause of constitutional freedom; and the King was hated and distrusted by his subjects, not without cause. Had his son been on the throne, matters might have taken a different turn; but although Edward was personally beloved, and was becoming a strong power in the state, he was not yet of sufficient account to change the aspect of affairs. He was acting with his father, as was right and natural in the circumstances. He could not form a third party in the state. Had his father abdicated in his favour, the war might perhaps have been averted; but such a thing never entered Henry's head. He was by no means weary of the task of ruling even such a turbulent people as his own was fast becoming.

All Oxford was in commotion. Keen excitement reigned everywhere. The news was three days old, yet the populace was as greatly stirred as at first. For once clerks and citizens were in accord, and denounced in unison the French King and the Mise of Amiens. The greatest eagerness for fresh news prevailed throughout, and every traveller entering the city was besieged for intelligence.

"When Lord Amalric comes back, then we shall know!" was a frequent cry. For Amalric had gone to Kenilworth for Christmas, and had not yet returned. He was said to have been detained there by the accident to his father which had prevented the Earl himself from being present at the Mise of Amiens.

Some thought that had De Montfort been there to urge his cause in person, a different award might have been given; but this seems hardly probable in face of the French King's attitude all the way through. The Earl had, however, intended being present; but just before he would have left the country his horse fell with him, breaking his leg, and he had perforce to remain behind at Kenilworth, and appoint a commission to represent him before the French King.

Amalric, however, would not be likely to remain long away from Oxford, and his friends awaited his coming with the same eagerness as the whole city. When it was rumoured that he was on his way, and might be expected at any hour, a constant watch was kept for him; and upon his arrival he was received with the greatest enthusiasm, and found himself obliged to halt at Carfax, and respond to the acclamations of the people, whilst his ears were assailed by a thousand questions which he could only partially answer.

Amalric had awaited at Kenilworth the arrival of the news from France, and he was in a position to assure the citizens and clerks of Oxford that his father would not abandon the cause of liberty, despite the award of Amiens.

This statement was received with thunders of applause; hats were waved and weapons brandished, as though every man there was ready to go forth and fight for the liberty of the realm.

What would be the next step, and whether there was any chance of pacification, Amalric could not say. His father, he averred, was very loth to press matters to extremity; but he would sooner draw the sword and die wielding it, than see his country brought a second time under the yoke of papal tyranny and foreign greed. If the King (as was probable) was now resolved to continue in these evil ways, the Barons, with the Earl of Leicester at their head, would stand forth against him. More than that he could not say, but upon that point they might rest assured.

That was enough to raise shouts and cheers of enthusiastic joy. The people crowded about Amalric, blessing him, and calling him by every sort of high-sounding name. To them he represented his father, and the great Earl was at present the idol of the city.

Amalric had some ado to get through the crowd and ride to the Castle, where he was received with great eagerness by his friends there. The whole family, together with Hugh le Barbier, had assembled in one of the lower rooms to meet him, and he had scarcely returned the greetings showered upon him ere he was called upon to tell his news, and to say how his father had received the tidings from Amiens.

At greater length than he had spoken to the crowd, he told the Constable and his friends of the resolve of the Barons to resist to the death. It was no more than Sir Humphrey, and indeed all thinking men, had anticipated. To forego all that had been struggled for during these many years, and to tamely yield up the spoils of hard-fought fights, was altogether foreign to the nature of the English people, and to that of their leader.

"I would they had never asked the King of France," said the Constable, expressing the general sentiment; "I always said no good would come of it. Louis of France may be a saint – of that I know nothing – but he is very much a King, and as such would certainly uphold the royal prerogative on every point."

"And now, will there be war?" asked Hugh, speaking very gravely as he leaned over the back of the chair in which Linda was seated. Dame Margaret and the two maidens had been permitted to come below to welcome Amalric back, and it might be noted how, as he told his tale, his eyes kept seeking ever and anon the face of the fair Alys. Now he came a few steps nearer to make his reply.

"I fear me so. Unless the King hear reason, it can scarce be otherwise; and bolstered up as he now is by his brother-in-law of France, he is little likely to show even the amount of moderation that he has sometimes done."

The faces of all grew grave. War had many times been spoken of, but always as a thing not immediately probable; now it seemed indeed at the very door, and the faces of all betrayed a greater or less amount of anxiety. Amalric looked around him, as though to ask how far his friends would support his party even in extremity; for when once the question came to be settled by force of arms, it was always doubtful how far men would go. There were many who, whilst ardently desiring to see the King advised for his good, would not take up arms against him, regarding him as the anointed servant of God.

This was indeed somewhat the view of Hugh le Barbier, and it was therefore with keen pain that he contemplated the thought of civil war. His sympathies were with the Barons. His personal affection for Amalric inclined him to fight shoulder to shoulder with his comrade. But he had a deeply-seated repugnance to fighting against the lawful sovereign of the realm, and whilst others pressed round Amalric, declaring that they would fight to the death for the cause of liberty, he stood in the same place, behind Linda's chair, and did not join his voice in promise or protest.

Perhaps Amalric guessed at the struggle going on within him, for he did not seek to draw him into the discussion so eagerly conducted. It was Linda who, presently raising her eyes to her lover's face, asked softly, —

"And thou, beloved, what wilt thou do?"

"I know not," he answered, in a very low voice. "The choice is indeed a grievous one. I would follow Amalric to the world's end in a cause which I knew to be righteous; but when it comes to raising the standard and taking up arms against the anointed King, I scarce know how I can do it. Would that the choice had not to be made!"

There were not, however, many in the city who seemed troubled with Hugh's scruples. Almost to a man they were eager for the outbreak of war; and most warlike preparations were set afoot by the clerks and scholars, as though these latter expected to take the field and fight under the banner of De Montfort as soon as ever the collision occurred.

Beaumont meadows were alive from sunrise to sunset with a motley company from the city, the most part of them being members of the University, who spent their time exercising themselves in feats of warlike prowess on foot or on horseback – shooting at targets with bow or catapult, tilting one at the other with the lance, or practising sword-play with such good-will that wounds and bruises were sometimes the result of these encounters. Still, since these were given and taken in good part and for the sake of the cause, no umbrage or ill-will was aroused thereby. The Chancellor himself encouraged these warlike sports, and it was known that he would put no hindrance in the way of students who wished to join the mustering ranks of the Barons' army.

The Chancellor was a warm supporter of De Montfort's cause, and he gave every facility to the clerks for training themselves in the arts of war.

The friars, as has been explained before, were equally in favour of the cause of the people; and Leofric, who after hearing Hugh's scruples had consulted Father Angelus, was quite satisfied by the answers he received, and ready to throw himself heart and soul into the cause of the Barons. The friar admitted that neither party had all the right on its side. Good and evil mingled in both, and personal ambition would be found on both sides, marring the perfection of fruition. But the friars held that a King might lawfully be withheld by his subjects from becoming the slave of evil practices, and that it was better he should be ruled by his own nobles, who had the good of the country at heart, than by foreign hirelings, who cared for nothing but to fill their own pockets, and sell the land to the emissaries of papal tyranny.

Then in the midst of all this seething excitement, when it seemed as though a spark falling might set the city in a blaze, the news was brought that Prince Edward would march through, on his way to the Welsh Marches.

Consternation reigned in the breasts of the authorities when this news was made known. They saw in it a source of real peril to the city. At present public opinion was so entirely in favour of De Montfort, that, in spite of all the excitement and tumult within the walls, the students were in excellent temper with one another, even North and South forgetting their differences for the moment. But if the Prince should appear – the Prince whose personal influence always made itself felt, and who was probably coming this way with a view to enlist the sympathies of some amongst the clerks and scholars on his fathers side – it was almost certain that his appearance would result in a demonstration in his favour by a certain number of students, who would then come into instant collision with the bulk of their fellows, and a hideous and indiscriminate battle would be the inevitable result.

"Read but the records aright, and you'll see,When the students in Oxford do once disagree,'Twill be but of months, at the most two or three,Ere the conflict in England rage furiously."

This was the common saying of the time, and although not always perhaps borne out by facts, since Oxford was often in a ferment, it was certainly thought advisable to check the possibility of a miniature civil war within the walls of the city; and both Constable and Chancellor sent messengers to the Prince, to request him not to attempt to enter the city walls.

Prince Edward was always reasonable and courteous. He received the messengers with great good temper, and refrained from carrying out his purpose. He could not, however, change his line of march, and he passed close to Oxford on his way, lodging himself for a few nights outside the walls, in the palace of Beaumont, though keeping his army at some greater distance from the city.

The authorities, of course, could not expect more in reply to their request; but they were still uneasy at the thought of the presence of an army so near to their town, although the students appeared to be unaware of or indifferent to its proximity. To make assurance doubly sure, the city gates were all locked, and the fiat went forth that none should enter or leave the city without special permission from the authorities.

Some amusement and some indignation were felt by the students at this infringement of their liberties. However, for three days they submitted with tolerable grace to the restriction imposed. On the fourth day Prince Edward and his forces resumed their march, and the students saw no reason why they should not resume their pleasures. Beaumont meadows, being beyond the walls, had been closed to them for this period, and now a great band sallied forth to resume interrupted amusements there.

But when they reached Smith Gate, by which they expected to make their exit from the city, they found it still locked and barred, and the watchman told them that he had had orders to keep it shut all day and only open it on the morrow.

"Shame! shame! shame!" cried the crowd, surging round it like a swarm of angry bees, those from behind pushing upon those in front, and adding their voices to the clamour.

It was perhaps rather unwise of the authorities to have been so slow in restoring the liberty of the turbulent clerks. They had behaved better than had been looked for during the time of detention, and it would have been more politic had this detention been ended at the first possible moment. But perhaps they reckoned too much on the temperate spirit showed so far, and thought it more prudent not to be in haste.

Leofric and Jack, coming homewards after morning lecture, were stopped in their approach to their lodging by the presence of this surging crowd, who were all armed, ready for their military pastimes, and who seemed now actuated by an exceedingly warlike spirit.

Jack quickly learned the cause of the commotion, and Leofric exclaimed eagerly, —

"I will to the Chancellor, and get leave from him for the gate to be opened; but I pray you, brother students, make not a disturbance in the city. Wait only one short half-hour, and I will be back with an answer."

Some heard the appeal, and gave a half-hearted assent; but those struggling round the gate neither heard nor heeded.

"Run upon thine errand, good Leofric!" cried Jack, "for they will not have long patience. I will seek to stay them from violence, but methinks they look like storming the city walls!"

Leofric sped away, and Jack remained – sturdy Jack, who must ever be in the heart of the fray. Soon he was more in its heart than he altogether desired; for more and more clerks came flocking up, the birds of the air seemingly having carried the news that mischief was afloat.

"Shall we be pent up in the city, like rats in a trap?"

"Shall we be treated like children, and not suffered abroad save at the pleasure of nurses?"

"Who dares to hem us in like this? Let us show them what free men can do! Let us teach them a lesson! Shall we submit to tyranny, when all the land is astir against it? Never, never, never! Oxford scholars never shall be slaves!"

It needed but words like these to set the whole crowd in a fury. Many of the number had axes in their hands, and all were armed. Flinging themselves upon the gate, they hewed it down with fierce strokes, scoffing at the resistance and remonstrances of the sentries. The woodwork could not long withstand their determined blows. The gate crashed outwards; a fierce yell of triumph arose from the crowd. The victors poured out into the fields beyond, carrying with them the splintered fragments of the strong wooden door.

The spirit of devilry had now got into them. They insisted that the remains must be interred with due formality. They chanted over their burden the office for the dead, and digging a huge trench in Beaumont meadows, they performed mock obsequies in a very irreverent fashion.

But hardly had this been accomplished before the cry was raised, —

"The Provosts! the Provosts! and the worshipful Mayor himself!"

It was true. The city authorities had heard of this outbreak, and the Provosts, or Bailiffs, had gathered together a body of bold citizens, and were marching out to quell the disturbance and punish the rioters. Indeed, it was said that they had already made some arrests amongst the clerks, and this news ran like wildfire through the crowd.

In another moment the bell of St. Martin's rang out in the city, and more clerks came flying out to learn what had happened, and where help was needed. Thus the luckless Mayor and Provosts were hemmed in between two furious bodies of clerks, who inflicted grievous wounds upon many of them, tore their banner, and put them to speedy and ignominious flight.

Now the blood of the students was up. They had gone too far to stop without doing worse.

"We will teach the town varlets to interfere with our liberties!" roared the excited and incensed youths, as they rushed back once more into the city, filled with the desire for mischief and destruction which is characteristic of a mob.

"Teach the Bailiffs to mind their manners!" roared the excited students, and dashed upon the houses of their foes. A bowyer's shop was plundered, the house of one Bailiff was set on fire, those of the others were plundered after being broken open, and a store of spicery was scattered in all directions.

"Now for the Mayor! now for the Mayor!" shouted the hot and panting depredators, flushed with victory and carrying all before them.

The Mayor was a vintner by trade, and had a fine cellar stocked with goodly wine. This cellar was on the street level, but was strongly barricaded. Nothing, however, could withstand the fury of the attack made upon it. The mob of unruly clerks rushed in, drew all the taps, drank their fill of intoxicating beverages, and let the rest flow out into the street.

When the Chancellor and the Proctors, who had in the first instance proceeded towards Beaumont meadows through the Bocardo Gate, returned to the city to seek to quell the unseemly riot, it was to find one house in flames in the south part of the city, whilst the drunken mob was clamouring around the vintners store, singing wild bacchanalian songs, and disporting themselves like veritable demons. The street ran red with good wine, and the Mayor, white-faced and terrified, watched helplessly from an upper window the destruction of his property and the wanton waste of his stock in trade.

The appearance of the Chancellor, however, produced an immediate and extraordinary effect. Clerks upon the outskirts of the crowd took to their heels, flying hither and thither in all directions, uttering cries of warning to their fellows. Of these, some were too drunk and some too wildly possessed with the spirit of devilry to move even for this warning; but most of the men fled as for dear life, the authorities taking note of as many as possible, who felt, as they scudded away under those cold, clear eyes, that they would have to answer for this day's proceedings, probably in a fashion they little liked.

The Chancellor strode up to the nucleus of ringleaders, who alone stood their ground.

"The King shall hear of this!" he said, in calm, cold accents. "It is a case for his Majesty to decide. Go back to your Halls and lodgings, every one of you. You are a disgrace to the city and to the kingdom!"

The abashed clerks obeyed that voice, and retired to their various domiciles; but before three days had passed, Oxford had lost hundreds of her scholars and a considerable number of masters also. An exodus like this not unfrequently followed upon an outbreak of ill-will betwixt "town and gown."

Afraid of what the King's verdict might be, and perhaps with a view to greater liberty upon the outbreak of war, scholars and masters alike vacated their quarters, and made their way to Northampton, where fugitives both from Oxford and Cambridge often assembled, and where there was talk of establishing a third University.

And so ended the "great riot of 1264."

CHAPTER XXI

KING AND STUDENTS

Oxford was all in a ferment. The ordinary life of the University was suspended. Lecture-rooms were deserted alike by masters and scholars, and these were to be seen standing in knots about the streets, talking, gesticulating, arguing – excitement written on every face, and generally wrath and scorn as well. In other quarters clerks were to be seen issuing forth from their lodgings with their worldly goods strapped upon their backs, calling out farewells to their friends, and marching away towards the city gates, generally in parties of six or eight, and singing songs in praise of De Montfort or in despite of the King, but betraying beneath their jauntiness of outward mien an inward secret wrath.

The citizens, too, looked anxious and perturbed, and there was a prevailing unrest throughout the town. The wealthier scholars might be seen talking earnestly together, looking to their arms and accoutrements, and comparing notes as to their horses. It was plain that something very unusual was afoot, and that, too, of a nature disquieting to all.

In point of fact, the King had sent a decree ordering all the students of Oxford to depart to their own homes. The Chancellor had reported to his Majesty on the subject of the recent riot, and it was supposed by a great number of the students that this decree was made as a sort of punishment for their unruly behaviour. But there was another and more personal motive as well.

The King had just summoned a Parliament to Oxford, and it was generally shrewdly supposed that this Parliament would practically annul those famous Provisions of Oxford which had, during the past six years, been the war-cry of the Barons' party. Now the temper of the city was known to be easily aroused, and Oxford was almost unanimous in its support of the cause of the Barons. It would be a bold act on the part of the King to trust himself within the city walls had he come as the confessed foe of De Montfort – at least if the members of the University were assembled there in force; so to get rid of them by some plausible expedient was a wily and politic move.

"He fears us! he fears us!" was a constantly-heard cry as bands of clerks took their way out from the city, some in high dudgeon, others rejoicing in the liberty thus accorded them of openly throwing themselves into the civil war if it should chance to break out, as all men knew must quickly be the case.

The young nobles did not for a moment disguise what they were about to do. Many of them had fathers or friends in the opposing ranks, and they, if expelled from Oxford, intended joining them. Most were on the Barons' side, but a few leaned towards Prince Edward. Personally he was beloved by many more than hastened to join him; for the unpopularity of the King's cause, to which the son was pledged, held back many a youthful admirer. It was to De Montfort's banner that the warlike spirits of Oxford desired to flock, and Amalric was daily besieged with eager offers from ardent lads to follow him to his father's camp, if he would only accept their services.

"My father will not fight unless forced to do so," was the reply he returned to many. "He is not in haste to plunge the land into the horrors of war. But if the King will persist in his evil ways, and will refuse all counsel save from those who advise him to the nation's hurt, then must swords be drawn, though not till all else has been tried."

And in fact, as the King drew near to Oxford, the Barons sent representatives to Brackley, with powers to seek for a reconciliation and agreement before recourse was had to extreme measures.

Within the Castle was great excitement as the days passed by. The Constable, by virtue of his office, must needs stand aloof from any open expression of loyalty towards the enemies of the King; and the Chancellor observed an attitude of grave neutrality. And yet it was well known that both these functionaries had the cause of the people at heart, and that they were beloved of De Montfort and loved him well.