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

Alys was working a beautiful banner for Amalric; and many were the visits he paid to the upper chamber where she and Linda were to be found plying their skilful needles. Linda's heart was ofttimes rather heavy within her just now; for Hugh had left Oxford immediately after the Kings decree had become known, and she believed that he had departed home, intending, with his father's approval, to join Prince Edward in Wales, or wherever he might have now marched. In times of peril, such as seemed approaching, it was hard to lose sight of a loved one, not knowing when or how the next meeting might be. Sometimes Linda's tears would fall as she worked, and Alys would say gently, —

"Do not grieve so, sweet Linda; the war will not last long, and then he will come back. We shall not love him less – even Lord Amalric says that – because he follows with the Prince. If the Prince were the only leader in the land, we would all follow him too, and this war would be averted."

"War is so terrible, so cruel!" Linda replied. "It goes to my heart to think what may happen when army meets army in the bloody field."

"And yet there is glory in war as well as pain!" cried Alys, with a light in her eyes. "I would think of that were I in thy place, dear Linda."

Linda raised her glance to Alys's face, and asked softly, —

"Thinkest thou that thou wilt be able thus to speak when my Lord Amalric goes forth to fight?"

"Why not?" asked Alys innocently; and then seeming to divine something of her companion's meaning, she added, "The Lord Amalric is a very proper gentleman, but he is no lover of mine."

"And yet methinks he has no eyes for any but thee, sweet Alys; and has he not said many times that this banner will be his talisman in times of danger and heaviness? Methinks he worships the very ground upon which thou dost tread."

"Oh no, no," said Alys, with a look of trouble in her eyes. "Lord Amalric has been a kind friend to us all, and we all love him. But it is not so with us – nay, Linda, say, have I ever said or done aught that might seem to speak of this?"

"Nay; it is he who has looked this long time at thee as a man looks at his heart's beloved," answered Linda. "And he is such a proper gentleman and such a gallant spirit that I had thought perchance – "

She did not complete her sentence; but Alys understood, and shook her head. Her cheek glowed, and there was a light in her eyes which looked strangely like that of love. Linda's needle went in and out rapidly, and she bent her head over her task; but bending towards her companion, she asked in a low whisper, —

"Dearest, tell me, is it Leofric?"

Alys started, and the crimson flooded her face. She made no reply, only bending lower over her frame, so that even Linda could not see her expression. But somehow from that moment a new bond seemed to establish itself between the two girls; and when Linda ventured to ask presently, "But what would thy parents say? He is but a poor clerk, though a bachelor and like to become a doctor in time," Alys made low-toned answer, —

"I ofttimes think that the lot of the great ones of the earth is far less happy than that of those less lofty in the eyes of the world. I have even heard my father say the same, and methinks he would deny me nothing that was for my happiness, were his heart but once convinced."

"And truly," added Linda, with a sigh, "these be dangerous and troublous days in which to live. The victor of to-day may be the vanquished of the morrow. In very sooth, a humbler lot is sweeter than one where the cup of prosperity may be dashed from the lips, and adversity follow swiftly on the heels of triumph. All who know him love Leofric, and speak well of him."

Again the cheek of Alys glowed; her voice faltered as she spoke the next words, —

"Thou hast read mine heart, sweet Linda, but thou must keep its secret locked within thine own. I scarce dare to think of it myself, for never by word or sign has he showed me aught of his heart; and yet methinks – methinks – "

"Ay, verily, love has a language of its own," said Linda, in sympathetic accents, "and souls may meet when words there be none. He would not dare to lift his eyes to thee, fair Alys, thinking, perchance, that thou art half plighted to my Lord Amalric – as, indeed, others think. Yet, should time pass and he become learned and famous, and shouldst thou remain unwed – ah, well, methinks he will find his tongue; and thy father will not say him nay when he knows how thine heart inclines."

Alys listened to these welcome words with glowing eyes and blushing cheeks. Never before had she dared, even to herself, so openly to admit how her childish friendship for Leofric Wyvill was ripening into something deeper and more earnest. Of late she had seen less of him, but he still came and went at the Castle, and was the friend of all. He was thought to be a youth of great promise; and in those days almost any man of learning, however humble his birth, who rose to academic distinction, might hope to win his way to affluence and influence before his beard was grey. There would be no presumption a few years hence in a Regent Master or young Doctor aspiring to the hand of a knight's daughter. The only bar likely to arise would be that imposed by the Church, were the student to desire orders; but Leofric had never showed a leaning towards the religious life, and was the less likely to think of it now – unless, indeed, he believed Alys lost to him as the affianced bride of Amalric, and entered upon the career of an ecclesiastic as a salve for a wounded spirit.

This danger did suggest itself for a moment to Linda, and she resolved to watch earnestly the turn of affairs. The conversation at that moment was interrupted by the entrance of Edmund and Leofric into the room where the girls were sitting. Alys bent over her frame to hide her momentary confusion, but it passed unobserved in the excitement of the moment.

"The King is on his way thither!" cried Edmund; "he is to enter the city to-morrow. The students are pouring out as though the plague were threatening. In a few hours' time, they say, there will be scarce three hundred left, and perhaps not so many. The townsfolks are all agape and disturbed; for many there be of the clerks who vow they will never return, but will set up their abode in Cambridge or Northampton, and establish a rival University there. The masters have followed their scholars, as is but wise; and the citizens are crying out that the King has ruined the town. It is but a sorry welcome he will have on the morrow when he makes his entry here."

"Methinks his Majesty will repent him of his mistake," said Alys. "Why did he drive forth the clerks? My father could surely have kept order in the city."

"Marry, he was afraid," answered Edmund; "and indeed he had some cause, for in his mandate to my father he speaks of his own lords who will attend him as being 'so untamed and fierce' that he dare not trust them so near to an army of turbulent clerks, famous for their unruly conduct."

Alys's lips curved to a smile of some contempt.

"Methinks our monarch is but a poor poltroon," she said. "Small wonder if the realm sink beneath his sway."

"Nevertheless he is about to do a bolder thing than any King has attempted since the days of the Saxons," answered Edmund, laughing; "for he declares that his first action will be, on entering Oxford, to pay a visit to the shrine of St. Frideswyde!"

"And wherefore should he not?" asked both girls in a breath; whereupon Leofric was called upon to tell the legend of St. Frideswyde – how she had taken the vow of chastity, but was pestered without ceasing by the King of Mercia, who desired her hand in marriage. She fled from him to Oxford, where he pursued her, laying siege to the town; but in answer to her prayers he was struck with blindness, and returned to his own country, leaving her in peace to found her nunnery and devote herself to the religious life. But since that date no King had ever ventured to intrude himself even to lay offerings upon her shrine, and the resolution of Henry the Third to brave the anger of the virgin saint was regarded as a proof of piety and courage, since he openly declared that he could not believe any ill would be suffered to follow an act of homage to one whom he revered and desired to honour.

Upon the morrow the city was bedecked with banners and costly cloths, and the Constable, together with the Chancellor and all men of importance in the city, went forth to meet the King and his nobles, to bid them welcome to the city, and to conduct them to the church of St. Frideswyde. Here a procession of Canons, with the Abbot at their head, would be waiting to receive the monarch, and to conduct him to the shrine, where miracles were still said to be worked.

Alys and Linda rode forth with the company from the Castle to see the sight, and Edmund, with Leofric and one or two other comrades, formed their body-guard. It was strange to see the streets of Oxford so empty of their crowds of eager students, who, upon an occasion like this, would naturally have been thronging out with songs and garlands, ready alike for a riot or a reception. But although there were still some scholars who had given no heed to the King's arbitrary decree, they had no intention of showing him any honour, and remained within their own quarters, save a few who, like Edmund and Leofric, had some cause to go forth in one of the processions.

Amalric, of course, would in no case have been one to offer personal reverence to the monarch. He was not, however, in Oxford at the moment, having left to gain news as to the attempt at negotiation which was still to be made, and quite a band of clerks who had arms and horses had accompanied him, eager beyond measure for the coming fray, and, if the truth were to be told, by no means anxious that peace should be restored before the appeal to arms had been made.

"I scarce know the city," said Alys to Leofric, as they rode through the streets, in which the citizens were grouped about, but which were so strangely bereft of their crowds of gowned scholars. "Methinks his Majesty will repent him when he sees what his decree hath done. And methinks he would repent him still more did he know how many stout-hearted soldiers he has dismissed to join his foes. I trow that if the rival armies meet face to face, there will be many an Oxford clerk in the ranks who will deal deadly blows to the King's cherished troops."

Leofric was of the same opinion. He had had some ado in restraining Jack from joining himself to one of the bands sallying forth in search of adventure and warlike pastime. Leofric was of opinion that sooner or later the rupture would come, and they would have to range themselves beside their champion, and perhaps strike a blow in defence of their cause; but he had no desire to anticipate this moment, and still hoped that some good might come of the impending negotiations, although the haughty bearing of King Henry's knights and nobles as they rode into Oxford went far to quench this lingering hope.

The King was haughty in his bearing towards both Constable and Chancellor, whom he knew to be friends of De Montfort. He chided them somewhat roundly in face of all his company for the recent riot, and even threw out a hint of displacing them from office if this sort of thing went on.

He was more gracious in his bearing towards the municipal authorities, but was still very much the triumphant monarch, visiting a turbulent city which had once caused him trouble, but where he meant for the future to be very much the master.

His demeanour did not inspire either respect or confidence in the hearts of those who saw him, and only when he approached the precincts of St. Frideswyde's shrine did he begin to comport himself differently.

When, however, he ceased to have men of the world to deal with, and found himself confronted by those ecclesiastics who had always been the supporters of the royal and papal power, he became another creature altogether. He dismounted from his horse, begged the blessing of the Prior, made costly gifts to the Priory, and finally presented himself at the shrine itself, prostrating himself with every token of outward reverence, and placing there his offerings, which were on a lavish and princely scale.

Only a few of his own followers accompanied him into the church, and the procession which had ridden forth to meet him did not attempt to enter so much as the precincts. It was plain to all that the King had come in no conciliatory mood, but that, puffed up by the award of France, he now intended to rule the realm with a rod of iron, and to listen to neither remonstrance nor condition.

"Pray Heaven the saint may send him a vision that shall change his heart," spoke some one from the crowd, "else the sword will be unsheathed ere many weeks have passed!"

Alys's eyes sought the face of Leofric, and she asked, —

"Does the saint in truth ever send warnings and visions to those who worship at her shrine?"

Leofric looked doubtful; he was not very clear as to the capacities of the saints in this respect.

"In truth, fair lady, I know not. It seems to me that visions and wonders are seldom vouchsafed to those who are puffed up with pride and self-esteem. It is the poor and humble in spirit to whom the Lord reveals His mind – so at least Father Angelus teaches. Yet they say that miracles are worked at the shrine, and I heard that the son of one of the burgesses of the city was raised from the dead not so very long since by being brought hither and laid before the shrine, whilst the monks offered prayers for him. He had died beneath the knife of the surgeons, they say, who had worked upon him some hoped-for cure, which had caused instead his death; but he was restored, they say, by the virgin saint. Would that she could restore to his Majesty that willingness of spirit towards our noble Earl which in times past he hath been known to show!"

But the saint seemed to have no message or warning for the King. No immediate hurt, however, followed upon his bold act in presenting himself at her shrine. He retired thence puffed up with pride and vainglory, reversed in his assembled Parliament every previous Provision of Oxford, and scornfully dismissed the representatives of the Barons who came to suggest a compromise.

"I will be King, and rule by mine own power!" was the motto he seemed now to have adopted. Men shook their heads and looked gravely at one another, echoing the words Brother Angelus had been heard to speak, —

"Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."

CHAPTER XXII

IN ARMS

"Fair Mistress Alys, we have come to say farewell." The Constable's daughter, with her banner in her hands, was waiting for this farewell visit from Amalric de Montfort. All knew now that the red flame of war was about to leap forth and devour the land. The King, having scornfully refused all overtures, was already marching upon Northampton, whither so many Oxford students had fled. The Earl of Leicester was in the neighbourhood of London, where Amalric was about to join him; and with him was to march an eager, gallant little band, which included a number of his comrades in this city, and in particular Leofric Wyvill, who for the nonce was acting as his esquire and personal attendant.

The thought of regular study had become impossible even to a studious mind like Leofric's. Confusion reigned at Oxford, and for the time being the students had dispersed in all directions. Masters and pupils had alike caught the infection of excitement. Doubtless the city would return to its normal conditions in time, and the scholars would flock back in great numbers during the course of the ensuing months; but for the immediate present nothing was talked of but the approaching appeal to arms, and books were laid aside for the sword, which was the weapon that must decide this next crisis of the country's history.

Since the King's scornful rejection of the Barons' moderate request, all thoughts of peace had been abandoned. Amalric had got together his eager little band, and now he had come, with a few picked comrades beside him, to say farewell to Mistress Alys, and to receive at her fair hands the silken banner that she and Linda had spent so many long hours in working for him, with his father's coat of arms.

By this time the friends and followers of Amalric had come to regard Alys as his plighted lady-love, albeit in reality no troth-plight had passed between them. It was scarce the right time for proffering love-suits, but yet the Constable and his wife could not be ignorant of the fact that young Lord Amalric had set his affections upon their daughter.

She stood now beside her parents, with the silken banner in her hands, her fair face flushed, her heart beating rather fast, for she had never before taken so public a part as she was to-day called upon to do in the presentation of the banner; and remembering some words spoken to her by Linda not many days before, she wondered whether indeed this act in any way committed her to a step which she had never seriously contemplated, and did not desire to contemplate.

But maidens in those days had little choice of action. She had been bidden by her parents to appear in the great hall and give the Lord Amalric the banner. Now she was holding it out towards him, a blush on her cheek, a bright light in her eyes; and perhaps it was only Linda, out of all those standing by, who noted how the timid glance of the girl's eyes went past the gay and gallant figure of Amalric and rested upon the graceful form of Leofric, who in his shining armour, and with his bared head from which the golden locks floated in a soft cloud, looked the very image of some pious knight going forth upon a sacred quest, not in search of gain to himself, but for love of the good cause.

And this was indeed the feeling which actuated Leofric. He had small expectation of any personal advantage from this war. Probably he would have gained more of that by remaining in Oxford and continuing his studies there, for he was more of the student than the soldier by nature. But he was convinced of the righteousness of the cause on which the Barons were embarked. He had imbibed the teachings of the Franciscans, and believed that duty and love of his country demanded this sacrifice and effort. True, he was sufficiently imbued with martial ardour at this moment to go forth proudly and eagerly; but the guiding motive was love for his fellows and for his country, as distinguished from personal ambition.

The same could not, perhaps, be said so entirely for Amalric. If this war ended in a victory for the Barons, his father would be the greatest man in the kingdom, and his sons must of necessity become men of importance, if not of wealth. Already he was treated with greater deference and respect than he had ever been. It was natural that his heart should swell with pride and joy at thought of the coming struggle; for with the country so entirely with them, how could they think of failure?

It was a pretty sight to see the gallant youth come forward and take the banner from the hands of Alys, kissing those fair hands at the same time, and vowing that the very sight and touch of that banner would act as a talisman and charm.

Alys spoke a few low-toned words of encouragement and hope which she had conned over beforehand; then the banner was laid before Brother Angelus, who was there for the purpose, and he was asked to bless it ere it went forth to do its appointed work.

The friar performed this office very reverently, and gave the banner once more into Amalric's hands, charging him to be a true and faithful servant to his heavenly as well as to his earthly father; to show mercy and kindness to his foes in the hour of triumph; to look for help to God, and not to man; to avoid all haughtiness of spirit in the time of prosperity, and lack of faith if adversity should come; always to remember the poor, and seek to mitigate by every means possible the inevitable horrors of war: this was the duty of the soldier who loved the Lord as well as the cause. The prayers of all good men would follow and aid those whose hearts were pure and their hands vowed to the righteous work.

Whilst this charge was being given in one part of the hall, taking up the attention of the spectators, Alys had watched her opportunity, and had drawn Leofric towards her by a little gesture of the hand. It was natural that she should wish to say farewell to her brother's friend, and one in whose company she herself had passed so many happy hours. None noted anything strange in the action, and few heeded it.

"Thou art going to the war, Leofric?" she asked, in a voice which faltered a little in spite of herself.

"Yes, truly am I, fair Mistress Alys. I love not war, and yet methinks I cannot keep away. The Lord Amalric is my friend, and he and his have shown me great kindness; besides this, I have at heart the cause of the people. Methinks I would fain strike a blow against the iniquitous pretensions of the Pope, and the tyranny of false sycophants, who turn his Majesty's heart from his own loyal subjects."

"But thou wilt come back?" said the maiden, with the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

"I trow yes," he answered earnestly. "I shall ever look upon this city as my home. If I come safe through what lies before us next, I will return when the sword is laid down, as pray Heaven it soon may be."

"I pray so indeed," answered Alys earnestly; "I shall pray for thy safety night and day."

For a moment their eyes met, and a flush arose in the cheek of both. They stood thus for several seconds, as though no words would come to either.

Alys first recovered herself, and unwinding a scarf of crimson silk which she wore about her waist, she lightly threw it over Leofric's shoulder, saying softly, —

"Wear it as thy sword-belt, and forget me not."

The moment was past. Like one awakening from a dream, Leofric followed the rest from the hall into the courtyard, where their horses were standing. He knotted the scarf across his shining breastplate, and gave one long look at Alys as he passed from the hall. But although she came out to see them all mount and ride away, he did not even seek to catch her eye or to exchange a word with her again. His heart was in a strange glow. He felt like a knight who has received a token from one almost too sacred and high above him to be dreamed of as lady-love; yet in the strength of that token he felt that he could work prodigies of valour. What could he not do for her sweet sake? And yet the idea of asking anything in return never entered his head. Was it not enough that she had shown to him, the poor student and bachelor, that she regarded him with interest, and thought of him as of a friend?

Away rode the cavalcade in the bright sunshine of the early spring, the citizens cheering them to the echo, the friars pausing to bless them and their crusade, their own hearts full of joy and the anticipation of coming triumph.

The King had marched to Northampton, as has already been said, therefore to take a northerly route would be unsafe for the little band. Amalric believed his father to be in or near London, and anyhow the metropolis was known to be favourable to the cause of the Barons. He had therefore made up his mind to proceed thither, and all through the hours of the daylight the little band of horsemen trotted briskly on their way, receiving warm greetings from the inhabitants of the towns and villages through which they passed, and becoming more and more confident as to the feeling of the nation, at least in these regions.

They avoided the road which would take them near Windsor, for there they feared the power of the King was still in the ascendant. They kept a more northerly course, and by the time the daylight waned found themselves close to Watford, where they resolved to encamp for the night. As they approached the place, they were aware of a considerable excitement going on; and when they rode into the streets with the banner of the De Montforts floating before them, the people crowded round them in great excitement, clamouring to know the news.

"They say the war has broken out! They say the people have attacked the King's brother's house at Isleworth, and devastated everything. The Temple is broken open, and the money carried off. The Jews have been pillaged, and their houses burnt. The bell of St. Paul's was ringing all yesterday. They say great things are being done in the city!"