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

"It is no love for the policy, believe me; it is filial duty towards his sire. How could a son take up arms against his father, without incurring the wrath of God? Or how can a son of the spirit of young Edward stand aloof whilst the sword is drawn against his father and his King? No, no, he can do nothing else than fight for him; but thou canst see for thyself how he feels in his heart. He hates the methods and the crooked ways of the King. Once let him sit upon the throne, and we shall see a different rule indeed."

Leofric was not destined to travel far with the cavalcade which escorted the Prince. That very night he was attacked by an access of fever, brought on probably by riding too soon; and he had perforce to remain behind when the troop started forth the next morning.

Hugh remained with him of his own accord, bidding Jack go on with the others, and bring them all the news when they met in Oxford. Hugh found his broken arm rather stiff and painful, and was not sorry to be spared the long days of riding; whilst his heart was turning ever more and more impatiently towards Oxford, where Linda would be waiting for them, and whither they would travel by easy stages so soon as Leofric was fit for the saddle.

They were detained a week at this place before they attempted to resume their journey, and then they travelled very leisurely. They found the country full of rejoicing at the termination of the war and the success of the people's party, as they liked to call it. Rumour declared that there was to be a Parliament in London almost at once, and that, besides the nobles and knights, "four discreet men" from some of the leading towns were to be summoned to attend. This was a distinct step in the direction of constitutional government, and the policy of the great Earl was warmly commended on all sides. Little feeling at present existed with regard to the captive condition of the King. The nation began openly to say that he was always the slave and captive of his own favourites. It was better he should be in the hands of those who cared for the liberties and rights of the English people than in the hands of those who sucked the blood of the nation and reviled its down-trodden sons at the same time.

Everywhere the name of Earl Simon was in all men's mouths. His praises were chanted aloud in rude songs, in which he was described as the saviour of his country, the instrument of God, the upholder of right and justice, the wisest, most valiant, and noblest of men.

Leofric began to wonder whether, indeed, the country would settle down contentedly to what was practically the reign of a subject, and that subject by birth an alien. For the moment they seemed to desire nothing better than that De Montfort should reign in the name of the King; but was it possible that such an anomaly could long continue? And what would be the result of the release of the King? for it was not possible that he should remain a permanent captive in the hands of his Barons.

These, and many like points, were discussed with keen interest by Leofric and Hugh as they pursued their leisurely journey. Hugh had a few stout serving-men in attendance on him, afterwards to make their way northward to his father's house. So the two youths travelled in comfort and safety, and were welcomed everywhere along the route as having been eye-witnesses of and partakers in the battle of Lewes.

But as they neared the familiar town of Oxford, public matters sank into a secondary place in the interest of the anticipated meeting with comrades and friends. Leofric's heart could not but beat with the thought of seeing Alys once more – although to him she was as a bright particular star, far, far above him, whom he loved and worshipped from a distance, with no conscious sense of anything nearer and more personal; whilst Hugh was engrossed by thoughts of Linda, from whom he had been long sundered, although, knowing her to be safe and happy, he had left her with a mind at ease.

Had their approach been seen? Surely it must have been; for as they approached the Castle by the Quaking Bridge, there was a little commotion at the gate, and in another minute Edmund came hastily forth, bare-headed, as if taken by surprise, his face alight with eager welcome.

"Now welcome, welcome, good friends! We have been wearying for news of ye twain. Many of our clerks and students have been flocking back from all parts of the country, some even from the field of Lewes; but none could give us tidings of you. One indeed declared that thou, Leofric, hadst been sorely wounded; but whether for life or death the fellow could not say. Come in, come in, and tell all thy tale. – Come in, good comrade Hugh; right glad are we to see thy face again! Peace and good-will everywhere abound. Oxford has begun to look like herself again. Come in and see my father. We have much to hear and to tell. Come and give us news of young Lord Amalric, for our Alys has been like a drooping flower ever since he departed; albeit, as I kept telling her, we should speedily have heard had any hurt happened to one of the sons of the great De Montfort."

Thus speaking, Edmund led the way into the Castle hall, where already the Constable, his wife and daughter, and Linda had gathered. Rumour had already gone forth that some arrival had taken place, and Sir Humphrey had a warm greeting for the two young student-soldiers returned with news from the campaign.

But Hugh had no eyes for any save Linda. He could not speak or think of anything in the happiness of that meeting. It was Leofric who was forced to be spokesman, and he was set down in the midst to tell his tale; whilst Alys, from behind her mother's chair, hung upon his words with kindling eyes, flushing and paling cheeks, scarce drawing breath as he spoke of the perils of the fight, and how he had been brought out of it by trusty Jack. She did not look like a drooping flower any longer as at the supper board she took her accustomed place, Leofric being at her right hand. Father and mother both noted the sudden change in her; and Sir Humphrey said to his wife that night, —

"See what the news of Lord Amalric has done for her! She is a changed being since we have known him to be well and sound."

But Dame Margaret uttered a slight snorting sound, as if she were less satisfied with what she had observed.

"If my Lord Amalric desires the hand of our daughter, he had best lose no more time in the winning of it," she remarked. "Else may he chance to win the casket when the jewel it encloses has been stolen thence."

"What mean you, wife?" asked Sir Humphrey in dismay.

Dame Margaret snorted again.

"Men have no eyes!" she remarked scornfully.

"But what mean you, wife? I would know more of this."

"Marry, then thou shalt. But I say not things are so; I only say what I fear. If the maid's heart be not rather given to Leofric Wyvill, the bachelor, than to the Lord Amalric, the Earl's son, then are mine eyes wofully at fault!"

Sir Humphrey looked first astonished and then scornful.

"Tush, woman!" he said impatiently; "the thing is impossible."

Dame Margaret pursed her lips and said nothing.

"It must not be!" cried the Constable, rather excitedly; "it must not and shall not be! The Earl is now the first man in all the realm. His sons will rise to be nobles themselves. It will be a great match for our little daughter, and she hath always been well disposed towards Lord Amalric."

"True; yet is she not better disposed towards another?"

"It shall not be!" cried the Constable once more. "I will put a stop to it at once. A daughter's hand is disposed of by her father. None shall dispute my right to give that of Alys where I will. The Lord Amalric has shown every disposition to ask it in marriage. And this I say and mean: if he ask it, he shall have it. The maid shall be a great lady yet, and I pray I may live to see the day."

The mother said nothing, only pursed up her lips a little. In her heart she was thinking that a sudden elevation to great power had often been followed by as sudden a fall. What if that should happen to the house of De Montfort?

CHAPTER XXV

CHRISTMAS AT KENILWORTH

"Alys! Alys! Alys!" cried a clear young voice from above. Alys, muffled to the very eyes in her furs, and stiff from the exposure of her long ride, had been almost lifted from her saddle by strong arms, and carried within the hospitable portals of the grim-looking fortress. She was dazed with the change from snowy darkness to the blaze of light, confused by the number of strange voices and faces around her, and not even reassured by the welcome of Amalric, who was seeking to win from her one of the smiles that had become so much to him.

"Alys! Alys! Alys!"

The call was repeated in clear, imperious tones of bell-like sweetness; and Alys, lifting her eyes to see whence they came, saw the laughing face of the Demoiselle looking over at her from the dimness of the gallery above.

"Amalric, bring her hither to me; she is my lawful prey – my prisoner! Don't keep her standing down there in that crowd! I am waiting for her here. Bring her to me; I will warm her and make her happy. You clumsy men never understand how to do that!"

The next minute the two girls had met half-way up the great staircase, and the imperious Demoiselle, who had changed but little from the day on which she and Alys had last seen each other, dragged off her willing captive to the bedchamber which the little lady had insisted that her friend should share with her. It was lighted only by the glow of a roaring fire of pine logs, but it looked so bright and cheery and comfortable that Alys uttered a little exclamation of pleasure, and sank down before the grateful blaze, chafing her numbed hands and smiling up gratefully at Eleanora as she loosed her heavy cloak and hood and smoothed the ruffled hair beneath.

"It has been such a cold, cold journey!" she said. "Right glad am I that our mother and Edmund did not attempt it. Fifty times I was minded to implore my father to turn back; but I misdoubt me if he would have done so."

"Nay, fie upon thee for a coward," cried the Demoiselle, with uplifted finger, "with me, thine own friend, waiting for thee at the other end! To turn back is but the act of a poltroon! Fight and not flight is the motto of the brave. O Alys, what a world of things have happened since we said adieu! Didst ever think that men would say of my noble father that he was the uncrowned King of England?"

The maiden spoke with a great pride in her voice, and with a flash in her eyes that bespoke a sense of keen triumph. Alys shivered a little at the words; for she had heard them spoken with different intonation by others not very long before, and knew that a leaven was working in the country of which this child knew nothing as yet.

"My father leads the Council of Three, who really govern the realm," continued the Demoiselle, talking in her eager, rapid way. "They say that Gilbert of Gloucester will give trouble; he is showing himself unruly and rapacious. But I trow my father can control him. Oh, it is a wonderful power which my father has gained! All men bow down before him. And yet his heart is not puffed up; he is grave and sober in his bearing. Why was he not born the King, instead of Henry of Winchester – poor puppet, who can never stand alone, but must be propped up by the will of those about him? Why, my father is ten times more a King than he!"

"And so is his own son," said Alys gently. "If any ruled in the place of the King, methinks it should surely be the Prince."

"Ah yes," cried the Demoiselle quickly – "my cousin Edward. He is different indeed from his father, but he cannot be set upon the throne. If he could, perchance that would end the troubles. Didst know that he is at Kenilworth now? He has been in gentle captivity in many places these past months, and from the Castle of Wallingford but lately his friends sought to obtain his escape. But he is on parole, so he bid them depart. Nevertheless my father thought it not safe to leave him there longer; and now he is here, sharing our Christmas gaieties. I trow we will have a merry time."

But the little lady had much to ask as well as much to tell. She wanted to know where Leofric was, who had been so faithful an esquire to her brother, and had won her own esteem and good-will.

The colour rose in Alys's face as she made reply, —

"In sooth I have seen less of him of late. He is growing to be much sought after for his lectures, and in the spring he will take his degree as Master in Arts. Since that mandate from the King nigh upon a year ago there have been changes in Oxford. Many of the masters who went forth then to other places have not returned, having found pupils and work elsewhere. This has made it the easier for bachelors with good store of knowledge, like Leofric Wyvill, to gain pupils, and obtain the Chancellor's licence to lecture on many books. Men say that he will be a Regent Master ere long, and likely enough a Doctor in time. But for myself, I have not seen him oft of late. He is busy, and Edmund hath his own tutors and lectures now."

The Demoiselle glanced rather sharply into the face of her friend, and said questioningly, —

"Is that a note of melancholy I hear in thy voice?"

Alys shook her head, and her cheek flamed.

"I know not what thou dost mean by that, Eleanora. Come, let us talk of other things; and I must see to my toilet, if I am to be taken to thy lady mother for her greeting."

The Demoiselle put her arm about Alys as she looked into her face half archly, half pleadingly, and said, —

"Nay, chide me not, sweet Alys; for thou dost know I love thee, and that I would not even desire the happiness of calling thee sister, were it not for thine own happiness too."

At those words Alys caught her breath in a little gasp, and Eleanora tightened the clasp of her loving arms.

"My mother will indeed desire to see thee and to welcome thee, sweet Alys. Thou must know that well. But fear not what may befall. My father – ay, and Amalric too – will never urge thee to any act against which thy heart rebels. We cannot give our love as if it were a toy. Our hearts will speak, and they discourse eloquent music that no man hears save ourselves. I would fain call thee sister, but I will be thy friend. It shall never be said of the house of De Montfort that its sons wooed unwilling brides!"

The Demoiselle threw back her head with a gesture of pride, and then kissed Alys on the mouth. It was no revelation to Alys that she had been brought to Kenilworth with the idea of being shown there as the future bride of the Lord Amalric. Her father had never said as much openly, but she had had an instinct of this, and now these words from Eleanora showed her that she had not been deceived.

But it was not a subject on which she could speak. Her heart and mind were alike in a chaotic state. She revered the house of De Montfort; she had the warmest liking for Amalric, and would hate to give him pain. She might well have loved him, and she knew it, had there been no other image graven on her heart. And now it was hard to know what to say or do. Indeed she felt, whatever the Demoiselle might aver, that little option would be given her in the matter. Her father would decide the question of his daughter's betrothal. She would be expected simply to obey. She could not urge any dislike to the chivalrous young lord who had honoured her by his preference, and to confess that she had given her heart to one who had never spoken a word of love to her was not to be dreamed of.

Just now, however, there was little time to think of such matters. Kenilworth Castle was filled from end to end, and all the wild revelry incident to the Christmas season was in full swing.

Alys had seen nothing like it in all her life, and her whole time and attention was engrossed by watching the brilliant scenes about her. She was admitted into the immediate family circle at the Castle – ranked as the companion and friend of the Demoiselle, tenderly treated by the Countess, and evidently regarded by the Earl and his sons as the future bride of young Amalric.

His own attentions were unfailing, but so chivalrously and deferentially proffered that she could not repulse him. Indeed, she had no desire to give him pain, although in her heart of hearts she shrank from any open step which should force the thought of marriage upon her.

Just now, however, there seemed too much on hand for any one to press such a matter to a conclusion. The Earl had his hands and his thoughts full to overflowing, and although he went about with a face full of courage and serenity, it could not be disguised that the clouds were gathering ominously round him in many quarters.

For one thing, the Pope had excommunicated him; and that was in itself a serious matter in those days. True, he had appealed against the interdict, which had been brought by a legate, and having been lost at sea had never been delivered. The clergy of the realm had joined with him in his appeal; and the Pope having died meantime, the matter was still in suspense, and could not be settled till a successor was chosen. So that for the present the Earl's household received the benefits of the church, and were not cut off from communion; but the cloud of uncertainty rested over them, and made some even of their friends look slightly askance upon them.

Nor was it any light matter that they held in their power the person of the King's son.

Edward showed no resentment against his kinsfolk for his captivity amongst them. He went about the Castle and its precincts with a brave face and a light heart. He played with the Demoiselle in the long corridors, helped Alys with the intricacies of her embroidery silks, when in the long evenings the party gathered together in some of the family apartments. He tilted in the yards with his cousins, and joined in all the revels which made the walls of the Castle-fortress ring again. No word of complaint ever crossed his lips. He never betrayed even a consciousness that he was followed and watched, and that he might not walk or ride abroad without a goodly retinue.

There was about him, as the girls oftentimes agreed, a nobility and magnanimity which was something remarkable in one so young. He even talked of public matters with his uncle without rancour, and with a certain sympathy in the difficulties of the situation.

Personally, the Prince was greatly beloved by all at Kenilworth, and perhaps this made the position all the more difficult. None knew better than De Montfort that it would be impossible to keep the King and the Prince in permanent captivity, however easy and honourable that captivity might be. Yet, let young Edward once be at large, and so great a following would muster round him that he would have it in his power before long to reverse the success of the Barons, and once more set upon the throne his inglorious father, whose incapacity and powers of mischief-working had been so abundantly tested before.

"And my brothers do nothing to help my father!" once lamented the Demoiselle, with tears of anger in her eyes, coming to Alys to discuss some of the anxieties which from time to time she learned from her mother. "Guy and Amalric are too young to be entrusted with much power, else they might perhaps help. But Henry and Simon do naught but stir up strife and ill-will. As if it were not bad enough to have the Earl Gilbert desert our cause, they must go and challenge him in a tourney they desire to hold at Dunstable – openly showing that they hold him to be a foe. My mother says that my father will forbid the tourney, but that the rash and haughty spirit of Henry and Simon give him much pain and trouble. They are so puffed up they will not heed a word that is said to them. They are not worthy to be called my father's sons!"

It was no wonder that the brow of the Earl was often lined with care, and that the glance of the eagle eye was often dimmed by clouds of anxiety and presage of coming woe. The old trouble with Richard of Gloucester was being repeated now with Gilbert, the son. Young as he was, he would not brook the control of Leicester's guiding hand. He resented his assumption of power, and was almost openly breaking away. None knew better than De Montfort that if once Prince Edward were at large, the whole Gloucester faction, and doubtless many more with them, would go over to him in a body. Already the nation was forgetting its grievances, and was pitying the royal captives. A spark would suffice in many quarters to cause an explosion of anger against him and his "usurpation" of practical monarchy; and yet, as matters now stood, there seemed nothing for it but for him, in the name of King and Council, to sway the sceptre of the kingdom.

On New-Year's Eve a great banquet was to be held in the vast hall of Kenilworth. Despite the carking care that was gnawing at the heart of the Earl and Countess, the revelries of the season were kept up in full measure. Nothing was omitted which had ever had place before, and the close of the old year had always been celebrated by a great feast, which was kept up until the new year had been ushered in with shouts and songs and the draining of bumpers.

Alys and the Demoiselle had asked to witness the feast from the gallery above, as upon another occasion now several years distant. And as the Countess had no desire to be present herself, ready permission was given them, and they established themselves there, with Amalric as their companion, he having excused himself from sitting at the feast below.

Prince Edward was, however, there, seated upon the right hand of his uncle. His handsome face wore a rather set expression, and although he smiled and jested as the wine circulated and the huge dishes were brought in one after the other by staggering servants, he continued to wear the look of a man in whose head some great purpose lies.

What that purpose was, was presently revealed when the time came for healths to be drunk and speeches made. It was from time to time needful that De Montfort should remind his followers and retainers of their position, of the things which had been achieved, and of those which still remained to be done. It seemed a fitting time, at the close of this memorable year, to speak of the events which had marked its course, and the successes which it had witnessed. To discourse thus, with the Prince sitting by, was not perhaps the easiest of tasks; but De Montfort had a gift for moderation and tact in speaking when his temper was not ruffled. He played his part well, and elicited bursts of applause; and the Prince himself applauded when he spoke of the rights of the nation and the need for wise government by means of a council of Englishmen rather than a crew of foreign favourites. In the end the Earl looked directly at the Prince, drank to his good health and speedy release, when the arbitrators appealed to should have given their decision, and the coming Parliament have ratified the terms of the Mise of Lewes.

Thus openly brought into notice, the Prince rose to his feet, thanked his uncle and host for many kind marks of good-will, and expressed his recognition of the courtesy and friendliness with which he had been treated. But after having said this much he did not sit down; he stood looking around at the company with a strange intent gaze. Deep silence reigned in the hall, for all felt that there was more to come, and waited breathlessly to hear. De Montfort looked up with a keen, quick glance into the face of the Prince, and then a slight cloud as of anxious thought passed across his thin face.

"My lords and gentlemen," said the Prince, in clear tones that were heard all over the hall, "I have once before addressed you, even as I address you to-night. The sword had not then been unsheathed. My heart inclined to the cause which you have made yours, and which even this day I regard with much of good-will. But I warned you then that my duty to my father would compel me to withdraw from your counsels, should you elect to rise in arms against him. This has now been done. I kept the word I gave you then, and to-day I am a prisoner in your chief's hands. The fortune of the day is so far with you, but it may not always be so. As I made an open declaration upon that occasion, so I make another to-day. I have given my parole for the present not to seek to escape out of this honourable captivity in which I am placed; and I redeemed my word at Wallingford Castle, showing to you that when I say a thing, I mean it; when I make a promise, I keep it. Now, in the presence of all of you, and of you my uncle and cousins, I herewith declare that my parole is for one year, dating from the battle of Lewes, when I gave myself up into your hands. One year I give to you for arbitration, for the assembling of Parliament, for all the reasonable steps which a kingdom must take for the adjustment of difficult questions. After the expiration of that year my parole expires. I will not then be bound by any promise. If my liberty is not then accorded me, I shall seek, by whatever means I may, to attain it. Already the nation is impatient of seeing her King and her Prince in captivity. The thing, if needful for the moment, becomes a monstrous iniquity in time. It will not be suffered to continue. I shall not suffer it to continue. Shut me up if you choose in the lowest dungeon – keep all my friends away from me – treat me as you will, I shall find means to escape from your hands; and I shall then fight with every weapon in my power for the liberty of my father, and for the restoration of that monarchy which, even though abused, is yet the prop and the source of England's greatness, and which, purged of its faults, will yet shine with undiminished lustre!"