"'Twill be a mad Parliament, gentlemen, a mad Parliament," said one reverend doctor, as the news was definitely made known in Oxford that that place had been selected by King and Barons as a neutral spot where the adjourned Parliament should meet.
Great excitement reigned throughout the city and University. Nothing was talked of but the political situation, the weakness of the King, the resolution of the Barons to enforce the terms of the Great Charter upon the tyrannical monarch, and the possibility (only too well grounded) that the Sovereign, advised by his foreign favourites, would seek to call in aid from abroad, and overrun the fair realm of England with foreign mercenaries.
"But hireling foreigners must be paid," remarked one citizen grimly, as this danger was mooted, "and until the nation gets its rights and liberties, no more money will his Majesty wring from it. The sinews of war are in our pockets, and there they shall stay unless the King chooses to hear reason."
"Ay, and more than that," cried Gilbert, hurrying up to join the eager crowd; "I have had good news from my father in the south. He tells me that the Barons have garrisoned the Cinque Ports, so that no foreigners may land on our coasts. As the truce with France has just expired, they have good reason for this step, without doing any disloyalty to his Majesty; but all the world knows with what special object it has been done at this moment. Methinks we shall be free from fear of foreign invasion, and that we shall obtain our liberties without bloodshed."
"Heaven grant we may!" cried the older and graver amongst the townsfolks, some of whom remembered, and others had heard from their fathers, the tales of the terrible struggle in John's time, which had led to the granting of the Great Charter. They wanted no repetition of such scenes as those; albeit some of the younger and more ardent spirits, and the lawless and violent ones, would not have been displeased had some open collision occurred which should cause the whole country to fly to arms.
Even as it was, great impetus had been given to the joustings and practices of wars in the meadows around the city. Both clerks and citizens went out afoot or on horseback during the long evenings of summer, and often such a tumult arose, and such a din of arms, that one might well suppose some real battle was going on rather than an imitation of it.
June had come, and all the world was clothed in verdure. Oxford was looking her best and brightest at this season. As the day for the assembling of this Parliament drew near, the excitement became intense. Lectures in some cases were suspended, and discipline of any kind became enforced only with difficulty.
As usual, there were two parties in the city. The very fact that the scholars sided almost to a man with the Barons' party disposed some of the citizens to throw in their sympathies with the King. Henry was no special favourite, but he was personally beloved by those who had at any time had access to his presence. He was not vicious, and he was devout; his defenders could always say many things in his favour. He was not a monarch to inspire respect or personal enthusiasm; but then neither was he one who roused against himself any great outbreak of popular rage. Had he lived in less critical days, or been better advised, he might have passed through life comfortably and easily, and have been regarded as a good and well-meaning monarch.
"We must needs see some of these great sights!" cried Jack excitedly to Leofric, after coming back from a prowl round the city one evening. "They say that to-morrow the Barons will march into the city; and upon the day following the King will arrive at Beaumont Palace. We must go forth to see these brave sights. Marry, what a time it will be for Oxford! Right glad am I to be here at such a season! Think of it—I might have been following the plough behind my father's horses, knowing naught of the great things that be doing in the world!"
A few minutes later and Hugh burst in, quivering with excitement.
"The great Earl of Leicester with his train comes to-morrow," he cried, "and many others of the Barons as well. Some will lodge here, and some there; but the great De Montfort and his sons will come to Dagville's Inn, and for the nonce all who are there must make way. So I come to beg a lodging with you, my friends; and if fortune favours us, I will seek to get speech with my old playmates, Guy and Amalric, and will present ye both to them."
"Are they the sons of the great Earl?" asked Leofric eagerly.
"Ay; and time was once when I went as a page with my father to Kenilworth, and we played together, we boys. Guy and Amalric are the two youngest sons. The elder pair have won knighthood for themselves beyond the seas. But these be yet lads still, albeit, if report says true, very proper and noble lads. Right well do I hope that they will accompany their father on the morrow. Methinks they will not have forgotten me. Amalric was very friendly in those past days, and we vowed to love each other always."
There was little sleep for the trio in the turret that night. Jack and Leofric made Hugh tell them everything he could remember of the De Montfort family at Kenilworth, when he had been there as page.
They wanted to know, too, the names of the other Barons who would support the Earl of Leicester; and although parties changed with somewhat confusing rapidity, as private jealousies or conflicting interests made the friend of to-day the enemy of to-morrow, yet Hugh knew pretty well who were likely to range themselves upon the side of the liberties of the nation, and could give bits of information to his companions about the great nobles of the day.
The Earls of Gloucester, Hereford, and Norfolk were, he thought, certain to support the Earl of Leicester, and also Hugh le Bigod and Hugh le Despenser, whose names were pretty well known at that time. The King was more likely to be backed by Bishops and Archbishops, especially such as still held themselves subservient to the Pope. Then he was almost certain to be attended by some of the De Lusignans, his half-brothers, and by numbers of other foreign favourites, whose constant presence at Court was such an offence to the nation.
"They eat up everything before them, like so many locusts!" cried Hugh hotly. "So soon as any place becomes vacant, the King, instead of promoting some honest English gentleman to it, who may have served him faithfully for years, throws it to one of his foreign favourites, who may have a dozen such offices already. They drain the life-blood from the country, and we, its sons, are left to take what pickings we can get!"
It was easy to understand how bitterly the English nobles and gentlemen were beginning to resent this kind of thing; and when it was combined with a constant infringement of their liberties, and an equally constant imposition of new and illegal exactions, anger became exasperation, and the sense of a coming crisis was in the very air.
The short night was soon over, and with the first of the sunlight the three lads awoke from their light slumbers.
There was no lingering abed for any that day. Hardly had they returned from their plunge in the pool, and arrayed themselves in their best habits, before sounds in the streets warned them that all the city was up and doing.
Hurrying forth, they saw that the citizens had begun to deck their houses as if for a festival: flags were flying from windows, and bands of clerks paraded up and down the streets, singing songs, cracking jokes, and sometimes striving to make speeches in imitation of those which would be made when the conference should have assembled.
Mummers were pouring into the town, as they always did on any holiday, and at the street corners they were to be seen going through their rough representations or practising some rude sort of jugglery. It was plain that there would be no lectures that day. The clerks were far too excited to attend, and the masters little less so.
But many hours must of necessity pass before the Barons would be likely to arrive at the city gates. These hours had to be got rid of somehow, and Leofric suggested that they should go and see if Brother Angelus were lecturing in the school of the Friars, since perhaps the excitement had not spread so much into the religious establishments as into the Halls and lodging-houses.
Friar Angelus truly was there, and so were the pupils of his own school, but very few outsiders came in that day; and the lecturer did not keep his hearers very long, dismissing them with a smile, and cautioning them not to get into any mischief or trouble in their excitement.
He looked pleased to see Leofric and Jack, and spoke to them as he passed out. They asked him rather eagerly which side he took—that of the King or that of the Barons. He answered, with one of his thoughtful smiles, that these matters were not given to him to judge of—that he meddled but little in the strife of nations; but if he had to judge of any question, he sought always to discover the teachings of Holy Scripture, and to judge according to the mind of Christ.
By this time messengers had come to report that the Earl of Leicester, together with the Earl of Gloucester, had reached Abingdon, where they had halted to dine, and that they might be expected to arrive at the Grandpont by three o'clock in the afternoon.
All the city seemed in motion towards the South Gate, which led towards the Grandpont (as Folly Bridge was then called), and Gilbert rushing up joined himself to the other three, and urged them to come and see all that was to be seen.
The narrow street was quite blocked with foot passengers—clerks, citizens, masters and doctors all mingling together in one moving mass. It was a good-natured crowd, and there was much laughing and jesting as they had to squeeze through the gateway, and again across the bridge, until in the meadow beyond they had breathing room, and could spread themselves out more at ease. Here, dotted about in picturesque groups, were knots of persons who had come from the surrounding districts—farmers on their stout nags, with wife or daughter perched on a pillion behind; and there, too, were groups of squires and gentlemen from the neighbouring houses or castles, many of these having brought their women folk to watch the procession pass.
One group attracted attention from the fine trappings of the horses, and from the general air of importance it wore. There were two ladies, several horsemen in fine garments, and one tall, commanding personage, who was evidently an official of some sort. He was surrounded by several soldiers, who observed an attitude of watchful attention; and Gilbert said to his comrades in a quick whisper,—
"Yon is the Constable of the Castle. They say he is very favourable to the cause of the Barons, though he calls himself the servant of the King. He is a good man, and well beliked in Oxford, albeit he and the Chancellor sometimes come to loggerheads anent the limits of their jurisdiction; yet they be good friends for all that. There goes the Chancellor to speak with him and join his party."
Leofric looked rather eagerly towards the little group around the Constable, and truly enough there sat Mistress Alys upon her palfrey, her golden hair hanging like a cloud about her face, her eyes gazing round her full of curiosity. Suddenly she met the gaze bent upon her, and started a little. Then a look of recognition flashed into her face. She glanced at her father, but he was engrossed in conversation, and did not see. Failing in getting his attention, she just raised her hand, and waved it for a moment towards Leofric and his companion; then blushing a little as if at her boldness, she drew back behind one of the horsemen in the group.
Leofric bared his head and bowed low at the little lady's salute; but he made no further attempt to attract attention, and the friends passed quickly through the crowd lingering at the head of the bridge, and made their way along the road towards Abingdon, where numbers of the citizens were already straying, in hopes of catching sight of the foremost of the Barons' followers.
Presently they came upon a group gathered beneath the shade of some large oak trees, and heard themselves hailed in tones of welcome. This group consisted of the Seaton family, and the beautiful twins, Lotta and Linda. Pedro Balzani, not desiring that his daughters should remain in the inn when it was like to be crowded from garret to basement by fine gallants in the train of the Earl of Leicester, had asked of his neighbours the Seatons houseroom for them at this season, Joanna Seaton being the great friend of the twin sisters. The whole party had come forth to picnic under the greenwood trees and watch the show go by. And now, as was but natural, these four comrades, who always consorted more or less together, were invited to share in the remains of the repast, and to join the pleasant party.
Nothing loth, they all sat down, and having been too excited to provide themselves with dinner, were glad enough of some of Dame Seaton's excellent fare. By this time all the party were very well acquainted—laughter and fun were the order of the day. By this time Leofric had come to distinguish as a rule between the twin sisters, although he frequently made a mistake which evoked amusement and banter. Hugh never made any mistake now, and always gravitated towards Linda, the gentler of the two girls. Leofric sometimes wondered whether or not he was beginning to love the maiden. She was certainly very sweet and winning, yet she was but the daughter of an innkeeper, and half a foreigner to boot; whilst Hugh was a gentleman's son, and might hope one day to win his spurs.
The sun overhead shone down hotly, though beneath the trees it was pleasant enough. The afternoon was wearing on, and excitement had become intense.
At last the long-waited-for sounds arose, telling of the approach of a number of riders. Rushing helter-skelter along the dusty road came bands of clerks and others, who had gone on towards Abingdon, and now came pouring back towards the city with the cry on their lips,——
"They come! they come!"
All sprang to their feet. The youths helped the maidens to clamber into good places of observation amid the branches of a gnarled old oak, blasted by lightning, that stood hard by the road. Then they drew themselves up bare-headed beneath, prepared to swell the shout of welcome which arose as soon as the foremost horsemen hove in sight. Leofric strained his eyes to gaze at the oncoming procession, for it was such a sight as his eyes had never looked upon before.
Hugh stood close beside him, his eyes shining with excitement and anticipation. The tramp of horse-hoofs and the ringing sound of armour made itself heard through the still, clear air.
"Come they in arms?" whispered Gilbert with bated breath, for he was not prepared for that. Yet, sure enough, as the first ranks of the horsemen rode up, it was plainly to be seen that they were armed from top to toe—a brave spectacle in truth, yet one that the by-standers had scarcely expected to see.
Row after row, row after row of bravely-trapped horsemen passed by at a gentle trot, and still Hugh made no sign. Then he suddenly grasped the arms of those next to him, and exclaimed,——
"There he is! there he is! Is he not a right royal man?"
Leofric's gaze was instantly fastened upon the eagle-like face of a warrior in a richly-chased coat of mail, with a plumed head-piece on his head—a man who sat erect in his saddle, returning the greetings of the by-standers with a grave dignity of demeanour—a man who looked born to command and born to rule, and who, in spite of his own foreign blood, was at this moment the champion of England's liberties, the enemy of those hordes of foreign aliens who were preying upon the land to her destruction.
Close behind him rode in pairs four young men, all of them bearing some sort of likeness to their eagle-faced sire. The faces of the first two did not specially attract Leofric, for there was too much haughtiness in the bearing of the young men, albeit no trace of that passion was to be seen in their great father. But the younger pair were far more attractive, being bright-faced boys, who looked about them with eager eyes, and flashed a quick smile at Hugh as they rode by.
"Those be my young lords, Guy and Amalric," cried Hugh with beaming face, "and they have not forgotten me. Anon I will seek speech of them. And see—see! yonder rides mine own father, amongst the retainers bringing up the rear. Ah! I had scarce thought to see him here. Now, perchance, we shall see something of the great scene when this Parliament, which men call "mad", shall assemble itself. Methinks there will be sound sense found amongst those who gather together to discuss the welfare of the nation."
It was hopeless to try to keep up with the riders; the hot sun and choking dust alike precluded such a thing. The party returned leisurely to Oxford, to find the city half mad with excitement. Nor was there any diminution of excitement possible; for on the morrow there would be a yet grander sight, when the King himself should arrive, and when the Barons should ride forth to meet and welcome him.
This was indeed a very fine spectacle, and Hugh took care that his friends should share it with him. He had managed to borrow steeds from some of his father's servants, who had no need to take part in this ceremony, and upon these horses he mounted his friends and himself. They posted themselves at a certain spot hard by Beaumont Palace, where they were told they would obtain an excellent view of the meeting betwixt King and Barons.
To-day Leofric and Jack were able to obtain a far nearer and better view of the Earl of Leicester, and the more they studied his handsome face, the more admiration did they feel for him. He seemed the soul and centre of that noble assembly. The other Barons appeared to regard him as their natural chieftain, and whenever he spoke they hung upon his words, and appeared to give the utmost respect to them. Although he was habited more plainly than any, he was like a king in their midst. His face was lined by anxiety and care, but the fire in his eyes was unquenched and unquenchable. He looked like one born to rule, and his expression seemed to show that, on this occasion at least, he meant to exercise that faculty to the uttermost.
A blare of trumpets suddenly announced the coming of the King, and a thrill seemed to run through the assembled crowd. The Earl drew himself erect in his saddle, and the other nobles fell into rank around him. The trumpet notes drew nearer and nearer, and at last the cry was raised,——
"The King! the King!"
In gorgeous array, surrounded by courtiers dressed in the extreme of foppery, appeared the procession of the monarch. The nobles bared their heads, as did also the crowd, and all faces were turned expectantly towards the oncoming procession.
Everything that pomp and state could do to add dignity to the King's Majesty was present here; and yet there was so little of true kingly majesty in that weak, handsome face, and in the shifting expression of the uncertain eyes, that Leofric, looking from one face to the other, said in his heart,——
"Is it possible that that is the King and the other the subject? Surely it should be just the other way about."
It did indeed so appear; for the Earl, whilst showing every mark of respect to his sovereign, yet wore himself so lofty and kingly an aspect that Henry seemed unwittingly to shrink before him, but he strove to conceal this by taking a haughty and rebuking tone.
"How, now, my lord of Leicester! is it in arms that you come to meet your King?"
"Sire," replied the Earl, speaking for himself and his companions, "we are on our way to quell the troubles that have arisen in Wales, and therefore come we armed, as indeed needs must be if we are to do there your Majesty's behests. This business once over for which we are met together, and we must to the West to serve your Highness there. Let us hope for a speedy settlement of affairs here, for our presence is needed urgently against the troublers of the peace of the realm."
As he spoke the Earl swept with his eagle eyes the ranks of swarthy faces that surrounded the King, and a murmur went up from the crowd which was sufficiently significant.
It was almost an open challenge of defiance, and Henry knew it as such. This could be seen in the flush upon his face, and in the flash of his eye. Yet he could not meet the calm gaze of the Earl, and he strove to pass the matter off with a laugh.
"Thou wert always something too ready with thy tongue, Simon," he said; "be careful thou art not some day too ready with thy sword likewise."
"My sword can never be too ready, an it be unsheathed in the service of your Majesty's peace and honour, and for the safety and welfare of the fair realm over which it has pleased God to set you," was the steady response.
The King laughed, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Come and ride with me, and tell me of my sister, thy wife," he said, as though willing to let other matters rest for the present. "Thou art as great a tyrant as ever thou wast, Simon; but beshrew me if I can help from liking thee when we meet face to face. Ride by my side and talk to me. Let the people at least see that we bear each other no ill-will."
So King and subject rode side by side to the palace of Beaumont, and the people made the welkin ring with their acclamations.
"Though whether they be shouting for thee or for me," remarked Henry, with a short laugh, "perhaps it would be well not to inquire too closely."
"Fair Mistress Alys, this is sooth a wondrous city, in the which strange sights are to be seen. Fain would I myself belong to it, and make one of those bands of scholars whom I see passing to and fro through the streets. Fain would I learn more of the life here, and share it for a while. I am aweary of the clash of arms and the strife of tongues. The life of a scholar has more charms for me."
The fair-faced Alys looked up from the frame where was stretched a great piece of tapestry work, upon which her nimble fingers were at work. There was a smile in her eyes as she made reply,—
"And yet, from all I hear and see, there is plenty of strife of tongues and clash of arms even within the walls of this city, and amongst the clerks and scholars themselves. I have not dwelt long enough here to know what it is all about; but methinks those who have the charge of the city have hard work sometimes to keep the peace there."
"That is very true," spoke a second voice, not at all unlike the one which had just ceased, although it belonged to a lad of seventeen summers, who lay full length upon a wide settle, over which a great bearskin rug had been first laid. The face of this youth was thin and hollow, and his hands were white and wasted. But his hazel eyes were liquid and full of brightness, and though the broad brow was often furrowed by pain, the smile which lit up the thin, well-cut features was frequent and full of brightness.
"Yes; Alys speaks no more than the truth," said the youth, as Amalric de Montfort turned to look at him. "We have not been long in this place, as thou dost know. Until our father had been settled here some time as Constable of the Castle, he would not summon us to be with him. We remained with our mother's kindred in the south, and have only been a few short months within these walls. Yet we have learned many strange things during this time, and truly do I think that the city of Oxford can be one of the most turbulent spots upon the face of the earth. I have heard my father and the Chancellor of the University taking counsel together how the peace may be kept, and in sooth it seems no easy matter to decide."
"Ah yes, where many hot-headed youths be pent up together in narrow bounds, there must needs be strife of a kind," answered Amalric; "but that, after all, is a brotherly sort of strife, far removed from this other strife of which I begin to grow strangely weary. If ye twain could know but the half of what my noble father has endured at the hands of the King—how he has spent his substance and his own life-blood away there in Gascony, all to establish the King's royal authority there; and how for all his faithful service he has received naught but hard words and humiliations which would have turned many another into a bitter foe! The tyranny and caprice of the weak King (uncle though he be of mine, I will speak the truth of him) has been heartbreaking. It has aged my lady mother, and embittered my father's life. And now, when he is forced to stand forth as the champion of the nation, to hold the King to his promises, there will be nothing before him but one long, strenuous fight. Oh, I begin to weary of it all! If I could help him, I would be ever at his side; but I can do nothing, and my heart grows sick within me. Would that he would leave me behind in this city of learning, that I might join the ranks of scholars, and gain, perchance, by my pen what I scarce think I shall ever do by my sword! Methinks I was not born for such strenuous days as these."
"Would that I might be in the very thickest of the strife!" cried the lad, Edmund de Kynaston, his eyes dilating with a quick flash. "Methinks were I as others are, I would ever seek out the post of greatest peril, and stand in the foremost of the fight! Yet here am I, a useless log, scarce able to put one foot before the other. Such is the caprice of Dame Fortune!"
Alys rose from her frame, and crossed the room with light steps; she bent over her brother and gently smoothed away the hair from his brow.
"But thou art happy here with me, my brother?" she questioned pleadingly; "and when our father has time to see to the matter, we will study together, and grow learned and wise, even if we cannot go forth into the great world of battles without."
Edmund's smile was bright and eager as he imprisoned his sister's fingers in his own.
"Verily, we will do great things together in one fashion or another, sweet sister. I am always happy with thee at my side; yet I would that I could serve and tend thee, instead of receiving all the service at thy hands."
"I love to tend thee, brother mine," whispered Alys, as she bent over him and kissed his brow, and then tripped lightly back to her frame; for idleness was not permitted to the daughter of the Constable, and her mother required a daily portion of work from those skilful fingers.
This conversation took place in a pleasant upper chamber belonging to one of the many solid buildings enclosed within the walls of what was known as the Castle of Oxford.
There were several buildings within these circling walls—the College and Chapel of St. George, the Constable's quarters, and certain strong towers that were often used as prisons for unruly clerks and scholars. The Chancellor himself, although exercising a wide jurisdiction over the liberties of the members of the University, had no place of durance in which to place offenders, so that they were most often brought into the Castle and lodged there.
Sir Humphrey de Kynaston had not occupied the position of Constable very long, and so far he and the Chancellor had been excellent friends. They were both anxious to maintain the peace of the city, and were agreed to act in concert, instead of in rivalry, as had sometimes been the case between former Governors of Castle and University.
Sir Humphrey had only two children, a boy and a girl. Edmund had always been famed for his daring spirit and sunny temperament, and during his boyhood had been the pride and joy of his father's heart. Two years ago, however, he had received what appeared at the time to be a fatal injury during a boar-hunt in the New Forest, where he was staying with his mother's kinsfolks. The boar had turned to bay, and when some daring huntsman, together with Edmund's uncle, approached to try to give the final blow, the maddened creature sprang at them with such fury that both fell before him, and all thought their lives must pay the forfeit. But Edmund had seized a strong spear, and had made so sudden and fierce a rush that the beast was borne back for a moment, giving the two time to gain their feet once again. When they turned to slay their quarry, however, they found that he had inflicted a terrible wound upon Edmund with his great tusks. The boy was carried home in what was thought to be a dying state, and although his fine constitution had enabled him to pull through the long and dangerous illness, he had remained permanently crippled, unable to do more than trail himself painfully from room to room, or occasionally in warm weather to take a little very gentle exercise on the back of a quiet and well-trained horse, which would be content to pace sedately without prancing or curvetting.
Since that day it had been the chiefest happiness of Alys's life to wait upon her brother, soothe his hours of suffering, which were many, and share with him every simple joy and interest in life. Brother and sister had both been greatly pleased to join their father at the Castle here, and were ready to take a keen interest in all that went on at this seat of learning.
Edmund had been fired with the desire to excel now in learning as he had once excelled in feats of skill and strength. Their father had promised to find for them a tutor with whom they might study; and perhaps some youthful clerk to read to them out of such books as were then obtainable, that they might progress the faster in their studies.
But the present excitement occasioned by the Parliament assembled in the city had for the moment driven everything else out of the minds of those dwelling there, and Sir Humphrey had his hands and mind and house alike full.
The Parliament was sitting in the vacated quarters of the Black Friars in the Jewry. The largest of their buildings there had been hastily fitted up as a Council chamber; and the King and Barons met in daily conclave to discuss the situation, and agree upon some definite plan for the future.
The great De Montfort, who had been accustomed to rough it under all sorts of climates and in all sorts of conditions, would have been content to take up his own quarters at the inn in the town, had not Sir Humphrey insisted that he and his sons should be his guests at the Castle, leaving only the retinue at Dagville's Inn.
Thus it came about that, whilst the Earl and his two elder sons went daily to the meeting-place in the Jewry, the younger sons, Guy and Amalric, were left pretty much to their own devices, and spent their time for the most part either in wandering about the town and learning what they could as to the life there, or with the fair Alys and her brother in this pleasant, airy chamber.
The room was itself very attractive, for it was adorned with tapestry hangings which Alys's skilful fingers had wrought, and upon the stone floor lay the dressed skins of many a wild creature of the woods which Edmund had slain ere he had been laid low. Several stuffed birds and small beasts were to be seen set upon the brackets which Edmund carved in his hours of ease; and a tame falcon upon a perch occupied a little recess, and when released from his chain would fly about the room or perch affectionately on the hand of the master he loved. A great wolf-hound also was generally to be found lying at full length beside his master's couch. He had been Edmund's most faithful follower almost from boyhood, and was now growing old and a little infirm. Therefore his master's ways were little trouble to him, and save when he paced backwards and forwards in the courtyard with his mistress, he seldom cared to move from beside Edmund's couch.
Both Guy and Amalric de Montfort had grown fond of this upper chamber and its inhabitants, and came and went almost at will. Edmund had been keenly interested in all that these lads could tell him of their father's campaigns, and of the battle for constitutional liberty which he was so strenuously fighting now. Edmund knew that his own father was strongly in sympathy with the action that the Barons were now taking, and he listened eagerly to any items of information which he could pick up. But whilst the Parliament was sitting, little was said as to the course the deliberations were taking. There were whispers of stormy scenes, and of outbreaks of fierce and rather impotent anger on the part of the King; but for the most part a discreet silence was observed as to the probable result of the deliberations, though from the King's increasing irritability and fits of gloom it was surmised that he was not best pleased at the course things were taking.
The talk between the De Kynastons and Amalric de Montfort on this particular day was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Guy, who came in eagerly and joyously.
"I have a plan!" he cried. "I was wandering down hard by the Grandpont, when I saw a man in a right comely wherry, and he was pleased to hire it to me for a few pence. He says that it will carry a party well, and that if we lift it over the fall by Iffley Church, we can navigate a great stretch of the river, or if we better like we can go up against the current. Methought thou mightest well go with us, Edmund, for thou canst ride down to the river-bank, and then the boat will carry thee bravely, and we can take with us that bear's skin and make a couch for thee along the bottom."
Alys clapped her hands in delight at the thought. Somehow it had never occurred to them that the river might open up a new source of amusement for the invalid.
Quickly was the matter settled. Dame Kynaston, though rather a martinet in her household, as a managing housewife in those days had some need to be, was a loving mother also, and was only too glad to forward any plan whereby Edmund might benefit in health or spirits. Very soon the little party was on its way to the wherry lying by the bridge, eagerly planning the day's pleasuring, and finally settling that the navigation of the Cherwell would afford the most amusement and novelty.
"What is yon tower hard by the bridge?" asked Amalric of Alys, by whose side he was walking, a little in advance of the other pair.
"They call it Friar Bacon's study," answered Alys. "You may have heard of Friar Bacon. They say he was a great and a good man, and he joined himself to the Minorite Friars. But he grew too learned in what men call the black arts—in astrology and astronomy; and he built himself yon tower, that he might the better study the stars. So men got frightened at him and his learning, and he was banished the city and the realm. I have heard that he went to Paris, but I know not if that be true. They say that if a greater or more learned man should ever pass beneath the tower, its walls will crumble away, and it will fall to the ground. But it has not fallen yet!"
"I have heard of Friar Bacon and his learning in very truth," answered Amalric. "I call it shame that such a man should be banished the realm. I believe not that any learning hurts the soul of man, so it be gotten in the fear of God and the love of man."
Just at that moment a youth in the dress of a clerk turned a corner, and came face to face with Alys and her companion.
"Hugh!" cried Amalric joyfully. "If I have not been looking for another sight of thy face ever since we first entered the city, and I caught sight of thee in the crowd! Now this is well met, for we are bent on a days pleasuring on the water, and I am very sure that fair Mistress Alys will give me leave to ask thee to join our company."
Alys bent her head with ready assent. She was interested in all clerks; and the pleasant, open face of Hugh was attractive, besides the guarantee of his being known to Amalric. Guy also gave him a friendly greeting when the palfrey was led down to the waters edge, and before long the whole party had embarked, and were rowing gently down the stream to the point where the Cherwell made its junction with the Isis.
Hugh was called upon to tell his experiences as a scholar in the city, and was nothing loth to do so. Amalric listened with all his ears, and Edmund likewise. The youngest son of the warlike Earl of Leicester had more of the scholar than the soldier in his composition, and was already deeply bitten by the idea of remaining in Oxford and becoming a scholar there. It was not likely that his father would oppose the wish if strongly urged, and Amalric thus lost no opportunity of obtaining information as to the life there.
Edmund lay along the bottom of the boat, delighted with the easy motion, with the tree-crowned banks between which they were gliding, and the beauty of all they saw in wood and meadow. The waterway was so narrow in places that Alys could hardly believe they could force their way through it at all; but this they always managed to do, and pushed on and on until the sound of falling water told them that they would find an obstruction to further progress.
"Never mind," cried Hugh; "it is but the fall. We must disembark and carry the boat a few yards, and launch it afresh on the upper stream. There we shall have a wider highway and more water. Ha! and here, as happy chance wills it, are two good friends who will lend us a hand."
They had come in sight of the fall now, and also of a little canoe drawn up near to the bank, in which a pair of lads were seated, one diligently fishing in the pool, the other poring over a small volume which he held in his hands; and so intent did this latter appear over his task, that it was not until hailed in a loud voice by Hugh that he lifted his face.
When he did so, however, Alys gave a little cry, and bending over Edmund, she said eagerly,—
"Brother, yonder is the clerk who saved me when the palfrey went nigh to hurting me that day in the spring-tide. I am sure it is he; and it was he I saw in the meadows the day when the Barons made their entry into the city. Prithee may I speak to him? he seems to be known to Master Hugh."
"I will speak him first," answered Edmund; and then with a good deal of confusion of tongues the boat was drawn ashore, and all the party disembarked—Alys giving her shoulder to her brother to lean upon whilst the wherry was carried to the upper waters close above the fall.
"May I not help you, sir?" asked Leofric, coming up with a shy smile in his eyes. The other four youths—for Jack had taken his part there—were carrying the boat, and Leofric had been sent back to help Edmund up the narrow path. "I am very strong, and the way is not long. Lean upon me, and I will take you there gently."
"Thanks, good lad," answered Edmund, availing himself of the strong arm extended to him. "I was wanting a word with thee, for my sister here tells me that thou didst do her a good turn one day some while back, when her horse took fright, and might have thrown her from its back."
Leofric blushed and disclaimed, declaring that Jack had done more than himself; but Alys was of another opinion, and both brother and sister fell into conversation with their new acquaintance, whose face, as usual, won him favour at once.
"Thou wert reading when we came up," said Edmund; "art thou a scholar of this place?"
Leofric told of himself, who and what he was, and admitted that he was able to read Latin fairly well and understand it too, and that Brother Angelus had given him several books to study, to help him to a greater proficiency.
"These are the 'Sentences' they think so much of in the schools," said Leofric, drawing the little volume from his pouch; "but Brother Angelus prefers to go straight to the Scriptures themselves for learning, and loves not the Sentences very greatly. But it is well for a clerk to be versed in them. I have begun to study the philosophy of Aristotle too, for all men talk much of him now, though some say that his learning is dangerous to the soul. How-beit all men are eager to learn it."
"And where dost thou dwell?" asked Edmund eagerly; "and if thou be poor, as thou sayest, how dost thou live?"
"Our wants are but few, and we live in a little turret on the walls, where we have made a chamber for ourselves, no man forbidding us. My comrade, Jack Dugdale, fishes, and snares rabbits in the woods; and I gain small sums of money by painting on vellum, which I learned from the good monks of St. Michael. We have enough for our needs, and can pay our fees to the masters we seek after. Your father, sir, gave us money that day of which you spoke. It was very welcome to us then, for we had but come into the city, and scarce knew then how we should live."
By this time the boat was launched again, and the whole party assisted Edmund to regain his former position along the bottom. Guy de Montfort had taken an immense fancy to the canoe he had seen, and nothing would serve him but that Jack should bring it up and give him a lesson in the management of the craft. When he heard how the two lads had travelled in it from a region not so very far from his own home of Kenilworth, he was very much astonished; and getting Leofric to take his place in the boat, he and Jack set off together up the stream, and were soon lost to sight of the others.
This left Amalric, Hugh, and Leofric to navigate the larger boat, and to talk together of those matters which interested them and Edmund so much. It was natural that Amalric and Hugh should consort together, having been friends and comrades in old days. This left Leofric free to answer the many eager questions put to him by Edmund, whilst Alys sat by with eager face and shining eyes, not losing a word of the conversation, and sometimes taking a share in it herself.
"I can get books," said Edmund, "but they be nearly all in Latin. I can neither read them easily nor understand what I read. I want to find somebody who will come and read with me; for soon my eyes grow weary, and my back aches if I try to hold up the volume myself, and I am wellnigh ashamed to ask my father for a tutor, when perchance I might so soon get aweary of his teachings. What I want rather, to begin with, is a tutor for perhaps a few hours in the week, and for the rest a youth like myself, himself a clerk, but with more learning than I, who would come and read to me and with me till I could get the mastery myself over the Latin tongue."
Leofric's eyes were bright with interest. He was too modest to speak the words that trembled on his tongue; but the thought of having access to books was strangely tempting, and there was something about Edmund and Alys which attracted him greatly. The gentle refinement of their manners and speech was in such pleasing contrast to thebrusquerieof the bulk of his associates. When Alys said timidly,—
"Would Leofric Wyvill come to us if our father approved?" his face burned with gratification and joy at being thus singled out; and Edmund looked at him, saying,—
"I had scarce liked to ask, in case thou mightest have other work more important; but I trow my father would approve, and would pay thee for thy time and labour."
"O sir, to have books to read would be payment enough!" cried Leofric eagerly. "I have longed to see more, but there be all too few in the city for the needs of scholars and clerks; and but for the kindness of Brother Angelus, I should never have aught to study save what I can write down of the things we hear. I am but a learner myself; but if I can help you, it will make me glad and proud to do so. I could at least strive to remember all I hear, and repeat it to you. That is what I have to do for Jack, who is not used to learning. He forgets all too soon, and then we go over each lecture together, and I write upon the walls such things as we most desire to remember, and there they are to remind us if we want information another day."
Before the boat and its occupants made their way back to the town, Amalric de Montfort had made up his mind to ask of his father grace to remain behind and enter himself as a clerk in some Hall at Oxford; whilst Edmund had fully resolved to beg his parents to engage Leofric Wyvill to come to him several times in the week, to read with him, and instruct him in brother-like fashion in those things which he was learning for himself.
"Have a care how thou dost answer me, Mistress; I am not one who brooks trifling!"
"I have never trifled with thee, Roger de Horn," answered the maiden addressed, speaking firmly though gently. "Methinks thou dost forget thyself in speaking such words to me to-day."
The dark face of Roger was deeply flushed. He looked as though he had been drinking—as indeed was probably the case; at any rate he was very angry, and his words came hissing from between his teeth in a fashion not pleasant to hear.
"Not trifled with me, quotha? Canst thou look me in the face and say that?—whilst the love-token that thou didst give me lies now upon my heart!"
The face of Linda Balzani flushed deeply, partly with anger, partly with maiden modesty. She drew herself away with a gesture full of simple dignity.
"I have given thee no token," she said. "If thou hast received aught, it must be from the hands of my sister. I know nothing of any token."
"What!" cried the young man, the flush mounting even to his brow, "wilt thou deny the kiss that thou didst bestow upon me out in the greenwood on Midsummer Eve, and the token thou didst give me as proof of thy love?"
Linda drew away yet a little farther, and glanced round the room as though seeking some way of exit. The excitement in Rogers manner was unpleasant, and the claim he was making upon her was revolting. She had always disliked this braggart, even though treating him with civility as her brother's friend. Of late she had come to dislike him more and more, and to shrink from his approach as one shrinks from the proximity of some noisome reptile. She had fancied that her sister had of late been seeking the society of Roger with pleasure; which thing rather perplexed her, because in private Lotta never masked her dislike and contempt for the bully and swaggerer, and of late had been more severe in her strictures than ever.
The very thought of what had taken place under the greenwood trees upon Midsummer Eve brought a flush to Linda's brow and a throb to her heart. Was it not then and there that Hugh le Barbier had breathed into her ears some words so full of music that the echo of them had never left them since? She had scarce dared to think what those words might imply. She was content to dream rather than to think, and she had lived in dreamland almost ever since. To be spoken to thus was unendurable, and the spirit of the maiden was roused.
"Methinks, sir, that thou hast been drinking, and hast overheated thy blood," she said, rising as if to leave the room. "I spoke scarce three words to thee upon that Midsummer Eve. I have done nothing and said nothing to warrant the claim thou dost make. Prithee let me go; I have had enough of this."
But Roger planted himself before the door, his sombre eyes glowing with passion.
"Beshrew me if thou be not a false and fickle jade! But I will brook none such answer from thee. See here—behold the token! Wilt thou dare to look upon it and tell me it was never thine?"
Linda looked, and started slightly. It was indeed a little trinket that had belonged to her for years. As a child she used to carry it as a charm about her neck; but latterly she had ceased to do this. She had not even missed it from the box where she kept it together with a few more little keepsakes and girlish treasures. How it had come into the possession of Roger she could not imagine. He saw her start, and his eyes gleamed.
"So!—thou dost not dare to deny the witness of thine eyes!"
"The heart was once mine," answered Linda quietly, "but I have not seen it for many weeks. I never gave it thee. It must have fallen into the hands of another, and so have come to thine. Let me pass, sir; we have had something too much of this already."
"What!" he cried furiously, "thou dost own to the trinket, but dost deny the gift? Thinkest thou that I will endure to be flouted thus?"
"I flout thee not, sir; I do but speak sooth. I gave thee no trinket—I gave thee no kiss. I have never bestowed upon thee aught save that meed of friendship which my brother's friend has a right to look for."
He grasped her slim wrist in his strong hand. He brought his swarthy face and flashing eyes close to her shrinking face.
"Thou didst give me much more than that tillhecame amongst us—the upstart, the fine gentleman, the fop with the smooth speech and dainty dress! Thinkest thou I have not seen it all—how that thou dost seek to play us one against the other? But thou shalt never make a tool of me; I will have all or nothing! And I will wring the neck of any man who shall dare come betwixt me and my love!"
The last words were hissed rather than spoken, and so cruel and fierce was the aspect of the speaker that Linda tore herself suddenly away and uttered a shriek of fear.
The next moment the door was quickly opened from without, and Joanna Seaton appeared, with Lotta a little behind her, the latter wearing rather a strange look upon her handsome, haughty face, whilst her gaze glanced rapidly from one to the other of the occupants of the room.
"Is aught amiss?" asked Joanna quickly; "methought that I heard a call."
Roger turned upon his heel with one sinister glance over his shoulder, and made as if to depart.
"I will finish what I have to say another day," he observed, "when thou art in a better frame for listening, fair Mistress Linda, and when thou hast something refreshed thy memory."
"What does he mean?" asked Joanna, as Roger clanked down the stairs and Linda sank trembling upon a couch.
"He is a bad man—I fear and I hate him!" she cried in panting breaths.—"Lotta, what hast thou done that he should say such things to me? It must have been thy doing! He has the agate heart that once I wore. None can have given him that but thou. And thou must have given him other tender tokens too, for he speaks of things of which I know naught. Sister, thou doest not well to show treachery to thine own flesh and blood!"
Lotta tossed her handsome head, and a flush crept into her dusky cheek. Of late the likeness between the sisters had grown somewhat less. A softness and subtile charm had crept over Linda, whilst Lotta, though handsome as ever, had seemed to grow harder and more defiant in her proud beauty. Mistakes between the pair were of less frequent occurrence, and although it would be easy for Lotta to personate her sister of set purpose, the difference between them was becoming more clearly marked day by day.
"What now, Linda?" quoth the other; "thou art always fancying some new thing. I have scant patience with thy whims. What do I know of thy trinkets, or of thy lovers? Thou art like a skilful bowman, who has a second string to his bow ready to hand. But when thou dost find that such a game has its perils, and that thou art playing with edge tools, prithee do not seek to drag me in to help thee out of the slough. It is a paltry trick, and unworthy of thy name."
"But Lotta—"
"Peace, child! I will hear no more. I am sick to death of thee and thy lovers! Let me alone. Manage thine own affairs as thou wilt, but no word shalt thou have from me. Go, and do as thou dost choose. Play them one against the other, and see what comes of it. I will have nothing to do with the matter; it is no concern of mine."
And Lotta swept out of the room with her whirlwind air of displeasure, whilst Linda looked in perplexity at Joanna, and asked piteously,—
"Why is she so changed to me?"
"I fear me it is jealousy," answered Joanna, who had seen a great deal during the weeks that the twins had been with them. Joanna had been friendly with both from childhood, but had always liked Linda best. Now she began to find that she loved Linda and rather disliked and feared Lotta. There was something wild and untamed in her nature, and her conduct towards her sister often provoked the indignation of the onlooker.
"Jealousy!" repeated Linda, with rising colour.
"Ay, jealousy of what she sees betwixt thee and Hugh le Barbier," answered Joanna. "Hast thou not seen that Lotta has gone nigh to lose her heart to yon courtly youth? I have observed it these many weeks, and once I did think that he might return her regard; but it seems plain now that his fancy has been elsewhere fixed, and poor Lotta has to bear the pain of seeing it too."
Linda's cheeks were scarlet; she faltered as she spoke.
"Methought Lotta was pleased by the notice of Roger. I had thought that her fancy went that way."
"Perchance it did—till Hugh appeared. But there can be no comparison betwixt the two, and Lotta has ambition. She would fain link her lot in life with one who could raise her higher in the world. And Hugh has prospects of becoming, if not a knight at least an esquire to some noble lord, in whose service he may rise high. It may be ambition rather than love; but be it what it may, it is bitter to her to see herself passed by for another. I think perhaps it is the more bitter because that other is her sister, and so like to her in outward show that she cannot understand why she holds not an equal place in his heart."
Linda's face was all aglow. It could not but be sweet to feel that others had read the secret of Hugh's attachment to herself; but, again, it pained her that her sister should regard her as a rival, and still more that she should stoop to subterfuge, and seek to embroil her with so dangerous a man as Roger de Horn.
"What can it profit her to behave thus?" she asked of Joanna, when she had told the whole story; "why should she seek to anger him thus against me? It is cruel to me, and also to him, if indeed a creature so full of ferocity has any room in his heart for the gentle passion of love."
"Love is not always a gentle passion with natures such as his," answered Joanna shrewdly; "and methinks I see what Lotta seeks to accomplish. She knows that thou hast a timid nature as compared with her own; and she thinks, possibly, that Roger will terrify thee into compliance with his wishes, or that doubt and distrust may be awakened in the heart of Hugh by what he hears and sees; in which case, perchance, he might turn to her for comfort. Such are the unworthy wiles of a jealous nature. But it is playing a dangerous game to trifle with a creature so untamed and savage as Roger. There is no knowing to what excesses his anger may lead him."
Linda shuddered slightly at the memory of the past scene.
"Pray Heaven he hurt not Hugh!" she murmured. "He said he would wring the neck of any man that dared to come betwixt him and his purpose!"
"That is bad," said Joanna, looking grave. "I will speak to my brother and also to Gilbert Barbeck, and tell them to give an eye to Hugh should any riot arise in the city, as is like."
"Why is it like?" asked Linda anxiously.
"Marry, because of all the excitements in the city during the sitting of this 'Mad Parliament,' as the King's friends have dubbed it. It has been hard work to keep down rioting all these weeks; and men say they are certain there will be some great collision ere long—we are never safe from such in this place, as thou dost know. The marvel is that none such took place whilst the Parliament was sitting. Had it not been for the presence within the walls of so many armed men under discipline, I verily believe it would have done so."
There was much truth in the words of this citizen maiden. Great had been the excitement ruling in Oxford during the days of the sitting of the Great Council or Parliament, and great was the joy and triumph of the supporters of De Montfort and the Barons at the result thereof.
This is not the place in which to give a history of those Provisions of Oxford of which so much was heard during the following years of Henry's reign. Suffice it to say that by those provisions the Barons obtained for themselves all that they desired, and for the time being the King was little more than a puppet in their hands. They had no desire to make new laws—that had never been a part of their purpose; what they aimed at was to rid themselves of illegal exaction, of feudal service, to obtain justice for themselves and others, and to rid the country of the multitudes of foreign favourites who were eating up the substance of the land, whilst its own sons had perforce to stand by empty-handed. "England for the English" was in effect their cry; and their position having been granted, steps were immediately taken to ensure the carrying out of the measure agreed upon.
Those who desire information will find in every history book how this was done, and will read about the twenty-four nobles and men of high estate chosen in equal numbers by King and Barons—the Council of Fifteen, the Twelve Commissioners of Parliament, and the Twenty-four Commissioners of the Aid.
All this belongs to the region of history rather than to that of fiction; but the result of this Parliament was that the King's power and that of his foreign favourites was, for the time being, broken, and a wave of enthusiasm and delight swept over the land, causing an outbreak of excitement and triumph which was quite enough to give anxiety to the authorities in such a turbulent city as that of Oxford.
The great Earl of Leicester was for the moment the idol of the University. Whenever he appeared abroad he was hailed with shouts and cheers. His strong personality and the fascination of his manner won upon the clerks and scholars, till they would have been ready to lay down their lives in his service. He received the adulation of the crowd with a kindly dignity that won all hearts, and when it was found that he was about to leave one of his sons behind him to study the Arts in Oxford, public delight knew no bounds, and Amalric was almost as much lauded and praised as his great father.
But, of course, there was never unanimity in this turbulent body of undisciplined youths. The very fact that the presence of De Montfort aroused in the breasts of many such unbounded enthusiasm, tended, as if from pure contrariety, to inflame others against him—to throw them into the arms of the party who sided with the King, and called De Montfort and his friends sacrilegious usurpers of the power and authority which had been vested by God in His anointed servant.
The monks were for the most part ardent supporters of the monarchy, whilst the friars unhesitatingly declared that the kingly power could be abused, and that, when this was the case, God Himself raised up men of right and might to turn the King's heart from his errors, and to be champions of truth and freedom. Scripture precedents could, of course, be quoted on both sides, and controversy often raged fiercely. In an age and in a place where disputation and argument was as the elixir of life, and where a man's fitness for promotion in the University depended much on his oratorical powers and his ability to hold his own in some wordy warfare, it was likely enough that such burning questions as these should be discussed by high and low alike, with every weapon from the armoury of logic and rhetoric.
Although by this time the Parliament had broken up, the Barons had taken themselves away, whilst the King had retired for a short time to Woodstock, and had then left that part of the country, controversy and excitement still ran high. It seemed as if some sort of explosion must take place ere the atmosphere was cleared, and the authorities were very watchful to try to put down with a strong hand anything like street rioting or disturbance.
But the spirit of the time was too strong for them. The students themselves seemed weary of good behaviour. How it originated none exactly knew, but soon there was no hiding the fact that a great jousting was to take place shortly in the meadow of Beaumont, where the various nationalities should try their prowess in feats of skill and strength, and hold high revelling there such as was due to them upon the feast of Holy Trinity; only that the presence of the King and Barons in Oxford at that date had caused an adjournment of the holiday.
At that time the holidays of the Church were nearly all that students could claim. There was no regular break in the lectures as now, and men remained for years at Oxford without thinking of visiting their homes. But they regarded these Church holidays somewhat jealously, and they, together with the Fair of St. Frideswyde, formed the chief interludes in the monotony of University life.
"Tito," said Roger de Horn, taking his friend by the arm and leading him down a dark alley where none might see or hear them, "I have discovered all too much. Both your sisters love yon upstart Hugh, and Linda will have none of my wooing. I knew how it would be directly he crossed my path. He has been mine enemy from first to last. He will undo us if we undo not him."
Tito's eyes gleamed fiercely in the darkness.
"Methought thou hadst some token from Linda, and that all was well," he said.
"So had I; but now she flouts me, and denies it. She says that Lotta must have given it me. I could have sworn it was Linda; yet in the darkness it is no easy matter to tell one from the other."
"I would not wed Lotta were I in thy place," said Tito, with a short laugh. "She would run a stiletto through thy heart if thou didst anger her, as soon as kiss thee if thou didst please her. She is a veritable shrew when she is angered. Linda is a different sort. A man may lead her anywhere through her affections, or terrify her into submission. It matters little which, so we may win her to our purpose. I had thought that all was going well."
"And so did I, till I spoke with her a week since, and found her as adamant. I thought she was mine own till then; now I know that another has her heart."
Tito gave a short laugh that was somewhat like a snarl.
"We must rid ourselves of that other then."
"So said I," returned Roger promptly. "So told I my pretty fond love—"
"Then thou wert a fool for thy pains," interrupted Tito roughly. "If the man be warned, we shall have trouble with him."
"If the maid be frightened, she may come to her senses," retorted Roger.
Tito shook his head slightly.
"Thou dost not know what our southern women are made of," he answered. "They love with a different love from your cold northerners, and yet the northern blood from their mother has given to both a prudence which may be dangerous to our plan."
Roger muttered something that sounded like a curse.
"We will be a match yet for their prudence and their caution. Men have vanished from Oxford ere now, or have been found dead in the streets, and none have been the wiser for it. The Chancellor shakes his head; the other clerks clamour against the townsfolk, and perhaps a citizen is slain in reprisal; and then the matter is forgotten. What has been before can be again. Her lover dead, and pretty Linda will soon forget her fancy; or, mourning for him, she will be the more easily persuaded—and once we are sure of her, we can commence our plan, and wealth and renown will flow in upon us. We have all in readiness save the high priestess of the mysteries!"
"Hist, hist! have a care what thou dost say!" whispered Tito, in some alarm. "There is peril as well as profit in our plan. The black art finds scant favour in the eyes of the Church. Men have perished at the stake ere now for dabbling even as deeply as we have done. Have a care what thou dost speak in the open streets."
"Tush! none can hear," quoth Roger, with some contempt; "but as to the other matter, we must watch our chance and use it well. Men talk of the joustings which will soon take place if this horrid rain will but cease, which is rotting the corn in the fields, and bringing famine to our doors. When man meets man in full tilt in the jousting-field, it cannot be a very hard matter to run a lance into his eye, or even to pierce his heart. Moreover there be other chances, if eyes are kept open. Leave yon upstart to me, and I will soon find a way of wiping off my score against him. I have played that game before now. I shall play it the more skilfully for the practice I have had."
"Well, well, do as thou wilt; only be cautious, for we want none of the Chancellor's prison, and he watches over the lives and liberties of the clerks with jealous eye. Well enow should I like to see him cleared out of the path. I have no love for him, and he stands in the way of our cherished plan."
"He shall not stand so long," muttered Roger between his teeth; and then the two men moved away along the dark and unsavoury lane, whilst a head, which had been thrust out awhile ago from an upper window, was now drawn in, and Linda Balzani pressed her two hands to her throbbing brow.
"What devils men can be!" she whispered. "What devilry is this that they are desiring to practise, and in which I am to be their tool? Heaven send me strength and courage to thwart their evil schemes! O Hugh, my love, my love! they shall not hurt thee if I can save thee. Twice warned is thrice armed. I will save thee from their cruel malice, or I will die with thee!"