"Leofric, Leofric! hast thou heard the news?
"I have heard the bell of St. Martin's," answered Leofric, scarce raising his head from his task; "I trow the new Chancellor will have cause for displeasure and stern judgment. This is the third time there has been a disturbance since he arrived within the city."
"But listen, Leofric, there is worse than that. They say that our good friend Hugh has been dragged off to prison for the murder of a citizen, and the whole place is clamouring for his blood—all the citizens, that is!"
Leofric was aroused now, and started up in excitement.
"What—what!—Hugh charged with such a crime? Impossible! It must be some mistake."
"Or some foul play," said Jack significantly. "I could not get at him for the press, but I got near enough to hear them say he declared the murder had been done by a man in a monkish habit, lurking in a doorway, who had vanished the moment the crime was committed, leaving the murdered man lying at Hugh's feet with the stiletto in his heart. But not one word of this story will the crowd believe, and Hugh has been haled off to the Bocardo prison!"
Hardly had Jack finished these words before Gilbert, together with Hal Seaton, hurried in full of the same news.
"It is some vile plot against Hugh!" cried Gilbert. "Have we not suspected for long that his enemies have returned, and are plotting evil against him? For my part, I have long believed that Tito Balzani has returned, and is masquerading beneath the cowl of a monk; and that yon evil-faced, bearded braggart whom men are beginning to know and note in the streets, is none other than our old friend Roger de Horn—much changed by his three years' absence, and by staining his face and growing his beard. If those two are in league together again, be sure they are after no good."
"And it behoves us to do something, and that something quickly," said Hal, "if Hugh is to be saved from disgrace, if not from imprisonment or worse. For upon the day after to-morrow the new Chancellor is to hold a court, and all turbulent citizens and clerks are to be brought before him. I trow if Hugh is charged before him with murder in the open streets—and there be some ready to swear to seeing him strike the blow—it may go hard with him. For all men say that the Chancellor is an upright and just man, and will not favour the clerks more than those of the city; that he has spoken stern things as to the riots so frequent here, and has resolved to put them down with a strong hand."
Leofric stood lost in thought, revolving many things in his mind. The original cause of jealousy between Hugh and Roger had been Linda Balzani. So long as she played no part in Hugh's life it had been undisturbed; but directly he recommenced his wooing, he began to feel himself watched and spied upon, and now this evil thing, carefully and craftily plotted, had happened to him. Did it not all point to some jealousy with regard to the beautiful Linda? They had contrived that her lover should be helpless to fly to her aid; did not that show that some evil was purposed against the maid herself?
Quickly and anxiously did he communicate these thoughts to his companions, and as he spoke Jack smote his hand against his brow and cried excitedly,—
"Now I think of it, I heard somewhat but just now which goes to substantiate thy suspicions, Leofric. I was wedged into the crowd, and seeking to press up towards Hugh, when that black-browed fellow whom we all believe to be Roger de Horn came elbowing his way out, and went up to the side of some tall fellow, whose face I did not see in the press, albeit we were close together; and to him he spoke in a hissing sort of whisper, every word of which I heard. 'I have the signet-ring,' he said; 'now we can get her into our power easily. She will go anywhere at sight of that!'"
Leofric and the others uttered in low tones exclamations of wrath, whilst Jack continued quickly,—
"I did not heed the words at the time—I did not think they concerned our friend Hugh; but verily I believe that it was his ring they plundered, and that they mean to use it for some evil scheme of their own."
"Which we must frustrate!" cried Leofric excitedly; "we must to the boat as soon as the day dies, and we must be at Eynsham with the first light of dawn. They will not appear there before daylight to-morrow. They will not desire to raise suspicion by appearing at untoward hours. We shall be before them, and I trust we may circumvent them yet; but we shall have a pair of wily foes to deal with."
Oxford was in a ferment of excitement. It was known all over the place that Hugh le Barbier had escaped from the Bocardo prison, but had surrendered himself to the Constable of the Castle, claiming his protection against false imprisonment, and desiring to be brought before the new Chancellor to tell his tale and be confronted with those who dared to accuse him of the murder of an unoffending citizen.
It was also said that the Constable was determined to make the most searching inquiry into the matter, in which the Chancellor would aid him. Both were greatly disturbed by the state of chronic feud that was growing up betwixt citizens and clerks, and were resolved to put down with a high hand this perpetual rioting. The court was to sit in the largest building which could be found in all Oxford, and the citizens and clerks were to attend in a mass, and hear what the Chancellor and the Constable had to say to them. All the ringleaders in the recent riots would receive some sort of trial and punishment, and the case of Hugh le Barbier would be thoroughly investigated.
There was a feeling of considerable excitement throughout the town, and the ways to the place of judgment were thronged to suffocation upon the appointed day.
Of course it was impossible for all the city to throng into one building; but a very large concourse was admitted there, whilst the streets and open places in the vicinity of the Castle were thronged with eager faces, and the space within the Castle walls was one sea of heads.
Within the great hall were seats for Chancellor and Constable, and in a place set apart stood a number of citizens and clerks who had been specially called upon to attend. These were stationed somewhat apart from the rest of the crowd, and upon the faces of some could be read a certain anxiety and apprehension.
For the most turbulent spirits within the city had been gathered together and summoned to answer for their conduct. It had been whispered that the new Chancellor intended to make a protest against the habit of carrying arms which prevailed almost universally at that time amidst persons of all classes. It was this habit which led to such constant bloody quarrels. Men in the heat of argument would suddenly break into abuse and invective, and then it was but a short step to blows, which if from fists would matter little, but when struck with sharp, shining blades became quite another matter. Peaceable citizens declared that they were forced to carry arms for self-defence amid the hordes of savage youths who infested their streets, calling themselves clerks and scholars. But if the more turbulent of these could be denied the use of arms, then they would willingly consider laying down theirs.
These and such like things were passing from mouth to mouth whilst the expectant crowd waited for the judges to appear, and gazed curiously upon Hugh le Barbier, who occupied a seat by himself near to the daïs of the Chancellor and the Constable. His face looked somewhat anxious, and he kept searching the crowd with his eyes, as though looking for faces which he had expected to see, but had missed. It was only upon the past night that he had escaped from the Bocardo prison, and speculation was rife as to how the matter had been managed.
A stir and a rustle and a surging movement through the crowd showed that the judges were coming at last, and every face was turned towards them, and every eye fastened upon them as they took their appointed places amid a deep silence.
The aspect of Sir Humphrey was familiar enough to all; but many had scarcely set eyes as yet upon the new Chancellor, and these fixed their regards steadfastly upon him, the guilty and rebellious clerks in particular being full of anxiety to learn what they could of the temper of this new dignitary, in whose hands so much power lay.
He was attended by the Proctors and a number of the Doctors and Masters in their robes, and he wore his own state robes of office. Sir Humphrey was accompanied by some knights and gentlemen of his household, and the face of Amalric de Montfort could be distinguished amongst these, though the young man detached himself from the group round the chairs of state and placed himself near to Hugh le Barbier, who greeted him with a smile.
The Constable spoke first. He addressed himself mainly to the citizens, who were regarded as being under his control. He rebuked them for their readiness to fight—for their impatience and irritability with the clerks and scholars, who, when all was said and done, were a source of profit to them and of prosperity to their town. Instead of setting them a good example, they fell into all the wild ways of raw lads who might not have had opportunity to learn better. He chid them severely for this, and warned them that they were seriously in danger of the royal displeasure, and of infringements of their charter, if they continued in this turbulent manner to disturb the peace of the realm. They had felt this sort of displeasure many times before. Why could they not learn wisdom and discretion, and strive to put down these disgraceful scenes, instead of taking an eager share in them, and being no better than the youths to whom they ought to set an example?
After the Constable had spoken in this key, the new Chancellor arose. He had a dignified mien, a tall and commanding figure, and a face which at once inspired confidence and affection. He could look stern and kindly at the same time, and his sonorous voice, which penetrated right through the hall and into the open space without, was full of fire and earnestness; yet there was withal something so winning in his address that all eyes were riveted upon the speaker, and men held their breath to catch his every word.
He first spoke of the pleasure he had in this return to a city he had always loved, and of his promotion to a position in which he hoped he would prove of service to it. He spoke of changes for the better which he had noted, but quickly passed on to his deep regret at finding matters in nowise better betwixt the citizens and scholars, and betwixt the clerks themselves. He had been shocked and grieved to note the violence with which quarrels raged and blows were struck upon the smallest provocation, or upon no provocation at all. That was a thing which must and should be stopped. Valuable lives must not be sacrificed, nor lifelong injury inflicted, just to satisfy the wanton passions of the moment. Two men had been killed, and quite a dozen more injured, in street brawls during the brief space in which he had resided amongst them. Against such a state of things as this strong measures must be taken, and any delinquent convicted of deliberate crime must be punished with impartial justice, be he citizen or be he clerk. Their good Constable was of one mind with himself on that point.
Of the two men who had lost their lives, one had been killed in open fight in the streets, rather by accident of the riot than by deliberate intention. With that matter he would presently deal, as no person in particular was charged with the crime. But the other was altogether different. A peaceable citizen had been stabbed to the heart by an act of deliberate murderous intent. Hugh le Barbier had been found beside the murdered man, and had been charged with the deed, and even imprisoned somewhat informally in the Bocardo. But he was not only a gentleman and bachelor of good repute in the University; he also solemnly declared that he had seen the blow struck by another hand, and he had proved his fearlessness of inquiry in having refused to fly from the city (on being released in a romantic fashion by some maiden, whose name he asked not to divulge), and in having placed himself under protection of the Constable, demanding that he might be heard in his own defence, and that the whole matter might be diligently investigated. This inquiry was forthwith to be made, and any person who had any knowledge of the matter was to stand forth and bear witness.
A slight commotion now stirred through the crowd, and certain persons pressed forward to give their evidence. Several bore witness to having found Hugh standing beside the murdered citizen, but none would swear to having seen him strike the blow, though several declared that there was a man who had seen the act, though he had not been seen in Oxford since. His name was Robert Holker, and little was known about him. He attended lectures, but had put himself under no tutor. He was known to be a good fighter, and had been mixed up in every riot in the place since his arrival there. Somebody testified to the fact that he had boasted himself able to hold his own against twenty adversaries.
The face of the Chancellor darkened slightly as this fact was elicited by questions from the Constable. Then a slight sensation was caused in the hall by the sudden stepping forward of Lord Amalric de Montfort, who asked leave to bear a certain testimony about this very man. He declared that he was very decidedly of opinion that this man's name was not Robert Holker, but Roger de Horn, a famous braggart and bully in Oxford during past years, who had been forced to fly the place on account of a murderous outrage upon the person of Hugh le Barbier; and he believed that his evidence against him now was all part and parcel of some fresh plot against the life and liberty of a good man and a faithful comrade.
Amalric as he spoke laid his hand affectionately upon the shoulder of Hugh, and immediately public opinion began to turn in favour of the supposed criminal.
A buzz of talk instantly arose. The former episode, long since forgotten, of the Magician's Tower and Hugh's imprisonment there by Roger de Horn and Tito Balzani was at once on all lips. The Chancellor desired to learn some details of that occurrence, and Hugh stood up and told the tale, carrying the sympathy of all hearts with him. When he went on to speak of the occurrence of two days back, and of the stealthy cowled figure in the doorway who had struck the murderous blow, his words, instead of being heard with scorn and disbelief, carried the convictions of all, and a voice in the crowd called out,—
"If thine accuser is indeed Roger de Horn, then mark my word, the accomplice-monk is Tito Balzani!"
A strange, strangled cry went up from the crowd. Sudden conviction of the truth of these words seemed to come home to many hearts. Voices were heard declaring that Tito had been seen in the streets of late—or one singularly like him. Others declared that they had certainly seen Roger de Horn, only they had not remembered whose the familiar face was under its beard and bronze. Excitement rose high; there was a call for these two men. Constable and Chancellor alike desired that if in the city they should be brought before them, and there was hurrying to and fro of many persons.
Then suddenly and unexpectedly a cry arose,—
"They come, they come! they are being brought bound and fettered before the Court. That is Tito Balzani in the habit of the monk, and there is Roger's sullen face glowering upon all! Who are these that be bringing them in? Leofric the bachelor, and honest Jack Dugdale, together with Hal Seaton, our good citizen's son, and his future brother-in-law, Gilbert Barbeck. Now this is a marvellous strange hap; and there be others of the company too. Who are they? and whence come they? Marry, but it is a happy chance that brings them here to-day!"
The crowd, uttering these and many like words, gave way right and left before the group of persons who had solicited the right of entrance to the Chancellor's presence, as they had a matter to lay before him that brooked no delay.
The leader of the band was a fine-looking old countryman, and just behind him walked a buxom dame, probably his wife, who led by the hand a maiden with veiled face, whose form could not be distinguished through the folds of the habit she wore. Behind these, again, walked the two bound prisoners, whose faces expressed the extreme of terror. One of the pair was guarded by Leofric and Jack, the other by Hal and Gilbert. As this strange procession made its way into the hall the crowd set up a great cheering, and Hugh le Barbier gave a violent start and fixed his eyes eagerly upon the veiled figure of the girl. For although he had spoken nothing of this matter, being unwilling to speak Linda's name in the audience of the Court, he had been suffering a terrible anxiety all this while on her account, wondering what had befallen her, and if, indeed, some evil plot menaced her. Amalric had vowed to ride across to Eynsham and make inquiries there directly the Court rose, but he knew that it was of the first importance for him to stand forth as Hugh's friend and champion here; for as a son of the great Earl his popularity in Oxford was immense, and the Chancellor himself had a great friendship and reverence for De Montfort.
Chancellor and Constable alike looked with surprise upon the group now standing before them. The weather-beaten countryman had bared his head, and having made a clumsy reverence, he began to speak in short, abrupt sentences, as though unaccustomed to the task, yet stirred by unwonted indignation and stress of feeling to make the effort.
"My noble lords and masters," he said, "I have come hither to-day, hearing of the court to sit in judgment on the misdeeds of certain persons in this town, to bring before your worshipful notice the tale I have to tell. I am a man of Eynsham. I carry water for the monks, and keep the gate. My wife dwells with me hard by; and we have a niece entrusted to our care. This maid is virtuous and beauteous. She is the light of our eyes. In her youth, when little more than a child, she was loved by and she loved a student of this city called Hugh le Barbier. I see him standing yonder. They were separated by the machinations of evil men, and the maid went nigh to lose her life. We cared for her, and she grew sound again. A short while since her lover came back. He wooed her openly before our eyes. We loved him, and the maid loved him, and they plighted their troth anew. Some happy months fled by. Nothing disturbed her mind save a fancy, once whispered to my wife, that one of the monks was ever watching her. We chid her for this, knowing the monks to be godly men, and she spoke of the fancy no more. Yester morn there came in haste to us these four youths you see here, all of whom have been known to us from coming sometimes to Eynsham with Hugh le Barbier. They told us that a plot was on foot against him, and they feared against the maid likewise. They told us that they believed some men would come ere the day was over, and seek by a well-contrived plan to get possession of the maid, by showing the signet-ring of her lover. Not to make my tale too long, I will only tell what, with much debate, we decided on. These youths I concealed in the house, taking their boat well out of sight. The maiden kept close to the side of her aunt; and things went on as usual in the house.
"Shortly after noon come yon two miscreants, the one wearing the cowl and habit of the monk, even as you see him. They bring with them a pitiful tale. The maiden's lover is ill. He desires to be soothed by sight of her. He sends his ring by a faithful messenger and a holy father confessor, who will bring her to him. My wife appears to hesitate, and asks if she may not accompany her niece. Plainly they are prepared for this, and reply readily that she may do so. I know well what is meant by that complacency. They would wait until they had reached some place where the river runs smooth and swift, and then they would wind her clothes about her and throw her into the depths, and never a sign would be seen again of my good wife Bridget Marlow!"
A groan went round the crowd; the Chancellor's face grew stern, those of the criminals were blanched with terror. The man went rapidly on with his story.
"We had planned what to do. We gave them patient hearing. We showed no sign of distrust, and the maid and her aunt went to their room as though to prepare for the journey. I set food and wine before our guests, and they refreshed themselves, talking in low voices between themselves the while. Methought the man in the habit was strangely little like a monk; and, moreover, I saw in his girdle, from time to time, the glint as of some long, sharp weapon, such as certes no monk ever carries. Nor have I ever seen monk eat and drink as yon fellow did, albeit the ungodly are fond of jibing at them as gluttonous men and wine-bibbers.
"After they had refreshed themselves they desired to be going. They had come by boat, and would return the same way. I asked the monk if he would not like to visit his brethren of the abbey; but he replied rather uneasily that he had not the time to do so to-day. He was anxious above all things to return to the bedside of the sick man, and bring back with him the medicine which he knew would be the best cure—meaning the presence of the maid.
"Whereupon a great wrath seized upon me, and I suddenly rushed at him and pulled back his cowl, and then, seeing well his dark face and untonsured head—which ye can see well for yourselves—I cried out, 'Thou art no more monk than I. Thou art Tito Balzani, my sister's stepson, a dog of an Italian, who has been hooted out of Oxford before now!' Well, in a moment he had whipped out a long stiletto—I have it here to show you—and was at my throat like a tiger. But I had given the signal already, and yon four doughty lads were at my side in an instant. Even then, albeit we were five to two, we had no small trouble with them: for we did not desire their hurt, but only to take them prisoners; whereas they would have done to death the whole of us to gain their liberty, had we not been too quick for them. But at last we overcame and bound them, and they have been bound ever since. I bring them here before your worshipful presences, that ye may do with them even as ye list."
And here the narrative of honest Marlow came to a sudden end. He tendered to the Constable the long, sharp stiletto he had wrested from Tito, and retired to the background.
The story was told. Amalric stepped forward and offered to the Chancellor a second long stiletto, the very fellow and counterpart of the one just tendered by Marlow.
"This was the weapon found buried in the heart of the dead man," he said; "I can testify that my friend and comrade Hugh le Barbier, whose room at St. George's I share, never possessed such an one. It is of Italian workmanship, and the two weapons are a pair from the same maker."
A low murmur had been for some time rising from the crowd; now the people broke forth into execrations and menaces. Somebody pulled the cowl from the head of the would-be monk, and when the untonsured head and foreign face was seen by all, the clamour of wrath and fury could not be kept down; indeed it needed all the authority of those surrounding the Constable and the Chancellor to restrain the angry clerks and citizens from setting upon the wretched criminals and tearing them limb from limb.
But the tumult was appeased after some little delay, and the Chancellor spoke in clear and ringing accents.
"Tito Balzani, you are here confronted with the evidence of your crime. Have you anything to say in your own defence?"
The wretched criminal, cowering with fear, confessed his guilt, only pleading in extenuation that Roger de Horn had been the leading spirit all through, and had devised the plot, whilst he had been only a tool in his hands.
The Chancellor heard these words with stern coldness, and, deigning no reply, contented himself with handing the culprit over to the Constable, as he had no jurisdiction over the persons of other than members of the University. Roger, however, claimed to be a clerk, and to be under the authority of the Chancellor; so whilst the hapless Tito was led away to the Constable's prison, to be dealt with hereafter by a different tribunal, Roger remained amongst the unruly clerks, who awaited the award of the Chancellor in some fear and trembling.
Every eye was fixed upon the face of the great man as he rose to speak. He had conferred for a while with the Constable, and now addressed himself in the first place not to the dark-browed Roger, whose face was a picture of lowering malignity and craven fear, but to the throng of minor defaulters who had been accused of indiscriminate rioting in the streets during a period of many weeks, and of acting as ringleaders in the disturbances which were growing almost intolerable.
The Chancellor spoke with moderation but with great firmness, pointing out the folly and danger of such conduct, the interruption to study, and the peril to the peace of the city. He then went on to say that he greatly reprehended the practice of carrying arms—a custom which, in a city surrounded by walls and inhabited by members of a peaceful fraternity, ought not to be needful, but which the lawless violence of the clerks had rendered necessary. He hoped that in days to come this custom would die out; but for the present he should not attempt legislation for the well-disposed and orderly members of the University. But he called upon all the turbulent clerks who had been convicted of disturbing the peace on many different occasions to deliver up their arms at once into his keeping, and to refrain from bearing them again until they had licence to do so. The names of these persons were to be taken; and if they were found with arms upon them after this injunction, they were to be brought before him by the Proctors, and would then be dealt with more severely.
The Constable then rose and said he should make a like rule for turbulent citizens; and the ringleaders of the recent riots were brought up one by one and bidden to lay their arms upon a table placed there for the purpose, after which their names were taken, and they were, as it were, bound over to keep the peace.
This act, which combined clemency with firmness, was very popular with the multitude, and the culprits themselves were thankful for having been treated with such leniency. A number of them left the hall on hearing this award, but others remained to hear what would befall their old comrade Roger de Horn, who had not been recognized by many in his changed condition, having in fact taken some pains to keep himself away from former associates until he had carried out his plans.
The braggart and bully was led in his turn before the Chancellor, his hands still bound, but the arms he had upon him still in their place. Roger was one of those men who always carried a sword, and was of the regular swashbuckler type so common in the Middle Ages. He looked a pitiable object now—fear and rage struggling for mastery in his face as he met the steadfast gaze of the Chancellor. His spirit had deserted him under his misfortunes, and his blotched face was white with craven fear.
"Roger de Horn, calling thyself Robert Holker, thou hast been caught red-handed in an act of unpardonable wickedness, and hast been (if thy comrade speaks truth) deeply concerned in a murderous plot. Thy case will be considered at leisure, and thy punishment made known when that of Tito Balzani is likewise decided. Meantime thou wilt be kept in restraint, and taste the wholesome discipline of prison. Take off that sword and deliver it, in my presence, to Hugh le Barbier, whom thou hast sought so greatly to injure. Thou shalt never wear arms in this city again. Thou wilt do well, if ever thou dost receive liberty, to quit Oxford and seek to live a different life in some other place. Here thy record has been nothing but one of black treachery and disgrace!"
A murmur of approbation followed these words. Gilbert Barbeck, who was standing guard over the prisoner, so far loosed his right hand as to enable him to obey the Chancellor's command. With sullen brow, and eyes that gleamed fiercely as those of a wild beast caught in the toils, Roger detached the sword from his belt and tendered it to Hugh; but so malevolent was the look upon his face that a faint cry broke from the veiled maiden who stood nigh at hand, and drew the Chancellor's regards upon her.
"Remove the prisoner," he said sternly; and Roger was led away, the hall almost clearing itself as soon as the people had seen the last of this procession.
Around the daïs at the upper end there still remained the knot of persons who had brought in Roger and Tito, together with those who had accompanied the Constable and the Chancellor. The latter turned towards Linda, and asked in a gentle tone,—
"What dost thou still fear, fair maiden?"
She made a humble reverence and put back the hood of her cloak, permitting for the first time her fair, pure face to be seen. Her eyes looked like those of a startled fawn, and the flitting colour came and went in her cheek, but she spoke with a soft and gentle steadiness which bespoke a well-ruled spirit.
"I have come to fear those evil men with a great fear," she answered. "Twice have they sought to compass the death of him I love, and to obtain possession of mine own person. They are crafty and wily, as well as fierce. I fear them sorely. No place seems safe from them; and yet one of them is mine own kinsman—my half-brother. But I fear me he has sold himself to do evil, and is the tool of a spirit more wicked than his own."
Here Bridget Marlow, who had been speaking apart with her husband, stepped forward and said,—
"Reverend sir, the maid speaks no more than the truth; and if Roger de Horn be let loose again, methinks peril will again threaten her safety and ruin the peace of our home. But for the promptness and courage of these young gentlemen, I trow I should have been murdered and the maid carried off ere the sun set yestere'en. Although I love her as the apple of mine eye, I fear me that our home is no safe place for her—or will not be when Roger de Horn is set at liberty. Wherefore we do ask counsel and help of thee what we shall do for her, for she was sent to us from her father's house because that was no safe place for her; and now our home seems little safer, and were hurt to come to her from thence, our grey hairs would go down with sorrow to the grave."
Edmund de Kynaston, who had been present at this function, had been seen a little while before to step to his father's side and speak earnestly with him for a few minutes; and now the Constable stood forth, and addressed himself partly to the Chancellor and partly to the kinsfolk of the maid.
"I have somewhat to say about that. This maid is of our city, and therefore has a claim to what protection I, as keeper of the city, can afford her. I grieve that twice over she has been subjected to the machinations of evil-doers; and since the man who plans these evil deeds may probably (since he has been artful enough to keep his hands free from actual blood-guiltiness) be sooner or later set at liberty, it behoves us to take measures to thwart any further schemes on his part. So, my lord Chancellor, I have a proposition to make. Within the walls of the Castle the maid would be safe. I myself have a daughter who has ofttimes begged of me to find for her a companion of her own age and sex, to assist her in her tasks and be her friend and confidante. This maid is virtuous and fair; she is beloved by Hugh le Barbier, of whom all men speak well. He is ready to make her his wife so soon as his father shall be willing; and pending that time, I will give her an asylum in my household, and my daughter will make of her a companion and friend. Will that content you, good people, who have played the part of parents to the maid?"
The Marlows were overjoyed at the proposition. Greatly as they regretted parting from Linda, they felt that their home was no safe asylum for her, and that it was scarce the fit home of one who was to wed with a scholar and a gentleman in the position of Hugh le Barbier. Linda herself, although with some tremors, gratefully accepted the proffered boon; for she remembered pretty Alys of old, and had always loved and admired her. To dwell near to her, in a place where she could sometimes see her lover, and have news from day to day of his safety, was an enchanting prospect; and though she shed some tears at parting from her kindly aunt and uncle, her face kindled into smiles of hope and happiness as Edmund and Hugh presently conducted her into the presence of Alys, who started up from her embroidery frame with a little cry of surprise and pleasure.
Although she had charged Edmund to carry a message to her father when a rumour of what was passing below had reached her, she scarcely expected that the result would be so prompt and satisfactory. Ever since Hugh had recommenced his wooing of Linda, Alys had been to some extent in his confidence, and had been full of keen interest in the matter. Hugh's disappearance, and his sudden return with his story before dawn to-day, had filled all his friends with excitement, sympathy, and wrath; and his fears for Linda's safety had awakened in Alys the vehement desire to befriend her. Edmund had even gone forth to see if he could find any trustworthy friend to dispatch to Eynsham (marvelling what had become of Leofric, Jack, and Gilbert, who were wont to be forward with help where any comrade was concerned), when he had met the procession coming in, and had hastened to Alys with a hurried account of what he had gleaned from the brief explanations of his friends. After that he and Alys had made this plan of befriending Linda, and now she had been brought to her apartment to be her "friend," as the girl herself called it, though Linda declared that it was as tirewoman or serving-maid she had come.
"For I am but a city maiden, and thou the daughter of a noble knight," said Linda; whereat Alys smilingly rejoined,—
"Nay, but thou art the betrothed of one who will one day win his spurs, and rise to be as great a man as my honoured father. We love Hugh here even as a brother, and I have so ofttimes longed for a sister."
So the gentle Linda took up her new duties within the safe shelter of the Castle walls, and the life of Alys was the brighter and happier in consequence. She was in need of a friend and confidante of her own age and sex; for her mother kept her with strict hand, and now that she was growing older, and Edmund was stronger than of yore, he and his friends came less to that upper room which had come to be called "the maiden's bower." Her brother was able to go forth for some of his studies, and it had even been thought that he might soon enter as a scholar at St. George's in the Castle. Alys rejoiced in his return to greater health and strength; but it had left her somewhat more alone, and she rejoiced greatly when Linda came to be her companion, for she learned from her the soft Italian tongue, and a greater proficiency upon the lute; whilst she taught her friend those things which she had studied with her brother, till Linda felt that a whole new world was opening out before her.
Those were peaceful and happy days for the two maidens. Although the world without was full of strife, the echoes of which sometimes reached them in their quiet chamber, they lived with their books, their music, their needlework, and their birds, seeing the familiar faces of Edmund and his comrades day by day; but jealously watched and guarded by Dame Margaret de Kynaston, who felt Linda now to be her charge, as well as her own daughter, and was well pleased—after the first surprise at Alys's "whim"—with the working of the arrangement.
It had by this time become pretty evident to the parents that Amalric de Montfort was wooing their daughter, although he had not yet declared himself. Sir Humphrey was well pleased, for he believed that the Earl of Leicester was and would remain the greatest man in the kingdom—not excepting the King himself. Dame Margaret, however, was less sanguine on this point, and had misgivings sometimes as to the ultimate fate of the great leader of the Barons' party. She was not anxious for her daughter's hand to be irrevocably pledged, and did not encourage the visits of Amalric more than the duties of hospitality required. She was, however, willing that her Alys and Linda should have instruction in book-learning, which they so keenly desired; and Leofric continued to come from time to time to read to and instruct them, although Edmund was not so regular at these readings as he was when unable to attend lectures in the schools.
It was from Leofric that the girls learned the ultimate fate of Tito and Roger. There had been talk of condemning both to death; but since Roger had not struck the murderous blow, and had claimed benefit of clergy (to which, however, he was hardly entitled), he had escaped with his life; and it had seemed hardly just to take the life of his comrade in evil, who had been his tool in this crime. Also Balzani had made a great effort to save the life of his son, and in the end the two men had been sentenced to banishment—Tito from the realm altogether, Roger from Oxford and its environs. Both had disappeared promptly. Tito had been guarded out of the kingdom, and was outlawed, and it was thought that Roger had accompanied him; but although this was not certain, it was believed that Oxford had seen the last of him. If he came back, he would certainly be arrested, and some worse punishment dealt to him for his insubordination.
Hardly had these things taken place before all the city was thrown into a state of wild excitement by the arrival of the great Earl of Leicester, who came there on his way to the south coast, and was received with open arms by the University, from the Chancellor down to the rawest clerks fresh from the country.
By the people De Montfort was regarded as the champion of their liberties and the defender of the realm from foreign rule and foreign spoilers. The friars supported him, and their influence went far with men of all classes. Save for this many might have feared to give adhesion to the cause, for the papal part of the Church sided with the King. But the friars, and particularly the Franciscans, in this land were no tools and slaves of papal tyranny. They were thinking men of deep personal piety, lovers of mankind, and champions of the poor and oppressed. They were zealous advocates of the cause of constitutional liberty, of which De Montfort had made himself champion; and in Oxford, where their influence was widely felt, the Earl was certain of an enthusiastic welcome.
Many songs were composed in honour of the idol of the city; and as he rode into it, escorted by a large following of clerks who had gone forth to meet him, they burst into the following ditty, sung in Norman-French, but which may be translated thus:—
"Right many were there men of fame,But all of them I cannot name,So great would be the sum;So I return to Earl Simon,To tell the interpretation,From whence his name has come."Montfort he is rightly called—He is themount, and he isbold(fort),And has great chivalry:The truth I tell, my troth I plight,He hates the wrong, he loves the right,So shall have mastery."Doubtless themounthe is indeed;The Commons are with him agreed,And praise is due to them:Leicester's great Earl right glad may be,And may rejoice full heartily,To gain such glorious fame."
"Right many were there men of fame,But all of them I cannot name,So great would be the sum;So I return to Earl Simon,To tell the interpretation,From whence his name has come.
"Montfort he is rightly called—He is themount, and he isbold(fort),And has great chivalry:The truth I tell, my troth I plight,He hates the wrong, he loves the right,So shall have mastery.
"Doubtless themounthe is indeed;The Commons are with him agreed,And praise is due to them:Leicester's great Earl right glad may be,And may rejoice full heartily,To gain such glorious fame."
And then, excitement and enthusiasm working mightily within them, the clerks commenced shouting and singing all manner of couplets which had been made at different times whilst the Provisions of Oxford had been under discussion.
"Totam turbat modica terram turba canum,Exeat aut pereat genus tam profanum."
"Totam turbat modica terram turba canum,Exeat aut pereat genus tam profanum."
Which may be rendered in English,—
"A paltry set of curs is troubling all the land,Drive out or let them die, the base ungodly band."
"A paltry set of curs is troubling all the land,Drive out or let them die, the base ungodly band."
The Earl received the adulation of the motley crowd with a courteous dignity; but he could not linger long in Oxford. It was part of his policy to make sure of the hearts of his friends, and show himself in various places where a welcome was certain. But just now he was on his way to Dover, which it was necessary to secure for the cause. He had been already in Wales and the West, taking practical possession of many cities—expelling the King's sheriff from Gloucester because he was an alien, and the Savoyard Bishop of Hereford on the same ground. It was small wonder that the clerks greeted him with songs of praise, or that the old couplet anent the "foreign dogs" should be lustily revived.
The Earl was in arms, and had a following of nobles with him, but as yet the peace of the country had not been materially broken. The Welsh war afforded excuse to the Barons for mustering under arms; although all far-seeing persons felt that it would scarcely be long before the sword was unsheathed in England also.
During the weeks and months which followed, news came in which kept the whole city in a tumult of excitement. From the fact that Amalric remained as a student in Oxford, it was natural that intelligence of the great Earl's movements should be brought regularly and constantly to the town. Sometimes it was Guy de Montfort who came himself, and stayed for a few nights at the Castle; sometimes dispatches were brought to Constable or Chancellor by a travel-stained messenger, and more than once the whole city and University had been on the tiptoe of excitement and uncertainty, expecting every day to hear that some collision had taken place, and that the long-expected conflagration had burst out.
Dover and the Cinque Ports had declared for De Montfort and the Barons. London had received him with open arms, and the King was practically a prisoner in the Tower.
Once the Earl had been in great personal peril. He had ridden forth from London with a following of only a few men-at-arms, when some followers of the King's managed to get possession of the keys of the Southwark gate, and threw them into the river. After this they gathered a number of troops together, and lay in wait for the Earl upon his return, hoping to cut him off and slay him on the spot. Indeed, so great was the peril that De Montfort and his followers gave themselves up for lost, signed themselves with the cross, and prepared to sell their lives as dearly as possible; but the citizens of London, hearing of his danger, rushed out to his defence, broke open the locked gate, and drove back the King's soldiers with much loss. They carried their hero in triumph into the city, and demanded the instant death of the traitors who had planned the deed. The Earl, however, interposed on their behalf, and they were let off with a heavy fine, which was employed in strengthening the defences of the city.
Later on, the Earl returned for a while to Kenilworth, and there set about strengthening that already formidable fortress. He garrisoned it more strongly, and brought thither many warlike engines which he had transported with him from the Continent. For he was beginning to see that there was imminent danger of civil war, although for the present moment he hoped to avoid it.
What gave to him and his followers the keenest anxiety was the attitude taken up by Prince Edward. He had succeeded in escaping from the Tower to Windsor, and was now gathering about him a party of moderate men who had the welfare of the realm at heart, yet who had no desire for any upheaval of existing conditions. He had drawn to himself a number of important personages, one of whom was his cousin, Henry of Almain, son of Richard King of the Romans, the King's brother, who until now had been sworn to the cause of the Barons.
This latter had had the courage to go and tell De Montfort of his defection, though ready then to promise never to take up arms against him; but the Earl's reply had not been conciliatory. It was one of the things which militated against De Montfort that he could not always command his temper in moments of irritation.
"Lord Henry," he said, "I grieve not for the loss of your sword, but for the inconstancy which I see in you. Go and take arms as you will, for I fear you not at all."
Young Henry had joined his cousin at Windsor with many other good men. All now knew that war must come—unless, indeed, the arbitration talked of by the French King should lead to pacification.
"Surely they will not submit!"
"To give up all at the bidding of a King of France! Why, as well might we be slaves at once!"
"I always said no good would come of seeking aid from such an one as he. England is no fief of France. What has Louis to do with her affairs?"
"The brother-in-law of the King!"
"Himself a tyrant, always seeking to curtail the rights of his own nobles and people!"
"A tool of the Pope's and a foe to England!"
"It was shame they should seek to such a man as he! But surely—oh, surely our noble Earl will not be holden back from his righteous work by that Mise of Amiens!"
All Oxford was in a state of intense excitement. The news had just been brought that the French King, whose arbitration had been sought upon the dispute between the King and the Barons of England, had just given his decision.
In every point he sided with Henry. All that the Barons and Commons of the realm had been struggling for these many years was to be set aside. England was to be given over to the Pope, and to be governed by aliens; for the award gave the King full power to choose his own counsellors, and as all men knew, he had scarce a single favourite who was not a foreigner. Everything was to be as before the Provisions of Oxford had been drawn up; and the French King wound up by counselling both parties to lay aside rancour, and live at peace, whilst he urged upon his brother of England to grant an amnesty to his Barons. It was the kind of award which any discerning man might have expected from one like Louis of France. He was a king who desired absolute power in his own realm, and although he had not abused that power as Henry had, he would not on that account uphold the subjects of the neighbouring kingdom against their sovereign. The marvel is that a man so far-seeing and astute as De Montfort had ever pledged himself to be bound by the award of France. He might surely have foreseen, as it seems to us, what the nature of that award would be.
England was furious—that part of it at least which followed the fortunes of the Earl. The bulk of the nation at that time, at any rate in the large and populous districts, was all for the cause of constitutional freedom; and the King was hated and distrusted by his subjects, not without cause. Had his son been on the throne, matters might have taken a different turn; but although Edward was personally beloved, and was becoming a strong power in the state, he was not yet of sufficient account to change the aspect of affairs. He was acting with his father, as was right and natural in the circumstances. He could not form a third party in the state. Had his father abdicated in his favour, the war might perhaps have been averted; but such a thing never entered Henry's head. He was by no means weary of the task of ruling even such a turbulent people as his own was fast becoming.
All Oxford was in commotion. Keen excitement reigned everywhere. The news was three days old, yet the populace was as greatly stirred as at first. For once clerks and citizens were in accord, and denounced in unison the French King and the Mise of Amiens. The greatest eagerness for fresh news prevailed throughout, and every traveller entering the city was besieged for intelligence.
"When Lord Amalric comes back, then we shall know!" was a frequent cry. For Amalric had gone to Kenilworth for Christmas, and had not yet returned. He was said to have been detained there by the accident to his father which had prevented the Earl himself from being present at the Mise of Amiens.
Some thought that had De Montfort been there to urge his cause in person, a different award might have been given; but this seems hardly probable in face of the French King's attitude all the way through. The Earl had, however, intended being present; but just before he would have left the country his horse fell with him, breaking his leg, and he had perforce to remain behind at Kenilworth, and appoint a commission to represent him before the French King.
Amalric, however, would not be likely to remain long away from Oxford, and his friends awaited his coming with the same eagerness as the whole city. When it was rumoured that he was on his way, and might be expected at any hour, a constant watch was kept for him; and upon his arrival he was received with the greatest enthusiasm, and found himself obliged to halt at Carfax, and respond to the acclamations of the people, whilst his ears were assailed by a thousand questions which he could only partially answer.
Amalric had awaited at Kenilworth the arrival of the news from France, and he was in a position to assure the citizens and clerks of Oxford that his father would not abandon the cause of liberty, despite the award of Amiens.
This statement was received with thunders of applause; hats were waved and weapons brandished, as though every man there was ready to go forth and fight for the liberty of the realm.
What would be the next step, and whether there was any chance of pacification, Amalric could not say. His father, he averred, was very loth to press matters to extremity; but he would sooner draw the sword and die wielding it, than see his country brought a second time under the yoke of papal tyranny and foreign greed. If the King (as was probable) was now resolved to continue in these evil ways, the Barons, with the Earl of Leicester at their head, would stand forth against him. More than that he could not say, but upon that point they might rest assured.
That was enough to raise shouts and cheers of enthusiastic joy. The people crowded about Amalric, blessing him, and calling him by every sort of high-sounding name. To them he represented his father, and the great Earl was at present the idol of the city.
Amalric had some ado to get through the crowd and ride to the Castle, where he was received with great eagerness by his friends there. The whole family, together with Hugh le Barbier, had assembled in one of the lower rooms to meet him, and he had scarcely returned the greetings showered upon him ere he was called upon to tell his news, and to say how his father had received the tidings from Amiens.
At greater length than he had spoken to the crowd, he told the Constable and his friends of the resolve of the Barons to resist to the death. It was no more than Sir Humphrey, and indeed all thinking men, had anticipated. To forego all that had been struggled for during these many years, and to tamely yield up the spoils of hard-fought fights, was altogether foreign to the nature of the English people, and to that of their leader.
"I would they had never asked the King of France," said the Constable, expressing the general sentiment; "I always said no good would come of it. Louis of France may be a saint—of that I know nothing—but he is very much a King, and as such would certainly uphold the royal prerogative on every point."
"And now, will there be war?" asked Hugh, speaking very gravely as he leaned over the back of the chair in which Linda was seated. Dame Margaret and the two maidens had been permitted to come below to welcome Amalric back, and it might be noted how, as he told his tale, his eyes kept seeking ever and anon the face of the fair Alys. Now he came a few steps nearer to make his reply.
"I fear me so. Unless the King hear reason, it can scarce be otherwise; and bolstered up as he now is by his brother-in-law of France, he is little likely to show even the amount of moderation that he has sometimes done."
The faces of all grew grave. War had many times been spoken of, but always as a thing not immediately probable; now it seemed indeed at the very door, and the faces of all betrayed a greater or less amount of anxiety. Amalric looked around him, as though to ask how far his friends would support his party even in extremity; for when once the question came to be settled by force of arms, it was always doubtful how far men would go. There were many who, whilst ardently desiring to see the King advised for his good, would not take up arms against him, regarding him as the anointed servant of God.
This was indeed somewhat the view of Hugh le Barbier, and it was therefore with keen pain that he contemplated the thought of civil war. His sympathies were with the Barons. His personal affection for Amalric inclined him to fight shoulder to shoulder with his comrade. But he had a deeply-seated repugnance to fighting against the lawful sovereign of the realm, and whilst others pressed round Amalric, declaring that they would fight to the death for the cause of liberty, he stood in the same place, behind Linda's chair, and did not join his voice in promise or protest.
Perhaps Amalric guessed at the struggle going on within him, for he did not seek to draw him into the discussion so eagerly conducted. It was Linda who, presently raising her eyes to her lover's face, asked softly,—
"And thou, beloved, what wilt thou do?"
"I know not," he answered, in a very low voice. "The choice is indeed a grievous one. I would follow Amalric to the world's end in a cause which I knew to be righteous; but when it comes to raising the standard and taking up arms against the anointed King, I scarce know how I can do it. Would that the choice had not to be made!"
There were not, however, many in the city who seemed troubled with Hugh's scruples. Almost to a man they were eager for the outbreak of war; and most warlike preparations were set afoot by the clerks and scholars, as though these latter expected to take the field and fight under the banner of De Montfort as soon as ever the collision occurred.
Beaumont meadows were alive from sunrise to sunset with a motley company from the city, the most part of them being members of the University, who spent their time exercising themselves in feats of warlike prowess on foot or on horseback—shooting at targets with bow or catapult, tilting one at the other with the lance, or practising sword-play with such good-will that wounds and bruises were sometimes the result of these encounters. Still, since these were given and taken in good part and for the sake of the cause, no umbrage or ill-will was aroused thereby. The Chancellor himself encouraged these warlike sports, and it was known that he would put no hindrance in the way of students who wished to join the mustering ranks of the Barons' army.
The Chancellor was a warm supporter of De Montfort's cause, and he gave every facility to the clerks for training themselves in the arts of war.
The friars, as has been explained before, were equally in favour of the cause of the people; and Leofric, who after hearing Hugh's scruples had consulted Father Angelus, was quite satisfied by the answers he received, and ready to throw himself heart and soul into the cause of the Barons. The friar admitted that neither party had all the right on its side. Good and evil mingled in both, and personal ambition would be found on both sides, marring the perfection of fruition. But the friars held that a King might lawfully be withheld by his subjects from becoming the slave of evil practices, and that it was better he should be ruled by his own nobles, who had the good of the country at heart, than by foreign hirelings, who cared for nothing but to fill their own pockets, and sell the land to the emissaries of papal tyranny.
Then in the midst of all this seething excitement, when it seemed as though a spark falling might set the city in a blaze, the news was brought that Prince Edward would march through, on his way to the Welsh Marches.
Consternation reigned in the breasts of the authorities when this news was made known. They saw in it a source of real peril to the city. At present public opinion was so entirely in favour of De Montfort, that, in spite of all the excitement and tumult within the walls, the students were in excellent temper with one another, even North and South forgetting their differences for the moment. But if the Prince should appear—the Prince whose personal influence always made itself felt, and who was probably coming this way with a view to enlist the sympathies of some amongst the clerks and scholars on his fathers side—it was almost certain that his appearance would result in a demonstration in his favour by a certain number of students, who would then come into instant collision with the bulk of their fellows, and a hideous and indiscriminate battle would be the inevitable result.