"Hast thou seen aught of Hugh?" asked Leofric; but Jack shook his head. He had had his hands full in helping first his own wounded comrade, and afterwards those who lay stretched upon the field of victory. He had been working and toiling from dawn till now—marching, fighting, and carrying in the wounded. He had had no thoughts to spare for any but his own side.
A shout of laughter, and the tramp of many feet, announced that something fresh had happened. There was a great tumult of sound, and Jack darted out to see what was happening.
He came back with his face bubbling over with mirth.
"They are bringing in Richard, treacherous Richard, the King of the Romans," he cried—"he who, in his letter but the other day, called himself 'always august,' They are calling him a bad miller, and twitting him with his august windmill! Oh, thou shouldest see his face! He looks like a dozen thunder-clouds all rolled into one!"
A great burst of cheering from some place hard by told that the prisoner had been brought to Earl Simon's tent; and with the failure of the light came the knowledge that the battle was fought and won. The field of Lewes had decided the fate of the country for the present. The Barons had achieved an undoubted victory.
"Sitteth all still, and hearkeneth to me:The King of Alemagne, by my loyalty,Thirty thousand pounds asked he,For to make the peace in the countree,And so he did more.Richard, though thou be ever trichard [treacherous],Tricken [trick us] shalt thou never more."The King of Alemagne gathered his host,Made him a castle of a mill-post,Went with his pride and his mickle boast,Brought from Alemagne many a sorry ghostTo store Windsor.Richard, though thou be ever trichard,Tricken shalt thou never more."
"Sitteth all still, and hearkeneth to me:The King of Alemagne, by my loyalty,Thirty thousand pounds asked he,For to make the peace in the countree,And so he did more.Richard, though thou be ever trichard [treacherous],Tricken [trick us] shalt thou never more.
"The King of Alemagne gathered his host,Made him a castle of a mill-post,Went with his pride and his mickle boast,Brought from Alemagne many a sorry ghostTo store Windsor.Richard, though thou be ever trichard,Tricken shalt thou never more."
This was the song which resounded through the camp of the victors after the battle of Lewes, together with others in praise of De Montfort, too lengthy to be quoted here.
Richard, the King's brother, King of the Romans and Earl of Cornwall, was the especial butt of the popular disfavour, and his recent behaviour had added greatly to his unpopularity.
He had betrayed a very grasping spirit in claiming as his individual due the entire sum of thirty thousand pounds, offered by the Barons as an indemnity to the King; and his haughty note to the Barons afterwards was taken in very bad part, seeing that once he had been their friend and ally. He was looked upon as being both treacherous and vindictive; and this song (which is remarkable as being the earliest specimen of its kind in the English language, nearly all such compositions being in Norman-French or Latin up to this date) was composed in the camp at Lewes, and sung lustily by the soldiers in the very ears of the captive Richard.
Leofric, from his place in the tent where the wounded had been conveyed, could hear the sounds of mirth and mockery as the triumphant soldiers passed to and fro. His friends came in and out with various items of news; and upon the second day a new face looked in upon him as he lay, and eagerly stretching forth his hands, he exclaimed,—
"Hugh, is that truly thou? Right glad am I to see thee. I did fear that thou mightest have been numbered with the slain. But how comest thou hither?"
"I came with the Prince, to give myself up prisoner, even as he hath done. But they desire no captives save a few of the highest in the land. Your great Earl knows how to use nobility and generosity in the hour of triumph. He even spoke a kind word to me, and restored to me my liberty. I heard that thou wert here, and came to visit thee. How goes it with thee, good comrade? I trust thy wounds are not grievous."
"Nay, little more than scratches; only there be many of them, and I did lose much blood ere I was aware. Tell me of thyself, Hugh, what didst thou do? I see thou hast thine arm slung in thy scarf. Thou hast not come off scot-free."
"A fellow broke the bone of my sword arm with his axe," answered Hugh; "but that matters the less, since there will be no more fighting, they say, these many days. All the talk is now of peace and brotherly accord. There are messengers passing to and fro betwixt the Earl and the King; and already the royalist troops are melting away. I cannot grieve that the fight has ended thus, even though I fought upon the royal side. I love not the crooked dealings of the King; and I hate the minions he surrounds himself with, so that honest subjects cannot get anigh him. It will be well for the land when these are banished. And yet I would that the King should be a King, and not a puppet even in the hands of a worthy man such as your Earl."
Leofric made a sign of assent. He was enough of a student and scholar himself by this time to be well aware that no subject, even though he were the highest in the land, could long rule in the name of a practically captive King. It was against the traditions and instincts of the nation. The people might support a movement for the redress of crying grievances, even at the expense of the King's liberty; but when things had been put upon a better footing, jealousies were certain to awaken, there would come disunion amongst those who had been united in the hour of peril, and he who had been regarded as the saviour of the nation at this crisis would doubtless come to be looked upon as a tyrant and even a usurper, if he succeeded in imposing his will upon the King for any length of time, and held the reins of government firmly in his hand. Something of this had been seen already, after the Provisions of Oxford had made De Montfort so great a man in the kingdom. It was likely to be seen again more markedly now, when a great victory had put him in actual possession of the person of the King.
Nevertheless the news which reached the camp as to the terms suggested by the Barons showed that these were characterized by great moderation. "The Mise of Lewes," as it was called, provided that all foreigners should be excluded from office, though aliens should have free entry into the country for trading and private purposes. The royal revenues were to be managed with greater economy, and the abuse of church patronage to be checked. Other disputed matters were to be referred to arbitrators—some French and some English nobles.
For the rest, a general amnesty was to be declared, and a release of prisoners on both sides effected. The King and the Prince, and a few of their next of kin, would remain hostages in the hands of the Barons; but all men of lesser account might return to their own homes.
Indeed, it was the Earl's great desire that peace should be restored to the troubled kingdom, and that the ravages of the recent campaign should be forgotten.
Jack came bursting into the tent where Leofric lay, his face alight with excitement.
"Hast heard the news? The Earl has made a proclamation throughout the camp ordering all the clerks and students of Oxford to return to their studies. As a token that he means what he says, his own son is to head a party of returning students. Amalric has said that he will take me in his train, and has sent me to see if thou canst likewise travel. On the morrow Lord Henry sets out along the coast in charge of his cousin, the Prince, who is to be taken for security to Dover Castle. Lord Amalric desires to travel a part of the way with them, and then turn northward and pass through London, which is said to be full of rejoicing and triumph. They say the Earl and the King will go thither in company shortly. I trow it will be a gallant spectacle, and I would be there to see. Hugh will go with us, and Gilbert likewise, and others who have followed the fortunes of the Earl's son. Prithee, say that thou wilt also be of our party!"
Leofric eagerly declared himself quite fit for the saddle. None of his wounds was severe, as he had said; and he was much restored by those few days of rest in the hospital tent. He would greatly have regretted the necessity to remain behind when his comrades moved onwards, and he at once left his bed and proceeded to array himself, and to walk forth leaning on Jack's sturdy arm.
The camp was in all the commotion of breaking up. Numbers of men had already been dismissed to their own homes. Hugh came up to his friends with a beaming face.
"Right glad shall I be to see Oxford again!" he said, "and to resume the peaceful life of study there. Battles and camps are well enough in their way, and against a foreign foe would I serve most willingly. But it is ill work drawing the sword upon a brother Englishman. Let me rather meet him in disputation and strife of well-sharpened argument, than in the bloody field of battle!"
Leofric heartily agreed with this sentiment, and even Jack, who had perhaps enjoyed the excitements of the campaign more than the others, admitted that he would be glad enough to see Oxford again, and resume his studies there.
"It was the King's doing that ever we left at first," he said. "I trow his Majesty has had good cause to wish that he had left the clerks of Oxford to their books and studies. He has had reason to know that they can wield other things than the pen, when the blood in them is stirred up."
The comrades visited their horses and looked well to them. A few days of rest and feeding upon the green plains of Sussex had done them much good, and they looked well able to carry their owners gallantly upon the proposed journey.
"We shall be too large a company to push on very fast," said Hugh. "Moreover there will be interruptions in the march from our friendly well-wishers, who will desire to show us honour as we go. And if thou canst not ride with the party, Leofric, why, thou and I will tarry behind, and send Jack forward to see all, and tell us what has betided when we meet in Oxford again."
Leofric, however, expressed a hope of being able to ride the whole way; and upon the morrow a gallant-looking company started forth eastward along the coast.
Prince Edward and his cousin, Henry de Montfort, were the two most noteworthy figures, the Prince being by far the more majestic and dignified, although Lord Henry had an ample dower of good looks and a corresponding amount of self-esteem. He and his brother Simon were already giving their father anxiety by symptoms of that rashness and pride which had a disastrous effect upon the fortunes of their house a little later on; but in private life they were amiable and warm-hearted, and towards their cousin Edward the whole family of the Earl felt a great affection. The young men had been comrades and playfellows in childhood and youth, and the fact that they had met in hostile fight but a few days earlier did not seriously interfere with amicable relations when brought face to face once more.
Nevertheless it was Amalric who was really the greater favourite of the Prince, and his face lighted brightly when he saw that he was to be of their company. Guy and Amalric were far more lovable in disposition than Henry and Simon, their elder brothers, and Edward greeted his younger cousin with affection and pleasure.
"So thou art on thy way back to Oxford? Would that I were going with thee! If I am to be kept in durance awhile, why not as well there as in another place? Had not Providence thought well to make a Prince of me, I would verily be a clerk of Oxford. Tell me some of thy student tales as we ride along, good cousin. I would hear of that great riot which disturbed the peace of the town just after I had been asked to keep away. I trow you clerks and students have other pastimes than the study of your books!"
The Prince laughed heartily at the tale told him of the obsequies of the shattered gates, and of the attack on the property of the hapless Mayor.
"So that is how you clerks learn to handle your weapons so well! I trow your Chancellor must have as hard a task in ruling his city as a monarch in ruling his kingdom."
And then the Prince suddenly grew grave, and fell into thought, perhaps revolving in his mind the events of his father's reign, and the incapacity he had shown in ruling his people in lawful fashion. He sat looking straight out before him with set lips and sombre eyes, and none dared speak to him again till the mid-day halt was called.
Then he roused himself, and was gracious and friendly of aspect to all. He recognized both Leofric and Hugh, and spoke to them both. Hugh had been with him in his band, and had fought lustily and well. He had won the approval of the martial Prince on more than one occasion since he had been with him, and now he greeted him with a smile.
"So thou art going to exchange sword for pen, and the strife of arms for the war of words? Well, I trust thy studies will not again be broken up by warlike clamour; and yet if it should so betide, I would that I might find myself surrounded by such trusty followers as thou hast proved thyself to be."
"My liege lord," said Hugh, slightly bending the knee, for he desired to show even more reverence to a captive Prince than he might have done to one having his liberty, "I trust that if such a day should ever come again, thou wilt find my poor sword again beneath thy banner. The Prince has but to command, and the soldier must obey."
Edward gave him a slight smile of gratitude and approval, and turned his keen glance towards Leofric.
"Ah, my friend of the boar-hunt! said I not that we should meet again some day? So thou hast been in the fight, and hast gotten some wounds? Well, well, it is but the hap of war. I know that thou canst strike a lusty blow when the fighting mood is on thee."
Leofric bent the knee, but made no answer. He loved the Prince, and found it hard to realize that they had fought in hostile camps. Edward asked no question; but Leofric knew he must be aware of this, and something like remorse filled his heart. War which pitted brother against brother, and subject against Prince, seemed to him a horrible thing, abhorrent in essence both to God and to man. The disease that was eating into the heart of the country might need the remedy of the knife; nevertheless the application of it was painful and terrible, and at that moment Leofric was keenly conscious of it.
Perhaps Edward guessed at the thoughts which were passing through his mind, for his own face softened slightly in expression as he said,—
"Think not that I reproach thee, good youth; I tell thee of a truth that were I in thy place, methinks I should act as thou hast done. These hideous things must needs be for the sake of the realm. But pray Heaven there be brighter and happier days in store for England yet. Leofric Wyvill, I once did promise thee the reward of thy lusty stroke which perchance saved the life of thy Prince. Not yet has come the day for the redemption of that promise. What can a captive Prince do for the recompense of those who have served him? But my word is passed, and I shall not forget. The time may come when I shall redeem that pledge. Till then I have naught but thanks to offer."
Then he passed upon his way into the interior of the inn, and Leofric turned upon Hugh with something almost like bitterness in his voice, as he said,—
"Why, why does such a son league himself to the crooked policy of such a father?"
Hugh slightly shook his head.
"It is no love for the policy, believe me; it is filial duty towards his sire. How could a son take up arms against his father, without incurring the wrath of God? Or how can a son of the spirit of young Edward stand aloof whilst the sword is drawn against his father and his King? No, no, he can do nothing else than fight for him; but thou canst see for thyself how he feels in his heart. He hates the methods and the crooked ways of the King. Once let him sit upon the throne, and we shall see a different rule indeed."
Leofric was not destined to travel far with the cavalcade which escorted the Prince. That very night he was attacked by an access of fever, brought on probably by riding too soon; and he had perforce to remain behind when the troop started forth the next morning.
Hugh remained with him of his own accord, bidding Jack go on with the others, and bring them all the news when they met in Oxford. Hugh found his broken arm rather stiff and painful, and was not sorry to be spared the long days of riding; whilst his heart was turning ever more and more impatiently towards Oxford, where Linda would be waiting for them, and whither they would travel by easy stages so soon as Leofric was fit for the saddle.
They were detained a week at this place before they attempted to resume their journey, and then they travelled very leisurely. They found the country full of rejoicing at the termination of the war and the success of the people's party, as they liked to call it. Rumour declared that there was to be a Parliament in London almost at once, and that, besides the nobles and knights, "four discreet men" from some of the leading towns were to be summoned to attend. This was a distinct step in the direction of constitutional government, and the policy of the great Earl was warmly commended on all sides. Little feeling at present existed with regard to the captive condition of the King. The nation began openly to say that he was always the slave and captive of his own favourites. It was better he should be in the hands of those who cared for the liberties and rights of the English people than in the hands of those who sucked the blood of the nation and reviled its down-trodden sons at the same time.
Everywhere the name of Earl Simon was in all men's mouths. His praises were chanted aloud in rude songs, in which he was described as the saviour of his country, the instrument of God, the upholder of right and justice, the wisest, most valiant, and noblest of men.
Leofric began to wonder whether, indeed, the country would settle down contentedly to what was practically the reign of a subject, and that subject by birth an alien. For the moment they seemed to desire nothing better than that De Montfort should reign in the name of the King; but was it possible that such an anomaly could long continue? And what would be the result of the release of the King? for it was not possible that he should remain a permanent captive in the hands of his Barons.
These, and many like points, were discussed with keen interest by Leofric and Hugh as they pursued their leisurely journey. Hugh had a few stout serving-men in attendance on him, afterwards to make their way northward to his father's house. So the two youths travelled in comfort and safety, and were welcomed everywhere along the route as having been eye-witnesses of and partakers in the battle of Lewes.
But as they neared the familiar town of Oxford, public matters sank into a secondary place in the interest of the anticipated meeting with comrades and friends. Leofric's heart could not but beat with the thought of seeing Alys once more—although to him she was as a bright particular star, far, far above him, whom he loved and worshipped from a distance, with no conscious sense of anything nearer and more personal; whilst Hugh was engrossed by thoughts of Linda, from whom he had been long sundered, although, knowing her to be safe and happy, he had left her with a mind at ease.
Had their approach been seen? Surely it must have been; for as they approached the Castle by the Quaking Bridge, there was a little commotion at the gate, and in another minute Edmund came hastily forth, bare-headed, as if taken by surprise, his face alight with eager welcome.
"Now welcome, welcome, good friends! We have been wearying for news of ye twain. Many of our clerks and students have been flocking back from all parts of the country, some even from the field of Lewes; but none could give us tidings of you. One indeed declared that thou, Leofric, hadst been sorely wounded; but whether for life or death the fellow could not say. Come in, come in, and tell all thy tale.—Come in, good comrade Hugh; right glad are we to see thy face again! Peace and good-will everywhere abound. Oxford has begun to look like herself again. Come in and see my father. We have much to hear and to tell. Come and give us news of young Lord Amalric, for our Alys has been like a drooping flower ever since he departed; albeit, as I kept telling her, we should speedily have heard had any hurt happened to one of the sons of the great De Montfort."
Thus speaking, Edmund led the way into the Castle hall, where already the Constable, his wife and daughter, and Linda had gathered. Rumour had already gone forth that some arrival had taken place, and Sir Humphrey had a warm greeting for the two young student-soldiers returned with news from the campaign.
But Hugh had no eyes for any save Linda. He could not speak or think of anything in the happiness of that meeting. It was Leofric who was forced to be spokesman, and he was set down in the midst to tell his tale; whilst Alys, from behind her mother's chair, hung upon his words with kindling eyes, flushing and paling cheeks, scarce drawing breath as he spoke of the perils of the fight, and how he had been brought out of it by trusty Jack. She did not look like a drooping flower any longer as at the supper board she took her accustomed place, Leofric being at her right hand. Father and mother both noted the sudden change in her; and Sir Humphrey said to his wife that night,—
"See what the news of Lord Amalric has done for her! She is a changed being since we have known him to be well and sound."
But Dame Margaret uttered a slight snorting sound, as if she were less satisfied with what she had observed.
"If my Lord Amalric desires the hand of our daughter, he had best lose no more time in the winning of it," she remarked. "Else may he chance to win the casket when the jewel it encloses has been stolen thence."
"What mean you, wife?" asked Sir Humphrey in dismay.
Dame Margaret snorted again.
"Men have no eyes!" she remarked scornfully.
"But what mean you, wife? I would know more of this."
"Marry, then thou shalt. But I say not things are so; I only say what I fear. If the maid's heart be not rather given to Leofric Wyvill, the bachelor, than to the Lord Amalric, the Earl's son, then are mine eyes wofully at fault!"
Sir Humphrey looked first astonished and then scornful.
"Tush, woman!" he said impatiently; "the thing is impossible."
Dame Margaret pursed her lips and said nothing.
"It must not be!" cried the Constable, rather excitedly; "it must not and shall not be! The Earl is now the first man in all the realm. His sons will rise to be nobles themselves. It will be a great match for our little daughter, and she hath always been well disposed towards Lord Amalric."
"True; yet is she not better disposed towards another?"
"It shall not be!" cried the Constable once more. "I will put a stop to it at once. A daughter's hand is disposed of by her father. None shall dispute my right to give that of Alys where I will. The Lord Amalric has shown every disposition to ask it in marriage. And this I say and mean: if he ask it, he shall have it. The maid shall be a great lady yet, and I pray I may live to see the day."
The mother said nothing, only pursed up her lips a little. In her heart she was thinking that a sudden elevation to great power had often been followed by as sudden a fall. What if that should happen to the house of De Montfort?
"Alys! Alys! Alys!" cried a clear young voice from above. Alys, muffled to the very eyes in her furs, and stiff from the exposure of her long ride, had been almost lifted from her saddle by strong arms, and carried within the hospitable portals of the grim-looking fortress. She was dazed with the change from snowy darkness to the blaze of light, confused by the number of strange voices and faces around her, and not even reassured by the welcome of Amalric, who was seeking to win from her one of the smiles that had become so much to him.
"Alys! Alys! Alys!"
The call was repeated in clear, imperious tones of bell-like sweetness; and Alys, lifting her eyes to see whence they came, saw the laughing face of the Demoiselle looking over at her from the dimness of the gallery above.
"Amalric, bring her hither to me; she is my lawful prey—my prisoner! Don't keep her standing down there in that crowd! I am waiting for her here. Bring her to me; I will warm her and make her happy. You clumsy men never understand how to do that!"
The next minute the two girls had met half-way up the great staircase, and the imperious Demoiselle, who had changed but little from the day on which she and Alys had last seen each other, dragged off her willing captive to the bedchamber which the little lady had insisted that her friend should share with her. It was lighted only by the glow of a roaring fire of pine logs, but it looked so bright and cheery and comfortable that Alys uttered a little exclamation of pleasure, and sank down before the grateful blaze, chafing her numbed hands and smiling up gratefully at Eleanora as she loosed her heavy cloak and hood and smoothed the ruffled hair beneath.
"It has been such a cold, cold journey!" she said. "Right glad am I that our mother and Edmund did not attempt it. Fifty times I was minded to implore my father to turn back; but I misdoubt me if he would have done so."
"Nay, fie upon thee for a coward," cried the Demoiselle, with uplifted finger, "with me, thine own friend, waiting for thee at the other end! To turn back is but the act of a poltroon! Fight and not flight is the motto of the brave. O Alys, what a world of things have happened since we said adieu! Didst ever think that men would say of my noble father that he was the uncrowned King of England?"
The maiden spoke with a great pride in her voice, and with a flash in her eyes that bespoke a sense of keen triumph. Alys shivered a little at the words; for she had heard them spoken with different intonation by others not very long before, and knew that a leaven was working in the country of which this child knew nothing as yet.
"My father leads the Council of Three, who really govern the realm," continued the Demoiselle, talking in her eager, rapid way. "They say that Gilbert of Gloucester will give trouble; he is showing himself unruly and rapacious. But I trow my father can control him. Oh, it is a wonderful power which my father has gained! All men bow down before him. And yet his heart is not puffed up; he is grave and sober in his bearing. Why was he not born the King, instead of Henry of Winchester—poor puppet, who can never stand alone, but must be propped up by the will of those about him? Why, my father is ten times more a King than he!"
"And so is his own son," said Alys gently. "If any ruled in the place of the King, methinks it should surely be the Prince."
"Ah yes," cried the Demoiselle quickly—"my cousin Edward. He is different indeed from his father, but he cannot be set upon the throne. If he could, perchance that would end the troubles. Didst know that he is at Kenilworth now? He has been in gentle captivity in many places these past months, and from the Castle of Wallingford but lately his friends sought to obtain his escape. But he is on parole, so he bid them depart. Nevertheless my father thought it not safe to leave him there longer; and now he is here, sharing our Christmas gaieties. I trow we will have a merry time."
But the little lady had much to ask as well as much to tell. She wanted to know where Leofric was, who had been so faithful an esquire to her brother, and had won her own esteem and good-will.
The colour rose in Alys's face as she made reply,—
"In sooth I have seen less of him of late. He is growing to be much sought after for his lectures, and in the spring he will take his degree as Master in Arts. Since that mandate from the King nigh upon a year ago there have been changes in Oxford. Many of the masters who went forth then to other places have not returned, having found pupils and work elsewhere. This has made it the easier for bachelors with good store of knowledge, like Leofric Wyvill, to gain pupils, and obtain the Chancellor's licence to lecture on many books. Men say that he will be a Regent Master ere long, and likely enough a Doctor in time. But for myself, I have not seen him oft of late. He is busy, and Edmund hath his own tutors and lectures now."
The Demoiselle glanced rather sharply into the face of her friend, and said questioningly,—
"Is that a note of melancholy I hear in thy voice?"
Alys shook her head, and her cheek flamed.
"I know not what thou dost mean by that, Eleanora. Come, let us talk of other things; and I must see to my toilet, if I am to be taken to thy lady mother for her greeting."
The Demoiselle put her arm about Alys as she looked into her face half archly, half pleadingly, and said,—
"Nay, chide me not, sweet Alys; for thou dost know I love thee, and that I would not even desire the happiness of calling thee sister, were it not for thine own happiness too."
At those words Alys caught her breath in a little gasp, and Eleanora tightened the clasp of her loving arms.
"My mother will indeed desire to see thee and to welcome thee, sweet Alys. Thou must know that well. But fear not what may befall. My father—ay, and Amalric too—will never urge thee to any act against which thy heart rebels. We cannot give our love as if it were a toy. Our hearts will speak, and they discourse eloquent music that no man hears save ourselves. I would fain call thee sister, but I will be thy friend. It shall never be said of the house of De Montfort that its sons wooed unwilling brides!"
The Demoiselle threw back her head with a gesture of pride, and then kissed Alys on the mouth. It was no revelation to Alys that she had been brought to Kenilworth with the idea of being shown there as the future bride of the Lord Amalric. Her father had never said as much openly, but she had had an instinct of this, and now these words from Eleanora showed her that she had not been deceived.
But it was not a subject on which she could speak. Her heart and mind were alike in a chaotic state. She revered the house of De Montfort; she had the warmest liking for Amalric, and would hate to give him pain. She might well have loved him, and she knew it, had there been no other image graven on her heart. And now it was hard to know what to say or do. Indeed she felt, whatever the Demoiselle might aver, that little option would be given her in the matter. Her father would decide the question of his daughter's betrothal. She would be expected simply to obey. She could not urge any dislike to the chivalrous young lord who had honoured her by his preference, and to confess that she had given her heart to one who had never spoken a word of love to her was not to be dreamed of.
Just now, however, there was little time to think of such matters. Kenilworth Castle was filled from end to end, and all the wild revelry incident to the Christmas season was in full swing.
Alys had seen nothing like it in all her life, and her whole time and attention was engrossed by watching the brilliant scenes about her. She was admitted into the immediate family circle at the Castle—ranked as the companion and friend of the Demoiselle, tenderly treated by the Countess, and evidently regarded by the Earl and his sons as the future bride of young Amalric.
His own attentions were unfailing, but so chivalrously and deferentially proffered that she could not repulse him. Indeed, she had no desire to give him pain, although in her heart of hearts she shrank from any open step which should force the thought of marriage upon her.
Just now, however, there seemed too much on hand for any one to press such a matter to a conclusion. The Earl had his hands and his thoughts full to overflowing, and although he went about with a face full of courage and serenity, it could not be disguised that the clouds were gathering ominously round him in many quarters.
For one thing, the Pope had excommunicated him; and that was in itself a serious matter in those days. True, he had appealed against the interdict, which had been brought by a legate, and having been lost at sea had never been delivered. The clergy of the realm had joined with him in his appeal; and the Pope having died meantime, the matter was still in suspense, and could not be settled till a successor was chosen. So that for the present the Earl's household received the benefits of the church, and were not cut off from communion; but the cloud of uncertainty rested over them, and made some even of their friends look slightly askance upon them.
Nor was it any light matter that they held in their power the person of the King's son.
Edward showed no resentment against his kinsfolk for his captivity amongst them. He went about the Castle and its precincts with a brave face and a light heart. He played with the Demoiselle in the long corridors, helped Alys with the intricacies of her embroidery silks, when in the long evenings the party gathered together in some of the family apartments. He tilted in the yards with his cousins, and joined in all the revels which made the walls of the Castle-fortress ring again. No word of complaint ever crossed his lips. He never betrayed even a consciousness that he was followed and watched, and that he might not walk or ride abroad without a goodly retinue.
There was about him, as the girls oftentimes agreed, a nobility and magnanimity which was something remarkable in one so young. He even talked of public matters with his uncle without rancour, and with a certain sympathy in the difficulties of the situation.
Personally, the Prince was greatly beloved by all at Kenilworth, and perhaps this made the position all the more difficult. None knew better than De Montfort that it would be impossible to keep the King and the Prince in permanent captivity, however easy and honourable that captivity might be. Yet, let young Edward once be at large, and so great a following would muster round him that he would have it in his power before long to reverse the success of the Barons, and once more set upon the throne his inglorious father, whose incapacity and powers of mischief-working had been so abundantly tested before.
"And my brothers do nothing to help my father!" once lamented the Demoiselle, with tears of anger in her eyes, coming to Alys to discuss some of the anxieties which from time to time she learned from her mother. "Guy and Amalric are too young to be entrusted with much power, else they might perhaps help. But Henry and Simon do naught but stir up strife and ill-will. As if it were not bad enough to have the Earl Gilbert desert our cause, they must go and challenge him in a tourney they desire to hold at Dunstable—openly showing that they hold him to be a foe. My mother says that my father will forbid the tourney, but that the rash and haughty spirit of Henry and Simon give him much pain and trouble. They are so puffed up they will not heed a word that is said to them. They are not worthy to be called my father's sons!"
It was no wonder that the brow of the Earl was often lined with care, and that the glance of the eagle eye was often dimmed by clouds of anxiety and presage of coming woe. The old trouble with Richard of Gloucester was being repeated now with Gilbert, the son. Young as he was, he would not brook the control of Leicester's guiding hand. He resented his assumption of power, and was almost openly breaking away. None knew better than De Montfort that if once Prince Edward were at large, the whole Gloucester faction, and doubtless many more with them, would go over to him in a body. Already the nation was forgetting its grievances, and was pitying the royal captives. A spark would suffice in many quarters to cause an explosion of anger against him and his "usurpation" of practical monarchy; and yet, as matters now stood, there seemed nothing for it but for him, in the name of King and Council, to sway the sceptre of the kingdom.
On New-Year's Eve a great banquet was to be held in the vast hall of Kenilworth. Despite the carking care that was gnawing at the heart of the Earl and Countess, the revelries of the season were kept up in full measure. Nothing was omitted which had ever had place before, and the close of the old year had always been celebrated by a great feast, which was kept up until the new year had been ushered in with shouts and songs and the draining of bumpers.
Alys and the Demoiselle had asked to witness the feast from the gallery above, as upon another occasion now several years distant. And as the Countess had no desire to be present herself, ready permission was given them, and they established themselves there, with Amalric as their companion, he having excused himself from sitting at the feast below.
Prince Edward was, however, there, seated upon the right hand of his uncle. His handsome face wore a rather set expression, and although he smiled and jested as the wine circulated and the huge dishes were brought in one after the other by staggering servants, he continued to wear the look of a man in whose head some great purpose lies.
What that purpose was, was presently revealed when the time came for healths to be drunk and speeches made. It was from time to time needful that De Montfort should remind his followers and retainers of their position, of the things which had been achieved, and of those which still remained to be done. It seemed a fitting time, at the close of this memorable year, to speak of the events which had marked its course, and the successes which it had witnessed. To discourse thus, with the Prince sitting by, was not perhaps the easiest of tasks; but De Montfort had a gift for moderation and tact in speaking when his temper was not ruffled. He played his part well, and elicited bursts of applause; and the Prince himself applauded when he spoke of the rights of the nation and the need for wise government by means of a council of Englishmen rather than a crew of foreign favourites. In the end the Earl looked directly at the Prince, drank to his good health and speedy release, when the arbitrators appealed to should have given their decision, and the coming Parliament have ratified the terms of the Mise of Lewes.
Thus openly brought into notice, the Prince rose to his feet, thanked his uncle and host for many kind marks of good-will, and expressed his recognition of the courtesy and friendliness with which he had been treated. But after having said this much he did not sit down; he stood looking around at the company with a strange intent gaze. Deep silence reigned in the hall, for all felt that there was more to come, and waited breathlessly to hear. De Montfort looked up with a keen, quick glance into the face of the Prince, and then a slight cloud as of anxious thought passed across his thin face.
"My lords and gentlemen," said the Prince, in clear tones that were heard all over the hall, "I have once before addressed you, even as I address you to-night. The sword had not then been unsheathed. My heart inclined to the cause which you have made yours, and which even this day I regard with much of good-will. But I warned you then that my duty to my father would compel me to withdraw from your counsels, should you elect to rise in arms against him. This has now been done. I kept the word I gave you then, and to-day I am a prisoner in your chief's hands. The fortune of the day is so far with you, but it may not always be so. As I made an open declaration upon that occasion, so I make another to-day. I have given my parole for the present not to seek to escape out of this honourable captivity in which I am placed; and I redeemed my word at Wallingford Castle, showing to you that when I say a thing, I mean it; when I make a promise, I keep it. Now, in the presence of all of you, and of you my uncle and cousins, I herewith declare that my parole is for one year, dating from the battle of Lewes, when I gave myself up into your hands. One year I give to you for arbitration, for the assembling of Parliament, for all the reasonable steps which a kingdom must take for the adjustment of difficult questions. After the expiration of that year my parole expires. I will not then be bound by any promise. If my liberty is not then accorded me, I shall seek, by whatever means I may, to attain it. Already the nation is impatient of seeing her King and her Prince in captivity. The thing, if needful for the moment, becomes a monstrous iniquity in time. It will not be suffered to continue.Ishall not suffer it to continue. Shut me up if you choose in the lowest dungeon—keep all my friends away from me—treat me as you will, I shall find means to escape from your hands; and I shall then fight with every weapon in my power for the liberty of my father, and for the restoration of that monarchy which, even though abused, is yet the prop and the source of England's greatness, and which, purged of its faults, will yet shine with undiminished lustre!"
The Prince sat down amid a breathless silence. Men had not been prepared for any such open declaration, and it took them by complete surprise. The Earl himself felt that thrill of generous admiration which the speech had enkindled in many hearts.
"The father I can dominate; the son will be my undoing," was the thought that came to him at that moment, and he felt it still more so when young Simon sprang to his feet and began one of his ill-considered and haughty speeches, which was listened to with cold displeasure even within the walls of his own home, and which brought a little sarcastic smile to the lips of his cousin Edward.
The Prince turned suddenly to his uncle and said,—
"Uncle, I would that thou and I could rule this realm, and that my father and thy sons could play at holding mimic court and gay tourneys in sunny France. Then, methinks, we should see an end of this confusion. But fate has willed that we shall stand in hostile camps; only believe me that for thee and for thy aims and objects I have both love and reverence; and if the day shall come when I sit upon the throne of this realm, the lore I have learned from thee will be my safeguard when I am tempted to forget the lessons learned in the school of adversity, and to think myself too great a man to need to think of the welfare of my people."
Leicester's eyes suddenly softened; he put out his hand and laid it upon that of the Prince.
"I thank thee for that word, Edward," he said; "and believe me, I love thee as though thou wert mine own son. If it were possible, we would fight side by side; but thou hast chosen thy father's cause, and I am pledged to that of the nation."
"I know it cannot be," said Edward regretfully; "yet let us each preserve the love which one brave and honourable man may feel for another, even though he be a foe. In the days to come, if my star arise, and I in turn be victor, I will not forget the kindness I have received at thine hands. It shall be repaid—I promise it."
"But not to me," said Leicester gravely, "for with this cause I sink or swim—I live or die. If it is the will of Heaven to reverse the victory accorded to us, I shall not live to see the day. There is always a soldier's death left for the man who sees his cause lost."
"Nay," said Edward warmly—for, strange as it may seem, he was full of hope and courage to-day, whilst his victorious uncle seemed weighed down by a load of care—"thou must live to be mine adviser and friend; for the time will come when I shall need both, if indeed I live to sit in my father's place."
The Earl slightly shook his head, but uttered no word. He felt from time to time a strange presage of coming trouble, and to-night the feeling was strong upon him.
The Demoiselle in the gallery, leaning over and listening eagerly to all that passed, now turned back to her companions, almost stamping her foot as she cried,—
"I would I could put a gag in Simon's foolish mouth! Why will he always seek to give umbrage by his arrogance and pride? He has no talents, no powers, nothing but the reflected glory of our great father's name; and yet, to hear him brag, one might well think that he was the lord of all the realm! Why have such sons been given to my noble father and royal mother? They have greatness, talent, goodness, power! Why are their sons such miserable braggarts? It makes my heart burn to think of it!"
But there was no time for the consideration of this point, for a sudden hush fell upon the hall. It was whispered round that the hour of midnight had all but arrived, and in dead silence the company awaited the stroke of the great bell which would clang overhead when the moment should have actually arrived. Glasses were filled, and the company stood, awaiting in breathless expectancy for the signal.
The Demoiselle pressed up close to Alys, and pointed to a dusky mirror hanging upon the wall of the little gallery in which they stood, which was more of an alcove than a gallery proper.
"Dost see yon mirror?" she whispered. "It was taken from one of the rooms and hung here, because they said it was an uncanny thing. They say that if you look in it as the bell tolls in the new year, you will see therein the face of the man whom you will one day marry. It was moved from the bedchamber, where once it stood, because they say it caused the death of a maiden who looked in it, and saw therein a skeleton form with a scythe over his shoulder. I looked once, but saw nothing. Wilt thou not look to-night?—only one maid may do so each year—and I will turn mine eyes away."
Alys was shivering with a strange sort of tremor. Suppose young Lord Amalric were to move so that his face should be reflected in the glass: would that not seem like an omen to her? But he was leaning over the balustrade and looking down into the hall below, and the Demoiselle linked her arm in his as though to keep him where he was.
The silence was a strange, uncanny thing in a place filled with a multitude of revellers. Alys felt her breath come thick and fast, and the colour ebb from her lips.
"Boom—boom—boom!"
The great bell overhead had begun to toll forth its message. Shivering all over, Alys felt her eyes drawn as if by magnetic attraction to the face of the dusky mirror.
Suddenly a little gasping cry broke from her, drowned by the sudden clamour that rose from below; for in the dim black surface of the ancient mirror she had distinctly seen the face of Leofric Wyvill form itself, and stand out distinct and clear!
At the sound of Alys's cry Amalric and his sister turned quickly round, and the next moment a startled exclamation broke from young De Montfort.
"Leofric! is this truly thyself? or do we see thy ghost?"
Trembling in every limb, scarce able to separate the real from the unreal, Alys turned round to see that Amalric was grasping the hands of some person who had just opened the little door in the alcove, which was opposite the dusky mirror, and it dawned upon her that it was no phantom face she had seen, nor yet the freak of a disordered fancy; but that Leofric Wyvill was at Kenilworth, and standing within a few feet of her.
Yet for the moment he appeared not even aware of her presence. He was speaking with Amalric in low, constrained tones.
"Say only that I am not too late. The Earl, thy father, how is it with him?"
"Why, well," answered Amalric, in amaze; "thou canst see him below thine own self. Something aged and worn he is by the cares which press upon him; but for the rest, well. What do thy words portend, good friend?"
"Have any mummers arrived of late at the Castle—mummers from foreign parts?" asked Leofric, still speaking hastily and urgently. "They were to be heard by New-Year's Eve. Has anything been seen of them?"
"I have heard naught," answered Amalric, "There be comers and goers all day long at such a season, and open house is kept for all who ask it at Christmas. But of foreign mummers I have heard no word. Come, speak to us more plainly. What dost thou mean? and what brings thee here in such breathless haste, looking more like a ghost than a man?"
"In sooth I have travelled something hard," answered Leofric, who was travel-stained and pale with weariness and lack of sleep. "But mine errand brooked no delay. There is a plot on hand to poison the Earl, thy father; and they who are the tools are sent hither in the guise of mummers—for all I know they may be mummers and jugglers by trade. But they come hither with fell intent, and are paid by the Queen for their crime."
"The Queen!" cried the Demoiselle in horror—"our kinswoman whose bread we have eaten! Would she plan such wickedness against my father?"
"That is the news that Gilbert Barbeck brought post-haste to Oxford. His father got wind of it through some of his sailors plying 'twixt here and France. You know, perchance, how the Queen and her son Edmund are trying by every means in their power to collect and land an army in England for the rescue of the King. Contrary winds and other troubles have baffled them hitherto, and now they are wellnigh desperate. It is supposed the idea has been proposed to the Queen that to rid the realm of the great Earl would secure her husband's liberty. Or perhaps it is some other person who has conceived it, and gives out that it is by the wish of the Queen. But however that may be, it is said of a certainty that a party of foreign mummers has started for Kenilworth, and that they are armed with a deadly draught, which is to be administered to the Earl ere they leave."
"And thou hast travelled all this way with the news?"
"It seemed the best thing to do," answered Leofric. "I knew the way. Gilbert was already worn and weary with his ride from the south. And both secrecy and dispatch were needed. My pupils had many of them dispersed for the time being, and I was able to leave. I could not rest till I knew the rights of the matter, and whether in truth the evil deed had been accomplished."
At that very moment the doors of the great hall were flung wide open, and amid the plaudits of the company there rushed in a motley crew of strange-looking creatures, some disguised as gigantic beasts and birds, some in motley, like fools, with jingling bells, all wearing masks, and all capering about with antics and contortions, exciting outrageous laughter from the already hilarious company.
The leading figure was not bedizened like his troop, but wore a sombre black dress, which flowed round him in ample folds. His mask was black, and nothing of his face could be seen save a pair of shining black eyes. He uttered strange cries and calls, which were responded to by his troop, who varied the figures of their strange dance, and made picturesque groups and combinations as they moved about in the only open space in the hall, where the tables had been hastily thrust aside to give them room for their gambols.
Some of these creatures were jugglers, and performed feats of dexterity and sleight of hand which provoked shouts of wonder and admiration. Meantime, prompted evidently by the black-robed director, some of the servants had brought in a small table covered with a black cloth, and when this cloth was removed, the eager eyes of the onlookers fell upon certain strange-looking objects which caused many of them to exclaim,—
"He is an astrologer, and he will tell our horoscopes!"
At the same moment several of the strange-looking dancers whirled out of the hall, and came in again leading with care and reverence a white-robed, white-veiled figure, who came and stood beside the table, but rigid and still, as though hardly endowed with life.
At sight of that figure Alys gave a sudden start, and exclaimed in a low, frightened voice,—
"Pray Heaven that be not Linda! It is just her figure and her carriage! Oh, surely that magician cannot be Tito, and he have gotten possession of Linda for his evil practices!"
Leofric started, and gazed at the speaker with earnest eyes.
"It cannot be Linda; she was safe in Oxford when I left. But she told me that Lotta had lately disappeared, they knew not whither; only their brother Tito had once been seen lurking near the city, and it was thought he had perhaps come for his books and the instruments by which he wrought his unholy trade. Lotta had had the care of them since his departure, and had grown very strange. It may be that she has cast in her lot with him. But can that in truth be he?"
"He would sell his soul for gold," spoke Amalric between his shut teeth. "But he has put his head into the lion's den at last. If he has designs upon my father's life, we have a gallows on the wall whereon he shall pay the penalty of his sin."
"Methinks these mummers are no part of his real company," said Leofric. "Probably he has joined himself to them, and given them something to win him his entrance hither. But let us watch what he is doing. We must not let any devilry of his go unobserved."
"Nay, we will seek to catch him red-handed in the act!" hissed Amalric; "and methinks I will go below, the better to guard my father from his crafty wiliness."
The wizard, as he now openly declared himself to be, was busy practising the smaller arts of his calling upon the credulous, with results which appeared to them to be marvellous. But not content with that for long, he called upon the great ones of the company to come and hear what the future held for them—to look into the crystal, or into the magic mirror, and to ask of the white-robed vestal such things as they desired to hear.
Each person thus coming forward received from the veiled woman a cup containing water from a sacred well; this cup he drained, placed within it a piece of money, returned it to the vestal with a whispered question, and then, looking in the mirror or crystal, awaited either a reply from her lips or an image forming itself there.
It seemed as though the questioners heard or saw enough to mystify them, if not entirely to satisfy their curiosity, and there was quite a crowd around the recess where the wizard had established himself; whilst from time to time he called aloud on one or another of the company by name to approach and test his magic.
It was thus that the Prince and the Earl presently approached the table, partly from curiosity, partly from a sense of semi-superstitious belief in the power of these so-called magicians to read the future.
"Shall we try our fate?" asked the Prince, and he stretched out his hand for the cup.
It was given into his hands with some whispered words which brought a sudden flush into his face. He drained the cup, spoke a few words, and then came away with a strange expression in his glowing eyes.
"There is a spice of witchcraft about it," he said, with a laugh which was not perhaps quite natural; and he retired to the far end of the hall, grasping tightly in his hand a small fragment of paper which had been slipped into it, he scarce knew how or by whom.
The Earl had followed the example of his illustrious prisoner, his son Amalric keeping close at his side. He, too, took the cup from the hand of the maid; but ere he could lift it to his lips, Amalric cried out,—
"Have a care, sir; that cup is poisoned! Let the magician be seized till this thing has been inquired into!"
In a moment all was confusion and affright. The magician made a bound, as though to flee before hands could be laid upon him; but he was held by a dozen pairs of strong arms. He broke then into frantic pleadings and excuses; but no word was addressed to him until the draught intended for the Earl had been forced down the throat of a dog, which almost immediately was racked with violent convulsions, and died within fifteen minutes.
Sternly and with black brow did the Earl and his attendants look on. It was so easy to see what had been planned. The inquirer would have asked some question as to the future, would have received some terrible prophecy, and when this attack took him, those who stood by would think it an access of fear at what he had heard; and in the confusion the magician and his accomplices would effect an escape, even if suspicion did light upon them.
"How didst thou know this thing?" asked the Earl of his son; and Leofric was brought forward to tell his tale. A cry of rage and execration went up from the crowd as they listened. The terrified mummers, who knew nothing of the plot, slunk away and hid themselves in any dark corners they could find. No one heeded them, all eyes being fixed upon the magician himself; and when his mask was plucked from his face, it revealed the white, scared countenance of Tito Balzani.
In vain he pleaded his innocence, and implored mercy. There was no mercy in the stern faces around him. Even Prince Edward, in whose favour the intended crime was supposed to have been planned, came forward with wrath in his eyes, and desired the death of the miscreant.
"He dares to say that my mother was the instigator of the crime!" he cried. "Let him hang from the highest battlements for that foul lie! Some evil-disposed person, thinking to do us service, may have planned this hideous deed; but my mother—never! Let him die the death of a perjured traitor!"
"But my sister—who will care for my sister? She at least must not suffer for my sin!" wailed the hapless man. "It is Roger de Horn who ought to hang. It was he who showed me the gold, and tempted me to my ruin. But he ever escapes, and leaves me to bear the punishment. Let the woods be scoured for him, and I refuse not to die if he die too. But let him not escape. And, I beseech you, save my sister; for if she knew—the deed was none of hers."
"The maid shall not suffer; her sex shall be her safeguard," answered De Montfort sternly. "And as for that miscreant, whose name I have heard before now, search shall be made for him, and he shall suffer the fate he merits. Assassins and their accomplices find no mercy at Kenilworth.—Guard him well, men, and with the first of the daylight let him die!"
Thus upon the morn of the new year, Tito Balzani met his death upon the battlements of Kenilworth Castle; but though the woods were scoured and the Castle hunted from end to end, no trace of the veiled maiden nor of Roger de Horn could be found. It seemed as if in the confusion the girl had slipped away, perhaps to give warning to their comrade without. None had seen her from the moment when Amalric had denounced the wizard in the hearing of the whole assembly. She must have taken instant alarm, and have made good a clever escape, leaving her hapless brother to his well-earned fate.
The mummers, who soon explained their innocence and ignorance, were permitted to depart unhurt; but from that day when he knew that his life had been attempted, a darker cloud rested upon the stern, worn face of De Montfort, and sometimes he would break into passionate speech when alone with his wife or his sons.
"If the realm has done with me and wants me no more, by the arm of St. James let them say so, and I will be content to return to France, and live a peaceful life there, away from all this stress and strife. Yet if I do, all will cry shame upon me for deserting the cause to which I am pledged; whilst if I stay, I am reviled alike by friend and foe, called tyrant and usurper, and charged with all manner of crimes, of which not one can be proven against me!"
In truth, the Earl's position at this time was a very trying one. The Earl of Gloucester openly charged him with self-seeking and striving after personal aggrandizement, in order to cover his own defection from the cause of the Barons. De Montfort's sons fomented the dissensions by their haughty and overbearing conduct, so that all manner of charges were raised against them by their foes. True, the conditions imposed upon the captive King and Prince by the Parliament which met at Westminster early in the year placed almost regal powers in the hands of De Montfort; yet he himself knew that his tenure of power was most precarious. In that very Parliament the Barons' party had been most meagrely represented, so many nobles having declined to appear. Jealousy and party strife were doing their disintegrating work amongst the victors of Lewes, and the nation was beginning to murmur at the detention of King and Prince.
Plots of all sorts were being hatched for the deliverance of the latter (the King himself being personally useless to head any national movement), and the Earl, his uncle, was compelled by policy, as well as by his own sense of right and justice, to make his captivity as light and easy as possible.
So his friends were permitted access to him at Kenilworth—even such pronounced loyalists as Mortimer, Clifford, and Leiburn, who had declined to lay down their arms at the close of the campaign, but had retired into Wales in sullen displeasure, there to await the turning of the tide. A safe-conduct was granted to these and to other friends of the Prince to visit him in his captivity, albeit the Earl could not but be aware that in all probability the end of the matter would be that the Prince would escape from his prison, and immediately appear in arms against the foes of his father.
De Montfort was not, however, at Kenilworth in person now. He was in Westminster, directing the deliberations of Parliament; and Henry was left as the companion of the Prince, together with Thomas de Clare, brother of the Earl of Gloucester, and other knights congenial to the royal captive. The breach between Gloucester and Leicester had not yet been openly proclaimed, and no actual rupture had occurred between the members of the two houses.
Amalric had, together with Leofric and the De Kynastons, returned to Oxford. No formal betrothal had taken place between him and Alys. The affairs of the Earl had taken up so much time and thought, that there had scarce been space for the consideration of other matters. Moreover the father had once said to Amalric,—
"Press not the matter home too soon, my son. It may be that we are a falling, not a rising house. Link not the fate of an innocent maid with thine till we see whether this rising cloud will disperse again, or whether it will gather into a tempest that will overthrow us."
Nevertheless it was well understood by the two fathers, ere the Constable took his departure, that the betrothal of Amalric and Alys would, if all went well, take place very shortly. Both Earl and Countess bestowed upon her many rich gifts, and Amalric begged her acceptance of a costly ring, which she could not refuse, the eyes of her elders being upon her, although her heart misgave her that this would be regarded as a pledge when the time came for the settlement of the question of her marriage.
"It may be thou wilt learn to love him yet," whispered the Demoiselle, who took a keen interest in the matter, greatly desiring to have Alys for a sister, and earnestly desiring her brother's happiness, yet feeling a keen sympathy with the unconfessed romance which she guessed at, and regarding Leofric as, after her own brother, a very proper mate for her friend. "Amalric is more like our father than any of them, and I trow he would be a gallant lover and a loyal husband. But thou shalt never be forced to do a thing at which thy heart rebels. I will myself tell him all sooner than thou shalt be made unhappy, sweet Alys."
But at that Alys shrank as though touched upon a wound, and made almost hasty answer,—
"Speak not so, dearest Eleanora; thou dost not know what thou sayest. I shall seek in all things to do right; I only wish that my poor heart were worth the winning of so gallant a gentleman as thy brother. I am sore ashamed oftentimes to think what a paltry thing he seeks after."
"It is not paltry to him, so it be all his own," answered Eleanora; but at that word Alys winced again.
However, the party for Oxford rode off from Kenilworth in due course, in good spirits—Amalric willing to wait for his betrothal till his father's affairs should be more fully arranged, yet full of confidence that the day would come when he could call Alys his own.
Meantime Prince Edward remained behind, the playmate of his little cousin Eleanora at Kenilworth, a pleasant guest and kinsman, never showing the least spark of resentment at his prolonged captivity, yet bearing himself with a princely air to those about him, as though he would have them remember that, if a prisoner, he was a King's son and the heir of the realm. He received his friends with pleasure, and held various consultations with them at different times. Henry de Montfort looked with some suspicion upon these meetings, and wrote once to his father cautioning him to put a stop to them. But the Earl would not do this. He felt keenly the difficulties attending holding in captivity his monarch and that monarch's son, and he was resolved to give as small reason as possible for complaint.
The talk of arbitration was still going on, but few believed in any important results, save perhaps the release of King and Prince. Meantime weeks and months slipped by in quick succession, and the affairs of the state so engrossed De Montfort that he knew little of what went on within the walls of his home, save what was reported by his wife and son.
With the approach of summer, outdoor exercise and amusements were taken up with zest. The Demoiselle was a fearless rider, and loved to fly a falcon, or to gallop side by side with her cousin over the green meadows and golden moors. The Prince delighted in every sort of manly exercise, and though always attended by a sufficient escort, was permitted to indulge himself in these pleasures round and about the Castle of Kenilworth.
Presents were from time to time sent to him by his friends, and one day there arrived at the Castle a fine horse, which had come from the Earl of Gloucester. The Demoiselle was greatly pleased with the creature, and eager for her cousin to try it.
Upon the next morning, therefore, the party rode forth to a green meadow about two miles distant, bounded on one side by a wood; and here Prince Edward laughingly challenged his escort to a series of contests of fleetness and strength. All entered with zest into the spirit of the thing. The horses were drawn up, and the Demoiselle was called upon to give judgment.
"Six times round shall be the course," cried the Prince, "and whosoever comes in first shall be victor."
"Agreed!" cried the other young men, all well mounted, as was needful when they had so great a prize as the King's son in their custody; and forthwith the race began.
Six times round that great expanse of turf, six times round at the reckless speed which young knights strove to attain when engrossed in feats of skill and daring, was no small strain upon a horse's powers, and would be an excellent test for the stranger.
Breathlessly did Eleanora watch the gallant creatures sweeping round and round the course, sometimes one forging ahead, then another making a gallant dash and passing his comrade, but all the field keeping near together; for it was a point of honour with his escort not to let the Prince get far out of reach, and perhaps it occurred to Henry de Montfort that this might be a ruse on Edward's part to make some desperate effort at escape.
His year of parole had now expired. He was no longer bound by his plighted word. Perhaps that detail had escaped the memory of the Earl; at any rate no request or command had reached the captive for a renewal of the promise, or for any stricter rule of captivity.
Eleanora, however, thought of nothing but the excitement of the race; and when upon the sixth round the field came sweeping up towards the spot where she had placed herself, just within the friendly shade of the adjacent forest, her face was flushed with excitement, and she cried gaily,—
"Edward wins—the Prince wins!" just as he brought his panting and foam-stained horse to a halt beside her.
Edward leaped from the saddle, and made his cousin a graceful bow. There was a slight rustle in the thicket close behind.
"Farewell, sweet cousin," he cried; "we shall meet again ere long, I trow!" and before any of those about him had taken in the sense of these words, the Prince had vaulted upon the back of a strong young horse, led forth that moment by an unseen hand.
With a shout and an oath Henry de Montfort sprang forward, but was forcibly held back by young De Clare. The next minute the Prince was galloping off at a pace which rendered it impossible for any of the jaded horses to strive to emulate.
"Farewell, gentlemen," cried Edward, waving his hand; "I thank you for your courtesy and good company these many days. And tell my royal father that I shall soon see him out of ward! A merry meeting to us all another day!"
The last words were inaudible. Already the receding figure was disappearing from their view.
De Clare burst into a loud laugh, and turning fiercely upon Henry de Montfort he cried,—
"Ride after him and welcome if thou wilt, young fool! He is by this time with Roger Mortimer and a goodly following, who will hack thee in pieces with a right good will! I go to join them and my noble brother. Neither Gloucester nor England will long be content to be ruled by King Simon the usurper!"
Note.—The escape of Prince Edward really took place from Hereford, though in the same fashion as that described above.
Note.—The escape of Prince Edward really took place from Hereford, though in the same fashion as that described above.