Everett-Green Evelyn
A Clerk of Oxford, and His Adventures in the Barons' War
CHAPTER XIX
THE CHANCELLOR'S AWARD
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 the mount, and he is bold (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 the mount he 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."
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."
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.
