Everett-Green Evelyn
A Clerk of Oxford, and His Adventures in the Barons' War
CHAPTER XXIX
LEOFRIC'S REWARD
Strange as it may appear, it was with tears in his eyes that Edward, the victorious Prince, attended the obsequies of his two cousins, Henry and Amalric de Montfort, after the fatal fight of Evesham. He and Henry had been playfellows in childhood and comrades in youth. The tie between them had not been broken even when one was a captive and the other his jailer. Warmly as he had espoused his father's cause when it came to a question of arms, Edward had always felt a deep respect for the policy of his uncle, and would have kept the peace between the rival factions had he had power to do so. It was with sorrow of heart that he looked on whilst the grave closed over two such brave young warriors. He had already given orders that every attention should be bestowed upon the wounded Guy, and had even expressed a hope that he might be permitted to join his mother as soon as his wounds were sufficiently healed for it to be safe for him to travel.
Although elated by his victory, and the object of an immense amount of praise and laudation, Edward was not puffed up by his success, and strove to influence his father to act with moderation and liberal-mindedness. He had not been able to save the corpse of the Earl from dishonour and despite; but he was resolved to let all the world know that he was not ashamed to show affection and respect for the sons of the great noble, or disposed to put on one side his own near relationship to them.
He would not be dissuaded from attending in person the obsequies of his cousins, and it was when standing at their grave that his glance suddenly rested upon the bowed head and pale face of Leofric.
"I would speak with that youth," said he to Hugh, who chanced to be near at hand; "bid him come presently to my tent."
So later in the day Leofric once more stood face to face with the King's son.
Leofric had never attempted to fly from the scene of the battle. He scarce knew whether he was ranked as a prisoner or not. No one had spoken to him or molested him. It seemed as though the common bond of brotherhood had now asserted itself amidst the ranks of the rival hosts. The leaders of the rebellion (as it would soon be termed) would doubtless receive punishment in the form of fines and confiscations when there was time to consider their cases; but the Prince was in favour of a general amnesty to rank and file; and though the adherents of the Barons were melting away like snow in a thaw, no attempt was made to keep them. They were, for the most part, suffered to depart to their own homes. Numbers had laid down their lives in the slaughter of the battle day; the rest were free to return whence they had come. Leofric was meditating a journey to Oxford as soon as he should be fit for the long ride; but both he and Jack had had little heart to think of their own affairs, their distress at the loss of the cause and of so many true friends and comrades having for the time being driven all else from their minds. They had, however, the previous evening decided that there was nothing left for them to do here after the morrow, and had settled that upon the following day they would set forth for Oxford, taking with them a few mementos of their fallen hero, and carrying to Mistress Alys the last message and token of her whilom lover Amalric de Montfort.
This summons from the Prince, however, might possibly cause a change in their plan. Jack looked a little apprehensive as he heard it; but Leofric had no fear. He had faith in the good-will of Edward.
"Thou canst come too, good Jack," said Hugh, who had brought the message from the King's son. "He has some words to speak to many of those who have served under the De Montfort banner. Be in nowise afraid. He is a right noble Prince, and meaneth well to all."
When Jack and Leofric reached the tent where Prince Edward had preferred to establish himself – leaving the quarters in the Abbey for his father and the older nobles – they found awaiting them, just without, several of the Oxford students who had joined Amalric at the last, and had been present at the fatal fight of Evesham. Together they all entered the presence of the Prince, conducted by Hugh le Barbier and Gilbert Barbeck, who seemed to have the oversight of this matter. Gilbert had joined the Prince shortly before the march on Kenilworth, bringing him supplies of money which had been entrusted to him by his father. It was reassuring to the students to see these comrades of theirs at such a moment, and to feel that there was no ill meant them.
Within the tent stood Prince Edward, his face grave and thoughtful, but wearing a look of friendliness also. He returned with courtesy the salutations made to him, and then began to address the youths who stood silently before him.
"My friends," he said, "I have desired to see you and to speak with you face to face, and therefore have I had you brought thus privately to my quarters here. England has just been through a time of terrible trial, and I hope and believe that the benefits of this great struggle will not quickly pass away. War is a fearful thing at all times, but tenfold worse when waged betwixt brethren. I trust that the sword sheathed to-day will not be again drawn in such a fashion. Brethren should live together in unity and peace. Is it not so?"
He looked around him as he spoke, and only Leofric dared to make reply.
"Yes truly, sire, if peace can walk hand in hand with honour and freedom."
Edward gave him a piercing glance.
"I know what thou wouldst say Leofric Wyvill, and in part thou art right. – I stand before you here this day to testify to the love and reverence I bear to a great man who has passed away from this world, who has died the death of a hero. Though I be the King's son, and though I myself bore arms against the great Earl mine uncle, yet here I stand before you, and boldly avow that the cause in which he laid down his life was a noble one, and that I bear no enmity towards those who fought at his side, even though they fought against me. Can you understand this, my friends?"
A murmur of assent went up from the wondering group. They had little expected such an avowal from Prince Edward; and yet, to those who knew him and his history, there was nothing incompatible in his words and actions. Duty to his father and to his own position had forced him to rise against the usurper of the royal prerogative and the custodians of his own and his father's person; nevertheless he fully and candidly recognized the justice of the cause in which his foes had embarked, and even gave it in no small measure his sympathy.
"You will ask why I say all this to you," he said; "but I will soon explain myself. You come from a city which has been forward in the cause of the Barons, a seat of learning, whose voice must ever weigh with the people. For the moment the cause you have at heart is, or seems to be, lost. Its leader is dead, its army cut to pieces, its fugitives straggling back to their own homes. Yet the feelings which gave rise to the movement are not dead. They live immortal in the hearts of a free people; and if the teachers and leaders of that people's thought preach once more a national crusade, doubtless leaders could be found to bring an army again into the field."
The youths looked at one another with a covert surprise. It was strange to hear their Prince speaking to them thus.
Edward noted their glances, and a slight smile crossed his handsome face. He looked earnestly upon his listeners.
"My friends," he said, "I speak to you thus freely because I have somewhat to ask of you. I pray you use all the influence you possess with your comrades and townsmen, and preach to them the doctrine of patience. If they will but be patient a few years, I trow that the causes of complaint will speedily be removed. Listen, and I will further explain. My father grows old. Twice has he been wounded; his powers are failing him somewhat. It may be that his life will not be greatly prolonged; or that if it is, he will take his son, mine unworthy self, more fully into his counsels. I cannot honestly believe that he himself will greatly change his methods or his habits. Change comes easily enough to the young, but not to the old. I fear that many abuses will be revived, but I trust and hope that it will not be for long. I am growing of an age to claim my share in the government, and to speak openly to my father. The people, I think, have some love for me, and I desire their welfare with my whole heart. In all things I shall seek to counsel my father to wise measures, and to a policy akin to that which the Barons have so long and vehemently urged upon him. If in course of time I should sit upon England's throne, I will strive to profit by the lessons learned in these days of struggle and adversity, and to rule wisely and well. I have never loved my father's foreign favourites. I would surround myself with native-born counsellors; I would withstand the unlawful tyranny of the Pope; I would have England to be a free and prosperous country – prosperous at home and respected abroad. That is what I shall seek to attain to if ever I sit upon her throne. Wherefore, my friends, preach patience to those from whom ye have come, if they speak bitterly of those things which have been done. Seek not to raise up another leader, but wait till your Prince can with honour be the leader and head of his people. Believe me, I love the English nation, and will never patiently see the poor trampled under foot, or the charters of the nation set aside. Only have patience, only wait awhile, and all will be well."
These sincere and politic words were eagerly listened to by the Oxford students, and received with a buzz of applause. It was indeed a hopeful sign that the heir to the throne should thus address them. They knew well that for the present it would be hopeless to renew the struggle; and yet that the nation, having begun to assert her rights, even at the sword's point and in the teeth of royal oppression, would not easily be content to forego the ground once won. But if she could be taught to regard the coming King as her best champion, how much misery and wretchedness might be spared! Leofric's face kindled at the thought, and there was an eager look in the eyes of all which told the Prince that his words had been understood and appreciated, and that he had won himself friends and advocates in the heart of one of the most important cities of the kingdom.
Then Prince Edward dismissed the greater part of his guests with words of courteous thanks and good-will; but he signed to Leofric to remain behind, and Jack remained with him.
"And now, my good friend," he said, very graciously, "I have long desired to redeem my pledge, and to reward thee for the service thou once didst render to me. Hitherto I have had small chance of keeping my promise, but for all that it has never been forgotten."
Leofric spoke a few words disclaiming any service; but the Prince cut him short.
"Twice hast thou rendered to me notable service," he said: "once when thou didst risk thy life in the forest of Kenilworth to save me from the furious assault of the boar; and again when thou didst bring timely notice to Kenilworth of the attempt to be made upon mine uncle's life, which attempt, if successful, would have been laid, however unjustly, at the door of my mother, or perhaps even at mine own, seeing that I was a captive guest within those walls, having intercourse with friends from without. I have owed thee this debt of gratitude for long. But the time has come when thou shalt receive thy reward;" and the smile in the Prince's eyes was frank, and pleasant to see.
"I have taken counsel, therefore, with our good friend and thy comrade Hugh as to what may be done for thee. I would have bestowed upon thee a fair manor, where thou couldst have lived at ease; but he has told me that thine heart is inclined to learning, and that at Oxford, perchance, a career of honour lies before thee. I would have placed thee in some vacant benefice if thine heart did incline to the Church; but as it is not so, I must wait till thou art something older ere I can place thee in some office which thy talents will adorn."
Leofric made a grateful bow. To have the favour of the heir to the throne was no small matter in those days. He might well look forward to a career of great success and honour if he were marked out by the royal favour.
"Meantime," added the Prince, "I have instructed the steward of Beaumont Palace to pay to thee one hundred marks year by year; and when thou hast become a notable disputer, lecturer, doctor, perhaps, and when thou art ready for a change, there will be promotion and honour awaiting thee elsewhere. I shall not forget one who was so faithful in his friendship to a losing cause, and who was so well beloved by those whom I loved well."
A sudden quiver in the Prince's voice betokened a wave of unwonted emotion. He had been deeply attached to the De Montfort family, despite political differences, and he knew how Leofric had followed Amalric, and had been with him at the moment of his death. This formed a strong link between them now, and as Leofric would have stammered out his thanks for this great and wonderful gift, the Prince held out his hand suddenly, and said, —
"Farewell, good Leofric; we shall meet again. Be thou as true and faithful as thou hast ever been, and happiness and success will surely attend thee."
Leofric bent the knee, pressed his lips to the hand of the Prince, and then, making a deep obeisance, he retired from the tent, Jack following him open-mouthed with amazement.
He broke into loud exclamations of delight.
"One hundred marks a year! Why, good comrade, thou wilt be rich for life!" he cried. "Thou canst take a Hall of thine own, and become rich and prosperous. Or thou canst wed Mistress Alys – "
But there Jack was brought to a sudden standstill by the look upon his comrade's face. Leofric flushed crimson, and then turned pale, and said almost sternly, —
"Jack, Jack, thy tongue doth run away with thee. Dost thou not know by whom the Mistress Alys was beloved?"
Jack grew red in his turn, but he muttered beneath his breath, half afraid that Leofric might hear, —
"Marry, I know well enough who loved her, but maidens do not always return the love of their finest suitors."
Leofric's cheek was rather flushed; Jack could not say whether he had heard these words or not. He returned to his first theme.
"At least thou canst hire a Hall, and scholars will flock to thee. Thou wilt be renowned for thy lectures, and wilt become a Regent Master, if thou dost not 'incept' in theology or law, and wear the Doctor's gown. Thy fortune is secure now, and some day, doubtless, when the Prince has ascended the throne (which pray Heaven may be soon), he will raise thee to great honour and dignity; for methinks he hath a princely heart, and hath taken a mighty liking for thee."
"But thou shalt not leave me, Jack," cried Leofric, "even though we have a grander lodging than we have known before. Thou wert my first friend. Thou hast stood at my side in many an hour of peril. If I have won the crown of success, thou hast merited a share in it. Thou art a bachelor thyself, and thou shalt assist me in my lectures, and use my school for thine own. We will not part company. We have travelled too long the same road. Thou hast throughout been my faithful friend. Thou wilt not desert me now?"
Jack gripped his friend's hand hard, and there was a huskiness in his voice as he declared that he desired nothing better than to remain always by his comrade's side.
A few days later the camp broke up; but Hugh had declared that Leofric and Jack must pay a visit to his house before they journeyed to Oxford, and Jack was desirous to travel by way of his own home and see his relatives ere he took up his abode once again at the seat of learning.
So first they journeyed to Worcester, eager to hear news of Lotta, whose strange history had been related to them, and whose tidings, brought to Prince Edward so promptly, had been the immediate cause of the defeat of De Montfort.
Already the country had begun to assume a more peaceful aspect. Traces of war's ravages were everywhere only too visible, but it was plain that the overthrow and death of the Earl of Leicester had for the moment crushed in the hearts of the people any idea of further fighting. They revered his memory, they mourned and wept for him, they regarded him as a martyr and a hero; but there was no one upon whom his mantle could fall, and the hopes of the nation gradually began to centre in Prince Edward; for the King's life had already lasted beyond the ordinary limits attained in those days, and it might well be that before long his son would succeed him upon the throne.
The news of the victory at Evesham had preceded Hugh to his home, but not that of his personal safety, so that his arrival sound and whole was the signal for great demonstrations of delight throughout the household.
Hardly had the little cavalcade ridden into the courtyard before Linda was at her husband's side, welcoming him with tears of joy; and she had a very gracious and joyful greeting to give to Leofric and Jack, both of whom seemed so closely linked with her past life.
The board was quickly laid, the hungry travellers sat down, and breathlessly did father, mother, and wife listen to the story of the bloody fight at Evesham, and the death of the great Earl and his sons.
Linda's tears fell as she heard of Amalric's death. She had known him well in old days, and there was something about him which always won the hearts of those with whom he came in contact.
"I can be thankful now," she said in a low voice to Leofric, "that sweet Alys never truly yielded him her heart. She loved him as friend and brother, but she never gave him the treasure he longed to possess. There have been moments when I have been almost sad at heart to see this, but now I can rejoice."
Leofric's face changed colour a little.
"My Lord Amalric said somewhat of this to me as he lay dying," he answered, in a low voice; "yet I had thought that he and the maiden were very much one to the other, and that their betrothal was nigh at hand."
"In truth they might, had things gone otherwise, have been betrothed by the act of their elders; but the heart of Alys was not truly his. I have not lived with her as sister and friend all those years without knowing that much."
Leofric said no more. A thoughtful look settled upon his face, and into his eyes there began to creep a new look. He did not care to ask himself what the hope was which suddenly awakened in his heart, but it seemed in some strange way to change and glorify his whole life.
Hugh now claimed his wife's attention. He asked news of Lotta, and heard that she was recovering strength slowly, but that her mind seemed strangely affected. She appeared to be losing hold upon recent events, and was going back more and more to their childhood's days. She spoke constantly of their mother, and asked for her, and wondered when she should "go home!" Linda did not think she now remembered that she was the wife of Roger de Horn, and heard the news of his death with feelings of great relief.
"I trust it is not wicked, but I cannot grieve for him. I do not think Lotta would even understand if told: from that night when you brought her here and went away, everything seems to have been gradually fading from her mind that belongs to the stormy and unhappy part of her life. I believe now that if I were to take her to mother and Aunt Bridget at Eynsham, where I lived so peacefully and happily myself, she would be perfectly happy there; and that mother would be the happier for having a daughter to love and tend."
For Linda had recently heard that her mother was a widow, and had retired to live with her sister at Eynsham. Balzani had never really recovered from the shock of hearing the manner of his son's death, and had shortly afterwards taken a fever and died. It would no doubt be a comfort to the widow to have one of her children back again with her, especially if she needed motherly care and tendance.
So it was quickly arranged that as soon as Lotta could bear the fatigues of a journey, she should be carried by easy stages to Eynsham; whilst Linda should take this opportunity of paying a visit to Alys, who had earnestly prayed her at parting not to be too long without coming to see them.
Leofric and Jack would visit their old homes – the farm and the monks of St. Michael – and join the other party as they approached Oxford. Leofric had the messages and the token to deliver to Alys from Amalric, and greatly would he have feared this part of his task had it not been for Linda's words.
They often talked of Alys as they paced the alleys of the garden together during the few days that Leofric remained the guest of Hugh, recalling the past days of their student life in Oxford, and how strangely fortune had dealt with them, throwing them together, and into the company of the Constable's daughter.
Now Linda was the wife of a prosperous gentleman, who by the favour of the Prince had good prospects of rising to knighthood; and Leofric, from being a poor clerk, almost of the begging class, was a Master, a man of some substance, as riches went in those days, and could, as Linda once softly suggested, "mate with any maiden, even of a noble house, for his learning and the prospect held out to him of princely favour."
Then a red flush crept into Leofric's cheek, and he made answer, —
"There is only one maiden in all the world for me; and how can I dare to hope that she will have thought to spare for so humble a suppliant as myself?"
"Thou hadst better ask her what she thinks of the suppliant," said Linda softly. "Methinks a faint heart beseems not an earnest wooer."
Leofric gave her a searching look.
"Mistress Linda, what dost thou mean?" he questioned. She looked at him with a smile in her eyes.
"Thou hadst better ask Alys what I mean."
