_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.