_TURBULENT TIMES._
"Surely they will not submit!"
"To give up all at the bidding of a King of France! Why, as well might
we be slaves at once!"
"I always said no good would come of seeking aid from such an one as he.
England is no fief of France. What has Louis to do with her affairs?"
"The brother-in-law of the King!"
"Himself a tyrant, always seeking to curtail the rights of his own
nobles and people!"
"A tool of the Pope's and a foe to England!"
"It was shame they should seek to such a man as he! But surely--oh,
surely our noble Earl will not be holden back from his righteous work by
that Mise of Amiens!"
All Oxford was in a state of intense excitement. The news had just been
brought that the French King, whose arbitration had been sought upon the
dispute between the King and the Barons of England, had just given his
decision.
In every point he sided with Henry. All that the Barons and Commons of
the realm had been struggling for these many years was to be set aside.
England was to be given over to the Pope, and to be governed by aliens;
for the award gave the King full power to choose his own counsellors,
and as all men knew, he had scarce a single favourite who was not a
foreigner. Everything was to be as before the Provisions of Oxford had
been drawn up; and the French King wound up by counselling both parties
to lay aside rancour, and live at peace, whilst he urged upon his
brother of England to grant an amnesty to his Barons. It was the kind of
award which any discerning man might have expected from one like Louis
of France. He was a king who desired absolute power in his own realm,
and although he had not abused that power as Henry had, he would not on
that account uphold the subjects of the neighbouring kingdom against
their sovereign. The marvel is that a man so far-seeing and astute as De
Montfort had ever pledged himself to be bound by the award of France. He
might surely have foreseen, as it seems to us, what the nature of that
award would be.
England was furious--that part of it at least which followed the
fortunes of the Earl. The bulk of the nation at that time, at any rate
in the large and populous districts, was all for the cause of
constitutional freedom; and the King was hated and distrusted by his
subjects, not without cause. Had his son been on the throne, matters
might have taken a different turn; but although Edward was personally
beloved, and was becoming a strong power in the state, he was not yet of
sufficient account to change the aspect of affairs. He was acting with
his father, as was right and natural in the circumstances. He could not
form a third party in the state. Had his father abdicated in his favour,
the war might perhaps have been averted; but such a thing never entered
Henry's head. He was by no means weary of the task of ruling even such a
turbulent people as his own was fast becoming.
All Oxford was in commotion. Keen excitement reigned everywhere. The
news was three days old, yet the populace was as greatly stirred as at
first. For once clerks and citizens were in accord, and denounced in
unison the French King and the Mise of Amiens. The greatest eagerness
for fresh news prevailed throughout, and every traveller entering the
city was besieged for intelligence.
"When Lord Amalric comes back, then we shall know!" was a frequent cry.
For Amalric had gone to Kenilworth for Christmas, and had not yet
returned. He was said to have been detained there by the accident to his
father which had prevented the Earl himself from being present at the
Mise of Amiens.
Some thought that had De Montfort been there to urge his cause in
person, a different award might have been given; but this seems hardly
probable in face of the French King's attitude all the way through. The
Earl had, however, intended being present; but just before he would have
left the country his horse fell with him, breaking his leg, and he had
perforce to remain behind at Kenilworth, and appoint a commission to
represent him before the French King.
Amalric, however, would not be likely to remain long away from Oxford,
and his friends awaited his coming with the same eagerness as the whole
city. When it was rumoured that he was on his way, and might be expected
at any hour, a constant watch was kept for him; and upon his arrival he
was received with the greatest enthusiasm, and found himself obliged to
halt at Carfax, and respond to the acclamations of the people, whilst
his ears were assailed by a thousand questions which he could only
partially answer.
Amalric had awaited at Kenilworth the arrival of the news from France,
and he was in a position to assure the citizens and clerks of Oxford
that his father would not abandon the cause of liberty, despite the
award of Amiens.
This statement was received with thunders of applause; hats were waved
and weapons brandished, as though every man there was ready to go forth
and fight for the liberty of the realm.
What would be the next step, and whether there was any chance of
pacification, Amalric could not say. His father, he averred, was very
loth to press matters to extremity; but he would sooner draw the sword
and die wielding it, than see his country brought a second time under
the yoke of papal tyranny and foreign greed. If the King (as was
probable) was now resolved to continue in these evil ways, the Barons,
with the Earl of Leicester at their head, would stand forth against him.
More than that he could not say, but upon that point they might rest
assured.
That was enough to raise shouts and cheers of enthusiastic joy. The
people crowded about Amalric, blessing him, and calling him by every
sort of high-sounding name. To them he represented his father, and the
great Earl was at present the idol of the city.
Amalric had some ado to get through the crowd and ride to the Castle,
where he was received with great eagerness by his friends there. The
whole family, together with Hugh le Barbier, had assembled in one of the
lower rooms to meet him, and he had scarcely returned the greetings
showered upon him ere he was called upon to tell his news, and to say
how his father had received the tidings from Amiens.
At greater length than he had spoken to the crowd, he told the Constable
and his friends of the resolve of the Barons to resist to the death. It
was no more than Sir Humphrey, and indeed all thinking men, had
anticipated. To forego all that had been struggled for during these many
years, and to tamely yield up the spoils of hard-fought fights, was
altogether foreign to the nature of the English people, and to that of
their leader.
"I would they had never asked the King of France," said the Constable,
expressing the general sentiment; "I always said no good would come of
it. Louis of France may be a saint--of that I know nothing--but he is
very much a King, and as such would certainly uphold the royal
prerogative on every point."
"And now, will there be war?" asked Hugh, speaking very gravely as he
leaned over the back of the chair in which Linda was seated. Dame
Margaret and the two maidens had been permitted to come below to
welcome Amalric back, and it might be noted how, as he told his tale,
his eyes kept seeking ever and anon the face of the fair Alys. Now he
came a few steps nearer to make his reply.
"I fear me so. Unless the King hear reason, it can scarce be otherwise;
and bolstered up as he now is by his brother-in-law of France, he is
little likely to show even the amount of moderation that he has
sometimes done."
The faces of all grew grave. War had many times been spoken of, but
always as a thing not immediately probable; now it seemed indeed at the
very door, and the faces of all betrayed a greater or less amount of
anxiety. Amalric looked around him, as though to ask how far his friends
would support his party even in extremity; for when once the question
came to be settled by force of arms, it was always doubtful how far men
would go. There were many who, whilst ardently desiring to see the King
advised for his good, would not take up arms against him, regarding him
as the anointed servant of God.
This was indeed somewhat the view of Hugh le Barbier, and it was
therefore with keen pain that he contemplated the thought of civil war.
His sympathies were with the Barons. His personal affection for Amalric
inclined him to fight shoulder to shoulder with his comrade. But he had
a deeply-seated repugnance to fighting against the lawful sovereign of
the realm, and whilst others pressed round Amalric, declaring that they
would fight to the death for the cause of liberty, he stood in the same
place, behind Linda's chair, and did not join his voice in promise or
protest.
Perhaps Amalric guessed at the struggle going on within him, for he did
not seek to draw him into the discussion so eagerly conducted. It was
Linda who, presently raising her eyes to her lover's face, asked
softly,--
"And thou, beloved, what wilt thou do?"
"I know not," he answered, in a very low voice. "The choice is indeed a
grievous one. I would follow Amalric to the world's end in a cause which
I knew to be righteous; but when it comes to raising the standard and
taking up arms against the anointed King, I scarce know how I can do it.
Would that the choice had not to be made!"
There were not, however, many in the city who seemed troubled with
Hugh's scruples. Almost to a man they were eager for the outbreak of
war; and most warlike preparations were set afoot by the clerks and
scholars, as though these latter expected to take the field and fight
under the banner of De Montfort as soon as ever the collision occurred.
Beaumont meadows were alive from sunrise to sunset with a motley company
from the city, the most part of them being members of the University,
who spent their time exercising themselves in feats of warlike prowess
on foot or on horseback--shooting at targets with bow or catapult,
tilting one at the other with the lance, or practising sword-play with
such good-will that wounds and bruises were sometimes the result of
these encounters. Still, since these were given and taken in good part
and for the sake of the cause, no umbrage or ill-will was aroused
thereby. The Chancellor himself encouraged these warlike sports, and it
was known that he would put no hindrance in the way of students who
wished to join the mustering ranks of the Barons' army.
The Chancellor was a warm supporter of De Montfort's cause, and he gave
every facility to the clerks for training themselves in the arts of war.
The friars, as has been explained before, were equally in favour of the
cause of the people; and Leofric, who after hearing Hugh's scruples had
consulted Father Angelus, was quite satisfied by the answers he
received, and ready to throw himself heart and soul into the cause of
the Barons. The friar admitted that neither party had all the right on
its side. Good and evil mingled in both, and personal ambition would be
found on both sides, marring the perfection of fruition. But the friars
held that a King might lawfully be withheld by his subjects from
becoming the slave of evil practices, and that it was better he should
be ruled by his own nobles, who had the good of the country at heart,
than by foreign hirelings, who cared for nothing but to fill their own
pockets, and sell the land to the emissaries of papal tyranny.
Then in the midst of all this seething excitement, when it seemed as
though a spark falling might set the city in a blaze, the news was
brought that Prince Edward would march through, on his way to the Welsh
Marches.
Consternation reigned in the breasts of the authorities when this news
was made known. They saw in it a source of real peril to the city. At
present public opinion was so entirely in favour of De Montfort, that,
in spite of all the excitement and tumult within the walls, the students
were in excellent temper with one another, even North and South
forgetting their differences for the moment. But if the Prince should
appear--the Prince whose personal influence always made itself felt, and
who was probably coming this way with a view to enlist the sympathies of
some amongst the clerks and scholars on his fathers side--it was almost
certain that his appearance would result in a demonstration in his
favour by a certain number of students, who would then come into instant
collision with the bulk of their fellows, and a hideous and
indiscriminate battle would be the inevitable result.
"Read but the records aright, and you'll see,
When the students in Oxford do once disagree,
'Twill be but of months, at the most two or three,
Ere the conflict in England rage furiously."
This was the common saying of the time, and although not always perhaps
borne out by facts, since Oxford was often in a ferment, it was
certainly thought advisable to check the possibility of a miniature
civil war within the walls of the city; and both Constable and
Chancellor sent messengers to the Prince, to request him not to attempt
to enter the city walls.
Prince Edward was always reasonable and courteous. He received the
messengers with great good temper, and refrained from carrying out his
purpose. He could not, however, change his line of march, and he passed
close to Oxford on his way, lodging himself for a few nights outside
the walls, in the palace of Beaumont, though keeping his army at some
greater distance from the city.
The authorities, of course, could not expect more in reply to their
request; but they were still uneasy at the thought of the presence of an
army so near to their town, although the students appeared to be unaware
of or indifferent to its proximity. To make assurance doubly sure, the
city gates were all locked, and the fiat went forth that none should
enter or leave the city without special permission from the authorities.
Some amusement and some indignation were felt by the students at this
infringement of their liberties. However, for three days they submitted
with tolerable grace to the restriction imposed. On the fourth day
Prince Edward and his forces resumed their march, and the students saw
no reason why they should not resume their pleasures. Beaumont meadows,
being beyond the walls, had been closed to them for this period, and now
a great band sallied forth to resume interrupted amusements there.
But when they reached Smith Gate, by which they expected to make their
exit from the city, they found it still locked and barred, and the
watchman told them that he had had orders to keep it shut all day and
only open it on the morrow.
"Shame! shame! shame!" cried the crowd, surging round it like a swarm of
angry bees, those from behind pushing upon those in front, and adding
their voices to the clamour.
It was perhaps rather unwise of the authorities to have been so slow in
restoring the liberty of the turbulent clerks. They had behaved better
than had been looked for during the time of detention, and it would have
been more politic had this detention been ended at the first possible
moment. But perhaps they reckoned too much on the temperate spirit
showed so far, and thought it more prudent not to be in haste.
Leofric and Jack, coming homewards after morning lecture, were stopped
in their approach to their lodging by the presence of this surging
crowd, who were all armed, ready for their military pastimes, and who
seemed now actuated by an exceedingly warlike spirit.
Jack quickly learned the cause of the commotion, and Leofric exclaimed
eagerly,--
"I will to the Chancellor, and get leave from him for the gate to be
opened; but I pray you, brother students, make not a disturbance in the
city. Wait only one short half-hour, and I will be back with an answer."
Some heard the appeal, and gave a half-hearted assent; but those
struggling round the gate neither heard nor heeded.
"Run upon thine errand, good Leofric!" cried Jack, "for they will not
have long patience. I will seek to stay them from violence, but methinks
they look like storming the city walls!"
Leofric sped away, and Jack remained--sturdy Jack, who must ever be in
the heart of the fray. Soon he was more in its heart than he altogether
desired; for more and more clerks came flocking up, the birds of the
air seemingly having carried the news that mischief was afloat.
"Shall we be pent up in the city, like rats in a trap?"
"Shall we be treated like children, and not suffered abroad save at the
pleasure of nurses?"
"Who dares to hem us in like this? Let us show them what free men can
do! Let us teach them a lesson! Shall we submit to tyranny, when all the
land is astir against it? Never, never, never! Oxford scholars never
shall be slaves!"
It needed but words like these to set the whole crowd in a fury. Many of
the number had axes in their hands, and all were armed. Flinging
themselves upon the gate, they hewed it down with fierce strokes,
scoffing at the resistance and remonstrances of the sentries. The
woodwork could not long withstand their determined blows. The gate
crashed outwards; a fierce yell of triumph arose from the crowd. The
victors poured out into the fields beyond, carrying with them the
splintered fragments of the strong wooden door.
The spirit of devilry had now got into them. They insisted that the
remains must be interred with due formality. They chanted over their
burden the office for the dead, and digging a huge trench in Beaumont
meadows, they performed mock obsequies in a very irreverent fashion.
But hardly had this been accomplished before the cry was raised,--
"The Provosts! the Provosts! and the worshipful Mayor himself!"
It was true. The city authorities had heard of this outbreak, and the
Provosts, or Bailiffs, had gathered together a body of bold citizens,
and were marching out to quell the disturbance and punish the rioters.
Indeed, it was said that they had already made some arrests amongst the
clerks, and this news ran like wildfire through the crowd.
In another moment the bell of St. Martin's rang out in the city, and
more clerks came flying out to learn what had happened, and where help
was needed. Thus the luckless Mayor and Provosts were hemmed in between
two furious bodies of clerks, who inflicted grievous wounds upon many of
them, tore their banner, and put them to speedy and ignominious flight.
Now the blood of the students was up. They had gone too far to stop
without doing worse.
"We will teach the town varlets to interfere with our liberties!" roared
the excited and incensed youths, as they rushed back once more into the
city, filled with the desire for mischief and destruction which is
characteristic of a mob.
"Teach the Bailiffs to mind their manners!" roared the excited students,
and dashed upon the houses of their foes. A bowyer's shop was plundered,
the house of one Bailiff was set on fire, those of the others were
plundered after being broken open, and a store of spicery was scattered
in all directions.
"Now for the Mayor! now for the Mayor!" shouted the hot and panting
depredators, flushed with victory and carrying all before them.
The Mayor was a vintner by trade, and had a fine cellar stocked with
goodly wine. This cellar was on the street level, but was strongly
barricaded. Nothing, however, could withstand the fury of the attack
made upon it. The mob of unruly clerks rushed in, drew all the taps,
drank their fill of intoxicating beverages, and let the rest flow out
into the street.
When the Chancellor and the Proctors, who had in the first instance
proceeded towards Beaumont meadows through the Bocardo Gate, returned to
the city to seek to quell the unseemly riot, it was to find one house in
flames in the south part of the city, whilst the drunken mob was
clamouring around the vintners store, singing wild bacchanalian songs,
and disporting themselves like veritable demons. The street ran red with
good wine, and the Mayor, white-faced and terrified, watched helplessly
from an upper window the destruction of his property and the wanton
waste of his stock in trade.
The appearance of the Chancellor, however, produced an immediate and
extraordinary effect. Clerks upon the outskirts of the crowd took to
their heels, flying hither and thither in all directions, uttering cries
of warning to their fellows. Of these, some were too drunk and some too
wildly possessed with the spirit of devilry to move even for this
warning; but most of the men fled as for dear life, the authorities
taking note of as many as possible, who felt, as they scudded away under
those cold, clear eyes, that they would have to answer for this day's
proceedings, probably in a fashion they little liked.
The Chancellor strode up to the nucleus of ringleaders, who alone stood
their ground.
"The King shall hear of this!" he said, in calm, cold accents. "It is a
case for his Majesty to decide. Go back to your Halls and lodgings,
every one of you. You are a disgrace to the city and to the kingdom!"
The abashed clerks obeyed that voice, and retired to their various
domiciles; but before three days had passed, Oxford had lost hundreds of
her scholars and a considerable number of masters also. An exodus like
this not unfrequently followed upon an outbreak of ill-will betwixt
"town and gown."
Afraid of what the King's verdict might be, and perhaps with a view to
greater liberty upon the outbreak of war, scholars and masters alike
vacated their quarters, and made their way to Northampton, where
fugitives both from Oxford and Cambridge often assembled, and where
there was talk of establishing a third University.
And so ended the "great riot of 1264."