_KING AND STUDENTS._
Oxford was all in a ferment. The ordinary life of the University was
suspended. Lecture-rooms were deserted alike by masters and scholars,
and these were to be seen standing in knots about the streets, talking,
gesticulating, arguing--excitement written on every face, and generally
wrath and scorn as well. In other quarters clerks were to be seen
issuing forth from their lodgings with their worldly goods strapped upon
their backs, calling out farewells to their friends, and marching away
towards the city gates, generally in parties of six or eight, and
singing songs in praise of De Montfort or in despite of the King, but
betraying beneath their jauntiness of outward mien an inward secret
wrath.
The citizens, too, looked anxious and perturbed, and there was a
prevailing unrest throughout the town. The wealthier scholars might be
seen talking earnestly together, looking to their arms and
accoutrements, and comparing notes as to their horses. It was plain that
something very unusual was afoot, and that, too, of a nature disquieting
to all.
In point of fact, the King had sent a decree ordering all the students
of Oxford to depart to their own homes. The Chancellor had reported to
his Majesty on the subject of the recent riot, and it was supposed by a
great number of the students that this decree was made as a sort of
punishment for their unruly behaviour. But there was another and more
personal motive as well.
The King had just summoned a Parliament to Oxford, and it was generally
shrewdly supposed that this Parliament would practically annul those
famous Provisions of Oxford which had, during the past six years, been
the war-cry of the Barons' party. Now the temper of the city was known
to be easily aroused, and Oxford was almost unanimous in its support of
the cause of the Barons. It would be a bold act on the part of the King
to trust himself within the city walls had he come as the confessed foe
of De Montfort--at least if the members of the University were assembled
there in force; so to get rid of them by some plausible expedient was a
wily and politic move.
"He fears us! he fears us!" was a constantly-heard cry as bands of
clerks took their way out from the city, some in high dudgeon, others
rejoicing in the liberty thus accorded them of openly throwing
themselves into the civil war if it should chance to break out, as all
men knew must quickly be the case.
The young nobles did not for a moment disguise what they were about to
do. Many of them had fathers or friends in the opposing ranks, and they,
if expelled from Oxford, intended joining them. Most were on the
Barons' side, but a few leaned towards Prince Edward. Personally he was
beloved by many more than hastened to join him; for the unpopularity of
the King's cause, to which the son was pledged, held back many a
youthful admirer. It was to De Montfort's banner that the warlike
spirits of Oxford desired to flock, and Amalric was daily besieged with
eager offers from ardent lads to follow him to his father's camp, if he
would only accept their services.
"My father will not fight unless forced to do so," was the reply he
returned to many. "He is not in haste to plunge the land into the
horrors of war. But if the King will persist in his evil ways, and will
refuse all counsel save from those who advise him to the nation's hurt,
then must swords be drawn, though not till all else has been tried."
And in fact, as the King drew near to Oxford, the Barons sent
representatives to Brackley, with powers to seek for a reconciliation
and agreement before recourse was had to extreme measures.
Within the Castle was great excitement as the days passed by. The
Constable, by virtue of his office, must needs stand aloof from any open
expression of loyalty towards the enemies of the King; and the
Chancellor observed an attitude of grave neutrality. And yet it was well
known that both these functionaries had the cause of the people at
heart, and that they were beloved of De Montfort and loved him well.
Alys was working a beautiful banner for Amalric; and many were the
visits he paid to the upper chamber where she and Linda were to be found
plying their skilful needles. Linda's heart was ofttimes rather heavy
within her just now; for Hugh had left Oxford immediately after the
Kings decree had become known, and she believed that he had departed
home, intending, with his father's approval, to join Prince Edward in
Wales, or wherever he might have now marched. In times of peril, such as
seemed approaching, it was hard to lose sight of a loved one, not
knowing when or how the next meeting might be. Sometimes Linda's tears
would fall as she worked, and Alys would say gently,--
"Do not grieve so, sweet Linda; the war will not last long, and then he
will come back. We shall not love him less--even Lord Amalric says
that--because he follows with the Prince. If the Prince were the only
leader in the land, we would all follow him too, and this war would be
averted."
"War is so terrible, so cruel!" Linda replied. "It goes to my heart to
think what may happen when army meets army in the bloody field."
"And yet there is glory in war as well as pain!" cried Alys, with a
light in her eyes. "I would think of that were I in thy place, dear
Linda."
Linda raised her glance to Alys's face, and asked softly,--
"Thinkest thou that thou wilt be able thus to speak when my Lord Amalric
goes forth to fight?"
"Why not?" asked Alys innocently; and then seeming to divine something
of her companion's meaning, she added, "The Lord Amalric is a very
proper gentleman, but he is no lover of mine."
"And yet methinks he has no eyes for any but thee, sweet Alys; and has
he not said many times that this banner will be his talisman in times of
danger and heaviness? Methinks he worships the very ground upon which
thou dost tread."
"Oh no, no," said Alys, with a look of trouble in her eyes. "Lord
Amalric has been a kind friend to us all, and we all love him. But it is
not so with us--nay, Linda, say, have I ever said or done aught that
might seem to speak of this?"
"Nay; it is he who has looked this long time at thee as a man looks at
his heart's beloved," answered Linda. "And he is such a proper gentleman
and such a gallant spirit that I had thought perchance--"
She did not complete her sentence; but Alys understood, and shook her
head. Her cheek glowed, and there was a light in her eyes which looked
strangely like that of love. Linda's needle went in and out rapidly, and
she bent her head over her task; but bending towards her companion, she
asked in a low whisper,--
"Dearest, tell me, is it Leofric?"
Alys started, and the crimson flooded her face. She made no reply, only
bending lower over her frame, so that even Linda could not see her
expression. But somehow from that moment a new bond seemed to establish
itself between the two girls; and when Linda ventured to ask presently,
"But what would thy parents say? He is but a poor clerk, though a
bachelor and like to become a doctor in time," Alys made low-toned
answer,--
"I ofttimes think that the lot of the great ones of the earth is far
less happy than that of those less lofty in the eyes of the world. I
have even heard my father say the same, and methinks he would deny me
nothing that was for my happiness, were his heart but once convinced."
"And truly," added Linda, with a sigh, "these be dangerous and troublous
days in which to live. The victor of to-day may be the vanquished of the
morrow. In very sooth, a humbler lot is sweeter than one where the cup
of prosperity may be dashed from the lips, and adversity follow swiftly
on the heels of triumph. All who know him love Leofric, and speak well
of him."
Again the cheek of Alys glowed; her voice faltered as she spoke the next
words,--
"Thou hast read mine heart, sweet Linda, but thou must keep its secret
locked within thine own. I scarce dare to think of it myself, for never
by word or sign has he showed me aught of his heart; and yet
methinks--methinks--"
"Ay, verily, love has a language of its own," said Linda, in sympathetic
accents, "and souls may meet when words there be none. He would not dare
to lift his eyes to thee, fair Alys, thinking, perchance, that thou art
half plighted to my Lord Amalric--as, indeed, others think. Yet, should
time pass and he become learned and famous, and shouldst thou remain
unwed--ah, well, methinks he will find his tongue; and thy father will
not say him nay when he knows how thine heart inclines."
Alys listened to these welcome words with glowing eyes and blushing
cheeks. Never before had she dared, even to herself, so openly to admit
how her childish friendship for Leofric Wyvill was ripening into
something deeper and more earnest. Of late she had seen less of him, but
he still came and went at the Castle, and was the friend of all. He was
thought to be a youth of great promise; and in those days almost any man
of learning, however humble his birth, who rose to academic distinction,
might hope to win his way to affluence and influence before his beard
was grey. There would be no presumption a few years hence in a Regent
Master or young Doctor aspiring to the hand of a knight's daughter. The
only bar likely to arise would be that imposed by the Church, were the
student to desire orders; but Leofric had never showed a leaning towards
the religious life, and was the less likely to think of it now--unless,
indeed, he believed Alys lost to him as the affianced bride of Amalric,
and entered upon the career of an ecclesiastic as a salve for a wounded
spirit.
This danger did suggest itself for a moment to Linda, and she resolved
to watch earnestly the turn of affairs. The conversation at that moment
was interrupted by the entrance of Edmund and Leofric into the room
where the girls were sitting. Alys bent over her frame to hide her
momentary confusion, but it passed unobserved in the excitement of the
moment.
"The King is on his way thither!" cried Edmund; "he is to enter the city
to-morrow. The students are pouring out as though the plague were
threatening. In a few hours' time, they say, there will be scarce three
hundred left, and perhaps not so many. The townsfolks are all agape and
disturbed; for many there be of the clerks who vow they will never
return, but will set up their abode in Cambridge or Northampton, and
establish a rival University there. The masters have followed their
scholars, as is but wise; and the citizens are crying out that the King
has ruined the town. It is but a sorry welcome he will have on the
morrow when he makes his entry here."
"Methinks his Majesty will repent him of his mistake," said Alys. "Why
did he drive forth the clerks? My father could surely have kept order in
the city."
"Marry, he was afraid," answered Edmund; "and indeed he had some cause,
for in his mandate to my father he speaks of his own lords who will
attend him as being 'so untamed and fierce' that he dare not trust them
so near to an army of turbulent clerks, famous for their unruly
conduct."
Alys's lips curved to a smile of some contempt.
"Methinks our monarch is but a poor poltroon," she said. "Small wonder
if the realm sink beneath his sway."
"Nevertheless he is about to do a bolder thing than any King has
attempted since the days of the Saxons," answered Edmund, laughing; "for
he declares that his first action will be, on entering Oxford, to pay a
visit to the shrine of St. Frideswyde!"
"And wherefore should he not?" asked both girls in a breath; whereupon
Leofric was called upon to tell the legend of St. Frideswyde--how she
had taken the vow of chastity, but was pestered without ceasing by the
King of Mercia, who desired her hand in marriage. She fled from him to
Oxford, where he pursued her, laying siege to the town; but in answer to
her prayers he was struck with blindness, and returned to his own
country, leaving her in peace to found her nunnery and devote herself to
the religious life. But since that date no King had ever ventured to
intrude himself even to lay offerings upon her shrine, and the
resolution of Henry the Third to brave the anger of the virgin saint was
regarded as a proof of piety and courage, since he openly declared that
he could not believe any ill would be suffered to follow an act of
homage to one whom he revered and desired to honour.
Upon the morrow the city was bedecked with banners and costly cloths,
and the Constable, together with the Chancellor and all men of
importance in the city, went forth to meet the King and his nobles, to
bid them welcome to the city, and to conduct them to the church of St.
Frideswyde. Here a procession of Canons, with the Abbot at their head,
would be waiting to receive the monarch, and to conduct him to the
shrine, where miracles were still said to be worked.
Alys and Linda rode forth with the company from the Castle to see the
sight, and Edmund, with Leofric and one or two other comrades, formed
their body-guard. It was strange to see the streets of Oxford so empty
of their crowds of eager students, who, upon an occasion like this,
would naturally have been thronging out with songs and garlands, ready
alike for a riot or a reception. But although there were still some
scholars who had given no heed to the King's arbitrary decree, they had
no intention of showing him any honour, and remained within their own
quarters, save a few who, like Edmund and Leofric, had some cause to go
forth in one of the processions.
Amalric, of course, would in no case have been one to offer personal
reverence to the monarch. He was not, however, in Oxford at the moment,
having left to gain news as to the attempt at negotiation which was
still to be made, and quite a band of clerks who had arms and horses had
accompanied him, eager beyond measure for the coming fray, and, if the
truth were to be told, by no means anxious that peace should be restored
before the appeal to arms had been made.
"I scarce know the city," said Alys to Leofric, as they rode through the
streets, in which the citizens were grouped about, but which were so
strangely bereft of their crowds of gowned scholars. "Methinks his
Majesty will repent him when he sees what his decree hath done. And
methinks he would repent him still more did he know how many
stout-hearted soldiers he has dismissed to join his foes. I trow that if
the rival armies meet face to face, there will be many an Oxford clerk
in the ranks who will deal deadly blows to the King's cherished troops."
Leofric was of the same opinion. He had had some ado in restraining Jack
from joining himself to one of the bands sallying forth in search of
adventure and warlike pastime. Leofric was of opinion that sooner or
later the rupture would come, and they would have to range themselves
beside their champion, and perhaps strike a blow in defence of their
cause; but he had no desire to anticipate this moment, and still hoped
that some good might come of the impending negotiations, although the
haughty bearing of King Henry's knights and nobles as they rode into
Oxford went far to quench this lingering hope.
The King was haughty in his bearing towards both Constable and
Chancellor, whom he knew to be friends of De Montfort. He chided them
somewhat roundly in face of all his company for the recent riot, and
even threw out a hint of displacing them from office if this sort of
thing went on.
He was more gracious in his bearing towards the municipal authorities,
but was still very much the triumphant monarch, visiting a turbulent
city which had once caused him trouble, but where he meant for the
future to be very much the master.
His demeanour did not inspire either respect or confidence in the hearts
of those who saw him, and only when he approached the precincts of St.
Frideswyde's shrine did he begin to comport himself differently.
When, however, he ceased to have men of the world to deal with, and
found himself confronted by those ecclesiastics who had always been the
supporters of the royal and papal power, he became another creature
altogether. He dismounted from his horse, begged the blessing of the
Prior, made costly gifts to the Priory, and finally presented himself at
the shrine itself, prostrating himself with every token of outward
reverence, and placing there his offerings, which were on a lavish and
princely scale.
Only a few of his own followers accompanied him into the church, and the
procession which had ridden forth to meet him did not attempt to enter
so much as the precincts. It was plain to all that the King had come in
no conciliatory mood, but that, puffed up by the award of France, he now
intended to rule the realm with a rod of iron, and to listen to neither
remonstrance nor condition.
"Pray Heaven the saint may send him a vision that shall change his
heart," spoke some one from the crowd, "else the sword will be
unsheathed ere many weeks have passed!"
Alys's eyes sought the face of Leofric, and she asked,--
"Does the saint in truth ever send warnings and visions to those who
worship at her shrine?"
Leofric looked doubtful; he was not very clear as to the capacities of
the saints in this respect.
"In truth, fair lady, I know not. It seems to me that visions and
wonders are seldom vouchsafed to those who are puffed up with pride and
self-esteem. It is the poor and humble in spirit to whom the Lord
reveals His mind--so at least Father Angelus teaches. Yet they say that
miracles are worked at the shrine, and I heard that the son of one of
the burgesses of the city was raised from the dead not so very long
since by being brought hither and laid before the shrine, whilst the
monks offered prayers for him. He had died beneath the knife of the
surgeons, they say, who had worked upon him some hoped-for cure, which
had caused instead his death; but he was restored, they say, by the
virgin saint. Would that she could restore to his Majesty that
willingness of spirit towards our noble Earl which in times past he hath
been known to show!"
But the saint seemed to have no message or warning for the King. No
immediate hurt, however, followed upon his bold act in presenting
himself at her shrine. He retired thence puffed up with pride and
vainglory, reversed in his assembled Parliament every previous Provision
of Oxford, and scornfully dismissed the representatives of the Barons
who came to suggest a compromise.
"I will be King, and rule by mine own power!" was the motto he seemed
now to have adopted. Men shook their heads and looked gravely at one
another, echoing the words Brother Angelus had been heard to speak,--
"Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."