_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."