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[Illustration: "EDGAR STRUCK HIM A BUFFET ON THE FACE WHICH SENT HIM
REELING BACKWARDS."]
A MARCH ON LONDON BEING A STORY OF WAT TYLER'S INSURRECTION
BY G. A. HENTY
PREFACE
The events that took place during the latter half of the fourteenth
century and the first half of the fifteenth are known to us far better
than those preceding or following them, owing to the fact that three
great chroniclers, Froissart, Monstrelet, and Holinshed, have recounted
the events with a fulness of detail that leaves nothing to be desired.
The uprising of the Commons, as they called themselves--that is to say,
chiefly the folk who were still kept in a state of serfdom in the reign
of Richard II.--was in itself justifiable. Although serfdom in England
was never carried to the extent that prevailed on the Continent, the
serfs suffered from grievous disabilities. A certain portion of their
time had to be devoted to the work of their feudal lord. They
themselves were forbidden to buy or sell at public markets or fairs.
They were bound to the soil, and could not, except under special
circumstances, leave it.
Above all, they felt that they were not free men, and were not even
deemed worthy to fight in the wars of their country. Attempts have been
made to represent the rising as the result of Wickliffe's attack upon
the Church, but there seems to be very small foundation for the
assertion. Undoubtedly many of the lower class of clergy, discontented
with their position, did their best to inflame the minds of the
peasants, but as the rising extended over a very large part of England,
and the people were far too ignorant to understand, and far too much
irritated by their own grievances to care for the condition of the
Church, it may be taken that they murdered the Archbishop of Canterbury
and many other priests simply because they regarded them as being
wealthy, and so slew them as they slew other people of substance. Had
it been otherwise, the Church would not have been wholly ignored in the
demands that they set before the king, but some allusion would have
been made for the need of reforms in that direction.
The troubles in Flanders are of interest to Englishmen, since there was
for many years an alliance, more or less close, between our king and
some of the great Flemish cities. Indeed, from the time when the first
Von Artevelde was murdered because he proposed that the Black Prince
should be accepted as ruler of Flanders, to the day upon which
Napoleon's power was broken forever at Waterloo, Flanders has been the
theatre of almost incessant turmoil and strife, in which Germans and
Dutchmen, Spaniards, Englishmen, and Frenchmen have fought out their
quarrels.
G. A. HENTY.
CONTENTS
I. TROUBLED TIMES
II. A FENCING BOUT
III. WAT TYLER
IV. IN LONDON
V. A RESCUE
VI. A CITY MERCHANT
VII. DEATH TO THE FLEMINGS!
VIII. A COMBAT IN THE TOWER
IX. DEATH OF THE TYLER
X. A FIGHT IN THE OPEN
XI. AN INVITATION
XII. THE TROUBLES IN FLANDERS
XIII. A STARVING TOWN
XIV. CIVIL WAR
XV. A CRUSHING DEFEAT
XVI. A WAR OF THE CHURCH
XVII. PRISONERS
XVIII. A NOBLE GIFT
XIX. WELL SETTLED
ILLUSTRATIONS
"EDGAR STRUCK HIM A BUFFET ON THE FACE WHICH SENT HIM REELING
BACKWARDS."
EDGAR TALKS MATTERS OVER WITH THE PRIOR OF ST. ALWYTH.
"IN A MOMENT EDGAR'S SWORD FELL ON THE RUFFIAN'S WRIST."
THE LORD MAYOR STABS WAT THE TYLER IN PRESENCE OF THE BOY-KING.
EDGAR AND ALBERT ARE KNIGHTED BY KING RICHARD.
THE TWO YOUNG KNIGHTS CHARGE DOWN UPON THE PANIC-STRICKEN CROWD.
SIR EDGAR AT LAST SURRENDERS TO SIR ROBERT DE BEAULIEU.
THE PRISONERS MAKE THEIR ESCAPE OVER THE ROOFS OF YPRES.
A MARCH ON LONDON
CHAPTER I
TROUBLED TIMES
"And what do you think of it all, good Father?"
"'Tis a difficult question, my son, and I am glad that it is one that
wiser heads than mine will have to solve."
"But they don't seem to try to solve it; things get worse and worse.
The king is but a lad, no older than myself, and he is in the hands of
others. It seems to me a sin and a shame that things should go on as
they are at present. My father also thinks so."
The speaker was a boy of some sixteen years old. He was walking with
the prior in the garden of the little convent of St. Alwyth, four miles
from the town of Dartford. Edgar Ormskirk was the son of a scholar. The
latter, a man of independent means, who had always had a preference for
study and investigation rather than for taking part in active pursuits,
had, since the death of his young wife, a year after the birth of his
son, retired altogether from the world and devoted himself to study. He
had given up his comfortable home, standing on the heights of
Highgate--that being in too close proximity to London to enable him to
enjoy the seclusion that he desired--and had retired to a small estate
near Dartford.
Educated at Oxford, he had gone to Padua at his father's death, which
happened just as he left the university, and had remained at that seat
of learning for five years. There he had spent the whole of his income
in the purchase of manuscripts. The next two years were passed at
Bologna and Pisa, and he there collected a library such as few
gentlemen of his time possessed. Then Mr. Ormskirk had returned to
England and settled at Highgate, and two years later married the
daughter of a neighbouring gentleman, choosing her rather because he
felt that he needed someone to keep his house in order, than from any
of the feeling that usually accompanies such unions. In time, however,
he had come to love her, and her loss was a very heavy blow to him. It
was the void that he felt in his home as much as his desire for
solitude, that induced him to leave Highgate and settle in the country.
Here, at least, he had no fear of intrusive neighbours, or other
interruptions to his studies. The news from London seldom reached his
ears, and he was enabled to devote himself entirely to his experiments.
Like many other learned men of his age, it was to chemistry that he
chiefly turned his attention. His library comprised the works of almost
every known writer on the subject, and he hoped that he might gain an
immortal reputation by discovering one or both of the great secrets
then sought for--the elixir of life, or the philosopher's stone that
would convert all things into gold. It was not that he himself had any
desire for a long life, still less did he yearn for more wealth than he
possessed, but he fondly believed that these discoveries would
ameliorate the condition of mankind.
He did not see that if gold was as plentiful as the commonest metal it
would cease to be more valuable than others, or that the boon of a long
life would not add to the happiness of mankind. For some years he gave
little thought to his son, who was left to such care as the old
housekeeper and the still older man-servant chose to bestow upon him,
and who, in consequence, was left altogether to follow the dictates of
his own fancy. The child, therefore, lived almost entirely in the open
air, played, tussled, and fought with boys of his own age in the
village, and grew up healthy, sturdy, and active. His father scarcely
took any heed of his existence until the prior of the Convent of St.
Alwyth one day called upon him.
"What are you going to do with your boy, Mr. Ormskirk?" he asked.
"My boy?" the student repeated in tones of surprise. "Oh, yes; Edgar,
of course. What am I going to do with him? Well, I have never thought
about it. Does he want anything? My housekeeper always sees to that. Do
you think that he wants a nurse?"
"A nurse, Mr. Ormskirk!" the Prior said with a smile. "A nurse would
have a hard time with him. Do you know what his age is?"
"Four or five years old, I suppose."
"Nearly double that. He is nine."
"Impossible!" Mr. Ormskirk said. "Why, it is only the other day that he
was a baby."
"It is eight years since that time; he is now a sturdy lad, and if
there is any mischief in the village he is sure to be in it. Why, it
was but three days ago that Friar Anselmo caught him, soon after
daybreak, fishing in the Convent pool with two of the village lads. The
friar gave them a sound trouncing, and would have given one to your
son, too, had it not been for the respect that we all feel for you. It
is high time, Mr. Ormskirk, that he was broken of his wild ways and
received an education suited to his station."
"Quite so, quite so. I own that I have thought but little about him,
for indeed 'tis rarely that I see him, and save that at times his
racket in the house sorely disturbs my studies, I have well-nigh
forgotten all about him. Yes, yes; it is, of course, high time that he
began his education, so that if I should die before I have completed my
discoveries he may take up my work."
The Prior smiled quietly at the thought of the sturdy, dirty-faced boy
working among crucibles and retorts. However, he only said:
"Do you think of undertaking his education yourself?"
"By no means," Mr. Ormskirk said, hastily. "It would be impossible for
me to find time at present, but when he has completed his studies I
should then take him in hand myself, make him my companion and
assistant, and teach him all that is known of science."
"But in the meantime?"
"In the meantime? Yes, I suppose something must be done. I might get
him a tutor, but that would be a great disturbance to me. I might send
him up to the monastery at Westminster, where the sons of many
gentlemen are taught."
"I doubt whether the training, or rather want of training, that he has
had would fit him for Westminster," the Prior said, quietly. "There is
another plan that perhaps might be more suitable for him. One of our
brethren is a scholar, and already three or four of the sons of the
gentry in the neighbourhood come to him for three hours or so a day.
Our convent is a poor one, and the fees he receives are a welcome
addition to our means."
"Excellent!" Mr. Ormskirk said, delighted at the difficulty being taken
off his shoulders, "It would be the very thing."
"Then perhaps you will speak to the boy, and lay your orders upon him,"
the Prior said. "He was in the village as I passed by, and I brought
him up here, very much against his will I admit. Then I gave him in
charge on arrival to your servitor, knowing that otherwise the young
varlet would slip off again as soon as my back was turned. Perhaps you
will send for him."
Mr. Ormskirk rang a bell. The housekeeper entered.
"Where is Andrew?" he asked.
"He is looking after Master Edgar, sir. His reverence told him to do
so, and he dare not leave him for a moment or he would be off again."
"Tell Andrew to bring him in here."
A minute later the old servant entered with the boy. Edgar was in a
dishevelled condition, the result of several struggles with Andrew. His
face was begrimed with dirt, his clothes were torn and untidy. His
father looked at him in grave surprise. It was not that he had not seen
him before, for occasionally he had noticed him going across the
garden, but though his eyes had observed him, his mental vision had not
in any way taken him in, his thoughts being intent upon the work that
he had reluctantly left to take a hurried meal.
"Tut, tut, tut!" he murmured to himself, "and this is my son. Well,
well, I suppose he is not to be blamed; it is my own fault for being so
heedless of him. This is bad, Edgar," he said, "and yet it is my own
fault rather than thine, and I am thankful that the good prior has
brought your condition before me before it is too late. There must be
no more of this. Your appearance is disgraceful both to yourself and
me--to me because you are in rags, to yourself because you are dirty. I
had never dreamt of this. Henceforth all must be changed. You must be
clothed as befits the son of a gentleman, you must be taught as it is
right for the son of a scholar to be, and you must bear in mind that
some day you will become a gentleman yourself, and I trust a learned
one. I have arranged with the good prior here that you shall go every
day to the monastery to be instructed for three hours by one of his
monks. In future you will take your meals with me, and I will see that
your attire is in order, and that you go decent as befits your station.
What hours is he to attend, Prior?"
"From nine till twelve."
"You hear--from nine to twelve. In the afternoon I will procure a
teacher for you in arms. In these days every gentleman must learn the
use of his weapons. I, myself, although most peacefully inclined, have
more than once been forced, when abroad, to use them. A man who cannot
do so becomes the butt of fools, and loses his self-respect."
"I shall like that, sir," Edgar said, eagerly. "I can play at
quarter-staff now with any boy of my size in the village."
"Well, there must be no more of that," his father said. "Up to the
present you have been but a child, but it is time now that you should
cease to consort with village boys and prepare for another station in
life. They may be good boys--I know naught about them--but they are not
fit associates for you. I am not blaming you," he said more kindly as
he saw the boy's face fall. "It was natural that you, having no
associates of your own rank, should make friends where you could find
them. I trust that it has done you no harm. Well, Prior, this day week
the boy shall come to you. I must get befitting clothes for him, or the
other pupils will think that he is the son of a hedge tinker."
An hour later Andrew was despatched to Dartford in a cart hired in the
village, with orders to bring back with him a tailor, also to inquire
as to who was considered the best teacher of arms in the town, and to
engage him to come up for an hour every afternoon to instruct Edgar.
Seven years had passed since that time, and the rough and unkempt boy
had grown into a tall young fellow, who had done fair credit to his
teacher at the convent, and had profited to the full by the teaching of
the old soldier who had been his instructor in arms. His father had,
unconsciously, been also a good teacher to him. He had, with a great
effort, broken through the habits to which he had been so long wedded.
A young waiting-maid now assisted the housekeeper. The meals were no
longer hastily snatched and often eaten standing, but were decently
served in order, and occupied a considerable time, the greater portion
of which was spent in pleasant chat either upon the scenes which Mr.
Ormskirk had witnessed abroad, or in talk on the subjects the boy was
studying; sometimes also upon Mr. Ormskirk's researches and the hopes
he entertained from them; and as Edgar grew older, upon the ordinary
topics of the day, the grievances caused by the heavy taxation, the
troubles of the time and the course of events that had led to them;
for, although very ignorant of contemporary matters, Mr. Ormskirk was
well acquainted with the history of the country up to the time when he
had first gone abroad.
The recluse was surprised at the interest he himself came to feel in
these conversations. While endeavouring to open his son's mind he
opened his own, and although when Edgar was not present he pursued his
researches as assiduously as before, he was no longer lost in fits of
abstraction, and would even occasionally walk down to the village when
Edgar went to school in order to continue the conversation upon which
they were engaged. Edgar on his part soon ceased to regard his father
as a stranger, and his admiration for his store of information and
learning served as a stimulant to his studies, for which his previous
life had given him but little liking.
For the last two years, however, his father had seen with regret that
there was but little hope of making a profound scholar of him, and that
unless he himself could discover the solution of the problems that
still eluded him, there was little chance of it being found by his
successor.
Once roused, he had the good sense to see that it was not in such a
life that Edgar was likely to find success, and he wisely abandoned the
idea of pressing a task upon him that he saw was unfitted to the boy's
nature. The energy with which Edgar worked with his instructors in
arms--who had been already twice changed, so as to give him a greater
opportunity of attaining skill with his weapons--and the interest with
which the lad listened to tales of adventure, showed the direction in
which his bent lay. For the last two years his father had frequently
read to him the records of Sir Walter Manny and other chroniclers of
war and warlike adventure, and impressed upon him the virtues necessary
to render a man at once a great soldier and a great man.
"If, my boy," he said, "you should some day go to Court and mingle in
public affairs, above all things keep yourself clear of any party.
Those who cling to a party may rise with its success, but such rises
are ever followed by reverses; then comes great suffering to those upon
the fallen side. The duty of an English gentleman is simple: he must
work for his country, regardless altogether of personal interest. Such
a man may never rise to high rank, but he will be respected. Personal
honours are little to be desired; it is upon those who stand higher
than their neighbours that the blow falls the heaviest; while the rank
and file may escape unscathed, it is the nobles and the leaders whose
heads fall upon the block. I think that there are troubles in store for
England. The Duke of Gloucester overshadows the boy king, but as the
latter grows older he will probably shake off his tutelage, though it
may be at the cost of a civil war.
"Then, too, there are the exactions of the tax-gatherers. Some day the
people will rise against them as they did in France at the time of the
Jacquerie, and as they have done again and again in Flanders. At
present the condition of the common people, who are but villeins and
serfs, is well-nigh unbearable. Altogether the future seems to me to be
dark. I confess that, being a student, the storm when it bursts will
affect me but slightly, but as it is clear to me that this is not the
life that you will choose it may affect you greatly; for, however
little you may wish it, if civil strife comes, you, like everyone else,
may be involved in it. In such an event, Edgar, act as your conscience
dictates. There is always much to be said for both sides of any
question, and it cannot but be so in this. I wish to lay no stress on
you in any way. You cannot make a good monk out of a man who longs to
be a man-at-arms, nor a warrior of a weakling who longs for the shelter
of a cloister.
"Let, however, each man strive to do his best in the line he has chosen
for himself. A good monk is as worthy of admiration as a good
man-at-arms. I would fain have seen you a great scholar, but as it is
clear that this is out of the question, seeing that your nature does
not incline to study, I would that you should become a brave knight. It
was with that view when I sent you to be instructed at the convent I
also gave you an instructor in arms, so that, whichever way your
inclinations might finally point, you should be properly fitted for it."
At fifteen all lessons were given up, Edgar having by that time learnt
as much as was considered necessary in those days. He continued his
exercises with his weapons, but without any strong idea that beyond
defence against personal attacks they would be of any use to him. The
army was not in those days a career. When the king had need of a force
to fight in France or to carry fire and sword into Scotland, the levies
were called out, the nobles and barons supplied their contingent, and
archers and men-at-arms were enrolled and paid by the king. The levies,
however, were only liable to service for a restricted time, and beyond
their personal retainers the barons in time followed the royal example
of hiring men-at-arms and archers for the campaign; these being partly
paid from the royal treasury, and partly from their own revenue.
At the end of the campaign, however, the army speedily dispersed, each
man returning to his former avocation; save therefore for the
retainers, who formed the garrisons of the castles of the nobles, there
was no military career such as that which came into existence with the
formation of standing armies. Nevertheless, there was honour and rank
to be won in the foreign wars, and it was to these the young men of
gentle blood looked to make their way. But since the death of the Black
Prince matters had been quiet abroad, and unless for those who were
attached to the households of powerful nobles there was, for the
present, no avenue towards distinction.
Edgar had been talking these matters over with the Prior of St. Alwyth,
who had taken a great fancy to him, and with whom he had, since he had
given up his work at the convent, frequently had long conversations.
They were engaged in one of these when this narrative begins:
"I quite agree with your father," the Prior continued. "Were there a
just and strong government, the mass of the people might bear their
present position. It seems to us as natural that the serfs should be
transferred with the land as if they were herds of cattle, for such is
the rule throughout Europe as well as here, and one sees that there are
great difficulties in the way of making any alteration in this state of
things. See you, were men free to wander as they chose over the land
instead of working at their vocations, the country would be full of
vagrants who, for want of other means for a living, would soon become
robbers. Then, too, very many would flock to the towns, and so far from
bettering their condition, would find themselves worse off than before,
for there would be more people than work could be found for.
[Illustration: EDGAR TALKS MATTERS OVER WITH THE PRIOR OF ST. ALWYTH.]
"So long as each was called upon only to pay his fifteenth to the
king's treasury they were contented enough, but now they are called
upon for a tenth as well as a fifteenth, and often this is greatly
exceeded by the rapacity of the tax-collectors. Other burdens are put
upon them, and altogether men are becoming desperate. Then, too, the
cessation of the wars with France has brought back to the country
numbers of disbanded soldiers who, having got out of the way of honest
work and lost the habits of labour, are discontented and restless. All
this adds to the danger. We who live in the country see these things,
but the king and nobles either know nothing of them or treat them with
contempt, well knowing that a few hundred men-at-arms can scatter a
multitude of unarmed serfs."
"And would you give freedom to the serfs, good Father?"
"I say not that I would give them absolute freedom, but I would grant
them a charter giving them far greater rights than at present. A
fifteenth of their labour is as much as they should be called upon to
pay, and when the king's necessities render it needful that further
money should be raised, the burden should only be laid upon the backs
of those who can afford to pay it. I hear that there is much wild talk,
and that the doctrines of Wickliffe have done grievous harm. I say not,
my son, that there are not abuses in the Church as well as elsewhere;
but these pestilent doctrines lead men to disregard all authority, and
to view their natural masters as oppressors. I hear that seditious talk
is uttered openly in the villages throughout the country; that there
are men who would fain persuade the ignorant that all above them are
drones who live on the proceeds of their labour--as if indeed every
man, however high in rank, had not his share of labour and care--I
fear, then, that if there should be a rising of the peasantry we may
have such scenes as those that took place during the Jacquerie in
France, and that many who would, were things different, be in favour of
giving more extended rights to the people, will be forced to take a
side against them."
"I can hardly think that they would take up arms, Father. They must
know that they could not withstand a charge of armour-clad knights and
men-at-arms."
"Unhappily, my son, the masses do not think. They believe what it
pleases them to believe, and what the men who go about stirring up
sedition tell them. I foresee that in the end they will suffer
horribly, but before the end comes they may commit every sort of
outrage. They may sack monasteries and murder the monks, for we are
also looked upon as drones. They may attack and destroy the houses of
the better class, and even the castles of the smaller nobles. They may
even capture London and lay it in ashes, but the thought that after
they had done these things a terrible vengeance would be taken, and
their lot would be harder than before, would never occur to them. Take
your own house for instance--what resistance could it offer to a fierce
mob of peasants?"
"None," Edgar admitted. "But why should they attack it?"
The Prior was silent.
"I know what you mean, good Father," Edgar said, after a pause. "They
say that my father is a magician, because he stirs not abroad, but
spends his time on his researches. I remember when I was a small boy,
and the lads of the village wished to anger me, they would shout out,
'Here is the magician's son,' and I had many a fight in consequence."
"Just so, Edgar; the ignorant always hate that which they cannot
understand; so Friar Bacon was persecuted, and accused of dabbling in
magic when he was making discoveries useful to mankind. I say not that
they will do any great harm when they first rise, for it cannot be said
that the serfs here are so hardly treated as they were in France, where
their lords had power of life and death over them, and could slay them
like cattle if they chose, none interfering. Hence the hatred was so
deep that in the very first outbreak the peasants fell upon the nobles
and massacred them and their families.
"Here there is no such feeling. It is against the government that taxes
them so heavily that their anger is directed, and I fear that this new
poll-tax that has been ordered will drive them to extremities. I have
news that across the river in Essex the people of some places have not
only refused to pay, but have forcibly driven away the tax-gatherers,
and when these things once begin, there is no saying how they are going
to end. However, if there is trouble, I think not that at first we
shall be in any danger here, but if they have success at first their
pretensions will grow. They will inflame themselves. The love of
plunder will take the place of their reasonable objections to
over-taxation, and seeing that they have but to stretch out their hands
to take what they desire, plunder and rapine will become general."
As Edgar walked back home he felt that there was much truth in the
Prior's remarks. He himself had heard many things said among the
villagers which showed that their patience was well-nigh at an end.
Although, since he began his studies, he had no time to keep up his
former close connection with the village, he had always been on
friendly terms with his old playmates, and they talked far more freely
with him than they would do to anyone else of gentle blood. Once or
twice he had, from a spirit of adventure, gone with them to meetings
that were held after dark in a quiet spot near Dartford, and listened
to the talk of strangers from Gravesend and other places. He knew
himself how heavily the taxation pressed upon the people, and his
sympathies were wholly with them. There had been nothing said even by
the most violent of the speakers to offend him. The protests were
against the exactions of the tax-gatherers, the extravagance of the
court, and the hardship that men should be serfs on the land.
Once they had been addressed by a secular priest from the other side of
the river, who had asserted that all men were born equal and had equal
rights. This sentiment had been loudly applauded, but he himself had
sense enough to see that it was contrary to fact, and that men were not
born equal. One was the son of a noble, the other of a serf. One child
was a cripple and a weakling from its birth, another strong and lusty.
One was well-nigh a fool, and another clear-headed. It seemed to him
that there were and must be differences.
Many of the secular clergy were among the foremost in stirring up the
people. They themselves smarted under their disabilities. For the most
part they were what were called hedge priests, men of but little or no
education, looked down upon by the regular clergy, and almost wholly
dependant on the contributions of their hearers. They resented the
difference between themselves and the richly endowed clergy and
religious houses, and denounced the priests and monks as drones who
sucked the life-blood of the country.
This was the last gathering at which Edgar had been present. He had
been both shocked and offended at the preaching. What was the name of
the priest he knew not, nor did the villagers, but he went by the name
of Jack Straw, and was, Edgar thought, a dangerous fellow. The lad had
no objection to his abuse of the tax-gatherers, or to his complaints of
the extravagance of the court, but this man's denunciation of the monks
and clergy at once shocked and angered him. Edgar's intercourse with
the villagers had removed some of the prejudices generally felt by his
class, but in other respects he naturally felt as did others of his
station, and he resolved to go to no more meetings.
After taking his meal with his father, Edgar mounted the horse that the
latter had bought for him, and rode over to the house of one of his
friends.
The number of those who had, like himself, been taught by the monk of
St. Alwyth had increased somewhat, and there were, when he left, six
other lads there. Three of these were intended for the Church. All were
sons of neighbouring landowners, and it was to visit Albert de Courcy,
the son of Sir Ralph de Courcy, that Edgar was now riding. Albert and
he had been special friends. They were about the same age, but of very
different dispositions. The difference between their characters was
perhaps the chief attraction that had drawn them to each other. Albert
was gentle in disposition, his health was not good, and he had been a
weakly child. His father, who was a stout knight, regarded him with
slight favour, and had acceded willingly to his desire to enter the
Church, feeling that he would never make a good fighter.
Edgar, on the contrary, was tall and strongly built, and had never
known a day's illness. He was somewhat grave in manner, for the
companionship of his father and the character of their conversations
had made him older and more thoughtful than most lads of his age. He
was eager for adventure, and burned for an opportunity to distinguish
himself, while his enthusiasm for noble exploits and great commanders
interested his quiet friend, who had the power of admiring things that
he could not hope to imitate. In him, alone of his school-fellows, did
Edgar find any sympathy with his own feelings as to the condition of
the people. Henry Nevil laughed to scorn Edgar's advocacy of their
cause. Richard Clairvaux more than once quarrelled with him seriously,
and on one or two occasions they almost betook themselves to their
swords. The other three, who were of less spirit, took no part in these
arguments, saying that these things did not concern them, being matters
for the king and his ministers, and of no interest whatever to them.
In other respects Edgar was popular with them all. His strength and his
skill in arms gave him an authority that even Richard Clairvaux
acknowledged in his cooler moments. Edgar visited at the houses of all
their fathers, his father encouraging him to do so, as he thought that
association with his equals would be a great advantage to him. As far
as manners were concerned, however, the others, with the exception of
Albert de Courcy, who did not need it, gained more than he did, for Mr.
Ormskirk had, during his long residence at foreign universities and his
close connection with professors, acquired a certain foreign
courtliness of bearing that was in strong contrast to the rough
bluffness of speech and manner that characterized the English of that
period, and had some share in rendering them so unpopular upon the
Continent, where, although their strength and fighting power made them
respected, they were regarded as island bears, and their manners were a
standing jest among the frivolous nobles of the Court of France.
At the house of Sir Ralph de Courcy Edgar was a special favourite. Lady
de Courcy was fond of him because her son was never tired of singing
his praises, and because she saw that his friendship was really a
benefit to the somewhat dreamy boy. Aline, a girl of fourteen, regarded
him with admiration; she was deeply attached to her brother, and
believed implicitly his assertion that Edgar would some day become a
valiant knight; while Sir Ralph himself liked him both for the courtesy
of his bearing and the firmness and steadiness of his character, which
had, he saw, a very beneficial influence over that of Albert. Sir Ralph
was now content that the latter should enter the Church, but he was
unwilling that his son should become what he called a mere shaveling,
and desired that he should attain power and position in his profession.
The lack of ambition and energy in his son were a grievance to him
almost as great as his lack of physical powers, and he saw that
although, so far there was still an absence of ambition, yet the boy
had gained firmness and decision from the influence of his friend, and
that he was far more likely to attain eminence in the Church than he
had been before. He was himself surprised that the son of a man whose
pursuits he despised should have attained such proficiency with his
weapons--a matter which he had learned, when one day he had tried his
skill with Edgar in a bout with swords--and he recognized that with his
gifts of manner, strength and enthusiasm for deeds of arms, he was
likely one day to make a name for himself.
Whenever, therefore, Edgar rode over to Sir Ralph's he was certain of a
hearty welcome from all. As to the lad's opinions as to the condition
of the peasantry--opinions which he would have scouted as monstrous on
the part of a gentleman--Sir Ralph knew nothing, Albert having been
wise enough to remain silent on the subject, the custom of the times
being wholly opposed to anything like a free expression of opinion on
any subject from a lad to his elders.
"It is quite a time since you were here last, Master Ormskirk," Lady De
Courcy said when he entered. "Albert so often goes up for a talk with
you when he has finished his studies at the monastery that you are
forgetting us here."
"I crave your pardon, Mistress De Courcy," Edgar said; "but, indeed, I
have been working hard, for my father has obtained for me a good master
for the sword--a Frenchman skilled in many devices of which my English
teachers were wholly ignorant. He has been teaching some of the young
nobles in London, and my father, hearing of his skill, has had him down
here, at a heavy cost, for the last month, as he was for the moment
without engagements in London. It was but yesterday that he returned.
Naturally, I have desired to make the utmost of the opportunity, and
most of my time has been spent in the fencing-room."
"And have you gained much by his instruction?" Sir Ralph asked.
"I hope so, Sir Ralph. I have tried my best, and he has been good
enough to commend me warmly, and even told my father that I was the
aptest pupil that he had."
"I will try a bout with you presently," the knight said. "It is nigh
two years since we had one together, and my arm is growing stiff for
want of practice, though every day I endeavour to keep myself in order
for any opportunity or chance that may occur, by practising against an
imaginary foe by hammering with a mace at a corn-sack swinging from a
beam. Methinks I hit it as hard as of old, but in truth I know but
little of the tricks of these Frenchmen. They availed nothing at
Poictiers against our crushing downright blows. Still, I would gladly
see what their tricks are like."