Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter

by John G. Edgar

  CHAPTER IV

  CHRISTMAS

  I have mentioned that, long before Oliver Icingla retired to rest onChristmas Eve, the “Yule log” was placed on the hearth in the old hallof Oakmede. It was an important ceremony with the English of thatgeneration--a ceremony the consequences of which they did not lightlyregard. If the log continued to burn during the whole night and throughall the ensuing day, the fact of its burning was deemed a happyprognostic for the family; if it was consumed or extinguished, thecircumstance of its consumption or extinction was regarded as ominous ofevil. Great, therefore, was the consternation in the home of theIcinglas when it was discovered, on the morning of Christmas Day, thatthe “Yule log” lay on the hearth half consumed, but burning no longer;and the intelligence on being conveyed to Dame Isabel filled her mindwith the most gloomy forebodings as to the fate of her son; for theNorman lady, after living long among Saxons, had caught all theirsuperstitions, and she had brooded so long in solitude over her sorrowsthat she had grown more superstitious than the Saxons themselves.

  Oliver Icingla was not much influenced by omens. Still his mind was illat ease, and he did not think of his journey and its destination withoutconsiderable apprehension of suffering for the sake of a kinsman forwhom, after the conversation of the previous evening, he had less likingthan ever, and on whose conduct he looked with grave suspicion. No signof apprehension, however, did he allow to escape him; but, having madethe necessary preparations for his departure, and instructed Wolf, thevarlet, to have the black steed saddled and bridled, he indicated hisreadiness to take the road as soon as it was De Moreville’s will andpleasure to set forth for London. Grim, haughty, and evincing noinclination to renew the irritating discussion that had been sounpleasantly interrupted, the Norman baron only replied by a nod, butimmediately issued such orders as speedily brought his men-at-arms,mounted, into the courtyard, one of them leading the baron’s charger,harnessed and caparisoned.

  Before Oliver Icingla departed under De Moreville’s auspices, DameIsabel, having taken leave of her son, summoned her kinsman to herpresence in language which made the haughty Norman soliloquise in astrain much less complimentary to womankind than quite became a man whowore golden spurs and had taken the vows of chivalry.

  “Kinsman,” began the lady, taking his hand and keenly scrutinising hiscountenance as she spoke, “you are about to conduct my son to a placewhere I cannot but think that he will be much exposed to peril. Bear inmind that I do hold you answerable should evil in consequence befallhim.”

  “Madame,” replied De Moreville, averting his face with an impatientgesture, “your fears master your judgment.”

  “I place my chief affiance in God,” continued the lady, “and my next inyou as my kinsman; so deceive me not.”

  “Fear nothing, madam,” replied De Moreville, his heart slightly touched;“your son will be as safe as in your own hall.”

  “Answer me this question, then,” said Dame Isabel in an earnest andexcited tone. “Is it true, or is it not true, that when Llewellyn ofWales gave twenty-eight sons of Welsh chiefs to King John as surety forhis good faith, and when Llewellyn afterwards broke into rebellion, KingJohn caused the hostages to be hanged at Nottingham?”

  De Moreville was perplexed in the extreme. He felt that he was in adilemma. If he answered “Yes,” what would that woman think but that hewas leading her son away as a sheep is led to the slaughter? If heanswered “No,” how pitiful and contemptible would seem the policy ofhimself and the confederate barons, who had industriously propagated arumour so damaging to the king’s character for humanity! In hisembarrassment De Moreville remained silent.

  “My lord, why answer you not?” exclaimed the lady in peremptory accents.“I ask again, is it true, or is it not true, that the Welsh hostageswere hanged by command of the king?”

  “Madam,” replied De Moreville, when thus pressed, “I know not. I haveheard, indeed, that they were hanged, but I cannot speak with certaintyas to the truth of the rumour.”

  Dame Isabel raised her eyes imploringly to heaven, changed colour, andfell swooning into the arms of her women. Ere she recovered, DeMoreville had gained the courtyard, mounted his charger, and, withOliver riding mutely by his side, taken his way slowly up the glade andover the frost-bound sward towards the great northern road.

  And Oliver’s heart was sad; and as he turned his head to look once moreat the home of his fathers he could not help contrasting his departurewith that which had taken place when, full of life, and hope, andambition, he left Oakmede, after a brief visit, to embark for Spain. Butas the horsemen set their faces towards London his spirits began torise, for everywhere that day the signs and sounds of joy and rejoicingmet the eye and ear, and the faces of the populace of every village andhamlet through which they passed wore an expression of contentment andjollity.

  In the reign of King John, indeed, as in modern days, no nationalholiday nor any festival of the Christian Church was the occasion of somuch merriment and festivity in England as Christmas. Even May Day, whenthe inhabitants of every town and village “brought the summer home,” andlads and lasses danced with jocund glee around the maypole, and evenMidsummer Eve, or the vigil of St. John the Baptist, when great fireswere kindled to typify the saint of the day, who has been described as“a burning and shining light,” were held to be of quite inferiorimportance by the people over whom the Plantagenets reigned. Nowherethroughout Europe was Christmas so joyously and so thoroughlycelebrated. Other nations in Christendom did, indeed, show their respectfor the anniversary of their Redeemer’s birth with sincere andpraiseworthy enthusiasm. But between England and other countries therewas this remarkable distinction, that while foreigners commemorated theannually returning season chiefly with devotional exercises, Englishmenof all ranks gave themselves up to jollity, and good fellowship, andgood cheer.

  No sooner, indeed, did the Christmas holidays, after being long weariedfor, arrive, than, from Cornwall to the borders of the Tweed, labourceased and care was thrown to the winds, and from end to end the landrang with gladness and song. On St. Thomas’s Day began the nocturnalmusic called “waits,” which continued till Christmas, and everywherecarols were trolled and masquerades performed. The towns assumed asylvan aspect, and the churches were converted into leafy tabernacles,and in the streets standards were set up and decked with evergreens, andaround them young and old danced joyously to music.

  Nor was it only in streets and public places that mirth and jovialityprevailed. Far otherwise was the case. The houses were decked withbranches of holly and ivy for the occasion, and in the abodes of thewealthy, at least, there was no lack of good cheer. Amid frolic and jestlarge and luxurious dishes were not forgotten or neglected, especiallythe boar’s head, which was brought to the board and placed thereon in alarge silver platter to the sound of musical instruments. But the goodcheer was by no means confined to the wealthy. Even the poorest did noton such a day lack the opportunity of being blithe and merry.

  Nevertheless Christmas did not pass without its terrors to thesuperstitious--in that, as in every age, a large proportion of thepopulation. It was believed that at night demons were abroad and on thewatch for their prey, and that men were suddenly metamorphosed intowolves, who were called “were-wolves,” and who raged more fiercelyagainst the human race and all creatures not fierce by nature than eventhe ferocious animals whose shape they were made to assume, attackinghouses, tearing down the doors, destroying the inmates, descending intothe cellars, drinking mead and beer, and leaving the empty casks heapedone upon another.

  In broad daylight, however, and especially where men assembled in crowdsto celebrate Christmas, neither the bold nor the timid, who weresuperstitious, cared much for preternatural terrors; and as Hugh deMoreville and Oliver Icingla entered Ludgate and ascended the hill, andpassed the spot where the grand church since known as Old St. Paul’s wasabout to rise from the ruins of the Temple of Diana, no thought ofdemons or of were-wolves damped the enjoyment of the Londoners. And l
oudwas the mirth and high the excitement of the populace as through thecrowded streets, where standards pierced the sky and evergreens wavedand rustled in the frosty atmosphere, slowly and with stately tread rodethe Norman baron and the English squire till they reached the Tower, andreined up their steeds, and halted before the great fortress of themetropolis.