Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter

by John G. Edgar

  CHAPTER IX

  A BLOW IN SEASON

  Oliver Icingla did not particularly relish his quarters in the Tower ofLondon. At first, indeed, the sullen scowl with which he had beenreceived by John, and the evident antipathy with which the king wasdisposed to regard him as a kinsman of Hugh de Moreville, rendered hisresidence in the great fortress of the metropolis the very reverse ofagreeable. Even after he had made friends among the squires andgentlemen of the royal household, and began to feel more at home, hestill found it impossible to think of himself otherwise than as acaptive whom any outbreak on De Moreville’s part might have the effectof consigning to the jailer or the hangman.

  At length public affairs, which every day assumed a more menacingaspect, and everywhere excited the utmost interest and speculation,brought William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, to the court; and OliverIcingla, encouraged by the patronage of the great earl, who told him to“fear nothing, for no evil should befal him,” took heart, and learned tobear his lot with more patience. His position, however, was irksome;and, while all around were talking of the great events that were on thegale, and of the part which they expected to play therein, he durst noteven calculate what the future might bring to him. Nevertheless he keptup his spirits, and indulged in the hope of fortune proving favourable;and he was coming to the conclusion that life in the Tower was not onthe whole absolutely insupportable, when one morning, when winter hadgone and spring had come, while walking in the gardens within the wallsof the fortress he was met by Robert, Lord Neville, a young nobleman ofgreat possessions in the North, and a strong adherent of the royalcause.

  “Master Icingla,” said Neville, kindly, “I grieve to see that you aremore gloomy in your present position than your friends could desire, andI would fain do something, if I could, to make your life more cheerful.Now the king is about to ride forth to recreate himself with such sportas can be got in the forest of Middlesex; and, if it would pleasure youto be of the company, I doubt not my power to take you as my comrade.”

  “My lord,” replied Oliver, to whom the invitation was a very pleasantsurprise, “I thank you with all my heart. Nothing, in truth, wouldplease me better than to have my foot once more in the stirrup, and totaste the pure air of the forest on whose verge I was reared.”

  Neville smiled, as if pleased with the gratitude which his offer hadexcited; and the young lord, whose pride was so proverbial that he wasnicknamed “The peacock of the North,” so managed matters, that, when hemounted in the courtyard of the Tower, where huntsmen and hounds wereready to accompany King John to the chase, Oliver Icingla had thesatisfaction of vaulting on his black steed, Ayoub, to ride by his side.

  At the same time John came forth with a hawk on his wrist, and amidstmuch ceremony mounted a white palfrey magnificently caparisoned. Theking wore a splendid dress, and over it a scarlet mantle fastened withgems; for, from Geoffrey of Anjou to Richard III., every Plantagenet,with the exception of the first Edward, had a weakness for magnificencein the way of raiment; and John, like his son Henry, had the reputationof being the greatest dandy in his dominions. But, in spite of his royalstate and his gorgeous attire, the king had the look of a man whose mindwas ill at ease. The thoughtful German has said that the past or thefuture is written on every man’s countenance; and perhaps, as John thatday rode away from the Tower, and through the narrow streets of London,and out of the gate that led to the great forest, tenanted by deer andhaunted by the bear, and the boar, and the wild bull, an acute observermight have read on his face, as in a book, signs of the working of amind clouded with presentiments of the fate which, in spite of all hisefforts and all his stratagems, was one day to overwhelm him in gloomand humiliation. But, if so, the melancholy was not contagious; and LordNeville, at least, was gay as the lark at morn.

  “Now, Master Icingla,” said the young noble, turning to his companion asthey entered the forest, “you feel the better for this change of scene,and begin to think, after all, that life is life, and has its sweets?”

  “On my faith, my lord, I do,” replied Oliver, with frank sincerity, “andbeshrew me if I know how sufficiently to express my thanks to you, towhom I am indebted for a change so grateful to the heart and refreshingto the spirits.”

  “Nay, no thanks,” said Neville, whose pride was great, but whosefrankness was fully equal to his pride. “I am right well pleased to beof any service to you, and should look for as much at your hands wereour positions reversed. I repeat,” continued he, more earnestly, “that Icannot but grieve to see you so gloomy, after what my Lord of Salisburysaid of your deservings, and I sympathise in some measure with yourmelancholy; for I, like yourself, albeit bearing the surname of myNorman grandmother, am genuine English in the male line. But, after all,your captivity, if captivity it can be called, is by no means severe, orsuch as ought to break the spirit; not to mention that, like everythingin this world, it will come to an end. In truth,” added the young lord,half laughing, “your kinsman, Hugh de Moreville, would seem to concernhimself little how it ends with you, since it is rumoured--and I believetruly--that he has, under pretext of visiting the Castle of MountMoreville, on the north of the Tweed, gone to the Scottish court atScone, to tempt or bribe or bully Alexander, the young King of Scots,into an alliance with the confederate barons. So much for his goodfaith, for which you are a hostage!”

  “Well, my lord,” replied Oliver, not without a change of colour and athrill of blood to his heart, “I never flattered myself with the notionthat De Moreville would have any scruples about sacrificing me if Istood in the way of his own interests. However, my kinsman may even dohis worst, since fate has brought me to this pass. A man can die butonce, and the time is in the will of God. Had I, indeed, my own will, mydeath should neither take place in a dungeon nor on the gallows-tree,but on field of fight.”

  “Master Icingla,” said Neville, smiling kindly as he spoke, “takecomfort, and be guided by me. You will doubtless live to see, andsurvive, many foughten fields if you are discreet. But a truce to thistalk for the nonce, for I perceive by the movements of the huntsmen thatthe dogs have scented game.”

  And Neville’s instincts did not deceive him. Almost as he spoke, a buck,breaking from the thicket, dashed nimbly up a glade of the forest,closely pursued by the hounds, and instantly the attention of the kingand his company was concentrated in the exciting chase. It was not oflong duration, however; and ere noon the buck was pulled down by thehounds, and cut up with all the forms customary on such occasions, theking and his courtiers standing round, and the horses breathing aftertheir hard run.

  “A fat buck, by my Halidame!” exclaimed the Lord Neville.

  “Ay, a fat buck, if ever there was one,” responded King John. “You see,”added he, merrily, as he glanced round the circle--“you see how thisbuck has prospered, and yet I’ll warrant he never heard a mass.”

  Now, ever since the time when John quarrelled with the Pope and sentambassadors to the Moorish King of Granada, his respect for the faith ofhis fathers had been gravely doubted; and this speech, even if nothingwere meant, was imprudent under the circumstances, and shocked thereligious sentiments of many present. Some of the courtiers, indeed,accustomed to smile at every merry speech of their sovereign, smiled onthis occasion also. But the majority looked serious, and Lord Neville,whose countenance became not only serious but sad, turned to OliverIcingla.

  “Far from discreet it is of our lord the king to speak in this fashion,”whispered he, “and enough, in the opinion of many, to bring a malison onthe royal cause, which, certes, at this crisis needs all the aid whichthe saints are like to render it.”

  Oliver bowed his head, as if in assent, but remained silent. Perhaps hedid not think that a hostage was in duty bound to utter any criticismson the expressions of a man in whose power he was; and the huntersturned their horses’ heads, and rode up the forest in the direction ofLondon.

  King John had not been inattentive to the effect which his remark as tothe buck had produced, nor even to the l
ow murmur of disapprobation itdrew forth. On the contrary, he had been awake to all that passed, andcould not but repent of having rashly uttered words which were so likelyto be repeated to his disadvantage; and, as he reflected, his memoryrecalled a long array of similar imprudences, for almost every one ofwhich he had been under the necessity of atoning. Haunted by suchrecollections, he rode forward as if to avoid conversation with hiscourtiers and comrades; and his desire to be alone was so manifest thatthey gradually fell behind, and allowed him to precede them at such adistance that he might indulge undisturbed in his reflections, whateverthe colour of these might be.

  And thus silently the hunting party made its way up the glades of theforest, the king riding in front on his white palfrey, with a hawk onhis wrist and his mantle waving in the spring breeze. Suddenly, as thepalfrey paced along, one of the forest bulls, with his eyes glaringfire, and mane and tail erect, excited by John’s scarlet mantle, rushedfrom among the trees, and almost ere he was aware of his danger, chargedthe king so furiously that the palfrey and he were instantly overthrownand rolled on the ground. Loud cries of astonishment and horror brokefrom the hunting party, but nobody was near enough to render theslightest assistance. Pausing for a moment and bellowing furiously, thebull made a rush to complete its work, and it seemed that John’s fatewas to die on the spot. At that instant, however, from the other side ofthe glade sprang a man of mighty proportions, dressed as a forester, andattended by a huge dog barking fiercely, and without hesitation,apparently without fear, seized the bull by the horns. Terrible then wasthe struggle, and such as not one man in ten thousand could havemaintained for a moment. But not even an inch of ground did the foresteryield to his ferocious antagonist. Pressing back the bull’s head with anarm of iron, he grasped an iron club that was suspended from his belt,and dealt with all his might a blow on the animal’s vital part whichbrought it heavily to the ground, while a loud shout of relief and ofadmiration burst from the spectators. Next moment the forester’s daggerwas plunged into the bull’s neck; the fierce animal was writhingconvulsively in the agonies of death; and the king, unwounded buttrembling with wonder, leant calmly with his back to a tree, as if hehad merely been a spectator of the exploit that had been performed.

  “Now, by my Halidame!” exclaimed Lord Neville, eyeing him withadmiration, “the man who could do such a deed must have the courage often heroes in his heart, and the strength of ten gladiators in his arm.”

  “My lord, you say truly,” replied Oliver Icingla, excitedly. “I knowsomething of him, and if there is in broad England a man whose singlehand could stay the rush of a hundred foes, it is Forest Will, or Willwith the Club.”

  It was at this moment that John, having risen to his feet, and assuredhimself that he was not seriously hurt, looked his preserver keenly inthe face.

  “By God’s teeth!” exclaimed the king, taken somewhat aback, “I surelydream. Is it William de Collingham that I see before me?”

  “In truth, king,” answered the forester with a dauntless air, andsomething like a sneer on his handsome features, “I once bore the namewhich you have mentioned; but when you were pleased, in the plenitude ofyour power, to outlaw me and send me into exile, I dropped theCollingham, not caring to burden myself with the duties which bearing itinvolved, and I have since gone by whatever name my neighbours havethought fit to bestow on me.”

  “William,” said the king, “I owe you a life, for you have saved minethis day.”

  “Well, sire,” replied the outlaw, “I dare be sworn that it is more thanthose would have cared to do this day by whose counsel I was brought toruin, and forced to herd with broken men.”

  “By God’s teeth! you speak no more than the truth,” exclaimed John,before whose mind’s eye the outlaw’s word conjured up several of thebarons, once in his favour, but now leagued for his destruction. “Butlet bygones be bygones. I now know you better, and will more value yourservices in time to come.”

  The outlaw bent his strong knee to the king, and John’s eyes gleamedwith satisfaction; for he knew that he had secured one ally who, in theapproaching struggle, would serve him with a fidelity proof againsttrials and temptations.

  But the good-humour which this consideration created in John’s breastwas destined to be short-lived. Scarcely had he returned to the Towerof London when news of evil import reached him. It was to the effectthat Alexander, King of Scots, had yielded to the persuasion of Hugh deMoreville, and formed an alliance, offensive and defensive, with thebarons of England. John was vexed in the extreme; but the intelligencewas so depressing that he was not violent, only vindictive.

  “Alexander of Scotland, and the people whom he rules, shall have reasonto rue his rashness. As for Hugh de Moreville, I will without delay showthe world how I punish such treachery as his. Let his kinsman, Icingla,be forthwith seized and secured, lest he attempt to escape; for, by thelight of Our Lady’s brow, he shall hang ere sunset!”

  “Sire!” exclaimed Lord Neville in horror, “you would not hang OliverIcingla? I will answer for his loyalty.”

  “Answer for yourself, my Lord Neville,” said John, frowning sternly, forhe was in that temper in which a man cannot distinguish friends fromenemies, if they are unfortunate enough to cross his humour.