Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter

by John G. Edgar

  CHAPTER XVI

  TAKEN BY SURPRISE

  It was neither the duty nor the inclination of William de Collingham andOliver Icingla to linger in Gloucester. The city, indeed, was notwithout its attractions; and, with its castle and cathedral, andpicturesque houses, from the balconies of which dames and demoiselles,the wives and daughters of the citizens, gazed with curiosity, andcriticised the procession as Queen Isabel rode along the streets to thecastle which had once been her prison, the place was sufficientlyinteresting and lively to have been agreeable under ordinarycircumstances to such warriors as the knight and the squire. But bothhad orders to enact their parts elsewhere in the drama that was beingplayed by the king and barons, and were animated, as was natural withpersons of adventurous spirits, by a strong desire to hasten where theirservices were most likely to be appreciated. So, without losing a day,they mounted and rode out of the gate of Gloucester to go in differentdirections--Collingham to Lincoln, to join the garrison which, underNicola de Camville, a noble dame of surpassing courage, held that cityfor the king; Icingla to make for Windsor, with a letter of importancewhich Isabel had intrusted to him, and intelligence that the queen andthe prince had reached their destination, and that they were in safetybehind the walls of Gloucester. For a short distance, however, theirroad lay in the same direction; and, riding side by side, they beguiledthe way with conversation on the topics of the day, mingled withdigressions on adventures in war and love.

  At length they reached the point where their roads separated; andCollingham, as the elder and more experienced of the two, seemed toconsider it his duty to favour his comrade with some wholesome advicefor his guidance.

  “Farewell, boy,” said the knight, in kindly accents; “I would that youwere to accompany me northward. But I know that you share not my regret,and mayhap it is better as it is, and the king’s court will be more toyour liking than the northern city, where Dame Nicola lords it sobravely over fighting men; for I perceive clearly that you have not onlya keen eye and a ready tongue, but that, under your gay and lightdemeanour, you have a scheming brain, and ambitious resolves which youwould fain gratify at all hazards.”

  “And wherefore not, sir knight?” asked Oliver, looking in Collingham’sface with a smile which indicated considerable confidence in hisdestiny, if not in himself.

  “Oh, by the mass!” replied Collingham, quickly, “I see no cause why youshould not aspire as well as another; only bear this in mind, thatFortune, like other dames, often disdains the suit of those who are tooardent in wooing her; and be not in too much haste to climb the ladderof life; I, for one, have, in that endeavour, realised the truth of thehomely proverb, ‘The more hurry the less speed.’”

  “On my faith,” observed Oliver, thoughtfully, “I believe that most mendo, in this life, learn the truth of that proverb when it is too late.”

  “Marry, that they do, sir squire,” said Collingham, sadly. “Butforewarned is forearmed. Fall not you into the common error, nor dreamthat you can scale lofty walls without long ladders; nor despise thatdiscretion without which you will never sit, as lord, in the halls ofthe castles of which Hugh de Moreville has taken so firm a grip; norwhat I have told you of yore of a certain fair demoiselle who stands tohim in the relation of daughter and heiress.”

  Oliver smiled and shook his head, and played with the rein of hisbridle.

  “But farewell,” continued Collingham, now speaking in a half-joculartone. “May you prosper in war and love, and so act as never to merit thereproaches of the valiant, and as you grow in years may you grow inwisdom; for, as Solomon, that wise king of Israel, has told us, ‘themerchandise thereof is better than the merchandise of silver, and thegain thereof than fine gold.’”

  “And yet,” remarked Oliver, “beshrew me if wisdom is not ever lesslightly regarded than wealth in this world we inhabit.”

  “Not by all men,” exclaimed Collingham. “For my part, I often envy thewise, but I never covet wealth save when I feel the pressure ofpoverty.”

  Oliver laughed.

  “But as regards yourself, Master Icingla,” added the knight, tighteninghis rein, and preparing to give his horse the spur, “again I say, be notover-ardent in your pursuits, and bear in mind that, in the struggle oflife, battle is not to the strong, nor the race always to the swift.Marry, he was a wise old fellow who stood on the bridge built by QueenMaude at Stratford-le-Bow, and told the youngster who asked him aboutthe way to a certain place that he would get there in time if he did notride too fast. So now farewell.”

  And they parted; and Oliver Icingla rode on, and summoned all hisintelligence to aid him in reaching Windsor, and bearing the queen’sletter to her lord with as little hazard of interruption as possible.

  Now Oliver had very little doubt of accomplishing his object withsuccess; and for hours he rode on, availing himself of the trees toshade himself and his steed from the heat of the sun, and musing overthe conversation he had held with Collingham at parting, not withoutvisions of the kinswoman on whose charms the knight had taken severalopportunities to expatiate. In fact, the youth became so absorbed in hisown reminiscences and reflections, that he thought only vaguely of thecircumstances under which his black steed Ayoub was carrying him fromGloucester, and even neglected to keep that strict watch around himwhich was so necessary, considering the state of the country--not evenpaying attention to the wild animals which ever and anon sprang up fromthe brushwood that bounded his path, and scampered away into thethicket, nor the maiden who filled her pitcher at the brook, nor the oldwoman who looked out from the solitary cottage as he rode past.

  Suddenly, however, Ayoub pricked up his ears, and Oliver roused himselffrom his reverie, and, looking back, he perceived a small band ofhorsemen--they might be half a dozen in number--riding at a rapid pace,and, as he shrewdly conjectured, in eager pursuit of some object, andthat object he instinctively felt was himself. Of course he could notdivine their motive, but, whatsoever it might be, he expected it was notfriendly; and, feeling still more certain on a second inspection that hewas the game of which they were in pursuit, he resolved to lose no timein giving them the slip. Not hesitating longer, for the distance betweenhimself and the horsemen was now trifling, and their manœuvres andgestures threatening, he turned suddenly into a by-path, plunged intothe forest, rode cautiously on, making the best use of his eyes andears, and succeeded so well that, ere long, he flattered himself that hehad evaded pursuit; and, after halting for a brief period at the hut ofa forester to refresh his horse, he resumed his journey, and pursued hisway in the firm belief that he had, at least, baffled one danger.

  It was necessary, however, to think of rest and repose for the night;and, as evening fell, Oliver reined up at a substantial and flourishingwayside inn, which had three cranes for its sign, and was frequented bychapmen and other travellers between London and the West, and which wasfavourably known among wayfarers as an hostelry where good entertainmentwas furnished by Robert Goodwin to men with money, and wholesomeprovender to beasts of burden. Having secured quarters for the night,and having carefully looked to the comfort of his black steed, which wasweary with its day’s work, Oliver proceeded to the kitchen of the inn,and, while a fowl was being roasted for his supper, listened to theconversation of the chapmen who lounged about. At first, theirconversation was merely about markets and the price of wool and wares,and had little interest for the boy-squire; but he had scarcely seatedhimself at supper, and begun to satisfy the cravings of hunger, whichafter his long day’s ride were pretty keen, when the landlord enteredwith portly dignity, and the chapmen, who appeared to regard mine hostas a political oracle, put some questions on public affairs which madeOliver prick up his ears.

  “And so, Robin, lad,” said one chapman, with curiosity, “thou deemestthat England is not done with these broils, of which her heart isalready so sick?”

  “Ay, ay, Robin,” chimed in the other, “thou hast a long head; are we notto have peace now, thinkest thou?”

  “In truth,
my masters,” replied the host, shaking his head sapiently, “Isee no more chance of peace for the present than I do of being Soldan ofBabylon; and if I saw any chance I should value it but lightly.Appearances are nought when the passions of the great men are roused andtheir hands on the hilt of their swords. No later than Friday the baronsdeemed everything settled fair and square, and beguiled themselves withthe notion that henceforth the king would comport himself in accord withtheir wishes. But mark, my masters, what happens: King John goes back toWindsor, takes a second thought, and leaves under night, doubtless totake thought as to the means to get the upper hand. ‘Where has he gone?’askest thou. As well ask where the flaming star that threatened to burnthe world up last year. When the news was carried to London, ConstantineFitzarnulph says, ‘Let him go!’ ‘By Our Lady the Virgin!’ exclaims theLord Fitzwalter, ‘he has gone for our destruction.’ ‘If we take not thebetter heed,’ says the Lord de Vesci, ‘we are dead men; but let us seizethe queen and the prince and keep them as hostages.’ So the Lord Hugh deMoreville, just returned from the North, and, albeit, somewhat ailing,hastens with a band of armed men to Savernake. But it was too late; theladybird had flown off to Gloucester, and the Lord de Moreville rode byhere, on his way home, no later than noon, with a frowning brow and anangry countenance. Credit me, my masters, they will never make up thisquarrel till they have torn the land to pieces between them.”

  And, having hazarded this political prophecy, mine host, with a shrug ofhis shoulders, lounged leisurely from the apartment.

  “I fear me, neighbour, that Robin Goodman speaks nothing but the truth,”said one of the chapmen, gravely.

  “In good sooth,” said the other, “his words are but too like to cometrue. It is known full well that of late things have happened whichportend calamities to the country. In some parts there have beenshowers of hail, with hailstones as big as goose-eggs; and at the mouthof the Thames they have caught fishes of strange shape, armed withhelmet and shield like knights. If such be not signs of woe and war, Iwant to know, neighbour, what kind of signs this generation would have?”

  The chapmen now sank into silence, and Oliver continued to sup, and tomuse over the gossip he had just heard, when his ear caught the tread ofhorses and the ringing of bridles. Presently voices were heard, and anarmed man presented himself at the door of the apartment, and, as thechapmen rose to make way--for, being men of peace, they cared not fortoo close a contact with those who were in the habit of carrying matterswith the strong hand--Oliver, much to his dismay, recognised RalphHornmouth, a rough Northern squire who had accompanied Hugh de Morevilleon the occasion of his visit to Oakmede on Christmas Eve. Events soonproved that the recognition was mutual.

  “Sir squire,” said Hornmouth, advancing to the place which Oliveroccupied, “methinks you can call to mind my having seen your facebefore.”

  “It is possible,” replied Oliver, coldly; “I have been much amongfighting men, and many of them have seen my face.”

  “And I think I could even tell the name you bear and the errand on whichyou are riding,” said Hornmouth, significantly.

  “Mayhap,” replied Oliver, haughtily; “but I have yet to learn whatbusiness you have either with my name or mine errand.”

  “So much,” said the other, quickly, “that, knowing you to be MasterIcingla, on your way with messages from Queen Isabel to the king, I amempowered by the Lord de Moreville to conduct you, in the first place,to his presence.”

  “To Hugh de Moreville’s presence!” exclaimed Oliver, starting up. “Iwill be cut to pieces first.”

  “Resistance is vain,” said Hornmouth, persuasively, “and it is betterfor all concerned that you yield to fate. You have already given ustrouble sufficient in tracking you through field and forest this daysince you gave us the slip so cunningly. By the Holy Rood, no man balksme twice in one day, either by cunning or force of arms!”

  And as he spoke he stepped backward and made a signal, at which fiveothers rushed in.

  Oliver drew his sword, placed his back to the wall, and stood on hisdefence, while the chapmen hurried out, to avoid the risk of being mixedup in the fray or wounded by accident, and Oliver’s adversaries advancedon him in a body. A brief struggle ensued, and the English squire’ssword struck fire from more than one steel cap. But the odds against himwere too unequal to be contended with, and the conflict lasted but a fewmoments. When it was over, Oliver, wounded, but still breathingdefiance, lay prostrate on the floor, while two of the men bound hishands with cords; and within half an hour he was placed on his ownhorse, and, in bitter mood, found himself riding with a soldier oneither hand, who had orders to despatch him on the spot in case he madeany desperate effort to escape.

  For hours Oliver did not deign to mutter a word; but at length, as themoon emerged from behind a cloud, and shone brightly, he perceived thatthey were within a park, such as generally in that day lay around thecastle of a Norman baron.

  “Whither are you conducting me?” asked he, eagerly.

  “To Chas-Chateil,” was Hornmouth’s brief reply.

  “I guessed as much,” replied Oliver. “And for what purpose?”

  “You will learn when you arrive and enter,” was the reply.

  As Hornmouth spoke, the dogs in the forester’s lodge barked at the trampof horses, and the deer, which lay asleep on knolls in groups of somehalf-dozen, started and glided swiftly through the glades; and, as thehorsemen moved on, a feudal castle, reared on the crest of an eminenceand defended by rampart and moat, appeared in sight, the pale moonbeamsresting on the walls.

  “And this is Chas-Chateil?” said Oliver, as lights glanced from casementand loophole.

  “Assuredly,” was Hornmouth’s answer. “Didst thou take it for Windsor?”

  “No, by my faith,” replied Oliver; “only I was thinking it somewhatstrange that I should come in such an unseemly plight to the place whereI was cradled with such feudal pride.”

  Ralph Hornmouth uttered an audible “Humph!” and in a few moments morethe drawbridge was lowered, and Oliver rode in with his captors to thecourtyard; and the great gate closed heavily behind, and he foundhimself where, a few hours earlier, he had, of all other places, leastexpected to be for the night--in one of the castles which were hismother’s inheritance, and under the same roof with, and in the power of,the person who, of all others on earth, he most disliked--Hugh deMoreville.