CHAPTER XXII
HOW THE KING BIDED HIS TIME
Robin Goodman, mine host of The Three Cranes, did not speak without goodinformation when he gave the chapmen of Bristol intelligence as to theattitude which public affairs had unexpectedly assumed in themetropolis. In fact, the position of the baron was, for the time being,almost ludicrous.
Great was the exultation, high the excitement, of Robert Fitzwalter andhis confederates as they left Runnymede and marched towards London. Onthe way they were met by the mayor, with the sheriffs and aldermen inscarlet robes, and many citizens, all dressed in violet and gallantlymounted, who, headed by Constantine Fitzarnulph, escorted the heroes ofRunnymede along the bush-grown Strand, and over the Fleet Bridge, andthrough Ludgate to St. Paul’s, where the assembled multitude hailedtheir return with cheers that rent the sky.
It was a stirring spectacle as the procession moved along the narrowstreets, with banners waving and trumpets sounding, and everybody wastoo much interested to ask what the morrow might bring forth. It wasenough that they had won a great victory over the king, who had been inthe habit not only of treating them with hauteur, but of making them paytheir scutages; and they resolved to celebrate their victory by holdinga grand tournament, on the 2nd of July, at Stamford, where so recentlythey had, at all hazards, set up the standard of revolt, and vowed todare all and risk all in vindication of their feudal pretensions.
And so closed Friday, the 15th of June, 1215, every man well satisfiedwith himself and with his neighbour; and on the morning of Saturday Hughde Moreville entered London by Bishopsgate, bringing full assurance ofaid from Alexander, King of Scots, in case of need. The royal Scot,however, stipulated that he was to have a large reward in the shape ofNorthumberland, Cumberland, and Westmoreland--a noble addition to hiskingdom, it must be admitted, if the Northern counties had been thebarons’ to give. But even at this price they seemed to consider hisalliance cheaply purchased, and luxuriated for the time in the successof their revolt. But ere Saturday’s sun set, messengers, breathless withhaste, came to tell Fitzwalter that King John had secretly departed fromWindsor under cover of night, no one knew whither; and when the baronsimmediately afterwards met in council, every countenance was elongatedand every brow heavy with thought, and the boldest quailed as hereflected what a king, goaded and rendered desperate, might have it inhis power to do if he turned savagely to bay. De Moreville shared theapprehension of his friends, but gave vent to no nervous ejaculations.
“I deny not,” said he calmly, “that this is an awkward circumstance, andone against which precautions ought to have been taken. But John is noArthur or Richard, nor even such a man as his father Henry, that weshould much fear the utmost he can do, if he is mad enough to challengeus to the game of carnage. St. Moden and all the saints forbid that Ishould ever blanch at the thought of battle with a man who, even his ownfriends would confess, is so much fitter for the wars of Venus, thanthose of Bellona, and whose wont it has ever been, even while blusteringand threatening the powerful, to strike at none but the weak! Come,noble sirs, take heart. By my faith, the game is still ours if we playit with courage, and imitate not the cowardly heron, which flies at thesight of its own shadow.”
“But think of the pope,” said a dozen voices. “How are we to contendwith the thunders of the Church, before which the Kings of France andEngland have both of late been forced to bend their heads in humblesubmission?”
“By St. Moden,” replied De Moreville, “I fear not, if the worst comes tothe worst, to trust to stone walls, and the arm of flesh, and gold. Wehave strong castles, and fighting men, and the wealth of London at ourbacks. Nevertheless, I freely own that a king’s name is a tower ofstrength in the opinion of the unreflecting multitude, and, since suchis the case, I opine that it becomes us to counteract the influence ofthe king’s name and fortify our cause by taking possession of the queenand prince, who are now at the palace of Savernake. It is a boldmeasure, but this is no time to be squeamish. Speak the word, and Imyself will forthwith summon my men and mount my horse, and ride to makethe seizure. Falcons fear not falcons; and beshrew me if any but liarsshall ever have it in their power to tell that Hugh de Moreville shrankcravenly from a contest for life and death with such a kite as John ofAnjou!”
At first the proposal of De Moreville met with little support; but hiseloquence ultimately prevailed, and he lost no time in setting out toexecute his mission. But the scheme of seizing the queen and the princewas, as the reader already knows, baffled by the king’s precaution; andwhen the barons who were in London became aware that De Moreville hadfailed, their alarm became greater than ever, and they resolved to takemeasures for ascertaining in what danger they really stood, and whatchance there was of the king playing them false.
It was now about the close of June, and intelligence reached London thatJohn was at Winchester, and the barons determined to have somesatisfactory understanding. Accordingly they sent a deputation toWinchester to inform him of their doubts, and to demand whether or nothe really intended to keep the promises he had made at Runnymede. Theking received the deputation with apparent frankness, ridiculed theirsuspicions as being utterly without foundation, and appointed a meetingwith them in July, at Oxford, to which city he was on the point ofremoving.
The barons were neither deceived by the king’s manner nor deluded by hiswords. They had lost the last lingering respect for his good faith; andthey felt instinctively that he was exercising all his duplicity and allhis ingenuity to free himself from their wardship and bring about theirdestruction, and vague rumours that mercenaries were being levied on theContinent added to their alarm. It was even said that John intended totake advantage of their absence at the tournament at Stamford to seizeLondon; and, though he was without any army capable of taking a city,this report influenced them so far that they postponed the tournament,and named a distant day for its taking place at Hounslow.
Ere long affairs reached a new stage, and caused more perplexity. Itsuddenly became known in London that John, regardless of his promise tohold a conference with the barons at Oxford, had left that citysuddenly, ridden to the coast, and embarked in a ship belonging to oneof the Cinque Ports, but with what object could not be divined; andthough from that time the wildest stories were told on the subject, hismovements were shrouded in such mystery that nothing certain was known.Even in the month of September, when the barons met in London and held acouncil at the house of the Templars, they were utterly at a loss toimagine what had become of the sovereign whom two months earlier theyhad browbeaten at Runnymede, and bound in chains which they thenbelieved could never be broken.
“He is drowned,” said one.
“He has turned fisherman,” said a second.
“No,” said a third; “he is roaming the narrow seas as a pirate.”
“Doubtless he is living on the water,” said a fourth, “but it is in thecompany of the mariners of the Cinque Ports, whom he is, by anaffectation of frankness and familiarity, alluring to his side in caseof a struggle.”
“Such fables are wholly unworthy of credit,” said a fifth. “For my part,I doubt not the truth of what is bruited as to his being weary ofroyalty and the troubles it has brought with it, and that he has abjuredChristianity and taken refuge among the Moors of Granada, whose alliancehe formerly sought.”
“Noble sirs,” said Hugh de Moreville, who had recovered from his attackof gout and returned to London, “suffer me to speak. You are all wrong.Pardon me for saying so in plain words. King John is not drowned; norhas he turned fisherman; nor pirate; nor gone to Granada; albeit he mayhave been more familiar with the mariners of the Cinque Ports thanconsists with our interest and safety. I had sure intelligence broughtme, when I was on the point of coming hither, that he is now in thecastle of Dover.”
“The castle of Dover!” exclaimed twenty voices, while a thrill ofsurprise pervaded the assembly, each man looking at his neighbour.
“Yes, in the castle of Dover,” continued De Moreville, raisin
g hisvoice; “and he is in daily expectation of the arrival of mercenarytroops from the Continent, under the command of Falco, and Manlem, andSoltim, and Godeschal, and Walter Buch, men of such cruel and ruthlessnatures, that I can scarce even mention their names without the thoughtof their being let loose in this country scaring the blood out of mybody.”
A simultaneous exclamation of horror rose from the assembled barons, andseveral prayed audibly to God and the saints to shield them and theirsfrom the terrible dangers with which their homes and hearths werethreatened. And when the news became public and spread through the city,the terror proved contagious, and the citizens began to quake for thesafety of their wares and their women. Joseph Basing cursed the hour inwhich he had, even by his presence, sanctioned the entry of the baronsinto London; and even the countenance of Constantine Fitzarnulph wasovercast, and his voice husky. Meanwhile, however, Hugh de Morevillerather rejoiced than otherwise at the danger; and Robert Fitzwaltermaintained his dignity, and stood calmly contemplating the peril whichhe had defied.
“One word more,” said De Moreville. “It is the king’s intention, so faras can be learned, to commence operations by an attempt to take thecastle of Rochester.”
“William of Albini is already in command of the garrison, and will doall that a brave man can to defend the castle,” said Fitzwalter. “Butforewarned is forearmed; and it were well instantly to despatch amessenger to tell him of the danger that approaches. Where is WalterMerley?”
“Here, my good lord,” answered the young Norman noble, who had figuredamong the guests of Constantine Fitzarnulph when the chief citizensdecided on inviting the “army of God and the Church” to take possessionof London.
“Mount without delay, and carry to the Earl of Arundel the intelligencemy Lord de Moreville has just brought us.”
“Willingly, my good lord,” replied the stripling; “but ere going I makebold to offer this suggestion, that, since we have been restoring theancient laws of this land, it would be politic to restore atime-honoured custom which was wont to do good service in the days ofthe Confessor--I mean, publish the ancient proclamation of war, whichused to arouse every Englishman capable of bearing arms--‘Let each man,whether in town or country, leave his house and come.’”
Few listened; nobody answered; and the youth withdrew to ride on hiserrand, too ardently enthusiastic for the baronial cause even to feelgalled that his suggestion had not been deemed worthy of notice, or toperceive the absurdity of asking the grandsons of the conquerors ofHastings to appeal to the vanquished and down-trodden race. But DeMoreville both heard and understood it; and laying his hand onFitzwalter’s arm, he said in a low tone--
“My noble friend, I wish we had among us more of the enthusiasm thatglows at that stripling’s heart. By St. Moden, my young friend--albeitof Norman lineage--has strange notions, being English on the spindleside; for his mother, Dame Juliana, is sister of Edgar Unnithing. Shehas inspired him with a dangerous sympathy for the English race, andwould have had him and his elder brother take the king’s side if hercounsel had availed. _Mort Dieu!_ I hold it lucky that John has not byhis side our young Walter, with his keen eye and scheming brain,whispering such suggestions in his ear as that which was hazarded butnow. The false king might, with wit enough, in such a case, have savedhimself the trouble of sending for warriors from beyond sea; for hemight have found them at his door. But, trust me, resolution, and thedetermination to act with a strong hand, are much wanted in thisemergency. And hearken. The king brings foreigners into this country tofight his battles, forgetting that both parties can play at that game ifneeds be. Nay, start not; you will ere long come to view this matter inthe same light that I do; and I swear by my faith, that rather than bebeaten by that anointed, craven, and perjured king, I would not onlyconsent to bringing a foreign army into the kingdom, but to placing aforeign prince on the throne. Tush! what matters it who is the puppet,so long as we, the barons of England, pull the strings?”
“By my halidame, De Moreville,” said Fitzwalter, gravely, “I much marvelthat a man so skilled in statecraft, and accounted so sage in camp andcouncil as you are, can indulge in talk so perilous to our enterprise,encompassed as it is with dangers. Credit me that when the cession ofthe three northern counties to the King of Scots is bruited about, andthe condition of his friendship becomes matter of public notoriety, thatof itself will be sufficiently difficult to vindicate. Make not theaspect of affairs more repulsive to our best and most leal friends, thecitizens of London, by defying their prejudices. Credit me, such acourse, if persisted in, will ruin all, and leave us at the mercy of anadversary whose tender mercies are cruel. No more of it, I pray you, asyou value all our lives and fortunes, and the welfare of the army ofGod and the Church.”
“Fitzwalter,” replied De Moreville, earnestly, “be not deceived. Muchless easy is it than you think to startle the citizens of London, whocare nothing for traditions or love of country. Behind that old Romanwall which you see to the east are men from every clime and of everyrace, mongrels almost to a man, who have no feeling, no motive in thisquarrel, save their aversion to the monarchy and their dislike of theking. Be not deceived. Besides, as I am a Norman gentleman, I swear toyou, on my faith, that I do not value their opinion or their support atthe worth of a bezant.”
Fitzwalter started, and looked round as if fearing that any one might bewithin earshot.
“For the rest,” continued De Moreville, conclusively, “I have wellconsidered what I have spoken, and am prepared to abide by it, letWilliam Longsword or the Nevilles do their worst. We are Normans, andnot Englishmen, as you well know--none better. You start. Yet a littlewhile, and others will cry out loudly enough in the market-place whatnow I hardly dare to whisper; for clearly do I see, and confidently do Ipredict as if I had read it in the book of fate, that matters must beworse before they can be better. I have for some time only thought so;but I have known it ever since I learned that this cowardly yetbloodthirsty king has turned to bay.”
“May the saints in heaven shield this afflicted land,” said Fitzwalter,with a sigh, “and grant us a happy issue out of all our troubles!”
And they parted: Fitzwalter, in no enviable frame of mind, to enter hisgilded barge, and go by water to Baynard’s Castle; De Moreville, hisbrain peopled with conflicting projects, to walk eastward to his hoteloutside of Ludgate.
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