CHAPTER XXXIII
WARRIORS IN DISGUISE
On the evening of the 1st of June, the day preceding that on which Louisof France rode into London to receive the homage of the chief citizensand barons, two persons--one of them a tall, strong man, riding a big,high horse, and the other a stripling, mounted on a white“haquenée”--reached Southwark. They reined up before the sign of theWhite Hart, an hostelry afterwards celebrated as the headquarters ofJack Cade during his memorable insurrection.
“Who may you be, and whence come ye?” asked the landlord, who, seeingthat the times were troubled, was cautious as to the persons he receivedunder his roof.
“I am a yeoman of Kent,” answered the elder of the horsemen, frankly,“and this youngling is my nephew, and we have this day ridden from myhomestead near Foot’s Cray.”
The explanation proved satisfactory--at all events, it sufficed for theoccasion--and the travellers stabled their steeds, and, having enteredthe White Hart, were soon doing justice to such good cheer as thetenement afforded. The yeoman, meanwhile, talked freely enough with allwho addressed him. The stripling, however, sat silent and seeminglyabashed, as it was natural a young peasant should sit in a scene towhich he was unaccustomed, and among people who were strangers. Onlyonce, when his companion was holding forth on the subject of flocks andherds, he opened his mouth to utter an enthusiastic exclamation inpraise of a brindled bull that had recently been baited in his nativevillage; and having done so, and, apparently, also satisfied his hungerand thirst, he, in very rustic language, proposed a visit to the“bear-gardens” hard by the hostelry.
And here the reader may as well be reminded that, in the days of KingJohn, and for centuries after--indeed, up to the time of QueenElizabeth--the Surrey side of the Thames was almost without houses, withthe exception of a part of Lambeth, where stood the primate’s palace;and Bermondsey, a pastoral village with gardens and orchards; andSouthwark, which was a considerable place, relatively to the period, andboasted of the public granary, and the city brewhouse, and the mansionsinhabited by prelates and abbots when they were in London, besides manyand various places of recreation to which the Londoners were wont torepair. Here was Winchester House, the residence of the Bishop ofWinchester; there Rochester House, the residence of the Bishop ofRochester; there the inn of the Prior of Lewes; there the inns of theAbbots of Battle and of St. Augustine, in Canterbury; there St. Olave’sChurch; and there, standing hard by in strange contrast, as if toillustrate the truth of the old proverb, “the nearer the church, thefarther from grace,” certain tenements with such signs as the Boar’sHead, the Cross Keys, the Cardinal’s Head, etc., of which the reputationwas such that it was presumed the faces of the decorous were never seenwithin their walls.
But, however that might have been, no discredit whatever attached to thebear-gardens, “where were kept bears, bulls, and other beasts to bebaited, as also mastiffs in various kennels nourished to bait them, thebears and other beasts being kept in plots of ground scaffolded aboutfor the beholders to stand safe.” Bear-baiting, in fact, ranked, likefestivities and tournaments, among the fashionable diversions of theage; and the yeoman and his nephew went thither and enjoyed themselveswith clear consciences, as persons in similar circumstances would in ourday visit a theatre or a music-hall. Indeed, the first two individualswho attracted their attention were persons no less respectable in theirday and generation than Joseph Basing the citizen, who had a lurkingreverence for the monarchy of England, and Constantine Fitzarnulph, whowas all eagerness to overthrow it, no matter what the consequences.Eager was the conversation which they held as they walked along, andsuch as proved that Basing still cherished the doubts and fears which hehad in vain expressed at Clerkenwell.
“I wish all this may end well,” said he bluntly, in reply to a longnarrative of the preparations made to receive the French prince and hislords.
“My worthy fellow-citizen,” said Constantine Fitzarnulph, “contentyourself, I pray you, and credit me that this is all as it ought to be,and that it will all work for the welfare and prosperity of England andour city.”
“I would fain hope so if I could,” replied Basing, shaking his headincredulously; “but, by St. Thomas, I wish you may not all live torepent your handiwork, and to find, when too late, that you are like thecountryman who brought up a young wolf, which no sooner grew strongenough than it began to tear his sheep to pieces.”
The two citizens passed on, and the yeoman of Kent and his nephew,having passed some time in the bear-gardens, strolled leisurely towardsLondon Bridge, which was crowded with passengers, and enlivened byballad-singers and minstrels bawling out the newest verses in praise ofPrince Louis, and Robert Fitzwalter, and Constantine Fitzarnulph, andlooked and listened till warned by the curfew bell to return to theirhostelry and betake themselves to repose.
“Beshrew me,” said the stripling in a low but ardently earnest tone, as,having looked to their horses, they parted for the night--“beshrew me ifthe heads of the Londoners are not turned with all this babble and noiseabout Prince Louis, and Robert Fitzwalter, and Constantine Fitzarnulph.My patience begins to give way.”
“Heed them not,” replied the yeoman in a similar tone; “it is becauseLouis and his friends are the stronger party, and for no other reason.It is ever the way of the vulgar to follow those, no matter what theirworth, whom Fortune favours, and despise those on whom she frowns, as Ihave learned to my bitter experience. See you, when the royal causeflourishes again they will shout as lustily for the king. Mayhap evenwe may yet be the heroes of popular song. Marry, less likely things havecome to pass in changeful times.”
“May the saints forefend!” exclaimed the stripling, smiling; “for,certes, I should then conclude that we were in the wrong. I remember meof the story which tells that when the Greek orator was loudly applaudedby the multitude, the philosopher chid him. ‘Sir,’ added thephilosopher, ‘if you had spoken wisely, these men would have showed nosigns of approbation.’”
Next morning, the yeoman and the stripling rose betimes, broke theirfast, crossed London Bridge, and mingled with the crowd--pressing,surging, and swaying--that cheered and welcomed Louis, who that daycharmed all hearts by his great affability and his very graciouscondescension. Nothing, indeed, could have exceeded the enthusiasm ofthe citizens and populace of London when the French prince, crossingLondon Bridge, entered the city; “for,” says the chronicler, “there wasnothing wanting in the salutations of the flattering people, not eventhat barbarous Chaire Basileus, which is, ‘Hail, dear lord.’”
The yeoman of Kent and his young comrade did not add their voices to themusic of the hour. Perhaps they were too stupid to comprehend fully whatwas taking place. However, they certainly did seem to make the best useof their eyes. They entered the church of St. Paul’s while the citizenswere doing homage and swearing allegiance, and they followed the longand brilliant cavalcade of prelates, and nobles, and knights,conspicuous among whom were Hugh de Moreville and Sir Anthony Waledger,when they conducted the French prince to Westminster; for here a similarceremony was to be performed in the Abbey, which then stood very much asit had been left by Edward the Confessor--to wit, in the form of across, with a high central tower, and as it had been consecrated on theChristmas of 1065, when the saint-king lay dying in the Painted Chamber.
Both the stripling and the yeoman looked on the Abbey with peculiarreverence, and the sight of it seemed to recall to them the memory ofthe pious founder, but of whom few else in London or Westminster thoughtthat day.
“Holy Edward be our aid, and the aid of England!” said the younger,uncovering his head; “for never, certes, have we and England been morein need of the protection of our tutelary saint.”
“Amen,” added the yeoman; and, separating themselves from the crowd,they proceeded to an ale-house right opposite the gate of the palace,exchanged salutations with the landlord in a confidential tone, andascended a stair to a chamber, the window of which looked into thepalace-yard. Finding themselves a
lone, they turned to each other with aglance of peculiar significance.
“Sir William de Collingham,” said the stripling, much agitated, “we arediscovered. That drunken maniac of a knight saw through our disguise.”
“Be calm, Master Icingla,” replied the other, like a man long habituatedto danger; “you may be in error. Anyhow, we gain nothing by takingfright; for, if it be as you say, he may even now have taken suchmeasures that we must fall into the toils. Wherefore I say, be calm.”
And, in truth, their situation was perilous; for since the exploit ofCollingham at Chas-Chateil, and Oliver’s escape from that castle, hadbecome matters of notoriety in London, both had been marked men. And notonly had Hugh de Moreville sworn vengeance in case of having the powerto inflict it, but Sir Anthony Waledger, exasperated by the loss of hispost as governor of Chas-Chateil, which he ascribed to the trick putupon him and its results, vowed never to taste joy again till he had putboth the knight and the squire into his patron’s power. What was theirreal object in being in London under the circumstances, chroniclers havenot pretended to state; but certainly they would have been saferelsewhere. Perhaps the very danger they incurred had its influence inmaking them venture into the midst of foes; but, however that may havebeen, there they were in that ale-house at Westminster, and below wasSir Anthony Waledger conversing with the woman of the hostelry.
“Dame,” said the knight, in his grandest way, “tell me, on your troth,who are they drinking above? Are they alone, or in company?”
“On my troth, sir,” answered the landlady, “I cannot tell you theirnames; they have come here but now.”
On hearing this, Sir Anthony Waledger, wishing to judge with his owneyes, went up-stairs to ascertain the truth, and, not doubting that hewas right in the conjecture he had formed, called for a quart ofale--for the Norman knight was never neglectful of opportunities ofgetting liquor--and, having ordered the quart of ale, he salutedCollingham.
“God preserve you, master!” said he, dissembling; “I hope you will nottake my coming amiss; for, seeing you at the window, I thought you mightbe one of my farmers from Berks, as you are very like him.”
“By no means,” replied Collingham, as if much honoured by being spokento by so great a man. “I am from Kent, and hold lands from the LordHubert de Burgh; and the Lord Hubert being somewhat neglectful of myinterests, I wish to lay my complaints before Prince Louis and thebarons against the tenants of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who encroachmuch on my farm.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Sir Anthony, “then I may be your friend. If you willcome into the hall I will have way made for you to lay your grievancesbefore the prince and the lords.”
“Many thanks, sir, but I will not trouble you at this moment, albeit, Ido not renounce your aid in the matter. Sir, may I know your name?”
“My name,” answered the knight, “is Sir Anthony Waledger;” and, afterhaving paid for the quart of ale, and drank it hurriedly, but withevident relish, he added, “God be with you, master!” and descended thestair and left the ale-house, and hastily crossed to the palace and madefor the council-chamber, whither the barons had gone, and, requestingthe usher to open the door, called the Lord Hugh de Moreville.
“My lord,” said he, as De Moreville appeared, “I bring you good news.”
“By St. Moden!” exclaimed De Moreville, amazed at having been trespassedon at such a moment, “why not at once tell me what it is?”
“By the head of St. Anthony!” answered the knight very boldly, as headvanced, “it concerns not only you, but Prince Louis, and all the lordspresent. I have seen Sir William de Collingham and Master Icingladisguised as yeomen in an ale-house close by the palace-gate.”
“Collingham and Icingla?” said De Moreville, much surprised.
“By the head of St. Anthony, my lord, it is even so--it is true,”replied the knight, greatly elated at the thought of being the bearerof such intelligence; “it is as true as that I live by bread, and youmay have them to dine with you if you please.”
De Moreville, in spite of his bad humour, laughed grimly.
“In truth,” said he, “I should like it much. Wherefore hasten to securethem; but take power enough with you to be in no danger of failing, forthey are dangerous desperadoes, as their actions and words prove.”
“Trust me,” said Sir Anthony, with evident confidence in himself that hewould be prudent in action. “May I never again taste joy if I fail inthe enterprise!”
“Wherefore not say ale and wine at once?” replied Moreville, jocularly;“I should then feel assured of your doing your very utmost.”
Sir Anthony did not answer, but, having selected a dozen stalwart menfrom De Moreville’s train, the knight made for the ale-house.
“Follow me at a distance,” said he to the men, “and as soon as youperceive me make a sign to arrest the persons I am in search of, layhands on them, and take care they do not, on any account, escape.”
So saying, Sir Anthony again entered the ale-house, ascended the stairs,and, followed by his myrmidons, entered the chamber where he had leftCollingham and Oliver Icingla. He was prepared to give the sign whichwas to make them prisoners, and was already anticipating the success ofthe enterprise which, according to his calculations, was to redeem himfrom the disgrace which he had incurred by allowing Chas-Chateil to beentered by a band of outlaws, when his countenance fell and he tossedhis arms on high.
“By the head of St. Anthony,” said he, wildly, and with mortification inhis countenance, “the birds have flown!”
“_Yes_,” answered a sepulchral voice, which seemed to come from themidst of the band, “_they are flown; for in vain is the net spread inthe sight of any bird_.”
Sir Anthony Waledger started, shivered, and looked round and round ingreat alarm, and several of his followers crossed themselves; and asthey did so, the voice repeated in still more mysterious accents--
“_In vain is the net spread in the sight of any bird._”
Sir Anthony called on his favourite saints to protect him; and his menbegan to back confusedly out of the chamber, every one of them with aheart beating faster and louder than his neighbour’s.
As they passed out and questioned the landlady, the good dame laughed inher sleeve.
“On my troth,” said she, complacently, as she looked after them, “theywill be more clever than I take them to be if they can lay hands onForest Will without his own leave.”
“As well,” added mine host, who now descended from the upper regions,rejoicing in having successfully executed his mission--“as well try tocatch the blazing star which, some years since, was like to have carriedthe world away on its tail.”
“Forest Will is man enough for them all,” added the landlady with asmile.
Mine host gave a start which indicated slight jealousy.
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