"That I understand," said Earl Simon, "and respect. He has his cause as I have mine. He is right to pledge to it everything but his honour."
"And yet," I said, watching him with intent, "if you should ask him to take that plunge, and commit his cause to yours, I believe he might do it."
Earl Simon understood me well, that I was not prompting but appealing. He said: "Be easy! There are limits to my rights in any man. I shall not ask him."
Before I rose to leave him on this first occasion, since it seemed all had been done that at this moment could be done, I ventured to speak to him of those principles of kingship of which we had heard, and of which Llewelyn desired a better understanding. At that his eyes shone, and he began to speak with passion of the welldisciplined body in which every member bears its true part, and thence of the body politic, a realm in which the same balance and harmony obtain, where kingship is a sacred trust, and rale not for gain or glory but for the right regulation of the affairs of all men, from the highest to the lowest. And thence again it was but a deeper breath and a stretching out of the being to comprehend a body spiritual in which every realm should be a member performing still its just function, and this should be the true Christendom. And he told me that he had had copied for his own use the tract on kingship and tyranny written by the late, great Bishop Robert Grosseteste of Lincoln, and he would lend it to me to make another copy, if time served, for Llewelyn's study. And so he did, and even marked for me those passages that most engrossed his own thoughts, in case there was too little time for copying the whole. And thereafter he spoke with me, whenever we had leisure from events, of those lofty ideas that so consumed his heart and mind.
As I went out from him the door of his chamber opened before I reached it, and I was face to face with a startled girl on the threshold. Her lips were parted, about to call to him even as she came into the room, and thus on the verge of speech she halted, half-smiling, astonished to be gazing up so closely at a stranger. She was tall for her years, and slender, and bore herself with the simplicity and assurance of her birth, so that it took me some seconds of wonder and admiration to realise that she was hardly past childhood, surely no more than eleven or twelve years old. All that brave candour and innocence that showed so excellent in her brother came to perfection in her. Such warmth and rounded sweetness of line I never saw in any face but hers, such wide, generous shaping of lip, such grand, gallant honesty of eye. She was fairer than her brother, the long braid of her hair a deep, muted gold, and the brow it crowned was ivory-smooth and great with gravity. But the lashes that fringed her clear, gold-flecked eyes were dark almost to blackness.
I stepped back out of her path and made my bow to her, almost too bemused to move or speak, and she, childlike in her courtesies, made me in return the reverence due to older people, however lofty or humble, and looked from me to the earl for guidance. He was smiling upon her, as well he might, if such a jewel was his.
He held out his hand, and she went to him, laying her own small hand in his palm, and looked back gravely at me.
"Be acquainted, Master Samson," he said, "with my youngest child and only daughter. This is Eleanor."
In that teeming household of his, among the thousand souls and more that gathered in hall to meet, knights, squires, lawyers, friars, clerks, men-at-arms, armourers, scholars, gentlewomen and damozels, I learned to know the other members of his family, and knew his imprint even when I met it stripped to the waist in wrestling, or soiled and tousled in leather, whistling over the grooming of a horse in the yard. For the mintage was unmistakable, that face repeating itself with but trivial changes in all that came of his blood. His two eldest sons, Henry whom I knew, and the younger Simon who was as yet unknown to me, were away in the march, and within a few days of my coming they were inside Radnor town, and busy with Llewelyn about the razing of Radnor castle. But three more he had here with him, Guy, already a man grown and in his twentieth year, ready and eager to bear arms, Amaury and Richard still boys of about fifteen and thirteen. The same welcoming and challenging eyes gazed from every one of those Roman heads, yet there were differences between them. Amaury had the sharpest tongue and the most scholarly inclinations, Guy, I think, the most formidable wits and the least governed impulses.
The Countess Eleanor, whom I saw only in hall, and seldom spoke to, was a very handsome woman, as tall as her husband and as fierce and impetuous, but without that deeper part of him that could school even his own fire into humility. All his dreams and lofty aims she shared, but only because they were his, and often without understandings what she nevertheless would have defended to the death. She had a life-long grievance over her dowry, which had never been paid, and doubtless she was extravagant and had good need of plenty of money, but I think it was her right rather than the gold itself that she fought for. And in that she was like Earl Simon, for he would not abate one mark of what was due to him, though he was even more punctilious in paying other men their due. I grew to know and welcome those foibles in him, and those moods of depression and bile, that brought him down to the same earth as ordinary mortals.
To Llewelyn I wrote despatches as often as we had news of movements upon the king's side, and Cadell carried them at speed, with Earl Simon's safe-conduct to shelter him and get him horses in England, and Llewelyn's in Wales. Thus we got word to both English and Welsh forces in Radnor when King Henry and his son landed, and Edward with all the men he could muster rushed westwards, while the king followed more slowly as far as Oxford, where he entrenched himself and gathered all his supporters about him. We were even able to get word to the march when Edward diverted his attack, and instead of charging upon Radnor as we had expected, struck deep into Brecknock, into the lands of young Humphrey de Bohun, one of the few marcher lords who continued on the side of the reform. Earl Simon's sons had therefore to expect his attack upon them, which must follow, from the south instead of the east, and with the importance of the Severn always in mind, they drew back their force towards that river, with Edward in pursuit. They had done what they had set out to do in Radnor, and left Mortimer's lands in disarray; they withdrew out of immediate range of Edward's force, and moved upon Gloucester ahead of him.
Our couriers were in furious activity then, for the whole of the march was in motion, and we were occupied in conveying to every force in the field upon our side the movements of every other, as well as of Edward's army. For Robert Ferrers, the young earl of Derby, one of Earl Simon's most daring and ingenious allies, but also one of the most self-willed and moody, brought his muster sweeping south to storm Worcester, intending to join forces with Henry de Montfort after the fall of Gloucester. This we made known instantly to the de Montfort force, for if the move succeeded we held the vital stretches and crossings of the, Severn.
I observe that I have begun to say "we," though my own lord was now left behind nursing the western rim of the march as before, to afford cover for his friends at need. So closely had I then identified myself with Earl Simon's ends and dreams, yet I felt no divided loyalties within me, as if the two I served were one.
And ever, when chance offered, I bathed my eyes and refreshed my heart in the delight of watching that other Eleanor, artless child and great lady in one fine, fair body. And sometimes I had speech with her, for she had a child's licence to make friends where she would, with a woman's grace to hold the acquaintance in balance. And whether her brother had talked eloquently to her of what he had seen in Wales, or whether her curiosity was native to her by reason of her generous heart, and she desired both to please me and to benefit by the presence of the stranger; however it was, she would know what I could tell her of the ways and customs of Wales, and soon, caught by my decided attachments she asked particularly of our prince. Doubtless I presented him as an object for love, seeing I loved him.
Now this matter of the struggle for Gloucester, which we witnessed helplessly from afar in that month of March, best demonstrates the mood and temper of the Lord Edward from that
time forth towards his opponents and all those who held with them and comforted them. For in the first week of the month Henry de Montfort, by a daring trick played by two of his confederate barons, who certainly risked their lives in the frolic, captured the city of Gloucester, but not the castle, which was strongly held for the king. For these two young lords got themselves up as woolmongers, and came up to the west gate with bales on their backs to gain entry, and thereupon dropped their loads and showed their arms, and held the gate while Henry marched his men within. But I will not say that the town of Gloucester, as opposed to the guard, was sorry to be so invaded by the armies of the reform, for the evidence is that they gave in very willingly, and suffered for it thereafter.
But very shortly after this the Lord Edward came with his army, and was privily let into the castle by the garrison, and he had good need to fear when Earl Robert of Derby came scything south from Worcester to join the Montforts. This was when he showed both his wit and his faithlessness. No one knew better than he that Earl Simon's cause was hamstrung by its own goodwill, for the half of its support was bishops and such benevolents, who above all things desired peace and reconciliation, while the other half knew only too well it had no choice but to resist in arms à l'outrance. So at this pass Edward sent piously to the bishop of Worcester, that good man, devoted to the Provisions but also to peace, and so prevailed upon him that he went to Henry de Montfort, who held the town securely, and offered in Edward's name, and clearly in good faith, a truce that should lead on—such was promised under oath—to a permanent peace, if Henry would withdraw from the town with his army.
The bishop was honest, no question, he offered what he confided in as in the Host. And as in the Host, young Henry received, revered and believed. Edward's word he took, as he would have expected Edward, with better reason, to take his. And he withdrew from the town.
For his complaisance and gullibility, may God forgive him! For his innocence, honour and purity, may God reward him!
Edward occupied the town, ravaged it to misery and despair for its forbearance to his enemies, fortified and garrisoned it to the utmost, and swept out of it to join his father at Oxford. No more was ever said of truce or peace.
May God also deal so with him according to his judgment. I say no more than that. For we know, every man of us, that there will be a judgment, even for princes.
Young Henry, when he knew how shamefully he had been tricked, left his brother to lead their joint force towards Northampton, where the baronial levies were massing to secure their ground in the midlands, and came hurrying home in person to confess his innocent folly and face his father's anger. He was spared nothing, for the blow was very bitter. In his own defence he said only, with simple truth: "I took the sworn word of the heir of England. How could I suppose I was dealing with a liar and cheat? Sir, you would also have believed him a man of his word."
"I should never have considered his terms," said Earl Simon heavily. "His truth or falsehood would not have been put to the test. Now you have lost me the west, and sent Ferrers fuming back to his own country in a rage, having wasted his capture of Worcester."
"I own it," said Henry, stricken. For the earl of Derby, an insubordinate and wayward man, had withdrawn from his capture and quit the Severn, marching back in a fury to his own country. "I am at fault, and what I have done cannot be put right now."
And he submitted without protest to the earl's reproaches, though for my part I could but think how like he was, in his lesser way, to this same proud incorruptible who chastised him, and how justly he could have turned and charged: "You might well have done the same in my place." For there is no remedy against the tricks of the devious for those who are themselves men of honour, and at that very time Earl Simon had consented again to one last attempt at conciliation, through a French nobleman who was in England on King Louis' financial business, and as friend to both parties begged to try what he could do to avert war. And what had young Henry done but consent to the promise of just such an attempt? It was not his fault that Edward's faith was rotten. Moreover, Earl Simon later committed even such acts of generous and high-minded folly himself, and lost by them more than his son had lost for him at Gloucester. A man can act only in accordance with his nature, and the weapons of the tricksters outnumber by far the arms of the honourable.
But the boy made no complaint, only bowed his head to the storm and set his jaw at the future.
"I do but scold at my own infirmities," said the earl at length, sighing as be turned to behold himself in the mirror he had made. "You did nothing so ill, though ill came of it." And to me he said: "It will not be so easy now to keep touch with the prince, since the west is out of our hands, nor is he so likely to be needed and drawn in. I cannot answer for what course this year will take, but it seems we are thrust offinto the midlands, and it's there the struggle must come. If your lord would rather that you return to him, I cannot fairly lay claim to you further."
I wrote therefore to Llewelyn, telling him how matters stood, how the king's host was summoned to Oxford at the end of March, and the earl's forces massing in Northampton, and though the French arbitrator was hard at work trying to bring the parties to discussion with him at Brackley, and both sides had assented to the meeting, there seemed but little chance that anything would come of it. The bishops who spoke for Earl Simon and the reform had offered concessions on all points except the king's right to appoint aliens to his council and offices without reference to the community of the lands but King Henry, though paying lip service to conciliation, would not give way one inch upon this or any other item. I saw no possibility in the end but war, and it seemed that the field of battle had moved into the centre of England, away from the march. Then I sent this despatch by Cadeil, and awaited my orders.
I had half expected and half wished to be called home, yet I found I was glad when Llewelyn replied that I should continue with Earl Simon, so far as I judged it safe for me, wherever he might go, and still keep as frequent touch as I might with Wales. By this I knew that even if he would not commit his heritage, his heart was committed.
While the royal army lay at Oxford, the main baronial muster at Northampton, and the hopeful French agent ran back and forth between the two from Brackley, which lies midway along that road, Earl Simon, though still crippled by his injury, which had not knitted well, could rest no longer, but determined to go south to London, which was unswervingly loyal to him. And I went in his retinue, and Cadeil along with me, eager and curious at every mile, for he had never been beyond the march until we came to Kenilworth, and London was a marvel to him. The earl could not ride, but he had had a light, four-wheeled chariot made for him, and in that he rode, driven by one of his grooms, or sometimes driving himself. So we made that journey to London, and again I saw that great citadel they call the Tower, that had such long and grim memories for me. There the justiciar had his headquarters, and there Earl Simon took up residence.
The whole city had drafted its people into armed bands, under a constable and a marshal, ready to muster whenever the great bell of St. Paul's should be rung to call them out. To tell truth, the results were somewhat disorderly, and before Earl Simon arrived there had been some ill-advised local attacks upon royalist lands, notably on Richard of Cornwall's manor of Isleworth, that did nothing to help the cause of conciliation. When a city as great and populous as London seethes with excitement and stands to in unaccustomed arms, even an Earl Simon may find it difficult to control.
But as to what happened next, and who first invoked absolute war, and in what circumstances, I tell truth as we knew it. Certain it is that the Frenchman's negotiations, however barren, had not been broken off. For proof, on the second day of April a safe-conduct was issued to Peter de Montfort as baronial envoy, to meet the royal proctors at Brackley, and this safe-conduct was to remain valid until Palm Sunday, which fell on the thirteenth of that month. Yet on the third day of April King Henry suddenly marched his army out of Oxford, taking with him
his warstandard, a dragon with a tongue of fire, worked on red samite, and made straight for Northampton at a forced pace, to lay that town under siege.
The news came to us in the city, and Earl Simon at once set out to relieve the garrison, though we did not fear any disaster, Northampton being so full of trusty levies and so well supplied. The only danger, we thought, was a long siege, which we had the power to break. But we had got no farther than St. Albans when we were met by a messenger on a lathered horse, who croaked out his ill news from a dusty throat beside Earl Simon's chariot.
"My lord, Northampton has fallen! Your son's made prisoner, and the lord of Beaudesert and his two sons with him, and many another. All taken! By treachery! The town was entered and stormed in the night. By now I doubt the castle has surrendered. There's rapine and murder in the streets for your sake. Another Gloucester!"
It was so stunning a blow that Earl Simon was knocked out of words and breath, but the greater the disaster that fell upon him, the more quietly and immovably did he rally to resist it; all his furies being spent on things by comparison light. He questioned in few words, and took from the man all that miserable story.
The Brothers of Gwynedd Page 54
