A CLERK OF OXFORD
and
His Adventures in the Barons' War
by
E. EVERETT-GREEN
Author of "Shut In," "In Taunton Town," "The Sign of the RedCross," "In the Days of Chivalry," "The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn."&c. &c.
T. Nelson and SonsLondon, Edinburgh, and New York1898
_The City of Oxford from an old print._]
CONTENTS.
I. THE DIE CAST 9
II. A RIVER JOURNEY 25
III. OLD OXFORD 40
IV. THE FIRST DAY 55
V. THE NEW LIFE 70
VI. A "MAD" PARLIAMENT 85
VII. THE CONSTABLE'S CHILDREN 100
VIII. STORMY SCENES 116
IX. A STUDENTS' HOLIDAY 131
X. THE FAIR OF ST. FRIDESWYDE 147
XI. THE MAGICIAN'S TOWER 163
XII. WINTER DAYS WITHIN THE CASTLE 178
XIII. KENILWORTH CASTLE 193
XIV. THE GREAT EARL 208
XV. PRINCE EDWARD 223
XVI. BACK AT OXFORD 239
XVII. THE BELL OF ST. MARTIN'S 254
XVIII. THE NEW CHANCELLOR 269
XIX. THE CHANCELLOR'S AWARD 285
XX. TURBULENT TIMES 300
XXI. KING AND STUDENTS 315
XXII. IN ARMS 328
XXIII. ON THE FIELD OF LEWES 344
XXIV. AFTER THE BATTLE 360
XXV. CHRISTMAS AT KENILWORTH 375
XXVI. PLOTS 391
XXVII. THE CAPTIVE A CONQUEROR 407
XXVIII. THE FATAL FIGHT 423
XXIX. LEOFRIC'S REWARD 439
XXX. ON THE STILL ISIS 454
A CLERK OF OXFORD.
CHAPTER I.
_THE DIE CAST._
"My son," spoke a gentle voice from behind the low, moss-grown wall, "wemust not mourn and weep for those taken from us, as if we had no hope."
Face downwards upon the newly-made mound of earth lay a youth of somefifteen or sixteen summers. His slight frame was convulsed by theparoxysm of his grief; from time to time a strangled sob broke from hislips. The kindly-faced monk from the Priory hard by had been watchinghim for some time before he thus addressed him. Probably he now saw thatthe violence of the outburst was spent.
The youth started upon hearing himself addressed, and as he sprang tohis feet he revealed a singularly attractive face. The brow was broadand massive, indicating intellectual power. The blue eyes beneath thepencilled arch of the delicate eyebrows looked out upon the world with asingular directness and purity of expression. The features were finelycut, and there were strength and sweetness both in the curved,thoughtful lips, and in the square outline of the jaw. The fair hairclustered in curling luxuriance about his head, and fell in sunny wavesto his shoulders. His hands were long and white, and looked rather asthough they had wielded pen than weapon or tool of craftsman. Yet thelad's habit was that of one occupying a humble rank in life, and theshoes on his feet were worn and patched, as though by his own apprenticehands. Beside him lay a wallet and staff, upon which the glance of themonk rested questioningly. The youth appeared to note the glance, yet itwas the words addressed to him that he answered.
"I think it is rather for myself I weep, my father. I know that they whodie in faith rest in peace and are blessed. But for those who areleft--left quite alone--the world is a hard place for them."
Father Ambrose looked with kindly solicitude at the lad. He noted hispale face, his sunken eyes, the look of weary depression that seemed toweigh him down, and he asked gently,--
"What ails thee, Leofric, my son?"
"Everything," answered the youth, with sudden passion in his tones. "Ihave lost everything in the world that I prized. My father is dead. Ihave no home. I have no fortune. All that we had is swallowed up inpaying for such things as were needful for him while he lay ill. Eventhat which he saved for masses for his soul had to go at the last. Seehere, my father, I have but these few silver pieces left in all theworld. Take them, and say one mass for him, and let me kneel at the doorof the chapel the while. Then will I go forth into the wide world alone,and whether I live or die matters nothing. I have no one in the wideworld who will know or care."
But the monk gently put back the extended hand, and laid his own kindlyupon the head of the youth.
"Keep thy money, my son. The mass shall be said--ay, and more thanone--for the repose of thy father's soul. He was a good man and true,and I loved him well. That pious office I will willingly perform inmemory of our friendship. But now, as to thyself. Whither goest thou,and what wilt thou do? I had thought that thou wouldst have come to meere thou didst sally forth into the wide world alone."
There was a faint accent of reproach in the monk's voice, and Leofric'ssensitive face coloured instantly.
"Think it not ingratitude on my part, my father," he said quickly. "Iwas coming to say good-bye. But that seems now the only word left to meto speak in this world."
"Wherefore so, my son? why this haste to depart? The old life has indeedclosed for thee; but there may be bright days in store for thee yet.Whither art thou going in such hot haste?"
"I must e'en go where I can earn a living," answered Leofric, "and thatmust be by the work of mine own hands. I shall find my way to some town,and seek to apprentice myself to some craft. These hands must learn towield axe or hammer or mallet. There is nothing else left for the son ofa poor scholar, who could scarce earn enough himself to feed the pair ofus."
Father Ambrose looked at the lad's white fingers, and he slightly shookhis head.
"Methinks thou couldst do better with those hands, Leofric. Hast neverthought of what I have sometimes spoken to thee, when thou hast beenaiding me with the care of the parchments?"
The lad's face flushed again quickly; but his eyes met the gaze fastenedupon his with the fearless openness which was one of theircharacteristics.
"My father, I could not be a monk," he said. "I have no call--novocation."
"Yet thou dost love a quiet life of meditation? Thou dost love learning,and hast no small store for thy years. It is a beautiful and peacefullife for those who would fain flee from the trials and temptations ofthe world. And the Prior here thinks well of thee; he has never grudgedthe time I have spent upon thee. I shall miss thee when thou art gone,Leofric; life here is something too calm and same."
There was a touch of wistful regret in the father's tones which broughtback the ready tears to Leofric's eyes. After his own father, he owedmost to this kindly old monk, though it had never for a moment struckhim that the teaching and training of a bright young lad
had been one ofthe main interests in that monotonous existence.
"That is what I have felt myself," he answered quickly. "I love thecalm and the quiet, the books and the parchments. I shall bless youevery day of my life for all your goodness to me. But I would fain seethe great world too. I have heard my father and others speak of things Iwould fain see with mine own eyes. It breaks my heart to go, yet Icannot choose but do so. I dare not ask to come to you, my kindestfriend, my second father. I could not be a monk. I should but deceiveand disappoint you were I to seek an asylum with you now."
Father Ambrose sighed slightly as he shook his head; but he made noattempt to influence the youth. Perhaps he loved him too well to presshim to enter upon a life which had so many limitations and drawbacks.
Yet he would not let him go forth upon his travels with so small anotion of what lay before him. He led him into the refectory, wherestrangers were entertained, and had food brought and set before him. Thelad was hungry, for he had of late undergone a very considerable mentalstrain, and had had little enough time or thought to spare for creaturecomforts. The long illness of his father, a man gently born, but of verynarrow means, had completely worn him out in body and mind; and now,when thrown penniless upon the world, there had seemed nothing beforehim but to wander forth with wallet and staff, and seek some craftsmanwho would give him food and shelter whilst he served a long and perhapshard apprenticeship to whatever trade he chanced upon.
He spoke again of this as he sat in the refectory, and again FatherAmbrose shook his head.
"Thou art not of the stuff for an apprentice to some harsh master; thouhast done but little hard work. And think of thy skill with brush andpen, and thy knowledge of Latin and the Holy Scriptures; thy sweetvoice, and thy skill upon the lute. What will all these serve thee, ifthou dost waste thy years of manhood's prime at carpenter's bench orblacksmith's forge?"
Leofric sighed, and asked wistfully,--
"Yet what else can I do, my father?"
"Hast ever thought of Oxford?" asked Father Ambrose, rubbing his chinreflectively. "There be lads as poor as thou that beg their way thitherand live there as clerks, being helped thereto by the gifts of piousbenefactors. They say that the King's Majesty greatly favours studentsand clerks, and that a lad who can sing a roundelay or turn an epigramcan earn for himself enough to keep him whilst he wins his way to somehonourable post. Hast ever thought of the University, lad? that were abetter place for thee than a craftsman's shop."
Leofric's eyes brightened slowly whilst the monk spoke. Such an idea asthis had never crossed his mind heretofore. Living far away from Oxford,and hearing nothing of the life there, he had never once thought of thatas a possible asylum for himself; but in a moment it seemed to him thatthis was just the chance he had been longing for. He could not bring hismind to the thought of the life of the cloister; yet he loved learningand the fine arts with a passionate love, and had received just enoughtraining to make him ardently desire more.
"Would such a thing as that be possible for such as I, my father?" heasked with bated breath, seeming to hang upon the monk's lips as hewaited for the answer.
"More than possible--advisable, reasonable," answered another voice fromthe shadows of the room. Leofric started to his feet and bent the kneeinstinctively; for, unseen to both himself and Father Ambrose, the Priorhad entered, and had plainly heard the last words which had passedbetween the pair.
The Prior was a tall, venerable man, with eagle eye and an air ofextreme dignity; but he was kindly disposed towards Leofric, and greetedhim gently and tenderly, speaking for a few minutes of his recent heavyloss, and then resuming the former subject.
"Oxford is the place where lads such as thou do congregate together inits many schools and buildings, and learn from the lips of theinstructed and wise the lore of the ancients and the wisdom of thesages. There be many masters and doctors there who began life as poorclerks, begging alms as they went. What one man has done another mayattempt. Thou mayest yet be a worthy clerk, and rise to fame andlearning."
"Without money?" asked Leofric, whose eyes began to sparkle and glow.
"Yes, even without money," answered the Prior: "for at Oxford there aremonasteries and abbeys to each of which is attached a Domus Dei; andthere are gathered together poor clerks and other indigent persons, towhom an allowance of daily food is made from the monks' table; whilst,through the liberality of benefactors, a habit is supplied to themyearly, together with such things as be absolutely needful for theirsupport. Once was I the guest of the Abbot of Osney, and I remembervisiting the Domus Dei, and seeing the portions of meat sent thitherfrom the refectory. I will give thee a letter of recommendation to him,good lad. It may be that this will serve thee in some sort upon thyarrival."
Leofric bent the knee once more in token of the gratitude his falteringlips could scarce pronounce. The thought of a life of study, in lieu ofthat of an apprentice, was like nectar to him. Prior and Father alikesmiled at his boyish but genuine rapture.
"Yet think not, my son, that the life will be free from many a hardship,to a poor clerk without means and without friends. There be many wildand turbulent spirits pent within the walls of Oxford. Men have lostlife and limb ere now in those brawls which so often arise 'twixttownsmen and clerks. The Chancellor doth all he can to protect the livesof scholars and clerks; yet, do as he will, troubles ofttime arise, andmen have ere this been forced to leave the place by hundreds till theturbulent citizens can be brought to reason and submission."
But Leofric was in nowise daunted by this aspect of the case. Trained uphardily, albeit of studious habits, the fear of hardships did not daunthim.
"So long as I have food to eat and raiment to wear, I care for nohardship, so as I may become a scholar," he said. "And can I, reverendFather, rise to the dignity of a master, if I do not likewise take thevows of the Church upon me?"
"Ay, truly thou canst," was the reply. "There are the scholastic_Trivium_ of grammar, logic, rhetoric, and the mathematical _Quadrivium_of arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music. These form the magiccircle of the arts, of which thou mayest become a master without takingany vow to Holy Church. Yet methinks thou wouldest do well to wear thetonsure and the gown, that thou mayest in all quarrels or troubles havethe right to claim the benefit of clergy, and so escape from the seculararm if it were stretched out against thee. This is the usual custom ofclerks at Oxford and Cambridge. But it commits thee to nought, if thouart not willing to join thyself to any of our brotherhoods."
The Prior eyed him kindly, but Father Ambrose sighed, and Leofrichimself felt a qualm of shame at his own distaste for the life of thecloister.
"The wish, the call, may come perchance," he answered humbly, glancingfrom one to the other; "but methinks I am not fit for the life of holymeditation, or surely the kindness I have here received would haveinclined mine heart that way."
"Thou art still too young to take such vows upon thyself," said thePrior. "It is men who come to us aweary of the evils and strife of theworld that know the blessedness of the cloistered life. Thou mayestlearn that lesson in time; or thou mayest link thy lot with that ofthese wandering friars, who teach men that they have found the moreacceptable way. For myself, I have found the place of rest, and I desireto end my days here in peace."
"And how may I journey from here to Oxford?" asked Leofric with sometimidity, after a short silence. "Surely the way is long; and I havenever fared farther than Coventry, which place I thought to make myhome, if I could but find a master who would receive me as apprentice."
The Prior pondered awhile before replying.
"There be two ways of journeying--by land and by water," he replied; "ifby land, thou wouldest have to beg thy way from place to place. At somehostel they would give thee bed and board, most like, if thou wouldestmake them merry by a song; or at some great house, if thou couldstrecite a ballad or speak a Latin grace. At the Monasteries thou wouldestreceive food and bed, and mayhap an alms to help thee on thy way. Many aclerk begs his way t
o Oxford year by year, and is well received of all.Yet the perils of the way are many and great through the forests whichlie betwixt thee and thy goal. It might be that the water way would bethe better."
"I love the water," said Leofric eagerly; "and my little canoe liesbeneath the bank under the alder clump. I have made many a miniaturevoyage in her before. Methinks she would carry me safely did I but knowthe way."
"And the way thou canst not miss," answered the Prior. "This littlestream which flows past our walls joins itself, as thou dost know, tothe wider Avon, which presently flows into a river men call theCherwell, and in its turn that doth make junction with the Isis, whereonthe town of Oxford is situate. This junction is hard by the town itself;when thou dost reach that, thy journey will have an end."
Leofric listened eagerly. He had heard, indeed, of these things, buthitherto they had been but names to him. Now it seemed as though thegreat unknown world, lying without the circle of his daily life, wereabout to open before him.
"I would fain try the water way," he said. "I am skilful with thepaddle; and I can carry my little craft upon my back whenever rocks andrapids impede my progress. The season is favourable for the journey. Theice and snow are gone. There is a good depth of water in all thestreams, and yet the weed and slime of summer and autumn have not begunto appear; nor will the overarching boughs from the trees hinderprogress as they do when clad in their summer bravery. I love the riverin the early spring, and if I do but follow the course of the stream Icannot miss my way, as I might well do upon the road in the great foresttracks."
"Yes, that is very true. Methinks thou wilt be safer so, if thou canstfind sustenance upon the way. But thou canst carry with thee someprovision of bread, and there be several godly houses beside the riverwhere thou wilt be welcomed by the brothers, who will supply thy needs.Take, too, thy bow and arrows; thou wilt doubtless thus secure some gameby the way. But have a care in the King's forests around Oxford how thoudost let fly thy shafts. Many a man has lost his life ere now forpiercing the side of some fat buck."
Leofric's heart was now all on fire for the journey which lay beforehim. He could scarcely believe that but one short hour ago he hadbelieved himself hopelessly doomed to a life of uncongenial toil. He hadnever thought of this student life--he hardly knew of its existence; butthe Prior of the Monastery and some of the monks, who had known andbefriended both Leofric and his father, had themselves discussed severaltimes the question of dispatching the youth to Oxford for tuition; andthe rather unexpected death of the father, after a lingering illness,seemed to open the way for the furtherance of this design.
Leofric had been the pet of the Monastery from his childhood. Always ofa studious turn, and eager for information, it had been the favouriterelaxation of several of the monks to instruct him in the Latin tongue,to teach him the art of penmanship, and even to initiate him into someof the mysteries of that wonderful illumination of parchments which wasthe secret of the monks in the Middle Ages.
Leofric profited by every opportunity afforded him. Already he couldboth speak and understand Latin easily. He had a very fair knowledge ofcertain portions of the Scriptures, and possessed a breviary of his own,which he regarded as his greatest treasure. For the age in which helived these were accomplishments of no mean order, and it would haveseemed to the ecclesiastics little short of a disgrace to them had theypermitted their pupil to lose his scholarship in some craftsman's shop.They had frequently spoken of sending him as a clerk to Oxford, unlesshe could see his way to becoming one of themselves. This, however, wasnot to be. The boy, though reverent and devout, had no leanings afterthe life of the cloister, and the Prior was too wise a man to putpressure upon him. But he was willing to forward, by such means as hecould, any project which should secure to Leofric the advantages of aliberal education.
So the lad was bidden to remain a guest of the Monastery for the fewdays necessary to his simple preparations. The Prior wished him to beprovided with a habit suitable to his condition of clerk. This habit wasmade of a strong sort of cloth, and reached to the knees, being confinedat the waist by a leather girdle. He was also provided with a change ofunder-raiment, with strong leggings and shoes, and with a supply ofcoarse bread and salted meat sufficient for several days. The Priorwrote a letter to the Abbot of Osney, recommending the lad to hisfavourable notice, and asking for him a place in the Domus Dei, shouldno better lodging be obtainable.
Leofric himself spent his time in the mending of his canoe, which hadbeen somewhat battered by the winter storms. He had made the littlecraft out of the bark of trees, and had covered it with pitch to make itwaterproof. Some story he had heard about wild men in unknown lands hadgiven him the idea of constructing this little boat, and now it seemedas though it would be of real service to him in his new career.
Father Ambrose would sit beside him on the river bank, and talk to himas he prosecuted this task. There was a strong bond of affection betweenthe old monk and the young lad.
"Thou wilt come back some day and see us, Leofric," he said once, as thetask drew near to its accomplishment; "I would fain look again upon thyface before I die."
"Indeed I will, father. I too shall always love this place, and shallnever forget the kindness I have received, nor how these many daysmasses have been said for my father, and never a penny paid by me,albeit I would gladly give my all."
"Nay, nay, boy, it is a labour of love; and we know that thou wilt someday, when thou art rich and famous, give of thine abundance to ourshrine here. Thou wilt see strange things in the great world, my son.Thou wilt see the great ones of the earth rising up against theiranointed King, and that King taking vows upon his lips which he hasneither the wish nor the intention to fulfil. The world is full ofterrible things, and thou wilt quickly see many of them. Yet keepthrough all a pure heart and clean hands, so will God love thee, be thypath what it will."
Leofric looked up quickly.
"I have heard somewhat from time to time of the feud betwixt the Kingand the Barons; but to me such tales are but as idle words. I know notwhat men mean."
"Thou wilt know more anon," answered the monk gravely. "We have heardfrom those who pass to and fro that times are dangerous, and men's mindsfull of doubt and fear. I know not what may betide this land, but therebe those who say that the sword will ere long be unsheathed, and thatbrother will war against brother as it hath not been seen for many along day. God forbid that such things should be!"
"And will such strife come nigh to Oxford?" asked Leofric. "Shall wehear ought there of the battle and the turmoil?"
"I trow well that ye will. Knowest thou not that the King hath a palaceclose by the walls of the city, and another but a few leagues away?Methinks that in yon city there will be much strife of tongues anentthese burning questions of which we scarce hear a whisper. Thou mustseek to be guided aright, my son; for youth is ever hot-headed, and liketo be carried away by rash counsels. It is a grievous thing for a nationto rise against its anointed head; and yet, even as Saul was set asideby God, and another put in his place, we may not always say that a Kingcan do no wrong--albeit we must be very slow to judge and condemn him."
Leofric listened eagerly. Every day of late he had heard words whichroused within him the knowledge that beyond the peaceful circle of hispast life lay a seething world into which he was shortly to plunge. Thethought filled him with eager longings and desires. He wanted to shootforth in his tiny craft and see this world for himself. And, behold,to-day his task was finished, and the Prior had ordained that at dawnupon the morrow he should go.
His habit and provision were already packed and stowed away. He hadreceived his letter and messages, and had listened in meek silence tothe admonitions and instructions of the Prior. He had slept his lastnight beneath the hospitable Monastery roof, and had heard mass for thelast time in the grey dawning.
Now he stood with one foot in his little craft, pressing the hand ofFather Ambrose, and looking round at the familiar faces and buildingswith smiles and tears strugglin
g for mastery in his face.
Then the canoe shot out into the midst of the stream.
His voyage was begun.