CHAPTER XIII
EVACUATION OF THE TOWER
It was agreed between the Earl of Pembroke and Robert Fitzwalter thatJohn should evacuate the Tower of London, without, however, handing itover to the barons. In fact, it was to remain in the custody of StephenLangton till the king granted the demands of the confederate nobles;and, seeing that the Archbishop of Canterbury was a personage in whosegood faith both parties might have confidence, no objections were openlymade to this arrangement, though some of the royalists shook their headsand muttered discontent over their cups.
Without delay, however, John prepared to leave London for Windsor; and,forthwith, the neighbourhood of the Tower was the scene of suchconfusion as generally in that age prevailed when kings were about toremove from one residence to another. “When the king sets out in themorning,” says Peter of Blois, “you see multitudes of people running upand down as if they were distracted--horses rushing against horses,carriages overturning carriages, players, cooks, confectioners, mimics,dancers, barbers, all making a great noise, and an intolerable jumble ofhorse and foot.”
It was in the midst of this excitement and disorder that Oliver Icingla,while making ready to mount and accompany the king to Windsor, wassummoned to the royal presence, and went in no joyous mood, beinguncertain whether or not he might be handed over, without ceremony, tothe executioner. The countenance of John, however, reassured him; and hebegan to hope that at length the king had been convinced that the royalcause was not likely to derive much benefit from the execution of asquire capable of wielding his sword against foes with courage anddexterity.
“Master Icingla,” began John, apparently forgetting that he had oncebeen on the point of sending the youth to the gallows, “you know,doubtless, in what peril you have been placed by the treachery of yourkinsman, Hugh de Moreville?”
Oliver bent his head to indicate that he did, and, in spite of theposition in which he stood, refrained, with no small difficulty, fromdenouncing De Moreville as the worst of humankind for having knowinglyled him into a snare.
“Nevertheless,” continued John, “I have, at the instance of the LordNeville and William de Collingham, resolved to overlook your kinsman’streachery, so far as you are concerned; and I expect that you will showyour sense of my clemency by your zeal and activity in my service. Nay,answer not. I comprehend what you would say; but listen. William deCollingham is about to ride for Savernake to conduct my lady the queenthence to Gloucester, and you will accompany him. He has a safe-conduct,and the errand is likely to entail no danger. But he does not return,and I would fain be assured that the journey has been accomplished insafety. Wherefore my command is this, that you hasten back withoutdelay, and bring thy report to me at Windsor. And hark you, youth,”added John, speaking in a low tone, “you, as I learn, know something ofthe country through which you are to pass, and have, likewise, as Ihear, seen something of war in Spain and Flanders, and can guess byappearances what is going on--as regards preparations--in a countrywhich war threatens with battles and sieges. Make the best use of youreyes wherever you pass, or wherever you halt, or wherever you lodge, andcome not to me as if you had ridden blindfold through the land. Nowaway. Bear in mind what I have told you for your guidance, and,moreover, that a silent tongue makes a wise head.”
Much relieved by the information that his life was no longer in danger,and elated at the prospect of such an adventure as escorting a queen,even as the companion of a man who, a few weeks earlier, had been aforest outlaw, Oliver Icingla hastened to array himself for the journey,and to mount his black steed, Ayoub; and when the king, and his knights,and squires, and standard-bearers, and multitudinous attendants, rodefrom the Tower and emerged from the gates of London, which John was notdestined again to enter, William de Collingham, mounted and armed asbecame a knight, but still carrying with him the iron club which haddistinguished him as a man of the forest, with the young English squireriding at his right hand and a band of stout horsemen at his back,preceded the royal array and took the nearest way to Wiltshire, with theobject of reaching Savernake.
“By the mass!” exclaimed Collingham, suddenly breaking the silence hehad hitherto maintained since leaving London; “I much marvel that theking, old and experienced as he is, and so much accustomed to deal withmen--both priests and laymen--can credit the possibility of StephenLangton restoring the Tower.”
“And wherefore not?” asked Oliver, but with less surprise than mighthave been expected under the circumstances. “Is not my lord archbishop aman of honour and probity?”
“Tush!” replied Collingham, impatiently. “Stephen Langton is, no doubt,a good and honest man, as times go, and eager enough for the publicweal. But he is heart and soul with Fitzwalter and De Vesci, and iseither dictating their measures or doing their bidding. In neither case,credit me, will he ever again admit the king to London, save as theslave or tool of the confederates; and I see clearly that John has prideenough left never to come on such terms. By the mass, we are only at thebeginning of this struggle; for I know that the king--albeit he seemsnow in their toils--will yet lead the confederates a dance on which theyare far from counting; and, frankly, so far as they are concerned, Ishould not grieve on that account; for I sadly doubt their sincerity,albeit they bawl so loudly upon justice and righteousness.”
“What, sir knight,” asked Oliver, “deem you so lightly of theirsincerity?”
“By my faith, I do,” replied Collingham, bluntly; “and only give themcredit for having a very sharp eye after their own interest. Never aword should we have heard from them of old charters and ancient laws butfor the question of the scutages, with which the king was, doubtless,inclined to deal more severely than was prudent or politic.”
“Explain more fully,” said Oliver, who was interested in suchconversation, and anxious to comprehend the merits of the controversy.
“By my faith, it is simple enough,” resumed Collingham, who, however, itought to be remembered, regarded several of the oligarchy as personalenemies, and was by no means likely to do full justice to their motives.“In the reign of King Henry the barons commuted their personal servicesfor money, and, as they at first relished the system, and the scutageswere moderate, they paid without trouble. But when John came to thethrone the barons found that the scutages were vastly enhanced, and,what was still more, they had either to pay them, or found their estatesseized in default thereof; and so now they want so to manage matters asneither to render the personal services nor to pay the scutages, andevery one of them to be king in his own territory. Hence all this cryabout righteousness and freedom, with which they have bribed the clergyand fooled the citizens.”
“But you hardly deem the struggle likely to end to their advantage?”
“No, by rood and mass! but, nevertheless, it may end to the advantage ofthe country, as many such contests have done before. But here, as mymemory recalls to me, is the path which we have to pursue; and, as wepart from the king for the time being, I take leave to thank the saintsthat you are safe and at liberty, and neither on gallows nor in dungeon;for, by the bones of Becket, you, Master Icingla, have had a narrowescape.”
“And so hath King John,” observed Oliver, quietly.
“The king!” exclaimed Collingham, starting with surprise. “How, sirsquire, has the king had a narrow escape?”
“Even in this wise,” answered Oliver, calmly. “If he had sent an Icinglato the gallows for the treachery of a Norman lord, not ten men ofEnglish race would have drawn their swords in defence of his crown.”
Collingham smiled as if amused; and they rode on.
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