CHAPTER LIX
A STARTLING SPECTACLE
A few minutes before sunset on the evening of the day on which thewrestling match had taken place at Westminster, a body of horsemen,about a dozen in number, were seen passing through the little town ofBarnet, and riding in the direction of London. Both men and horseslooked as if their journey had been long, and as if they were weary ofthe road.
At the head of this small cavalcade rode two horsemen. One was a youngknight, so juvenile-looking, indeed, that but for the gold spurs unwornby squires, he would have been thought too lately out of his teens to begirded with the belt of knighthood. The other was a squire, tall andstrong, over whose head many a winter had passed, and on whose face andrough-hewn features the conflicts in which he had taken part had lefttheir marks in the form of scars. One was Oliver Icingla, the otherRalph Hornmouth; and as Oliver now and then made remarks to Hornmouth,and now talked caressingly to a tall greyhound that trotted by hishorse’s side, he did so with the tone of one who held no vaguepretensions, but possessed very substantial realities in the way of rankand wealth, and whose presence even in the palace which was his ultimatedestination that night could not be treated as a matter of indifference.In fact, his position had very much changed in a worldly point of view.Now the heir of the Icinglas was not only a belted knight, who hadrendered important services to England during the great Pembroke’sProtectorate, but Lord of Chas-Chateil and Mount Moreville, with amplemanors, and the power, in the event of any civil war, of bringing intothe field a formidable band of feudal warriors. At this time especiallyhis importance was fully recognised, for both the Bishop of Winchesterand Hubert de Burgh were naturally eager to secure him as an ally, andall the more so that the young king was understood to listen with aready ear to the Icingla’s counsels.
A few words will suffice to explain how this came to pass.
Hugh de Moreville had for years ceased to give Oliver the slightestuneasiness. The active career, indeed, of that Norman of Anglo-Normanshad closed with his escape from Lincoln. For months after his arrival atMount Moreville he had remained shut up in that stronghold, fretting andfuming, giving way to wild bursts of rage, and devising every kind ofwild scheme for redeeming the disasters of the baronial party. But allhis schemes ended in air, and meantime want of food, want of sleep, andconstant worry did the wear and tear of years. His hair became grey, hiscountenance haggard, and his form, lately so erect and so strong, beganto bend under the load of regret, of remorse, and mortification, anddisappointed ambition. At forty-five he had the appearance of an oldman, and he gave way to fancies which made the faithful Hornmouthapprehensive that his lord’s reason was departing.
De Moreville’s habits, indeed, became most eccentric; and when hesauntered broodingly from the castle from which in other days he hadbeen wont to ride forth with the air of a man who claimed an immensesuperiority over his kind, he made a point of saluting any children whomhe met, “to the end,” as he humbly expressed it, “that he might have areturn of the benediction of the Innocents.” Gradually the inclinationhe had expressed to seek consolation in the cloister became stronger,and at length the world, in which he had played so conspicuous a part,learned that De Moreville, the haughty and iron-handed, was a monk inthe abbey of Dryburgh. But it ought to be mentioned that in a feudalage, when life presented such violent contrasts, this created nosurprise, for many warriors as haughty and stern as De Moreville tookthe cowl, and endeavoured to make their peace with Heaven by endingtheir days in penance and prayer.
When, therefore, Oliver Icingla reached years of legal discretion, hedid homage for his mother’s inheritance, and took possession ofChas-Chateil without an obstacle being interposed; and he was even nowreturning from the court of the King of Scots, at the castle ofRoxburgh, whither he had repaired to go through the feudal ceremonywhich was to constitute him lord of Mount Moreville.
Ralph Hornmouth stuck steadily to De Moreville till the Norman baronturned monk; and when De Moreville hid his head in a cowl, and his bodyin a cloister, Hornmouth made a complete transfer of his fidelity toOliver Icingla, and pursued life as if unconscious that he had made achange of masters. Ever ready to ride at half an hour’s notice fromChas-Chateil to Mount Moreville, and from Mount Moreville to Oakmede,where the hall of the Icinglas had again risen in stately proportionfrom its ashes and ruins, he was worth his weight in gold duringtroublous times; and as for political creed, Hornmouth was content toleave that to the warrior whose banner he followed. He had riddenwillingly with De Moreville to fight for Prince Louis and the Normanbarons, and he was prepared to ride as cheerfully with the Icingla tofight for King Henry to the cry of “St. Edward!” It was, as he thought,for the Anglo-Norman baron or the Anglo-Saxon Hlaford to take theresponsibility of choosing a side; it was his duty to fight his best onwhatever side they drew their swords.
And De Moreville’s daughter no longer inhabited the great mansion inLudgate, from the balcony of which she looked forth on the cavalcadethat escorted the boy-king through the city of London, but a muchhumbler dwelling on the banks of the Thames, near Scotland-yard, wherestood the palace with which, in an earlier age, Edgar had giftedKenneth, and in which the King of Scots still resided when he came toWestminster to enact his part at a coronation. Dame Waledger was stillher guardian and companion, an arrangement most convenient to both; forBeatrix had no kinswoman to whom she could cling for protection, and SirAnthony, living at his manor in Berkshire, was in the habit of carousingso freely in the day and contending with so many imaginary antagonistsat night, that the dame, not indifferent to her own safety in life andlimb, dreaded nothing so much as living under the same roof with ahusband who might any night slay her, under the delusion that he wasengaged in mortal combat with the wild boar which he had encounteredunder the oak at Donnington.
But one circumstance had much changed the colour of Beatrix’s life:Oliver Icingla had not persisted in avoiding her company and praying tobe delivered from the temptation of seeing her. On the contrary, as timewore off the impression that had been left by his frightful dream, thememory of the romantic interview at Chas-Chateil had returned upon himwith an effect before which other considerations rapidly gave way. Inshort, while the Icingla was returning from the North, Beatrix had theprospect of being his bride ere Christmas; and as he passed the villageof Charing, riding side by side with Hornmouth, and talking to the tallgreyhound, De Moreville’s daughter was uppermost in his thoughts, andher hand seemed to beckon him on as his journey southward drew to anend.
It was ten o’clock, however, and the night had fallen, but the risingmoon afforded a pale light, when Oliver, having skirted London, reachedthe village of Charing, from which then, and for centuries afterwards,cross roads branched out in various directions away to rural regions;and on reaching Charing he directed his course towards Westminster, atthe palace of which King Henry was keeping his court and watching overarchitectural additions to the abbey. Oliver, however, was bound, in thefirst place, to visit the fair Beatrix, and with a lover’s ardour hespurred on Ayoub, to shorten by half a minute the time that must elapseere he could be in her presence.
But at that instant a sight met the eye of Oliver Icingla which made himstart with alarm and vague terror. Before him gleamed hundreds oftorches in the moonlight, and enabled him dimly to descry a countlessmob, swaying and surging in masses, and uttering shouts of triumph asthey rushed on to havoc and spoliation. It was a terrible spectacle, andas Oliver checked his steed he uttered an exclamation of horror.
“By the Holy Cross!” exclaimed he, on finding breath to speak, “I wouldfain hope my eyes deceive me; but, certes, nothing less than the agencyof the devil and a rising of the Londoners can have brought about such atumult as this.”
“And, credit me, Fitzarnulph the citizen is at the bottom of it,” saidHornmouth, quickly, “and the Lady Beatrix may be in danger. By salt andbread!” added the rough squire, “we must look forthwith to thedemoiselle’s safety.”
As Hornmouth spoke
he turned round to call upon the armed men to followapace; and, ere he did so, Oliver Icingla had drawn his sword, set spursto his steed, and darted in the direction of Scotland-yard.
Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter Page 61