A Clerk of Oxford, and His Adventures in the Barons' War

by Evelyn Everett-Green

  CHAPTER XVII.

  _THE BELL OF ST MARTIN'S._

  It was the day of the bi-weekly fair, and the High Street wasconsiderably crowded as Hugh walked along it on his way back towards hisquarters in the Castle. He had passed by the vendors of hay and strawgathered near the East Gate with their horses and carts, and was pickinghis way through the motley crowd who were chaffering on the one side ofthe street with the sellers of poultry, meat, and fish, and on the otherwith the sellers of gloves, hosiery, and those other articles of whichmercers were the vendors. The street was encumbered with stalls set upby country folks for the sale of greengrocery, scullery-wares, and fruitor cakes. At Carfax itself the sellers of white bread set up theirstalls and called their wares; opposite All Saints' Church stood thetables of sellers of gloves, earthenware, and ale. Altogether it was abusy and animated scene, and although Hugh was well accustomed to it, hecould not but look about him with amusement, and pause now and again tolisten to a piece of unwontedly animated bargaining.

  Clerks and scholars, and even some of the higher dignitaries of theplace, were abroad in the streets; and as the evening was approaching,those who still wanted to buy were pressing forward eagerly.

  Hugh was detained for a time by meeting with one of the Masters who hadsomething to say to him, and the pair stood for some little time beneaththe shadow of All Saints' whilst they conversed.

  Meantime the aspect of the streets changed considerably: tables andstalls were broken up and taken away by the country folk, who streamedoff through the various gates; town tradesmen took in their wares, andbegan to close their shops; and the purchasers hurried home with theirgoods, talking and laughing, and comparing notes upon their bargains.

  The shadows were falling in the narrow thoroughfares as at length Hughpursued his way eastward. There were plenty of passengers still afoot,but the crowd had thinned somewhat. As he passed by the bull-ring inCarfax, he thought he heard the sound of a small tumult from thedirection of the North Gate, where the cordwainers and mercerscongregated on market days; but he paid little heed to it, and continuedhis way to the Great Bayly, where the drapers were putting up theirshutters for the night.

  Suddenly the great bell of St. Martin's overhead boomed out through thestartled air, and immediately all was hurry and confusion.

  The tolling or ringing of the bell of St. Martin's was always the signalfor the citizens to rally against the University, and showed that somecollision between clerks and townsmen had occurred. Hugh quickened hissteps, having no desire to be mixed up in one of those senselessoutbreaks of anger and jealousy which were constantly disturbing thepeace of Oxford.

  Just lately these riots had been more frequent than ever, the disturbedstate of public feeling seeming in this place to take the form ofincessant rioting in the streets. Several persons, both citizens andclerks, had recently been killed, and a number more injured more or lessseverely during the past weeks; and Hugh had heard the Constable of theCastle speak in no measured terms of the need to take stronger measuresagainst the delinquents.

  Within the last few months a new Chancellor had been appointed to theUniversity, the celebrated Thomas de Cantilupe, who had just arrived atthe University (where he had previously taken the degree of Doctor ofCanon Law), and he had joined issue with the Constable for thepreservation of order. Indeed he had already adventured himself into thestreets to interpose between some riotous spirits of North and South whohad come to blows, and had himself received some injury in seeking topacify the insensate youths.

  It was said that he was about to make some fresh regulations, in thehope of putting a stop to this perpetual nuisance; but so far hisdecision had not been made public, as he had been obliged to keep to hisrooms till his bruises should be healed.

  Hugh, however, had heard and seen enough to feel indignant at any freshoutbreak, and he quickened his steps in order to avoid any contact witha gathering crowd. Already citizens were hurrying towards Carfax, eagerto learn what was betiding; several brushed past Hugh as he walked; andthen, before his very eyes, a strange and terrible thing happened.

  Suddenly he was aware that in a dark doorway close at hand a cowledfigure was standing. Then the figure moved, and Hugh saw the glancingblade of a long, murderous stiletto flash out. It was plunged up to thehilt in the body of a citizen hurrying by towards Carfax, and thehapless man fell dead at Hugh's feet without so much as a groan.

  The young man stood stupified with astonishment and horror; then in amoment he realized the peril of his own position.

  "Seize him! seize him!" yelled a dozen furious voices; "he has slain oneof our townsmen! Seize the murderer! Do to him as he hath done! Take himred-handed in the act, and we will see that justice is done upon him!"

  "My good friends," said Hugh, looking at the angry faces surroundinghim, and striving to keep his head in face of this very real peril, "Iam innocent of the death of this unhappy man. I do not even know who heis. The murderer was a man disguised in the habit of a monk, loiteringin yon doorway. Search, and you will find him yet, and I can testify tothe blow he struck!"

  Angry and excited, the crowd would scarce hear him. No such figure as hedescribed was to be found. No one had seen a monk in the street, norcould Hugh declare in what direction he had fled after committing thecrime, so bewildered had he been by the suddenness of the deed, and byits tragic sequel. His words were received with hisses of scornfuldiscredit; the angry townsmen, some of whom were neighbours to themurdered man, clamoured more and more fiercely for the blood of thedestroyer. Overhead the bell of St. Martin's swung in the air,increasing the excitement with every clang. The street was full ofwrathful burghers; yells, curses, threats, rent the air. Hugh believedthat in another moment the crowd would fall upon him and tear him inpieces, and had almost given himself over as lost, when a loud voicedominated the others in the throng, and yelled out lustily,--

  "Take him to the Bocardo prison; lock him up there for the night, andthen let the Mayor and the Chancellor deal with him. They will avenge usof the death of our neighbour. Let us not fall upon him ourselves, or weshall, perchance, have our liberties again curtailed."

  Many grumbled, and showed a disposition to resist this counsel, cryingout that it were better to deal with the miscreant then and there, forthat clerks and bachelors were always let off far too easily by theauthorities. But the older men of the city knew well that the slaying ofa clerk was regarded with severity by those in authority, and hadsometimes been punished by the King himself in the withdrawal of certainliberties and privileges from the city charter. If a clerk fell in openfight, that was one thing; but for the citizens deliberately to doom himto death, and to dispatch him with their own hands without form oftrial, was another; and it was this sort of summary justice whichbrought the citizens into trouble.

  "To the Bocardo then, to the Bocardo!" cried the wiser of the onlookers;and despite the mutterings of the malcontents, Hugh was hustled along,not without receiving many sly blows and kicks by the way, in thedirection of the North Gate, where the Bocardo prison was situated.

  It was getting very dark by this time. Breathless, spent, andbewildered, the clothes half torn from his back, his purse and clasp andfinger-ring filched from him by thieving hands, Hugh was thankful whenthe gloomy gateway was reached, and he felt himself thrust up a dimstairway and flung with scant ceremony into a dark and ill-smellingroom.

  A faint ray of light stole in through a grating overhead, and revealed asmall stone chamber with a truss of straw in one corner as its onlyplenishing. He was given over to the custody of a surly-looking fellow,who merely answered his questions with a grunt. Hugh greatly regrettedthe loss of his purse, as he felt sure that a gold piece would haveworked wonders upon his custodian. He wanted to send a message toLeofric, to Edmund, to the Constable himself; but at the very mention ofthis wish the man broke into curses, and said he had other things to dothan run errands for prisoners. He could wait till he was brought outfor trial, and then see what was said to his fine tales!
<
br />   With that the jailer deposited a pitcher of water and a modicum of breadwithin the door, and going out banged and locked it behind him, leavingHugh to meditate in silence and darkness upon the thing that hadbefallen him.

  Little sleep was there for him that night, and the tardy daylightbrought small increase of comfort. He listened eagerly for any soundsfrom without that should tell of approaching deliverance; but hour afterhour passed, and nobody came near him save the sullen jailer, who putdown the rough fare of his prisoner, and did not deign so much as toanswer a single question.

  Such treatment was hard to bear, and Hugh, unaccustomed to it, chafednot a little against the helplessness of his position. He wonderedwhether his friends were in ignorance of what had befallen him. Surelyif they knew they would do something for his release. It seemedmonstrous that he should lie under the imputation of this foul crime.Surely no man of any standing in the city would believe him capable ofit. And yet how could he prove his innocence, when his foes would makeit appear that he had been caught red-handed in the act?

  His was certainly no enviable position, nor did his thoughts tend toincrease his peace of mind. He recalled his previous uneasiness withregard to a tall grey-cowled monk, and could not but believe that thefigure lurking in the doorway had been that of the same person as he hadseen so often in the streets before or behind him. He remembered whatLeofric had said as to a monk at Eynsham spying upon him there. A thrillof fear ran through his heart lest Linda should once more beendangered--and through him. And then, again, had not he seen thatscarred and bearded face amid the rabble crowd that thronged andmaltreated him? Had not that man, so often seen of late, been one of hisforemost foes? He felt in a maze of perplexity and dread. Was he to bethe victim of some new plot, which had for its object to separate himand his beloved?

  He paced his narrow cell hour after hour in mute misery and disquietude.When would he be brought to trial? When would his friends find him? Hecould hear the familiar sounds in the streets below. He could hear thesentries at the gate relieving one another. Why did nobody come nearhim? How long was he to be left thus?

  Gradually the hope of seeing any face (save that of the jailer) uponthis day faded from Hugh's mind. The light began to flicker and growdim. The prison chamber became dark as night. At last even the outlineof the grating above his head became indistinguishable. Hugh, with agroan of disappointment and weariness, threw himself upon his sordidbed, and after a time found oblivion from his woes in sleep.

  How long he slept he knew not, but he was suddenly awakened by the soundof a stealthy movement outside the door. He started up and held hisbreath. Yes, he was certain of it. Somebody was outside, feeling overthe walls and door as if in search of the fastening; and presently heheard a key softly fitted into the lock.

  His heart beat fast as he heard the door open and a soft rustle bespeakthe entrance of some human intruder. Then followed a deep silence,broken by the sound of a voice--a voice which like new wine sent theblood coursing through the young man's veins.

  "Hugh--my beloved--art thou there?"

  "Linda!" he cried, in wild amaze, and the next moment had groped his wayacross the intervening space, and had encircled her with hisarm--"Linda, my heart's joy! how comest thou here?"

  "Hush, dearest! speak low, lest we be heard. I have come to set theefree--to fly with thee beyond the reach of pursuit. Dearest, wilt thoutrust thyself with me?"

  He pressed her hand to his lips. He thrilled from head to foot. But howhad she come to him in this dread place? He was enwrapped by the senseof mystery.

  "Linda, sweetheart, how hast thou made thy way hither? Art thou a beingangelic, to whom closed doors offer no obstacle? How hast thoupenetrated hither?"

  "That will I tell thee anon, dear love. Dost thou not know that lovewill ever find out the way?" She spoke in low, whispering tones, and hefollowed her example, guessing well the need for caution and secrecy."Thou hast friends without these prison walls, and thy friends areworking for thee. Nevertheless thy case is somewhat perilous; and ifthou canst not make good thy flight, there are grave fears for thy life,since there be many to swear thee guilty of the crime, and bothConstable and Chancellor are greatly resolved to make an example of anydisturber of the peace, be he citizen or clerk."

  "What then shall I do?" asked Hugh.

  "Listen, beloved," she answered. "How I have got access to this place Iwill tell another time, for we may not linger here. But I have broughtto thee the habit of a monk. I am likewise attired in cowl and gown.Once free of this prison, we can walk the city streets without fear; forthe good friars of St. Francis go about their works of piety and charityby night as well as by day. Only we must not linger in the city, butmust flee forth ere thine escape is discovered; for there will be hueand cry after thee, since thou hast at least two vindictive enemies, whoare sworn to thy destruction--and to mine undoing!"

  She shivered as she spoke, and Hugh muttered something between histeeth. He had been about to say that he would take her back at once toher aunt at Eynsham; but these last words seemed to show that she wouldnot now be safe there.

  "Are they molesting thee, sweetheart?" he asked.

  "It is that evil Roger de Horn again," she said, with a slight tremor inher voice; "he has come back under another name. It is he who is thedisturber of the city's peace. He has found me out, and I am no longersafe with mine aunt. If thou art in danger, beloved, so am I. Can we notboth seek safety in flight?"

  "Yes, if thou wilt marry me, so soon as we can find some holy man tojoin our hands in wedlock!" cried Hugh eagerly. "Then will I carry theeto my father's house, and I will seek to win my spurs in the service ofKing or Prince, whilst thou at home dost play a daughter's part to mysweet mother, who will, I trow, receive thee with open arms, when sheshall know what thou hast done and dared for my sake."

  All this had been spoken in rapid whispers, and now Hugh hastily donnedthe monkish garment, which was in fact the habit of a Franciscan friar,and entirely covered his whole person. The cowl was drawn over his head,and he was completely disguised, although in the pitchy darkness theycould see nothing, and had to trust to the sense of touch.

  Then the soft hands guided him down the narrow stairs--he had discardedhis foot gear the better to personate a friar--his companion softlylocked the door behind him, and the pair glided down and unfastened theouter door which opened upon the street.

  Close at hand, in a tiny chamber, sat the guard of the gate, sunk insodden sleep, an empty wine-flask lying at his side. The slender cowledfigure stole toward him, and replaced the keys at his girdle, whencethey had plainly been detached; and then, gliding forth again, she tookHugh by the hand, and they made their way along the shadow of the walltill the Castle loomed up before them.

  "Sweetheart," said Hugh suddenly, "why should we go farther? Withinthese walls we shall find shelter and safety, and here we may be wed erewe fare forth into the world together. I know my friends will not desertme at this perilous moment, and Alys will be as a friend and sister tothee till I can make thee mine own. The sentry at the gate will know meand let me pass; or these habits will suffice to win us our way. Come,beloved; I would not have thee wander longer through the darkness of thenight. Trust thy dear self to me, and all will be well."

  "Ah no, no!" cried his companion urgently; "thou wilt only run thyselfinto greater peril. I have planned all. Come only with me. I will leadthee where thou shalt be safe. Only do not delay!"

  At the sound of those words Hugh's heart suddenly stood still, and aqualm of fear and mistrust shook him from head to foot.

  Was that indeed Linda's voice? Was it like his gentle, timid Linda torefuse such safe shelter for the perils of the road and theuncertainties which must lie before them? When the voice had spoken onlyin whispers, he had never for a moment doubted; but now--now--his brainfelt on fire. He was bewildered--dismayed--apprehensive. If not Linda,who could it be? Who save her twin sister could personate her thus? Andwas it possible that any good purpose could be designed by
those whowere practising this fraud upon him? Would not Linda have been the firstto snatch at the thought of seeking safety with the gentle Alys, of whomthey often spoke together? She might have braved much to get her loverout of prison; but once free from those walls, and maiden modesty, aswell as her natural timidity, would have urged her to accept thissuggestion with gladness. Hugh knew the nature of his sweetheart toowell to be deceived.

  But the companion of his flight seized him by the hand and criedeagerly,--

  "Come with me! come with me! all is ready--all is planned. There is noneed for protection for me. I am safe with thee; and the priest alreadyawaits to unite us in wedlock. Come; I will guide thee to the place."

  "Nay, now I know well that thou art not Linda!" suddenly cried Hugh,throwing back his cowl and gazing intently at his companion by the lightof a dying moon. "Who and what art thou, who hast come and succoured meunder her name? Thou canst be none other than Lotta, for thou hast hervoice and her form. What is the meaning of the masquerade?"

  With a fierce gesture Lotta flung back her cowl, and stood before himwith flashing eyes.

  "So thou hast discovered me? I said that thou wouldest; that I couldnever play the part of puling love-lorn maiden such as Linda was everwont to be! But I hold thee to thy plighted word. This very night shaltthou marry me. I have saved thy life, and thou art now my prey."

  "Nay, Lotta," answered Hugh, with manly dignity of bearing, "I amgrateful for thy help. I will not forget my debt, and I will be a truebrother to thee to my life's end. But not even if I stood at the pointof death would I forswear myself, and vow to love and cherish one Icannot thus love. I am the betrothed of thy sister. To thee I can benothing but a brother; but I will remember always what thou hast donefor me, albeit I will sooner return to my prison walls than be false tomine own true love."

  "Fool!" hissed Lotta between her shut teeth, "dost think thou wilt everwed her? I tell thee she has already been lured from Eynsham by means ofthy signet-ring, stolen from off thy finger by Roger de Horn. The samepriest who will wed thee and me will wed Linda and Roger ere the day bedone. I have loved thee always, Hugh. Even now when thou goest far tomake me hate thee, I love thee with a fierce and passionate love whichbrooks no bounds. From my window I have watched thee go to and fro inthe city these many years. Though thou hast forgotten me, I have neverforgotten thee; and now when thy life was threatened by evil men, I haveoffered to save thee at this price. Marry me, and they will cease tofear and hate thee, and will receive thee as kinsman and friend. Refuse,and thy life will pay the forfeit! And make haste in thy choice, foralready we are waited for; and if thou dost longer delay, thou wilt beset upon in these dark streets, and not even my voice will avail to savethee."

  There were urgency and passion in Lotta's voice, and a part of her wordshad filled the heart of Hugh with a great fear. Was it indeed true thatLinda had been lured away? It might well be, since she would know thesignet ring of her lover, and might take it to be a token from him. Hisheart seemed to stand still within him; his brain felt benumbed byhorror. He attempted no reply to Lotta's rapid speech; and noting hissilence, she suddenly grasped his arm and shook it in her impatience andurgency.

  "Come!" she cried, "come! Better a bridegroom than a dead corpse; and Iam as fair as Linda, and as meet a bride for thee. Come, I say, come!"She paused for a moment, and then in more urgent accents cried, "If thoudost not consent, thou art undone. Here come Tito and Roger to look forus."

  And indeed at that moment Hugh plainly saw two figures creeping alongtowards them--the grey-cowled monk and the bearded man with the scarredface.

  That was enough for him. His only reason for standing thus long in talkwas his chivalrous dread of leaving a maiden alone in the streets of thecity. Now that her brother and his comrade were close at hand, he didnot hesitate a moment.

  They were just beneath the Castle walls. The Gate was half-way betweenhim and his foes. They might chance to reach it as soon as he, did theyguess his intentions. But he knew the place well, and knew of a smallpostern close to the end of Bedford Lane (New Inn Hall Street now).Making therefore a quick dash in the opposite direction, he fled like ahunted hare, and a few loud knocks obtained him entrance from thesoldier on guard.

  "I am pursued! Shut it after me!" he cried; and the man instantlyobeyed, for he thought he was succouring a holy friar from the attacksof some wanton roisterers, too drunk to reverence the habit of theirquarry.

  And thus it was that Hugh le Barbier escaped from prison and found hisway within the Castle walls.