Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter
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Edgar John George. Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER I. A SQUIRE AND A CITIZEN
CHAPTER II. THE ICINGLAS
CHAPTER III. AN UNBIDDEN GUEST
CHAPTER IV. CHRISTMAS
CHAPTER V. THE TOWER OF LONDON
CHAPTER VI. KING JOHN
CHAPTER VII. A MAN OF THE FOREST
CHAPTER VIII. THE KING AND THE BARONS
CHAPTER IX. A BLOW IN SEASON
CHAPTER X. WILLIAM DE COLLINGHAM
CHAPTER XI. ANCIENT LONDON
CHAPTER XII. THE BARONS IN LONDON
CHAPTER XIII. EVACUATION OF THE TOWER
CHAPTER XIV. A HEROINE IN DANGER
CHAPTER XV. ISABEL OF ANGOULÊME
CHAPTER XVI. TAKEN BY SURPRISE
CHAPTER XVII. THE WINDSOR OF KING JOHN
CHAPTER XVIII. THE DAY OF RUNNYMEDE
CHAPTER XIX. CHAS-CHATEIL
CHAPTER XX. OLIVER’S CAPTIVITY
CHAPTER XXI. DE MOREVILLE’S DAUGHTER
CHAPTER XXII. HOW THE KING BIDED HIS TIME
CHAPTER XXIII. TURNING TO BAY
CHAPTER XXIV. A DESPERATE EXPEDIENT
CHAPTER XXV. THE VOWS OF THE HERON
CHAPTER XXVI. A PAINFUL INTERVIEW
CHAPTER XXVII. THE INVADER AND HIS DUPES
CHAPTER XXVIII. STYR THE ANGLO-SAXON AND HIS SON
CHAPTER XXIX. HUNTING A WILD BOAR
CHAPTER XXX. A GRAND FEAT OF HORSEMANSHIP
CHAPTER XXXI. PEDRO THE PAGE
CHAPTER XXXII. THE SUBTERRANEAN PASSAGE
CHAPTER XXXIII. WARRIORS IN DISGUISE
CHAPTER XXXIV. A RIDE FOR LIFE
CHAPTER XXXV. THE RUDDY LION RAMPANT
CHAPTER XXXVI. END OF KING JOHN
CHAPTER XXXVII. THE GREAT EARL OF PEMBROKE
CHAPTER XXXVIII. CORONATION OF THE BOY HENRY
CHAPTER XXXIX. A CONQUEROR IN IMAGINATION
CHAPTER XL. A CAMP OF REFUGE
CHAPTER XLI. OLIVER’S DREAM
CHAPTER XLII. BURNING OF OAKMEDE
CHAPTER XLIII. FOUND DYING
CHAPTER XLIV. A MYSTERIOUS EXIT
CHAPTER XLV. A FRENCH ARMAMENT
CHAPTER XLVI. A SEA-FIGHT
CHAPTER XLVII. THE SIEGE OF MOUNT SORREL
CHAPTER XLVIII. LINCOLN
CHAPTER XLIX. COLLINGHAM’S RAVENS
CHAPTER L. THE BATTLE
CHAPTER LI. DE MOREVILLE IN BATTLE HARNESS
CHAPTER LII. DEFIANT TILL DEATH
CHAPTER LIII. AFTER THE BATTLE
CHAPTER LIV. AN AWKWARD PREDICAMENT
CHAPTER LV. SUNSHINE AND CLOUDS
CHAPTER LVI. THE WRESTLING MATCH
CHAPTER LVII. A MEDIÆVAL RESTAURANT
CHAPTER LVIII. WRESTLING FOR THE RAM
CHAPTER LIX. A STARTLING SPECTACLE
CHAPTER LX. A DEMAGOGUE AND HIS DESPERADOES
CHAPTER LXI. AN OFFERING TO THE WINDS
Отрывок из книги
IT was the eve of Christmas in the year 1214, when John was King of England; and, albeit England was on the verge of a sanguinary civil war, which was to shake the kingdom to its centre, and cause infinite suffering to families and individuals, London – then a little city, containing some forty thousand inhabitants, and surrounded by an old Roman wall, said to have been built by the Emperor Constantine – wore quite a holiday aspect, when, as the shades of evening were closing over the banks of the Thames, a stripling of eighteen, or thereabouts, walked up one of the long, narrow streets – some of which, indeed, were so narrow that the inmates, when they ascended to the house-tops, could converse and even shake hands with their opposite neighbours – and knocked loudly at the gate of a high house. It had the appearance of being the abode either of some great noble in attendance on the court, or one of those mediæval merchants who called themselves “barons,” and boasted of such wealth as few of the feudal nobles could call their own. In fact, it was the residence of the Fitzarnulphs, the proudest, richest, and most influential of the citizens of London.
The stripling was of gallant bearing and fair to look upon. He was tall, though not so tall as to be in any way remarkable; and his person, well proportioned and compactly formed, indicated much strength, and promised much endurance. His countenance, which was set off with a profusion of fair hair and a growing moustache, was frank and open – so frank and open, indeed, that it seemed as if you might have read in his clear blue eye every working of the mind; and he had neither the aquiline features nor air of authority which distinguished the Norman warriors, young and old. His dress, however, was similar to that which a Norman squire – a De Vesci or a De Roos – would have worn; and he had the air, the manner, and the style of one who had been early apprenticed to arms, and trained in feudal castles to perform the feats of chivalry on which the age set so high a value. Nor was it clear that he had not been engaged in other than the mimic warfare of the tiltyard. More than one scar – none of them, fortunately, such as to mar his beauty – told of fields on which warriors had fought desperately for victory and for life.
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“Oliver Icingla,” said the citizen, after a pause, during which he eyed his visitor keenly, “if I comprehend thee aright, thou dreamest, as I believe thy fathers ever did, of the restoration of the Anglo-Saxon race to power in England?”
“And if I do, who has a better right? – I, an Icingla, with the blood of Cerdic in my veins?”
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