Читать книгу A Clerk of Oxford, and His Adventures in the Barons' War - Everett-Green Evelyn - Страница 1

"My son," spoke a gentle voice from behind the low, moss-grown wall, "we must 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 some fifteen or sixteen summers. His slight frame was convulsed by the paroxysm of his grief; from time to time a strangled sob broke from his lips. The kindly-faced monk from the Priory hard by had been watching him for some time before he thus addressed him. Probably he now saw that the violence of the outburst was spent.

The youth started upon hearing himself addressed, and as he sprang to his feet he revealed a singularly attractive face. The brow was broad and massive, indicating intellectual power. The blue eyes beneath the pencilled arch of the delicate eyebrows looked out upon the world with a singular directness and purity of expression. The features were finely cut, and there were strength and sweetness both in the curved, thoughtful lips, and in the square outline of the jaw. The fair hair clustered in curling luxuriance about his head, and fell in sunny waves to his shoulders. His hands were long and white, and looked rather as though they had wielded pen than weapon or tool of craftsman. Yet the lad's habit was that of one occupying a humble rank in life, and the shoes on his feet were worn and patched, as though by his own apprentice hands. Beside him lay a wallet and staff, upon which the glance of the monk rested questioningly. The youth appeared to note the glance, yet it was the words addressed to him that he answered.

"I think it is rather for myself I weep, my father. I know that they who die in faith rest in peace and are blessed. But for those who are left – left quite alone – the world is a hard place for them."

Father Ambrose looked with kindly solicitude at the lad. He noted his pale face, his sunken eyes, the look of weary depression that seemed to weigh him down, and he asked gently, —

"What ails thee, Leofric, my son?"

"Everything," answered the youth, with sudden passion in his tones. "I have lost everything in the world that I prized. My father is dead. I have no home. I have no fortune. All that we had is swallowed up in paying for such things as were needful for him while he lay ill. Even that which he saved for masses for his soul had to go at the last. See here, my father, I have but these few silver pieces left in all the world. Take them, and say one mass for him, and let me kneel at the door of 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 wide world who will know or care."

But the monk gently put back the extended hand, and laid his own kindly upon the head of the youth.

"Keep thy money, my son. The mass shall be said – ay, and more than one – 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 in memory 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 me ere thou didst sally forth into the wide world alone."

There was a faint accent of reproach in the monk's voice, and Leofric's sensitive face coloured instantly.

"Think it not ingratitude on my part, my father," he said quickly. "I was coming to say good-bye. But that seems now the only word left to me to speak in this world."

"Wherefore so, my son? why this haste to depart? The old life has indeed closed 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 that must 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 to wield axe or hammer or mallet. There is nothing else left for the son of a poor scholar, who could scarce earn enough himself to feed the pair of us."

Father Ambrose looked at the lad's white fingers, and he slightly shook his head.

"Methinks thou couldst do better with those hands, Leofric. Hast never thought of what I have sometimes spoken to thee, when thou hast been aiding me with the care of the parchments?"

The lad's face flushed again quickly; but his eyes met the gaze fastened upon his with the fearless openness which was one of their characteristics.

"My father, I could not be a monk," he said. "I have no call – no vocation."

"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 peaceful life for those who would fain flee from the trials and temptations of the world. And the Prior here thinks well of thee; he has never grudged the 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 brought back the ready tears to Leofric's eyes. After his own father, he owed most to this kindly old monk, though it had never for a moment struck him that the teaching and training of a bright young lad had been one of the main interests in that monotonous existence.

"That is what I have felt myself," he answered quickly. "I love the calm and the quiet, the books and the parchments. I shall bless you every day of my life for all your goodness to me. But I would fain see the great world too. I have heard my father and others speak of things I would fain see with mine own eyes. It breaks my heart to go, yet I cannot choose but do so. I dare not ask to come to you, my kindest friend, my second father. I could not be a monk. I should but deceive and disappoint you were I to seek an asylum with you now."

Father Ambrose sighed slightly as he shook his head; but he made no attempt to influence the youth. Perhaps he loved him too well to press him 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 a notion of what lay before him. He led him into the refectory, where strangers were entertained, and had food brought and set before him. The lad was hungry, for he had of late undergone a very considerable mental strain, and had had little enough time or thought to spare for creature comforts. The long illness of his father, a man gently born, but of very narrow means, had completely worn him out in body and mind; and now, when thrown penniless upon the world, there had seemed nothing before him but to wander forth with wallet and staff, and seek some craftsman who would give him food and shelter whilst he served a long and perhaps hard apprenticeship to whatever trade he chanced upon.

He spoke again of this as he sat in the refectory, and again Father Ambrose shook his head.

"Thou art not of the stuff for an apprentice to some harsh master; thou hast done but little hard work. And think of thy skill with brush and pen, and thy knowledge of Latin and the Holy Scriptures; thy sweet voice, and thy skill upon the lute. What will all these serve thee, if thou dost waste thy years of manhood's prime at carpenter's bench or blacksmith'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 chin reflectively. "There be lads as poor as thou that beg their way thither and live there as clerks, being helped thereto by the gifts of pious benefactors. They say that the King's Majesty greatly favours students and clerks, and that a lad who can sing a roundelay or turn an epigram can earn for himself enough to keep him whilst he wins his way to some honourable post. Hast ever thought of the University, lad? that were a better place for thee than a craftsman's shop."

Leofric's eyes brightened slowly whilst the monk spoke. Such an idea as this had never crossed his mind heretofore. Living far away from Oxford, and hearing nothing of the life there, he had never once thought of that as a possible asylum for himself; but in a moment it seemed to him that this was just the chance he had been longing for. He could not bring his mind to the thought of the life of the cloister; yet he loved learning and the fine arts with a passionate love, and had received just enough training to make him ardently desire more.

"Would such a thing as that be possible for such as I, my father?" he asked with bated breath, seeming to hang upon the monk's lips as he waited for the answer.

"More than possible – advisable, reasonable," answered another voice from the shadows of the room. Leofric started to his feet and bent the knee instinctively; for, unseen to both himself and Father Ambrose, the Prior had entered, and had plainly heard the last words which had passed between the pair.

The Prior was a tall, venerable man, with eagle eye and an air of extreme dignity; but he was kindly disposed towards Leofric, and greeted him gently and tenderly, speaking for a few minutes of his recent heavy loss, and then resuming the former subject.

"Oxford is the place where lads such as thou do congregate together in its many schools and buildings, and learn from the lips of the instructed and wise the lore of the ancients and the wisdom of the sages. There be many masters and doctors there who began life as poor clerks, begging alms as they went. What one man has done another may attempt. Thou mayest yet be a worthy clerk, and rise to fame and learning."

"Without money?" asked Leofric, whose eyes began to sparkle and glow.

"Yes, even without money," answered the Prior: "for at Oxford there are monasteries and abbeys to each of which is attached a Domus Dei; and there are gathered together poor clerks and other indigent persons, to whom an allowance of daily food is made from the monks' table; whilst, through the liberality of benefactors, a habit is supplied to them yearly, together with such things as be absolutely needful for their support. Once was I the guest of the Abbot of Osney, and I remember visiting the Domus Dei, and seeing the portions of meat sent thither from 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 thy arrival."

Leofric bent the knee once more in token of the gratitude his faltering lips could scarce pronounce. The thought of a life of study, in lieu of that of an apprentice, was like nectar to him. Prior and Father alike smiled 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 wild and turbulent spirits pent within the walls of Oxford. Men have lost life and limb ere now in those brawls which so often arise 'twixt townsmen and clerks. The Chancellor doth all he can to protect the lives of scholars and clerks; yet, do as he will, troubles ofttime arise, and men have ere this been forced to leave the place by hundreds till the turbulent citizens can be brought to reason and submission."

But Leofric was in nowise daunted by this aspect of the case. Trained up hardily, albeit of studious habits, the fear of hardships did not daunt him.

"So long as I have food to eat and raiment to wear, I care for no hardship, so as I may become a scholar," he said. "And can I, reverend Father, rise to the dignity of a master, if I do not likewise take the vows 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 magic circle of the arts, of which thou mayest become a master without taking any vow to Holy Church. Yet methinks thou wouldest do well to wear the tonsure and the gown, that thou mayest in all quarrels or troubles have the right to claim the benefit of clergy, and so escape from the secular arm if it were stretched out against thee. This is the usual custom of clerks at Oxford and Cambridge. But it commits thee to nought, if thou art not willing to join thyself to any of our brotherhoods."

The Prior eyed him kindly, but Father Ambrose sighed, and Leofric himself felt a qualm of shame at his own distaste for the life of the cloister.

"The wish, the call, may come perchance," he answered humbly, glancing from one to the other; "but methinks I am not fit for the life of holy meditation, or surely the kindness I have here received would have inclined mine heart that way."

"Thou art still too young to take such vows upon thyself," said the Prior. "It is men who come to us aweary of the evils and strife of the world that know the blessedness of the cloistered life. Thou mayest learn that lesson in time; or thou mayest link thy lot with that of these wandering friars, who teach men that they have found the more acceptable way. For myself, I have found the place of rest, and I desire to end my days here in peace."

"And how may I journey from here to Oxford?" asked Leofric with some timidity, after a short silence. "Surely the way is long; and I have never fared farther than Coventry, which place I thought to make my home, 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; "if by land, thou wouldest have to beg thy way from place to place. At some hostel they would give thee bed and board, most like, if thou wouldest make them merry by a song; or at some great house, if thou couldst recite a ballad or speak a Latin grace. At the Monasteries thou wouldest receive food and bed, and mayhap an alms to help thee on thy way. Many a clerk begs his way to Oxford year by year, and is well received of all. Yet the perils of the way are many and great through the forests which lie betwixt thee and thy goal. It might be that the water way would be the better."

"I love the water," said Leofric eagerly; "and my little canoe lies beneath the bank under the alder clump. I have made many a miniature voyage in her before. Methinks she would carry me safely did I but know the way."

"And the way thou canst not miss," answered the Prior. "This little stream which flows past our walls joins itself, as thou dost know, to the wider Avon, which presently flows into a river men call the Cherwell, and in its turn that doth make junction with the Isis, whereon the 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, but hitherto they had been but names to him. Now it seemed as though the great unknown world, lying without the circle of his daily life, were about to open before him.

"I would fain try the water way," he said. "I am skilful with the paddle; and I can carry my little craft upon my back whenever rocks and rapids impede my progress. The season is favourable for the journey. The ice and snow are gone. There is a good depth of water in all the streams, and yet the weed and slime of summer and autumn have not begun to appear; nor will the overarching boughs from the trees hinder progress as they do when clad in their summer bravery. I love the river in the early spring, and if I do but follow the course of the stream I cannot miss my way, as I might well do upon the road in the great forest tracks."

"Yes, that is very true. Methinks thou wilt be safer so, if thou canst find sustenance upon the way. But thou canst carry with thee some provision of bread, and there be several godly houses beside the river where thou wilt be welcomed by the brothers, who will supply thy needs. Take, too, thy bow and arrows; thou wilt doubtless thus secure some game by the way. But have a care in the King's forests around Oxford how thou dost let fly thy shafts. Many a man has lost his life ere now for piercing the side of some fat buck."

Leofric's heart was now all on fire for the journey which lay before him. He could scarcely believe that but one short hour ago he had believed himself hopelessly doomed to a life of uncongenial toil. He had never thought of this student life – he hardly knew of its existence; but the Prior of the Monastery and some of the monks, who had known and befriended both Leofric and his father, had themselves discussed several times the question of dispatching the youth to Oxford for tuition; and the 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 of a studious turn, and eager for information, it had been the favourite relaxation 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 some of the mysteries of that wonderful illumination of parchments which was the secret of the monks in the Middle Ages.

Leofric profited by every opportunity afforded him. Already he could both speak and understand Latin easily. He had a very fair knowledge of certain portions of the Scriptures, and possessed a breviary of his own, which he regarded as his greatest treasure. For the age in which he lived these were accomplishments of no mean order, and it would have seemed to the ecclesiastics little short of a disgrace to them had they permitted their pupil to lose his scholarship in some craftsman's shop. They had frequently spoken of sending him as a clerk to Oxford, unless he could see his way to becoming one of themselves. This, however, was not to be. The boy, though reverent and devout, had no leanings after the life of the cloister, and the Prior was too wise a man to put pressure upon him. But he was willing to forward, by such means as he could, any project which should secure to Leofric the advantages of a liberal education.

So the lad was bidden to remain a guest of the Monastery for the few days necessary to his simple preparations. The Prior wished him to be provided with a habit suitable to his condition of clerk. This habit was made of a strong sort of cloth, and reached to the knees, being confined at the waist by a leather girdle. He was also provided with a change of under-raiment, with strong leggings and shoes, and with a supply of coarse bread and salted meat sufficient for several days. The Prior wrote a letter to the Abbot of Osney, recommending the lad to his favourable notice, and asking for him a place in the Domus Dei, should no better lodging be obtainable.

Leofric himself spent his time in the mending of his canoe, which had been somewhat battered by the winter storms. He had made the little craft out of the bark of trees, and had covered it with pitch to make it waterproof. Some story he had heard about wild men in unknown lands had given him the idea of constructing this little boat, and now it seemed as 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 him as he prosecuted this task. There was a strong bond of affection between the old monk and the young lad.

"Thou wilt come back some day and see us, Leofric," he said once, as the task drew near to its accomplishment; "I would fain look again upon thy face before I die."

"Indeed I will, father. I too shall always love this place, and shall never forget the kindness I have received, nor how these many days masses 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 some day, when thou art rich and famous, give of thine abundance to our shrine here. Thou wilt see strange things in the great world, my son. Thou wilt see the great ones of the earth rising up against their anointed King, and that King taking vows upon his lips which he has neither the wish nor the intention to fulfil. The world is full of terrible things, and thou wilt quickly see many of them. Yet keep through all a pure heart and clean hands, so will God love thee, be thy path what it will."

Leofric looked up quickly.

"I have heard somewhat from time to time of the feud betwixt the King and the Barons; but to me such tales are but as idle words. I know not what men mean."

"Thou wilt know more anon," answered the monk gravely. "We have heard from those who pass to and fro that times are dangerous, and men's minds full of doubt and fear. I know not what may betide this land, but there be those who say that the sword will ere long be unsheathed, and that brother will war against brother as it hath not been seen for many a long day. God forbid that such things should be!"

"And will such strife come nigh to Oxford?" asked Leofric. "Shall we hear ought there of the battle and the turmoil?"

"I trow well that ye will. Knowest thou not that the King hath a palace close 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 anent these burning questions of which we scarce hear a whisper. Thou must seek to be guided aright, my son; for youth is ever hot-headed, and like to be carried away by rash counsels. It is a grievous thing for a nation to rise against its anointed head; and yet, even as Saul was set aside by God, and another put in his place, we may not always say that a King can 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 which roused within him the knowledge that beyond the peaceful circle of his past life lay a seething world into which he was shortly to plunge. The thought filled him with eager longings and desires. He wanted to shoot forth 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 dawn upon the morrow he should go.

His habit and provision were already packed and stowed away. He had received his letter and messages, and had listened in meek silence to the admonitions and instructions of the Prior. He had slept his last night beneath the hospitable Monastery roof, and had heard mass for the last time in the grey dawning.

Now he stood with one foot in his little craft, pressing the hand of Father Ambrose, and looking round at the familiar faces and buildings with smiles and tears struggling for mastery in his face.

Then the canoe shot out into the midst of the stream.

His voyage was begun.