Читать книгу Cressy and Poictiers - John G. Edgar - Страница 5

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It was Midsummer Eve in the year 1344, and the citizens of London were celebrating the festival of St. John the Baptist, when I, then a stripling of fifteen, with a tall figure and a dreamy eye, like that of one indulging much in internal visions, mounted on a little black horse of great speed and high mettle, trotted by the side of my aged grandsire, a tall and still vigorous man, into the capital of England, and alighted at the hostelry known as the Falcon, situated in Gracechurch, and kept by Thomelin of Winchester.

I had journeyed with my grandsire from his homestead at Greenmead, on the border of Windsor Forest, and my eyes were, for the first time, gladdened with a sight of London. Hitherto I had been reared in obscurity; and, except on the occasion of a rare visit to the little town of Windsor, I had seen nothing of life. I was well aware of the disadvantages of my position; for, though brought up in obscurity, my ambition was ardent; and, while seeing little of life, I was constantly regaling my imagination with stirring scenes, in all of which I enacted a conspicuous part.

My excitement on entering a city I had often longed to behold was naturally high; and, as we rode along, I was much impressed with the novelty of the scene. London and the Londoners were that evening in holiday attire, and everything wore a gay aspect. The houses were lighted up; the streets were crowded with the populace; and an unwonted degree of jollity appeared to brighten every face. Even the beggar and the outcast began to think their condition tolerable, as they watched the kindling of the great fire which was to typify the saint of the day, who has been described as "a burning and shining light."

It is not wonderful, indeed, all things considered, that such should have been the case at the period of which I write. During the long and prosperous reign of the first Edward, Englishmen, while enjoying the blessings of freedom and order vigilantly guarded by law, had learned to speak their minds without fear, and with little hesitation; and, albeit nearly forty years had elapsed since the great king had been laid at rest in Westminster Abbey, they had not yet unlearned the lesson that an Englishman's words should be as free as his thoughts. Nor, so far, was public order in any danger from the utmost freedom of speech; for the House of Plantagenet was still so popular, that, had the reigning sovereign deliberately gone among his subjects in disguise, to learn what they thought of him, he would probably have heard nothing more offensive to his ear than complaints as to the rapacity of the royal purveyors. The day which I have lived to see was not yet come when a crazy priest, like John Ball, could rouse a populace to frenzy, or when a rude demagogue, like Wat Tyler, could lead on a rabble to plunder and bloodshed.

"Adam of Greenmead," said the Thomelin of Winchester, as he rose to welcome my grandsire and myself; "old kinsman, I am right glad to see thee and thy grandson too. Body o' me, Arthur, it seems but yesterday when you were cock-bird height, and now you have grown as tall and handsome a lad as the girls would wish to set eyes on."

"And how farest thou, Thomelin?" asked my grandsire, as he seated himself near the host, and I took a place by his side.

"Passing well, kinsman—passing well, the saints be thanked; and it makes me all the better, methinks, since I see thee so hale and hearty."

"For that matter," said my grandsire, with an expression of discontent in his face, "I am hale as a man who has seen threescore and ten years can expect to be, and hearty as a man can hope to be in the days in which we live."

"You are not pleased with the times we live in, kinsman," remarked Thomelin.

"In truth, they are not much to my liking," said my grandsire. "As we rode along, my mind went back to the time when King Edward hammered the stubborn Scots at Falkirk, and to the day when he entered London, and the Londoners kept holiday in honour of his victory."

"Grand times, doubtless," said Thomelin.

"Ay, you may well say so," exclaimed my grandsire, with a tear in his eye. "England was then prosperous and contented. But now King Edward has been thirty-seven years in his tomb, and the world has well-nigh gone to ruin."

"No, no, Adam," protested Thomelin. "Matters are not so bad as you fancy. The world goes on well enough—in fact, as well as ever—in its way. Men buy and sell, sow and reap, marry and give in marriage; and, albeit the king whom you serve is in his grave, we have a king who is bravest among the brave, and wisest among the wise."

"But not so great as his grandfather was," said the old man in a conclusive tone.

"Nevertheless, kinsman," observed Thomelin, as if anxious to change the subject, "you have come to see London town once more."

"Even so; and yet, God's truth! I might have gone to my long home without taking so much trouble; for what is London to me? But Arthur, hearing that the lads of the town were to try their skill at the quintain before the Prince of Wales, would come, reason or none."

"To see the display," suggested Thomelin.

"No, to try his own hand; and trust me, if I know anything of such matters—and I ought—his chance is not small."

"I doubt it not, kinsman—I doubt it not," said Thomelin; "and yet I know not how he is to get a chance; for the match is, in some measure, confined to the Londoners, and strangers may not be admitted."

"Tell that not to me," replied my grandsire conclusively, and striking the table with his clenched fist. "In my younger days I have seen not only the sons of yeomen, but squires' and knights' sons take part in such diversions; and if rules were relaxed then they can be relaxed now."

"Well, kinsman, we must see what can be done," said Thomelin mildly, but somewhat doubtfully. "Meanwhile, kinsmen, you must eat and drink, and let me show to you what hospitality my house can afford, for the sake of Richard Tythering, whose blood we both have in our veins."

"Ay; blood is thicker than water, as they say in the North," responded my grandsire; "and trust me, Thomelin," he added, "my heart warms to thee for thine own sake, and for that of thy mother; she was my first cousin."

"And so, Arthur, my lad," said Thomelin, turning to me, "thou art determined to win the peacock."

"I know not whether I can win the peacock or not," answered I, trying not to appear too vain of my skill; "but I hope to do so; and, in any case, I'll do my best."