"My lords and gentlemen," said the Prince, in clear tones that were heard all over the hall, "I have once before addressed you, even as I address you to-night. The sword had not then been unsheathed. My heart inclined to the cause which you have made yours, and which even this day I regard with much of good-will. But I warned you then that my duty to my father would compel me to withdraw from your counsels, should you elect to rise in arms against him. This has now been done. I kept the word I gave you then, and to-day I am a prisoner in your chief's hands. The fortune of the day is so far with you, but it may not always be so. As I made an open declaration upon that occasion, so I make another to-day. I have given my parole for the present not to seek to escape out of this honourable captivity in which I am placed; and I redeemed my word at Wallingford Castle, showing to you that when I say a thing, I mean it; when I make a promise, I keep it. Now, in the presence of all of you, and of you my uncle and cousins, I herewith declare that my parole is for one year, dating from the battle of Lewes, when I gave myself up into your hands. One year I give to you for arbitration, for the assembling of Parliament, for all the reasonable steps which a kingdom must take for the adjustment of difficult questions. After the expiration of that year my parole expires. I will not then be bound by any promise. If my liberty is not then accorded me, I shall seek, by whatever means I may, to attain it. Already the nation is impatient of seeing her King and her Prince in captivity. The thing, if needful for the moment, becomes a monstrous iniquity in time. It will not be suffered to continue. I shall not suffer it to continue. Shut me up if you choose in the lowest dungeon—keep all my friends away from me—treat me as you will, I shall find means to escape from your hands; and I shall then fight with every weapon in my power for the liberty of my father, and for the restoration of that monarchy which, even though abused, is yet the prop and the source of England's greatness, and which, purged of its faults, will yet shine with undiminished lustre!"
The Prince sat down amid a breathless silence. Men had not been prepared for any such open declaration, and it took them by complete surprise. The Earl himself felt that thrill of generous admiration which the speech had enkindled in many hearts.
"The father I can dominate; the son will be my undoing," was the thought that came to him at that moment, and he felt it still more so when young Simon sprang to his feet and began one of his ill-considered and haughty speeches, which was listened to with cold displeasure even within the walls of his own home, and which brought a little sarcastic smile to the lips of his cousin Edward.
The Prince turned suddenly to his uncle and said,—
"Uncle, I would that thou and I could rule this realm, and that my father and thy sons could play at holding mimic court and gay tourneys in sunny France. Then, methinks, we should see an end of this confusion. But fate has willed that we shall stand in hostile camps; only believe me that for thee and for thy aims and objects I have both love and reverence; and if the day shall come when I sit upon the throne of this realm, the lore I have learned from thee will be my safeguard when I am tempted to forget the lessons learned in the school of adversity, and to think myself too great a man to need to think of the welfare of my people."
Leicester's eyes suddenly softened; he put out his hand and laid it upon that of the Prince.
"I thank thee for that word, Edward," he said; "and believe me, I love thee as though thou wert mine own son. If it were possible, we would fight side by side; but thou hast chosen thy father's cause, and I am pledged to that of the nation."
"I know it cannot be," said Edward regretfully; "yet let us each preserve the love which one brave and honourable man may feel for another, even though he be a foe. In the days to come, if my star arise, and I in turn be victor, I will not forget the kindness I have received at thine hands. It shall be repaid—I promise it."
"But not to me," said Leicester gravely, "for with this cause I sink or swim—I live or die. If it is the will of Heaven to reverse the victory accorded to us, I shall not live to see the day. There is always a soldier's death left for the man who sees his cause lost."
"Nay," said Edward warmly—for, strange as it may seem, he was full of hope and courage to-day, whilst his victorious uncle seemed weighed down by a load of care—"thou must live to be mine adviser and friend; for the time will come when I shall need both, if indeed I live to sit in my father's place."