“Here, my good lord,” answered the young Norman noble, who had figured among the guests of Constantine Fitzarnulph when the chief citizens decided on inviting the “army of God and the Church” to take possession of London.
“Mount without delay, and carry to the Earl of Arundel the intelligence my Lord de Moreville has just brought us.”
“Willingly, my good lord,” replied the stripling; “but ere going I make bold to offer this suggestion, that, since we have been restoring the ancient laws of this land, it would be politic to restore a time-honoured custom which was wont to do good service in the days of the Confessor—I mean, publish the ancient proclamation of war, which used to arouse every Englishman capable of bearing arms—‘Let each man, whether in town or country, leave his house and come.’”
Few listened; nobody answered; and the youth withdrew to ride on his errand, too ardently enthusiastic for the baronial cause even to feel galled that his suggestion had not been deemed worthy of notice, or to perceive the absurdity of asking the grandsons of the conquerors of Hastings to appeal to the vanquished and down-trodden race. But De Moreville both heard and understood it; and laying his hand on Fitzwalter’s arm, he said in a low tone—
“My noble friend, I wish we had among us more of the enthusiasm that glows at that stripling’s heart. By St. Moden, my young friend—albeit of Norman lineage—has strange notions, being English on the spindle side; for his mother, Dame Juliana, is sister of Edgar Unnithing. She has inspired him with a dangerous sympathy for the English race, and would have had him and his elder brother take the king’s side if her counsel had availed. Mort Dieu! I hold it lucky that John has not by his side our young Walter, with his keen eye and scheming brain, whispering such suggestions in his ear as that which was hazarded but now. The false king might, with wit enough, in such a case, have saved himself the trouble of sending for warriors from beyond sea; for he might have found them at his door. But, trust me, resolution, and the determination to act with a strong hand, are much wanted in this emergency. And hearken. The king brings foreigners into this country to fight his battles, forgetting that both parties can play at that game if needs be. Nay, start not; you will ere long come to view this matter in the same light that I do; and I swear by my faith, that rather than be beaten by that anointed, craven, and perjured king, I would not only consent to bringing a foreign army into the kingdom, but to placing a foreign prince on the throne. Tush! what matters it who is the puppet, so long as we, the barons of England, pull the strings?”
“By my halidame, De Moreville,” said Fitzwalter, gravely, “I much marvel that a man so skilled in statecraft, and accounted so sage in camp and council as you are, can indulge in talk so perilous to our enterprise, encompassed as it is with dangers. Credit me that when the cession of the three northern counties to the King of Scots is bruited about, and the condition of his friendship becomes matter of public notoriety, that of itself will be sufficiently difficult to vindicate. Make not the aspect of affairs more repulsive to our best and most leal friends, the citizens of London, by defying their prejudices. Credit me, such a course, if persisted in, will ruin all, and leave us at the mercy of an adversary whose tender mercies are cruel. No more of it, I pray you, as you value all our lives and fortunes, and the welfare of the army of God and the Church.”
“Fitzwalter,” replied De Moreville, earnestly, “be not deceived. Much less easy is it than you think to startle the citizens of London, who care nothing for traditions or love of country. Behind that old Roman wall which you see to the east are men from every clime and of every race, mongrels almost to a man, who have no feeling, no motive in this quarrel, save their aversion to the monarchy and their dislike of the king. Be not deceived. Besides, as I am a Norman gentleman, I swear to you, on my faith, that I do not value their opinion or their support at the worth of a bezant.”
Fitzwalter started, and looked round as if fearing that any one might be within earshot.
“For the rest,” continued De Moreville, conclusively, “I have well considered what I have spoken, and am prepared to abide by it, let William Longsword or the Nevilles do their worst. We are Normans, and not Englishmen, as you well know—none better. You start. Yet a little while, and others will cry out loudly enough in the market-place what now I hardly dare to whisper; for clearly do I see, and confidently do I predict as if I had read it in the book of fate, that matters must be worse before they can be better. I have for some time only thought so; but I have known it ever since I learned that this cowardly yet bloodthirsty king has turned to bay.”
“May the saints in heaven shield this afflicted land,” said Fitzwalter, with a sigh, “and grant us a happy issue out of all our troubles!”