“Nay, De Moreville,” replied the young noble, sadly, very sadly indeed, “it needs not. I already know it, and I grieve to think that other matters should be as they are. For yourself, I must say that you have misled me. Nay, frown not; it avails nought with me. I believed you to be a man true to England in thought, word, and deed; and I, the son of a woman of English blood, mark you, and therefore more closely interested in the national welfare than any mere Anglo-Norman, understanding that it was the object of yourself, and the barons with whom you are associated, to secure the liberties of England by forcing John of Anjou to confirm the laws of the Confessor, and to restore the usages that prevailed in England in the Confessor’s reign—understanding this, I repeat, I not only gave you all the aid in my power, but exposed my brother and my mother to the vengeance of a king who is as cruel and unjust as he is treacherous. And now neither of them have a roof under which to shelter their head. Their hearths are desolate, their castles and manors in the hands of strangers.”
“Even taking it at the worst, Walter,” said De Moreville, startled more and more at the young noble’s aspect and style of address, “you must own that others in the North besides your kindred have felt the king’s vengeance. De Vesci, and De Roos, and Delaval, and half a dozen others, are equally sufferers.”
“But, De Moreville,” continued Merley, still calmly and sadly, “what I complain of is this: that you and your confederates have deserted all the professions so loudly and so boastfully made, and that you have betrayed England. Nay, frown not, for I tell you again that the son of Dame Juliana Merley is not to be daunted by a frown; I say you have betrayed the cause of England by calling into the kingdom a foreign prince who is certain to hold the ancient laws of England in lighter regard than the worst Plantagenet whom the imagination could conjure up; and of all foreigners a Frenchman, and of all Frenchmen a Capet, and of all Capets a son of Philip Augustus, England’s fellest foe.”
“Necessity, Walter—a stern necessity.”
“However,” continued Merley, more calmly, “I do not recognise the necessity; nor, credit me, will the country long recognise it. Meanwhile I can take no part in the struggle. King John I abhor; Prince Louis I abhor still more than I do King John. I have, under your counsel, De Moreville, taken such a course as to involve in ruin the house to which I belong. My brother and my mother are exiles north of the Tweed, dependent on our potent kinsman for the very bread they eat. All that I could have endured to behold; but to think that this was suffered to place a Frenchman and a Capet on the throne of Alfred and Edward maddens me. But, farewell! I go to Flanders to seek oblivion in the excitement of war; and may God pardon you, De Moreville, for having brought this wretched foreign prince and his rascal myrmidons into England, for I own that I cannot. I have said.”
De Moreville was much affected, and buried his head in his bosom to conceal his agitation. This was not the kind of language he expected to hear from an eager partisan of the baronial cause; and he certainly began to view the matter in a different light than when he was at the court of Paris, and thinking only of vengeance on King John. However, he felt that every awkwardness and inconvenience must be endured, and every reproach borne, now that the great step was taken, and it was too late to recede. He raised his head resolutely, with the intention of bringing his young friend over to his view. When he did so, he found that he was alone. Walter Merley was gone.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE INVADER AND HIS DUPES
MEANWHILE King John had left Dover for Guildford, and marched from Guildford to Winchester, and from Winchester to Bristol, having taken the precaution of strongly garrisoning the castles of Windsor, Wallingford, and Corfe; and Louis of France, after landing at Sandwich, in spite of the legate, led his army to Rochester, and on the 30th of May, 1216, took that fortress from the garrison which John had left within its walls six months earlier. Having thus inaugurated his career in England with a conquest which raised the hopes of John’s enemies, Louis, accompanied by the Lord de Coucy, the Viscount of Melun, the Count of Nevers, and the Count of Perche, marched his army towards London.
It was Thursday, the 2nd of June, when the heir of the Capets rode into the capital of England, and met with a reception which must have excited at once his wonder and contempt. Both by barons and citizens he was welcomed with rapturous applause, and conducted to the church of St. Paul’s, a rude and homely structure, standing amidst the ruins of the Temple of Diana, so soon to be replaced by a magnificent edifice; and within St. Paul’s the mayor, aldermen, and chief citizens took the oath of allegiance. This ceremony over, Louis mounted his steed, and, riding to Westminster, entered the abbey, where the Anglo-Norman barons solemnly acknowledged him as their sovereign, and swore to be true to him—the French prince taking an oath on his part to restore to every one his rights, and to recover for the crown whatever had been lost to it by King John. Louis, being under a sentence of excommunication, could not be crowned. However, he was hailed King of England, and, in that capacity, nominated Langton to the office of chancellor.
But Louis and the companions of his adventurous enterprise were well aware that ceremonies, however solemn, could not render his position secure, and that the crown could only be his by right of conquest. No time, therefore, did he lose before letting loose his foreign troops and his Anglo-Norman partisans on the unfortunate country which he hoped, when conquered, to govern by the strong hand. Having despatched the Count of Nevers to besiege Windsor, Robert Fitzwalter to make war in Suffolk, and the Earl of Essex to gain possession of Essex, he himself raised the royal banner of France, led his army from London into Sussex, seized the fortresses in that county, and manned them with French troops; marched from Sussex into Surrey, taking the castles of Reigate, Guildford, and Farnham; and, passing into Hampshire, appeared on the 14th of June before Winchester, and soon made himself master of the ancient capital of England and all that it contained—the city, in fact, surrendering at his summons, and the king’s castle and the bishop’s palace eleven days later.