Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter Read online

  CHAPTER II

  THE ICINGLAS

  For a century after the Norman Conquest, continental visitors, injourneying through England as it then was, were surprised, ever andanon, after passing the strong fortresses--heavy, massive, andfrowning--with which the Norman conquerors had crowned every height, tocome upon lonely two-storied houses, quite unfortified, standing inparks of ancient oaks, amidst which swine fed and kine grazed. Thesewere the dwellings of such of the Anglo-Saxons of rank as had escapedthe Norman sword or the exile which to many of them was worse thandeath; not mighty chiefs like Edwin, and Morcar, and Cospatrick, butthanes who had been too proud to march under the banner of the son ofGodwin, and who, pluming themselves on the purity of their lineage andadherence to the customs of their forefathers, refrained from moving foryears out of the shadow of their ancestral oaks, or taking any part inthe new England which the Conquest had brought into existence. Renderedirritable by jealousy, irascible by oppression, and eccentric byisolation, these men were still grumbling against Norman tyranny, andindulging their souls with vague projects for the emancipation of theirrace, when the second Henry, son of the Empress Maude, and the firstPlantagenet who reigned in England, took possession of the throne.

  The accession of Henry was hailed with delight by the English nation.The people, long trodden down and oppressed, remembering that he wasdescended, through his grandmother “the good Queen Maude,” from the oldSaxon kings, regarded him as one of themselves in blood, called him “theEnglish king,” and, deeming him the natural enemy of the Norman barons,looked upon him as the man to redress all their grievances and avengeall their wrongs. Naturally enough, the Saxon chiefs sympathised withthe sentiments of their countrymen on the occasion; and among those whoemerged from obscurity to do homage to the young Plantagenet was theheir of the once rich and grand house of Icingla.

  In the great Anglo-Saxon days the Icinglas had been powerful princes,and had mingled their blood by marriage with the royal race of Cerdic;but fortune had not smiled on their house, and as their wealthdiminished so did their influence and importance. It was acharacteristic of Anglo-Saxon society that good blood counted for littleor nothing save when its possessor retained the means to support highrank and indulge in lavish hospitality. Gold and land were everything. Aman born a ceorl might rise to be an earl, and lead armies; while menwhose fathers had been princes, if they became poor, sank into contempt,and sometimes descended to the rank of ceorl. The downfall of theIcinglas had not been so humiliating; and at the time of the Conquestthey found themselves possessed of a small estate and an unpretendinghouse on the borders of the great forest of Middlesex, where forgenerations they vegetated, taking no part in political movements orconspiracies, but brooding over their wrongs, real or imaginary,consoling themselves with their hereditary traditions, sneering at thenew men by whose lands their little domain was encompassed, and lookingvery contemptuously from among their trees on that world in which theywere precluded from acting a part.

  But once attracted from obscurity by King Henry, the Icinglas underwenta marvellous change. Steady of heart, strong of hand, and with a naturalsagacity which contact with the world soon brightened into politicalintelligence, they were just the men whom the Plantagenet kingsdelighted to honour, and in all their struggles they served Henry andhis son, Richard Cœur de Lion, with courage and fidelity. Nor didtheir services go unrewarded. On returning from his crusade and hiscaptivity, Richard gave Edric Icingla the hand of Isabel de Moreville,an heiress of that great Norman family which in the twelfth century heldbaronies on both sides of the Tweed; and the Anglo-Saxon warrior, havingfought well for the lion-hearted king on many a field, died bravelyunder his banner in the last battle in which he encountered PhilipAugustus.

  Four sons had blessed the union of Edric Icingla and Isabel deMoreville, and it seemed that fortune was at length inclined to favourthat ancient Saxon line. Death, however, claimed three of the sons asits prey while they were yet in childhood, and when Isabel found herselfa widow, only the youngest--Oliver by name--survived to cheer her hopesand demand her vigilance. And it soon looked as if the boy had not beenborn under a lucky star. Early in the reign of King John, when thestrong hand was the most convincing argument, Hugh de Moreville, hismaternal kinsman, claimed him as a ward, and contrived, as the lad’sguardian, to possess himself of the castles of Chas-Chateil and MountMoreville, and the many rich manors which his mother had inherited; andso weak was the law in enforcing the claims of the unprotected againstbarons who recognised no law but the length of their swords, and noother rule of conduct save when under the influence of remorse, that theidea of Hugh de Moreville ever restoring them to the rightful heir wasone hardly to be entertained. It was not, however, impossible; and DameIsabel Icingla, without ceasing to cherish hope of one day seeingjustice done to her son, passed her life--solitary and somewhat sad--inthe queer old house under whose roof the Icinglas had for generationssat secure while dynasties were changing and political storms wereraging around them.

  Very soon after the death of her husband, Dame Isabel took the vow ofperpetual widowhood, and assumed the russet gown to indicate to theworld that her resolution not to venture again on matrimony was fixed.Her whole interest therefore centred in her son, and her whole attentionwas given to render him worthy of his name and birth. Not that this ladysympathised strongly with the traditions and sentiments of the familyinto which she had married. Far from it. She was Norman in everythingbut the name. Her features, her heart, her prejudices, and her opinionswere all such as distinguished the conquering race; and if OliverIcingla had--to use the homely phrase--“taken after his mother,” hewould have presented a very different appearance from that which he didpresent when introduced to the reader in the streets of ancient London,and he would have expressed very different sentiments from those whichhe did express in his brief, but not unimportant, conversation withConstantine Fitzarnulph.

  But Oliver was an Icingla in look, and thought, and word, andenthusiastic for the race to which he belonged; but, given to reflectionand contemplation, he well knew, young though he was, that all violentattempts to better the condition of the English could only end infailure and ruin, and that the rise of the Anglo-Saxons--if they wereto rise--could only be accomplished by patience and by gradual degrees.In the struggle which was impending between a Plantagenet king and theNorman barons, he would never, if free to act on his own impulses andreason, have hesitated to adhere to the crown; and the onlymortification which he felt was that he was to be conducted to the Toweras a hostage--perhaps to become a prisoner, and even a victim--when hewould have gone thither voluntarily to offer his sword to fight for thecrown which had been worn by Alfred the Great and Edward the Holy. DameIsabel did not, however, take the same view of the question; and wheninformed that Oliver, so lately freed from captivity, was required as ahostage, she wrung her hands and looked the picture of woe.

  “Alas, alas!” she exclaimed, raising her eyes towards heaven, “what sinhave my ancestors committed, that I am required to surrender mine onlyson into the keeping of a man whose hands are red with the blood of hisown nephew?”

  “Fear not for me, lady and mother,” exclaimed Oliver, touched with hergrief. “I shall be as secure in the king’s palace as in our own ancienthall, and I doubt not as kindly treated; for, doubtless, King John knowsbetter what a stout warrior is worth than to do aught to forfeit hisclaim to the service of the sword with which Edric Icingla cut his wayto fame and fortune.”