An Island Story, H. E. Marshall [learn to read books txt] 📗
- Author: H. E. Marshall
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“Our lord King, we will not talk of what is now past, but of what is to come.”
Then all the bishops and the archbishops, dressed in their splendid robes and carrying lighted candles in their hands, walked in solemn procession to the great royal hall at Westminster. There, in presence of the King and all the barons, they solemnly excommunicated every one who should in the future take away in any degree the freedom of England. The words they used were very grand and terrible. The King as he listened held his hand over his heart. His face was calm and cheerful and he looked as if he never had tried, and never would try, to take away his people’s liberty.
When the solemn sentence was finished and the deep voice of the archbishop died away in silence, all the bishops and the archbishops threw down their lighted candles, crying, “May all those who take away our liberties perish, even as these lights perish.”
The bells were then rung joyfully, the candles were again lighted, and King Henry, standing among his people, spoke,—“So help me God, all these promises will I faithfully keep, as I am a man, a Christian, a knight and a crowned and anointed king.”
Thus once more the Great Charter was solemnly signed and sealed. But in spite of this ceremony, Henry did not keep his promises. He listened to evil friends, who told him that if he did, he would not be king, nor even lord in England, but the subject of his people.
Now there arose a great man called Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester. For many years he had been the faithful friend of King Henry, whose sister he had married. Henry sometimes heaped favors upon him, sometimes quarreled with him, just as he was pulled this way or that by his friends.
When Simon de Montfort first came to England the barons did not like him. “Here is another Frenchman,” they said, “who comes to eat our bread and take away what belongs to us.” But Simon soon showed that, if he was French in name, he was English at heart.
As Henry continually broke his promises, Simon took the side of the barons and the people, and Henry feared him as he feared no other man.
One day Henry went for a picnic on the Thames. He had rowed from his palace at Westminster some way down the river, when a thunderstorm came on, and he was obliged to take refuge in Simon’s house, near which he was passing. As he arrived there the thunderstorm began to clear.
“There is nothing to fear now, my lord,” said Simon, as he ran to meet the King.
“I fear the thunder and lightning,” replied the king, “but I fear thee more than all the thunder and lightning in the world.”
“My lord King,” replied the earl sadly, “it is unjust that you should fear me who am your faithful friend. I have ever been true to you and yours and to the kingdom of England. Your flatterers are your enemies. Them you ought to fear.”
Led by Simon, the barons forced Henry to hold a council at Oxford to draw up new laws for the better ruling of the kingdom. The wonderful thing about these laws was that they were written in English. Ever since the Conquest, the laws had been written in French or Latin, but at last English laws, for English people, were again written in their own language.
But Henry did not keep these new laws any better than he had kept the old ones. The patience of the people came to an end and there was war, the King’s army fighting against Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, and his followers. This was called the Barons’ war, and it ended in a great battle at Lewes in which the King was defeated.
After this battle it was really Simon de Montfort who ruled the country. Henry was indeed still king in name, but both he and his son, Prince Edward, were Simon de Monfort’s prisoners.
It was Simon de Montfort who laid the foundation of what is now our Parliament. Up to this time only bishops and barons had been allowed to come to the meetings of the council. Simon, however, now chose two knights from every shire or country, and two citizens from every city, and sent them also to the council to speak for the people and to tell of their wants. Now, too, the great council began to be called Parliament, which means “talking-place,” for it is there that the people come to talk of all the affairs of the kingdom.
Unfortunately the barons could not long agree among themselves. Prince Edward escaped from Simon and joined the discontented barons, and there was another battle between the prince’s men and Simon’s men, in which Simon was killed.
The people had loved Simon, and now they sorrowed for his death, and called him a saint, and Sir Simon the Righteous. He is also called the Father of the English Parliament.
Although Prince Edward fought against Simon de Montfort, he had been his pupil, and had learned much from him, and he was growing into a wise prince. He now helped to make peace, and when peace again came to the land Prince Edward, like so many other princes and kings, joined a crusade and went to fight in the Holy Land.
In 1272 A.D., while his son was still in that far-off country, King Henry died, having reigned fifty-six years. His reign had not been a happy one for England, yet good came of it, for his very weakness made the people strong, and out of the troubles of his reign grew our freedom of speech and our power to make for ourselves the laws under which we have to live.
HENRY III.—THE STORY OF THE POISONED DAGGER
IN far-off Palestine the army of the crusaders lay encamped before the town of Acre. The air was hot and stifling, the sun seemed a ball of fire hung in the still blue sky. Having put off his heavy armor for the sake of coolness Prince Edward lay within his tent, wearing only a long, loose robe of linen. He lay idle, thinking perhaps of the mighty deeds which his great-uncle, Richard C�ur de Lion, had done in this same place, eighty years before; wondering, too, if he would be able to do as great things.
Presently the curtains of the doorway parted. “My lord prince,” said a soldier, bowing low, “the Emir of Jaffa hath sent his servant yet again. He craves to be admitted to your presence.”
“I will receive him,” replied the prince, and the soldier once more left the tent.
Edward had been fighting with the Emir of Jaffa, but now, pretending that he wished to become a Christian, this Emir sent daily messages and presents to the prince. And the prince, noble and honest himself, believed the Emir to be honest too.
In a few minutes the curtains of the doorway parted once more and the Emir’s dark slave crept in. He bowed himself to the ground, then, kneeling humbly before the prince, drew out a letter.
Edward took the letter and, as the prince read, the slave crouched on the ground watching him with his bright dark eyes. Then slowly, slowly his brown hand crept to the belt of his white dress. So slowly it crept that it seemed hardly to move.
Suddenly, as quick as lightning, a keen bright blade flashed in the air and fell. But Edward, too, was quick and strong. He threw up his hand and caught upon it the blow which had been aimed at his heart. Then, springing from the couch, he overthrew the slave, and placing his foot upon the man’s neck, wrenched the dagger from his grasp. In another moment the slave lay still and dead upon the sand. At the noise of the struggle, several frightened servants came running into the tent, and one of them, seeing the slave upon the sand, seized a stool, and dashed his brains out.
“Foolish man,” said Prince Edward, “see you not that the slave is already dead? What you do is neither brave nor honorable, but the action of a coward.”
Prince Edward’s wound was slight, but the dagger had been a poisoned one. When his wife, the beautiful Princess Eleanor, heard of it, she hurried to her husband’s tent. Before those about her knew what she meant to do, she knelt down and, putting her lips to the wound, sucked it. It was said that if the blood from a poisoned wound was sucked at once after the wound was made, the wounded person would not die. It was a brave thing for Princess Eleanor to do, for she might herself have died. But she loved Edward so much that she was willing to risk her own life. Yet the wound grew worse, and it seemed likely that Edward would die.
He was very calm and brave, and did not fear death, but tried to comfort his friends and servants, for they were all very sorrowful. But the princess sat beside him weeping, and would not be comforted. Then, calling for parchment and ink, Prince Edward wrote down all that he wished to be done with his money and lands, after he was dead. This was called making his will.
Now a clever doctor came to the prince and said, “I think I can cure you, only you will have to suffer a great deal of pain.”
“Do what you think best,” said the prince, “and cure me if you can.”
Then the princess threw herself upon him crying bitterly, and would not let any one touch him. “I know you only want to hurt him more,” she sobbed, “I cannot bear it.”
But Edward gently put her away, “Hush, hush,” he said, and gave her into his brother Edmund’s arms.
“Do you love your lord and brother?” asked the doctor, turning to Edmund.
“Ay, that I do,” replied he.
“Then take this lady away, and do not let her lord see her again until I tell you.”
So Princess Eleanor was led away weeping.
“Ah, weep, lady,” said Edmund gently. “It is better that you should weep than that all England should mourn.”
But England did not mourn, for the doctor was clever, and in less than a fortnight Prince Edward was again quite well.
The false Emir sent messengers to Edward to say that he was sorry that the prince had been wounded, and was glad that he was better. But Edward no longer trusted the Emir. He looked gravely at the messengers. “You bow before me,” he said, “but you do not love me, therefore go.”
And they were allowed to go in peace. Although Edward’s soldiers longed to be revenged upon them and kill them, the prince would not allow it.
After this Edward did not stay long in Palestine. He heard that his father was ill, so he made a ten years’ peace with the Sultan, as the king of the Turks is called, and sailed back to England. On his way home he heard of his father’s death. He knew that that meant he was now King of England, but he was very sad, for Edward had loved his father, although he could not help knowing that in many things he was foolish and untrustworthy.
EDWARD I.—THE LITTLE WAR OF CHALONS
IN the days when knights wore armor and fought with sword and lance, they used often to play at war, as if they had not real fighting enough.
These mock wars were called tournaments. They took place in a great open
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