A Clerk of Oxford, and His Adventures in the Barons' WarEverett-Green, Evelyn
History
A Clerk of Oxford, and His Adventures in the Barons' War
Everett-Green, Evelyn
Great Britain -- History -- Barons' War, 1263-1267 -- Juvenile fiction
It was no wonder that the brow of the Earl was often lined with care,
and that the glance of the eagle eye was often dimmed by clouds of
anxiety and presage of coming woe. The old trouble with Richard of
Gloucester was being repeated now with Gilbert, the son. Young as he
was, he would not brook the control of Leicester's guiding hand. He
resented his assumption of power, and was almost openly breaking away.
None knew better than De Montfort that if once Prince Edward were at
large, the whole Gloucester faction, and doubtless many more with them,
would go over to him in a body. Already the nation was forgetting its
grievances, and was pitying the royal captives. A spark would suffice in
many quarters to cause an explosion of anger against him and his
"usurpation" of practical monarchy; and yet, as matters now stood, there
seemed nothing for it but for him, in the name of King and Council, to
sway the sceptre of the kingdom.
On New-Year's Eve a great banquet was to be held in the vast hall of
Kenilworth. Despite the carking care that was gnawing at the heart of
the Earl and Countess, the revelries of the season were kept up in full
measure. Nothing was omitted which had ever had place before, and the
close of the old year had always been celebrated by a great feast, which
was kept up until the new year had been ushered in with shouts and
songs and the draining of bumpers.
Alys and the Demoiselle had asked to witness the feast from the gallery
above, as upon another occasion now several years distant. And as the
Countess had no desire to be present herself, ready permission was given
them, and they established themselves there, with Amalric as their
companion, he having excused himself from sitting at the feast below.
Prince Edward was, however, there, seated upon the right hand of his
uncle. His handsome face wore a rather set expression, and although he
smiled and jested as the wine circulated and the huge dishes were
brought in one after the other by staggering servants, he continued to
wear the look of a man in whose head some great purpose lies.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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