Now and again, during the next century, apparently whenever the bridge needed serious repair, the Crown diverted the toll from the town of Derby and assigned it to local commissioners, as entered from time to time on the _Patent Rolls_. On 12th January, 1325, when Edward II. was at Melbourne, he granted, under privy seal to the bailiffs and good men of the town of Swarkeston pontage (bridge toll) for three years for the repair of the bridge across the Trent; the toll was to be taken by the hands of William Grave, of Swarkeston, Richard de Swarkeston, Thomas Davy, of Stanton, or their deputy, and the whole proceedings were to be under the supervision of the Prior of Repton. Before this time of three years had expired, namely, in December, 1327, Edward III., at the request of Robert de Stanton, granted to the bailiffs and men of Stanton and Swarkeston pontage towards the repair of the bridge between the two towns—it must have been considerably damaged, possibly of set purpose during the baronial disturbances towards the end of Edward II.’s reign—local commissioners being nominated to receive the toll, and the Prior of Repton being again appointed as supervisor. In 1338 pontage for four years was again assigned for repair purposes to the good men of Swarkeston. Eight years later the pontage was granted for three years to the bailiffs and good men of the town of Derby, to be taken by the hands of John, son of Adam de Melbourne the elder, and John, son of Adam de Melbourne the younger, on things for sale passing over Swarkeston Bridge, for the repair of the said bridge. There is little more written history of the bridge than that here cited, but it would not be right to omit the romantic legend as to its origin, which is so widely current and so generally believed that it is perhaps worthy of a qualified acceptance until some historical fact is found to take its place. The legend bears the stamp of probability, and it seems too good to be entirely an invention—at any rate, of modern times. Once upon a time, then, according to this dateless tradition, a large and gay party was celebrating at Swarkeston Hall the betrothal of the two daughters of the lord of the manor. Tilting, hunting, hawking, and other mediæval sports had been enjoyed freely for several days, when the festivities were abruptly disturbed by an urgent summons for the lord of the manor and the two knightly lovers forthwith to join an assembly of the barons who were engaged in a hot dispute with a tyrannical King. Never, perhaps, did public spirit clash more disagreeably with personal preference; but the call of national duty was promptly answered.