"Thou hast it in thy power, best one, to obviate thine own objections and to bless the loyal hamlet that protected thy seclusion, by giving them so gracious a mistress."

Tears of grat.i.tude filled the eyes of the queen, as looking affectionately upon her husband she replied, "How lost were Eleanora to the love of G.o.d did she not daily thank Him for making her the wife of one who finds his own happiness in promoting the welfare of his subjects."

"Not all his subjects regard him with thy partial fondness," said the king. "Our brother, Alexander of Scotland, has refused to renew the oath of homage, which his ancestor made to Henry II. for his crown, and will attend our coronation only as kingly guest; while the bold Llewellyn refuses to set foot in London."

"The troublous period through which the realm so lately pa.s.sed, pleads their best excuse for these unjust suspicions," suggested the queen. "When the wisdom and magnanimity of my Edward shall become known, they will learn to trust their interest in his hands with the confidence of va.s.sals."

"Thou would'st fain persuade me," said Edward, laughing, "that I may love my enemies."

"I would persuade thee," said Eleanora, with a smile of confident affection, "to make thine enemies thy friends. Suspicion ever breeds hatred. There be many warm, true hearts in England, at this hour, who, having followed the fortunes of Leicester, for what they deemed the public good, are withheld by fear, from uttering the shout of loyalty."

"And how would'st thou purpose that I should bind them to their allegiance?" said Edward, curiously.

"By the same rule that our blessed Lord restored this fallen world,"

returned the queen, timidly. "He declareth his love toward us, even while we are sinners, and thus we learn to confide in Him."

"Verily, there seems truth in what thou sayest," said the king, thoughtfully; "but it were a thing unheard of--for a ruler to ill.u.s.trate the principles of forgiveness, and place his kingdom at the mercy of traitors."

"The good St. Louis," urged Eleanora, almost fearful of pressing the matter too far, "leaned ever to the side of mercy; and no king of France hath enjoyed a more peaceful or glorious reign."

"It shall be as thou sayest," said Edward, after a pause, during which he gazed upon her pleading countenance, whose every feature mirrored the intense interest of her heart in the welfare of their subjects, and the honor of her lord. "It shall be as thou sayest. Heaven cannot suffer me to err in this matter, since it hath sent an angel for my counsellor." Then resuming his accustomed tone of affectionate pleasantry, he added, "Thou think'st it well, dearest, for a warrior like myself to perform some work of supererogation, to cancel the sins into which my love of power may yet lead me. But small merit may I claim for my clemency, since it were not in the nature of man to withstand the sweet earnestness with which thou dost enforce thy gentle counsels."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE CORONATION.

Nearly a century had elapsed since an occasion like the present had called together the different ranks and orders of the English population. Native Britons, Saxons, Danes and Normans, hereditary enemies, had, by years of unavoidable intercourse, and by a community of interests, been fused into one ma.s.s, and now vied with each other in manifesting their loyalty to a king in whose veins mingled the several streams of the great Scandinavian race. The independent Franklin, the stout yeoman from the country, and the rich citizen and industrious artisan, the curious va.s.sal, the stately knight, and lordly baron, alike instinct with love for feasting and holiday show, hastened to witness the ceremony.

The coronation of John had been unpopular, both from the well known malevolence of his disposition and the rival claims of his injured nephew.

That of Henry III. took place in a remote part of the kingdom, when a portion of the island was in the possession of the French, and the minds of the people were distracted between a fear of foreigners and a detestation of the reigning family. Not a man in the realm, therefore, could remember so grand a spectacle as the coronation of Edward and the beautiful Eleanora of Castile.

When the crown was placed upon their heads by the Archbishop of Canterbury, a murmur of joy arose from the a.s.sembled throngs; but when the herald stood forth and proclaimed an _indemnity_ to all those who had been engaged in the civil commotions of the former reign, and the repeal of the cruel statutes, that had made so many worthy citizens outlaws and aliens in the sight of their English homes, the enraptured mult.i.tude made the welkin ring with shouts of--Long live King Edward!--Long live our gracious Queen Eleanora!

Tears dimmed the beautiful eyes of the gratified queen, for she read in the enthusiastic acclamations with which the act of Indemnity was received, an incontrovertible testimony to the wisdom of the course she had so warmly advocated, and an earnest of the peace which this display of her husband's magnanimity would secure to his realm.

Foremost among those who hailed his accession, Edward discerned the commanding figure of the outlaw, who had so long and so successfully eluded his search. No sooner was he seated upon his throne, than he commissioned the lord-high seneschal to cause the mysterious personage to approach. As he came forward, and knelt at the monarch's feet, Eleanora recognized the tall knight to whom she owed her own life and her husband's liberty, and heard him with more pleasure than surprise announced as Dermot de la Clare.

"Rise, n.o.ble Clare!" exclaimed Edward, "to thee thy monarch owes his life and the security of his realm, and the honors and t.i.tles of thy house are henceforth restored, to which we add the forfeited manors of Leicester, not more a recompense for thy knightly service than a guerdon for the sweet affection of thy lovely daughter." Scarcely had Earl Dermot retired among the n.o.bles, who crowded around him with words of congratulation, when the monarch summoned Henry de Courtenay, and, in consideration of his services in the holy wars, created him Earl of Devon--whispering aside to the conscious n.o.ble, "Our gracious queen, who excelleth in charity, will give thee pity and dole of that which she hath in royal keeping, and for which thou wilt doubtless be more grateful than for all the lands of which we have this day made thee lord."

Other faithful va.s.sals of the crown were rewarded, and then the joyous mult.i.tude adjourned to the feasting and games, with which the day was closed; and the marriage of Eva and Sir Henry, which took place the following day, added another fete to the coronation festivities.

Among the various disorders to which the kingdom had fallen a prey during the weak and uncertain rule of Henry III., none excited more universal dissatisfaction, than the adulteration of the coin. As the Jews were the princ.i.p.al money-lenders in the kingdom all embarra.s.sments of this kind, were by common consent attributed to their characteristic avarice.

Edward's crusade to the Holy Land, had not softened his prejudices towards this people, who, more than the Infidels poured contempt upon the rites of Christianity. In his zeal for the public welfare he proscribed the obnoxious race and confiscated their estates to the crown, and banished no less than fifteen thousand valuable inhabitants from the kingdom.

Notwithstanding these rigorous measures he still retained in his employ certain of the hated sect to a.s.sist in the correction of the currency.

The trivial circ.u.mstance of a change in the form of the penny gave rise to some of the most important occurrences that transpired during his eventful reign.

The Welsh, deriving their ancestry from the early Britons, placed the most implicit confidence in the prophecies of Merlin, which in an oracular manner set forth the destiny of the nation. One of these half-forgotten traditions, a.s.serted that when the English penny should become round, a prince, born in Wales, should be the acknowledged king of the whole British island. No sooner, therefore, had the new coin begun to circulate west of the Menai, than the bards commenced to ring their changes upon the mysterious circ.u.mstance, and to inflate the minds of their countrymen with the hopes of conquest. The successes of Llewellyn, their prince, in reconquering all the territory that had been wrested from them by the Normans, gave great encouragement to their ambition.

Not availing himself of the act of indemnity the Welsh prince still maintained his allegiance to the party of the Montforts, and was plotting with the remaining adherents of that powerful faction for a.s.sistance from France. To intercept these hostile communications, Edward ordered his fleet into the channel under the command of Earl Dermot de la Clare, both to testify a regard for the Irish n.o.ble, and a confidence in his abilities. De Courtenay was residing with his bride at Exeter, when he received intelligence that the Earl of Clare was on his way to pay them a visit, and the following day Eva welcomed her father to her new home. The earl was accompanied by a lady whom he intrusted to his daughter's care, desiring that she might be kept in safety till Edward's pleasure concerning her should be known. At first the fair captive was inconsolable, but she at length found some alleviation of her grief in recounting her eventful history in the sympathizing ear of Eva, now Marchioness of Devon. The Lady Eleanora was the only daughter of Simon de Montfort, and inherited the firm and relentless characteristics of her house, which the sedulous instructions of her mother Eleanor Plantagenet had somewhat softened and subdued. Her brother Guy, having gained absolution from the terrible malediction of the church, had sought to carry out his plans of vengeance by making an alliance with the Welsh, and to cement the treaty, he had consented to bestow his sister upon Llewellyn, and the young lady was on her way to meet her bridegroom when her vessel was intercepted, and herself made prisoner by Earl Clare. Her position as the prospective Queen of Wales more than the enmity of her brother, made her fear the severity of her cousin, the King of England, but Eva a.s.sured her that the sentiments of Edward were characterized by the most generous chivalry, and that no feelings of malice or revenge could actuate him to any ungallant procedure against her. Notwithstanding the confidence with which Eva made this a.s.severation, the fair bride of Llewellyn listened with a faint smile of incredulity, and answered with a sigh, "Ah! lady, the poor daughter of de Montfort covets thine ignorance of the dark pa.s.sions that rankle in the human breast!" "Thy fair young face gives little evidence of experience in worldly ills," returned Eva, with some surprise. "Events, not years, confer experience," replied Elin, "and young as I am, I have marked cherished resentment ripen into deadly enmity. The unjust aspersion of Henry III. wrought upon the mind of my father, till it well nigh ruined the broad realm of England. Thou canst never know the bitter sorrow that weighed upon my mother's heart during all the cruel strife between her husband and her brother. I well remember," said the agitated girl, proceeding impetuously with her sad reminiscences, "the fatal day of Evesham--how, chilled with fear at my mother's agony, I laid aside my childish sports and crept cowering to a corner of her apartment in Kenilworth castle, while she paced the floor beseeching heaven alternately to spare her husband and save her brother.

O! it was terrible," added she, pressing her hands upon her eyes, while the tears gushed between her fingers, "when my brother Guy rushed in with the tidings of our father's defeat and death, and took his awful oath of vengeance." "Speak not of it," exclaimed Eva, shuddering in her turn at the recollection of the murder of young Henry, and the subsequent anathema p.r.o.nounced upon Sir Guy. "It is little pleasure to recall these dreadful scenes," said Elin, gloomily, "but thou mayst learn from my brief history how little hope I have in one who aspires to power or has aught to revenge." "But her gracious majesty Queen Eleanora," said Eva, "will delight to soothe thy sorrows, and the sweet companionship of her daughters will win thee to happier thoughts." "Nay, sweet lady, think me not ungrateful that I cannot trust thy kind presages. Whether it be a retribution, I know not, but since my grandsire's crusade against the Albigeois, evil has been the lot of our house. Hope, that seems ever to light the pathway of the young, hath never smiled on me." This despondency continued to depress the mind of the captive during all the period of her residence at Exeter, nor could Eva's ingenuity in devising schemes for her diversion, nor hopeful predictions concerning her future happiness with Llewellyn lure her to happier thoughts. But the courteous manner of Edward, when he came to receive his cousin and conduct her to Windsor, confirmed these promises; and the unaffected kindness of Eleanora, while it soothed her afflictions, had the effect to awaken some degree of confidence in the mind of the despairing maiden.

The capture of his bride infuriated Llewellyn beyond all bounds, and led him to invade England with the fiercest valor. His efforts were repulsed by the gallant conduct of the troops under the command of the Earl of Devon, and after four years of fruitless endeavor he consented to the required homage, and came to Worcester to claim his bride.

The cherishing sympathy of Eleanora had not been lost upon the heart of her stricken ward, and these years of tranquillity, the first the orphan Elin had enjoyed, so enhanced to her mind the blessings of peaceful security that she steadfastly refused to fulfil her engagement with Llewellyn, without his solemn pledge of continued amity to the English nation. When the bridegroom finding all other expedients in vain consented to the required homage, the King of England gave away his fair kinswoman with his own hand, and Eleanora supported the bride at the altar and presided at the nuptial feast with the affability and grace so peculiarly her own. The Prince and Princess of Wales then accompanied their suzerains to London and performed the stipulated ceremony, the Snowdon barons looking on fiercely the while, with the air of warriors who were resigning their ancient rights. This discontent gave rise to various murmurings.

They disdained the English bread, they were disgusted with the milk of stall-fed kine, they detested the acridity of the London porter, and they pined for the sparkling mead concocted from the honeyed sweets gathered from their own breezy hills. They saw that their national costume and dialect conferred an uncomfortable notoriety upon them, and they more than suspected that they were the objects of jeering contempt. They therefore endured with great impatience the protracted entertainments with which Edward honored his guests, and finally left their uncomfortable quarters murmuring with stifled imprecations, "We will never more visit Islington except as conquerors." The unremitting influence of Elin, notwithstanding, counteracted the complaints of the malcontents, and Llewellyn religiously maintained friendly relations with England during her brief life. This interval of uninterrupted peace was employed by Eleanora in prompting her husband to measures for the public good, and England long enjoyed through the wise administration of her beneficent sovereign a respite from those evils under which the nation had groaned since the Norman conquest. By a royal patent Edward erected boroughs within the demesne lands and conferred upon them liberty of trade, and profiting by the example of Leicester, permitted them to send representatives to parliament, which was the true epoch of the House of Commons--the first dawn of popular government in England. The lower or more industrious orders of the state were thus encouraged and protected, and an interest in the commonwealth diffused through all the ranks of society.

CHAPTER IX.

CONQUEST OF WALES.

The death of Joanna, mother of Eleanora, leaving the domains of Ponthieu and Aumerle, made it necessary for the king and queen to visit France, to do homage to Philip the Bold for their new possessions. They pa.s.sed several months on the continent ordering the affairs of their feudaltories, but their return was hastened by tidings of fresh disturbances in Wales.

On her arrival at Windsor her daughter, Joanna of Acre, presented the queen with a letter which she said had been brought to the castle by a strange-looking priest who refused for some time to give it into any hand save that of Eleanora, but who was finally persuaded to intrust the precious doc.u.ment to herself on her promise to deliver in person to her mother. The letter was from Elin the Princess of Wales. It read as follows:--"To my gracious sovereign Lady Eleanora of England the wife of Llewellyn sendeth love and greeting.

"I had hoped once more to see the face of my n.o.ble mistress, and to visit the scenes hallowed by the first happy hours of my sad life. I had thought to crave thy blessing on my lovely infant, for my lord had promised that on the return of spring we should be conveyed to England, and this hath cheered me through the weary hours of sickness and languishing when my heart hath pined for the sweet communion which I sometimes enjoyed in the castle at Windsor. But the hills are already changing under the softening airs of spring, and my step is more feeble and my breath more faint, and I no longer indulge the antic.i.p.ation of thanking thy goodness for the pleasant thoughts with which thy holy counsels hath blessed my memory. But I am resigned to die! and I know that before the flowers come forth my sad heart will find rest in the grave. One anxiety alone disturbs the serenity of my few remaining days.

"Already my little Guendoline returns her mother's smile. Who will cherish her infant years and guide her youthful footsteps to those fountains of peace which the light of thine example hath so lately revealed to my erring sight?

"Struggling with weakness and pain, thy dying Elin pens this last earnest prayer. Let the damsel abide with thee. Let her be nurtured in the practice of those gentle virtues which her obdurate race have abjured.

"Commend me to Edward, our sovereign, and those fair daughters that cl.u.s.ter round thy board and gladden thy life with their smiles. Again let me beg a place in thy heart for my orphan child, and oh! remember in thy prayer the soul of the exile, who from thy lips first learned to hope in the mercy of Heaven."

The letter bore the date of March, and it was now early June, and to Eleanora's anxious inquiries for further tidings concerning the lady Elin and her child no answer could be given. The king however had better sources of information. Scarcely was he recovered from the fatigue of travel when the lords were summoned in council to deliberate upon the pet.i.tion of David and Rodric, brothers of Llewellyn, who had applied to the English court for a.s.sistance.

From these barons Edward learned that the Welsh prince had violated the promise made to his princess on her death-bed, of conveying their daughter to the care of Eleanora, and that stimulated by the songs of the bards and the long-smothered anger of the malcontent barons, he had resolved to break his oath of allegiance to the King of England, and had dispossessed his brothers of their inheritance as a punishment for their loyalty.

The council decided to a.s.sist David and Rodric in the recovery of their possessions, and Edward not displeased with the occasion of making an absolute conquest of the country, advanced with his army into Wales.

The English at first suffered some reverses, but in the great battle of Builth, Llewellyn was slain, his forces put to flight, and the gold coronet taken from his head was offered by Prince Alphonso at the shrine of Edward the Confessor. But the war was not yet ended. Prince David now claiming the t.i.tle of king, as the heir of his brother, a.s.sumed the command of the Welsh, and it needed the constant presence of Edward to keep down the rebellious spirit of the people. The same steadfast affection which had supported Eleanora during the tedious hours of her anxious sojourn in the wilds of Devon, and that had prompted her to brave the varied dangers of the Syrian campaign, led her now to follow her lord's fortunes through the rugged defiles and rocky fastnesses of the Welsh mountains.

For her security, Edward built and fortified the strong castle of Caernarvon, which now, after the lapse of nearly six centuries, presents the same external appearance as on the day when Queen Eleanora first entered its stupendous gateway in company with her royal lord.

The battlements with which the walls were defended, stand unchanged in their h.o.a.ry strength and grandeur, and the statue of Edward I., carved to the life, still protects the entrance of the castle, and with its drawn dagger, menaces the intruder who would venture within its guarded precincts. The eagle tower yet nestles in the defences of the rocks, though the royal fledglings have deserted the comfortless eyrie of Snowdon for the softer luxuries of Windsor Castle and Hampton Court, and the oaken cradle of the second Edward, suspended by ring and staples from carved supporters, yet occupies its little nook in the secluded chamber where his infant eyes first opened on the light. Eleanora's experience of the conquering power of love, made her solicitous to employ a Welsh attendant for her son, but such was the fear which her husband's name had inspired among the families of the fierce mountaineers that she was forced to abandon the project till accident procured for the amiable queen the domestic she needed not only, but threw into her hands the fate of Wales.

From the irregular surface of their territory the Welsh were necessarily a pastoral people, and their simple manner of life exposed them to certain defeat when the conquest of their country was steadily and prudently pursued by the well-trained warriors of England. But like the hardy sons of all mountainous districts, the Welsh seemed to inhale the spirit of liberty from the free breath of their native hills, and hunted as they were from one retreat to another, they still rallied around their ancient standard, and listened with rapture to predictions of their future greatness. Edward followed them with untiring patience through rugged defiles and rocky fastnesses till his heavy armed troops were ready to sink with fatigue.

Everywhere they found evidences of the straits to which the miserable inhabitants were reduced. Deserted hamlets, abandoned fields, and famishing animals, betokened the last extremity of suffering. It was just at night-fall when they came suddenly upon a strong body posted within the narrow precincts of a valley.

The lowing of the herds that began to suffer from the want of forage, was the first sound that attracted the attention of the English scouts, and by a circuitous path the whole detachment were conducted to a position commanding a full view of the enemy. The bivouac consisted of rude huts or booths, constructed for shelter rather than defence, in and around which sat barbarians in various att.i.tudes of attention or repose.

The watch-fires gleamed luridly upon the wild figures that circled around them, with dark and frowning brows, while from the centre of the encampment echoed the sounds of hoa.r.s.e voices, accompanied by the martial strains of music. The barbarous language made the song of the bards incomprehensible to the English, but they divined its spirit from the effect upon the rude auditors, who, at every pause in the agitating refrain, sprang to their feet, struck their spears upon their shields, and mingled their shrill voices in a responsive chorus of muttered vengeance.

In the enthusiasm which the patriotic songs awakened, Edward read the secret of the protracted resistance, and saw that the destruction of these bards would insure his conquest. The trumpets were immediately ordered to sound, and his army, wearied as they were, summoned their fainting energies and rushed to the conflict.

The Welsh, surprised in the midst of their fancied security, stood to their arms, and fought with the courage of desperation, the exhilarating strains of the bards rose to a shrill wail of agony, then sank in the voiceless silence of death.