I was in Stamford in the year of the Great Charter of King John. Half the knights and barons of all England with a goodly following of men-at-arms and yeomanry had been assembled under the banner of our stout Marshal, Fitz Walter, and had seized by force and arms full many royal castles. Now, at the end of a truce which to no avail had been secured by the Archbishop, we were ready to march towards London to bring to terms our most crafty and tyrannic lord and king. For years he had dealt in plots and scheming to overreach the great and strong among the baronry, and from the weaker seized their lands and goods at will and oft threw their persons into durance to further his gross ends of gain or vengeance. Now some hundreds of the barons of the North, with a dozen or more of us from the West counties and the Welsh Marches, and a sprinkling of churchmen, who no less than ourselves had suffered from the King’s o’erreaching, were gathered in Bermondsey Hall to agree, if we might, upon a scroll of the grievances that the King must remedy when our further assaults should have forced him to sue for peace.

Geoffrey, Lord of Carleton and Teramore, leader of a hundred lances and half a thousand bowmen, rose from his seat amid a clamor of disputing voices and saluted the Marshal and the assembled company.

“I propose, my lords and gentlemen,” he said in that high, sweet voice of his which yet is far-heard and commanding, “the name of Sir Cedric De La Roche, Knight of Grimsby and bold defender of our Western Marches, for the fifth and final member of this group. He is a brave man and true; and hath, as we often say in the West, a head as well as an arm. He is both soldier and scholar, forsooth, and knoweth more of the Latin tongue than any layman among us. You have named Sir Richard of Mountjoy to serve you in this matter because, three months agone, he took the Castle of Tournoy which the King’s men were strongly holding with greater forces than his own and from whence they might have sorely threatened us. But most of you know not that ’twas Cedric De La Roche who gained entrance to the castle in disguise, and full well deceived the garrison, then at midnight overpowered, gagged and bound the sentinel at a little postern gate, threw it open and admitted the Mountjoys. Lacking him and his stratagem we might still be hammering at the walls of Tournoy and our whole campaign be sore delayed.”

“For the Latin we have the Abbot of Moberley,” said old Lord Esmond from his seat on one of the benches at the right. “What need have we of another clerk?”

“The Reverend Abbot,” answered Carleton, “will do the cause good service, I doubt not, in making clear for our Commissioners the substance of old scrolls and charters which they must study, and mayhap in inditing in fair Latin hand the articles which we present to the King. In his hands we may be sure the interests of his order, and particularly of the Abbey of Moberley, will not suffer. But I say ’tis well that we of the baronage have a representative of our own number who can see that this scroll, for which we risk our lives and fortunes, truly and amply provides for remedy of the wrongs we suffer.”

“And I say,” shouted Lord Esmond, springing to his feet the instant Carleton had finished, “that if we are to have a representative of our order in the inditing of this scroll, as my Lord Carleton says, we should have a representative indeed. De La Roche is a true man and a capable soldier, as none will deny; but we have here many lords and gentlemen of longer service and of purest Norman blood. The Knight of Grimsby, as all may know, is yeoman and Saxon born. Such a man, be he never so learned, must ever think as the folk from whom he sprung and can never rightly guard our rights and privileges.”

For an hour we had debated of our wrongs and the measures that should put an end to them, each speaker being fiercely bent upon the thing that should lift the oppression that had borne most heavily upon him and caring little for aught else. But finally ’twas seen that the whole assembly could accomplish naught but argument and loud bickering, and that the writing of the scroll must be done by a few chosen men who should later bring their work before the whole body of leaders for their assent and undertaking. Two of the oldest of the northern leaders, the Baron De Longville and the Lord of Esmond, had been first named, then the learned and courtier-like Abbot of Moberley who was beneath the insurgent banner because of the King’s high-handed procedure in the matter of Moberley Abbey, where, during the absence on pilgrimage of the rightful holder, he had declared the abbacy vacant and conferred it with all its lands upon one of his shameless favorites from Normandy. A moment before, my own name had been added to the list in recognition of the services of the Western lords that had well broken the power of the King in all their countryside.

Following Lord Esmond’s bitter speech, came shouts of approval from some of the other northerners; and it seemed like that my old friend and comrade would be deprived of the honor which Geoffrey of Carleton had sought to have conferred upon him. But the venerable De Lacey, long the Lord High Constable of England, and still a power in the land, though bent and snowy-haired with age, rose slowly to his feet and addressed the Marshal and the company:

“My lords: ’tis well for those to talk who know whereof they speak. Years agone I knighted Cedric De La Roche for knightliest service at the Battle of the Pass where verily he changed defeat to victory. Since that time he hath many a time and oft served under me and others, always to the welfare of the Kingdom and the enhancement of his name. Lord Esmond says that Cedric De La Roche comes not of noble family. I ask of you, my lords, who made our families noble but some hard-smiting ancestors we had that served not better, I warrant you, than this man of whom we speak. And I have seen his lands of Grimsby and the stout and loyal men who do willingly follow him, and know full well he can think and plan as well as strike. Finally, my lords, ’tis not the tale of his father’s or his grandfather’s deeds but of his very own that should guide the choosing of a man for a time of need.”

At this, still louder shouts burst forth, especially from the younger men; and some did loudly call Sir Cedric’s name, insisting that he serve. When partial silence came once more, the Marshal brought all question to an end by announcing all the names of the group and ending with that of Cedric De La Roche. Then, it being near the supper hour, the company broke up amid cheering and noisy overthrow of benches and the clamor of many voices in eager talk of the day’s events.

The meeting next day of the group that should do the writing of the scroll was scarcely better than that of the whole assembly. Esmond and De Longville disputed long and loud over exemption from the tax levied for the French war; and some suggestions that we others made for the Kingdom’s better ordering went all unheeded in the din. The Abbot, smiling and crafty as always, patiently awaited the time, so sure to come, when noise and clamor should exhaust itself, and his own smooth-spoken counsel should prevail. He had with him a copy of the old charter of the First Henry; and Cedric a draft of some of the laws of Edward the Confessor which he believed should be included. At last, when ’twas seen that we made no headway, my own voice was for a moment listened to; and ’twas agreed that our two scholars, the Abbot and Cedric De La Roche, should work together, making from the ancient laws and grants, with such additions as were found needful, the articles we should put before the King.

With all my comradely thought for Cedric, I could but smile as I thought of the task that now confronted him. I knew well that he had certain cherished plans with regard to these articles whereby he hoped to gain for the commons some of the privileges and immunities which he regarded as the natural rights of freeborn men. Often and often he had declaimed to me of these things, and with such eloquence and conviction as well nigh made me a convert to his party—if that could be called a party which had no leaders and no program and scarce a voice save his own. The commons knew no other way of protest against the wrongs they suffered than such violent and fruitless revolts as that of the churls of De Lancey Manor, with mayhap the killing of a tyrannous noble and the later hunting down and hanging of the leaders of the mob. Cedric had for years maintained that their natural rights should be assured to them by charter and not left to the caprice of some careless or greedy overlord.

But the Abbot of Moberley was allied by blood and by early training to powerful Norman families; and ’twas likely that he had but little sympathy with any such ideas. Handsome, learned and eloquent, he was accustomed to win his way among rough and heavy-handed lords and barons and the little better schooled officials of the royal courts by the skill and grace of his address, and yet more, if all rumors were true, by a readiness to shift his allegiance to any cause in accordance with circumstance and his own prevailing interest. In truth, he had been bred for the law as much as for the Church; and his great services to his order, which had been amply rewarded with power and place, were those performed in court or council rather than in church or monastery.

At this very time, Lord Geoffrey of Carleton, Cedric and I had reason to suspect the Abbot of secret communications with the Archbishop, who was still nominally of the King’s party, and who would perhaps have much to do with the final shaping of our articles if ever we should force the King to consent to their sealing. ’Twas evident that the rights of churchmen would not be overlooked in the final treaty; and, although this too had our approval, we were the more determined that those of other estates should also be well guarded.

On the morrow, nevertheless, it seemed certain that this co-working of two such diverse men would be effective, and that we would soon be prepared to take before the assemblage of leaders the completed scroll. The Abbot and Cedric De La Roche came late to our meeting, and still debating hotly on the way; but they brought a list of articles they had most cunningly devised for the remedy of the ills of which we most loudly complained. The Abbot read them to us clearly and with most just accent, like the learned speaker that he is; and I think the two old northern lords were mightily impressed with the power and worth of words so skillfully marshalled. When he had finished we might have then and there adopted the articles and ended our labors. But at the end of his reading, the Abbot said:

“My lords, I wish to testify that from Sir Cedric De La Roche I have received most welcome assistance in the drawing of this scroll, both in the reading of the ancient laws and charters and in the devising of new provisions toward the wise and just ordering of the Kingdom. Nevertheless, upon some minor points we have not yet agreed; and upon these he wishes to address you.”

Sir Cedric rose to his feet, and for a moment looked from one to the other of our company. His fine and open countenance and clear blue eyes and the martial squareness of his broad shoulders would have won him high regard in any great assembly. It seemed to me at that moment that the youth whom I had first known as a forester of Pelham and whom I had seen rise to knightly dignities, well deserved, was at the summit of his career when those whose decisions were weighty in the affairs of our time awaited his words on a matter of such moment. Baron De Longville was looking at Cedric with no unfriendly eye; but the Lord of Esmond, who had wished to adopt the articles at once, frowned with impatience at the end of the Abbot’s speech, and now gazed moodily at the floor.

“My lords,” began Cedric clearly, “we have as the twentieth of these articles—‘Let no Sheriff or Bailiff of the King take horses or carts of any free man for doing carriage except with his own consent.’ Upon the next page we have the provision—‘Let not the body of a baron, knight or other noble person be taken, or imprisoned or disseized, or outlawed or banished, or in any way destroyed, nor let the King go or send upon him by force, except by the judgment of his peers or by the law of the land.’ These things are just and right, but to my thinking they go not far enough. Why should we not deserve the good wishes for the triumph of our cause and the strong right arms not only of the baronage but of all the freemen of England? Why should not these provisions be altered to guard their rights also?”

Lord Esmond raised his head and gazed sharply at Cedric’s face.

“And how would’st thou amend them,” he growled.

“I would say, in the first instance, ‘Let no Sheriff or Bailiff of the King nor any other person take horses or carts of any free man for doing carriage except with his own consent.’ And in the second, would have the words a free man in place of baron, knight or other noble person, so that it would read: ‘Let not the body of a free man be taken or imprisoned or disseized, or outlawed’—and the rest.”

“Mayhap these churls have made thee their spokesman,” sneered Esmond.

“Nay,” replied Cedric, “I speak for no party, whether high or low, but for the common good of England.”

Lord Esmond turned with sour and vinegary look first to De Longville, then to the Abbot.

“What did I say in the Assembly? This man hath no conception of the rights of our order. All his concern is for churls and clowns.”

Cedric grew very red, and his hand went to his sword hilt. I sprang up to address our chief, De Longville, and placed myself between the Knight of Grimsby and the fiery old lord from the North.

“My lords,” I cried, “we gain nothing by arguments that speedily pass into brawls. Come, let us vote upon these provisions. ’Tis the rightful way. To-morrow, or the next day at the furthest, we must take our report to the Assembly; and we should come to agreement.”

“’Tis so,” replied De Longville, “we waste our time in bickering. Come Esmond, what say’st thou as to these amendments?”

“I say nay,” shouted Esmond. “Let the articles even stand as they were.”

“And thou, Most Reverend Abbot?”

“I say nay,” replied the churchman quietly.

“And thou, Mountjoy?”

“Aye,” I answered loudly. “These changes seem to me to take naught from us and to be well conceived to gain us many friends.”

“De La Roche?”

“Aye.”

De Longville gazed first at the floor beneath his feet then at the ceiling overhead and bent his brows in a painful frown. At length he said:

“It seems I have the casting vote. I see little use in these changes, save to pamper churls and thralls that too often already raise their heads with complaints and demands. Some of them verily believe they might govern the land as well as their betters. ’Tis a dangerous tendency that must be checked. I say nay also.”

Lord Esmond turned toward Cedric with a smile of triumph; and my heart became as lead to think of his defeat. But the Knight of Grimsby was instantly on his feet again with a new proposal, which to my amaze he uttered with a broad and pleasant smile on his face, such as he might have worn had his amendings been received with utmost acclaim.

“Has the thought come to you, my lords, that in this scroll, thus far, we have made no provision for the enforcement of our demands? We deal with a strong and crafty monarch. Even if he place his seal upon our demands, what surety have we that he will adhere to them after our levies have been dispersed? He will then be stronger than any one or two or three of us. How shall we ensure his adherence to the treaty?”

The rest of us gazed at one another in silence. This was a new thought, it seemed, to our whole assembly; and none could deny the seriousness of the question. At last De Longville spoke again:

“And hast thou, Grimsby, given thought to this so that thou canst now produce a remedy?”

“Not on the instant, my lord; but in the main my thought is this: In this instrument itself must be provision for its enforcement. The King must agree that a body of ten or a score or more of us shall be named by ourselves; and that these shall be responsible to see that the charter be not impaired or overridden. In another night I can form the language to carry this provision into our articles.”

Then the Abbot spoke, suggesting that Sir Cedric be instructed to do this; and finally, on motion of mine, the articles were back referred to Cedric and the Abbot with instruction to bring to our meeting, at two o’ the clock on the following day, a fair and perfect copy that we might adopt and place before the assembled leaders.

’Twas then high noon. As we left the Council Hall, Sir Cedric took me by the arm and insisted that I come to his inn for the midday meal. There was in his inviting a special urgency and a look in his eyes from which I who knew him so well of old instantly gained the knowledge that this was no ordinary matter of courtesy but something of vastly greater moment. So I easily suffered myself to be led toward his quarters; and soon we were seated at a board that was graced with a goodly roast and all other due refreshment.

When we had something satisfied our hunger, and the old serving man who waited on us had departed, Cedric bent toward me across the board to say:

“What sayest thou, Sir Richard, to a ride of a dozen leagues or so and a little adventure whereby, if Fortune favors, we may do our cause full loyal service?”

“With all my heart!” I cried, “whither shall we ride, and on what errand?”

’Twas two months and more since we had seen activity; and this dull life of the camp and the town was little to my liking. Sir Hubert Gillespie had lately struck a blow for the King by the surprise and capture of two strong castles in the Midlands that we had thought safely in our hands, while we with our brave array at Stamford consumed the days and our dwindling substance in idleness.

“’Tis one that’s something dangerous, forsooth,” replied my friend, “and I doubt much whether our elderly and prudent leaders would approve it.”

“Say no more, for Mountjoy is with thee to the hilt. What followers shall I bring, and with what arms?”

“A dozen lusty swordsmen—men still young and light on the feet and with heads to understand a stratagem. Dickon and John o’ the Wallfield and Elbert the Smith are the right sort. See that every man wears beneath his outer garment a coat of linked mail and carries a sword no longer than his arm. Within the hour I will meet thee at the beech wood thou knowest to the south of the town; and will bring a like number of the men of Grimsby. We shall ride hard and far; so look to it, I pray thee, that thy men be well mounted. We may have cause for speed on the homeward road.”

An hour later, with four and twenty proper men, Cedric and I rode out of the beech wood, and took the high road toward the south, where, but five or six leagues away, the castles and most of the towns were still in the hands of the King’s mercenaries. I knew full well that the quest on which we were embarked was one that meant our cause’s advancement, and would have willingly trusted Cedric for the rest; but now we drew ahead of our horsemen, and he explained full clearly his design. ’Twas such a plan as only Cedric would have formed, and its outcome in truth, exceeding dubious; but we were comrades of old in many a venture that would have been refused by prudent men; and now he had no labor in convincing me that this was worth the trial.

After an hour’s riding, we came to a thick wood, and turned aside in this into a little glade where we halted to rest our mounts and to bring about a most surprising change in our appareling. At a word from Cedric, each of the Grimsby men proceeded to withdraw from his saddle bags some garments which, being unfolded, appeared as the long gray cloaks and hoods of palmers. Each, it seemed, had brought a costume for himself and for one of the Mountjoy men; and now, in less time than the telling takes, we had all laid aside among the bracken any headwear or other dress that might not properly consort with these, and stood forth as a body of pilgrims in the dress that marked those who had accomplished the toilsome journey to the Holy Land. Soon we were on the road again, and, save for now and again the rattle of a sword hilt or a robust, laughing word, might not have been distinguished from a cavalcade of devout returning pilgrims such as were not uncommon on our roads.

Without mishap we pursued our way into a region where all the points of vantage were held by our enemies; and where armed parties, far too strong for our gainsaying, patrolled the roads or watched them from the hilltops. In the late afternoon we came within sight of the Castle of Moberley which was held for the King by Sir John Champney with a hundred lances and six score cross-bowmen.

On the left, and but half a mile from the castle, lay the Abbey where William De Bellair, favorite of the King, renegade cleric and forsworn Crusader, held usurping sway over the monks and lay brethren and the fields and vineyards that had been the rightful domain of our associate at Stamford whom we still greeted as the Abbot of Moberley.

At a like distance from Moberley Castle was a fork in the road just beyond a timbered bridge o’er a stream. There the left-hand track led to the Abbey and that on the right went straight to the castle gates. At the full trot we took the former turning, and soon were calling for admittance at the Abbey doors.

This, to a devoted band of pilgrims, was not long denied. The gates were thrown ajar, and, leaving two trusty fellows to care for the horses in the outer courtyard, we passed into the refection hall of the monastery to pay our respects to this venerable seat of piety and learning. Our worthy palmers scattered themselves about the great room with its low timbered ceiling and mighty fireplace, and engaged in talk with the monks or in reverent examining of the painted series on the walls, the work of an earnest though not too highly skilled lay brother, and setting forth the story of Joseph and his brethren.

After a little, Sir Cedric, acting as our leader, sent word to the Abbot whom we had not yet seen, that here was a group of a score and more of palmers who now paid their first visit to the far-renowned Abbey of Moberley and who wished to have speech with the reverend master of the house ere they departed. This message, with its accompanying compliments, accomplished its intent; and soon William De Bellair, in all the robes of his office, entered the hall from an inner door and seated himself in his great chair on the dais.

If ever the character and history of a man were written on his face, ’twas so with the false Abbot of Moberley. My gorge rose within me at the sight of his red and bloated countenance that told so plainly of a life the very opposite of that led by a true monk and churchman. His mean and shifty little gray eyes were all but covered with folds and wrinkles of fat, yet quite sufficiently revealed a nature compounded of fox and pig. De Bellair was one of a group of dissolute Frenchmen who had won the favor of the King and the hatred of true Englishmen by supporting our lawless and grasping sovereign in all his schemes for the seizure of power and wealth. It was against them nearly as much as the King that our banner of revolt had been raised; and in our Articles of Stamford we had already named a half dozen of the worst of them who must be deprived of all offices and banished from the Kingdom. ’Twas no blame to the Church that such miscreants profaned some of her holy offices. In defiance of her rights of ancient usage, they had been thrust by their royal master into the places they disgraced, oftentimes in reward for services which would not bear recording.

“Reverend Father,” said Cedric, bowing low, “we congratulate ourselves upon our visit to this ancient and honorable abbey; and we have here some gifts and tokens to bestow upon thee as the head of this worthy brotherhood.”

De Bellair bowed deeply in acknowledgment of this greeting. When he raised his head again, what was his amaze and horror to find that he that had addressed him so respectfully had sprung upon the dais, pulled from his shoulders the palmer’s cloak, and now rushed upon him as a hound upon his quarry. In an instant the long gray robe was flung o’er the Abbot’s head and arms, and despite his struggles and cries a rope was speedily bound about his middle, pinioning his hands to his sides. Then he was lifted bodily and hurried toward the courtyard door. Some of the monks set up a hideous outcry, and one or two sought to intercept those who carried the bound and struggling Abbot; but where they thought to deal with unarmed pilgrims, they found themselves confronted with two and twenty stout fellows each of whom had drawn from beneath his flowing cloak a short-bladed sword and flourished it in most menacing way. They fell back before us, overawed, and understanding nothing of what had passed. Only one of the monastery people did preserve his wits at this amazing juncture, and this an acolyte youth of sixteen years. Slipping out of the hall and through the rear of the Abbey, he ran, as we afterwards learned to our cost, with might and main to take the news of this mad foray to the castle’s governor.

In the outer yard we spent some time in adjusting more firmly our captive’s bonds and in cutting slits through the cloak that bound his head so as to allow him to breathe but nowise to see and scarcely to make himself heard with calls for help. Then hoisting him with difficulty (for he was a gross, fat man) upon a stout charger whereon one of our own men rode behind him, we turned away from the Abbey and rode at such speed as we might on the road by which we came.

Our progress was slow at the first, for our prisoner sat most unevenly in his bonds; and we had no mind to let him fall by the way. And we had no more than fairly set out on the road when he began to shout and halloo in such wise that Dickon o’ the Wallfield, who rode behind him, was fain to bring him to understanding of his hopeless plight by a sharp prick from his poniard’s point. Thereafter he was silent; and we made better way; but withal most precious time had been lost. The night had already fallen, and with another quarter hour we might have won safely away. But as we approached the fork of the road we heard a thunder of hoofs coming from the castle. The riders were nearer the joining than we, and ere we could gain the bridge we heard their horses upon it and knew that Sir John Champney’s men were drawing up in battle array to meet us. As we surmised even then, Sir John had divided the force that he so hastily summoned to punish the supposed outlaws who seized the Abbot for a ransom, and had sent one party straight to the Abbey and led the other to this point to intercept us.

In the light from the great moon now rising, we could see that their numbers were more than twice our own. They were variously armed, as was to be expected with men who had been so abruptly summoned forth; but there were lances and steel caps enow and some had coats of mail. We sorely wished for the good broadswords we left behind at Stamford or the cross-bows with which a dozen of our party were so skilled. But now was not time for hesitation or for choosing of courses. Well we knew that in a trice the other party, riding from the Abbey gates, would be on our track and we would be taken in front and rear. With a mighty shout we rode down upon the bridge, trusting all to the darkness and the fury of our attack.

In a moment we were in the midst of a bloody mÊlÉe on the bridge. Our men thrust back their hampering robes, and hewed and slashed with deadly effect; but those opposing us were no weaklings nor novices in war. Sir John Champney slew two of our men with downright broadsword strokes and another was pierced through throat by a lance. I rode in a closer press of fighting than I had seen since the Battle of the Pass; and once or twice was near beaten from my horse, though some of those that rained their blows on me fared worse indeed. Then Cedric came face to face with Sir John Champney, received a broadsword stroke on his uplifted, mail-clad arm, and countered with a blow that sent his enemy to earth.

Instantly the cry arose that Sir John was slain. Most of his followers were French and Flemish mercenaries; and now they melted away before us, fleeing to the fields on either side of the bridge or leaping to the shallow waters below. We paused long enough to learn that our men who had fallen were past all help; then rode forward at a gallop up the moon-lighted way, with our prisoner still safely bound and in our midst.

By the eleventh hour we entered again the wood where we had transformed ourselves to palmers; and ’twas the work of but a moment to change us back to knights and men-at-arms. By midnight we were safely in the town and had our prisoner properly bestowed. Then Cedric and I parted for the night,—I to go to my bed, and he, as the morrow showed, to labor by candle-light all through the hours of darkness.

At nine the next morning I was by appointment at Cedric’s lodging, and found that he had just despatched a messenger to the true Abbot of Moberley with an urgent request that he come at once since most important news awaited him from the Abbey itself. This message speedily accomplished its object, and the Abbot, standing not on ceremony, came hurrying to the lodgings.

We greeted him most courteously, and, when our guest was duly and comfortably seated, Cedric stated that riders had come in from Moberley the night before with the news of a most surprising happening. A band of a score or more of pilgrims returning from the Holy Land had entered the Abbey, and, doubtless being wroth at William De Bellair because he had forsworn himself by abandoning his vow to go an Crusade for the recovery of the Holy Sepulcher, had seized and bound him, and, overawing the monastery with weapons, had carried him away by force.

The Abbot listened to this tale of violence with sparkling eyes and with no hint of censure for those who had so roughly laid hands upon a cleric dignitary. When it was finished, indeed, he could scarce restrain his glee. Rising and smiting the table roundly with his hand, he cried:

“Ha! Well served! Well served indeed, for a creature that calls himself monk and abbot, forsooth, when profit is that way to be gained but who forgets all monkish obligations when a layman’s way of living better serves him! The palmers are right indeed, and I devoutly hope they may keep him for aye as far from Moberley Abbey as his conduct hath ever been from that of a true churchman.”

Cedric then resumed, in slow and measured voice:

“It so happens, Reverend Abbot, that I have several friends among these palmers, and to some extent they rely on me for advice in this matter.”

“Ah! Is it so indeed?” questioned the Abbot, eagerly. “Then I trust that thou, as a true friend of the Church and her rightful servitors, hast given advice to hold this fellow they have taken—at least till the King be brought to terms and our brotherhoods be free again to fill their offices without dictation.”

Cedric slowly shook his head.

“Nay, my advice has not yet been given. ’Twill require some further meditation to be sure that ’tis wisely bestowed. But, Reverend Abbot, if thou wilt but climb the stair that I shall show thee here and apply thine eye to a hole in the wall at the right, near the top, I warrant thee a sight well worth thy pains.”

So saying, Cedric rose and throwing open a small door at the rear of the room, indicated a dim and curving staircase that rose beyond it. The Abbot, after a searching glance at his host as though he feared some stratagem, quickly mounted, looking eagerly the while for the eye-hole in the wall. Both of us remained below; and Cedric, turning to a cabinet withdrew from it and placed upon the table a huge scroll of many sheets of freshly-written parchment.

A moment later, the churchman returned with brightly glowing face and twinkling eyes, and when the stairway door was closed again, exclaimed:

“Sir Cedric De La Roche, thou’rt a true friend to the Church, and thy services shall be well remembered. ’Tis William De Bellair, beyond all doubt, who sits in yonder inner room, and ’tis two archers of Grimsby who guard him. Full well do I know who led that band of palmers; and I say again thy fortunes shall not suffer for it.”

Cedric bowed and smiled.

“Ah well! ’Tis neither here nor there who led the palmers or whether they acted wholly of their own impulse. The thing of greatest moment now is this scroll of the articles which I have here in fair copy. Read it, I pray thee, and see whether thou wilt give thy voice for its adoption. Thou wilt see that I have introduced the provision for five and twenty barons who shall enforce the charter and also have written in some other matters that seem to us of moment.”

The Abbot took the scroll and quickly conned the pages whereon he and Cedric had on the first day of their labors come to full agreement. Then he came to the twentieth article, and ceasing reading, looked up at Cedric sharply.

“Thou hast here the wording for which thou did’st argue yesterday.”

“Aye, ’tis so,” answered Cedric, grimly, “read on.”

The Abbot complied, but quickly came to another stop.

“Let not the body of a free man be taken or imprisoned—” he read, “that again is the very language that was yesterday rejected.”

Cedric nodded in assent. “Read on,” he said.

For some pages the Abbot went on in silence. Then he uttered an exclamation of surprise, and paused to read again—this time aloud—an article that appeared near the end of the scroll.

“All the aforesaid customs and liberties which the King hath conceded, to be held in the Kingdom as far as concerns his relations to his men, all in the realm, as well ecclesiastics as laity, shall on their part observe toward their men.”

The Abbot leaped to his feet, his face red with wrath.

“What means this, De La Roche? Would thou have all these things for which we risk our lives and lands extended to every churl and varlet in the Kingdom?”

“Aye,” answered Cedric steadily. “And if thou’lt look abroad through our camp, thou’lt see some thousands of those same churls and yeomen that do risk their lives in this cause as much as thou or me.”

The Abbot shook his head with impatience.

“’Tis beyond reason, De La Roche. I cannot give my word for it.”

Cedric for a moment gazed out of window. Then he said to me:

“This keeping in durance of an ecclesiastic who was appointed to his place by the King and moreover stands high in his favor, is a difficult and dangerous business. ’Twill be better if we take him to the town’s edge and turn him loose to find his way back whence he came.”

The Abbot gazed at Cedric with parted lips and bated breath while one might have told two score. Then of a sudden he flung the parchment on the table and laughed full loud and long.

“Thou hast won, De La Roche. I yield me. Thou hast won and fairly. Thou’rt a most persuading speaker, I’ll be bound. I will go before our group this day, and make them adopt these articles whether they will or no. Then to-morrow I will speak for them before the whole assembly. Thou shalt see what I can do when I am well put to it. Depend upon it, the articles of that very scroll that lies before us will be the ones our party will present to the King. And thou, on thy part, shall have due watch and ward kept of thy prisoner, and see to it that he by no means gains his liberty until the King hath sealed our charter and pledged himself to interfere no more in our clerical elections.”

The Abbot was as good as his word. That afternoon he delivered such an address in eulogy of the articles as they appeared in this latest scroll as I had never heard before on any subject whatsoever. He marshalled all the arguments Cedric had used together with many more he had not thought on. His speech was filled with grace and eloquence and was of an enthusiasm that carried all away. He showed beyond all doubt the power that would accrue to our party through this inclusion of the rights of the commonalty in our charter. When he was done De Longville as strongly favored these provisions in the articles as on the day before he had opposed them. Lord Esmond grimly held his peace, though oft shaking his gray head in denial, and soon the scroll had been adopted by our vote of four to one. The following day our ardent champion made a yet more eloquent speech before the full assembly; and the articles were approved by acclamation.

All know the remainder of the tale of Magna Charta,—how the King, three days later, at Brackley where the articles were read to him, refused them with an oath, furiously declaring that the barons might as well have asked of him his kingdom,—how we resumed the war forthwith and the taking of his castles,—how the gates of London were opened to us and the King was at length brought to terms at Runnymede. There again ’twas Cedric De La Roche and the Abbot of Moberley who conferred with the Archbishop and the other commissioners of the King and satisfied themselves and us that the completed scroll that received the royal seal was to the same effect as our articles of Stamford and Brackley.

And now King John is dead, and little lamented, and a wiser sovereign rules the land. Already men begin to see how great a thing was done at Runnymede. ’Tis said that the Great Charter will be for centuries to come the basis of our English law, since it affirms with equal voice the rights of all our three estates,—the nobility, the clergy and the commons. It seems to me that later generations will find in its provisions the authority and the suggestion for many a reform that we dare not yet attempt, and that freer and happier men may date the beginning of better things to our bitter struggle with King John. If so be, may they think not overmuch of us that were noble born and fought for lordly privilege, but may they never forget that in our day there were true men of lowly birth who risked their all for the rights of their fellows. Of these was none more worthy of honor than he whom I am ever proud to call my friend and comrade,—Cedric, the Forester of Pelham.

THE END

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