One Snowy Night Page 3

  CHAPTER THREE.

  THE JEWISH MAIDEN'S VOW.

  "To thine own self be true! And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man."

  Shakespeare.

  "There's the Mayor sent orders for the streets to be swept clean, andall the mud carted out of the way. You'd best sweep afore your owndoor, and then maybe you'll have less rate to pay, Aunt Isel."

  It was Stephen the Watchdog who looked in over the half-door to givethis piece of information.

  "What's that for?" asked Isel, stopping in the work of mopping the brickfloor.

  "The Lady Queen comes through on her way to Woodstock."

  "To-day?" said Flemild and Derette together.

  "Or to-morrow. A running footman came in an hour ago, to say she was atAbingdon, and bid my Lord hold himself in readiness to meet her at theEast Gate. The vintners have had orders to send in two tuns of Gasconand Poitou wine; and Henry the Mason tells me a new cellar and chimneywere made last week in the Queen's chamber at Woodstock. Geoffrey theSumpter was in town yesterday, buying budgets, coffers, and bottles. Soif you girls want to see her, you had better make haste and get yourwork done, and tidy yourselves up, and be at the East Gate by noon orsoon after."

  "Get their work done! Don't you know better than that, Stephen? Awoman's work never is done. It's you lazy loons of men that stopworking and take your pleasure when night comes. Work done, indeed!"

  "But, Isel, I will finish de work for you. Go you and take yourpleasure to see de Queen, meine friend. You have not much de pleasure."

  "You're a good soul, Agnes, and it was a fine day for me when I took youin last winter. But as for pleasure, it and me parted company a smartlittle while ago. Nay, let the maids go; I'll tarry at home. You cango if you will.--Stephen! are you bound elsewhere, or can you come andlook after the girls?"

  "I can't, Aunt Isel; I'm on duty in the Bayly in half an hour, and whenI shall be free again you must ask my Lord or Master Mayor."

  "Never mind: the boys are safe to be there. Catch them missing a show!Now, Flemild, child, drop that washing; and leave the gavache [Note 1],Ermine, and get yourselves ready. It's only once in three or four yearsat most that you're like to see such a sight. Make haste, girls."

  There was little need to tell the girls to make haste. Flemild hastilywrung out the apron she was washing, and pinned it on the line; Erminedrew the thread from her needle--the entire household owned but one ofthose useful and costly articles--and put it carefully away; whileDerette tumbled up the ladder at imminent risk to her limbs, to flingback the lid of the great coffer at the bed-foot, and institute asearch, which left every thing in wild confusion, for her sister's bestkerchief and her own. Just as the trio were ready to start, Gerhardtcame in.

  "Saint Frideswide be our aid! wherever are them boys?" demanded Isel ofnobody in particular.

  "One on the top of the East Gate," said Gerhardt, "and the other playingat quarter-staff in Pary's Mead."

  Pary's Mead lay between Holywell Church and the East Gate, on the northof the present Magdalen College.

  "Lack-a-daisy! but however are the girls to get down to the gate? Idaren't let 'em go by themselves."

  The girls looked blank: and two big tears filled Derette's eyes, readyto fall.

  "If all you need is an escort, friend, here am I," said Gerhardt; "butwhy should the girls go alone? I would fain take you and Agnes too."

  "Take Agnes and welcome," said Isel with a sigh; "but I'm too old, Ireckon, and poor company at best."

  A little friendly altercation followed, ended by Gerhardt's decidedassertion that Agnes should not go without her hostess.

  "But who's to see to Baby?" said Derette dolefully.

  "We will lock up the house, and leave Baby with old Turguia," suggestedIsel.

  "Nay, she tramped off to see the show an hour ago."

  "Never mind! I'll stop with Baby," said Derette with heroicself-abnegation.

  "Indeed you shall not," said Ermine.

  A second war of amiability seemed likely to follow, when a voice said atthe door--

  "Do you all want to go out? I am not going to the show. Will you trustme with the child?"

  Isel turned and stared in amazement at the questioner.

  "I would not hurt it," pleaded the Jewish maiden in a tremulous voice."Do trust me! I know you reckon us bad people; but indeed we are not soblack as you think us. My baby brother died last summer; and my aimsare so cold and empty since. Let me have a little child in them oncemore!"

  "But--you will want to see the show," responded Isel, rather as anexcuse to decline the offered help than for any more considerate reason.

  "No--I do not care for the show. I care far more for the child. I havestood at the corner and watched you with him, so often, and have longedso to touch him, if it might be but with one finger. Won't you let me?"

  Agnes was looking from the girl to Gerhardt, as if she knew not what todo.

  "Will you keep him from harm, and bring him back as soon as we return,if you take him?" asked Gerhardt. "Remember, the God in whom we bothbelieve hears and records your words."

  "Let Him do so to me and more also," answered Countess solemnly, "if Ibring not the child to you unhurt."

  Gerhardt lifted little Rudolph from his mother's arms and placed him inthose of the dark-eyed maiden.

  "The Lord watch over thee and him!" he said.

  "Amen!" And as Countess carried away the baby close pressed to herbosom, they saw her stoop down and kiss it almost passionately.

  "Holy Virgin! what have you done, Gerard?" cried Isel in horror. "Don'tyou know there is poison in a Jew's breath? They'll as sure cast aspell upon that baby as my name's Isel."

  "No, I don't," said Gerhardt a little drily. "I only know that some mensay so. I have placed my child in the hands of the Lord; and He, not I,has laid it in that maiden's. It may be that this little kindness is alink in the chain of Providence, whereby He designs to bring her soul toHim. Who am I, if so, that I should put my boy or myself athwart Hispurpose?"

  "Well, you're mighty pious, I know," said Isel. "Seems to me you shouldhave been a monk, by rights. However, what's done is done. Let's begoing, for there's no time to waste."

  They went a little way down Fish Street, passing the Jewish synagogue,which stood about where the northernmost tower of Christ Church is now,turned to the left along Civil School Lane--at the south end of TomQuad, coming out about Canterbury Gate--pursued their way along SaintJohn Baptist Street, now Merton Street, and turning again to the leftwhere it ended, skirted the wall till they reached the East Gate. Herea heterogeneous crowd was assembled, about the gate, and on the top wereperched a number of adventurous youths, among whom Haimet was descried.

  "Anything coming?" Gerhardt called to him.

  "Yes, a drove of pigs," Haimet shouted back.

  The pigs came grunting in, to be sarcastically greeted by the crowd, whoimmediately styled the old sow and her progeny by the illustrious namesof Queen Eleonore and the royal children. Her Majesty was not verypopular, the rather since she lived but little in England, and was knowngreatly to prefer her native province of Aquitaine. Still, a show wasalways a show, and the British public is rarely indifferent to it.

  The pigs having grunted themselves up Cat Street--running from the eastend of Saint Mary's to Broad Street--a further half-hour of waitingensued, beguiled by rough joking on the part of the crowd. Then Haimetcalled down to his friends--

  "Here comes Prester John, in his robes of estate!"

  The next minute, a running footman in the royal livery--red and gold--bearing a long wand decorated at the top with coloured ribbons, sped inat the gate, and up High Street on his way to the Castle. In tenminutes more, a stir was perceptible at the west end of High Street, anddown to the gate, on richly caparisoned horses, came the Earl andCountess of Oxford, followed by a brilliant crowd of splendidly-dressedofficials. It was evident tha
t the Queen must be close at hand.

  All eyes were now fixed on the London Road, up which the royal cavalcadewas quickly seen approaching. First marched a division of the guard ofhonour, followed by the officials of the household, on horseback; thencame the Queen in her char, followed by another bearing her ladies. Theremainder of the guard brought up the rear.

  The char was not much better than a handsomely-painted cart. It had nosprings, and travelling in it must have been a trying process. But thehorses bore superb silken housings, and the very bits were gilt. [Note2.] Ten strong men in the royal livery walked, five on each side of thechar; and their office, which was to keep it upright in the mirytracks--roads they were not--was by no means a sinecure.

  The royal lady, seated on a Gothic chair which made the permanent seatof the char, being fixed to it, was one of the most remarkable women whohave ever reigned in England. If a passage of Scripture illustrative ofthe life and character were to be selected to append to the statue ofeach of our kings and queens, there would be little difficulty in thechoice to be made for Eleonore of Aquitaine. "Whatsoever a man soweth,that shall he also reap." She sowed the wind, and she reaped thewhirlwind. A youth of the wildest giddiness was succeeded by a middlelife of suffering and hardship, and both ended in an old age ofdesolation.

  But when Eleonore rode in that spring noon-day at the East Gate ofOxford, the reaping-time was not yet. The headstrong giddiness was alittle toned down, but the terrible retribution had not begun.

  The Queen's contemporaries are eloquent as to her wondrous lovelinessand her marvellous accomplishments. "Beauty possessed both her mind andbody," says one writer who lived in the days of her grandson, whileanother expatiates on her "_clairs et verds yeux_," and a third on her"exquisite mouth, and the most splendid eyes in the world." Her Majestywas attired with equal stateliness and simplicity, for that was not anera of superb or extravagant dress. A close gown with tight sleeves wassurmounted by a pelisse, the sleeves of which were very wide and full,and the fur trimming showed the high rank of the wearer. A long whiteveil came over her head, and fell around her, kept in its place by ajewelled fillet. The gemmed collar of gold at the neck, and the thickleather gloves (with no partitions for the fingers) heavily embroideredon the back, were also indicative of regal rank.

  The Queen's char stopped just within the gate, so that our friends hadan excellent view of her. She greeted the Earl and Countess of Oxfordwith a genial grace, which she well knew how to assume; gave her hand tobe kissed to a small selection of the highest officials, and then thechar passed on, and the sight was over.

  Isel and her friends turned homewards, not waiting for the after portionof the entertainment. There was to be a bull-baiting in the afternoonon Presthey--Christ Church Meadow--and a magnificent bonfire at night inGloucester Meadows--Jericho; but these enjoyments they left to the boys.There would be plenty of women, however, at the bull-baiting; as manyas at a Spanish _corrida_. The idea of its being a cruel pastime, oreven of cruelty being at all objectionable or demoralising, with veryfew exceptions, had not then dawned on the minds of men.

  They returned by the meadows outside the city, entering at the SouthGate. As they came up Fish Street, they could see Countess on a lowseat at her father's door, with little Rudolph on her knee, both partieslooking very well content with their position. On their reaching thecorner, she rose and came to meet them.

  "Here is the baby," she said, smiling rather sadly. "See, I have notdone him any harm! And it has done me good. You will let me have himagain some day?--some time when you all want to go out, and it will be aconvenience to you. Farewell, my pretty bird!"

  And she held out the boy to Agnes. Little Rudolph had shown signs ofpleasure at the sight of his mother; but it soon appeared that he wasnot pleased by any means at the prospect of parting with his new friend.Countess had kept him well amused, and he had no inclination to see anabrupt end put to his amusement. He struggled and at last screamed hisdisapprobation, until it became necessary for Gerhardt to interfere, andshow the young gentleman decidedly that he must not always expect tohave his own way.

  "I t'ank you"--Agnes began to say, in her best English, which was stillimperfect, though Ermine spoke it fluently now. But Countess stoppedher, rather to her surprise, by a few hurried words in her own tongue.

  "Do not thank me," she said, with a flash of the black eyes. "It is Iwho should thank you."

  And running quickly across Fish Street, the Jewish maiden disappearedinside her father's door.

  All European nations at that date disliked and despised the hapless sonsof Israel: but the little company to whom Gerhardt and Agnes belongedwere perhaps a shade less averse to them than others. They were to someextent companions in misfortune, being themselves equally despised anddetested by many; and they were much too familiar with the Word of Godnot to recognise that His blessing still rested on the seed of AbrahamHis friend, hidden "for a little moment" by a cloud, but one day toburst into a refulgence of heavenly sunlight. When, therefore, Flemildasked Ermine, as they were laying aside their out-door garb--"Don't youhate those horrid creatures?" it was not surprising that Ermine pausedbefore replying.

  "Don't you?" repeated Flemild.

  "No," said Ermine, "I do not think I do."

  "_Don't_ you?" echoed Flemild for the third time, and with emphasis."Why, Ermine, they crucified our Lord."

  "So did you and I, Flemild; and He bids us love one another."

  Flemild stood struck with astonishment, her kerchief half off her head.

  "I crucified our Lord!" she exclaimed. "Ermine, what can you mean?"

  "Sin crucified Him," said Ermine quietly; "your sins and mine, was itnot? If He died not for our sins, we shall have to bear them ourselves.And did He not die for Countess too?"

  "I thought He died for those who are in holy Church; and Countess is awicked heathen Jew."

  "Yes, for holy Church, which means those whom God has chosen out of theworld. How can you know that Countess is not some day to be a member ofholy Church?"

  "Ermine, they are regular wicked people!"

  "We are all wicked people, till God renews us by His Holy Spirit."

  "I'm not!" cried Flemild indignantly; "and I don't believe you areeither."

  "Ah, Flemild, that is because you are blind. Sin has darkened our eyes;we cannot see ourselves."

  "Ermine, do you mean to say that you see me a wicked creature like aJew?"

  "By nature, I am as blind as you, Flemild."

  "`By nature'! What do you mean? _Do_ you see me so?"

  "Flemild, dear friend, what if God sees it?"

  Ermine had spoken very softly and tenderly, but Flemild was not in amood to appreciate the tenderness.

  "Well!" she said in a hard tone. "If we are so dreadfully wicked, Iwonder you like to associate with us."

  "But if I am equally wicked?" suggested Ermine with a smile.

  "I wonder how you can hold such an opinion of yourself. I should notlike to think myself so bad. I could not bear it."

  Flemild entertained the curious opinion--it is astonishing how manypeople unwittingly hold it--that a fact becomes annihilated by a manshutting his eyes to it. Ermine regarded her with a look of slightamusement.

  "What difference would it make if I did not think so?" she asked.

  Flemild laughed, only then realising the absurdity of her own remark.It augured well for her good sense that she could recognise theabsurdity when it was pointed out to her.

  Coming down the ladder, they found Anania seated below.

  "Well, girls! did you see the Queen?"

  "Oh, we had a charming view of her," said Flemild.

  "Folks say she's not so charming, seen a bit nearer. You know Veka, thewife of Chembel? She told me she'd heard Dame Ediva de Gathacra say theQueen's a perfect fury when she has her back up. Some of the scenesthat are to be seen by nows and thens in Westminster Palace are enoughto set your hair on end. And her extravagance! Will
you believe it,Dame Ediva said, this last year she gave over twenty pounds for onerobe. How many gowns would that buy you and me, Aunt Isel?"

  At the present value of money, Her Majesty's robe cost rather more than500.

  "Bless you, I don't know," was Isel's answer. "Might be worth crackingmy head over, if I were to have one of 'em when I'd done. But there'spoor chance of that, I reckon; so I'll let it be."

  "They say she sings superbly," said Flemild.

  "Oh, very like. Folks may well sing that can afford to give twentypound for a gown. If she'd her living to earn, and couldn't put a bitof bread in her mouth, nor in her children's, till she'd worked for it,she'd sing o' t'other side her mouth, most likely."

  "Anania, don't talk so unseemly. I'm sure you've a good enough place."

  "Oh, are you? I dress in samite, like the Queen, don't I?--and eatsturgeon and peacocks to my dinner?--and drive of a gilt char when Icome to see folks? I should just like to know why she must have all thegood things in life, and I must put up with the hard ones? I'm as gooda woman as she is, I'm sure of that."

  "Cousin Anania," said Derette in a scandalised tone, "you should nottell us you're a good woman; you should wait till we tell you."

  "Then why didn't you tell me?" snapped Anania.

  "_I_ didn't tell you so because I don't think so," replied Derette withseverity, "if you say such things of the Queen."

  "Much anybody cares what you think, child. Why, just look!--tuns andtuns of Gascon wine are sent to Woodstock for her: and here must I makeshift with small ale and thin mead that's half sour. She's only to askand have."

  "Well, I don't know," said Isel. "I wouldn't give my quiet home for asup of Gascon wine--more by reason I don't like it. `Scenes atWestminster Palace' are not things I covet. My poor Manning waspeaceable enough, and took a many steps to save me, and I doubt if KingHenry does even to it. Eh dear! if I did but know what had come of mypoor man! I should have thought all them Saracens 'd have been dead andburied by now, when you think what lots of folks has gone off to kill'em. And as to `asking and having'--well, that hangs on what you askfor. There's a many folks asks for the moon, but I never heard tell asany of 'em had it."

  "Why do folks go to kill the Saracens?" demanded Derette, stillunsatisfied on that point.

  "Saints know!" said her mother, using her favourite comfortableexpletive. "I wish _he_ hadn't ha' gone--I do so!"

  "It's a good work, child," explained Anania.

  "Wouldn't it have been a good work for Father to stay at home, and savesteps for Mother?"

  "I think it would, my child," said Gerhardt; "but God knoweth best, andHe let thy father go. Sometimes what seems to us the best work is notthe work God has appointed for us."

  Had Gerhardt wished to drive away Anania, he could not have taken asurer method than by words which savoured of piety. She resembled agood many people in the present day, who find the Bread of Life very dryeating, and if they must swallow a little of it, can only be persuadedto do so by a thick coating of worldly butter. They may be coaxed tovisit the church where the finest anthem is sung, but that where thepurest Gospel is preached has no attraction for them. The porter'swife, therefore, suddenly discovered that she had plenty to do at home,and took her departure, much to the relief of the friends on whom sheinflicted herself. She had not been gone many minutes when Stephenlooked in.

  "Lads not come in yet?" said he. "Well, have you seen the grand sight?The Queen's gone again; she only stayed for supper at the Castle, andthen off to Woodstock. She'll not be there above a month, they say.She never tarries long in England at once. But the King's coming backthis autumn--so they say."

  "Who say?" asked Gerhardt.

  "Oh, every body," said Stephen with a laugh, as he leaned over thehalf-door.

  "_Every_ body?" inquired Gerhardt drily.

  "Oh, come, you drive things too fine for me. Every body, that isanybody."

  "I thought every body was somebody."

  "Not in this country: maybe in yours," responded Stephen, stilllaughing. "But I'm forgetting what I came for. Aunt Isel, do you wanteither a sheep or a pig?"

  "Have you got 'em in that wallet on your back?"

  "Not at present, but I can bring you either if you want it."

  "What's the price, and who's selling them?"

  "Our neighbour Veka wants to sell three or four bacon pigs andhalf-a-dozen young porkers; Martin le bon Fermier, brother of Henry theMason, has a couple of hundred sheep to sell."

  "But what's the cost? Veka's none so cheap to deal with, though shefeeds her pigs well, I know."

  "Well, she wants two shillings a-piece for the bacons, and four for thesix porkers."

  "Ay, I knew she'd clap the money on! No, thank you; I'm not made ofgold marks, nor silver pennies neither."

  "Well, but the sheep are cheap enough; he only asks twopence halfpennyeach."

  "That's not out of the way. We might salt one or two. I'll think aboutit. Not in a hurry to a day or two, is he?"

  "Oh, no; I shouldn't think so."

  "Has he any flour or beans to sell, think you? I could do with boththose, if they were reasonable."

  "Ay, he has. Beans a shilling a quarter, and flour fourteen pence aload. [Note 3.] Very good flour, he says it is."

  "Should be, at that price. Well, I'll see: maybe I shall walk over oneof these days and chaffer with him. Any way, I'm obliged to you,Stephen, for letting me know of it."

  "Very good, Aunt Isel; Martin will be glad to see you, and I'll giveBretta a hint to be at home when you come, if you'll let me know the daybefore."

  This was a mischievous suggestion on Stephen's part, as he well knewthat Martin's wife was not much to his aunt's liking.

  "Don't, for mercy's sake!" cried Isel. "She's a tongue as long as ayard measure, and there isn't a scrap of gossip for ten miles on everyside of her that she doesn't hand on to the first comer. She'd know allI had on afore I'd been there one Paternoster, and every body else 'dknow it too, afore the day was out."

  The space of time required to repeat the Lord's Prayer--of course asfast as possible--was a measure in common use at that day.

  "Best put on your holiday clothes, then," said Stephen with a laugh, andwhistling for his dog, which was engaged in the pointing of Countess'skitten, he turned down Fish Street on his way to the East Gate.

  Stephen's progress was arrested, as he came to the end of KepeharmeLane, by a long and picturesque procession which issued from the westerndoor of Saint Frideswide. Eight priests, fully robed, bore under acanopy the beautifully-carved coffer which held the venerated body ofthe royal saint, and they were accompanied by the officials of theCathedral, the choir chanting a litany, and a long string of nunsbringing up the rear. Saint Frideswide was on her way to the bedside ofa paralysed rich man, who had paid an immense sum for her visit, in thehope that he might be restored to the use of his faculties by a touch ofher miracle-working relics. As the procession passed up the street, adoor opened in the Jewry, and out came a young Jew named Dieulecresse[Note 4], who at once set himself to make fun of Saint Frideswide.Limping up the street as though he could scarcely stir, he suddenly drewhimself erect and walked down with a free step; clenching his hands asif they were rigid, he then flung his arms open and worked his fingersrapidly.

  "O ye men of Oxford, bring me your oblations!" he cried. "See ye notthat I am a doer of wonders, like your saint, and that my miracles arequite as good and real as hers?"

  The procession passed on, taking no notice of the mockery. But when,the next day, it was known that Dieulecresse had committed suicide inthe night, the priests did not spare the publication of the fact, withthe comment that Saint Frideswide had taken vengeance on her enemy, andthat her honour was fully vindicated from his aspersions.

  "Ah!" said Gerhardt softly, "`those eighteen, on whom the tower inSiloam fell!' How ready men are to account them sinners above all menthat dwell in Jerusalem! Yet it may be that they who thus judge are
theworse sinners of the two, in God's eyes, however high they stand in theworld's sight."

  "Well, I don't set up to be better than other folks," said Stephenlightly. He had brought the news. "I reckon I shall pass muster, ifI'm as good."

  "That would not satisfy me," said Gerhardt. "I should want to be asgood as I could be. I could not pass beyond that. But even then--"

  "That's too much trouble for me," laughed Stephen. "When you've doneyour work, hand me over the goodness you don't want."

  "I shall not have any, for it won't be enough."

  "That's a poor lookout!"

  "It would be, if I had to rely on my own goodness."

  Stephen stared. "Why, whose goodness are you going to rely on?"

  Gerhardt lifted his cap. "`There is none good but One,--that is, God.'"

  "I reckon that's aiming a bit too high," said Stephen, with a shake ofhis head. "Can't tell how you're going to get hold of that."

  "Nor could I, unless the Lord had first laid hold of me. `_He_ hathcovered me with the robe of righteousness'--I do not put it on myself."

  Gerhardt never made long speeches on religious topics. He said what hehad to say, generally, in one pithy sentence, and then left it to carryits own weight.

  "I say, Gerard, I've wondered more than once--"

  "Well, Stephen?"

  "No offence, friend?"

  "Certainly not: pray say all you wish."

  "Whether you were an unfrocked priest."

  "No, I assure you."

  "Can't tell how you come by all your notions!" said Stephen, scratchinghis head.

  "Notions of all kinds have but two sources," was the reply: "the Word ofGod, and the corruption of man's heart."

  "Come, now, that won't do!" objected Stephen. "You've built your door amile too narrow. I've a notion that grass is green, and another that mynew boots don't fit me: whence come they?"

  "The first," said Gerhardt drily, "from the Gospel of Saint Mark; thesecond from the Fourteenth Psalm."

  "The Fourteenth Psalm makes mention of my boots!"

  "Not in detail. It saith, `There is none that doeth good,--no, notone.'"

  "What on earth has that to do with it?"

  "This: that if sin had never entered the world, both fraud and sufferingwould have tarried outside with it."

  "Well, I always did reckon Father Adam a sorry fellow, that he had nomore sense than to give in to his wife."

  "I rather think he gave in to his own inclination, at least as much. Ifhe had not wanted to taste the apple, she might have coaxed till now."

  "Hold hard there, man! You are taking the woman's side."

  "I thought I was taking the side of truth. If that be not one's own, itis quite as well to find it out."

  Stephen laughed as he turned away from the door of the Walnut Tree.

  "You're too good for me," said he. "I'll go home before I'm infectedwith the complaint."

  "I'd stop and take it if I were you," retorted Isel. "You're off thebetter end, I'll admit, but you'd do with a bit more, may be."

  "I'll leave it for you, Aunt Isel," said Stephen mischievously. "Oneshouldn't want all the good things for one's self, you know."

  The Queen did not remain for even a month at Woodstock. In less thanthree weeks she returned to London, this time without passing throughOxford, and took her journey to Harfleur, the passage across the Channelcosting the usual price of 7 pounds, 10 shillings equivalent in moderntimes to 187 pounds, 10 shillings.

  Travelling seems to have been an appalling item of expense at that time.The carriage of fish from Yarmouth to London cost 9 shillings (11pounds, 5 shillings); of hay from London to Woodstock, 60 shillings (75pounds); and of the Queen's robes from Winchester to Oxford, 8 shillings(10 pounds). Yet the Royal Family were perpetually journeying; the hamswere fetched from Yorkshire, the cheeses from Wiltshire, and thepearmain apples from Kent. Exeter was famous for metal and corn;Worcester and London for wheat; Winchester for wine--there werevineyards in England then; Hertford for cattle, and Salisbury for game;York for wood; while the speciality of Oxford was knives.

  An old Jew, writing to a younger some thirty years later, in the reignof Henry Second, and giving him warning as to what he would find in thechief towns of southern England, thus describes such as he had visited:"London much displeases me; Canterbury is a collection of lost souls andidle pilgrims; Rochester and Chichester are but small villages; Oxfordscarcely (I say not satisfies, but) sustains its clerks; Exeterrefreshes men and beasts with corn; Bath, in a thick air and sulphurousvapour, lies at the gates of Gehenna!"

  But if travelling were far more costly than in these days, there weremuch fewer objects on which money could be squandered. Chairs werealmost as scarce as thrones, being used for little else, and chimneyswere not more common. [Note 5.] Diamonds were unknown; lace, velvet,and satin had no existence, samite and silk being the costly fabrics;and the regal ermine is not mentioned. Dress, as has been said, was notextravagant, save in the item of jewellery, or of very costlyembroidery; cookery was much simpler than a hundred years later. Plate,it is true, was rich and expensive, but it was only in the hands of thenobles and church dignitaries. On the other hand, fines were among thecommonest things in existence. Not only had every breach of law itsappropriate fine, but breaches of etiquette were expiated in a similarmanner. False news was hardly treated: 13 shillings 4 pence was exactedfor that [Pipe Roll, 12 Henry Third] and perjury [Ibidem, 16 ib] alike,while wounding an uncle cost a sovereign, and a priest might be slainfor the easy price of 4 shillings 9 pence [Ibidem, 27 ib]. The Prior ofNewburgh was charged three marks for excess of state; and poor Stephende Mereflet had to pay 26 shillings 8 pence for "making a stupid replyto the King's Treasurer"! [Pipe Roll, 16 Henry Third] It was reservedfor King John to carry this exaction to a ridiculous excess, by takingbribes to hold his tongue on inconvenient topics, and fining hiscourtiers for not having reminded him of points which he happened toforget. [Misae Roll, I John.]

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  Note 1. A long undergarment then worn by men and women alike.

  Note 2. "For gilding the King's bit (_frenum_), 56 shillings." (PipeRoll, 31 Henry First.)

  Note 3. Reckoned according to modern value, these prices stand aboutthus:--Bacon pig, 2 pounds, 10 shillings; porkers, 5 pounds; sheep, 5shillings 3 pence; quarter of beans, 25 shillings; load of flour, 30shillings.

  Note 4. "_Dieu L'encroisse_," a translation of Gedaliah, and a verycommon name among the English Jews at that time. This incident reallyoccurred about twenty-five years later.

  Note 5. Some writers deny the existence of chimneys at this date; butan entry, on the Pipe Roll for 1160, of money expended on "the Queen'schamber and chimney and cellar," leaves no doubt on the matter.