CHAPTER XLVIII

LINCOLN

Lincoln is situated on the summit and side of a hill that slopes with a deep descent to the margin of the river Witham, which here bends its course eastward, and, being divided into three small channels, washes the lower part of the city.

Viewed from the London road, on the south, in the month of May, the aspect of Lincoln is particularly beautiful. Before you is the Witham’s silver stream flowing on the east, the open country on the west, and in front the ancient city itself stretching from the level ground up a hill, studded with houses and embowered in trees, its eminence crowned with the keep of the dilapidated castle, and the still magnificent cathedral.

Far different, no doubt, was the appearance of Lincoln in the days when the third Henry was king, and the great Earl of Pembroke protector. It is difficult, indeed, mentally to annihilate the rich and varied scene presented from the spot referred to, and to substitute the ancient prospect in its stead. But if to the gazer’s view, “by some strange parallax,” the mediæval Lincoln were suddenly presented, with its noble castle and grand cathedral; its palace, its churches, and wealthy religious house keeping the flames of piety and learning still burning; its hospital for the sick, and its hospital for decayed priests; its narrow streets, with their projecting houses, tenanted by burgher and chapman; its Jewry, with its strange inhabitants with outlandish garments and olive complexions, trembling for their lives during every commotion, yet too covetous not to be cruel and harsh when Christians were at their mercy in times of peace; its Roman arches, and its strong walls, with gates, and towers, and turrets--all unlike as such a scene might be to the present, save in its hill, and vale, and silvery stream, he would still confess that it was more picturesque and not less fair than that which now lies so beautiful before the arrested eye.

From an historical point of view, Lincoln is one of the most interesting of English cities. It still boasts monuments of its importance when England was Britain, and when Britain was in the hands of the Romans; and at the time of the Norman Conquest, when six centuries had rolled over, it was one of the richest and most populous places in the kingdom. Moreover, the citizens were chiefly men of Danish origin, and therefore to be dreaded; and the Conqueror, on taking Lincoln, resolved to build a strong castle, not only to keep the inhabitants in awe, but to guard against any attempt made by them, in concert with their kinsmen the Danish sea-kings, to throw off the Norman yoke; and having demolished about two hundred and seventy houses to make room for the edifice, the Conqueror crowned the hill with a stronghold, which frowned sullen on the city over which it looked, and awed all malcontents, whether Dane or Saxon. The Empress Maude added to the fortifications while struggling with Stephen; and Lincoln was the scene of important events and a great battle during that war which, after tearing England to pieces, resulted in the peaceful accession of Henry Plantagenet.

But Lincoln, as time passed over, was exposed to other horrors than those of war. In 1180, an earthquake shook the city to its foundations, and almost rent the cathedral in twain. But the citizens repaired their dwellings, and Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln--since celebrated in history as St. Hugh of Burgundy--rebuilt the cathedral and restored all its former splendour.

Before the era of the Great Charter, however, Bishop Hugh had been carried to his last resting-place on the shoulders of King John and the two sub-kings of Scotland and Wales, and the place which he had filled with so much honour was occupied by Henry Welles, a prelate who resolutely espoused the cause of the Anglo-Norman barons and their “good Lord Louis.” Nevertheless, the royal cause was well supported in Lincoln, and its adherents were headed by a dame somewhat like the widowed Countess Albemarle, whom the chronicler describes as “a woman almost a man, being deficient in nothing masculine but manhood.”

It seems that, in the reign of Richard Cœur-de-Lion, Gerard de Camville held the castle of Lincoln, “the custody whereof was known to belong to the inheritance of Nichola, the wife of the same Gerard, but under the king.” However, when Richard was absent in the East, on his way to the Holy Land, and when a feud broke out between Prince John and the Bishop of Ely, who was chancellor and regent of the kingdom, Gerard took part with John, and, in his absence, the castle of Lincoln was besieged by the chancellor-bishop. “But,” says the chronicler, “Nichola, proposing to herself nothing effeminate, defended the castle like a man.” In fact, she held out till the siege was raised.

Nichola de Camville was now a widow, and could not have been young. But neither her courage nor her energy had departed; and though Gilbert de Gant, whom Prince Louis had rewarded with an earldom before he conquered, had been exerting himself strenuously to take Lincoln, his efforts had been in vain; the royal standard still waved over the town and castle when the Count de Perche and Robert Fitzwalter brought their army to the besiegers’ aid.

The arrival of a force so formidable, however, soon changed the face of matters, and the town surrendered. But the castle showed no signs of being likely to yield; and De Perche and his Anglo-Norman allies were fain to commence a very systematic siege, bringing into play their engines of war, battering the walls with huge stones, and hurling other missiles against the garrison. However, they had great confidence in their numbers and in their warlike engines; and they were pressing the siege on the morning of Saturday, the 20th of May, with high hopes of a speedy success, when informed by their scouts that the English were approaching in hostile array with banners displayed.

The Count de Perche at first treated the intelligence with something like indifference, and continued to direct the soldiers, who were hurling missiles from the “mangonels” to destroy the walls of the castle. But Robert Fitzwalter and the Earl of Winchester did not take the matter so coolly. Mounting their horses forthwith, the two barons rode out to survey Pembroke’s army, and returned somewhat flurried, elate with the idea of their own superiority as regarded numbers.

“Our enemies come against us in good order,” said they to De Perche, “but we are much more numerous than they are; therefore our advice is to sally forth to the ascent of the hill and meet them, for if we do so we shall catch them like larks.”

It appears to have been sound advice, and such as the count ought to have adopted, for his superiority in cavalry would have given him a great advantage in the country; but the very fact of its coming from Fitzwalter and Winchester made it distasteful to the French.

“No,” replied De Perche, who, like all Prince Louis’s captains, treated his Anglo-Norman allies cavalierly; “you have reckoned them according to your own judgment and given your opinion; but I must go forth and count them in the French fashion. Besides, I hardly deem the English would be mad enough to attack us in a walled town.”

“No more than stags would dream of attacking lions,” added the Marshal of France, jeeringly.

“Their fate would be sealed,” said the Castellan of Arras.

However, that they might judge for themselves as to the extent of the danger to which they were exposed, the count and his French knights and the marshal and the castellan rode forth and surveyed Pembroke’s army as horsemen and footmen came dauntlessly on, the sun shining on their weapons and their armour. Indeed, the spectacle was not calculated to increase De Perche’s confidence of conquering. Mistaking the baggage and the standards carried by the men who guarded it for a second army, he formed a very erroneous notion of the numbers coming against him, and spurred back to the city a sadder if not a wiser man than he had left it.

And now the French and Anglo-Normans held a hurried council of war, and it was proposed to divide their forces, so that while one party was defending the gates and walls to prevent the English entering the city, the other party should continue to besiege the castle and keep the garrison in check. The count’s friends took different views as to the policy of such a course. Some approved of the plan; others condemned it as not suited to the emergency. But there was no time left for argument, and the proposal was hastily adopted as the best thing that could be done under the circumstances.

And having in this manner decided on the course to be followed, the leaders repaired each to the post assigned to him and prepared for action--one party to guard the gates and walls, the other to direct their efforts against the castle. But scarcely had they taken their places and encouraged their men by word and gesture to do their duty boldly, when both from French and Anglo-Normans rose a loud yell, followed by a long wail, as of men in mortal agony, and ere this died away Pembroke’s trumpets were sounding and his men were thundering at the gates, and the conflict which was to render that May Saturday memorable had begun in earnest, the fate of England trembling in the balance.