“It was concluded,” says the chronicler, “that Prince Louis should have fifteen thousand marks for the charges he had been at, and abjure his claim to any interest in the kingdom; and withal to work his father for restitution of such provinces in France as appertained to the English crown, and that when he himself should be king he should resign them in a peaceable manner. On the other hand, King Henry takes his oath, and after him the legate and the protector, to restore unto the barons of the realm, and others his subjects, all their rights and privileges, for which the discord began between the late king and his people. After this, Prince Louis is honourably attended to Dover, and departs out of England about Michaelmas.”
Almost ere the ships which carried the French prince and his surviving comrades from the land which they had hoped to make their own had reached France, affairs in England assumed their wonted aspect, and Englishmen most devoutly thanked Heaven that peace was restored to the suffering country. Nor did Pembroke leave his work half done. The Great Charter having been carefully revised, and so modified as not to interfere with “the king’s government being carried on,” was solemnly confirmed, to the satisfaction of all parties; and young Henry, when he entered London, on the occasion of going to be crowned with the golden crown of the Confessor in Westminster Abbey, “was received with great joy by the people.”
Gay indeed was the city of London on that day, and gladly the citizens, rejoicing in the restoration of peace--with the exception of Constantine Fitzarnulph, who muttered vague threats about “biding his time,” and shut himself up in his high, large dwelling--decked their houses, and rushed to window and housetop to witness the procession, which certainly contrasted marvellously with the procession which, twelve months earlier, had been witnessed, at a period so gloomy, by the citizens of Gloucester. Keen was the curiosity of the dames and damsels to see what they could of the pageant; and even Dame Waledger, albeit looking somewhat sullen, and Beatrix de Moreville, albeit looking somewhat sad, came forth to view the magnificent cavalcade from the balcony of the great mansion of the De Morevilles, in Ludgate. De Moreville himself was away in the far North, shut up within the strong walls of Mount Moreville, his mind alternating between vague hopes and desperate resolutions, never even mentioning his daughter to Ralph Hornmouth, but one day forming a project for placing Alexander, King of Scots, on the English throne, another day vowing by the bones of St. Moden to raise his own banner and make an effort to redeem the lost cause of Louis, and on a third declaring that his career was run, and that nothing remained but to take the cowl and become a monk in the great abbey which his ancestor had founded at Dryburgh, on the Tweed; but Sir Anthony Waledger, who, freed from his captivity and solaced by the wine-cup, bore defeat more easily, was, though carefully concealed, looking scornfully out on the triumph of those against whom he had fought, if not with chivalrous courage, at least with fiendish malevolence.