hope. "Sighs are changed into songs of praise," breaks out a monk of the
time, "and the greatness of our former joy has come to life again!" Nor was
it in miracles alone that the "faithful," as they proudly styled
themselves, began to look for relief "from the oppression of the
malignants." A monk of St. Alban's who was penning a eulogy of Earl Simon
in the midst of this uproar saw the rise of a new spirit of resistance in
the streets of the little town. In dread of war it was guarded and strongly
closed with bolts and bars, and refused entrance to all strangers, and
above all to horsemen, who wished to pass through. The Constable of
Hertford, an old foe of the townsmen, boasted that spite of bolts and bars
he would enter the place and carry off four of the best villeins captive.
He contrived to make his way in; but as he loitered idly about a butcher
who passed by heard him ask his men how the wind stood. The butcher guessed
his design to burn the town, and felled him to the ground. The blow roused
the townsmen. They secured the Constable and his followers, struck off
their heads, and fixed them at the four corners of the borough.


[Sidenote: The Younger Simon]

The popular reaction gave fresh heart to the younger Simon. Quitting
Kenilworth, he joined in November John D'Eyvill and Baldewin Wake in the
Isle of Axholme where the Disinherited were gathering in arms. So fast did
horse and foot flow in to him that Edward himself hurried into Lincolnshire
to meet this new danger. He saw that the old strife was just breaking out
again. The garrison of Kenilworth scoured the country; the men of the
Cinque Ports, putting wives and children on board their barks, swept the
Channel and harried the coasts; while Llewelyn, who had brought about the
dissolution of Parliament by a raid upon Chester, butchered the forces sent
against him and was master of the border. The one thing needed to link the