Cover art
The Rescue.--Page [149].
GEOFFREY
THE LOLLARD.
BY
FRANCES EASTWOOD,
AUTHOR OF "MARCELLA OF ROME."
"Blessed are those who die for God,
And earn the Martyr's crown of light,
Yet he who lives for God may lie
A greater conqueror in His sight."
--A. PROCTOR.
New Edition
LONDON:
JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.
48 PATERNOSTER ROW.
PREFACE.
My chief authority for the facts which are interwoven with the fiction of this story is Fox, among whose horrors many curious and interesting accounts of the peculiar doctrines of the so-called Lollards may be found. Their views on the Sacraments and some other points did not entirely agree with those of the great Reformers, but their purity of life, their love for the Bible and devotion to the cause of religious liberty, will entitle this spiritual awakening to be called the dawn of the Reformation. Its political aspect--though a very important one--I have avoided entering upon in this volume, and therefore the trial of Cobham and his companions has been very imperfectly described, but the full account of it which Fox gives will be found to be very interesting in an historical as well as religious point of view.
FRANCES EASTWOOD.
CONTENTS
I.
II.
III.
[Forest Tower and its Inmates]
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
[As the Stars forever and ever]
VIII.
IX.
[Hide and Seek in Forest Tower]
X.
[The Birds Flown to the Mountains]
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
[One more Lamb safe in the Fold]
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
GEOFFREY THE LOLLARD.
CHAPTER I.
The Church Under Ground.
The sun had set some time ago. Only a long, narrow line of crimson could be seen in the distant western sky, and even that was fast disappearing. Darkness had shrouded almost entirely the thick woods and rocky dells of this wild region; and thick clouds rapidly climbing the sky, and chilly winds sighing among the branches of the trees, foretold a stormy night.
So thought the elder of two lads who were leaning against the trunk of an ancient oak that marked the spot where three paths crossed each other, and then vanished in different directions in the forest. He wrapped his cloak more closely around him, and advanced a few paces down one of the paths, paused as if to listen, and then returned, with a disappointed look, to his companion. "Not come yet, Geoffrey?" said the younger. "No, he could not have received the message. It is more than an hour past sunset, and he was to leave Thomas Flynman's at noon. Could he have been discovered? Arundel's men were seen in Bristol, they say, three days ago, and it is not like they came for naught."
The last words were spoken more to himself than to his companion, and again, with hasty steps, he strode away into the darkness. He was coming back again without any intelligence, when suddenly the bushes were parted, and a tall man stepped out and fronted the two boys. For a moment they hardly knew whether to consider him as friend or foe, but the stranger lifted the Scottish bonnet which had shrouded his features, and said in a low voice:
"The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon. That is the watchword, I believe. Have they come? Is all ready? It is through great peril that I have come here, and I must be on my way before the dawn."
To these hurried questions the youths only answered at first by doffing their caps with profound reverence and respect; then a few low sentences were interchanged, and the three struck off down the path together. The elder lad led the way, only breaking the silence by occasional warnings about the road. "Have a care there, that root is high;" or, "Here is a low branch, beware!"
Then suddenly he left the path, descended a steep bank, and, bidding his companions stop a moment, drew from under a large stone a pine torch and a little lamp. Having lighted the former, and replaced the latter in its concealment, he stepped down upon some stones which formed the bed of a running brook, while he held the torch low, so as to show the best stepping-places; and all passed on in the deepest silence.
A long and weary march it was; and all were glad when the guide stopped before what seemed a mere mass of vines and bushes, at the foot of a rock. These he drew aside with a careful hand, and disclosed a low door, through which they passed; the younger lad closed it softly again, and they advanced as before.
But it was now a very different way. The fresh, pure, evening air had been exchanged for the damp, musty smell of this underground passage. The sides were so close together that two persons could hardly have passed each other; the stranger had to stoop his head many a time to escape a blow from the jutting points of the roof; while the masses of rock which had fallen so encumbered the way that it required, at times, no small skill in climbing, to pass at all. Descending some flights of rough steps, and passing through another door, they found themselves in a much wider space, though it was still all dark and stony, but the roof was higher and the floor was smooth. A low hum of distant voices was now heard, which grew louder as they turned a corner and stopped before a door. A light tap was answered by one from within, and, as the door opened, such a flood of light poured upon them, that they shrunk back, with pained eyes, from the glare.
The light of many torches revealed a low, broad, windowless room, with a raised platform, and rude reading-desk at one end, and between thirty and forty persons--men, women and children. Some were engaged in earnest conversation, some sat in silent thought, while others were attending to the children.
At the entrance of the new comer, all arose and stood respectfully, while he threw aside his long cloak and cap, and stepped up to the platform. The two boys stood at his side, and all turned to him with expectant looks.
He held his hand over his eyes for a moment in secret prayer, and then, opening the huge leather-bound book on the desk, began to read. His rich, clear voice gave emphasis to every word in that glorious fourth chapter of Second Corinthians: "Therefore, seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not; but have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling the word of God deceitfully; but by manifestation of the truth, commending ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God," etc. "We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed." Here the reader's tones became more firmly joyful, his form grew more erect, his whole countenance beamed. He read on through that chapter, and nine verses of the following one; then turning back to the eighth of Romans, he read on rapidly to the thirty-first verse, when his voice rose until it rang again, and the stone walls echoed back his exultant words: "If God be for us, who can be against us? He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things? ... Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?"
Here his voice faltered, and his clasped hands were raised, while the tears, rolling from his up-turned eyes, fell upon his white beard: "For thy sake, we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter." All the sorrow had left his tones now, his tall frame was raised to its utmost height, his clenched right hand was stretched toward heaven, the other grasped his robe, and he almost shouted:
"Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us."
His audience, hardly knowing what they did, rose to their feet, and repeated with him the closing verses.
When the last words were spoken, silence reigned in the room, only broken by the low sobs of some of the assembly. Then a feeble, aged voice, near the centre of the room, said: "Let us pray."
Every knee was bent while the old man prayed in simple, touching words for their persecutors, Arundel the archbishop, the king, and others, and then for many near and dear ones who were even then in the persecutors' power. But he prayed more that they might be enabled to hold fast the faith without wavering, than that they might be delivered from bodily pain.
As he mentioned each by name, the deep though suppressed groan from some weeping member of the assembly told where a loving heart was longing for the safety of some dear one. But when they arose from their knees, all were calm and composed, grave but not sad, for the words of comfort had entered into many hearts.
Afterward the preacher discoursed for some time on the disputed doctrines of the day, proving the Lollard views by passages from the Bible, and from the writings of Wickliffe. He closed with an earnest appeal to all to stand fast in the faith. "Lo, friends and brethren, I know the power of Antichrist. Full many times have I suffered bonds and imprisonments for the truth's sake, yet therefore do not I boast. I do triumph, but not through myself, but that Christ may be glorified in my poor body. Yea, the flames and the stake would be welcome to me, if through my pains and steadfastness his name might be glorified and souls turned to him. And now I go to London, and it seemeth to me it is the Lord's will that there I should end this earthly journey. Even so, come, Lord Jesus! Henceforth is laid up for me a crown of righteousness. Come then, my soul, and be of good courage. Look at the home prepared for thee in heaven. The smart of the flames is naught when it leadeth to everlasting glory above. Be of good courage, O my soul, for behold, Christ giveth thee the victory!"
Some of the women and children now prepared to depart, but not by means of the secret passage, which was known only to a few. The preacher was surrounded by the men, and eager questions were interchanged in regard to the safety of various individuals. A fine-looking, elderly man, evidently the father of the two boys, related the seizure of Lord Cobham and his trial, his manly defense before the council, his condemnation and imprisonment in the Tower, and the faint hopes which were entertained of his escape.
All this was new to the preacher, who had only just arrived from the southern counties; and he received the tidings with surprise and grief.
"Lord, how long," he said, "how long shall thy people be down-trodden by the oppressor? Look upon thy church lest we be utterly consumed."
Refreshment was now brought to the stranger, for it wanted but two hours of daybreak, and he must soon be on the way.
Geoffrey, meanwhile, had gone through the secret entrance to the wood, to see if any danger were near, if any spy lurked on the road through which the traveller must pass. He had not been long gone before he returned, bringing with him another stranger, also closely wrapped in the coarse, loose cloak usually worn by the peasantry. His garments were dripping with the rain, which had fallen plentifully during the night, and stained with mud; and his wooden shoes were filled with water. Such was the person that Geoffrey, with a wondering, anxious look, presented to his father and the preacher. All he knew was that the stranger had given the pass-word, which entitled him to the secret passage through the rocks. He looked attentively upon the men before him, and then threw away his cloak, and raised the cap from his brow. For a moment they looked at the features thus suddenly disclosed, when, with a cry of joy, the preacher flung himself on the ground before him, clasping his knees, and exclaiming: "My lord, O my lord, alive and safe! My God in heaven, this is too much mercy! What, John De Forest, know you not the Lord of Cobham, the father of the church?"
Great joy was there over their distinguished guest; and ejaculations of wonder and thanksgiving burst forth as he detailed his trial, imprisonment, and escape from the Tower. He concluded by craving protection and concealment from De Forest until he should rest, and find an opportunity for escaping to Wales. Gladly were refreshment and rest given to the weary noble, than whom a better was not to be found in all England: the supporter of the poor, persecuted Lollards; the firm advocate of the Bible and a reformed church; the humble servant of God in the darkest age of superstition, priestcraft, and bigotry.
But now it was time the preacher should depart, for he must put many miles between him and Forest tower before the day broke. He rose, and giving his hand to Cobham, said:
"Be of good courage, my lord, Christ giveth the victory."
"Truly, John Beverly," said Cobham, "the Lord is good, and I shall trust in him. When shall we meet again?"
"In the Lord's kingdom," said Beverly, a smile beaming upon his noble features; and, pointing to the remains of the meal, he added: "At the supper of the Lamb, my lord, who so loved the world that he gave himself to the death for it, and, for whose sake, we are willing to lay down our lives for the brethren."
Thus they parted; the one to linger a few years in banishment and then meet at once his sufferings and reward; the other, with a heart full of faith, went at once to lay down his life that he might receive it new at the hands of the Saviour he had so faithfully served, both in life and in death.
CHAPTER II.
Putting on the Yoke.
Forest Tower had been built in the time of the Normans, on the site of one destroyed by them, which dated several centuries further back. It was a low, massive building, of gray stone, with a square tower in the centre, from which it took its name. The windows were mere slits in the wall. The moat was well kept, free from weeds, and filled with water. It was crossed by a drawbridge, which had not been raised for some time, judging from the earth and grass which nearly covered it. Within there was little for show, everything for defense. The great hall was dimly lighted by narrow windows, set in immense depth of wall, entirely destitute of glass, and closed at night by wooden shutters. A large fire-place stood at each end, but without any chimney, and the smoke was permitted to escape by the windows, or wreathe itself in thick folds among the soot-hung rafters. Across the upper end was the dais, or platform, raised two steps from the rest of the floor, and containing a stone table and a few roughly-made arm-chairs. Below, down the middle of the room, ran another long table, supplied with benches and stools of the rudest workmanship. The sleeping apartments were still less furnished--a chest for a wardrobe, and a heap of straw covered with a coarse blanket being all they contained, for this old fortalice was a little behind the age, even then, in the luxuries of life.
Forest Tower had been owned by the De Forests ever since its erection. Once its domain had embraced many miles of the adjacent country on every side. Its halls had been thronged with retainers, and Sir Thomas De Forest had led out a hundred yeomen to fight in the Scottish battles under king Edward the First. But times were now changed. The loyal De Forests had refused to acknowledge Henry Mortimer when he had seized the crown, and had taken part in every rebellion that had had for its object the restoration of the miserable Richard the Third. Consequently its fortunes had greatly declined. Manor after manor was confiscated by the crown or sold by its needy proprietors to pay their fines. Its bands of yeomen and retainers had all gone to serve other masters or been slain in the numerous combats, and only a few white-haired old domestics remained to keep up the shadow of its ancient splendor.
Nor were matters improved when the present John, Baron De Forest, embraced the Lollard faith. Many who had until then been his best friends, became his fiercest enemies. His very servants, with but few exceptions, became spies upon him, and reported his heretical doings to the authorities of the church. But, nothing daunted, he continued to labor for the cause of the Reformation, fully anticipating a martyr's death, but unshrinking in the performance of every duty however perilous.
He had lost his wife shortly after the birth of his youngest son, and his two boys had grown up in close companionship with him, sharing his thoughts, his plans, his spiritual hopes and joys. Geoffrey, the elder, was now fourteen, tall and robust, with a body capable of bearing fatigue and exposure with impunity, and a soul fired with the very spirit of Lollardism.
Hubert, his brother, younger by nearly four years, was cast in a different mould. He had the delicate features and expression of his mother, the gentle Lady Margaret; and while Geoffrey's hair hung in thick, black curls over a low, square forehead, Hubert's high, fair brow, and gentle blue eyes, gave a pensive and retiring expression to his face. It was his dearest delight to pore over an old manuscript Bible which his father, with much difficulty, had procured, and to store his mind with chapter after chapter of its contents. He would sometimes obtain one of Wickliffe's tracts, which he loved to copy out for himself on parchment. Different as the boys were in dispositions, they loved each other with all their hearts; for, with no other playmates, and no mother's love to look to, they were naturally drawn nearer together than most children. Geoffrey, with all an elder brother's sense of responsibility and guardianship, reverenced in Hubert that love of learning which he did not possess; and Hubert looked up to Geoffrey, exulting in his superior strength and fearlessness. They were never long separated, each was unhappy without the other; so sometimes Geoffrey would leave his out-of-door sports to sit by his brother's side, and try to make out the crabbed letters in the big book; and sometimes Hubert would brave the storms and forests to keep Geoffrey company.
It was popularly said that Forest Tower might be divided into three parts, one above ground, one below ground, and one consisting of concealed chambers and passages. The rock upon which the castle was built contained many natural caverns, and these had been enlarged, and connected by artificial vaults, all extending many feet below the hall pavement, where the cheerful sunbeams had never penetrated, and where, at the time of the Norman conquest, many a Saxon had pined away his life. Besides this, there were fearful stories told by old women in the cottage chimney-corners, of rich Jews seized by the old barons of the forest in the reigns of John and Richard. It was said that those who passed near those vaults at night have heard shrieks for mercy, and cries of agony, and they might also see the ghosts of these unfortunate men wandering among the rocks, and seeking their stolen gold.
The barons took no pains to undeceive the people, for it was greatly to their interest to keep off curious and untimely visitors. During the perilous times of the Border warfare and civil wars, they had had occasion to build many secret retreats--some in the thickness of the massy walls, others in the adjacent rocks and concealed passages leading from the interior of the building far out into the open country in different directions. It was no wonder then that the ignorant peasantry thought they must be aided by supernatural powers, and attributed their miraculous appearances and disappearances to satanic agency.
During the preaching of Wickliffe, John De Forest had become convinced of the errors of the church, but had never taken any very active part in the Reformation, until Lord Cobham had sent a preacher, John Beverly, into the neighborhood, whose stirring appeals had aroused him to a sense of its importance. From that time he had become the most zealous supporter of Lollardism in the West. Refugees from every part of the country bent their steps toward Forest Tower, sure of a retreat in its many hiding places; communication by means of signals, known only to the initiated, was kept up with the principal reformers and preachers, and meetings for worship were frequently held in some of its largest vaults.
The reason why it had been exempted from the visitation of the law was partly on account of the ghostly legends connected with it, and partly on account of its well-known resources for defense or concealment. At the time of which we are writing, the archbishop had sent a band of men to scour the country for heretics, and spies abounded everywhere. Nevertheless, from far and near, the people had gathered, by twos and threes, for this great meeting held in the tower vaults.
CHAPTER III.
Forest Tower and its Inmates.
After the departure of the preacher, Lord Cobham was led up the stairs by his host to where a door in the wall revealed a small room, with a stone floor, and bed of straw.
"It is better to sleep securely than softly, my lord," said Sir John; "our forest beds have no French hangings."
"My Master had not where to lay his head, and why should I, the least of his servants, have more?" replied Lord Cobham; "but now I shall hasten to my rest, for this body is sadly wearied with the labors of the last two days. A few hours will, however, be sufficient, and then, my trusty friend, I would see you again; the Lord be with you."
Sir John bowed and departed, while Lord Cobham knelt on the stones and offered up a simple prayer to Him who thus far led him in safety, and delivered him from those who sought to take his life. They were no Latin Ave Marias or Litanies that he poured forth, nor were his petitions recorded on a string of amber beads. In his own mother tongue, in the sweet and touching words and phrases of the Bible he loved so well, he talked with his God, and angels alone recorded the conversation. And then he laid him down upon his bed and slept like a child--slept as the apostle Peter slept, ere the angel awakened him to go forth from his dungeon.
Meanwhile Geoffrey and Hubert, cross-bow in hand, were rapidly treading the intricate forest paths. It was not the chase upon which they were bent, though a brace or two of birds, and a squirrel, hung over their shoulders; it was not the deer they were seeking when they gazed earnestly down the paths, or peered curiously into the hollow cavity of the oak which was mentioned in the first chapter. Deep holes, formed partly by time, and partly by man's hand, were found among the roots, each opening toward one of the different roads which led off into the forest. This was what might be called the Lollards' general news office or telegraph station. From one of these Geoffrey drew forth a small twig with two branches. After looking at it carefully, he threw it away, saying, cheerfully, to his brother: "No danger there, Hubert; Peter Lainton has seen that all is safe as far as the mountains; that is well for my Lord of Cobham, who will have to pass that way to-night. Now for the southern road." The forked stick was there also, denoting safety; but the next cavity contained a number of pebbles arranged two in a row, while in the centre was stuck a bit of red leaf. The boys immediately comprehended the signal. "Four, eight, ten horsemen," said Hubert, with a troubled look, "brother, is there not danger there?" "Certainly, Arundel's men can not be far off," said Geoffrey, thoughtfully, "probably though beyond Norris's Ford, else Peter Lainton had heard something. I will put the signal for him to be on the watch, perhaps they are only bound for Bristol, where they say there has been some trouble between the troops and the people." While he was speaking, he had been looking around for the twig of a tree. Having found it, he peeled the bark off it in rings, and partly breaking off the top, stuck it in the ground in the hollow opening to the southern road, and scratched two marks in the ground behind it. "Two hours after sunset," said Hubert, "is not that rather soon? There will be full moon to-night." "Still, father says it were better for him to start early than late, there is no telling when the soldiers may be here. How is it with the London road?" This hole contained two peeled sticks tied with cords in several places, and bent over toward the south-east. Around them were grouped several black beans. Too well the boys knew the meaning of the signal. The road to which it referred led to London. On that road had been seen, that morning, two Lollards, one a preacher, for one of the sticks was pointed a little at the top, and the black beans represented the dreaded emissaries of the church. The boys looked at each other; one name was trembling on the lips of both, but it was too fearful a thought to utter. There had been no preacher to their knowledge in the forest save him whose holy words had filled them with such awe and rapture the previous night. For John Beverly to be taken before Arundel's court was certain death, and death in its most fearful shape, the lingering agony of the chain and the flame.
Geoffrey's face grew pale, and he bent closer over the little signal as though he hoped to discover some additional circumstance that might contradict his suppositions. It was not absolutely certain that the prisoner and the preacher were the same. Beverly had intended to take the northern road; but it was very likely that he had heard of the band of soldiers there, and had turned aside. With this poor comfort they were forced to be content, and silently turned their steps toward the Tower.
Sir John heard their tidings, and construed them even more favorably than his son. The preacher, he said, when he believed his duty called him in a certain direction, was not one to turn back through fear. He had firmly signified his intention of meeting an assembly of Lollards in Flintshire the following Sabbath. At any rate, it were better not to alarm Lord Cobham with these uncertainties. Hubert's spirits rose at this new view of the case; but Geoffrey read in his father's face a contradiction of his words. Still he said nothing, but followed him to the room in the hall.
Lord Cobham laid aside the Bible from which he had been reading, and replied to their respectful salutations that he had slept well, and was quite refreshed. He then turned to Geoffrey, and looked earnestly at his tall, well-proportioned form and sinewy limbs. "Wouldst thou be a soldier, my son?" he said.
"Yea, my lord," replied the boy, "so I be able to fight for freedom and God's word."
The old soldier's face glowed at hearing the brave words; but he said nothing, only turned to the younger.
"And what wouldst thou do, my son?"
"O my lord!" said Hubert, his voice quivering with the strong emotion working in his breast, "could I but preach the word, as doth the good man who has just left us, then were I highly favored."
"The Lord grant thee thy desire, my child!" said Cobham. "Yea, and I think he will; for there is none that striveth to do his work unto whom some part shall not be given. It may not be according to his desire, in the way which he has marked out for himself; but to work in the Lord's vineyard will not be denied him. But come, let us see how thou wilt teach the people. Wouldst thou tell him who has done evil to go and confess him to the priest that he may, by him, be absolved, and then go and sin over again?"
"Nay, surely," answered the boy, his eye kindling, "for the priest hath no power by his word to forgive sins, but God only; neither will he do it unless the sinner earnestly repent him of his sins, steadfastly purposing to lead a new life in the future, by God's help. Unto the Lord only must the people shrive themselves."
"Yet the priests will tell thee that in the Scriptures standeth this verse: 'Confess your sins one to another.' What sayest thou then?"
"Let the priest bend the knee before me and the people, and confess his wickedness; then at the end--if there be any end--I will in my turn shrive myself to him, and to all people, for so saith the Scriptures."
Cobham smiled at the boy's logic.
"True, my son, thou sayest rightly; but suppose then that they put thee to the test, how instructest thou the people then?"
"I shall tell the people," said the boy stoutly, "that there is no more of the real flesh and blood of our Saviour in the wafer and wine of the holy mysteries after the words of consecration than before."
"Yet, my son, beware lest thou then fall into error. Christ doth say when he presenteth the paten and the chalice to his disciples, 'This is my body, this is my blood;' therefore he is present under the form of bread and wine in the sacrament, though the substance of the bread and wine be still therein contained. Take heed not to fall into the great error either of declaring the elements to be absolutely changed into the flesh and blood of Christ, or, on the other hand, of denying his perfect spiritual presence in the mysteries he has ordained. Thou hast been well taught; hold fast the form of sound words contained in this Holy Book, then shall our Lord hold thee fast in his heavenly kingdom. But now, my son, thou knowest well that the priest is not convinced by this, but is rather incensed thereby, because he loveth darkness rather than light; and to stop thy mouth he will excommunicate thee as a heretic forever from the church of God. What will thou do then?"
To understand the full force of excommunication, we must remember that the excommunicated person was put under a sentence of absolute outlawry. His relations and friends were forbidden to give him any comfort or assistance under penalty of the same curse. None might give or sell him shelter, food, or clothing; and at his death his unburied body was cast into unhallowed ground, or left for the beasts and birds of prey to feed upon.
The boy did not shrink from the dreadful picture thus brought before his mind, but said quietly:
"He who hath made the heavens saith: 'I shut and no man openeth, and I open and no man shutteth.' Their power then is only in words which cannot hurt the soul. Having favor with God, who alone is powerful, wherefore care we for the wrath of men?"
"Truly saith the lad, Sir John," cried Cobham, cheerily, "if we have the lion on our side, care we for the barking of the foxes? But listen now: they will not stop here, but will then deliver thee to the secular power, and thou mayest languish long years in a dungeon. What sayest thou to that?"
"Paul and Silas sang for joy in their prison-house, and angels have visited oftentimes the prisons of the saints and loosened their bonds."
"Yet again," said the Lollard, rising and fixing his dark, piercing eye full on the boy's face. "Yet once more: the dungeon, be it never so dark, is too fair a dwelling for the heretic. They will gird thee in an iron chain and hang thee on the accursed gallows, and kindle under thee the smarting flame which will slowly creep up thy quivering limbs as though loath to end thy sufferings. Think, boy, of the smart, of the anguish--think and answer before God and man--wilt thou die for the Lord's sake?"
For a moment Hubert grew very pale--his whole frame seemed to shrink with horror from the thought. Every quivering nerve cried out to him to draw back; but the faith in that young heart was strong, and triumphed. The blood rushed back into his face, and tears, not of sorrow, dimmed the fire of his eyes:
"I will, so help me Christ!"
CHAPTER IV.
Farewell To Home.
"Look you, John De Forest," said the Lord of Cobham solemnly, "wilt thou give this thy son unto the Lord, that he may serve the Lord from his youth? God hath surely put his mark upon him in that he hath taken away from him both the love and the fear of the world. The Lord receiveth not the grudged gift, the Lord loveth the cheerful giver; answer then from the heart before God and man--wilt thou give this thy son unto the Lord or no?"
John De Forest bowed his head upon his hands for a moment, then raised it, and said firmly:
"Yea, truly, as the Lord hath given them to me, so give I them back into his hands."
Silence reigned in the room for some moments; Sir John had sunk his head upon his hands again; then the old Lollard arose, and laying his hands on the boys' heads, blessed them in scripture phrase:
"The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord look upon you with his mercy. I pray not that he may give unto you the peace of this world; in these latter days Christ is making true his word that he came to send a sword into the world, and peace is the portion of the coward. The Lord give unto you a Christian warfare, a martyr's death, a victor's crown!"
John De Cobham next proceeded to inform the boys concerning the arrangements which he and their father had made for them. The latter was anxious for them to be away from the Tower for various reasons. He was fully aware that an attack upon it was meditated by Arundel, and he wished his sons, who could be no assistance to him, to be as far removed from the danger as possible. Then, besides, he wished that they should enjoy the instructions of some learned man, an advantage it was impossible for them to obtain in their retired home. Lord Cobham agreed with him, and mentioned a certain Roger Markham, formerly curate of Romney in Kent. The nobleman was also desirous of sending messages concerning his escape and other matters to his friends in London, for which place he wished the boys immediately to depart.
Geoffrey's free, high spirit longed for more of the world than was to be seen from the narrow boundaries of the Tower domain. He had been once to London, and it seemed to him a land of delights; so that the very thought of going there to view all its wonders, and mingle with those of his own age, caused his face to flush with pleasure and his heart to beat fast with hope. Hubert's heart also leaped for joy; but his thoughts were not his brother's thoughts. His prayer was answered; he might now go forth and labor for the Lord, and learn how to preach the glad gospel tidings--gospel in the fullest sense of the word, good news of freedom from Satan's chain, and the galling yoke of popish traditions. He might read the whole of those tracts from the pen of Wickliffe, of which he had only as yet seen fragments. But more than all, he might see a whole Bible! The one which his father had procured with difficulty, and kept with danger, was not entire--some chapters from the New Testament were wanting, and nearly all the historical books of the Old. These this Lollard child longed to feast upon with an earnestness which would shame many a Christian of the present day, whose legible, perfect Bible is ever at his hand, but seldom in it.
These joyful thoughts were followed by painful ones. Their father, who had been the only companion and protector of their solitary boyhood, father and mother in one, was united to them by no common tie. They had shared, as children seldom do, not only in his cares, and doubts, and sorrows, but also in his joys, and hopes, and consolation. Him they must leave, and also the dear old Tower, every corner of which was associated with pleasant home remembrances, and it must be a long time before they saw either their home or their father again, if, in these uncertain times, they ever should. But the Lord had need of them; they had put their hands to the plough--should they draw back?
Lord Cobham next handed them some folded pieces of parchment. "This one," he said, "ye shall show at such places as ye stop; they will then receive you in my name, or rather"--and the Lollard bowed low--"in the name and for the sake of Him whom I serve. Ye shall tell them of my safety, no more; also that they be of good cheer and hold fast the Lord Jesus Christ, looking to the reward. And when ye arrive at the city, ye shall go straight to the house of Philip Naseby, a trader, who dwells near Whitefriars, just by the bridge. Ye shall give him this watchword--not openly, but in the midst of other words--'The Lord is my help all the day long;' and he will answer: 'How long is the day?' When ye are entirely alone with him, bid him tell Sir Roger Ashton that the bird has flown to the mountain. Will ye remember all this?"
The texts were familiar to both the boys, and besides, they were too much accustomed to the various methods of communicating by signals not to perceive their signification and importance; and having indicated their assent, Cobham continued:
"These letters the trader will give as they are directed; but this last ye shall give yourselves to good Roger Markham, and he will instruct you in all useful and clerkly things, for he is well learned in the schools of Oxford. In due time, my son, thou shalt preach; but see that thou preach only 'Christ and him crucified,' so shall his Spirit rest upon thee and thy labors, and shall instruct thee, as no man can, in the holy mysteries. The Lord bless you both and give you of his work to do, whether it be to sit and wait his good pleasure, or to teach his doctrines unto men, or to die for the truth's sake. He keepeth the reward, and verily it can never fail."
It did not take either of the boys long to prepare for their journey. The letters and a few pages of Scripture were sewed into the inner lining of their tunics, a wallet containing some provision was hung at their sides, and, staff in hand, like the patriarchs of old, they stood. Their father was too poor to give them horses, and the long, weary journey must be made on foot.
It would not have been wise to depart openly, so when the sun had set more than an hour, they, with Lord Cobham, passed along one of the subterranean passages which opened far out into the open country. There they parted with the noble Lollard. He, with their father, who was to accompany him a few miles on his way, turned toward the Welsh mountains; they, with stout hearts, but tear-filled eyes, set their faces toward the east.
Half an hour later they stood on the summit of a hill overlooking the tower. The full moon was casting its sheets of silver over the brown autumn landscape. The storm of the preceding night had entirely passed away, and only left a breezy freshness in the evening air. Far to the west loomed up the mountains of Wales, their peaks already glistening with snow. Far beneath them in the valley lay their home. The gray towers cast their shadows across the moat, and looked even more massive than they were in reality. Only a single light appeared in the buttery window, like a twinkling star. Never had the scene appeared so lovely to the young Lollards as it did when they were about leaving it, perhaps forever. But again the boys' thoughts were different. The elder looked back to the long, unbroken line of ancestry which for so many hundred years had looked upon those walls and said, "They are mine." Far to the right hand and left lay the broad acres of woodland and pasturage which had owned his grandsire lord. Now all was changed. Close and narrow were the lines which bounded the patrimony one day to be his. But why? Were his arms less sinewy, his frame less well-knit than all the Geoffreys, and Johns, and Richards that had gone before? Why should Henry the usurper, who had no more just claim to the throne of England than himself, have a right to take away his father's lands because he would not forsake the cause of his rightful monarch? And now he, and the brother he loved so well, must become dependents on the bounty of others because they wished to read the word of God in their own tongue, and worship him in their own way. Must this always last? Should the oppressor always walk about the earth?
God thinks it right to speak no more to men in dreams and visions, or to point out to them the dim shadows of coming events. Faith in his wisdom is to be our only guide. But do I err when I say that sometimes the Comforter, who is expressly said to take of the things of God and show them unto us, whispers to the fainting soul words of cheering, and lifts, though it be but a very little way, the veil that hides the future? Thus it was with the Lollard boys. A voice in their hearts said to their inward eyes, "Ephatha!" be ye opened! and straightway they saw dimly, but surely, a glorious sight. The looked-for time of refreshing they saw arrived; England, their beautiful England, was free; and the pure Word of God in all its sweetness and power, reigned in every heart and home. The night of popish ignorance had fled away forever, the martyr's blood had ceased dropping its precious seed into the earth, and instead thereof had sprung up an abundant harvest through the length and breadth of the world. Thus it was that the elder brother's heart responded joyfully to the younger's lips in the sublime words of the prophet:
"Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. For behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the people; but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee. Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou shalt call thy walls Salvation, and thy gates Praise. Therefore the redeemed of the Lord shall return and come with singing to Zion, and everlasting joy shall be upon their head: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away."
And then he added the words of a greater than Isaiah: "Verily I say unto you, there is no one that hath left houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, for my sake and the Gospel's, but he shall receive an hundred-fold now in this present time, houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions; and in the world to come, life everlasting."
One quick glance they cast toward their earthly possessions, and a long eager one toward their heavenly home--then they passed on their way.
CHAPTER V.
In London.
The snow was falling fast and thick in London, covering with its pure mantle the quaint houses which formed that part of the metropolis called White Friars, and making the Thames, which flowed close under their walls, look all the blacker by contrast. Upon one of the bridges spanning this river, stood the two young Lollards. They looked very weary and travel-worn, and the younger had sunk down exhausted on one of the stone seats. They had been more than a month on their journey, having been detained more than once by storms and sickness, so that the month of December was fairly commenced. Hubert had suffered most from the fatigue, cold, and exposure, but even Geoffrey looked pale and weary, though he strove to cheer his brother with the thought of how near they were to their journey's end, and of the wonders that lay before them.
"Look, Hubert! this is the bridge we were told of, and yonder high wall must be White Friars; it cannot be many steps to good Philip Naseby's." Then as the other did not seem to attend, he added, lower: "We must not be seen loitering here as though we were strangers--Mark Catliffe may have dispatched word of our coming, and it were best to be among friends ere our enemies know we have come."
The boy raised himself with an effort, and they proceeded. Fortunately, it was but a stone's throw; and having passed under the high wall of the monastery, they turned into a narrow lane, and stopped at the open front of a shop. The master stood upon the step; they both knew him from the description they had heard of him; but it was best to be on the safe side; so they approached as though wishing to purchase.
"Have you a warm cloak, master trader, that may serve to keep the snow and rain from my shoulders this cold Christmas?"
The man looked rather suspiciously at the boys' tattered garments, but a glance at their faces changed his tone to one of respect and pity. "The Lord save you, young masters, it is truly but sorry weather to travel in. Will ye not step in and rest a bit?"
"I thank you, Philip Naseby," said Geoffrey, stepping within the shop; "the Lord is truly my help all the day long."
The trader's face lighted up as he gave the necessary answer to the password, and grasping a hand of each, he led them to a little back-apartment, and placed stools for them. He received them as eagerly as though they were his nearest relations, though as yet he knew neither their name nor their errand. Lord Cobham's message explained all, and then they were overwhelmed with questions. Good news always makes the bearers welcome, and the fact that they brought intelligence of Lord Cobham's escape, as well as their father's name, was a full passport to the honest trader's heart.
He called his wife, and having told her who were their guests, she dispatched their daughter to bring some refreshment, while she and her husband removed their torn and soaked outer garments.
"Poor boy!" said the good woman, as she noticed Hubert's bleeding and blistered feet, "thou hast walked far to day?"
"A good twenty miles since midnight," sighed the weary child, the very mention of the distance bringing back, with redoubled force, the memory of suffering.
"But why did you not stop at the house of good Mark Catliffe, the miller of Lianton? He has given a bed and a welcome to many a weary traveler, and especially to those who love the Master."
Hubert's face grew very sad, but Geoffrey's eyes flashed with indignation, and he answered before his brother could speak. "He is a Judas; he hath sold his faith for silver; the Lord requite him!"
"How! sayest thou that Mark Catliffe is a renegade?" said the trader, astonished.
"Ay, that he hath returned to the bosom of the holy church"--and the boy's mouth curled with contempt--"and has received as a reward for informing where the vile traitor, John Beverly, might be found, the right to levy a large toll on the flour he grinds, and a good chest of white money beside. He saith that it is his firm hope, that those arch-traitors, Lord Cobham and John De Forest, will speedily be taken and committed to the flames, their ashes being scattered to the winds, and their souls sent to their father, the Devil; always praying the saints that he may stand by and see."
The trader lifted up his hands and eyes in horror; but before he could speak, his wife had asked eagerly:
"And how escaped ye, my young masters? Did he not try to deliver you up also?"
"God delivered us from his hands, good dame," said the boy, reverently. "As we drew near to his house, we heard him in conversation with the priest, so while we waited behind the hedge for him to be through before we presented ourselves, we heard his words. We fear he has sent a messenger after us, for he observed us as we ran away; but we kept to the by-paths and so escaped, but found no place to rest. But now, good master Naseby, we will to our beds, if it please you, for we are sore wearied."
The next day, Geoffrey told his host of the message he had from Lord Cobham to Sir Roger Ashton.
"Then it was he who favored his escape," said the merchant. "I thought as much. I am glad that holy man has escaped, but I would it were some other than Sir Roger that must give his life for his friends."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Geoffrey, "not that Sir Roger is a prisoner?"
"Ay, ay," said the tradesman, mournfully, "in the self-same dungeon whence he aided his friend to escape; and they say he is to be tried this week, for treason and heresy, with John Beverly the preacher, and many others; for Arundel is thirsting for blood all the more now his nobler prey has escaped him. There is nothing left for them all but the stake and the flame, and that right speedily."
The boy bowed his head on his hands in deep grief He saw again that noble old man speaking, as though they were his own, the words of the apostle: "If God be for us, who can be against us?" Now he was to prove their truth; but the boy felt no fear of his failing; he was rather trying to answer a question of his own heart, thinking whether he was also ready, for never had death appeared so near. But quickly there came to his mind the words of his Master, "I have prayed for you that your faith fail not," and rousing himself, he spoke cheerfully to his friend:
"Do you think I could see them?"
"I doubt it," replied the trader; "and yet you might if you made friends with the keepers, under pretence of taking them something."
"I will go now," said the boy, rising, "lest it be too late to-morrow. Give me that cloak of russet--I will change dresses with your apprentice, and take it to Sir Roger as though he had ordered it."
In a few moments Geoffrey, with the bundle on his shoulder, had started for the Tower. Philip Naseby accompanied him as far as he dared, then pointed out the rest of the way, and left the young Lollard to go on his perilous errand alone. The first gate was easily passed, as a party was just entering, and having gone through the first, the porters at the inner one did not attempt to detain him.
So far, so well; and, having had the position of the passages and buildings pointed out to him, his retentive memory enabled him to find his way without difficulty. He soon reached the guard-room filled with idle soldiers, who were only too glad to find amusement in questioning, and perhaps teasing the poor 'prentice. However, he tipped his cap a little on one side, and began as bravely as possible.
"My masters, can you tell me in which part of this castle my Lord Sir Roger Ashton, and John Beverly the preacher, are confined?"
"Halloo! who have we here?" exclaimed one of the soldiers, setting down his cup of beer, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What want you with the heretics, the traitors, the sniveling rogues? Hast thou there a nice package of rope-ladder, and other comfortable things, for their great relief and satisfaction, that they may fly out as did that arch-traitor Cobham? Had I been Arundel, he should have had no chance to try his wings; what need is there of a trial for a heretic who worships the Devil? Let the Devil help his friends, say I, and I would hasten their progress to their master by a good bonfire in the market-place. I tell you," he said, bringing his great fist down on the table with a force that made the pewter tankards and plates ring again, "a heretic should have no more trial than my dog that had run mad."
During this speech Geoffrey had been unfastening his bundle, and now held up the cloak before them. "Look ye, my masters, here is no treason," he said humbly, "only a russet cloak which was ordered a week ago, and now my master sends it. I pray you look at it; it is of good cloth, and it were pity they should not see it."
"Ha! of good cloth, indeed! Confess your master stole it; it is as full of holes as the sails of an Indian ship that hath stood many a blow in the lower sea. Well, and how much doth your honest master receive for such a pretty thing?"
This was a rather hard question for Geoffrey, for, having taken up the trade only for the occasion, he had not the least idea what the usual price of such an article was; so he had to answer as best he might.
"Two nobles, my gentle masters, which same is but little, seeing it is fair cloth. Though not good enough, mayhap, for your worships, it will keep out the rain and the cold."
"Then there is no need of it for those heretics yonder, for we are about to fit on them so fine a garment of gay crimson, that having once tried it on, they shall never more feel the cold and rain as we poor fellows have to, but shall dance as gayly as harlequins at a fair. It will be a sight to do the heart good of a true son of the church. Holy Virgin! I would take an extra year in purgatory rather than miss that sight."
The boy's heart grew sick, and his cheek pale at the thought of the fearful fate to which the soldier's jesting words referred; when another man, with a pleasanter face, filled a cup and pushed it toward him, saying:
"There, drink that, my lad, and it will bring back the color to your face. When you have fought a few battles in France under king Harry, and waded ankle-deep in the blood of the fine French gentry, you will have a stouter heart. Come now, quit your trade and be one of us."
Geoffrey drank, and did feel stronger; but just as he was about to answer, a stir within turned the attention of the whole company another way. The door opened wide, and the Lieutenant of the Tower entered, followed by the sheriff and other officers leading two men heavily fettered.
Geoffrey looked up and recognized in one of the noble, kingly-looking old men, the preacher he had come to seek, and he had no doubt but that his companion was Sir Roger. In a moment the soldiers, at a word from the Lieutenant, formed in a line on each side of the sheriffs, and prepared to escort the prisoners to the place of trial. The boy had nothing to do but to follow as fast as possible, and he saw the whole train pass quickly through the various courts to the river-gate, and there embarking in some barges ready manned with stout rowers, they passed out of sight around an angle of the building.
CHAPTER VI.
The Trial.
Arundel sat in his seat of judgment in the great hall of one of the monasteries belonging to the Dominican Friars. Beside him, in full canonicals, sat the bishops of London, Winchester, and others, ready to assist him, by their learning and authority, to cleanse the church from the stains of heresy and schism. Below the table, where clerks sat ready with pens and parchment to take down the evidence, there were men of every degree and class. Friars in black, and friars in gray, friars whose portly persons reminded the spectator more of midnight wassail than of midnight prayer, and friars whose pale, hungry-looking faces, gaunt bodies, and knotted scourges hanging at their sides, were in strict conformity with the stern rule of Saint Benedict.
Pilgrims with "scallop-shell and sandal shoon," were gathered in little knots, discussing the various merits of the different shrines and holy places they had visited. One tall, stalwart-looking fellow related that, after walking bare-headed, with dried peas in his shoes, to the tomb of the holy St. Thomas à Becket, he had been suddenly cured of an ulcer in the leg which had troubled him for five years. Here a little man with a shrill voice interrupted him, and declared that nothing could equal the efficacy of the holy water from the altar of our Lady of Lorreto, and that her shrine was covered with offerings made to her by those whose prayers for safety from danger and recovery from sickness had been answered, even though they were far away. The sonorous voice of a vender of reliquaries was now heard, declaring that a morsel of the finger-nail of St. Bridget, which he had there in a leaden box, would keep a sailor from even wetting his feet during the hardest storm that ever blew on the Channel. He had also a crucifix, blessed by the Pope, containing a hair of St. Joseph which would give to whoever wore it next his heart long days of uninterrupted happiness and prosperity, and all this for a single noble! A little at one side stood a pardoner with his little pieces of parchment inscribed with pardons for every imaginable sin, and covering various periods, from a week to a lifetime. The prices were graded according to the enormity of the offence, and the length of time; one poor fellow who had knocked down a priest having to pay a mark, while another, who had only taken a chicken from his neighbor's yard, went off happy and secure from all transgressions for the next month, on the payment of a few groats. As he turned to a new set of applicants, a sturdy begging friar went around beseeching, or rather demanding, charity, in the name of all the saints in the calendar.
But now pilgrim, pardoner, and beggar turned alike toward the judgment-seat, for the crier had called upon John Beverly, Sir Roger Ashton, and many others, to come into court, and the men-at-arms were beating back the crowd, to make room for the prisoners to approach the table. All eyes were turned upon the nine-and-thirty men who marched between soldiers armed to the teeth, up the long hall, and took their places before their judge. A boy, who had just edged his way through the crowd, stood, with flushed cheeks and panting breath, as near to them as he could get, and then the trial began.
The crime alleged to have been committed by John Beverly and his companions, namely, that of attending meetings for other worship than the church allowed, and reading the works of John De Wickliffe to the people, needed no proof; they gloried in what their enemies called their shame, and ever since their arrest had only confirmed the accusation by their conduct in prison. They were mostly men of little note, but with Sir Roger Ashton it was different. He was a man of influence and position, who, until very lately, had been considered a faithful son of the church; and even now his character stood so high among the people, that could he be induced to recant, it would restore the ecclesiastical body to that popular favor which they had lost by their treatment of the favorite Lord Cobham, and at the same time strike a heavy blow at the progress of the reformed religion.
Having therefore read his accusation, they began to question him concerning the disputed points of faith.
As to the grand "test" question, as it was called, whether the body of Christ is really present in the sacrament, he answered so boldly and distinctly as to set the question of his Lollardism completely at rest. Fearlessly he declared that the bread and wine were no more blood and flesh after the priest had pronounced the words of consecration, than was that which was daily served at his own table; nevertheless, they were in a measure holy, having been set apart to commemorate the Saviour's death, and as such, were to be reverenced, but never worshipped.
Here the Benedictine friar raised his hands and eyes in holy horror at the very thought, and a hum of indignation was heard through the hall. The guards, however, soon enforced silence, and Arundel put the next point.
Drawing out a small, richly ornamented crucifix from under his robe, and holding it up before Ashton, he said: "What think you of this?"
Many of the assembly dropped on their knees, and all bared their heads before the sacred symbol; the nine-and-thirty alone stood upright and unmoved.
"It is a pretty bauble," said the prisoner, "and as such I would put it away carefully lest it should be harmed."
"Know you not that that is the cross of Christ through which salvation is come into the world? Infidel! saith not the scripture, 'God forbid that I should glory save in the cross of Christ'?"
"Yes, truly so saith it, but not in a poor bit of gold. It is not the wooden tree that doth save me from my sins, but he that died thereon. Him do I worship, and to him do I bow the knee. Cast aside these idols, these vain things that draw away the hearts of the people from the only God; pray to the living Jesus, and carry about with you holy works and righteous deeds, and it will be of more service to your souls than a houseful of glittering toys, or dead men's musty bones."
"Holy mother of Christ, and blessed saint Patrick!" exclaimed the relic-vender. "The finger-bone of St. Catharine and the tooth of St. Jerome of no avail! God help the poor sinners then, for they must surely perish."
"My Lord," whispered the bishop of London to the Primate, "were it not best to end this scene, lest the common people be led away by these blasphemous doctrines? There can exist now no doubt of his being a heretic, and that of the most dangerous kind."
The archbishop was anxious to return to his palace, where an episcopal dinner was to be given that day, and so agreed with him perfectly. He therefore turned to the prisoners and said:
"It doth fully appear that ye are all confirmed heretics, holding devilish doctrines which the church doth declare false and blasphemous; therefore, that we may cleanse the church of Christ from all stains and blemishes, we, in our office of vicegerents of God on earth, do command you to leave off these your abominable ways, and return as penitents to the bosom of Holy Mother church, who is ever ready to receive her wandering children when, with true repentance, they turn to her for pardon and mercy. Bethink you of your ways, and of your poor wives and children, confess your grievous sins, perform the pilgrimages and penances which your spiritual fathers shall appoint, and then, having thus shown your sorrow for your past offences, be received into that church which now stretches out her arms of mercy toward you."
At the words "wives and children," some of the poor men's countenances fell, as they thought of the households which must be left desolate, and their babes crying for food. But at that moment a woman stepped from the crowd with a little one on her arm, and advancing toward one of the prisoners, exclaimed:
"Hold, Jacob Simmons! think of naught but the Lord's honor. I am strong, and the children likely, and God will never suffer the widow and orphan to want. Be not a coward; sell not thy soul for temporal comfort. Art thou a coward? fearest thou to die? Up! be a man! that this, thy child and my child, may be proud to call thee father!"
The woman disappeared in the throng the moment she had uttered the last word, but the noble appeal had strengthened all their hearts, and not a head but was held more upright, and not a soul but responded to the answer of their spokesman, Beverly.
"My Lords the Bishops and Clergy, in answer to the charge brought against us we do not deny, but rather affirm, that after the manner ye call heresy, we worship God. We do not regard the images and pictures which ye place instead of God, nor do we rest our hopes of salvation on the remains of dead men, sinners like ourselves, or in journeys to famous shrines, as though God were nearer Canterbury and Loretto than London and Westminster. As to the church to which you invite us to return, it is not Christ's church, for it doth not profess his doctrines, nor follow in his footsteps, and we will have none of it. Nay, more, we fear to remain under its shadow, knowing that it must shortly fall, warring as it does against the Most High. And as it is a great anti-Christ, so shall its fall be great, and it will sink utterly into perdition. We do not need to trust in its offers of pardon, for we know that that Christ whose we are, and whom we serve, will freely pardon all our offences through his most precious blood. And when with your flames ye shall have freed our souls from the clogs of this mortal flesh, He will give unto us crowns of glory which fade not away. God, who knoweth our hearts, knoweth that we lie not."
Arundel's face was white with passion, but he suppressed his feelings by an effort, and pronounced their sentence:
"Since ye will not heed the offers of mercy, listen to the words of judgment. On the fourth day from this, at such an hour as shall be hereafter appointed, ye shall be led from your prisons to the field of St. Giles, and there ye shall be hanged alive in chains, being burned while hanging, and your ashes scattered to the winds, that the church may be cleansed from the foul blot of heresy, and the honor of Christ vindicated from the attacks of the Devil."
A solemn silence reigned in the assembly during the enunciation of this terrible doom; but of all that band upon whom all eyes rested, not one showed a sign of fear. After a few moments, the clear tones of the preacher's voice rose again, as firm and unwavering as before, and, raising his right hand, he pointed, with his extended fore-finger toward his judge.
"Arundel, archbishop of York, I stand before you this day as a messenger from God. Thus saith the Lord: In the time when thou dost not expect me, I will draw near; suddenly as in the night, I will come unto thee, and require of thy hand the blood of my elect. And because thou wilt have no answer for me, I will cut thee down in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye. Men shall seek thee, and shall not find thee, and in the place where thou wentest to and fro thou shalt be no more seen forever. Shall my elect cry unto me and not be avenged? I count the sparrows that fall, and shall my chosen ones perish and I not know it? saith the Lord. Behold I hasten and tarry not, and the cup of my wrath I bring with me. Thou shalt look for help, and there shall none aid thee; a horrible darkness shall fall upon thee, and none can deliver out of my hand!"
The speaker ceased but still he stood, his mantle gathered closely around him, and his piercing eyes fixed on the shrinking, cowering man, at whom the terrible right hand still pointed. Arundel's face had turned from its usual ruddy hue to a deathlike pallor, and he shook as though smitten with an ague. At length a shriek burst from his ashy lips. "Care you not that he hath bewitched me? Away with him, take him away, he hath a devil!"
A grim smile passed over the old man's features, but still he relaxed not his gaze, nor the out-stretched arm, till, with a cry that rang in the ears of those who heard it for many years after, the primate of England rose from his seat, and flinging away his cloak, lest it might impede him, fled from the hall. Then, after a few moments, the arm was slowly dropped, and the preacher turning, passed with his guards down to the door, the crowd pressing back to give him room.
A few months later, while Arundel was sitting in the midst of his friends, the hand of the Lord smote him, and in his speechless agony he looked from side to side, but there was none to help. A moment after, the distorted features had settled into the icy rigidity of death. The Lord had come to him, suddenly, as it were in a moment, and required at his hand the blood of his saints!
CHAPTER VII.
As the Stars forever and ever.
Calmly and brightly the sun rose on the morning of the fourth day after the trial; as calmly and brightly he climbed toward the zenith, as though he were not to look down upon one of the most fiendish deeds that ever disgraced England's soil. In the field of St. Giles, in the outskirts of the city, workmen were busy putting finishing touches to a strange piece of carpentry. A row of holes had been dug at a distance of about six feet from each other, and in these were placed stout beams of wood. Another row was then put about ten feet from the first, and the same kind of posts being inserted, crossbeams were fastened from a spot of one row to the corresponding one in the other. Another construction of the same kind was placed on one side of the first, leaving an open space of some twenty feet in width between. On each of the crossbeams were fastened heavy chains, each terminating in a large iron ring. Meanwhile other men had been arriving, bearing fagots of dry wood, which were arranged in order under the chains, and then the men all paused and looked toward the town.
Not long had they to wait. A procession soon appeared, headed by a guard of foot-soldiers, who encircled the rows of gallows, for such they were, and so made way for the rest of the train to approach. Next came the executioners, some with lighted torches, others with blacksmith's hammers. Then came the thirty-nine prisoners, each accompanied by a friar of some order, followed by another guard, and lastly the rabble, consisting of all the mob of London, clustered as closely as the troops would permit them. Some of the Lollards looked pale and haggard, and their limbs, so long chained in damp dungeons, seemed hardly capable of dragging them along. Each, as he reached the spot, cast a glance at the instruments of torture, but none drew back, or shrank from the fearful sight. To their illumined vision those piles of fagots, those bars, those chains, were but so many Jacob's ladders, gates to heaven.
Beverly mounted to his place as a newly anointed king might step for the first time on his throne. Turning to his friend he said in his clear, unfaltering voice: "We have breakfasted in a world of tribulation, we shall sup with Christ in the kingdom of glory. I am three-score years old, brother, and I thank God I have lived to see this day!"
But Ashton's heart was heavy; not for himself, but for the cause, the people, the land he loved so well. "I fear me this is a grievous day for England," was his reply.
"Christ giveth the victory!" said the preacher, his face lighting up with intense joy. The fierce gaze of the executioners standing around was abashed at the unearthly beauty of that look. He had no veil that he might, like Moses, draw over his beaming countenance, and "all men, seeing his face as it had been the face of an angel," marveled. In so loud a tone as to be heard by every one of the awe-struck assembly, he continued:
"Fear not for England, brother, the Lord hath a mission for her, and in his good time she shall accomplish it. Antichrist is great, but his end approacheth; and in this our pleasant land he shall receive his worst death-blow. Fear not, 'commit thy way to the Lord, and he will bring it to pass.' And look you, brethren, the names which our enemies scorn shall shine in the Lamb's book of life as the stars forever and ever!"
The executioners had meanwhile fastened the iron girdles with a few blows of their hammers, under the arms of each of the prisoners, and were now applying the torch to each pile of wood in succession.
Sir Roger Ashton heard them not, saw them not, knew not that the tiny flames growing larger each moment, were leaping up beneath him, and longing for their prey. It was still early, and in the east, just sinking behind the horizon, was the morning star. He knew that it was only setting to rise again in renewed glory, and he kept repeating, his eyes still entranced as though by a glorious vision: "As the stars forever. As the stars forever and ever!"
Above that pyramid of fire, above that fierce cloud of smoke that rose as though seeking to hide from heaven the foul deed then enacting on earth, were "the chariots of Israel and the horsemen thereof!"
"As the stars forever and ever;" even so. Many have shed their blood that England might add to its domain countries, and provinces, and islands of the sea, or drive from her soil the hateful foot of the invader, and their deeds are justly commemorated in sculptured marble; but the names of those who broke the first link in the chain that bound Britain an abject slave to Rome, stand as far above the former in their glory as the stars do over the warriors' graves. Foremost among those thousands who have come through great tribulation and washed their garments in the blood of the Lamb, stand those glorious English martyrs, the pioneers of the Reformation--"As the stars forever and ever!"
CHAPTER VIII.
Quiet Days.
On the afternoon succeeding this fearful tragedy, a venerable old man of more than three-score years entered the room where Hubert still lay with a low fever brought on by exposure and fatigue. He was Roger Markham, of Romney in Kent, to whose care the boys had been consigned. He had long since been deprived of his curacy, but, beloved by all his former parishioners for his saintly life, he had continued to dwell among them, supported by the labor of his hands, and ministering to them in secret that spiritual food which they sought for in vain from the parish priest.
He gladly accepted his charge, and declaring that Hubert would be better when breathing the fresh air, appointed the next day for them to set out on their journey to his own home.
Accordingly, the next morning they left the friendly trader's house, where they had found so safe an asylum, and proceeding to the outskirts of the city, met Markham with his old white pony, on which they mounted Hubert, and so went slowly on their way. They rested at an inn that night, and it was not till the next afternoon that they approached their new home. The setting sun was lighting up the snowy meadows and the clustered cottages with their low roofs laden with snow. At the entrance of the village they were met by several of the peasants eager to welcome back their friend; and, seeing that he had with him two pale stranger lads, they each contributed from their humble store refreshment to cheer them after their journey. They pressed the travellers to enter their cottages and rest awhile; but the old man wanted to be back at his own fireside; so, passing on through the single straggling street to a house that stood a little apart from the rest, the last in the row, the pony stopped of his own accord, and Markham, opening the latch, which, in those simple times, alone fastened the door, bade the wearied lads enter, for this was their home.
It was a low-roofed cottage of only one room, and furnished with the most perfect simplicity. Above, the oaken rafters, blackened by time and smoke, were plainly to be seen, and were festooned with strings of dried vegetables and herbs. The floor was of well-trodden clay; and a rough table, a few stools, a chest, some straw beds, and an oaken armchair, curiously carved by the old curate himself, completed the furniture. A sort of rack, or shelf, on one side, served as a dresser to hold the wooden platters and horn drinking-cups; while on pegs inserted in the wall, hung a sword, a cross-bow, and various garden-tools. The old man seemed to forget his own fatigue in ministering to the comfort of his guests. Geoffrey aided him, by bringing in fagots, and soon a bountiful repast, consisting of bacon, cheese, cakes, milk, and eggs, was ready to satisfy their hunger.
They were soon settled in their new home. The boys passed their time partly in study, and partly in aiding the old man to prepare his little garden for the summer crops. The cow, too, needed their care; when the snow had melted from the meadows, she must be driven to pasture in the morning, and brought home in the evening. This fell to Geoffrey's share, and gave him two long and pleasant walks a day, while Hubert attended to the humble dairy, and felt almost as proud when he had furnished the larder with a fine cheese or a trencher of golden butter, as when he had recited to his master, without failing, his longest Latin lesson. The reason why the old curate accepted no help from without, but shared the most menial labors with his noble young pupils, was because in those troublous times the only chance of safety for the poor persecuted Lollards was in being as retired as possible, and especially in keeping their Bibles, if they possessed them, from the sight of those who might at some future time betray them.
Their life was quiet, and fully employed, but not without its pleasures. Markham was not only an excellent scholar, but he also loved to impart his knowledge to others. The cottage was not their only study; in the quiet lanes and sunny meadows, on the sea-shore, and in the grand old forest, he taught them all that was then known of botany and natural history. In the clear, still winter evenings, he called their attention to the stars overhead, their names, and positions, and motions, and told them how the sailor found his way upon the deep by their assistance. He showed them the signs of the Zodiac, among which the sun and planets pursued their yearly course; he pointed out to them the "bands of Orion," the Pleiades, and "Arcturus with his sons," mentioned so beautifully in the book of Job; also the dog-star, that exerted such a baneful influence when in the ascendant, and Charles's Wain, whose two pointers always directed to that strange polar star, which, of all that bright company, seemed never to move from its place.
But one thing he taught them which would seem very strange to the youngest school-boy or girl in these present more enlightened days. He told them that this earth, being a flat plain, was the centre of all the universe, and around it, in their stated time, sun, moon, and stars revolved.
Nor did he fail to remind them of the Magi, who, by the leading of a star, found the infant Christ.
But this peaceful life did not last long. When the field of the old curate was ready for the reaping, he died. Calmly and joyfully, with a hand clasped by each of the boys, he passed away from earth; and as they closed his eyes, his last words still rang in their ears: "Stand fast for the Lord, my sons, even unto death!"
CHAPTER IX.
Hide and Seek in Forest Tower.
Two months later found them in London, the guests once more of the Lollard trader, Philip Naseby. Before the winter came they found another home on the Yorkshire coast. There dwelt Humphrey Singleton, a man who had lost friends, fortune, and home because of his faith. He had seen his wife and children turned from their burning cottage one bitterly cold winter night by the soldiers of Arundel, and now he was alone in the world, dwelling in a place, half hut, half cave, near the summit of the Yorkshire cliffs.
There the boys found him, sitting at the door of his hermitage in the autumn twilight, feeding a lamb with grass and leaves. He gladly received his guests; and there, in that lonely place, they hoped to be permitted to remain till they had finished their studies. As it had been before, Hubert staid quietly at home, studying, while Geoffrey oftener pursued a more active life, gathering sea-birds' eggs among the cliffs, or catching fish in a little boat far out in the bay.
One evening there came a messenger to them. He bore the Lollard password, and so was eagerly received. When he had refreshed himself, they all gathered around the fire to hear what news he might bring. They had heard already of Arundel's awful end; how, when he was sitting at a feast with his friends about him he had been struck by the hand of death. Not a moment had been given to his wretched soul to prepare itself to meet its Judge. Not a word had his palsied tongue been able to utter; only the writhing features showed his agony. Now, to their grief, they learned that his successor, Chichely, was following in his footsteps. The search after heretics was even more rigorous than before.
"Have you heard aught of what has befallen Forest Tower and its noble Lord?" said the stranger.
Geoffrey started to his feet. "Nay, we have not heard. Speak out, man, and tell me of my father."
"Your father is safe, master Geoffrey," said the man, rising and bowing respectfully to the boy. "I knew you not at first. Sir John is safe, and in Wales, by the Lord's mercy; but the archers pressed him sore, and thirsted like wild beasts for his blood. Blessed be the Lord that delivered him from the flame, and gave him wings to his feet."
"And the Tower?" said Geoffrey, breathlessly.
"There is no such place; they have not left one stone on another; I saw it myself."
Geoffrey groaned aloud, then, raising himself to his full height, he lifted his clenched hand to heaven and cried:
"It is mine! It is mine! Mine by the same right that king Harry holds his throne! They shall give it back, stone for stone, or this right hand shall lay them as low as its ashes are. I will----"
Here his hand was grasped from behind, and his master's voice said, half sternly, half sorrowfully:
"Boy! art thou to fight for an earthly habitation, or a heavenly? Hast thou renounced all these for Jesus' sake, and art so ready to snatch at them again?"
The boy sank down ashamed of this demonstration of useless anger, and listened quietly to the man's story.
We will go back to the time of the boys' departure from home, and trace the history of Forest Castle and its proprietor.
When De Forest had seen Cobham safe on his road to Wales, he had returned to his home, now so desolate. Contrary to his expectations, he had remained unmolested during the whole succeeding winter and spring; indeed, he had been so free from interruption, that Oldcastle had more than once ventured from his place of concealment to attend meetings for worship held in the castle or secluded woods, and to meet such of his friends as could be allowed to know the secret of his hiding-place. Through the summer there were rumors of danger; the archbishop's soldiers had come within a few miles of the place, but, for some reason, had turned back, and, as the fall advanced, the little signals at the foot of the oak-tree pronounced all safe.
One chilly November evening, when the first snow was beginning to fall on the leaf-strewn forest paths, and bare tree-branches, Lord Cobham sat in the hall at Forest Tower talking with its owner. Since the departure of the boys, it had been necessary to confide the secrets of the signals, the various passwords, and the concealed entrances to some one, and Sir John had chosen for this important post a young peasant, Charles Bertrand--he who was afterward to tell the tale of his misfortunes to the young master.
This person interrupted the conversation of the friends by announcing that a king's officer and a band of men had appeared suddenly at the gate, and were crossing the draw-bridge.
Whatever might be their errand, Cobham must not be seen; so he went quickly out by the opposite door, barely having it closed upon him by the faithful Bertrand, when the visitors admitted themselves by the grand entrance.
The Trial.--Page [76].
Sir John rose to greet them with dignified courtesy. The soldier did not seem to notice the greeting, but striding up to the table, demanded if he were Sir John of the Forest.
"I am," was the reply, given in such a quiet, fearless tone, that the soldier's rough manner was somewhat modified.
"Then I arrest you for heresy and treason. Men, guard the prisoner and bring hither the guide!"
Some of the men surrounded De Forest, while others led, or rather dragged in a peasant, who seemed ready to sink through the floor with shame and terror.
"Now," said the commander, when he had advanced to the table, "look up, fellow, and tell us if this be your master or no."
The man glanced up for a moment, but his head sank again when he encountered the piercing glance of his betrayed lord, and he muttered his answer almost inaudibly: "Yes, sirs, I know him."
"And where is Cobham, who you say was sitting here not an hour ago? Come, the truth, or--you remember my promise," and he shook in the man's face a rope, knotted into a noose.
The wretch threw himself on his knees in an agony of terror.
"My life! You said you would spare me if I brought you hither!"
"Ay, thy life, and a gold angel to boot; but the truth first--where is the traitor?"
"Truly, my masters, may I never speak another word if I tell you false. It is always so; he has slipped away. He comes often to the Tower; but though I have watched the gates day and night, I have never seen him enter, or pass out. May the saints preserve me, but I believe it is an evil spirit, and not a man!"
The captain, finding he could gain nothing more from the fellow, ordered two men to guard the prisoner, and with the rest of the band, went to search the house, carrying the unwilling guide with them.
When they had gone, one of the guard took up the flagon, and, finding it empty, demanded with an oath where the heretic kept his wine. Sir John courteously directed him to the buttery; but scarcely had the man closed the door, when the prisoner sprang on his guard, and with one well-directed blow struck him senseless. He then lost no time, but stepping to the immense open fireplace, touched a spring at the bottom of the jamb. A little door, scarcely a foot wide, opened; he passed through; it closed upon him, and no one could have told where the apparently solid stones were joined. A moment later the soldier returned, but only to find the room vacant except for his groaning comrade.
His first impulse was to recover the stunned man by dashing the contents of a water-bucket in his face, and inquire what had become of the Lollard; but as he could only discover that his companion imagined himself to have been assaulted by the Evil Spirit the guide had spoken of, who had cast a spell upon him, he turned impatiently to the doors to summon assistance, but found them fast bolted on the other side.
"It is all witchcraft, I tell you!" exclaimed the half-stunned soldier, his teeth chattering both from fear and from the cold bath he had received. "If I had known it was the Devil the archbishop was chasing, I should have staid at home. I saw the fire flash from his eyes, and by my faith, he smelt of brimstone or ever I came in the room!"
When the captain of the band returned from his unsuccessful search for Cobham, and found that his guards had lost their prisoner and been locked up themselves, his wrath knew no bounds. He ordered the unlucky soldiers to be chained and guarded, and threatened them with hanging; and then proceeded to search the castle anew, stamping on every stone in the pavement, in hopes of discovering the spring of the secret doors with which he had heard the building was well supplied. He did indeed find several, and the infuriated soldiers sprang in with howls of delight; but it was all in vain; the cells, cut in the thickness of the wall, seemed to have no connection with each other, and were quite empty, except for some owls and bats, that, aroused from their sleep by the flash of the torches, hooted, and flapped their great wings in the men's faces, appearing very like the evil spirits that the invaders of their territory half believed they were.
At last wearied with their useless efforts, they all returned to the hall for a carouse, for which the well-filled cellars of the knight supplied abundant provision. They were all, the captain as well as his men, not a little superstitious; and they were only too glad to drown with wine the feelings of dread and uneasiness which the strange events of the day and the gloomy look of the old hall had occasioned. It was not long before the strong drink had done its work, and they had all sunk down in various attitudes of drunken slumber. The captain himself, who had been sitting in the knight's own chair and drinking from his silver cup, though rather stronger-headed than the rest, began to feel drowsy; and so, having thrown some fresh logs on the fire, and taken the precaution to draw the bolts of the doors and drag a heavy settle across each, he settled himself for a sound nap.
How long he slept he did not know; but his first sensation on waking was one of suffocation, and when he tried to raise his hands to discover the cause, he found they were tied behind him, and his mouth tightly bound with a cloth. He next discovered that he was stretched full length on one of the oaken benches and fastened to it, so that the only movement he could make was to roll a little on one side. Wide awake now, he immediately made use of this one privilege that was left him, and looked about the room. His companions were very much in the same condition as himself, but evidently perfectly unconscious of it. The fire had been newly built up and was blazing brightly, giving all the light that was needed, and, sitting in the arm-chair which he himself had so lately occupied, warming himself by the fire, sat the man he had been seeking, Cobham the outlaw, while Forest was sitting on a stool by his side watching some wine that was warming in the silver cup.
The soldier was almost beside himself with rage and mortification to see the man for whom, dead or alive, such large rewards were offered, sitting there as complacently as though he had not an enemy in the world, while he was unable to stir either hand or foot or to cry for help. For some time he lay there thus, rendered more furious, from time to time, by the grim smile that played on Sir John's face, whenever he turned it so as to encounter the enraged glances of the prisoner.
As the soldier became cooler, however, he began to wonder how the room had been entered. He lay so that he could see all the doors, still bolted and barricaded as he had left them; but just as he was looking for some opening in the wall, or a rope hanging from one of the windows, there came a partial solution of the mystery.
The morning light was just beginning to struggle through the windows when a low whistle was heard, to which De Forest instantly replied, and then threw upon the fire a handful of something which he drew from a bag at his side. A dense black smoke arose in a cloud, obscuring for an instant, the whole fireplace, and when it cleared away, another had been added to the group at the fireside. It was Charles Bertrand, whom the captain had already noted as in attendance on De Forest.
"Is all ready?" said Sir John to the young man.
The latter looked suspiciously around, and then, stooping so that he might be heard by none but his master, he said:
"The horses are not ready, my Lord, and there is a signal out that the mountain-road is dangerous. It will not do to try it before evening, at any rate."
"There is nothing for it but to crouch in our holes for another day, then," said the Lollard cheerfully, and he turned to communicate the news to Cobham. They agreed to remain in their hiding-places till the next midnight; then Bertrand was to bring the horses to the entrance of one of the long, concealed passages leading from the castle to the open country, and they were all three to make the best of their way to Wales.
Cautious as they were in general, they raised their voices a little too much in the discussion, for although they had gagged their prisoner's mouth, they had forgotten to stop his ears, and although he only heard a word here and there, he had wit enough to put them together, and make out pretty clearly what was to be their plan. Fearing, however, lest they should kill him if they suspected he had overheard them, he did not let his feelings of satisfaction appear in his face.
The three men seemed now about to depart, and the soldier watched with all his powers of eyesight to discover, if possible, how they would leave the hall First, the knight took down from the wall his suit of mail, and, by the aid of Bertrand, put it on. He then threw over it his mantle which hung on one of the deer's antlers almost directly over the captain's head. He also chose, from several that were lying about, a good sword, and handed it to Cobham, who handled it as though he were well accustomed to its use, albeit his hand trembled a little from age. Meanwhile, Bertrand had loaded himself with a large flagon of wine and a joint of meat.
When everything was ready, Sir John went round among the sleeping men, and, after examining them all carefully, chose the one who seemed likely to sleep the longest, and unfastened one of his hands. He then went back to the fireplace, and they all three stood close to the hearth.
"Is all ready, my Lord?" said Bertrand, leaning carelessly against the jamb of the fireplace.