"We will not come to Thee
Till Thou hast nailed us to some bitter cross
And made us look on Thee."
"B.M."
Amphillis took her own spindle, and sat down beside Marabel, who was
just beginning to spin.
"What was it so diverted Agatha at supper?" inquired Marabel.
"She laughs full easily," answered Amphillis; and told her what had been
the subject of discourse.
"She is a light-minded maid," said Marabel. "So you thought Master
Norman had a satisfied look, trow? Well, I count you had the right."
"Agatha said she knew not of nought in this world that should satisfy
him."
Marabel smiled. "I misdoubt if that which satisfieth him ever came out
of this world. Amphillis, whenas you dwelt in London town, heard you at
all preach one of the poor priests?"
"What manner of folks be they?"
"You shall know them by their raiment, for they mostly go clad of a
frieze coat, bound by a girdle of unwrought leather."
"Oh, ay? I heard once a friar so clad; and I marvelled much to what
Order he belonged. But it was some while gone."
"What said he?"
"Truly, that cannot I tell you, for I took not but little note. I was
but a maidling, scarce past my childhood. My mother was well pleased
therewith. I mind her to have said, divers times, when she lay of her
last sickness, that she would fain have shriven her of the friar in the
frieze habit. Wherefore, cannot I say."
"Then perchance I can say it for you:--for I reckon it was because he
brought her gladder tidings than she had heard of other."
Amphillis looked surprised. "Why, whatso? Sermons be all alike, so far
as ever I could tell."
"Be they so? No, verily, Amphillis. Is there no difference betwixt
preaching of the law--`Do this, and thou shalt live,' and preaching of
the glad gospel of the grace of God--`I give unto them everlasting
life?'"
"But we must merit Heaven!" exclaimed Amphillis.
"Our Lord, then, paid not the full price, but left at the least a few
marks over for us to pay? Nay, He bought Heaven for us, Amphillis: and
only He could do it. We have nothing to pay; and if we had, how should
our poor hands reach to such a purchase as that? It took God to save
the world. Ay, and it took God, too, to love the world enough to save
it."
"Why, but if so be, we are saved--not shall be."
"We are, if we ever shall be."
"But is that true Catholic doctrine?"
"It is the true doctrine of God's love. Either, therefore, it is
Catholic doctrine, or Catholic doctrine hath erred from it."
"But the Church cannot err!"
"Truth, so long as she keep her true to God's law. The Church is men,
not God! and God must be above the Church. But what is the Church? Is
it this priest or that bishop? Nay, verily; it is the congregation of
all the faithful elect that follow Christ, and do after His
commandments. So long, therefore, as they do after His commands, and
follow Him, they be little like to err. `He that believeth in the Son
_hath_ everlasting life.'"
"But we all believe in our Lord!" said Amphillis, feeling as if so many
new ideas had never entered her head all at once before.
"Believe what?" said Marabel, and she smiled.
"Why, we believe that He came down from Heaven, and died, and rose
again, and ascended, and such-like."
"Wherefore?"
"Wherefore came He? Truly, that know I not. By reason that it liked
Him, I count."
"Ay, that was the cause," said Marabel, softly. "He came because--shall
we say?--He so loved Amphillis Neville, that He could not do without her
in Heaven: and as she could win there none other way than by the laying
down of His life, He came and laid it down."
"Marabel! Never heard I none to speak after this manner! Soothly, our
Lord died for us: but--"
"But--yet was it not rightly for us, thee and me, but for some folks a
long way off, we cannot well say whom?"
Amphillis span and thought--span fast, because she was thinking hard:
and Marabel did not interrupt her thoughts.
"But--we must merit it!" she urged again at last.
"Dost thou commonly merit the gifts given thee? When man meriteth that
he receiveth--when he doth somewhat, to obtain it--it is a wage, not a
gift. The very life and soul of a gift is that it is not merited, but
given of free favour, of friendship or love."
"I never heard no such doctrine!"
Marabel only smiled.
"Followeth my Lady this manner?"
"A little in the head, maybe; for the heart will I not speak."
"And my La--I would say, Mistress Perrote?" Amphillis suddenly
recollected that her mistress was never to be mentioned.
"Ask at her," said Marabel, with a smile.
"Then Master Norman is of this fashion of thinking?"
"Ay. So be the Hyltons all."
"Whence gat you the same?"
"It was learned me of my Lady Molyneux of Sefton, that I served as
chamberer ere I came hither. I marvel somewhat, Amphillis, that thou
hast never heard the same, and a Neville. All the Nevilles of Raby be
of our learning--well-nigh."
"Dear heart, but I'm no Neville of Raby!" cried Amphillis, with a laugh
at the extravagance of the idea. "At the least, I know not well whence
my father came; his name was Walter Neville, and his father was Ralph,
and more knew I never. He bare arms, 'tis true--gules, a saltire
argent; and his device, `_Ne vile velis_.'"
"The self arms of the Nevilles of Raby," said Marabel, with an amused
smile. "I marvel, Amphillis, thou art not better learned in thine own
family matters."
"Soothly. I never had none to learn me, saving my mother; and though
she would tell me oft of my father himself, how good and true man he
were, yet she never seemed to list to speak much of his house. Maybe it
was by reason he came below his rank in wedding her, and his kin refused
to acknowledge her amongst them. Thus, see you, I dropped down, as man
should say, into my mother's rank, and never had no chance to learn
nought of my father's matters."
"Did thine uncle learn thee nought, then?"
"He learned me how to make patties of divers fashions," answered
Amphillis, laughing. "He was very good to me, and belike to my mother,
his sister; but I went not to dwell with him until after she was
departed to God. And then I was so slender [insignificant] a country
maid, with no fortune, ne parts [talents], that my cousins did somewhat
slight me, and keep me out of sight. So never met I any that should be
like to wise me in this matter. And, the sooth to say, but I would not
desire to dwell amongst kin that had set my mother aside, and reckoned
her not fit to company with them, not for no wickedness nor unseemly
dealing, but only that she came of a trading stock. It seemeth me, had
such wist our blessed Lord Himself, they should have bidden Him stand
aside, for He was but a carpenter's son. That's the evil of being in
high place, trow."
"Ah, no, dear heart! It hath none ado with place, high or low. 'Tis
human nature. Thou shalt find a duchess more ready to company with a
squire's wife, oft-times, than the squire's wife with the bailiff's
wife, and there is a deal further distance betwixt. It hangeth on the
heart, not on the station."
"But folks' hearts should be the better according to their station."
Marabel laughed. "That were new world, verily. The grace of God is the
same in every station, and the like be the wiles of Satan--not that he
bringeth to all the same temptation, for he hath more wit than so; but
he tempteth all, high and low. The high have the fairer look-out, yet
the more perilous place; the low have the less to content them, yet are
they safer. Things be more evenly parted in this world than many think.
Many times he that hath rich food, hath little appetite for it; and he
that hath his appetite sharp, can scarce get food to satisfy it."
"But then things fit not," said Amphillis.
"Soothly, nay. This world is thrown all out of gear by sin. Things
fitted in Eden, be thou sure. Another reason is there also--that he
which hath the food may bestow it on him that can relish it, and hath it
not."
The chapel bell tolled softly for the last service of the day, and the
whole household assembled. Every day this was done at Hazelwood, for
prime, sext, and compline, at six a.m., noon, and seven p.m.
respectively, and any member of the household found missing would have
been required to render an exceedingly good reason for it. The services
were very short, and a sermon was a scarcely imagined performance.
After compline came bed-time. Each girl took her lamp, louted to Lady
Foljambe and kissed her hand, and they then filed upstairs to bed after
Perrote, she and Amphillis going to their own turret.
Hitherto Perrote had been an extremely silent person. Not one word
unnecessary to the work in hand had she ever uttered, since those few on
Amphillis's first arrival. It was therefore with some little surprise
that the girl heard her voice, as she stood that evening brushing her
hair before the mirror.
"Amphillis, who chose you to come hither?"
"Truly, Mistress, that wis I not. Only, first of all, Mistress Chaucer,
of the Savoy Palace, looked me o'er to see if I should be meet for
taking into account, and then came a lady thence, and asked at me divers
questions, and judged that I should serve; but who she was I knew not.
She bade me be well ware that I gat me in no entanglements of no sort,"
said Amphillis, laughing a little; "but in good sooth, I see here
nothing to entangle me in."
"She gave thee good counsel therein. There be tangles of divers sorts,
my maid, and those which cut the tightest be not alway the worst. Thou
mayest tangle thy feet of soft wool, or rich silk, no less than of rough
cord. Ah me! there be tangles here, Amphillis, and hard to undo. There
were skilwise fingers to their tying--hard fingers, that thought only to
pull them tight, and harried them little touching the trouble of such as
should be thus tethered. And there be knots that no man can undo--only
God. Why tarry the wheels of His chariot?"
Amphillis turned round from the mirror.
"Mistress Perrote, may I ask a thing at you?"
"Ask, my maid."
"My Lady answered me not; will you? What hath our Lady done to be thus
shut close in prison?"
"_She_ done?" was the answer, with a piteous intonation. Perrote looked
earnestly into the girl's face. "Amphillis, canst thou keep a secret?"
"If I know myself, I can well."
"Wilt thou so do, for the love of God and thy Lady? It should harm her,
if men knew thou wist it. And, God wot, she hath harm enough."
"I will never speak word, Mistress Perrote, to any other than you,
without you bid me, or grant me leave."
"So shall thou do well. Guess, Amphillis, who is it that keepeth this
poor lady in such durance."
"Nay, that I cannot, without it be our Lord the King."
"He, surely; yet is he but the gaoler. There is another beyond him, at
whose earnest entreaty, and for whose pleasure he so doth. Who is it,
thinkest?"
"It seemeth me, Mistress, looking to what you say, this poor lady must
needs have some enemy," said Amphillis.
"Amphillis, that worst enemy, the enemy that bindeth these fetters upon
her, that bars these gates against her going forth, that hath quenched
all the sunlight of her life, and hushed all the music out of it--this
enemy is her own son, that she nursed at her bosom--the boy for whose
life she risked hers an hundred times, whose patrimony she only saved to
him, whose welfare through thirty years hath been dearer to her than her
own. Dost thou marvel if her words be bitter, and if her eyes be
sorrowful? Could they be aught else?"
Amphillis looked as horrified as she felt.
"Mistress Perrote, it is dreadful! Can my said Lord Duke be Christian
man?"
"Christian!" echoed Perrote, bitterly. "Dear heart, ay! one of the best
Catholics alive! Hath he not built churches with the moneys of his
mother's dower, and endowed convents with the wealth whereof he
defrauded her? What could man do better? A church is a great matter,
and a mother a full little one. Mothers die, but churches and convents
endure. Ah, when such mothers die and go to God, be there no words writ
on the account their sons shall thereafter render? Is He all silent
that denounced the Jewish priests for their Corban, by reason they
allowed man to deny to his father and mother that which he had devote to
God's temple? Is His temple built well of broken hearts, and His altar
meetly covered with the rich tracery of women's tears? `The hope of the
hypocrite shall perish, when God taketh away his soul.'"
Never before had Amphillis seen any one change as Perrote had changed
now. The quiet, stolid-looking woman had become an inspired prophetess.
It was manifest that she dearly loved her mistress, and was
proportionately indignant with the son who treated her so cruelly.
"Child," she said to Amphillis, "she lived for nought save that boy!
Her daughter was scarce anything to her; it was alway the lad, the lad!
And thus the lad a-payeth her for all her love and sacrifice--for the
heart that stood betwixt him and evil, for the gold and jewels that she
thought too mean to be set in comparison with him, for the weary arms
that bare him, and the tired feet that carried him about, a little
wailing babe--for the toil and the labour, the hope and the fear, the
waiting and the sorrow! Ay, but I marvel in what manner of coin God our
Father shall pay him!"
"But wherefore doth he so?" cried Amphillis.
"She was in his way," replied Perrote, in a tone of constrained
bitterness. "He could not have all his will for her. He desired to
make bargains, and issue mandates, and reign at his pleasure, and she
told him the bargains were unprofitable, and the mandates unjust, and it
was not agreeable. 'Twas full awkward and ill-convenient, look you, to
have an old mother interfering with man's pleasure. He would, have set
her in a fair palace, and given her due dower, I reckon, would she but
there have tarried, like a slug on a cabbage-leaf, and let him alone;
and she would not. How could she? She was not a slug, but an eagle.
And 'tis not the nature of an eagle to hang hour after hour upon a
cabbage-leaf. So, as King Edward had at the first kept her in durance
for his own ends, my gracious Lord Duke did entreat him to continue the
same on his account. As for my Lady Duchess, I say not; I know her not.
This only I know, that my Lady Foljambe is her kinswoman. And, most
times, there is a woman at the bottom of all evil mischief. Ay, there
is so!"
"Mistress Perrote, it seemeth me this is worser world than I wist ere I
came hither."
"Art avised o' that? Ay, Phyllis, thou shalt find it so; and the
further thou journeyest therein, the worser shalt thou find it."
"Mistress, wherefore is it that this poor lady of ours is kept so
secret? It seemeth as though man would have none know where she were."
"_Ha, chetife_! [Oh, miserable!] I can but avise thee to ask so much
at them that do keep her."
"Shall she never be suffered to come forth?"
"Ay," said Perrote, slowly and solemnly. "She shall come forth one day.
But I misdoubt if it shall be ere the King come Himself for her."
"The King! Shall his Grace come hither?" inquired Amphillis, with much
interest. She thought of no king but Edward the Third.
Perrote's eyes were uplifted towards the stars. She spoke as if she
were answering them rather than Amphillis.
"He shall deem [judge] the poor men of the people, and He shall make
safe the sons of poor men; and He shall make low the false challenger.
And He shall dwell with the sun, and before the moon, in generation and
in to generation... And He shall be Lord from the sea till to the sea,
and from the flood till to the ending of the world... For He shall
deliver a poor man from the mighty, and a poor man to whom was none
helper. He shall spare a poor man and needy, and He shall make safe the
souls of poor men... Blessed be the name of His majesty withouten end!
and all earth shall be filled with His majesty. Be it done, be it
done!" [Note 1.]
Amphillis almost held her breath as she listened, for the first time in
her life, to the grand roll of those sonorous verses.
"That were a King!" she said.
"That shall be a King," answered Perrote, softly. "Not yet is His
kingdom of this world. But He is King of Israel, and King of kings, and
King of the everlasting ages; and the day cometh when He shall be King
of nations, when there shall be one Lord over all the earth, and His
Name one. Is He thy King, Amphillis Neville?"
"Signify you our blessed Lord, Mistress Perrote?"
"Surely, my maid. Could any other answer thereto?"
"I reckon so," said Amphillis, calmly, as she put away her brush, and
began undressing.
"I would make sure, if I were thou. For the subjects be like to dwell
in the Court when they be preferred to higher place. `Ye ben servantis
to that thing to which ye han obeisched.' [Note 2.] Whose servant art
thou? Who reigns in thine inner soul, Phyllis?"
"Soothly, Mistress, I myself. None other, I ween."
"Nay, one other must there needs be. Thou obeyest the rule of one of
two masters--either Christ our Lord, or Satan His enemy."
"In very deed, Mistress, I serve God."
"Then thou art concerned to please God in everything. Or is it rather,
that thou art willing to please God in such matters as shall not
displease Amphillis Neville?"
Amphillis folded up sundry new and not altogether agreeable thoughts in
the garments which she was taking off and laying in neat order on the
top of her chest for the morning. Perrote waited for the answer. It
did not come until Amphillis's head was on the pillow.
"Cannot I please God and myself both?"
"That canst thou, full well and sweetly, if so be thou put God first.
Otherwise, nay."
"Soothly, Mistress, I know not well what you would be at."
"What our Saviour would be at Himself, which is, thy true bliss and
blessedness, Phyllis. My maid, to be assured of fair ending and good
welcome at the end of the journey makes not the journeying wearier. To
know not whither thou art wending, save that it is into the dark; to be
met of a stranger, that may be likewise an enemy; to be had up afore the
judge's bar, with no advocate to plead for thee, and no surety of
acquittal,--that is evil journeying, Phyllis, Dost not think so much?"
Perrote listened in vain for any answer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. Psalm seventy-two, verses 4, 5, 8, 12, 13, 18, 19; Hereford and
Purvey's version, 1381-8.
Note 2. Romans six, verse 16; Wycliffe's version, 1382.