Hendon’s[2] arts all failed with the king—he could not be comforted, but
a couple of women who were chained near him, succeeded better. Under
their gentle ministrations he found peace and learned a degree of
patience. He was very grateful, and came to love them dearly and to
delight in the sweet and soothing influence of their presence. He asked
them why they were in prison, and when they said they were Baptists, he
smiled and inquired:
“Is that a crime to be shut up for in a prison? Now I grieve, for I
shall lose ye—they will not keep ye long for such a little thing.”
They did not answer; and something in their faces made him uneasy. He
said, eagerly:
“You do not speak—be good to me, and tell me—there will be no other
punishment? Prithee, tell me there is no fear of that.”
They tried to change the topic, but his fears were aroused, and he
pursued it:
“Will they scourge thee? No, no, they would not be so cruel! Say they
would not. Come, they _will_ not, will they?”
The women betrayed confusion and distress, but there was no avoiding an
answer, so one of them said, in a voice choked with emotion:
“Oh, thou’lt break our hearts, thou gentle spirit! God will help us to
bear our——”
“It is a confession!” the king broke in. “Then they _will_ scourge thee,
the stony-hearted wretches. But oh, thou must not weep, I cannot bear
it. Keep up thy courage—I shall come to my own in time to save thee from
this bitter thing and I will do it!”
When the king awoke in the morning, the women were gone.
“They are saved!” he said, joyfully; then added, despondently, “but woe
is me!—for they were my comforters.”
Each of them had left a shred of ribbon pinned to his clothing, in token
of remembrance. He said he would keep these things always; and that soon
he would seek out these dear good friends of his and take them under his
protection.
Just then the jailer came in with some subordinates and commanded that
the prisoners be conducted to the jail-yard. The king was overjoyed—it
would be a blessed thing to see the blue sky and breathe the fresh air
once more. He fretted and chafed at the slowness of the officers, but
his turn came at last and he was released from his staple and ordered to
follow the other prisoners, with Hendon.
The court, or quadrangle, was stone-paved, and open to the sky. The
prisoners entered it through a massive archway of masonry, and were
placed in file, standing, with their backs against the wall. A rope was
stretched in front of them, and they were also guarded by their
officers. It was a chill and lowering morning, and a light snow which
had fallen during the night whitened the great empty space and added to
the general dismalness of its aspect. Now and then a wintry wind
shivered through the place and sent the snow eddying hither and thither.
In the center of the court stood two women, chained to posts. A glance
showed the king that these were his good friends. He shuddered, and said
to himself, “Alack, they are not gone free, as I had thought. To think
that such as these should know the lash!—in England! Ay, there’s the
shame of it—not in Heathenesse, but Christian England! They will be
scourged; and I, whom they have comforted and kindly entreated, must
look on and see the great wrong done; it is strange, so strange! that I,
the very source of power in this broad realm, am helpless to protect
them. But let these miscreants look well to themselves, for there is a
day coming when I will require of them a heavy reckoning for this work.
For every blow they strike now they shall feel a hundred then.”
A great gate swung open and a crowd of citizens poured in. They flocked
around the two women, and hid them from the king’s view. A clergyman
entered and passed through the crowd, and he also was hidden. The king
now heard talking, back and forth, as if questions were being asked and
answered, but he could not make out what was said. Next there was a deal
of bustle and preparation, and much passing and repassing of officials
through that part of the crowd that stood on the further side of the
women; and while this proceeded a deep hush gradually fell upon the
people.
Now, by command, the masses parted and fell aside, and the king saw a
spectacle that froze the marrow in his bones. Fagots had been piled
about the two women, and a kneeling man was lighting them!
The women bowed their heads, and covered their faces with their hands;
the yellow flames began to climb upward among the snapping and crackling
fagots, and wreaths of blue smoke to stream away on the wind; the
clergyman lifted his hands and began a prayer—just then two young girls
came flying through the great gate, uttering piercing screams, and threw
themselves upon the women at the stake. Instantly they were torn away by
the officers, and one of them was kept in a tight grip, but the other
broke loose, saying she would die with her mother; and before she could
be stopped she had flung her arms about her mother’s neck again. She was
torn away once more, and with her gown on fire. Two or three men held
her, and the burning portion of her gown was snatched off and thrown
flaming aside, she struggling all the while to free herself, and saying
she would be alone in the world now, and begging to be allowed to die
with her mother. Both the girls screamed continually, and fought for
freedom; but suddenly this tumult was drowned under a volley of
heart-piercing shrieks of mortal agony. The king glanced from the
frantic girls to the stake, then turned away and leaned his ashen face
against the wall, and looked no more. He said, “That which I have seen,
in that one little moment, will never go out from my memory, but will
abide there; and I shall see it all the days, and dream of it all the
nights, till I die. Would God I had been blind!”
Hendon was watching the king. He said to himself, with satisfaction,
“His disorder mendeth; he hath changed, and groweth gentler. If he had
followed his wont, he would have stormed at these varlets, and said he
was king, and commanded that the women be turned loose unscathed. Soon
his delusion will pass away and be forgotten, and his poor mind will be
whole again. God speed the day!”
That same day several prisoners were brought in to remain over night,
who were being conveyed, under guard, to various places in the kingdom,
to undergo punishment for crimes committed. The king conversed with
these,—he had made it a point, from the beginning, to instruct himself
for the kingly office by questioning prisoners whenever the opportunity
offered—and the tale of their woes wrung his heart. One of them was a
poor half-witted woman who had stolen a yard or two of cloth from a
weaver—she was to be hanged for it. Another was a man who had been
accused of stealing a horse; he said the proof had failed, and he had
imagined that he was safe from the halter; but no—he was hardly free
before he was arraigned for killing a deer in the king’s park; this was
proved against him, and now he was on his way to the gallows. There was
a tradesman’s apprentice whose case particularly distressed the king;
this youth said he found a hawk one evening that had escaped from its
owner, and he took it home with him, imagining himself entitled to it;
but the court convicted him of stealing it, and sentenced him to death.
The king was furious over these inhumanities, and wanted Hendon to break
jail and fly with him to Westminster, so that he could mount his throne
and hold out his scepter in mercy over these unfortunate people and save
their lives. “Poor child,” sighed Hendon, “these woeful tales have
brought his malady upon him again—alack, but for this evil hap, he would
have been well in a little time.”
Among these prisoners was an old lawyer—a man with a strong face and a
dauntless mien. Three years past, he had written a pamphlet against the
Lord Chancellor, accusing him of injustice, and had been punished for it
by the loss of his ears in the pillory and degradation from the bar, and
in addition had been fined £3,000 and sentenced to imprisonment for
life. Lately he had repeated his offense; and in consequence was now
under sentence to lose _what remained of his ears_, pay a fine of
£5,000, be branded on both cheeks, and remain in prison for life.
“These be honorable scars,” he said, and turned back his gray hair and
showed the mutilated stubs of what had once been his ears.
The king’s eyes burned with passion. He said: “None believe in
me—neither wilt thou. But no matter—within the compass of a month thou
shalt be free; and more, the laws that have dishonored thee, and shamed
the English name, shall be swept from the statute books. The world is
made wrong, kings should go to school to their own laws at times, and so
learn mercy.”