The great man sat in his private closet, with the ivory crucifix in
the corner before the prie dieu chair, a wonderful picture of the
annunciation on the wall, where he could see it every time he
lifted his eyes, and a table piled with papers before him, though
piled with a certain method and order which enabled him to lay his
hand in a moment upon any required document.
He wore the scarlet robes of his office, and a scarlet skullcap was
on his head. His features were those of the ascetic and man of the
world. The skin was pale and slightly sallow, like old parchment;
the hair was turning white, and was thin upon the temples. The
clear-cut features were impressive, both in outline and in
expression, and the eye was as the eye of the eagle, so keenly
penetrating and far-seeing that many had shrunk before its gaze as
before the sharp thrust of a rapier.
Arthur Cole entered the presence of the great man with the habitual
courtly and almost exaggerated reverence that custom imposed. But
Anthony Dalaber, who followed, only bowed with a sort of sullen
defiance in look and aspect, not even raising his eyes to meet the
flashing, rapid glance which the great man bent upon him as he
slowly followed his companion into that august presence. He stood
in the background, and his dark face and gaunt figure did not lack
elements of dignity. There was something distinguished in the
personality of Dalaber, of which those who knew him were keenly
conscious.
The statesman, who had all his life been wont to take the measure
of men with great acumen and discernment, gave more than one quick,
keen glance in the direction of Dalaber, as he received Arthur's
credentials and cast his eye over them.
"You are welcome, Master Cole. I have heard of you before, and
everything I have heard redounds to your credit. You are highly
spoken of in Oxford, and your career there has not been without
distinction. I am keenly interested in all that happens there, and
in the welfare of each individual clerk and student. To hear a good
report of any gives me sincere pleasure. I am glad on that account
to give you this audience, albeit I am always pressed for time in
which to compress each day's work."
"I thank your Eminence from my heart," answered Arthur; "and if I
be permitted to speak, I will be as brief as I can in presenting my
petition and pleading my Cause."
"You come with a petition? Very good; I will listen and consider
it. Is it one that relates to yonder companion of yours?--
"Anthony Dalaber, I believe I mistake not in calling you by that
name."
Dalaber came a step forward, but made no reply, for Arthur had
answered for him, and the cardinal was turning over some papers
upon his table, and selecting one or two, ran his eyes rapidly down
them, after which he looked up.
"I hear of you that you are a youth of excellent parts, and of a
quick understanding, and that, with industry and application, you
may do great things. I also hear that though you have been led into
some indiscretions and dangerous courses, that you have submitted
to lawful discipline, and are forgiven and reconciled. All this is
as it should be. I rejoice in the repentance of any sinner. I pray,
my son, that in the future you may be guarded from all such
perilous courses."
Arthur almost trembled as these words were spoken. The cardinal's
wonderful eyes were fixed full upon the face of Dalaber, and the
magnetic nature of the glance seemed to act with a curious,
restraining power upon him. He spoke, but it was not with the
outburst which his comrade had feared. It was slowly and almost
haltingly.
"I have done amiss," he said. "None can better know than I how much
amiss I have done. I repent me from the bottom of my heart. But I
repent not of those things for which I suffered in prison, for
which I thought I might be called upon to lay down my life. I
repent me that I, having put mine hand to the plough, did look
back. I would I had had the courage and steadfastness to resist and
stand firm."
Arthur trembled; his eyes sought the cardinal's face. Wolsey was
regarding Dalaber with great intensity of interest, whilst a fine
smile played in shadowy fashion over his thin lips.
"Is that what you have come hither to tell me, my son?"
"In part it is," answered Dalaber, "for I have felt like a
hypocrite and renegade all these days. I love the church; I hold
her doctrines; I trow that I would die for the truth which she
teaches: but I hold also that men should not be condemned for the
reading and free discussion of the Word of God; and if those who
did persuade me to submit to discipline and penance for
disobedience believe that I repent me of holding and spreading that
doctrine, then must I ever live with the sense of having been a
traitor to the cause of my Lord and my God."
"And you wish to tell me this?"
"Yes; that your Eminence may send me back to prison, or to the
stake, if it be your will."
The same slight smile played round the cardinal's lips. He looked
once more at his papers.
"It is said here, Anthony Dalaber, that you have given up the study
of divinity, and have taken up that of the law?"
"That is true," he answered freely. "I am not made for the
priesthood; of that I am well assured. I will seek to serve God in
the lesser calling, and do my duty there to Him and to the
brethren."
"A laudable resolve," answered the great man, "in which I wish you
all success. Listen to me for a brief moment, my son. The words you
have spoken here this day will not be used against yon. I have
followed your career. I know your courage and steadfastness of
spirit, as well as its weaknesses and vacillations. I know how many
godly youths are in like case with you--halting between two
opinions, torn asunder in the struggle to judge all these hard and
difficult questions for themselves. For you, and for all who yet
love Holy Church, I have this piece of counsel to give. Beware how
you seek to tamper with the unity of the one body. Beware how you
sacrifice the greater for the lesser. It is only a church at unity
in herself that can convert the world; we have the Lord's own word
for that. If you have read in any tongue His last charge on earth
to His apostles, as recorded in the Gospel of St. John, you must
see and recognize that. The burden of that wonderful pastoral is,
'That we all may be ONE: that the world may believe.' To rend the
body is to destroy its unity. To destroy its unity is to hinder the
work of Christ upon earth. Think and ponder that well, and pray for
guidance, for patience, for the submissive will which would endure
much rather than bring war amongst the members of the one body. Our
Lord Himself has warned those who are devout and sincere from the
error of straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel. Let the church
minister the Word of God. Let those who hunger for more ask of her.
She will not send them empty away. Already those who style
themselves reformers are quarrelling amongst themselves. Soon they
will be broken up into a thousand camps. Unity will cease to reign
in the church. Confusion and hatred and even bloodshed will follow.
"Be advised, Anthony Dalaber. Quit these hard and vexed questions
for a while. Take to the less perilous study of the law. With age
and experience you will learn your lesson. And I will pray for a
blessing upon you, my son, for in truth I believe that the Lord may
have work for you to do in days to come; and if so, I trow you will
not shrink from doing it."
Anthony stood mute. A thousand questions and replies seemed to
spring to his lips, but no word passed them. He felt that in
argument he was no match for the cardinal, even had disputation
with so eminent and august a personage been possible. He felt that
somewhere there was an answer to this irrefragable argument, but
for the moment he could not find it; he stood tongue tied, silent.
The cardinal looked at him with his slight, peculiar smile, and
then turned once again to Arthur.
"And now for your petition. If it is for favour to be shown to your
ardent young friend, after the statement he desired to make to me,
with greater courage than discretion (for which, however, I like
him none the less), then it is granted already."
"It is not for him," answered Arthur; "we have both come hither on
the same errand. But we do desire your Eminence's good offices for
one who was in somewhat similar case with Dalaber. We have come to
plead for the life and liberty of John Clarke, canon of your own
beauteous and godly college in Oxford, who, with two other
companions, one of them a canon and the other a singing man of that
foundation, is lying near to death in a foul prison, and will
without doubt perish miserably there, if release doth not speedily
come."
The cardinal's steel-blue eyes took a new expression, and one which
Arthur could in no wise interpret.
"Like to die!" He spoke somewhat more abruptly than had hitherto
been the case. "You are sure of that?"
"I am sure of it," answered Arthur; "and Dr. Higdon, the dean, will
tell you the same, if your Eminence will ask him of it. And though
Master Clarke lies under the imputation of heresy, I trow there is
no sounder churchman nor godly and pure-living man in all Oxford
than he, nor one whose life holds so fair a promise of shining like
a light in a dark world."
"I have heard of this man," spoke the cardinal thoughtfully; "I
have known of him many years. I had report of him or ever he was
sent to Oxford."
"It is known in all Oxford how that your Eminence did send to us
there this godly man, whom we have learned to love and revere,"
spoke Arthur eagerly; "and many a time have we blessed you that
your choice did fall upon one of so saint-like a walk in this
world. How should we, then, not plead with your Eminence for his
life, when it lies thus in jeopardy? If you would speak the word of
release we would do the rest."
The cardinal sat very still and thoughtful.
"John Clarke is not my prisoner. He belongs to the Bishop of
Lincoln."
"I know that well," cried Arthur eagerly. "But surely the word of
your Eminence would prevail with the bishop, and free him from his
bonds."
"My Lord of Lincoln is very bitter against heretics."
"Then let him take me in lieu of Master Clarke!" suddenly cried
Dalaber, stepping forward to the cardinal's table, upon which he
leaned with both his hands, and his dark eyes flashed fire. "If he
must have a victim, let me be that victim. I am tenfold more
heretic than Master Clarke. Let me take his place in the foul
dungeon; let me, if need be, go to the stake for him. If there must
be a victim, let me be that victim; but shall he die whose life has
been given for the purity of the faith, and for teaching that very
doctrine of the unity of the one Holy Catholic Church upon which
your Eminence laid such stress in speaking awhile ago? Give me up
to the mercy of the bishop, and let Clarke go free!"
The piercing gaze of the cardinal was fixed upon Dalaber's
strenuous face. All weakness had vanished from it now. It was full
of passionate earnestness and dauntless courage. His dark eyes met
those of Wolsey without fear or shrinking. The loftiness of a great
resolve, a great sacrifice, was shining in them.
"I will consider this matter, my sons," spoke the cardinal, whose
face softened as he gazed first at one young man and then at the
other. "I must communicate with the bishop, and I will see you
again. Fortunately he is not far from London. A messenger can
quickly reach him. Come to me here in four days' time, and I will
see you again and perchance give you an answer. Will your mind have
changed in those days, Anthony Dalaber? Do you indeed mean the
things that you have said?"
"I do," he answered quietly, and added no protestations.
"I will remember," spoke the cardinal; and rising to his feet he
gave to Arthur the benediction for which he bent his knee.
Dalaber hesitated for a moment, and then he too knelt. There was no
hypocrisy in this act. Something in the aspect and the words of the
cardinal had changed his opinion of the man during the brief
interview.
"The Lord bless thee, my son," spoke the priest solemnly. "The Lord
give thee grace and discernment, wisdom and light. The Lord
strengthen all that is good in thee, that it may live and grow, and
cast out and uproot all that may become a stumbling block or root
of bitterness within thee. The Lord give to thee the understanding
mind, the childlike heart, the pure spirit of the children of
light, and lead and guide thee into all truth. Amen."
The two companions went quietly from the room, and through the long
and stately passages, where the worldly pomp visible had stirred in
Dalaber on entering a sense of incongruity and almost of contempt.
But he did not think of these things as he walked out into the
sunny street; and both had got far upon the road to their lodgings,
hard by Moor Fields, ere either spoke a word.
"I trow he will do it," then said Arthur, drawing a long breath.
"You think so truly?"
"I watched his face. It was hard to read its look; yet I thought
there came a gleam of anger into it when I spoke of the peril they
lay in from death by sickness in that noisome prison. After all,
they are all scholars of his own college; and methinks he and the
bishop have disagreed ere this over matters of discipline, and
where mercy rather than judgment should be shown. All the world
says that Master Garret and Robert Ferrar would have been sent to
the stake had the bishop's word prevailed, but that the cardinal
would not give them up to him. It may be that he will be loath to
give up Master Clarke and his friends; but surely the cardinal's
word would prevail, if he desired to make it."
"And if the bishop has a victim, that might satisfy him," spoke
Dalaber gravely.
"Thou art thinking of thyself?" asked Arthur quickly.
"Why should I not? I have offered myself as a substitute. If they
permit the exchange, I will not draw back."
Arthur regarded him with a species of admiration. But he was silent
awhile, finding speech difficult. Then he asked:
"Does Freda know?"
"Yes," answered Dalaber briefly.
"And she was willing?"
"She was willing."
They walked on in silence for some time, only pausing when they
reached the open space of Moor Fields, where the apprentices were
playing quarterstaff, wrestling, and shooting with bow and arrows,
and shouting aloud in their glee. The friends stood awhile
watching, but their thoughts were far away.
Suddenly Arthur broke out into what for him was rather vehement
speech.
"Then thou art in truth a hero, Anthony, with the spirit of the
warrior and the martyr. I have sometimes misjudged thee, thinking
thee somewhat unstable, though a man of parts and one to be much
beloved. I ask thy pardon now for having so misjudged thee. Thou
hast all the stuff in thee which I have sometimes thought was
lacking."
"It was lacking. Thou hast not misjudged me," answered Anthony
gravely. "I have been unstable. I know it myself, none better.
Alone, I should be unstable still. Indeed I may not trust myself
even from day to day. But there is One who changeth not--One who is
with us, and in us, and for us. He will be our strength and our
stay in times of darkness and perplexity, and teach us to guide our
steps aright. If I have found courage, that courage is His; if I
can hold steadfast, it is in His power. That is all. I have put
myself into His hands. I shall take no thought for myself, what I
shall speak or do. He is showing me that He would have all
Christian men to live together in unity and peace. I do truly see
and believe that. Yet if He command me to speak or to do that which
men will call heresy and sin, He will give me grace to stand firm,
even unto death."
Arthur was silent awhile. In his heart he scarcely believed that
the cardinal would offer up Anthony Dalaber to the tender mercies
of the implacable bishop; yet there was no knowing. The great man
had evidently been struck by the personality and history of the
young graduate, and it was possible he might recognize in him a
type of character which might prove dangerous and subversive to the
existing order of things. It was an anxious time for Arthur--more
anxious, as it seemed, than for Anthony, who remained all the while
very calm and tranquil, much occupied in reading and prayer, and
very constant in his attendance at the various churches in the
great city.
Having been for long debarred from taking part in public worship,
it seemed a great refreshment of spirit for him to do so now.
Arthur generally accompanied him; but often he rose quite early,
and slipped out alone for some morning Mass, and came back with his
face aglow with the mystic devotion in which he had been engaged.
"Call that man a heretic!" thought Arthur, as he watched and marked
him; and he little knew that he was not the only man dogging
Dalaber's footsteps in those days. The cardinal had his own methods
and his own carefully-trained servants, and not a thing that either
young man did in those few days was unknown to Wolsey in his
sumptuous palace, with the affairs of the kingdom and of other
realms more or less pressing upon his attention.
On the appointed day they again appeared before him in his closet,
and he received them with an urbanity which sat graciously upon his
rather austere person.
"I have made inquiry concerning the matter upon which you came to
me, my sons," he said, "and to my sorrow and regret I find that you
spoke only too truly as to the condition into which the unwholesome
state of their prison has reduced those three men. I have therefore
prevailed with the bishop to permit them to be delivered to their
friends.
"And if you, Master Cole, who are well known in Oxford, will make
personal application to the dean of the college, he will give you
the needful authority for obtaining possession of the persons of
the prisoners, who will be released and placed under your care. All
that will be demanded of you, or of their friends, is that you will
take care of them, and be answerable for their appearing at the
bishop's tribunal, should he summon them later to appear before
him."
Arthur's heart leaped for joy within him. He spoke a few words of
heartfelt thanks. But Anthony's eyes never left the cardinal's
face.
"And shall I surrender myself prisoner in their place?"
A slight smile lighted the thin, pale face.
"Do you so desire to court prison and death, my son?"
"I do not desire it," answered Anthony humbly. "I once did think I
had courage and strength to fight and to overcome; I did think
myself to be a hero. I have learned to know myself better since
then. Love and life are sweet to me as to other men. But I did mean
that which I did say, and I will not draw back. If a victim be
wanted, let it be rather me than Master Clarke."
This time the cardinal's smile was more full and free.
"We will see whether we cannot make shift without a victim. Anthony
Dalaber, you are a free man. There is no talk of arresting you in
place of any other. That is neither the law of the land nor the
practice of the church. I have watched you, my son; I see that you
are of a godly mind. You may yet be a good and a great man in this
land. Hold fast the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace, and
God will bless and keep you.
"I trust we shall hear no more of heresy in Oxford. And when you
receive John Clarke into your keeping, tell him that I regret the
harshness to which he has been exposed, and that I have prevailed
to effect his release, but that beyond this I cannot help him, but
trust that between him and his bishop some better understanding may
be speedily arrived at."
"We thank your Eminence from our hearts," spoke Arthur, as he bent
his knee, feeling a double load of anxiety and sorrow lifted from
his heart. "We will not forget all we owe to your clemency and
kindness, and with more others than I can name we will pray for all
blessings to rest upon your Eminence for this gracious act."
The cardinal was pressed for time, and dismissed the young men with
a blessing. They went out into the sunny courtyard, scarce able to
believe their own success.
Liberated from prison! Clarke to be liberated and delivered over to
their care! Oh! they would soon restore him to health and strength
by their loving ministrations. They would surely succeed in this.
All the three to be given up to their friends! They must lose no
time in riding to Oxford with the news.
Not a day of this lovely springtide should be wasted. They would
ride all night, that release might come the earlier. Yes, there was
full moon, and already the daylight lasted long and came again
early. They would ride without a pause, save for needful
refreshment for man and beast, till they reached Oxford. They could
be there before daybreak.
On the morrow they could carry forth their friends to Poghley. It
was a thought fraught with happiness and joy. They would not lose
an hour. And so quickly were all their preparations made that
before the shadows had grown long, before the sun had sunk far
towards the horizon, their reckoning was paid, their bags were
packed, their servants summoned, and the little cavalcade was ready
to start forth and ride with loose rein to Oxford ere break of day.
It was no hardship, that quiet riding through the long hours of the
misty night. They did not hurry their beasts, for they could not
obtain any interview with dean or prison governor in the dead of
night. So they pursued their way quietly, discussing many plans;
and before the first light of day had begun to glimmer in the east
it was settled that, whilst Arthur should go direct to Oxford with
the cardinal's mandate, and should make all needful arrangements
for the immediate transportation of the sick men to Poghley,
Anthony should ride there direct, to advise the young wife and her
sister of what they might expect, and to see all made ready there.
Eager as Arthur was to return home to Magdalen, he knew that his
authority and his purse would go farther in Oxford than Anthony's.
It was needful for him to be there in person; but it might be just
as well for Anthony to keep away from the town at that juncture.
Dalaber did not himself think of or fear any peril, but Arthur's
other arguments prevailed with him; and shortly after dawn, at the
parting of the ways, the two friends separated, Arthur and the
servants riding direct to Oxford, whilst Dalaber took his solitary
way towards Poghley.
His heart beat high as he began to trace the familiar outline of
wood and hill. When he rode away a week ago, it was with a very
strong presentiment that he would never see the place again. So
resolved had he been to make confession of such of his beliefs as
were accounted heresy that he had not dared to believe he could
escape. Yet here he was, safe and sound, and rid at last of that
haunting fear and remorse which had eaten into his very soul.
True, he had not said much, yet he knew that the cardinal had
understood, and had, as it were, declined a further and fuller
revelation. He had understood, on his side, that the church did not
desire to push matters to extremity, and to lose the love and
adherence of its most promising sons. He was willing, for his part,
to avoid publicity for a time, to resume his interrupted studies,
and to wait in patience for what would come out of this movement
within and without the church.
But the sense of sailing under false colours had now been taken
away. He had relieved his soul; he had spoken the truth; he had
offered himself as a victim; he no longer stood condemned as a
coward and a denier of his faith.
With a glad heart he rode onward through the rosy glow of a red and
golden dawn. All nature seemed in harmony with his joy and triumph.
The birds shouted their morning songs, and the budding trees and
waving grass seemed silently to voice a happy answer. Primroses
gemmed the banks, and the frail white anemones carpeted the
twinkling woodlands, where sunbeams and shadows chased each other
through a maze of tender green leaves. Then the horse beneath him,
though somewhat wearied from the long journey, knew his homeward
way, pricked forward his ears, and broke into a canter, bravely
bearing his rider up the gentle incline, and through the gate that
led towards the moated house.
Suddenly a white figure seemed to emerge from the thickets of
shrubs, and a joyous voice exclaimed:
"Anthony, Anthony! is it thou?"
He was on his feet in an instant. The horse set off riderless for
his own stable. Anthony's arms were about her, his kisses on her
face.
"Freda! my beloved! my wife!"
"Anthony, O Anthony! And thou art free!"
"I am free, and the load has fallen. I am free and forgiven, and at
peace with God and man. And, Freda, we must hasten to the house
with the news; for Arthur has gone forward to obtain the release of
Clarke and Sumner and Radley, and as soon as possible--it may even
be today--he will bring them here to be cared for."