AT "THE SIGN OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE" ONCE MORE.
BEFORE Mistress Marvin went home, she arranged to come and spend the
following day with her sister, to help her to plan out, with the aid
of Lady Guildford's sewing-maid, the alterations in her own and the
children's dresses. For Sir Miles commended the neat and sensible
alteration that had been effected in the fashion of ladies' clothes;
and as it was taken as a sort of badge that the wearer had embraced the
reformed opinions and teachings, why, there was every reason that his
wife should follow this new fashion, he said.
To have Cicely thus fully occupied at home would also fit in with his
own plans, for he was anxious now to remove his servants from the
hostelry at Westminster with as little delay as possible, for fear
their talk of his affairs should bring them all into trouble at some
future time. "There is no telling what the witless knaves may say with
this London ale and mead in their pates, and so the sooner I have them
here under mine own eye the safer it will be for all of us," said the
gentleman, when talking the matter over with Sir Harry Guildford.
"Yes; bring them all down here, certainly," said his father-in-law.
"You must make a long stay with us now you are here, and it will be
better in every way to have the knaves where they can be controlled."
"We will stay over May-day," said Sir Miles. "Cicely stipulated that
she should see the old games once more before we left home."
"Well, she shall see all the fun and frolic there is, but there is some
change in this fashion too. Those of us who favour the new opinions,
think there was too much licence in these games, and so a few things
have been lopped off, to the great disgust of the poorer folk, who can
only enjoy the rougher and coarser play."
"Ah, and there is something to be said for them," answered Sir Miles.
"I have learned many lessons since I have lived among my people, and
not apart from them. These games, which we have outgrown since we have
learned to exercise our brains on the problems of the Church and the
rule of the Pope, are still a necessary part of a man's life, if he
lives by the work of his hands, and his brain has but a small share
in the exercise. So now, I am trying both exercises for my varlets,
encouraging the old races and wrestlings for the strengthening of the
body, while giving them some relief to exercise their minds upon. No,
no; it will not do for the poor varlets to be deprived of their May-day
and holiday games; and so, prithee, let it be known, that I will give a
prize for wrestling and racing, among the serving men and maids, and we
will all be present to see the sport."
Sir Harry Guildford laughed. "I see you are as independent as ever. I
am afraid your kindness will not be appreciated by some of our reformed
friends, but Walter Marvin will be greatly pleased when he hears of
what you are going to do."
"Why? How is that?" asked Sir Miles.
"Oh! just another sign of the change that seems to be working in men
and all that concerns them. Those who hold to the Church in all things,
and see no need for reform, are in favour of the old pastimes and
holidays; while the Queen, and many of the reformers who gather round
her, do all that in them lies to discourage these, and I expect to hear
soon that the old saint days and holidays are to be lessened in number,
for many are now saying it takes a man too much from his work to have
so much time to play."
Sir Miles shook his head. "There is not too much playtime if it is
used wisely, and men give their whole heart to their work when it is
working-time. This has been a hard lesson to teach my knaves, but
they have begun to see the worth of it, and winter and summer we work
in working-time, and play when the holidays come, and we are all the
better for it."
"Ah! but you live in a little Utopia, while we in Greenwich have to
live as the great world will let us," said Sir Harry.
"That may be; but you Greenwich folk are making laws and rules by which
the great world is governed; while few will ever hear of our little
world of Paton beyond Woodstock and Oxford. Some of my old University
friends are interested to know how we fare in our little kingdom
of 'nowhere,' but I am afraid the kingdom of England is too much
disturbed; and the fate of my dear friend, Sir Thomas More, has chilled
many hearts."
"Ah! he was a just man, and a learned," remarked Sir Harry; "but he was
no friend to the reformers."
"Nay, but he desired to see the Church reformed," said Sir Miles,
quickly. "Why, it is to his help and encouragement of Erasmus that we
got our Greek New Testament. Tyndale could never have given us the New
Testament in English if it had not been for Erasmus; and who but Sir
Thomas More and a few like-minded men, who desired to see the Church
reformed and purified, helped with their wealth and sympathy the
learned Dutchman in his work."
"And yet, he tortured and sentenced to death several of our reformers,
for reading and expounding the English New Testament."
"Yes, yes; I have heard of it," said Sir Miles, with a sigh. "It
is a mystery no man can understand. That he acted according to his
conscience, and believed he was doing God's service, is proved by the
way he withstood the king's assumption of supremacy; for he gave his
life for the vindication of the Pope's right to rule in the Church."
"Ah! and he condemned Master Tewkesbury to death for his faith in the
New Testament," retorted Sir Harry. "What say you to that, my son?" Sir
Miles could only shake his head sadly. It was a mystery—part of the
tangle, in the meshes of which everybody seemed to be struggling in
this great world just now—and thinking thus, Sir Miles was not sorry
that his father-in-law did not seem disposed to carry the talk any
farther, and the withdrawing-room was locked up, and the gentlemen went
to their chambers without further discussion of the thorny subject.
The next morning Sir Miles went early to Westminster, and despatched
all his servants and horses, with their baggage, by road to Greenwich,
warning the men to say little to any stranger they might meet on the
way.
The little party were not sorry to leave the hostelry, for the idle
loafers who hung about the stables of the inn had turned the speech
and manners of the country folk into jest, and more than one fight had
already taken place; and although the Paton servants had succeeded in
giving their opponents a good drubbing, after the approved Oxfordshire
manner, still they were looking sulky and out of humour, for they
were no match in the use of their tongues, and the flouts, and jeers,
and sneers of the Londoners left them smarting inwardly. So they were
thankful enough when their master appeared, and ordered them off to
Greenwich without delay.
Having seen them safely on the road, Sir Miles bent his steps once more
to "The Sign of the Golden Fleece," for he was anxious to know how his
friend Monmouth fared, and also to hear the latest news concerning
Master Tyndale, for no tidings had reached him concerning this old
friend for the last year or two. It was part of the price he had to pay
for devoting himself to the improvement of his own tenantry, that news
of those whom he had known in the great world outside rarely reached
him; and now it seemed that the caution necessary in sending letters,
would make his position still more isolated, and so he was the more
anxious to get what news he could concerning old friends, while he was
in a position to do so.
If other changes had taken place, in men and things, since he last
trod the streets of London, the apprentices and serving lads of the
shops were just as he had seen them last. "What do you lack! what do
you lack!" they screamed one against the other, and they were just as
ready to push him into the mire of the central gutter, that flowed down
the middle of the street, as they were in the old days when he came to
visit Master Tyndale, splashing him from head to foot, so that Mistress
Monmouth would have to remove some of the filth from his garments,
before he could go up to the little room in the turret.
[Illustration: "Is it—is it Sir Miles Paton at last?" exclaimed Master
Monmouth.]
The memory of it all came back to him, and he thought of the lonely
life the merchant had lived, since his wife and family had all been
carried off by the plague some years ago.
Thinking of these sad events, and wondering how he should find his old
friend, he was a little startled to see the merchant come out of his
shop almost the next moment, looking as comfortable and energetic as he
did ten years before.
"Is it—is it Sir Miles Paton at last?" exclaimed Master Monmouth when
he saw his visitor.
"It is, Master Monmouth! And I am right glad to see you looking so
well," replied Miles, following Monmouth into his dim little shop.
The merchant led the way upstairs at once. "We may not say a word
before those long-eared 'prentice lads, and I have much to tell you
since you have come," said the merchant in explanation. Sir Miles
could not help smiling now. He was getting used to this warning to be
cautious, uttered by each in turn according to their varied experience,
but all alike enforcing the terrible lesson, that free speech in
England, even in one's own home, had become a danger.
As soon as the sitting-room had been reached, which Sir Miles
remembered so well, the merchant bade him sit down, and then called:
"Mistress Bainham, here is an old friend who would fain taste of your
confections," and almost as he was speaking a young widow came into the
room, bearing on her face the traces of sorrow; but it was a pleasant,
peaceful face, and the merchant spoke as though she might have been his
own daughter, as he asked her to set the wenches to prepare a meal with
all speed.
"Have I seen this lady before?" asked Sir Miles.
"If you have, it was when she was a merry lass, and came to see
my daughter. Now she is a widow, bereaved by that wicked man Sir
Thomas More, who sent her husband to his reward, through the fires
of Smithfield, a year or two ago. Ah, Bainham was one of our truest
friends, and ever ready to expound the New Testament, and therefore he
was marked down for destruction by those who would fain keep us in the
darkness of ignorance."
"And this lady is his widow?" asked Sir Miles.
"Yes. She was left with her two young children helpless in the world.
Bainham was a lawyer, but he had little of this world's wealth, and
what he had was exhausted while he was in prison; and so, when the end
came, and the martyr went in his fiery chariots to the Kingdom not
made with hands, I brought Mistress Bainham and her children here to
stay for a time, and look after the serving-wenches. And now we should
both be grieved to part, for she hath made my home more cheerful and
homelike than I ever thought it could be, while she has something to
live for, besides sorrowing for him who has gone. She loves the things
Master William Tyndale taught us all to love, and keeps his room in
order as he left it, in the hope that he may some day come again to
dwell among us."
"Do you think that is likely?" asked Sir Miles, eagerly.
"I am afraid not. And yet methinks he might do so now; and I know for
certain that Master Cromwell would fain have him come. And now that the
Reformers are in favour at Court, and the King rules in the Church, as
well as the kingdom, I would fain have him journey hither, for a season
at least," added the merchant.
"And you could not persuade him to come? I should greatly like to
see him, and would bear the charges of his journey if he would come
hither," said Sir Miles.
The merchant rose and closed the door, and looked round the room. "He
does not trust the King," he whispered, "or Master Cromwell either, for
that matter."
"Ah!" uttered Sir Miles, in a significant tone; but Master Monmouth was
too eager to tell his news, to notice this slight interruption.
"Mind you, our friend hath good cause to be wary, for our enemies,
having discovered who translated this English Testament, and had it
printed, have sent out agents to try and get Tyndale to come over here,
where he would be in their power, and they could make a quick end of
him. But so soon as he knew one agent was in quest of him, he would
gather up his few belongings and depart to another town, where other
printing presses would do his work."
"Ah, it has been a stirring life for him, while I—well, I wonder—" and
there Sir Miles paused again, and the merchant went on with his story.
"Our enemies, not being able to catch Master Tyndale in any of their
traps, did show their spite and anger by destroying all his books they
could lay their hands upon. My Lord Bishop of London hath more than
once bought up all the New Testaments there were to be had in London,
and a rare burning of the books was witnessed at Paul's Cross. And the
money thus collected from the Bishop and his agents hath forthwith been
sent to Master Tyndale, that he might prepare another and more perfect
edition, for each fresh one has been carefully revised; and though for
my own part I am well content with the book that you and I helped to
carry ashore that winter's night, still there are those who say that
the last sent over, and that is the fourth edition, is a marvel. I am
no scholar myself, I can just read in the English tongue, and that
is why I can prize, more than many, this English Testament. But I
tell you, Sir Miles, these new doctrines are attracting the notice of
learned and thoughtful men, though as yet the poorer folk do not seem
to care which shall succeed,—the Reformers, who would fain see a New
Testament in every house, or the priests, who fill their pockets from
the scanty earnings of the poor, under the pretence of offering Masses
for the dead, whereby the souls of departed friends shall the sooner be
released from the pains of Purgatory."
"Ah! the poor witless knaves have little time to think of anything
but the earning of a rye loaf, and the buying of meat for Sunday. We
must think tenderly of the poor, for they are hardly dealt with on all
hands," said Sir Miles, pityingly.
"Well, we must try to grasp the prize now it is within our reach, that
they may share it with us by-and-bye. To have got rid of the Pope and
all his pretensions, we owe to what some of our forefathers did two
hundred years ago. Wycliffe, and a few like him, tried to shake off
his power then, and the Parliament passed what is called the 'Statutes
of Prœmunire and Provisors,' and this gave the King and Parliament
the right to prohibit the admission or execution of any bulls or
briefs within the realm of England; and also denied the Papal claim
to dispose of any benefices. Well, the Reformers of that day were not
able to do much with this new law when they had got it, but it has
never been repealed, and somebody must have told Master Cromwell of
this old Statute of Prœmunire; and so, when the Pope threatened to put
the kingdom under an interdict, and absolve every man from obeying
the King, my Lord Cromwell went and asked the King why he should bow
his neck to the Pope, when Pope and clergy had all alike broken the
English law concerning the paying of taxes to a foreign power, and the
publishing of bulls and briefs, that were no longer lawful in this
kingdom.
"Ah! the King would have a keen nose for the taxes," remarked Sir
Miles, recalling the time when his old master, Wolsey, often found
himself on the horns of a dilemma over this very question of taxation,
and he wondered whether Wolsey knew of the existence of this old
statute, that had probably been forgotten in the lapse of time, or
surely it would have been expunged from the roll of English laws long
since.
But it surprised him that a plain, simple cloth-merchant like Monmouth
had so clear a grip of the situation, as his explanation of this old
statute proved. Truly the plain man and simple citizen, as well as
those of the university, were awakening, and it was not likely that
they would allow themselves to be fitted with grave-clothes again, and
so the priests and monks must also arise out of the torpor that held
them, or they must go under in the struggle that was fast approaching.
Sir Miles stayed talking at "The Golden Fleece" until all the shops in
the neighbourhood had securely fastened their one-flat shutter for the
night; and then Monmouth told him that he was expecting a few friends
to come in almost immediately, and begged him to stay the night and
take part in their Scripture reading, and the devotions which would
follow.
This Sir Miles readily consented to do, although he declined to take
any other part than that of a listener in the reading and expounding
which was to follow.
In the discourse that followed the reading, he noted the same
independence of thought that testified to the general awakening that
was taking place in men's minds, and how the Mass, and the Papal
pretensions arising out of it, were the main points of attack. The
bread and wine, which the priests claimed they had the power to
change into the very body, bones, and blood of Christ by the prayer
of consecration, these Reformers declared was unchanged, and still
remained bread and wine; and that it was only in a spiritual sense
that the Lord Jesus said, "Take, eat; this is my body." This would be
the battle-cry. Round this would the tumult rage; and all at once Sir
Miles felt he should like to take his part as a man in the struggle
and strife. No, the battle was not won yet, he felt sure, although
Master Monmouth and most of his friends thought that there would be
little more persecution, now that the Pope's power was broken. But
he reflected that they did not know King Henry the Eighth as he did;
and, though Queen Anne might foster the new opinions, and give her
protection to the Reformers, who could tell how long her power might
last. The King had loved his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, quite
as much as he loved Queen Anne; and thinking thus, Sir Miles wondered
whether it would be possible for him to spend at least part of every
year in London. He was still thinking thus when the meeting broke up,
and then his host showed him how some curious hiding-places had been
contrived in one or two parts of the house.
"We thought we might need them a year or two back; but, thank God, that
danger is over, and we can come and go now with nothing more to fear
than that the vagabonds of the streets may molest us."
"May it always be so," said Sir Miles, as he bade his host good-night,
and retired to his chamber.