"Jack," she replied, "whither thou art will I be."
"And that shall be--whither?" asked Dr Thorpe. "It must be no whither
within Cornwall or Devon."
"But we have not enclosed," objected Avery, answering rather his
thoughts than his words.
"I doubt," he answered, "whether they shall wait to ask that."
"For me," Avery resumed, "I have friends in London, and Isoult likewise;
and if I thought it should be long ere we may turn again, thither should
I look to go rather than otherwhere. But an' it be for a few weeks, it
should be unworth so long a journey."
"Weeks!" cried Dr Thorpe. "Say months, Jack, or years. For my part, I
look not to see Bodmin again. But there be thirty years betwixt thee
and me."
"In that case," said he, "and methinks you have the right--I say,
London, if Isoult agree therewith. There should be room in that great
city, I account, for both you and me to ply our several callings."
"Whither thou wilt, be it, Jack," said his wife, softly. "But Mother,
and Hugh, and Bessy! And Frances at Potheridge, and Mrs Philippa at
Crowe--what is to come of them, and who shall warn them?"
Dr Thorpe shook his head.
"Little time for all that, Mrs Avery," answered he. "Send, an' you
will, to the two places--Potheridge and Crowe; but leave Potheridge to
warn Wynscote, and Wynscote to warn Matcott and Bindon."
"Let Robin take the brown horse," suggested Avery, "and ride post with a
letter from thee to Mrs Philippa; and Tom the white nag, and I will send
him likewise to Mr Monke. I might have gone myself to one of the twain,
but--"
"Nay, Jack! bide thou with me," entreated Isoult, fearfully.
"Well said," answered Dr Thorpe.
"Well!" Avery replied, "there seemeth little time to choose or bowne
[prepare] us; but as the Italians have it, `_Che sara, sara_.' [`What
will be, will be.'] When set we forth, Doctor?"
"Now, if we could," answered Dr Thorpe, significantly.
Preparations for the journey were made in haste, and without waiting for
daylight. Robin and Tom were sent on horseback to Crowe and Potheridge,
starting with the earliest gleam of dawn. Isoult summoned Jennifer,
Barbara, and Ursula the cook, and asked whether they would cast in their
lot with hers or remain in Cornwall. Jennifer answered that she feared
the journey more than the commons, and the fourth of July was a very
unlucky day on which to commence any undertaking: she would stay where
she was. Ursula and Barbara, both of whom had been with their mistress
ever since her marriage, replied that they would go with her now.
"Nor have I any of mine own that I may well go unto," Ursula added.
"Mine only brother dwelleth in Somerset, and he is but an husbandman,
with little wages and a great sort of childre; and beside him I have no
kin."
"My mother is wed again," Barbara explained, "and my father that now is
should grudge to be troubled with me; and my sister, that is newly
wedded, hath but one chamber in a poor man's house. I will hie after
you, Mistress, an' you will have me."
This question being settled, another arose. Who should be left at
Bradmond? Tom was too necessary for the journey; besides which, he was
ignorant of the arts of reading and writing, and would not be able to
send word how matters went on after their departure. In this emergency,
while Isoult and John were talking over the subject, Barbara presented
herself with a deprecatory courtesy, or rather lout.
"Mistress," said she, "if you and our master bethink not yourselves
readily of any that should serve for to dwell here in your absence, I
would you would think on Marian my sister, and her husband [fictitious
persons]. They should, I do know, be right willing to be set in charge;
and Simon Pendexter (that is my brother) can right well read and write,
for he hath been a schoolmaster; and is (though I say it) a sad and
sober honest man, such as I do know you should be willing to use in this
matter."
This information settled the question. Barbara was despatched to ask
Simon and Marian if they would be willing to come, and she returned with
a reply that they were not only willing, but thankful for the offer, and
had no fear of the rioters.
In such arrangements time passed on until the Friday evening, when Robin
reached home from Crowe, bringing Philippa Basset with him. She
expressed her gratitude for the warning sent, and said that she was
ready to go to London.
"As for Crowe," she said, "'tis Arthur his house, not mine; and to me
all places be nigh alike. I set some seeds that I looked to see come up
this next spring; but that is all I have to lose, save an old gown or
twain, and the like. And," added she, turning away her head, "they will
not harm what alone I care for--my dead."
On the Sunday morning came Dickon, Dr Thorpe's man, with a message from
his master, desiring that all should be ready to set out by five o'clock
on the following morning. "Bodmin," said he, "was plainly ill at ease:
men gathered together in knots in the streets, and the like, with all
manner of rumours and whisperings about; and if they were to go, go they
must."
"But Tom is not yet back," said Isoult.
It was settled, however, that it would not do to wait for him; but to
their relief, two or three hours before the time fixed for starting, Tom
came. He brought letters from Mr Monke to John, and from Lady Frances
to Isoult; but he arrived alone. Mr Monke thanked them heartily for
their loving care, and would readily undertake to warn Wynscote and
Combe; but he declined to join them. Potheridge was well fortified with
walls and moat; and he had seven able-bodied men-servants, and double
the number of tenants, who could be called within at a few minutes'
notice: the house was well provisioned, and his armoury equipped: and he
ended his letter by saying,--"My trust is in God. You do well to go;
yet methinks I do as well to abide."
"Metrusteth all shall be well," said Isoult, with a sigh; "yet if I
might have known how it should be with them, I had gone with an heart
the lighter."
"A wilful man," responded Philippa; "let him be."
Lady Frances said in her letter, "Dear heart, God is not gone from
Devon. Fear not for us, only pray; and wheresoever we be, and
howsoever, let us abide in Him."
At last the preparations were completed. Simon and Marian Pendexter had
been installed in office, with orders to write in a month: three sumpter
mules were laden with the family luggage: and the last farewells were
taken. The party mounted their horses. First rode John Avery on
Bayard, with his wife behind him on the pillion; then, on Blanche, a
white mare, came Ursula, with Kate strapped before her; on the black
farm mare, which had no particular name, rode Tom, with Barbara behind,
and Walter before him; and lastly, on a wiry white nag, came Robin, with
Philippa on the pillion. So they moved slowly away from the home which,
for aught they knew, they might never see again.
It was a trial which cost Isoult Avery many tears. Barbara, too, wept;
but no one else, only when Philippa spoke, it was in that short,
constrained manner with which some people hide sorrow. Little Kate was
in high glee, until she saw her mother weep; and then she looked grave
and thoughtful--for about ten minutes.
When they reached the end of the lane which led into the high road from
Bradmond, they found Dr Thorpe seated on his bay horse, awaiting them.
Behind, on a brown nag, was Dickon, with a bundle strapped at his back.
"Come, friends mine!" cried Dr Thorpe. "If you urge on your horses no
faster, we shall sleep on the common to-night." Then as Bayard came up
with him, he added in a lower tone, "It was too true, Jack. Fourteen
houses were sacked in Bodmin last night."
"Of them that had enclosed?"
"Mostly, but not all," he answered. "They opened the cellars, and set
the conduits a-flowing with wine; then, having well drunken, marched to
the church, where they cast the new service-book into a bonfire [Note
1]; and at after surrounded Father Prideaux [a fictitious person] his
house, shouting and singing in uproarious wise, calling upon him to come
forth and set himself at their head. (A fair body to be head of!) By
God's providence, he was not within; but it was full two hours ere they
would depart, for all the handmaid's telling of them that her master was
from home. At long last they did go thence, and down the streets,
shrieking and yelling like fiends."
"And is it over, think you?" suggested Avery.
"Is it begun?" answered Dr Thorpe. "Tidings came yestre'en of riots in
Somerset; and, Jack, the commons have taken Exeter."
"Taken Exeter!" cried John and Isoult in a breath.
"Taken Exeter!" repeated he. "What think you now?"
"Lord, have mercy upon us!" said Isoult under her breath.
"A letter is come from the King," pursued Dr Thorpe, "exhorting the
commons to obedience and patience, and they shall receive redress of
their griefs."
Philippa and Robin now came ambling alongside, for here they could ride
three abreast.
"But what profess the commons to be their griefs?" said Isoult; "for I
did never yet rightly understand."
"Firstly," said Dr Thorpe, "they do allege the young age of the King,
and the having a Protector over them."
"What foolishness!" exclaimed Avery. "Would they have the King grow
unto manhood in a day? or think they that he abideth a child of set
purpose?"
"Then," pursueth Dr Thorpe, "their second matter is, the 'stablishing of
Lutheranism within the realm. They would fain see the mass set up
again, and have the Six Articles back."
"The Bloody Statute!" cried Isoult. "God forgive them!"
"And the third matter is the enclosures," added he.
"Methinks men are not over weighted with religion, that be so ready to
pull it down," remarked Philippa.
"That hangeth on whether it be truth or error," replied he.
"Nay," said she, "you draw lines too fine for me. What I learnt in my
youth is truth enough for me."
"So do many think," said Avery. "But there is yet an other question,
Mrs Basset, which they shall some day have to front, though they will
not now; and that is, whether it be truth enough for God?"
But to that she made no answer.
The fugitives journeyed as quietly as possible, yet as quickly as was
safe, until the Saturday. And then, about four o'clock, as they gained
the ridge of a hill, Dr Thorpe, who rode first, suddenly drew bridle.
"Back, all of you!" cried he. "Hide you behind the rocks yonder. An
immense crowd of men is in the valley, advancing this way. If these be
the commons, God be our help, for we can have none other."
"We can sell our lives dearly, at least," said Avery, looking to his
matchlock.
"We that be men were best to light off our horses," pursued Dr Thorpe,
"and leave the women thereon, that they may fly the faster if need be.
Set them and the childre behind, and thou, Jack, with me and Tom and
Dickon, stand out afore."
"They shall fly cruel slow on yon old black jade," said Tom, grinning.
"Master," inquired Dickon (who was a Somerset man), "if they catch I,
what shall they do to I?"
"Hold your idle tongues!" answered Dr Thorpe sternly, "and see that your
arms are in good order. Robin, shall we count thee a man, or as one of
the childre?"
"You shall not count me to be guarded, but to guard," said Robin,
stoutly.
"Well said," replied Dr Thorpe.
"Truly, good Doctor, on my word," interposed Philippa, "but you shall
not count me as a sely woman. I have handled a matchlock afore now, and
I can knock down a man an' I have hold of a poker. I stand to the
front, an' it like you."
"Well said, brave heart!" answered he. "So do."
So set, they awaited the death that might be at hand, and prayed to God
to guard them. All were brave enough but Dickon, and he shivered like
an aspen leaf.
"Thou white-livered [our ancestors believed literally that cowards had
white livers] dolt!" cried Dr Thorpe sharply, and took the matchlock out
of his hands. "Go behind for a child as thou art."
"And give me his matchlock," said Philippa.
"Take it," he answered. "You are ten times over the man that he is."
Slowly they heard the tramp of feet advancing nearer and nearer. All
were silent now. The feet gained the ridge of the hill--they crossed
it--they came forward on the road. All at once Avery, who was next that
side, threw down his matchlock with a shout.
"Forward, friends!" cried he triumphantly. "These are no rebels--these
are the King's Majesty's troops. See you not the royal lions flying at
the van? God be with the armies of England!"
The revulsion was great from such terror to comfort, joy, and
thankfulness. All came forward. The leader of the army looked at the
group, stayed his horse, and lifted his visor. A cry of joy broke from
Philippa and Isoult, for they saw beneath his helm a face that they had
known well in the old Calais days.
"Mrs Philippa Basset!" exclaimed he in amazement; "at the least if mine
eyes bewray me not. And Mrs Barry! God keep you both! How come you
here? and do you lack aid?"
"Your eyes be true men, my Lord Grey de Wilton," [Note 2] said Philippa,
"and right glad are mine to light on no unfriendlier face. Truly at the
first we took you for rebels, and had it not been for your coats and
your standard, I had picked you off with my matchlock ere I wist who it
were."
Lord Grey laughed merrily.
"Nay," said he, "we are marching against the rebels, by the King's
gracious commission. What may I do for you, my mistresses? Whither go
you?"
"We be on our way to London," answered Philippa, "if it like the saints
to have us there."
"It may like the troops, maybe, the better," said Lord Grey. "Well, I
will then send with you certain picked soldiers, good men and true, to
see you safe on your way, if God permit."
"We thank you heartily, and will accept of your goodness with a very
good will," she replied. "And what news, now?"
"Very ill news," answered he. "The rebels be up all through Somerset,
and Kent, and Essex, and Lincoln, and Norfolk, and Suffolk."
"Thanks be to our Lady!" cried she; "none of those lie in our way to
London."
"Laud be to God therefor!" answered Lord Grey, gravely; "yet be wary.
How soon may Dorset and Wilts be up likewise? My Lord of Northampton
layeth siege to Norwich, and ere this, I trust, is my Lord Russell and
his troops around Exeter. But our work is not yet done by many a day's
labour."
"I pray you, noble sir," asked Dr Thorpe, "if I may aventure myself to
speak unto your Lordship, what think you of this rebellion? Shall it be
a thing easily crushed, or a more graver matter?"
"I know not," said Lord Grey, turning his head to the speaker. "It
should seem a very grave matter--another Jack Cade's rebellion. Yet it
may be subdued readily. I know not. This only I know--that `unless the
Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.'"
Lord Grey, turning, called to him one of his officers, and spoke quietly
with him a moment. Then turning again to Philippa, he said, "Look you
here, Mrs Basset, an't like you. I will send with you twelve picked
men, that shall be a guard unto you, and shall not leave you until (by
God's allowing), they have you safe in London. And there come," pursued
he to the captain of the men, "report yourself unto Sir Francis Jobson,
and await his order. Stay--take with you a token."
Lord Grey drew a ring from his finger, and gave it to that officer who
seemed to be in authority as captain over the twelve men forming the
guard. Then bowing low, he bade God keep them; and the troops marched
forward at his giving the word.
The little group journeyed on towards Dorset, their guard marching
before with their halberds in their hands. The captain [a fictitious
person] had some talk with Dr Thorpe and Avery; he told them he was a
London man, and that his mother--a widow--dwelt in the Minories; and
both were Gospellers. So in due time they reached Dorchester; and
thence Salisbury, both which they found quiet. And at Windsor they
heard a rumour that Norwich had yielded; which on coming to London they
found true. They heard further that Exeter was taken by Lord Russell;
and that Lord Grey de Wilton had reached Cornwall.
The captain of their guard took them to his mother, Mistress Brent,
[fictitious persons] whom they found a pleasant and pious woman. The
next day they began looking for a house; and being inclined to settle in
the Minories [Note 3], Mrs Brent told them of a comfortable house which
was empty next door to her own. John and Isoult went to see it, liked
it, and took it. Philippa went to her sister, Lady Elizabeth Jobson, in
the Tower; and Dr Thorpe agreed to remain with the Averys until he
should make up his mind what to do. Perhaps it was difficult to make
up; for without any regular agreement on the subject, yet to everybody's
satisfaction, they formed one family thereafter.
Meantime there was sad work at Exeter.
The Lord Privy Seal [John Russell, afterwards first Earl of Bedford],
who was sent there with his troops, finding his own forces fewer than
the rebels, stayed at Honiton, while the rebels besieged Exeter: and
right valiantly the men of Exeter kept their town. [King Edward, from
whose Diary these details are taken, spells these names Honington and
Outrie.] The rebels burnt the gates, but those within "kept them off by
hot fire, till they had made a rampart; and when they were undermined,
they drowned the mine and the powder with water." The Lord Privy Seal,
hearing of their bravery, endeavoured to go round a bye-way to reinforce
them; but the rebels, having spies, discovered his movements, and cut
down all the trees between Saint Mary Ottery and Exeter. Lord Russell
then burnt the town, intending to return home. But the rebels held a
bridge against him, forcing him with his small band to fall upon them;
when he gained a great victory, killing some hundreds of them, and
retreating homeward without any loss of his own men. Then Lord Grey
came to his help, and together they raised the siege of Exeter.
At Bodmin, Sir Anthony Kingston, who was sent there, hanged the Mayor, a
fervent Papist: and Father Prideaux would have fared ill at his hands,
had not all the Lutherans and Gospellers in the town risen in his
favour, and testified that he had not joined with other priests in the
rising (for the priests urged and fomented all these risings), but was a
good Protestant and faithful subject.
The fugitives were at first too busy to have much time for lamentation.
But when the pressure of constant occupation was relaxed, and the
furnishing and arranging of matters ended, they began to feel a little
like ship-wrecked men, thrown upon a strange coast. Isoult Avery was
astonished to find what a stranger she felt in London, where she had
lived some years with Anne Basset and the Duchess of Suffolk. One
afternoon in September she was peculiarly oppressed by this sense of
solitude in a crowd--the most painful solitude of any--but was trying to
bear up bravely. She sat at her work, with Kate at her hornbook beside
her, when the door was unlatched, and Isoult heard her husband's
well-known voice say,--"Come in,--you shall see her now."
Isoult rose to receive her unknown visitor.
He was a man of some fifty years or upwards, neither stout nor spare,
but tall, and of an especially stately and majestic carriage. His face
was bronzed as if with exposure to a southern sun; his hair and eyes
were dark, and he had a long dark beard. Grave and deliberate in all
his actions, his smile was exquisitely sweet, and his expression
thoughtfully gentle.
"Isoult," said her husband, "this is Mr Rose, an ancient friend of mine,
and now parson of West Ham, nigh unto Richmond. He would be acquaint
with thee, and so would his wife and daughter."
Isoult rose and louted to the visitor, and gave him her hand; and to her
surprise, Kate, who was commonly very shy with strangers, went up at
once to Mr Rose, and suffered him to lift her upon his knee and kiss
her.
"I knew not you were a man so much to childre's liking," said Avery;
"methinks I never saw my little maid so friendly unto a stranger afore."
"I love them dearly," answered Mr Rose. "And I pray you, Mrs Avery, if
it will please you to take the pain to visit my wife, that you bring
this little maid withal."
This was Isoult's first introduction to one of the most remarkable men
of the sixteenth century. Not so, perhaps, as the world sees eminence;
but as God and His angels see it. Thomas Rose was a Devonshire man, and
had begun to preach about the same time as Latimer. He was one of the
earliest converts of the Reformation, and was constantly and
consistently persecuted by the Papal party. Much of his life had been
spent: abroad to escape their machinations. The entire history of this
man was full of marvellous providences and hairbreadth escapes; and it
was to be fuller yet. Weary of dealing in this manner, Rome had at
length tried upon him those poisoned shafts which she launched at many a
Gospeller--suborning false witnesses to accuse him of uncommitted
crimes. Mr Rose stood the trial, and came unscathed out of it.
Isoult readily promised to visit Mrs Rose, though she was slightly
dismayed on afterwards hearing from John that Mr Rose had married a
foreigner.
"A Protestant, I trust?" she asked doubtfully, for she knew little of
foreigners, and with the exception of a handful of Lutherans and
Huguenots, thought they were all Papists--with a margin, of course, for
Jews, Turks, heretics, and infidels.
John laughed as if the question amused him exceedingly. "Were it
possible," he responded, "that Thomas Rose's wife should be any thing
else?"
The train of visitors was only just beginning. When Isoult came in from
the market, feeling very tired and overworked, on the following morning,
she found Philippa Basset in her large chair, looking very much at home,
while Kate, on her knee, was chattering away to her with the utmost
freedom.
"Well, Isoult!" was Philippa's greeting. "Thou dost well to go
a-cheapening of carrots, and leave thy friends that come to visit thee
to find none in the house that they know save this," pointing to Kate.
"How dost thou, dear heart?"
"The better to see you, Mrs Philippa," said she. "I will not ask how
you do, for you look rarely well. Verily, I left more in the house than
Kate, or I had taken her withal."
"Isoult, dost thou mean to call me mistress all the days of thy life?"
she asked in answer.
"I mean to call you what it list you," said Isoult, "but truly you never
gave me leave to do other."
"And truly you never asked for it," replied she. "Howbeit, take it now,
prithee, for ever henceforward."