"Folks have ways and means, sometimes, that other folks can't always
guess."
"If you know more than others," said Gerhardt boldly, "suffer me to
question you a moment."
"Question away. I don't promise to answer."
"Are we all to be taken and examined?"
"All."
"Before the King?"
"And the creeping creatures called Bishops."
"Will any thing be done to the women and children?"
"Does the lion discriminate between a kid and a goat? `Let your little
ones also go with you.' Even Pharaoh could say that--when he could not
help allowing it."
"I think I understand you, Friend Rubi, and I thank you."
"You are not so badly off for brains," said Rubi approvingly.
"But how far to act upon your warning I know not, until I lay it before
the Lord, and receive His guidance."
"You--a Gentile--receive guidance from the Holy One (blessed be He)!"
Rubi's tone was not precisely scornful; it seemed rather a mixture of
surprise, curiosity, and perplexity.
"Ay, friend, I assure you, however strange it may seem to you, the good
Lord deigns to guide even us Gentiles. And why not? Is it not written,
`Even them will I bring to My holy mountain, and make them joyful in My
house of prayer'? and, `O Thou that hearest prayer, unto Thee shall all
flesh come'?"
"Those promises belong to the reign of the Messiah. He is not come yet.
Do you new sort of Gentiles believe He is?"
It was a most difficult question to answer. "Yes" would probably drive
Rubi away in anger--perhaps with a torrent of blasphemy on his lips.
"No" would be false and cowardly.
"I believe," said Gerhardt softly, "that He shall yet come to Zion, and
turn away iniquity from Jacob. May thou and I, Rubi, be ready to
welcome Him when He cometh!"
"You are better than yonder lot," answered Rubi, with a scornful wave of
his hand towards Carfax behind them. "Ay, I suppose the Blessed One has
some mercies even for Gentiles--decent ones such as you. Well, remember
you've been warned. Good night!"
"Good night, Rubi, and God go with thee!"
As Gerhardt stepped into the Walnut Tree, Isel's voice greeted him from
the top of the ladder leading to the upper chamber.
"Who is that--Gerard or Haimet?"
"It is I, Isel," said the German pastor.
"Well, now, don't put out your lantern, but do, like a good man, take
this girl back to the Castle. I've been on thorns how to get her back,
for I've kept her talking a bit too long, and there hasn't a creature
come near that I could ask. It's Leuesa, that Aliz de Norton spoke
about, and we've settled she's to be Derette's maid. It's a mercy
you've come just in time!"
"The next step!" said Gerhardt to himself with a smile. "Well, this at
least is no hard one."
The girl who came down the ladder and entrusted herself to Gerhardt's
escort, was very young-looking for an anchorhold: slim, fair, and frail
in appearance, with some timidity of manner. They set out for the
Castle.
"You know the girl who is to be my mistress?" asked Leuesa. "Will she
be easy or hard to serve?"
"Very easy, I think, so long as you obey her. She has a will of her
own, as you will find, if you do not."
"Oh dear, I don't want to disobey her! But I don't like to be scolded
at from morning to night, whether I do right or wrong."
"Derette will not treat you in that fashion. She has a good temper, and
is bright and cheerful."
"I am so glad to hear it! I get so tired--"
Leuesa suddenly broke off her sentence.
"You look young for the work," said Gerhardt.
"I am older than I look. At least, people say so. I am twenty-one."
"Dear! I should not have thought you eighteen."
"Oh yes, I am twenty-one," replied Leuesa, with a bright little laugh;
adding with sudden gravity, "I think I am much older than that in some
ways."
"Hast thou found life hard, poor child?" asked Gerhardt sympathisingly.
"Well, one gets tired, you know," replied the girl vaguely. "I suppose
it has to be, if one's sins are to be expiated. So many sins, so many
sufferings. That's what Mother says. It will be counted up some time,
maybe. Only, sometimes, it does seem as if there were more sufferings
than sins."
"Is that thy religion, Maiden?" responded Gerhardt with a pitying smile.
"It's about all I know. Why?--isn't it good?"
"Friend, if thou wert to suffer for ten thousand years, without a
moment's intermission, thy sins could never be balanced by thy
sufferings. Suffering is finite; sin is infinite. It is not only what
thou hast done, or hast left undone. The sin of thy whole nature
requires atonement. _Thou_ art sin! The love of sin which is in thee
is worse than any act of sin thou couldst commit. What then is to be
done with thy sins?"
Leuesa looked up with an expression of wistful simplicity in her blue
eyes.
She might be older than her years in some respects, thought Gerhardt,
but there were some others in which she was a very child.
"I don't know!" she said blankly, with a frightened accent. "Can't you
tell me?"
"Thank God, I can tell thee. Thou must get rid of this load of sin, by
laying it on Him who came down from Heaven that He might bear it for
thee. Tell me whom I mean."
The flaxen head was shaken. "I can't--not certainly. Perhaps it's a
saint I don't know."
"Dost thou not know Jesu Christ?"
"Oh, of course. He's to judge us at the last day."
"If He save thee not before He judge thee, thou wilt never be saved.
Dost thou not know He is the Saviour of men?"
"Well, I've heard say so, but I never thought it meant any thing."
"It means every thing to sinners. Now, how art thou about to come by
the salvation that Christ has wrought for thee?"
"The priest will give me some, won't he?"
"He hath it not to give thee. Thou must go straight to the Lord
Himself."
"But I can't go save through the Church. And oh dear, but I should be
frightened to have aught to do with Him! Except when He's a baby, and
then we've got our Lady to intercede for us."
"Art thou, then, very much afraid of me?"
"You? Oh no! You're coming with me to take care of me--aren't you?"
"I am. But what am I doing for thee, in comparison of Him who died for
thee? Afraid of the Lord that laid down His life for thine! Why,
Maiden, there is nought in His heart for thee save love and pity and
strength to help. He loved thee--get it into thy mind, grave it deep in
thy soul--He loved thee, and gave His life for thee."
"Me?" Leuesa had come to a sudden stand. "You don't mean _me_?"
"I mean thee, and none other."
"Mother always says I'm so stupid, nobody will ever care for me. I
thought--I never heard any body talk like that. I thought it was only
the very greatest saints that could get near Him, and then only through
the Church."
"Thou and I are the Church, if Christ saves us."
"Oh, what do you mean? The priests and bishops are the Church. At
least they say so."
"Ay, they do say so, the hirelings that foul with their feet the water
whence the flock should drink: `we are the people, and wisdom shall die
with us!' `The Temple of the Lord are we!' But the Temple of the Lord
is larger, and wider, and higher, than their poor narrow souls. Maiden,
listen to me, for I speak to thee words from God. The Church of God
consists of the elect of God from the beginning to the end of the world,
by the grace of God, through the merits of Christ, gathered together by
the Holy Ghost, and fore-ordained to eternal life. They that hear and
understand the Word of God, receiving it to their souls' health, and
being justified by Christ--these are the Church; these go into life
eternal. Hast thou understood me, Maiden?"
"I don't--exactly--know," she said slowly. "I should like to
understand. But how can I know whether I am one of them or not?"
"Of the elect of God? If thou hast chosen God rather than the world,
that is the strongest evidence thou canst have that He has chosen thee
out of the world."
"But I sha'n't be in the world--just exactly. You see I'm going to live
in the anchorhold. That isn't the world."
It was not easy to teach one who spoke a different dialect from the
teacher. To Gerhardt, the world was the opposite of God; to Leuesa, it
was merely the opposite of the cloister.
"Put `sin' for `the world,' Maiden," said Gerhardt, "and thou wilt
understand me better."
"But what must I do to keep out of sin?"
"`If thou wilt love Christ and follow His teaching,'" said Gerhardt,
quoting from his confession of faith, "`thou must watch, and read the
Scriptures. Spiritual poverty of heart must thou have, and love purity,
and serve God in humility.'"
"I can't read!" exclaimed Leuesa, in a tone which showed that she would
have deemed it a very extraordinary thing if she could.
"Thou canst hear. Ermine will repeat them to thee, if thou ask her--so
long as we are here."
"Osbert says you won't be for long. He thinks you are bad people; I
don't know why."
"Nor do I, seeing we serve God--save that the enemy of God and men
spreads abroad falsehoods against us."
They had reached the little postern of the Castle. Gerhardt rapped at
the door, and after two or three repetitions, it was opened.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Stephen's voice behind it. "Get you in
quickly, Leuesa, for Hagena's in a terrible tantrum. She declares
you've run away."
"I'm late, I know," answered Leuesa humbly; "but I could not help it,
Stephen."
"Well, you'll catch it, I can tell you; and the longer you stay, the
more you'll catch: so best get it over.--Gerard, will you come in? I
want a word with you."
Gerhardt stepped inside the postern, and Stephen beckoned him into an
outhouse, at the moment untenanted.
"What are you going to do?"
"About what?"
"What! Don't you know you are to be haled before the Bishops? Every
body else does."
"Yes, I have been told so."
"Are you going to wait for them?" demanded Stephen, with several notes
of astonishment in his voice.
"I am going to wait for the Lord."
"You'll be a fool if you do!" The tone was compassionate, though the
words were rough.
"Never. `They shall not be ashamed that wait for Him.'"
"Do you expect Him to come down from Heaven to save you from the
Bishops?"
"As He pleases," said Gerhardt quietly.
"But, man!--if you are a man, and not a stone--don't you know that the
Church has authority from God to bind and loose--that her sentence is
His also?"
"Your Church has no jurisdiction over mine."
"My Church, forsooth! I am speaking of the Catholic Church, which has
authority over every Christian on earth."
"Where is it?"
"Every where."
"The Church that is every where consists of faithful souls, elect of
God. That Church will not condemn me for being faithful to the Word of
God."
"Oh, I can't split straws like you, nor preach like a doctor of the
schools either. But one thing I can do, and that is to say, Gerard, you
are in danger--much more danger than the rest. Get away while you can,
and leave them to meet it. They won't do half so much to them as to
you."
"`He that is an hireling, when he seeth the wolf coming, leaveth the
sheep and fleeth; and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep.'
Is that conduct you recommend, Stephen?"
"I recommend you to get outside of Oxford as fast as you can, and take
your womankind with you; and if you don't, you'll be sorry, that's all.
Now be off, and don't forget that you've been warned. Good night!"
"I have been warned thrice, friend. But where God has need of me, there
is my post, and there am I. There are penalties for desertion in the
army of the Lord. I thank you for your kindly meaning. Good night!"
"Poor fool!" said Stephen to himself as he fastened the postern behind
Gerhardt. "Yet--`penalties for desertion'--I don't know. Which is the
fool, I wonder? If I could have saved _her_!"
Gerhardt went back to the Walnut Tree, where they were sitting down to
the last meal. It consisted of "fat fish," apple turnovers, and spiced
ale.
"Eh dear!" said Isel, with a sigh. "To think that this is pretty nigh
the last supper you'll ever eat in this house, Derette! I could cry
with the best when I think of it."
"You can come to see me whenever you wish, Mother--much better than if I
were at Godstowe."
"So I can, child; but you can't come to me."
"I can send Leuesa to say that I want to see you."
"Well, and if so be that I've broken my leg that very morning, and am
lying groaning up atop of that ladder, with never a daughter to serve
me--how then? Thou gone, and Flemild gone, and not a creature near!"
"You'll have Ermine. But you are not going to break your leg, Mother, I
hope."
"You hope! Oh ay, hope's a fine trimming, but it's poor stuff for a
gown. And how long shall I have Ermine? She'll go and wed somebody or
other--you see if she doesn't."
Ermine smiled and shook her head.
"Well, then, you'll have Agnes."
"I shall have trouble--that's what I shall have: it's the only thing
sure in this world: and it's that loving it sticks to you all the
tighter if you've got nothing else. There's nought else does in this
world--without it's dogs."
"`There's a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother,'" quoted
Gerhardt softly.
"There's precious few of them," returned Isel, who naturally did not
understand the allusion. "You'll not find one of that sort more than
once in a--Mercy on us! here's a soldier walking straight in!--whatever
does the man want?"
Gerhardt's quick eyes had caught the foreign texture of the soldier's
mantle--the bronzed face with its likeness to Derette--the white cross
of the English Crusader.
"He wants his wife and children, I should think," he answered calmly;
and at the same moment the soldier said--
"Isel! Wife! Dost thou not know me?"
Nobody in the room could have given a clear and connected account of
what happened after that. Isel cried and laughed by turns, the majority
all talked at once, and little Rudolph, divided between fear and
admiration, clung to his mother, and cast furtive glances at the
new-comer. Manning was naturally astonished to see how his family had
grown, and much had to be explained to him--the presence of the Germans,
the approaching marriage of Flemild, the past marriage of Romund, and
the profession of Derette. The first and third he accepted with bluff
good-humour. As to the second, he said he would have a talk with Raven
Soclin--very likely he was all right now, though he remembered him a
troublesome lad. But Derette's fate did not appear quite to please him.
She had been his pet, and he had pictured her future differently and
more according to his own notion of happiness.
"Well, she seems to like it best herself," said Isel, "and I don't see
but you have to leave folks to be happy their own way, though the way
some folks choose is mighty queer. Father Dolfin says we must always
give God the best, and if we grudge it to Him, it wipes out the merit of
the sacrifice."
"Ay, Father Dolfin knows how they do things up yonder," answered
Manning. "Do thy duty, and leave the priest to see thou comest safe--
that's my way of thinking."
"But suppose he fails to `see'?" suggested Gerhardt.
Manning eyed him rather suspiciously.
"I hope you aren't one of that new lot that talk against the priests,"
said he. "I've heard something of them as I came through Almayne and
Guienne: saw one fellow flogged at the market-cross, that had let his
tongue run too freely. And I can tell you, I'm not one of that sort.
You're welcome to stay while you behave decently, as I see you've been a
help and comfort to my women here: but one word against the priests, or
one wag of your head in irreverence to the holy mass, and out you go,
bag and baggage!--ay, down to that child."
Rudolph seemed frightened by the harsh tones and loud words, and when
Manning ended by striking his hand upon his thigh with a resounding slap
to enforce his threat, the child began to whimper.
"I trust, friend, you will never see any irreverence in me towards aught
to which reverence is due," replied Gerhardt; "but if you do, fulfil
your words, and I shall not trouble you longer."
"Well, look out!" said Manning. "I don't much like your long prayers
just now: they're a bad sign. As to Haimet's Latin grace, I suppose
he's learnt that in the schools; and praying in Latin isn't so bad. But
a cross over the supper-table is plenty good enough for me. I never did
believe in folks that are always saying their prayers, and reckoning to
be better than their neighbours."
"I believe in being as good as I can be," said Gerhardt with a smile.
"If that should make me better than my neighbours, it would hardly be my
fault, would it? But in truth, Friend Manning, I do not think myself
any better, for I know too much of the evil of mine own heart."
"Ay, that's the lingo of the pestilent vipers in Guienne! I could find
in my heart to lay a silver penny you'll turn out to be one of that
brood. Girls, I hope you haven't caught the infection? We'll wait a
few days and see--what we shall see."
"Eh, Manning, they're the peaceablest set ever came in a house!"
exclaimed Isel. "Helped me over and over, they have, and never one of
'em gave me an ill word. And Gerard's made a pretty penny with weaving
and wood-carving, and every farthing he's given me, save what they
wanted for clothes. Do, for mercy's sake, let 'em be! Flemild married,
and Derette away to the anchorhold--I shall be a lost woman without
Agnes and Ermine! Nigh on seven years they've been here, and I haven't
been so comfortable in all my life afore. They may have some queer
notions in their heads--that I can't say; most folks have one way or
another--but they're downright good for help and quietness. They are,
so!"
"What says Father Dolfin about them?"
"Well, he don't say much of no sort," answered Isel doubtfully, with an
uneasy recollection of one or two things he had lately said. "But I say
they're as good folks as ever walked in shoe-leather, and you'll not
find their match in Oxford, let be Kepeharme Lane."
"Well," said Manning, "let them bide a few days: we shall see. But I
shall brook no heresy, and so I give you fair warning. No heretic,
known to me, shall ever darken the doors of a soldier of the cross!"
"I pray you, hold to that!" was Gerhardt's answer.
The next morning dawned a fair autumn day. Manning seemed somewhat more
inclined to be friendly than on the previous evening, and matters went
on pleasantly enough until the hour of dinner. They had just risen from
table when a rap came on the door. Flemild went to open it.
"Holy saints!" they heard her cry.
Then the door opened, and in walked two men in red and white livery,
with four golden crosses patee embroidered on the left arm. With a
glance round, they addressed themselves to Manning.
"Are you the owner of this house?"
Manning knew in a moment who his visitors were--official sumners of the
Bishop of Lincoln.
"I am," he said. "What would you have?"
One of the sumners unrolled a parchment deed.
"We have here a writ to take the bodies of certain persons believed to
be in your house, and we bid you, in the name of holy Church, that you
aid us in the execution of our office."
Isel, terribly frightened, was muttering Ave Marias by the dozen. To
Gerhardt's forehead the blood had surged in one sudden flush, and then
subsiding, left him calm and pale.
"When holy Church bids, I am her lowly servant," was Manning's answer.
"Do your duty."
"You say well," replied the sumner. "I demand the body of one Gerard, a
stranger of Almayne, of Agnes his wife, of Rudolph their son, and of
Ermine, the man's sister."
"Of what stand they accused?"
"Of the worst that could be--heresy."
"Then will I give them no shelter. I pray you to note, Master Sumner,
that I returned but last night from over seas, whither I have followed
the cross, and have not hitherto had any opportunity to judge of these
whom I found here."
"You will have opportunity to clear yourself before the Council," said
the sumner. "Find me a rope, good woman. Is _this_ your son?" he
added, appealing to Gerhardt.
"This is my son," answered Gerhardt, with a tremulous smile. "He is
scarcely yet old enough to commit crime."
"Eh, dear, good gentlemen, you'll never take the little child!" pleaded
Isel. "Why, he is but a babe. I'll swear to you by every saint in the
Calendar, if you will, to bring him up the very best of Catholic
Christians, under Father Dolfin's eye. What can he have done?"
"He believes what has been taught him, probably," said the sumner
grimly. "But I cannot help it, good wife--the boy's name is in the
writ. The only favour in my power to show is to tie him with his
mother. Come now, the rope--quick!"
"No rope of mine shall tie _them_!" said Isel, with sudden determination
which no one had expected from her. "You may go buy your own ropes for
such innocent lambs, for I'll not find you one!"
"But a rope of mine shall!" thundered Manning. "Sit down, silly woman,
and hold thy tongue.--I beseech you, my masters, to pardon this foolish
creature; women are always making simpletons of themselves."
"Don't put yourself out, good man," answered the sumner with a smile of
superiority; "I have a wife and four daughters."
Haimet now appeared with a rope which he handed to the sumner, who
proceeded to tie together first Gerhardt and Ermine, then Agnes and
Rudolph. The child was thoroughly frightened, and sobbing piteously.
"Oh deary, deary me!" wailed poor Isel. "That ever such a day should
come to my house! Dame Mary, and all the blessed Saints in Heaven, have
mercy on us! Haven't I always said there was nought but trouble in this
world?"
"It's no good vexing, Mother; it has to be," said Flemild, but there
were tears in her eyes. "I'm glad Derette's not here."
Derette had gone to see her cousins at the Castle,--a sort of farewell
visit before entering the anchorhold.
"Then I'm sorry," said Isel. "She might have given those rascals a lick
with the rough side of her tongue--much if she wouldn't, too. I'd like
to have heard it, I would!"
The prisoners were marched out, with much show of righteous indignation
against them from Manning, and stolid assistance to the sumners on the
part of Haimet. When the door was shut and all quiet again, Manning
came up to Isel.
"Come, Wife, don't take on!" he said, in a much more gentle tone than
before. "We must not let ourselves be suspected, you know. Perhaps
they'll be acquitted--they seem decent, peaceable folk, and it may be
found to be a false accusation. So long as holy Church does not condemn
them, we need not: but you know we must not set ourselves against her
officers, nor get ourselves suspected and into trouble. Hush, children!
the fewer words the better. They may turn out to be all wrong, and then
it would be sin to pity them. We can but wait and see."
"Saints alive! but I'm in a whole sea of trouble already!" cried Isel.
"We've lost six hands for work; and good workers too; and here had I
reckoned on Ermine tarrying with me, and being like a daughter to me,
when my own were gone: and what am I to do now, never speak of them?"
"There are plenty more girls in the city," said Manning.
"Maybe: but not another Ermine."
"Perhaps not; but it's no good crying over spilt milk, Isel. Do the
best you can with what you have; and keep your mouth shut about what you
have not."
Haimet was seen no more till nearly bedtime, when he came in with the
information that all the Germans had been committed to the Castle
dungeon, to await the arrival of King Henry, who had summoned a Council
of Bishops to sit on the question, the Sunday after Christmas. That
untried prisoners should be kept nearly four months in a dark, damp,
unhealthy cellar, termed a dungeon, was much too common an occurrence to
excite surprise. Isel, as usual, lamented over it, and Derette, who had
seen the prisoners marched into the Castle yard, was as warm in her
sympathy as even her mother could have wished. Manning tried, not
unkindly, to silence them both, and succeeded only when they had worn
themselves out.
About ten days later, Derette made her profession, and was installed in
the anchorhold, with Leuesa as her maid. The anchorhold consisted of
two small chambers, some ten feet square, with a doorway of
communication that could be closed by a curtain. The inner room, which
was the bedchamber, was furnished with two bundles of straw, two rough
woollen rugs, a tin basin, a wooden coffer, a form, and some hooks for
hanging garments at one end. The outer room was kitchen and parlour; it
held a tiny hearth for a wood-fire (no chimney), another form, a small
pair of trestles and boards to form a table, which were piled in a
corner when not wanted for immediate use; sundry shelves were put up
around the walls, and from hooks in the low ceiling hung a lamp, a
water-bucket, a pair of bellows, a bunch of candles, a rope of onions, a
string of dried salt fish, and several bundles of medical herbs. The
scent of the apartment, as may be imagined, was somewhat less fragrant
than that of roses. In one corner stood the Virgin Mary, newly-painted
and gilt; in the opposite one, Saint John the Baptist, whom the imager
had made with such patent whites to his eyes, set in a bronzed
complexion, that the effect was rather startling. A very small
selection of primitive culinary utensils lay on a shelf close to the
hearth. Much was not wanted, when the most sumptuous meal to be had was
boiled fish or roasted onions.
Derette was extremely tired, and it was no cause for wonder. From early
morning she had been kept on the strain by most exciting incidents. Her
childhood's home, though it was scarcely more than a stone's throw from
her, she was never to see again. Father or brother might not even touch
her hand any more. Her mother and sister could still enter her tiny
abode; but she might never go out to them, no matter what necessity
required it. Derette was bright, and sensible, and strong: but she was
tired that night. And there was no better repose to be had than sitting
on a hard form, and leaning her head against the chimney-corner.
"Shut the window, Leuesa," she said, "and come in. I am very weary, and
I must sleep a little, if I can, before compline."
"No marvel, Lady," replied Leuesa, doing as she was requested. "I am
sure you have had a tiring day. But your profession was lovely! I
never saw a prettier scene in my life."
"Ay, marriages and funerals are both sights for the world. Which was it
most like, thinkest thou?"
"O Lady! a marriage, of course. Has it not made you the bride of Jesu
Christ?"
Leuesa fancied she heard a faint sigh from the chimney-corner; but
Derette gave no answer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The alner, or alms-bag, was the largest sort of purse used in
the Middle Ages.