Give me that cloak of russet--I will change dresses with your
apprentice, and take it to Sir Roger as though he had ordered it."
In a few moments Geoffrey, with the bundle on his shoulder, had started
for the Tower. Philip Naseby accompanied him as far as he dared, then
pointed out the rest of the way, and left the young Lollard to go on his
perilous errand alone. The first gate was easily passed, as a party was
just entering, and having gone through the first, the porters at the
inner one did not attempt to detain him.
So far, so well; and, having had the position of the passages and
buildings pointed out to him, his retentive memory enabled him to find
his way without difficulty. He soon reached the guard-room filled with
idle soldiers, who were only too glad to find amusement in questioning,
and perhaps teasing the poor 'prentice. However, he tipped his cap a
little on one side, and began as bravely as possible.
"My masters, can you tell me in which part of this castle my Lord Sir
Roger Ashton, and John Beverly the preacher, are confined?"
"Halloo! who have we here?" exclaimed one of the soldiers, setting down
his cup of beer, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What
want you with the heretics, the traitors, the sniveling rogues? Hast
thou there a nice package of rope-ladder, and other comfortable things,
for their great relief and satisfaction, that they may fly out as did
that arch-traitor Cobham? Had I been Arundel, he should have had no
chance to try his wings; what need is there of a trial for a heretic who
worships the Devil? Let the Devil help his friends, say I, and I would
hasten their progress to their master by a good bonfire in the
market-place. I tell you," he said, bringing his great fist down on the
table with a force that made the pewter tankards and plates ring again,
"a heretic should have no more trial than my dog that had run mad."
During this speech Geoffrey had been unfastening his bundle, and now
held up the cloak before them. "Look ye, my masters, here is no
treason," he said humbly, "only a russet cloak which was ordered a week
ago, and now my master sends it. I pray you look at it; it is of good
cloth, and it were pity they should not see it."
"Ha! of good cloth, indeed! Confess your master stole it; it is as full
of holes as the sails of an Indian ship that hath stood many a blow in
the lower sea. Well, and how much doth your honest master receive for
such a pretty thing?"
This was a rather hard question for Geoffrey, for, having taken up the
trade only for the occasion, he had not the least idea what the usual
price of such an article was; so he had to answer as best he might.
"Two nobles, my gentle masters, which same is but little, seeing it is
fair cloth. Though not good enough, mayhap, for your worships, it will
keep out the rain and the cold."
"Then there is no need of it for those heretics yonder, for we are about
to fit on them so fine a garment of gay crimson, that having once tried
it on, they shall never more feel the cold and rain as we poor fellows
have to, but shall dance as gayly as harlequins at a fair. It will be a
sight to do the heart good of a true son of the church. Holy Virgin! I
would take an extra year in purgatory rather than miss that sight."
The boy's heart grew sick, and his cheek pale at the thought of the
fearful fate to which the soldier's jesting words referred; when another
man, with a pleasanter face, filled a cup and pushed it toward him,
saying:
"There, drink that, my lad, and it will bring back the color to your
face. When you have fought a few battles in France under king Harry,
and waded ankle-deep in the blood of the fine French gentry, you will
have a stouter heart. Come now, quit your trade and be one of us."
Geoffrey drank, and did feel stronger; but just as he was about to
answer, a stir within turned the attention of the whole company another
way. The door opened wide, and the Lieutenant of the Tower entered,
followed by the sheriff and other officers leading two men heavily
fettered.
Geoffrey looked up and recognized in one of the noble, kingly-looking
old men, the preacher he had come to seek, and he had no doubt but that
his companion was Sir Roger. In a moment the soldiers, at a word from
the Lieutenant, formed in a line on each side of the sheriffs, and
prepared to escort the prisoners to the place of trial. The boy had
nothing to do but to follow as fast as possible, and he saw the whole
train pass quickly through the various courts to the river-gate, and
there embarking in some barges ready manned with stout rowers, they
passed out of sight around an angle of the building.
*CHAPTER VI.*
_*The Trial.*_
Arundel sat in his seat of judgment in the great hall of one of the
monasteries belonging to the Dominican Friars. Beside him, in full
canonicals, sat the bishops of London, Winchester, and others, ready to
assist him, by their learning and authority, to cleanse the church from
the stains of heresy and schism. Below the table, where clerks sat
ready with pens and parchment to take down the evidence, there were men
of every degree and class. Friars in black, and friars in gray, friars
whose portly persons reminded the spectator more of midnight wassail
than of midnight prayer, and friars whose pale, hungry-looking faces,
gaunt bodies, and knotted scourges hanging at their sides, were in
strict conformity with the stern rule of Saint Benedict.
Pilgrims with "scallop-shell and sandal shoon," were gathered in little
knots, discussing the various merits of the different shrines and holy
places they had visited. One tall, stalwart-looking fellow related
that, after walking bare-headed, with dried peas in his shoes, to the
tomb of the holy St. Thomas a Becket, he had been suddenly cured of an
ulcer in the leg which had troubled him for five years. Here a little
man with a shrill voice interrupted him, and declared that nothing could
equal the efficacy of the holy water from the altar of our Lady of
Lorreto, and that her shrine was covered with offerings made to her by
those whose prayers for safety from danger and recovery from sickness
had been answered, even though they were far away. The sonorous voice
of a vender of reliquaries was now heard, declaring that a morsel of the
finger-nail of St. Bridget, which he had there in a leaden box, would
keep a sailor from even wetting his feet during the hardest storm that
ever blew on the Channel. He had also a crucifix, blessed by the Pope,
containing a hair of St. Joseph which would give to whoever wore it next
his heart long days of uninterrupted happiness and prosperity, and all
this for a single noble! A little at one side stood a pardoner with his
little pieces of parchment inscribed with pardons for every imaginable
sin, and covering various periods, from a week to a lifetime. The
prices were graded according to the enormity of the offence, and the
length of time; one poor fellow who had knocked down a priest having to
pay a mark, while another, who had only taken a chicken from his
neighbor's yard, went off happy and secure from all transgressions for
the next month, on the payment of a few groats. As he turned to a new
set of applicants, a sturdy begging friar went around beseeching, or
rather demanding, charity, in the name of all the saints in the
calendar.
But now pilgrim, pardoner, and beggar turned alike toward the
judgment-seat, for the crier had called upon John Beverly, Sir Roger
Ashton, and many others, to come into court, and the men-at-arms were
beating back the crowd, to make room for the prisoners to approach the
table. All eyes were turned upon the nine-and-thirty men who marched
between soldiers armed to the teeth, up the long hall, and took their
places before their judge. A boy, who had just edged his way through
the crowd, stood, with flushed cheeks and panting breath, as near to
them as he could get, and then the trial began.
The crime alleged to have been committed by John Beverly and his
companions, namely, that of attending meetings for other worship than
the church allowed, and reading the works of John De Wickliffe to the
people, needed no proof; they gloried in what their enemies called their
shame, and ever since their arrest had only confirmed the accusation by
their conduct in prison. They were mostly men of little note, but with
Sir Roger Ashton it was different. He was a man of influence and
position, who, until very lately, had been considered a faithful son of
the church; and even now his character stood so high among the people,
that could he be induced to recant, it would restore the ecclesiastical
body to that popular favor which they had lost by their treatment of the
favorite Lord Cobham, and at the same time strike a heavy blow at the
progress of the reformed religion.
Having therefore read his accusation, they began to question him
concerning the disputed points of faith.
As to the grand "test" question, as it was called, whether the body of
Christ is really present in the sacrament, he answered so boldly and
distinctly as to set the question of his Lollardism completely at rest.
Fearlessly he declared that the bread and wine were no more blood and
flesh after the priest had pronounced the words of consecration, than
was that which was daily served at his own table; nevertheless, they
were in a measure holy, having been set apart to commemorate the
Saviour's death, and as such, were to be reverenced, but never
worshipped.
Here the Benedictine friar raised his hands and eyes in holy horror at
the very thought, and a hum of indignation was heard through the hall.
The guards, however, soon enforced silence, and Arundel put the next
point.
Drawing out a small, richly ornamented crucifix from under his robe, and
holding it up before Ashton, he said: "What think you of this?"
Many of the assembly dropped on their knees, and all bared their heads
before the sacred symbol; the nine-and-thirty alone stood upright and
unmoved.
"It is a pretty bauble," said the prisoner, "and as such I would put it
away carefully lest it should be harmed."
"Know you not that that is the cross of Christ through which salvation
is come into the world? Infidel! saith not the scripture, 'God forbid
that I should glory save in the cross of Christ'?"
"Yes, truly so saith it, but not in a poor bit of gold. It is not the
wooden tree that doth save me from my sins, but he that died thereon.
Him do I worship, and to him do I bow the knee. Cast aside these idols,
these vain things that draw away the hearts of the people from the only
God; pray to the living Jesus, and carry about with you holy works and
righteous deeds, and it will be of more service to your souls than a
houseful of glittering toys, or dead men's musty bones."
"Holy mother of Christ, and blessed saint Patrick!" exclaimed the
relic-vender. "The finger-bone of St. Catharine and the tooth of St.
Jerome of no avail! God help the poor sinners then, for they must
surely perish."
"My Lord," whispered the bishop of London to the Primate, "were it not
best to end this scene, lest the common people be led away by these
blasphemous doctrines? There can exist now no doubt of his being a
heretic, and that of the most dangerous kind."
The archbishop was anxious to return to his palace, where an episcopal
dinner was to be given that day, and so agreed with him perfectly. He
therefore turned to the prisoners and said:
"It doth fully appear that ye are all confirmed heretics, holding
devilish doctrines which the church doth declare false and blasphemous;
therefore, that we may cleanse the church of Christ from all stains and
blemishes, we, in our office of vicegerents of God on earth, do command
you to leave off these your abominable ways, and return as penitents to
the bosom of Holy Mother church, who is ever ready to receive her
wandering children when, with true repentance, they turn to her for
pardon and mercy. Bethink you of your ways, and of your poor wives and
children, confess your grievous sins, perform the pilgrimages and
penances which your spiritual fathers shall appoint, and then, having
thus shown your sorrow for your past offences, be received into that
church which now stretches out her arms of mercy toward you."
At the words "wives and children," some of the poor men's countenances
fell, as they thought of the households which must be left desolate, and
their babes crying for food. But at that moment a woman stepped from
the crowd with a little one on her arm, and advancing toward one of the
prisoners, exclaimed:
"Hold, Jacob Simmons! think of naught but the Lord's honor. I am
strong, and the children likely, and God will never suffer the widow and
orphan to want. Be not a coward; sell not thy soul for temporal
comfort. Art thou a coward? fearest thou to die? Up! be a man! that
this, thy child and my child, may be proud to call thee father!"
The woman disappeared in the throng the moment she had uttered the last
word, but the noble appeal had strengthened all their hearts, and not a
head but was held more upright, and not a soul but responded to the
answer of their spokesman, Beverly.
"My Lords the Bishops and Clergy, in answer to the charge brought
against us we do not deny, but rather affirm, that after the manner _ye_
call heresy, we worship God. We do not regard the images and pictures
which ye place instead of God, nor do we rest our hopes of salvation on
the remains of dead men, sinners like ourselves, or in journeys to
famous shrines, as though God were nearer Canterbury and Loretto than
London and Westminster. As to the church to which you invite us to
return, it is _not_ Christ's church, for it doth not profess his
doctrines, nor follow in his footsteps, and we will have none of it.
Nay, more, we fear to remain under its shadow, knowing that it must
shortly fall, warring as it does against the Most High. And as it is a
great anti-Christ, so shall its fall be great, and it will sink utterly
into perdition. We do not need to trust in its offers of pardon, for we
know that that Christ whose we are, and whom we serve, will freely
pardon all our offences through his most precious blood. And when with
your flames ye shall have freed our souls from the clogs of this mortal
flesh, He will give unto us crowns of glory which fade not away. God,
who knoweth our hearts, knoweth that we lie not."
Arundel's face was white with passion, but he suppressed his feelings by
an effort, and pronounced their sentence:
"Since ye will not heed the offers of mercy, listen to the words of
judgment. On the fourth day from this, at such an hour as shall be
hereafter appointed, ye shall be led from your prisons to the field of
St. Giles, and there ye shall be hanged alive in chains, being burned
while hanging, and your ashes scattered to the winds, that the church
may be cleansed from the foul blot of heresy, and the honor of Christ
vindicated from the attacks of the Devil."
A solemn silence reigned in the assembly during the enunciation of this
terrible doom; but of all that band upon whom all eyes rested, not one
showed a sign of fear. After a few moments, the clear tones of the
preacher's voice rose again, as firm and unwavering as before, and,
raising his right hand, he pointed, with his extended fore-finger toward
his judge.
"Arundel, archbishop of York, I stand before you this day as a messenger
from God. Thus saith the Lord: In the time when thou dost not expect me,
I will draw near; suddenly as in the night, I will come unto thee, and
require of thy hand the blood of my elect. And because thou wilt have no
answer for me, I will cut thee down in a moment, in the twinkling of an
eye. Men shall seek thee, and shall not find thee, and in the place
where thou wentest to and fro thou shalt be no more seen forever. Shall
my elect cry unto me and not be avenged? I count the sparrows that
fall, and shall my chosen ones perish and I not know it? saith the Lord.
Behold I hasten and tarry not, and the cup of my wrath I bring with me.
Thou shalt look for help, and there shall none aid thee; a horrible
darkness shall fall upon thee, and none can deliver out of my hand!"
The speaker ceased but still he stood, his mantle gathered closely
around him, and his piercing eyes fixed on the shrinking, cowering man,
at whom the terrible right hand still pointed. Arundel's face had
turned from its usual ruddy hue to a deathlike pallor, and he shook as
though smitten with an ague. At length a shriek burst from his ashy
lips. "Care you not that he hath bewitched me? Away with him, take him
away, he hath a devil!"
A grim smile passed over the old man's features, but still he relaxed
not his gaze, nor the out-stretched arm, till, with a cry that rang in
the ears of those who heard it for many years after, the primate of
England rose from his seat, and flinging away his cloak, lest it might
impede him, fled from the hall. Then, after a few moments, the arm was
slowly dropped, and the preacher turning, passed with his guards down to
the door, the crowd pressing back to give him room.
A few months later, while Arundel was sitting in the midst of his
friends, the hand of the Lord smote him, and in his speechless agony he
looked from side to side, but there was none to help. A moment after,
the distorted features had settled into the icy rigidity of death. The
Lord _had_ come to him, suddenly, as it were in a moment, and required
at his hand the blood of his saints!
*CHAPTER VII.*
_*As the Stars forever and ever.*_
Calmly and brightly the sun rose on the morning of the fourth day after
the trial; as calmly and brightly he climbed toward the zenith, as
though he were not to look down upon one of the most fiendish deeds that
ever disgraced England's soil. In the field of St. Giles, in the
outskirts of the city, workmen were busy putting finishing touches to a
strange piece of carpentry. A row of holes had been dug at a distance
of about six feet from each other, and in these were placed stout beams
of wood. Another row was then put about ten feet from the first, and
the same kind of posts being inserted, crossbeams were fastened from a
spot of one row to the corresponding one in the other. Another
construction of the same kind was placed on one side of the first,
leaving an open space of some twenty feet in width between. On each of
the crossbeams were fastened heavy chains, each terminating in a large
iron ring. Meanwhile other men had been arriving, bearing fagots of dry
wood, which were arranged in order under the chains, and then the men
all paused and looked toward the town.
Not long had they to wait. A procession soon appeared, headed by a
guard of foot-soldiers, who encircled the rows of gallows, for such they
were, and so made way for the rest of the train to approach. Next came
the executioners, some with lighted torches, others with blacksmith's
hammers. Then came the thirty-nine prisoners, each accompanied by a
friar of some order, followed by another guard, and lastly the rabble,
consisting of all the mob of London, clustered as closely as the troops
would permit them. Some of the Lollards looked pale and haggard, and
their limbs, so long chained in damp dungeons, seemed hardly capable of
dragging them along. Each, as he reached the spot, cast a glance at the
instruments of torture, but none drew back, or shrank from the fearful
sight. To their illumined vision those piles of fagots, those bars,
those chains, were but so many Jacob's ladders, gates to heaven.
Beverly mounted to his place as a newly anointed king might step for the
first time on his throne. Turning to his friend he said in his clear,
unfaltering voice: "We have breakfasted in a world of tribulation, we
shall sup with Christ in the kingdom of glory. I am three-score years
old, brother, and I thank God I have lived to see this day!"
But Ashton's heart was heavy; not for himself, but for the cause, the
people, the land he loved so well. "I fear me this is a grievous day
for England," was his reply.
"Christ giveth the victory!" said the preacher, his face lighting up
with intense joy. The fierce gaze of the executioners standing around
was abashed at the unearthly beauty of that look. He had no veil that
he might, like Moses, draw over his beaming countenance, and "all men,
seeing his face as it had been the face of an angel," marveled. In so
loud a tone as to be heard by every one of the awe-struck assembly, he
continued:
"Fear not for England, brother, the Lord hath a mission for her, and in
his good time she shall accomplish it. Antichrist is great, but his end
approacheth; and in this our pleasant land he shall receive his worst
death-blow. Fear not, 'commit thy way to the Lord, and he will bring it
to pass.' And look you, brethren, the names which our enemies scorn
shall shine in the Lamb's book of life as the stars forever and ever!"
The executioners had meanwhile fastened the iron girdles with a few
blows of their hammers, under the arms of each of the prisoners, and
were now applying the torch to each pile of wood in succession.
Sir Roger Ashton heard them not, saw them not, knew not that the tiny
flames growing larger each moment, were leaping up beneath him, and
longing for their prey. It was still early, and in the east, just
sinking behind the horizon, was the morning star. He knew that it was
only setting to rise again in renewed glory, and he kept repeating, his
eyes still entranced as though by a glorious vision: "As the stars
forever. As the stars forever and ever!"
Above that pyramid of fire, above that fierce cloud of smoke that rose
as though seeking to hide from heaven the foul deed then enacting on
earth, were "the chariots of Israel and the horsemen thereof!"
"As the stars forever and ever;" even so. Many have shed their blood
that England might add to its domain countries, and provinces, and
islands of the sea, or drive from her soil the hateful foot of the
invader, and their deeds are justly commemorated in sculptured marble;
but the names of those who broke the first link in the chain that bound
Britain an abject slave to Rome, stand as far above the former in their
glory as the stars do over the warriors' graves. Foremost among those
thousands who have come through great tribulation and washed their
garments in the blood of the Lamb, stand those glorious English martyrs,
the pioneers of the Reformation--"As the stars forever and ever!"
*CHAPTER VIII.*
_*Quiet Days.*_
On the afternoon succeeding this fearful tragedy, a venerable old man of
more than three-score years entered the room where Hubert still lay with
a low fever brought on by exposure and fatigue. He was Roger Markham,
of Romney in Kent, to whose care the boys had been consigned. He had
long since been deprived of his curacy, but, beloved by all his former
parishioners for his saintly life, he had continued to dwell among them,
supported by the labor of his hands, and ministering to them in secret
that spiritual food which they sought for in vain from the parish
priest.
He gladly accepted his charge, and declaring that Hubert would be better
when breathing the fresh air, appointed the next day for them to set out
on their journey to his own home.
Accordingly, the next morning they left the friendly trader's house,
where they had found so safe an asylum, and proceeding to the outskirts
of the city, met Markham with his old white pony, on which they mounted
Hubert, and so went slowly on their way. They rested at an inn that
night, and it was not till the next afternoon that they approached their
new home. The setting sun was lighting up the snowy meadows and the
clustered cottages with their low roofs laden with snow. At the entrance
of the village they were met by several of the peasants eager to welcome
back their friend; and, seeing that he had with him two pale stranger
lads, they each contributed from their humble store refreshment to cheer
them after their journey. They pressed the travellers to enter their
cottages and rest awhile; but the old man wanted to be back at his own
fireside; so, passing on through the single straggling street to a house
that stood a little apart from the rest, the last in the row, the pony
stopped of his own accord, and Markham, opening the latch, which, in
those simple times, alone fastened the door, bade the wearied lads
enter, for this was their home.