VII

When Robert Annys was announced, a message was sent to him, bidding

him be a guest at dinner, which was just on the point of being served,

and promising him private audience immediately after. So he waited

in one of the stately apartments of the superb palace, and looked on

the walls and ceilings, all wainscoted with oak so carefully chosen

that the better part of a forest must have been sacrificed to it, and

on the rich tapestries and hangings, and wondered that those calling

themselves servants of God should be housed in palaces of brick and

stone with ten windows to a front and three stories, one on the other,

while those to whom they ministered in the name of Christ were huddled

together in miserable huts of clay with roofs of moss or turf.

His host did not keep him waiting long. Almost immediately after he had

cordially greeted his guest, the _maître d'hôtel_ announced dinner,

and the strangely mated couple made their way to the Great Hall. The

Bishop staked a good deal upon the surroundings in which Annys now

found himself. He counted upon a certain refined delicacy that he

noted in the poor priest, a sensitiveness to environment that would

make him respond to the luxury and elegance about him. He hoped that

Annys might reflect that all this power and wealth might be his if he

would but stretch forth his hand, and that thereby the influence of the

scene at the cross-roads might yet be overcome. But the Bishop was too

late; a few hours before, and it might have seemed a goodly thing to

Robert Annys to entertain in this lordly fashion, it might have seemed

a Christly thing to toss discarded crusts and broken pieces of meat

into a jewelled bowl that its contents might be thrown to the beggars

clamoring before the gate; but now a higher conception of Christliness

mastered him. He had been too profoundly moved at the cross-roads, the

whole scene had come to him too directly as the answer of God to his

prayer, for him to respond readily to what went on about him. Instead,

a profound disgust seized upon him, a bitter contempt for this kind of

Christianity, so that he could scarce restrain himself from rising and

openly rebuking the Bishop for all this unseemly pomp and splendor.

They sat at the raised, or great table as it was called, facing the

other tables, which were set longitudinally, and which were only boards

laid upon trestles so that they could easily be removed to permit the

floor to be spread with fresh rushes after the evening meal. These

rushes served as a bed for all who assembled there, for the hospitality

of my Lord Bishop was never questioned. Let merchants, priests,

jesters, clerks, scholars from Oxford, or mummers, all lie there and

welcome; to-morrow the tables would be set up again with plenty for all.

Before anything was brought in to eat, a liveried fellow knelt before

each guest at the high table, holding a beautiful silver ewer filled

with scented water into which to dip the hands, followed by another

fellow similarly liveried who passed a soft linen napkin upon which

to dry them. Then came trenchers of fresh white bread on which to

place their meat, the folk below at the long tables receiving only

the ordinary trenchers of wood which could be scraped to serve for

many meals. Looking at these trenchers, Annys thought sadly of the

miserable, coarse, black bread made of beans or coarsely pounded oats

that must answer for the poor. And he thought of the sweat with which

even such poor stuff must be earned. Pondering over all this, the

delicate sole, found only on the tables of the great, the fine almonds,

the roasted figs, and colored sugar-plums seemed to choke him. His

Piers must content himself with a dish of herrings and onions, and

perhaps an infrequent bit of cheese, or still less frequent scrap of

meat. He bethought him of how that great-hearted poet of the Malvern

Hills had cried out that all mischief proceeds from the clergy, who

ought to set an example of holy poverty, and who rather emulated the

splendor of knighthood:--

"Now is religion a rider, a buyer of land as though he were a lord."

The Bishop, reading nothing of what was going on in the poor priest's

mind, now bent toward him courteously and sought to fix his attention

upon the luxury and elegance of the banquet. He deprecated to him the

fact that, as it was a fast-day, he was unable to offer more bountiful

hospitality. Annys could scarce restrain a smile at the ingenuity of

the cook, who certainly might well have shone in a clerkly career, so

well did he know how to obey the letter and ignore the spirit.

For, first there was served to each guest, on being seated, a quarter

of a pint of grenache. Then came roast apples with white sugar-plums

on them, roasted figs, sorrel, watercress, and rosemary. Then a soup

made of trout, tenches, white herring, fresh-water eels, whiting,

almonds, ginger, saffron, cinnamon powder, and sweetmeats. This was

followed by soles and salmon for salt-water fish; and pike with roe,

carps, and breams for fresh-water fish should they be preferred.

Besides all this there were side dishes of oranges and apples, and rice

with fried almonds upon it.

Fast-day forsooth! Was there not epitomized herein the very condition

into which the Church of Christ had fallen, its true life blighted in

the killing frost of ritualism?

When the last sugar-plum had been passed by the servitors, and the

chairs and benches were shoved somewhat back from the boards, and all

sat about in easy postures, the harpist up in the beautiful oriole

played sweet music. A youth with a treble of thrilling sweetness sang

to them of the uncertainty of this life, for the Bishop permitted no

ribald love songs to be sung in his hall. Then there followed a hymn to

Jesus Christ:--

"With noble meat He nourished my kind

for with His flesh He would me feed.

A better food may no man find,

for to lasting life it will us lead."

After this came a psalm of David, set to a quaint and plaintive air; but

the Bishop, now perceiving that his guest was ill at ease, summoned

a servant, and throwing him a purse of gold to be divided among the

minstrels, bade Annys follow him to his solar.

Annys did so with Piers' complaint of the great Churchmen of the day

ringing in his ears:--

"With change of many manner meats,

With song and solos sitting long,

And after meat with harpe and song

And each man mote him lords call."

When they reached the Bishop's private chamber, Thomas of Ely laid his

hand kindly upon the young man's head.

"My son," he said, "I have heard. Would to God it were otherwise, but I

hear that thou hast seen a light and must follow it."

Annys bowed his head gravely. Then, suddenly throwing himself upon his

knees before the Bishop, he exclaimed in a broken voice:--

"Father, I have chosen the difficult way. Help me that my feet do not

falter."

The old man was deeply moved, and stooped and embraced the young

priest, who began:--

"After the Mass in the Cathedral, I lay a long while before the altar

in prayer. I knew not whither to turn. All that you had said to me

with such powerful eloquence I argued over again and again. All that

had drawn me to the work of my master John Wyclif also passed again and

again through my mind. I do not know how long I lay there on the cold

stones, I know only that when I went out into the open, the tops of the

pines were draining the last dregs of the red sun."

He paused for an instant, and then, looking earnestly into the

prelate's face, "I preached a goodly sermon, did I not so?" he asked

abruptly.

"Never before did I listen to one more timely, nor one that stirred me

more profoundly."

"Yea, I felt that. See, I hide naught from you. Yet, Father, I did not

feel glad that it was given me to help others that heard me, rather

was I puffed up with pride that _I_ could so speak, that _I_ could so

touch and sway others. There stirred within me all the forces of Pride,

and Love of Power for its own sake, which are the favorite minions of

Satan."

"Ah! my son, my son!"

"The mighty Minster with all its wealth of associations, with all its

noble and splendid beauty, the pageantry and glory of the Mass, Father,

the pulsations of the glorious organ,--all overpowered me with a flood

of self-worship. The future rose before me full of pomp and glory.

I saw myself rise step by step within the Church until not one step

remained above me. Not one step. I saw myself enthroned on the chair of

the Apostle, I saw before me as in a vision the waiting throng in the

vast plaza before St. Peter's, I heard the chanting of the Papal choir,

I caught sight even of the glittering troops lining the plaza, I heard

the boom of the cannons of St. Angelo firing their grand salute, and I

rose up and blessed the great concourse that knelt before me. Oh, at

that moment I cared naught for those people, naught for their spiritual

needs; I cared only for my own aggrandizement, my own overwhelming

power. Surely, then, if ever, were the spirits battling for my

soul--the powers of darkness and the powers of light. The evil spirits

whispered to me that I was born for power, that I was able to sway and

lead men; but the gentle spirits asked me wherefore had I forsaken

Christ Jesus.

"And then, Father, I prostrated myself and put my whole soul into a

prayer for guidance. I implored God to grant me a sign to show me the

Way of Everlasting Life."

"Would to God I might have been with thee, that I might have proved to

thee the Way led within the Church."

"Father, that sign was vouchsafed me."

"Ah!"

"Yea, faintly there came borne in upon me, kneeling there, the sound of

singing. At first I took it for the sound of angels' voices, but as it

grew in strength I knew it to be the sound of many men singing, and at

last I could make out the words, and I hearkened with all my heart, for

clearly it was the voice of the Lord speaking through the people."

"And what was it that you heard?"

"'Jack the Miller asketh help to turn his mill aright.

He hath grounden small, small, small.'"

"Ay!" cried the Bishop, "the song of the followers of John Ball." For a

moment both remained in silence, thinking over the words of the song,

and then the poor priest went on with his recital:--

"I sprang to my feet, scarce offering more than a hurried prayer of

thanks that the answer had been vouchsafed me, and dashed out and

followed the people who were running to the cross-roads, and there I

did witness a wonderful sight--nigh unto a thousand men with some women

and children gathered there to hear this John Ball, who spake to them

from the steps of the stone cross."

"And what spake he?"

"Of fellowship, always of fellowship. He spake of the injustice of

the rich and powerful, yet he did not try to set the poor against the

rich as his enemies say he doth, but rather he told them that the rich

should envy the poor, for to the poor is given fellowship which is

denied the rich."

"Yea!" exclaimed the Bishop, "I doubt not that this Ball is sincere

enough. He thinks he hath right on his side, yet once let the gold of

the rich pour into the laps of the poor, and they will see that not

only do they not use it better, but less well. My son, many are the

virtues praised and glorified by men like Ball, which are, after all,

but the virtues that come with poverty, which is a state of far less

temptation than that of great riches. Have a care, have a care, my son,

lest the poor are roused to grasp the sceptre from the rich before they

are trained to wield it worthily. Have a care, if this evil day arise;

it is what thy master John Wyclif hath warned thee against."

The pupil of the great scholar of Balliol for an instant hung his head,

then he raised it and looked full at the Bishop. "I know well there is

danger," he said gravely, "and it will be my solemn duty to preach

temperance and control to these people, to show the world that we are

united in love of justice and not greed for wealth and high estate.

Yet, Father, it is now clear to me that, did our Lord come to earth

to-day, He would be found on the side of the rustics."

The Bishop had no doubt of it. He did not care, however, to give

expression just then to his innermost conviction, that, had not the

Holy Catholic Church wandered afar from the teachings and example of

its Founder, there had been no Church Universal.

So it befell that when Robert Annys set out on his mission the blessing

of the Bishop went with him:--

"'Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum.'

"Go, my son, and may the grace of God be with you and the spirit of the

Holy Ghost!"