"You could hear it up and down the lines, sung with weeping and shouting."
He described how they came to York, and how the Mayor was forced to admit them. They stayed there a couple of days; and Aske published his directions for all the ejected Religious to return to their houses.
"I went to a little cell near by--I forget its name--to help some canons to settle in again, whose friendship I had made. I had told them then that my mind was to enter Religion once more, and they took me very willingly. We got there at night. The roof was gone from the dormitory, but we slept there for all that--such of us as could sleep--for I heard one of them sobbing for joy as he lay there in his old corner under the stars; and we sang ma.s.s in the morning, as well as we could. The priest had an old tattered vestment that hardly hung on his shoulders; and there was no cross but one that came from a pair of beads, and that we hung over the altar. When I left them again, they were at their office as before, and busy roofing the house with old timbers; for my lord Cromwell had all the lead. And all their garden was trampled; but they said they would do very well. The village-folk were their good friends, and would bring them what they needed."
He described his journey to Doncaster; the furious excitement of the villages he pa.s.sed through, and the news that reached him hour after hour as to the growing vastness of Aske"s forces.
"There were thirty thousand, I heard, on the banks of the Don on one side; for my lords Nevill and Lumley and others had ridden in with St.
Cuthbert his banner and arms, and five thousand men, besides those that came in from all the country. And on the further side was my Lord Shrewsbury for the King, with the Duke and his men. Master Aske had all he could do to keep his men back from being at them. Some of the young sparks were as terriers at a rat-hole. There was a parley held on the bridge, for Norfolk knew well that he must gain time; and Aske sent his demands to his Grace, and that was the mistake--"
The man beat one hand into the other and looked round with a kindling force--
"That was the mistake! He was too loyal for such work, and did not guess at their craft. Well, while we waited there, our men began to make off; their farms were wanting them, and their wives and the rest, and we melted. Master Aske had to be everywhere at once, it was no fault of his. My Lord Derby was marching up upon the houses again, and seeking to drive the monks out once more. But there was not an act of violence done by our men; not a penny-piece taken or a house burned. They were peaceable folk, and asked no more than that their old religion should be given back to them, and that they might worship G.o.d as they had always done."
He went on to explain how the time had been wasted in those fruitless negotiations, and how the force dwindled day by day. Various answers were attempted by the King, containing both threats and promises, and in these, as in all else the hand of Cromwell was evident. Finally, towards the end of November, the insurgents gathered again for another meeting with the King"s representatives at Doncaster, summoned by beacons on the top of the high Yorkshire moors, and by the reversed pealing of the church bells.
"We had a parley among ourselves at Pomfret first, and had a great to-do, though I saw little of it; and drew up our demands; and then set out for Doncaster again. The duke was there, with the King"s pardon in his hand, in the Whitefriars; and a promise that all should be as we asked. So we went back to Pomfret, well-pleased, and the next day on St.
Thomas" hill the herald read the pardon to us all; and we, poor fools, thought that his Grace meant to keep his word--"
The monk looked bitterly round, sneering with his white strong teeth set together like a savage dog"s; and there was silence for a moment. The Sub-Prior looked nervously round the faces of his subjects, for this was treasonable talk to hear.
Then the man went on. He himself it seemed had retired again to the little cell where he had seen the canons settled in a few weeks previously; and heard nothing of what was going forward; except that the heralds were going about the country, publishing the King"s pardon to all who had taken part in the Rebellion, and affixing it to the market-cross in each town and village, with touching messages from the King relating to the grief which he had felt on hearing that his dear children believed such tales about him.
Little by little, however, the discontent began to smoulder once more, for the King"s pledges of restoration were not fulfilled; and Cromwell, who was now recognised to be the inspirer of all the evil done against Religion, remained as high as ever in the royal favour. Aske, who had been to the King in person, and given him an account of all that had taken place, now wrote to him that there was a danger of a further rising if the delay continued, for there were no signs yet of the promised free parliament being called at York.
Then again disturbances had broken out.
"I was at Hull," said the monk, "with Sir Francis ByG.o.d in January; but we did nothing, and only lost our leader, and all the while Norfolk was creeping up with his army. It was piteous to think what might not have been done if we had not trusted his Grace; but "twas no good, and I was back again in the dales here and there, hiding for my life by April.
Everywhere "twas the same; the monks were haled out again from their houses, and men were hanged by the score. I cut down four myself near Meux, and gave them Christian burial at night. One was a monk, and hanged in his habit. But the worst of all was at York."
The man"s face twitched with emotion, and he pa.s.sed his hand over his mouth once or twice before continuing.
"I did not dare to go into the court for fear I should be known; but I stood outside in the crowd and watched them go in. There was a fellow riding with Norfolk--a false knave of a man whom we had all learnt to hate at Doncaster--for he was always jeering at us secretly and making mischief when he could. I saw him with the duke before, when we went into the Whitefriars for the pardon; and he stood there behind with the look of a devil on his face; and now here he was again--"
"His name, sir?" put in Dom Adrian.
"Torridon, father, Torridon! He was a--"
There was a sharp movement in the room, so that the monk stopped and looked round him amazed. Chris felt the blood ebb from his heart and din in his ears, and he swayed a little as he leaned against the wall. He saw Dom Anthony lean forward and whisper to the stranger; and through the haze that was before his eyes saw the other look at him sharply, with a fallen jaw.
Then the monk rose and made a little stiff inclination to Chris, deferential and courteous, but with a kind of determined dignity in it too.
When Chris had recovered himself, the monk was deep in his story, but Ralph had fallen out of it.
"You would not believe it," he was saying, "but on the very jury that was to try Master Aske and Constable, there were empanelled their own blood-relations; and that by the express intention of Norfolk. John Aske was one of them, and some others who had to wives the sons of my Lord Darcy and Sir Robert Constable. You see how it would be. If the prisoners were found guilty, men would say that it must be so, for that their own kin had condemned them; and if they were to be acquitted, then these men themselves would be cast."
There again broke out a murmur from the listening faces, as the man paused.
"Well, they were cast, as you know, for not taking the King to be the supreme head of the Church, and for endeavouring to force the King to hold a parliament that he willed not. And I was at York again when Master Aske was brought back from London to be hanged, and I saw it!"
Again an uncontrollable emotion shook him; and he propped his face on his hand as he ended his tale.
"There were many of his friends there in the crowd, and scarcely one dared to cry out, G.o.d save you, sir.... I dared not...."
He gave one rending sob, and Chris felt his eyes p.r.i.c.k with tears at the sight of so much sorrow. It was piteous to see a brave man thinking himself a coward.
Dom Anthony leaned forward.
"Thank you, father," he said, though his voice was a little husky, "and thank G.o.d that he died well. You have touched all our hearts."
"I was a hound," sobbed the man, "a hound, that I did not cry out to him and tell him that I loved him."
"No, no, father," said the other tenderly, "you must not think so. You must serve G.o.d well now, and pray for his soul."
The bell sounded out for Compline as he spoke, and the monks rose.
"You will come into choir, father," said the Sub-Prior.
The man nodded, stood up, and followed him out.
Chris was in a strange ferment as he stood in his stall that night. It had been sad enough to hear of that gallant attempt to win back the old liberties and the old Faith--that attempt that had been a success except for the insurgents" trust in their King--and of the death of the leaders.
But across the misery had pierced a more poignant grief, as he had learnt how Ralph"s hand was in this too and had taken once more the wrong side in G.o.d"s quarrel. But still he had no resentment; the conflict had pa.s.sed out of the personal plane into an higher, and he thought of his brother as G.o.d"s enemy rather than his own. Would his prayers then never prevail--the prayers that he speeded up in the smoke of the great Sacrifice morning by morning for that zealous mistaken soul? Or was it perhaps that that brother of his must go deeper yet, before coming out to knowledge and pardon?
CHAPTER IV
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE SEAL
The autumn drew in swiftly. The wet south-west wind blew over the downs that lay between Lewes and the sea, and beat down the loose browning leaves of the trees about the Priory. The gra.s.s in the cloister-garth grew rank and dark with the constant rain that drove and dropped over the high roofs.
And meanwhile the tidings grew heavier still.
After Michaelmas the King set to work in earnest. He had been checked by the northern risings, and still paused to see whether the embers had been wholly quenched; and then when it was evident that the North was as submissive as the South, began again his business of gathering in the wealth that was waiting.
He started first in the North, under show of inflicting punishment for the encouragement that the Religious had given to the late rebellions; and one by one the great abbeys were tottering. Furness and Sawley had already fallen, with Jervaulx and the other houses, and Holme Cultram was placed under the care of a superior who could be trusted to hand over his charge when called upon.
But up to the present not many great houses had actually fallen, except those which were supposed to have taken a share in the revolt; and owing to the pains taken by the Visitors to contradict the report that the King intended to lay his hands on the whole monastic property of England, it was even hoped by a few sanguine souls that the large houses might yet survive.
There were hot discussions in the chapter at Lewes from time to time during the year. The "Bishops" Book," issued by a committee of divines and approved by the King, and containing a digest of the new Faith that was being promulgated, arrived during the summer and was fiercely debated; but so high ran the feeling that the Prior dropped the matter, and the book was put away with other papers of the kind on an honourable but little-used shelf.
The acrimony in domestic affairs began to reach its climax in October, when the prospects of the Priory"s own policy came up for discussion.
Some maintained that they were safe, and that quietness and confidence were their best security, and these had the support of the Prior; others declared that the best hope lay in selling the possessions of the house at a low price to some trustworthy man who would undertake to sell then back again at only a small profit to himself when the storm was pa.s.sed.
The Prior rose in wrath when this suggestion was made.