Part 3

"Ay, that he hath returned to the bosom of the holy church"--and the boy's mouth curled with contempt--"and has received as a reward for informing where the vile traitor, John Beverly, might be found, the right to levy a large toll on the flour he grinds, and a good chest of white money beside. He saith that it is his firm hope, that those arch-traitors, Lord Cobham and John De Forest, will speedily be taken and committed to the flames, their ashes being scattered to the winds, and their souls sent to their father, the Devil; always praying the saints that he may stand by and see."

The trader lifted up his hands and eyes in horror; but before he could speak, his wife had asked eagerly:

"And how escaped ye, my young masters? Did he not try to deliver you up also?"

"God delivered us from his hands, good dame," said the boy, reverently. "As we drew near to his house, we heard him in conversation with the priest, so while we waited behind the hedge for him to be through before we presented ourselves, we heard his words. We fear he has sent a messenger after us, for he observed us as we ran away; but we kept to the by-paths and so escaped, but found no place to rest. But now, good master Naseby, we will to our beds, if it please you, for we are sore wearied."

The next day, Geoffrey told his host of the message he had from Lord Cobham to Sir Roger Ashton.

"Then it was he who favored his escape," said the merchant. "I thought as much. I am glad that holy man has escaped, but I would it were some other than Sir Roger that must give his life for his friends."

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Geoffrey, "not that Sir Roger is a prisoner?"

"Ay, ay," said the tradesman, mournfully, "in the self-same dungeon whence he aided his friend to escape; and they say he is to be tried this week, for treason and heresy, with John Beverly the preacher, and many others; for Arundel is thirsting for blood all the more now his nobler prey has escaped him. There is nothing left for them all but the stake and the flame, and that right speedily."

The boy bowed his head on his hands in deep grief He saw again that noble old man speaking, as though they were his own, the words of the apostle: "If God be for us, who can be against us?" Now he was to prove their truth; but the boy felt no fear of his failing; he was rather trying to answer a question of his own heart, thinking whether he was also ready, for never had death appeared so near. But quickly there came to his mind the words of his Master, "I have prayed for you that your faith fail not," and rousing himself, he spoke cheerfully to his friend:

"Do you think I could see them?"

"I doubt it," replied the trader; "and yet you might if you made friends with the keepers, under pretence of taking them something."

"I will go now," said the boy, rising, "lest it be too late to-morrow. 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!"