Chapter 26

ST PANCRAS PRIORY

It was a little more than a month later that Ralph met his fellow-Visitor at Lewes Priory.

He had left Rusper in a storm of angry obstinacy, compelled by sheer pride to do what he had not intended. The arrival of his father and Mary there had had exactly the opposite effect to that which they hoped, and Ralph had turned Margaret out of the convent simply because he could not bear that they should think that he could be frightened from his purpose.

As he had ridden off on that October morning, leaving Margaret standing outside with her cloak over her arm he had had a very sharp suspicion that she would be received back again; but he had not felt himself strong enough to take any further steps; so he contented himself with sending in his report to Dr. Layton, knowing well that heavy punishment would fall on the convent if it was discovered that the Abbess had disobeyed the Visitors’ injunctions.

Then for a month or so he had ridden about the county, carrying off spoils, appointing new officials, and doing the other duties assigned to him; he was offered bribes again and again by superiors of Religious Houses, but unlike his fellow-Visitors always refused them, and fell the more hardly on those that offered them; he turned out numbers of young Religious and released elder ones who desired it, and by the time that he reached Lewes was fairly practised in the duties of his position.

But the thought of the consequences of his action with regard to his future seldom left him. He had alienated his family, and perhaps Beatrice. As he rode once through Cuckfield, and caught a glimpse of the woods above Overfield, glorious in their autumn livery, he wondered whether he would ever find himself at home there again. It was a good deal to give up; but he comforted himself with the thought of his own career, and with the pleasant prospect of possessing some such house in his own right when the work that he now understood had been accomplished, and the monastic buildings were empty of occupants.

He had received one letter, to his surprise, from his mother; that was brought to him by a messenger in one of the houses where he stayed. It informed him that he had the writer’s approval, and that she was thankful to have one son at least who was a man, and described further how his father and Mary had come back, and without Margaret, and that she supposed that the Abbess of Rusper had taken her back.

“Go on, my son,” she ended, “it will be all well. You cannot come home, I know, while your father is in his present mind; but it is a dull place and you lose nothing. When you are married it will be different. Mr. Carleton is very tiresome, but it does not matter.”

Ralph smiled to himself as he thought of the life that must now be proceeding at his home.

He had written once to Beatrice, in a rather tentative tone, assuring her that he was doing his best to be just and merciful, and professing to take it for granted that she knew how to discount any exaggerated stories of the Visitors’ doings that might come to her ears. But he had received no answer, and indeed had told her that he did not expect one, for he was continually on the move and could give no fixed address.

As he came up over the downs above Lewes he was conscious of a keen excitement; this would be the biggest work he had undertaken, and it had the additional zest of being a means of annoying his brother who had provoked him so often. Since his quarrel with Chris in his own rooms in the summer he had retained an angry contempt towards him. Chris had been insolent and theatrical, he told himself, and had thrown off all claims to tenderness, and Ralph’s feelings towards him were not improved by the information given him by one of his men that his brother had been present at the scene at Rusper, no doubt summoned there by Morris, who had proved such a desperate traitor to his master by slipping off to Overfield on the morning of the Sunday.

Ralph was very much puzzled at first by Morris’s behaviour; the man had always been respectful and obedient, but it was now evident to him that he had been half-hearted all along, and still retained a superstitious reverence for ecclesiastical things and persons; and although it was very inconvenient and tiresome to lose him, yet it was better to be inadequately than treacherously served.

* * * * *

Lewes Priory was a magnificent sight as Ralph came up on to the top of the last shoulder below Mount Harry. The town lay below him in the deep, cup-like hollow, piled house above house along the sides. Beyond it in the evening light, against the rich autumn fields and the gleam of water, towered up the tall church with the monastic buildings nestling behind.

The thought crossed his mind that it would do very well for himself; the town was conveniently placed between London and the sea, within a day’s ride from either; there would be shops and company there, and the priory itself would be a dignified and suitable house, when it had been properly re-arranged. The only drawback would be Beatrice’s scrupulousness; but he had little doubt that ultimately that could be overcome. It would be ridiculous for a single girl to set herself up against the conviction of a country, and refuse to avail herself of the advantages of a reform that was so sorely needed. She trusted him already; and it would not need much persuasion he thought to convince her mind as well as her heart.

Of course Lewes Priory would be a great prize, and there would be many applicants for it, and he realized that more than ever as he came up to its splendid gateway and saw the high tower overhead, and the long tiled roofs to the right; but his own relations with Cromwell were of the best, and he decided that at least no harm could result from asking.

It was with considerable excitement that he dismounted in the court, and saw the throng of Dr. Layton’s men going to and fro. As at Durford, so here, his superior had arrived before him, and the place was already astir. The riding-horses had been bestowed in the stables, and the baggage-beasts were being now unloaded before the door of the guest-house; there were servants going to and fro in Dr. Layton’s livery, with an anxious-faced monk or two here and there among them, and a buzz and clatter rose on all sides. One of Dr. Layton’s secretaries who had been at Durford, recognised Ralph and came up immediately, saluting him deferentially.

“The doctor is with the Sub-Prior, sir,” he said. “He gave orders that you were to be brought to him as soon as you arrived, Mr. Torridon.”

Ralph followed him into the guest-house, and up the stairs up which Chris had come at his first arrival, and was shown into the parlour. There was a sound of voices as they approached the door, and as Ralph entered he saw at once that Dr. Layton was busy at his work.

“Come in, sir,” he cried cheerfully from behind the table at which he sat. “Here is desperate work for you and me. No less than rank treason, Mr. Torridon.”

A monk was standing before the table, who turned nervously as Ralph came in; he was a middle-aged man, grey-haired and brown-faced like a foreigner, but his eyes were full of terror now, and his lips trembling piteously.

Ralph greeted Dr. Layton shortly, and sat down beside him.

“Now, sir,” went on the other, “your only hope is to submit yourself to the King’s clemency. You have confessed yourself to treason in your preaching, and even if you did not, it would not signify, for I have the accusation from the young man at Farley in my bag. You tell me you did not know it was treason; but are you ready, sir, to tell the King’s Grace that?”

The monk’s eyes glanced from one to the other anxiously. Ralph could see that he was desperately afraid.

“Tell me that, sir,” cried the doctor again, rapping the table with his open hand.

“I--I--what shall I do, sir?” stammered the monk.

“You must throw yourself on the King’s mercy, reverend father. And as a beginning you must throw yourself on mine and Mr. Torridon’s here. Now, listen to this.”

Dr. Layton lifted one of the papers that lay before him and read it aloud, looking severely at the monk over the top of it between the sentences. It was in the form of a confession, and declared that on such a date in the Priory Church of St Pancras at Lewes the undersigned had preached treason, although ignorant that it was so, in the presence of the Prior and community; and that the Prior, although he knew what was to be said, and had heard the sermon in question, had neither forbidden it beforehand nor denounced it afterwards, and that the undersigned entreated the King’s clemency for the fault and submitted himself entirely to his Grace’s judgment.

“I--I dare not accuse my superior,” stammered the monk.

Dr. Layton glared at him, laying the paper down.

“The question is,” he cried, “which would you sooner offend--your Prior, who will be prior no longer presently, or the King’s Grace, who will remain the King’s Grace for many years yet, by the favour of God, and who has moreover supreme rights of life and death. That is your choice, reverend father.”--He lifted the paper by the corners.--“You have only to say the word, sir, and I tear up this paper, and write my own report of the matter.”

The monk again glanced helplessly at the two men. Ralph had a touch of contentment at the thought that this was Christopher’s superior, ranged like a naughty boy at the table, and looked at him coldly. Dr. Layton made a swift gesture as if to tear the paper, and the Sub-Prior threw out his hands.

“I will sign it, sir,” he said, “I will sign it.”

When the monk had left the room, leaving his signed confession behind him, Dr. Layton turned beaming to Ralph.

“Thank God!” he said piously. “I do not know what we should have done if he had refused; but now we hold him and his prior too. How have you fared, Mr. Torridon?”

Ralph told him a little of his experiences since his last report, of a nunnery where all but three had been either dismissed or released; of a monastery where he had actually caught a drunken cellarer unconscious by a barrel, and of another where he had reason to fear even worse crimes.

“Write it all down, Mr. Torridon,” cried the priest, “and do not spare the adjectives. I have some fine tales for you myself. But we must despatch this place first. We shall have grand sport in the chapter-house to-morrow. This prior is a poor timid fellow, and we can do what we will with him. Concealed treason is a sharp sword to threaten him with.”

Ralph remarked presently that he had a brother a monk here.

“But you can do what you like to him,” he said. “I have no love for him. He is an insolent fellow.”

Dr. Layton smiled pleasantly.

“We will see what can be done,” he said.

* * * * *

Ralph slept that night in the guest-house, in the same room that Chris had occupied on his first coming. He awoke once at the sound of the great bell from the tower calling the monks to the night-office, and smiled at the fantastic folly of it all. His work during the last month had erased the last remnants of superstitious fear, and to him now more than ever the Religious Houses were but noisy rookeries, clamant with bells and chanting, and foul with the refuse of idleness. The sooner they were silenced and purged the better.

He did not trouble to go to mass in the morning, but lay awake in the white-washed room, hearing footsteps and voices below, and watching the morning light brighten on the wall. He found himself wondering once or twice what Chris was doing, and how he felt; he did not rise till one of his men looked in to tell him that Dr. Layton would be ready for him in half-an-hour, if he pleased.

The chapter-house was a strange sight as he entered it from the cloister. It was a high oblong chamber some fifty feet long, with arched roof like a chapel, and a paved floor. On a dozen stones or so were cut inscriptions recording the presence of bodies entombed below, among them those of Earl William de Warenne and Gundrada, his wife, founders of the priory five centuries ago. Ralph caught sight of the names as he strode through the silent monks at the door and entered the chamber, talking loudly with his fellow-Visitor. The tall vaulted room looked bare and severe; the seats ran round it, raised on a step, and before the Prior’s chair beneath the crucifix stood a large table covered with papers. Beneath it, and emerging on to the floor lay a great heap of vestments and precious things which Dr. Layton had ordered to be piled there for his inspection, and on the table itself for greater dignity burned two tapers in massive silver candlesticks.

“Sit here, Mr. Torridon,” said the priest, himself taking the Prior’s chair, “we represent the supreme head of the Church of England now, you must remember.”

And he smiled at the other with a solemn joy.

He glanced over his papers, settled himself judicially, and then signed to one of his men to call the monks in. His two secretaries seated themselves at either end of the table that stood before their master.

Then the two lines began to file in, in reverse order, as the doctor had commanded; black silent figures with bowed heads buried in their hoods, and their hands invisible in the great sleeves of their cowls.

Ralph ran his eyes over them; there were men of all ages there, old wrinkled faces, and smooth ones; but it was not until they were all standing in their places that he recognised Chris.

There stood the young man, at a stall near the door, his eyes bent down, and his face deadly pale, his figure thin and rigid against the pale oak panelling that rose up some eight feet from the floor. Ralph’s heart quickened with triumph. Ah! it was good to be here as judge, with that brother of his as culprit!

The Prior and Sub-prior, whose places were occupied, stood together in the centre of the room, as the doctor had ordered. It was their case that was to come first.

There was an impressive silence; the two Visitors sat motionless, looking severely round them; the secretaries had their clean paper before them, and their pens, ready dipped, poised in their fingers.

Then Dr. Layton began.

* * * * *

It was an inexpressibly painful task, he said, that he had before him; the monks were not to think that he gloried in it, or loved to find fault and impose punishments; and, in fact, nothing but the knowledge that he was there as the representative of the supreme authority in Church and State could have supplied to him the fortitude necessary for the performance of so sad a task.

Ralph marvelled at him as he listened. There was a solemn sound in the man’s face and voice, and dignity in his few and impressive gestures. It could hardly be believed that he was not in earnest; and yet Ralph remembered too the relish with which the man had dispersed his foul tales the evening before, and the cackling laughter with which their recital was accompanied. But it was all very wholesome for Chris, he thought.

“And now,” said Dr. Layton, “I must lay before you this grievous matter. It is one of whose end I dare not think, if it should come before the King’s Grace; and yet so it must come. It is no less a matter than treason.”

His voice rang out with a melancholy triumph, and Ralph, looking at the two monks who stood in the centre of the room, saw that they were both as white as paper. The lips of the Prior were moving in a kind of agonised entreaty, and his eyes rolled round.

“You, sir,” cried the doctor, glaring at the Sub-Prior, who dropped his beseeching eyes at the fierce look, “you, sir, have committed the crime--in ignorance, you tell me--but at least the crime of preaching in this priory-church in the presence of his Grace’s faithful subjects a sermon attacking the King’s most certain prerogatives. I can make perhaps allowances for this--though I do not know whether his Grace will do so--but I can make allowances for one so foolish as yourself carried away by the drunkenness of words; but I can make none--none--” he shouted, crashing his hand upon the table, “none for your superior who stands beside you, and who forebore either to protest at the treason at the time or to rebuke it afterwards.”

The Prior’s hands rose and clasped themselves convulsively, but he made no answer.

Dr. Layton proceeded to read out the confession that he had wrung from the monk the night before, down to the signature; then he called upon him to come up.

“Is this your name, sir?” he asked slowly.

The Sub-Prior took the paper in his trembling hands.

“It is sir,” he said.

“You hear it,” cried the doctor, staring fiercely round the faces, “he tells you he has subscribed it himself. Go back to your place, reverend father, and thank our Lord that you had courage to do so.

“And now, you, sir, Master Prior, what have you to say?”

Dr. Layton dropped his voice as he spoke, and laid his fat hands together on the table. The Prior looked up with the same dreadful entreaty as before; his lips moved, but no sound came from them. The monks round were deadly still; Ralph saw a swift glance or two exchanged beneath the shrouding hoods, but no one moved.

“I am waiting, my Lord Prior,” cried Layton in a loud terrible voice.

Again the Prior writhed his lips to speak.

Dr. Layton rose abruptly and made a violent gesture.

“Down on your knees, Master Prior, if you need mercy.”

There was a quick murmur and ripple along the two lines as the Prior dropped suddenly on to his knees and covered his face with his hands.

Dr. Layton threw out his hand with a passionate gesture and began to speak--.

“There, reverend fathers and brethren,” he cried, “you see how low sin brings a man. This fellow who calls himself prior was bold enough, I daresay, in the church when treason was preached; and, I doubt not, has been bold enough in private too when he thought none heard him but his friends. But you see how treachery,--heinous treachery,--plucks the spirit from him, and how lowly he carries himself when he knows that true men are sitting in judgment over him. Take example from that, you who have served him in the past; you need never fear him more now.”

Dr. Layton dropped his hand and sat down. For one moment Ralph saw the kneeling man lift that white face again, but the doctor was at him instantly.

“Do not dare to rise, sir, till I give you leave,” he roared. “You had best be a penitent. Now tell me, sir, what you have to say. It shall not be said that we condemned a man unheard. Eh! Mr. Torridon?”

Ralph nodded sharply, and glanced at Chris; but his brother was staring at the Prior.

“Now then, sir,” cried the doctor again.

“I entreat you, Master Layton--”

The Prior’s voice was convulsed with terror as he cried this with outstretched hands.

“Yes, sir, I will hear you.”

“I entreat you, sir, not to tell his Grace. Indeed I am innocent,”--his voice rose thin and high in his panic--“indeed, I did not know it was treason that was preached.”

“Did not know?” sneered the doctor, leaning forward over the table. “Why, you know your Faith, man--”

“Master Layton, Master Layton; there be so many changes in these days--”

“Changes!” shouted the priest; “there be no changes, except of such knaves as you, Master-Prior; it is the old Faith now as ever. Do you dare to call his Grace a heretic? Must that too go down in the charges?”

“No, no, Master Layton,” screamed the Prior, with his hands strained forward and twitching fingers. “I did not mean that--Christ is my witness!”

“Is it not the same Faith, sir?”

“Yes, Master Layton--yes--indeed, it is. But I did not know--how could I know?”

“Then why are you Prior,” cried the doctor with a dramatic gesture, “if it is not to keep your subjects true and obedient? Do you mean to tell me--?”

“I entreat you, sir, for the love of Mary, not to tell his Grace--”

“Bah!” shouted Dr. Layton, “you may keep your breath till you tell his Grace that himself. There is enough of this.” Again he rose, and swept his eyes round the white-faced monks. “I am weary of this work. The fellow has not a word to say--”

“Master Layton, Master Layton,” cried the kneeling man once more, lifting his hands on one of which gleamed the prelatical ring.

“Silence, sir,” roared the doctor. “It is I who am speaking now. We have had enough of this work. It seems that there be no true men left, except in the world; these houses are rotten with crime. Is it not so, Master Torridon?--rotten with crime! But of all the knaves that I did ever meet, and they are many and strong ones, I do believe Master Prior, that you are the worst. Here is my sentence, and see that it be carried out. You, Master Prior, and you Master Sub-Prior, are to appear before Master Cromwell in his court on All-Hallows’ Eve, and tell your tales to him. You shall see if he be so soft as I; it may be that he will send you before the King’s Grace--that I know not--but at least he will know how to get the truth out of you, if I cannot--”

Once more the Prior broke in, in an agony of terror; but the doctor silenced him in a moment.

“Have I not given my sentence, sir? How dare you speak?”

A murmur again ran round the room, and he lifted his hand furiously.

“Silence,” he shouted, “not one word from a mother’s son of you. I have had enough of sedition already. Clear the room, officer, and let not one shaveling monk put his nose within again, until I send for him. I am weary of them all--weary and broken-hearted.”

The doctor dropped back into his seat, with a face of profound disgust, and passed his hand over his forehead.

The monks turned at the signal from the door, and Ralph watched the black lines once more file out.

“There, Mr. Torridon,” whispered the doctor behind his hand. “Did I not tell you so? Master Cromwell will be able to do what he will with him.”