CHAPTER III
THE NORTHERN RISING
A few of the smaller Religious houses had surrendered themselves to theKing before the passing of the bill in the early spring; and the rest ofthem were gradually yielded up after its enactment during the summer ofthe same year; and among them was Rusper. Chris heard that his sisterMargaret had returned to Overfield, and would stay there for thepresent.
Throughout the whole of England there were the same scenes to bewitnessed. A troop of men, headed by a Commissioner, would ride up oneevening to some village where a little convent stood, demand entrance atthe gate, pass through, and disappear from the eyes of the watchingcrowd. Then the next day the work would begin; the lead would bestripped from the church and buildings; the treasures corded in bundles;the woodwork of the interior put up to auction on the village green; anda few days later the troop would disappear again, heavily laden, leavingbehind roofless walls, and bewildered Religious in their new seculardress with a few shillings in their pockets, staring after the richcavalcade and wondering what was best to do.
It had been hoped that the King would stay his hand at the death ofAnne, and even yet return to the obedience of the Holy See. The Pope wasencouraged to think so by the authorities on the continent, and inEngland itself there prevailed even confidence that a return to the oldways would be effected. But Henry had gone too far; he had drunk toodeeply of the wealth that lay waiting for him in the treasuries of theReligious houses, and after a pause of expectation he set his hand tothe cup again. It was but natural too, and for more noble motives, tosuch a character as his. As he had aimed in his youth at nothing lessthan supremacy in tennis, hunting and tourney, and later inarchitecture, music and theological reputation; as, for the same reasonWolsey had fallen, when the King looked away from girls and sports tothe fiercer game of politics; so now it was intolerable to Henry thatthere should be even the shadow of a spiritual independence within hisdomain.
A glow of resentful disappointment swept through the North of England atthe news. It burst out into flame in Lincolnshire, and was not finallyquenched until the early summer of the following year.
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The news that reached Lewes from time to time during the winter andspring sent the hearts of all that heard it through the whole gamut ofemotions. At one time fierce hope, then despair, then rising confidence,then again blank hopelessness--each in turn tore the souls of the monks;and misery reached its climax in the summer at the news of the executionat Tyburn of the Abbots of Jervaulx and Fountains, with other monks andgentlemen.
The final recital of the whole tragedy was delivered to them at themouth of a Religious from the Benedictine cell at Middlesborough who hadbeen released by the Visitors at his own request, but who had afterwardsrepented and joined the rising soon after the outset; he had beenthrough most of the incidents, and then when failure was assured hadfled south in terror for his life, and was now on his way to theContinent to take up his monastic vocation once more.
The Prior was away on one of the journeys that he so frequentlyundertook at this time, no man knew whither, or the ex-monk and rebelwould have been refused admittance; but the sub-Prior was persuaded totake him in for a night, and he sat long in one of the parlours thatevening telling his story.
Chris leaned against the wall and watched him as he talked with thecandle-light on his face. He was a stout middle-aged man in layman'sdress, for he was not yet out of peril; he sat forward in his chair,making preacher's gestures as he spoke, and using well-chosen vividwords.
"They were gathered already when I joined them on their way to York;there were nearly ten thousand of them on the road, with Aske at theirhead. I have never set eyes on such a company! There was a troop ofgentlemen and their sons riding with Aske in front, all in armour; andthen the rabble behind with gentlemen again to their officers. Thecommon folk had pikes and hooks only; and some were in leather harness,and some without; but they marched well and kept good order. They wereof all sorts: hairy men and boys; and miners from the North. There weremonks, too, and friars, I know not how many, that went with the army toencourage them; and everywhere we went the women ran out of their homeswith food and drink, and prayed God to bless us; and the bells were rungin the village churches. We slept as we could, some in houses, some inchurchyards and by the wayside, and as many of us as could get into thechurches heard mass each day. As many too as could make them, wore theFive Wounds on a piece of stuff sewn on the arm. You would have saidthat none could stand against us, so eager we were and full of faith."
"There was a song, was there not?" began one of the monks.
"Yes, father. We sang it as we went.
"Christ crucified! For thy wounds wide Us commons guide Which pilgrims be! Through God his grace For to purchase Old wealth and peace Of the spiritualty!
"You could hear it up and down the lines, sung with weeping andshouting."
He described how they came to York, and how the Mayor was forced toadmit them. They stayed there a couple of days; and Aske published hisdirections 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 canonsto settle in again, whose friendship I had made. I had told them thenthat my mind was to enter Religion once more, and they took me verywillingly. 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 heardone of them sobbing for joy as he lay there in his old corner under thestars; and we sang mass in the morning, as well as we could. The priesthad an old tattered vestment that hardly hung on his shoulders; andthere was no cross but one that came from a pair of beads, and that wehung over the altar. When I left them again, they were at their officeas before, and busy roofing the house with old timbers; for my lordCromwell had all the lead. And all their garden was trampled; but theysaid 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 thevillages he passed through, and the news that reached him hour afterhour as to the growing vastness of Aske's forces.
"There were thirty thousand, I heard, on the banks of the Don on oneside; for my lords Nevill and Lumley and others had ridden in with St.Cuthbert his banner and arms, and five thousand men, besides those thatcame in from all the country. And on the further side was my LordShrewsbury for the King, with the Duke and his men. Master Aske had allhe could do to keep his men back from being at them. Some of the youngsparks were as terriers at a rat-hole. There was a parley held on thebridge, for Norfolk knew well that he must gain time; and Aske sent hisdemands to his Grace, and that was the mistake--"
The man beat one hand into the other and looked round with a kindlingforce--
"That was the mistake! He was too loyal for such work, and did not guessat 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 wemelted. Master Aske had to be everywhere at once, it was no fault ofhis. My Lord Derby was marching up upon the houses again, and seeking todrive the monks out once more. But there was not an act of violence doneby our men; not a penny-piece taken or a house burned. They werepeaceable folk, and asked no more than that their old religion should begiven back to them, and that they might worship God as they had alwaysdone."
He went on to explain how the time had been wasted in those fruitlessnegotiations, and how the force dwindled day by day. Various answerswere attempted by the King, containing both threats and promises, and inthese, as in all else the hand of Cromwell was evident. Finally, towardsthe end of November, the insurgents gathered again for another meetingwith the King's representatives at Doncaster, summoned by beacons on thetop of the high Yorkshire moors, and by the reversed pealing of thechurch bells.
"We had a parley among ourselves at Pomfret first, and had a greatto-do, though I saw little of it; and drew up our de
mands; and then setout for Doncaster again. The duke was there, with the King's pardon inhis hand, in the Whitefriars; and a promise that all should be as weasked. 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 settogether like a savage dog's; and there was silence for a moment. TheSub-Prior looked nervously round the faces of his subjects, for this wastreasonable talk to hear.
Then the man went on. He himself it seemed had retired again to thelittle cell where he had seen the canons settled in a few weekspreviously; and heard nothing of what was going forward; except that theheralds were going about the country, publishing the King's pardon toall who had taken part in the Rebellion, and affixing it to themarket-cross in each town and village, with touching messages from theKing relating to the grief which he had felt on hearing that his dearchildren 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 againstReligion, remained as high as ever in the royal favour. Aske, who hadbeen to the King in person, and given him an account of all that hadtaken place, now wrote to him that there was a danger of a furtherrising if the delay continued, for there were no signs yet of thepromised free parliament being called at York.
Then again disturbances had broken out.
"I was at Hull," said the monk, "with Sir Francis Bygod in January; butwe did nothing, and only lost our leader, and all the while Norfolk wascreeping up with his army. It was piteous to think what might not havebeen done if we had not trusted his Grace; but 'twas no good, and I wasback again in the dales here and there, hiding for my life by April.Everywhere 'twas the same; the monks were haled out again from theirhouses, and men were hanged by the score. I cut down four myself nearMeux, and gave them Christian burial at night. One was a monk, andhanged in his habit. But the worst of all was at York."
The man's face twitched with emotion, and he passed his hand over hismouth once or twice before continuing.
"I did not dare to go into the court for fear I should be known; but Istood outside in the crowd and watched them go in. There was a fellowriding with Norfolk--a false knave of a man whom we had all learnt tohate at Doncaster--for he was always jeering at us secretly and makingmischief when he could. I saw him with the duke before, when we wentinto the Whitefriars for the pardon; and he stood there behind with thelook 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 andlooked round him amazed. Chris felt the blood ebb from his heart and dinin his ears, and he swayed a little as he leaned against the wall. Hesaw Dom Anthony lean forward and whisper to the stranger; and throughthe 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 ittoo.
When Chris had recovered himself, the monk was deep in his story, butRalph had fallen out of it.
"You would not believe it," he was saying, "but on the very jury thatwas to try Master Aske and Constable, there were empanelled their ownblood-relations; and that by the express intention of Norfolk. John Askewas one of them, and some others who had to wives the sons of my LordDarcy and Sir Robert Constable. You see how it would be. If theprisoners were found guilty, men would say that it must be so, for thattheir own kin had condemned them; and if they were to be acquitted, thenthese men themselves would be cast."
There again broke out a murmur from the listening faces, as the manpaused.
"Well, they were cast, as you know, for not taking the King to be thesupreme head of the Church, and for endeavouring to force the King tohold a parliament that he willed not. And I was at York again whenMaster Aske was brought back from London to be hanged, and I saw it!"
Again an uncontrollable emotion shook him; and he propped his face onhis hand as he ended his tale.
"There were many of his friends there in the crowd, and scarcely onedared to cry out, God save you, sir.... I dared not...."
He gave one rending sob, and Chris felt his eyes prick with tears at thesight of so much sorrow. It was piteous to see a brave man thinkinghimself a coward.
Dom Anthony leaned forward.
"Thank you, father," he said, though his voice was a little husky, "andthank God 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 himand tell him that I loved him."
"No, no, father," said the other tenderly, "you must not think so. Youmust serve God 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. Ithad been sad enough to hear of that gallant attempt to win back the oldliberties and the old Faith--that attempt that had been a success exceptfor the insurgents' trust in their King--and of the death of theleaders.
But across the misery had pierced a more poignant grief, as he hadlearnt how Ralph's hand was in this too and had taken once more thewrong side in God's quarrel. But still he had no resentment; theconflict had passed out of the personal plane into an higher, and hethought of his brother as God's enemy rather than his own. Would hisprayers then never prevail--the prayers that he speeded up in the smokeof the great Sacrifice morning by morning for that zealous mistakensoul? Or was it perhaps that that brother of his must go deeper yet,before coming out to knowledge and pardon?
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