The Robber Baron of Bedford Castle
Page 6
*CHAPTER VI.*
_*A PENITENT.*_
Fulke de Breaute had been in earnest when he had allowed his wife to goto the retreat at Elstow, on condition that she should try to setmatters straight between himself and the Church; and she had no soonergone than he set to work to think matters over, and to consider how besthe could reinstate himself in the ecclesiastical good graces which hefelt he had entirely forfeited, but, however, without expending any ofhis worldly wealth in restitution or reparation.
In those days there were two acknowledged ways of making peace withoffended ecclesiastical authority. One of these was the endowing,building, or otherwise pecuniarily assisting religious foundations,especially monasteries.
But Fulke had no notion of spending his ill-gotten gain in such amanner.
There was another plan which he could adopt, and for which he had thehighest precedent. Just half a century before the date of our story, noless a personage than the King of England himself, Henry II., hadsubmitted to the penance of corporal punishment in the chapter-house ofCanterbury, in expiation of words spoken in hasty anger which hadindirectly brought about the death of an archbishop.
The idea seized Fulke of a similar form of reconciliation with HolyChurch.
Accordingly, the day after his wife's departure he set off for the abbeyof St. Alban. His dress was of studied simplicity. He wore no armour,but was clad in the ordinary long robe or gown which was worn in civillife by all above the rank of labourers and manual workers, and a plaincloak, fastened by a buckle or brooch on his right shoulder, fell overhis left side.
The gowns or cloaks of the upper classes at that time were richlyornamented with deep borders of embroidery, but Fulke had carefullyselected garments free from any such adornments. He had also removedhis gilt spurs of knighthood, and any who met him riding along the roadmight well have taken him for a physician, notary, or some professionalman of the laity. The grooms who followed him also wore the plainestattire; and the whole party were mounted upon mere hacks or palfreys,very unlike the ponderous war-horses usually bestridden by men inarmour.
By the afternoon Fulke had reached St. Alban's, and saw before him risethe abbey towers.
"Once resplendent dome, Religious shrine...... Of warriors, monks, and dames the cloistered tomb. Years roll to years, to ages, ages yield, Abbots to abbots in a line succeed; Religion's charter their protecting shield, Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed."
At the abbey gate he made known his name and rank to the astonishedporter, who failed to recognize in the unobtrusive figure requesting anaudience with the abbot the dreaded leader of the murderous attack uponthe sanctuary but a few weeks before.
The abbot came hurrying out. He, too, was amazed that the sacrilegiousrobber who had lately extorted from him the sum of one hundred pounds,under threat of destroying the town, should again pay him a visit, andin such a guise.
Fulke was well acquainted with the etiquette necessary on suchoccasions. He dismounted, went down on one knee before the dignifiedecclesiastic, and raised the hem of the latter's habit to his lips.
"Thou seest in me, reverend father," he exclaimed, "a humble penitentcome to offer submission to his holy Mother, and to crave thy graciousabsolution for misdeeds committed!"
The abbot was well aware how to deal with such cases. Penance he knewhe could enjoin; restitution he hoped he might suggest.
"My son," he said, "Holy Church ever receives back into her fold thosewho have erred and strayed. But follow me," he added; "I, the humbleservant of the Church, will call my brethren together to treat with meof so weighty a matter as concerneth this visit of thine."
Consigning Fulke to the care of the guest-master, the abbot went off togive directions for the immediate summoning of a chapter, and the RobberBaron was left swearing, in his usual brutal way, at his men for somecarelessness as to his orders.
Wondering much for what cause a council was assembled at so unusual anhour, the monks came streaming into the chapter-house. The long,narrow, barrel-roofed apartment opening from the east walk of thecloister on the south side of the transept was soon filled, and thechapter duly opened according to the usual custom. Then the abbotannounced the purpose of the assemblage.
"My brethren," said he, "we are here gathered together upon no slightmatter. The prayers of this poor house have been heard, and God and ourholy Alban have stretched forth their power and moved a heart of stonedeeply sunken in iniquity. But even now came Fulke de Breaute to ourgates, and came, not as before, an impious marauder, but as a penitentand a suppliant craving absolution."
A great sigh of amazement floated from the lips of the assembledbrethren up to the vaulted roof.
"Brothers," added the abbot, "I beg you to grant me the benefit of yourwisest counsel in this matter."
There was a silence. Advice is a thing usually to be had for theasking. But the abbot of the great house of St. Alban was a personageof much power and importance, and accustomed to rule with a high hand,and no one seemed at this moment in any way inclined to grudge him hissupreme authority.
"By the holy rood," exclaimed the father almoner, breaking the silenceat last, "this is no easy task. The French tyrant is even within ourgates, say you, reverend father? Would he had stayed in his ownill-gotten castle! The lion is dangerous even in a cage, and Sir Fulkerespects not even holy places, we know. We have e'en heard of a wolf insheep's clothing."
"But he cometh as a penitent, we are to understand," put in theprior.--"Brothers, we see the finger of God in this matter. He hathdelivered this Philistine of Gath into our hands. Praise be to him!"And they all crossed themselves devoutly.
"And a penitent beseeching absolution," said another brother, the oldfather cellarer. "He must show his repentance in works. A tree isknown by its fruits. Let him give back the hundred pounds he hath takenfrom Holy Church."
"And furthermore," added the father sacristan, "let us do even as theIsraelites were commanded when they left the land of Egypt. Let usspoil him of silver and gold. He owes us not only our own, but somereparation."
The discussion grew. The assembly seemed of many minds. At length, inthe hope of arriving at some conclusion, the prior made a suggestion, anunfortunate one for the abbey, as matters turned out.
"By the mass, reverend father and brothers of the order of HolyBenedict, we waste our time. Were it not well to have this penitentbefore us, and to question him as to his purpose of showing hisrepentance?" he said.
In an evil moment the motion was carried, so to speak, and Fulke wasinvited to enter the chapter-house.
Unarmed and alone though he was, the monks began to tremble visibly astheir grim visitor strode into the assemblage, and a silence fell on allthe tongues so ready to wag but a few moments before.
The Robber Baron made obeisance to the abbot, who began by delivering asuitable homily, adorned with texts and quotations, on the specialsubject of the readiness of the Church to receive sinners back to herarms. It concluded with a broad hint that the abbey should becompensated for the harm done to her; but it was a guarded discourse,for the abbot could not tell how the dreaded tyrant might receive hissuggestion.
The Robber Baron making his peace with the Church.]
Fulke ignored it.
In a reply full of proper respect and deep humiliation, he broughtforward the leading case of Henry II at Canterbury, and expressed hiswillingness to submit to like discipline as full and completesatisfaction for his crime.
He chose his words carefully. The discipline was to be completesatisfaction. There was no mistaking the drift of his meaning.
Feeling that they had indeed been foiled, the chapter requested thepenitent to withdraw, and deliberated again.
"By the light of Our Lady's brow," muttered the prior, under his breath,"had I been the reverend father, I would so have spoken that the knightcould not fail to see that reparation was essential to repen
tance, aswell as penance."
"Tush!" answered the old father cellarer; "we want not a martyr here inthe abbey, even as the poor bailie (God rest his soul!) hath beenmartyred for the town."
"Methinks it was evil counsel that was given when we decided to let thepenitent appear before us and choose his own punishment," said theabbot, with a scowl at the prior. "But, my brethren, we must even becontent. As the humble ruler of this house, I think I may say that whatwas not thought too heavy a censure for the King of England, in the holychurch of Christ at Canterbury, for the fearful crime of the murder of aminister of Christ, will be sufficient punishment for the sacrilege ofthis nameless Norman knight against our house. Is this the counsel ofthe brethren?"
Perforce every one agreed.
Accordingly, next morning a solemn conclave again assembled in thechapter-house. First came the brothers in their cowls, two and two;then the prior, sub-prior, and other officers; and, lastly, the fatherabbot himself in his robes of office. One of the officers, the masterof the novices, carried in his hand a scourge of cords.
The chapter assembled, Fulke was introduced between two of the brothers.He had passed a not uncomfortable night, for though, as a penitent stillunder the displeasure of the Church, he could not be admitted to theabbot's table in the latter's lodgings, he seemed in no wise to feel theindignity, and had done ample justice to the guest-master'sentertainment.
The abbot pronounced the sentence of the chapter, and Fulke, strippinghimself to the waist, knelt down, and leaning forward, presented hisbare back to the lash.
Round him in a circle stood the abbot and the monks, and from one to theother the brethren handed a discipline or scourge of small cords, andeach monk in turn stepped forward and struck De Breaute a blow upon hisnaked shoulders.
We need not inquire with what force the lashes were given. Thehumiliation and the obedience were sufficient without taking intoconsideration the actual pain inflicted. The Church triumphed in theindignity of her enemy's position, and her ministers in avenging herinsulted honour.
The penance over, Sir Fulke rose and kissed each monk present. Hispunishment was complete, and he left the chapter-house absolved. It didnot, apparently, occur to him that any act of restitution shouldaccompany the outward form of penance, for, as the chroniclerpathetically remarks, "Christ's faithful poor stood at the door of thechapter-house expecting that something would be restored to them; but invain."
It may seem inconsistent in such a brutal and godless man as Fulke tohave submitted himself to this ignominious punishment. He acted,however, from mixed motives. First, it was a little bit of religiousfeeling, very small indeed, and call it superstition if you will, suchas caused him uneasiness the morning after his dream, which led him topay this visit to St. Alban's. Excommunication he feared, if indeed hisbrutal nature could feel fear. But he dreaded it quite as much for itstemporal consequences as for those of the future; for it was apt toaffect unpleasantly a man's social and worldly position. Secondly, SirFulke reflected that King Henry had certainly greatly strengthenedhimself by that visit to the chapter-house at Canterbury. With such anexample, no one could aver that Sir Fulke's penance was unknightly orderogatory to his position. Further, he was obliged to confess tohimself that he had much greater need of a coat of moral whitewash thanhad Henry; and, lastly, there was what he considered the great advantageof making his peace with the Church by an act of submission which didnot necessarily involve any restitution--a matter so alien to his greedydisposition.