One Snowy Night Part 24

"You say well," replied the sumner. "I demand the body of one Gerard, a stranger of Almayne, of Agnes his wife, of Rudolph their son, and of Ermine, the man's sister."

"Of what stand they accused?"

"Of the worst that could be--heresy."

"Then will I give them no shelter. I pray you to note, Master Sumner, that I returned but last night from over seas, whither I have followed the cross, and have not hitherto had any opportunity to judge of these whom I found here."

"You will have opportunity to clear yourself before the Council," said the sumner. "Find me a rope, good woman. Is _this_ your son?" he added, appealing to Gerhardt.

"This is my son," answered Gerhardt, with a tremulous smile. "He is scarcely yet old enough to commit crime."

"Eh, dear, good gentlemen, you'll never take the little child!" pleaded Isel. "Why, he is but a babe. I'll swear to you by every saint in the Calendar, if you will, to bring him up the very best of Catholic Christians, under Father Dolfin's eye. What can he have done?"

"He believes what has been taught him, probably," said the sumner grimly. "But I cannot help it, good wife--the boy's name is in the writ. The only favour in my power to show is to tie him with his mother. Come now, the rope--quick!"

"No rope of mine shall tie _them_!" said Isel, with sudden determination which no one had expected from her. "You may go buy your own ropes for such innocent lambs, for I'll not find you one!"

"But a rope of mine shall!" thundered Manning. "Sit down, silly woman, and hold thy tongue.--I beseech you, my masters, to pardon this foolish creature; women are always making simpletons of themselves."

"Don't put yourself out, good man," answered the sumner with a smile of superiority; "I have a wife and four daughters."

Haimet now appeared with a rope which he handed to the sumner, who proceeded to tie together first Gerhardt and Ermine, then Agnes and Rudolph. The child was thoroughly frightened, and sobbing piteously.

"Oh deary, deary me!" wailed poor Isel. "That ever such a day should come to my house! Dame Mary, and all the blessed Saints in Heaven, have mercy on us! Haven't I always said there was nought but trouble in this world?"

"It's no good vexing, Mother; it has to be," said Flemild, but there were tears in her eyes. "I'm glad Derette's not here."

Derette had gone to see her cousins at the Castle,--a sort of farewell visit before entering the anchorhold.

"Then I'm sorry," said Isel. "She might have given those rascals a lick with the rough side of her tongue--much if she wouldn't, too. I'd like to have heard it, I would!"

The prisoners were marched out, with much show of righteous indignation against them from Manning, and stolid a.s.sistance to the sumners on the part of Haimet. When the door was shut and all quiet again, Manning came up to Isel.

"Come, Wife, don't take on!" he said, in a much more gentle tone than before. "We must not let ourselves be suspected, you know. Perhaps they'll be acquitted--they seem decent, peaceable folk, and it may be found to be a false accusation. So long as holy Church does not condemn them, we need not: but you know we must not set ourselves against her officers, nor get ourselves suspected and into trouble. Hush, children!

the fewer words the better. They may turn out to be all wrong, and then it would be sin to pity them. We can but wait and see."

"Saints alive! but I'm in a whole sea of trouble already!" cried Isel.

"We've lost six hands for work; and good workers too; and here had I reckoned on Ermine tarrying with me, and being like a daughter to me, when my own were gone: and what am I to do now, never speak of them?"

"There are plenty more girls in the city," said Manning.

"Maybe: but not another Ermine."

"Perhaps not; but it's no good crying over spilt milk, Isel. Do the best you can with what you have; and keep your mouth shut about what you have not."

Haimet was seen no more till nearly bedtime, when he came in with the information that all the Germans had been committed to the Castle dungeon, to await the arrival of King Henry, who had summoned a Council of Bishops to sit on the question, the Sunday after Christmas. That untried prisoners should be kept nearly four months in a dark, damp, unhealthy cellar, termed a dungeon, was much too common an occurrence to excite surprise. Isel, as usual, lamented over it, and Derette, who had seen the prisoners marched into the Castle yard, was as warm in her sympathy as even her mother could have wished. Manning tried, not unkindly, to silence them both, and succeeded only when they had worn themselves out.

About ten days later, Derette made her profession, and was installed in the anchorhold, with Leuesa as her maid. The anchorhold consisted of two small chambers, some ten feet square, with a doorway of communication that could be closed by a curtain. The inner room, which was the bedchamber, was furnished with two bundles of straw, two rough woollen rugs, a tin basin, a wooden coffer, a form, and some hooks for hanging garments at one end. The outer room was kitchen and parlour; it held a tiny hearth for a wood-fire (no chimney), another form, a small pair of trestles and boards to form a table, which were piled in a corner when not wanted for immediate use; sundry shelves were put up around the walls, and from hooks in the low ceiling hung a lamp, a water-bucket, a pair of bellows, a bunch of candles, a rope of onions, a string of dried salt fish, and several bundles of medical herbs. The scent of the apartment, as may be imagined, was somewhat less fragrant than that of roses. In one corner stood the Virgin Mary, newly-painted and gilt; in the opposite one, Saint John the Baptist, whom the imager had made with such patent whites to his eyes, set in a bronzed complexion, that the effect was rather startling. A very small selection of primitive culinary utensils lay on a shelf close to the hearth. Much was not wanted, when the most sumptuous meal to be had was boiled fish or roasted onions.

Derette was extremely tired, and it was no cause for wonder. From early morning she had been kept on the strain by most exciting incidents. Her childhood's home, though it was scarcely more than a stone's throw from her, she was never to see again. Father or brother might not even touch her hand any more. Her mother and sister could still enter her tiny abode; but she might never go out to them, no matter what necessity required it. Derette was bright, and sensible, and strong: but she was tired that night. And there was no better repose to be had than sitting on a hard form, and leaning her head against the chimney-corner.

"Shut the window, Leuesa," she said, "and come in. I am very weary, and I must sleep a little, if I can, before compline."

"No marvel, Lady," replied Leuesa, doing as she was requested. "I am sure you have had a tiring day. But your profession was lovely! I never saw a prettier scene in my life."

"Ay, marriages and funerals are both sights for the world. Which was it most like, thinkest thou?"

"O Lady! a marriage, of course. Has it not made you the bride of Jesu Christ?"

Leuesa fancied she heard a faint sigh from the chimney-corner; but Derette gave no answer.

Note 1. The alner, or alms-bag, was the largest sort of purse used in the Middle Ages.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

VIA DOLOROSA.

"We bless Thee for the quiet rest Thy servant taketh now, We bless Thee for his blessedness, and for his crowned brow; For every weary step he trod in faithful following Thee, And for the good fight foughten well, and closed right valiantly."

The Church of Saint Mary the Virgin was filled to overflowing, but it was not the church we know as such now. That more ancient edifice had been built in the days of Alfred, and its nave was closely packed with the clergy of Oxford and the neighbourhood, save a circle of curule chairs reserved for the members of the Council. Into the midst of the excited crowd of clergy--among whom were sprinkled as many laymen, chiefly of the upper cla.s.s, as could find room to squeeze in--filed an imposing procession of dignitaries--priests, archdeacons, bishops--all robed in full canonicals; the Bishop of the diocese being preceded by his crucifer. There was as yet no bishopric of Oxford, and the diocese was that of Lincoln. It was a point of the most rigid ecclesiastical etiquette that no prelate should have his official cross borne before him in the diocese of another: and the standing quarrel between the two archbishops on that point was acute and long lasting. The clerical procession was closed by the Dean of Saint Mary's--John de Oxineford--a warm opponent of Becket, the exiled and absent Primate. After the clergy came a number of the chief officers of state, and lastly, King Henry the Second, who took his seat in the highest of the curule chairs, midmost among the others.

The first of the Plantagenets was no common man. Like most of his race, he was a born statesman; and also like most of them, he allowed his evil pa.s.sions and natural corruption such free scope that his talents were smothered under their weight. In person he was of middle stature, somewhat thickly built, with a large round head covered by curly hair, cut square upon the forehead. Long arms ended in large hands, the care of which he entirely neglected, never wearing gloves save when he carried a hawk. His complexion was slightly florid, his eyes small but clear and sparkling, dove-like when he was pleased, but flas.h.i.+ng fire in his anger. Though his voice was tremulous, yet he could be an eloquent speaker. He rarely sat down, but commonly stood, whether at ma.s.s, council, or meals. Except on ceremonial occasions, he was extremely careless in his attire, wearing short clothes of a homely cut, and requiring some persuasion to renew them. He detested every thing that came in the way of his convenience, whether long skirts, hanging sleeves, royal mantles, or boots with folding tops. He was (for his time) a great reader, a "huge lover of the woods" and of all sylvan sports, fond of travelling, a very small eater, a generous almsgiver, a faithful friend--and a good hater. The model example which he set before him as a statesman was that of his grandfather, Henry First. The Empress Maud, his mother, was above all things Norman, and was now living in Normandy in peaceful old age. Perhaps her stormy and eventful life had made her _feel_ weary of storms, for she rarely emerged from her retirement except in the character of a peacemaker. Certainly she had learnt wisdom by adversity. Her former supercilious sternness was gone, and a meek and quiet spirit, which earned the respect of all, had taken its place. She may have owed that change, and her quiet close of life, instrumentally, in some measure to the prayers of the good Queen Maud, that sweet and saintly mother to whom Maud the Empress had in her childhood and maturity been so complete a contrast, and whom she now resembled in her old age. Her son was unhappily not of her later tone, but rather of the earlier, though he rarely reached those pa.s.sionate depths of pride and bitterness through which his aged mother had struggled into calm. He did not share her Norman proclivities, but looked back--as the ma.s.s of his people did with him--to the old Saxon laws of Alfred and of Athelstan, which he called the customs of his grandfather. In a matter of trial for heresy, or a question of doctrine, he was the obedient servant of Rome; but when the Pope laid officious hands on the venerable customs of England, and strove to dictate in points of state law, he found no obedient servant in Henry of Anjou.

This morning, being a ceremonial occasion, His Majesty's attire had risen to it. He wore a white silken tunic, the border richly embroidered in gold; a crimson dalmatic covered with golden stars; a mantle of blue samite, fastened on the right shoulder with a golden fermail set with a large ruby; and red hose, crossed by golden bands all up the leg. The mantle was lined with grey fur; golden lioncels decorated the fronts of the black boots; and a white samite cap, adorned with ostrich feathers, and rising out of a golden fillet, reposed on the King's head.

When the members of the Council had taken their seats, and the Bishop of Lichfield had offered up sundry Latin prayers which about one in ten of the a.s.sembled company understood, the King rose to open the Council.

"It is not unknown to you, venerable Fathers," he said, "for what purpose I have convened this Council. There have come into my kingdom certain persons, foreigners, from the dominions of the Emperor, who have gone about the country preaching strange doctrines, and who appear to belong to some new foreign sect. I am unwilling to do injustice, either by punis.h.i.+ng them without investigation, or by dismissing them as harmless if they are contaminating the faith and morals of the people.

But inasmuch as it appertains to holy Church to judge questions of that nature, I have here summoned you, my Fathers in G.o.d, and your clergy, that you may examine these persons, and report to me how far they are innocent or guilty of the false doctrines whereof they are suspected. I pray you therefore so to do: and as you shall report, so shall I know how to deal with them."

His Majesty reseated himself, and the Bishop of the diocese rose, to deliver a long diatribe upon the wickedness of heresy, the infallibility of the Church, and the necessity for the amputation of diseased limbs of the body politic. As n.o.body disagreed with any of his sentiments, the harangue was scarcely necessary; but time was of small value in the twelfth century. Two other Bishops followed, with long speeches: and then the Council adjourned for dinner, the Earl of Oxford being their host.

On re-a.s.sembling about eleven o'clock, the King commanded the prisoners to be brought up. Up they came, the company of thirty--men, women, and children, Gerhardt the foremost at the bar.

"Who are thou?" he was asked.

"I am a German named Gerhardt, born in the dominions of the Duke of Francia, an elector of the Empire."

"Art thou the leader of this company?"

"I am."

"Wherefore earnest thou to this land?"

"Long ago, in my childhood, I had read of the blessed Boniface, who, being an Englishman, travelled into Almayne to teach our people the faith of Christ. I desired to pay back to your land something of the debt we owed her, by bringing back to her the faith of Christ."