Robin Tremayne Part 23

"Well," responded he, "take thou heed. 'Forewarned is forearmed.'"

"But what mean you. Dr Thorpe?" asked the puzzled Isoult.

"Nay, nay, now!" answered the old man. "This dolt, my Lord of Northumberland--they must have missed rocking of him in his cradle!-- this patch, look thou, hath taken offence at the canting name men have given to these new s.h.i.+llings."

"Why," said she, "what name gave they them?"

"Forsooth," replied he, "'ragged staffs;' and thou wist what that meaneth."

"What, a quip on my Lord of Northumberland's arms?" answered Isoult.

"Yea, justly," said he; "and this sweet companion loveth not to have his arms spoke about. So here is a proclamation--come out of the Court of Fools, as I live!--that no man henceforward shall speak evil of the new coin upon penalty. Didst ever hear such a piece of folly?"

"Ay," interposed John, who sat reading in the chimney-corner, "and heard you how Master Latimer hath offended? Some time agone, preaching before the King, he chanced to repeat the device of the new s.h.i.+lling (that coming pat, I take it, to his matter) to wit, '_Timor Domini fons vitae_.' And here quoth he, 'We have now a pretty little s.h.i.+lling, in deed a very pretty one. I have but one, I think, in my purse; and the last day I had put it away almost for an old groat.' And so plucked it out of his purse, and read the device to the people, with the signification thereof. Now (would you crede it?) there was murmuring against Mr Latimer of my Lord of Northumberland's following, that he had reviled the new s.h.i.+lling, and contemned it for no better than an old groat."

"I do protest!" cried Dr Thorpe, "the world is gone mad!"

"Saving you and me," said John, gravely.

"I scantly know, Jack," answered he, shaking his white head. "Methinks I shall not save you nor me long."

One of the strangest things in this strange world is the contrasts perpetually to be found in it. While Somerset lay thus under sentence of death, the Lord of Misrule pa.s.sed through London. He was George Ferris, an old friend of the Hot Gospeller, and a warm Protestant himself; yet it would be a tolerably safe guess to a.s.sert that Ferris was a Lutheran. Scarcely would a Gospeller have filled that position on that day.

Perhaps the relics of Dr Thorpe's Lutheranism were to blame for his persistent determination to have Twelfth Day kept with all the honours.

He insisted on cake and snap-dragon, and was rewarded for his urgency by drawing the king, while Kate was found to be his queen. Their mimic majesties were seated in two large chairs at one end of the parlour, the white-haired king laughing like a child, while the little queen was as grave as a judge. The snap-dragon followed, for which a summary abdication took place; and greatly amused was the old man to find Walter in abject fear of burning his fingers, while Kate plunged her hand into the blue flaming dish with sufficient courage for any knight in Christendom. The evening closed with hot c.o.c.kles, after which Esther took possession of the children, declaring, with more earnestness than was her wont, that they must and should not stay up another minute.

"Verily," said the old Doctor, when they were gone, "if the childre must be had away, then should I follow; for I do feel in myself as though I were a little child to-night."

"So you have been, methinks," responded Isoult, smiling on him, "for a.s.suredly they had enjoyed far less mirth without you."

And now the dark cloud closed over England, which was to be the one blot on the reign of our Josiah. Poor young King! he was but fourteen; how could he tell the depth of iniquity that was hidden in those cold blue eyes of the man who was hunting the hapless Duke of Somerset to death?

Probably there was only one man who fully fathomed it, and that was the victim himself. And his voice was sterling in England no more.

Words fail in the attempt to describe what the Duke's execution was to the Gospellers. There was not one of them, from the Tyne to the Land's End, who for the country's sake would not joyfully have given his life for the life of Somerset. He was only a man, and a sinful man too; yet such as he was, speaking after the manner of men, he was the hope of the Gospel cause. To every Gospeller it was as the last plague of Egypt; and to judge by the lamentations to be heard in all their houses, it might have been supposed that "there was not an house where there was not one dead." It is not often that a whole land mourns like this.

Among her sons England has not many darlings, but those that she has, she holds very dear.

The morning of the 22nd of January came.

"Know you, Mrs Avery," asked Esther, "if the Duke of Somerset is like to be had afore the Council again, and when it shall be? I would like much to see that n.o.ble gentleman, if I might get a glimpse of him."

Isoult referred the question to John, but he said he had heard nothing; he was going to Fleet Street, and would see if he could find out. But before he set out there came a rapping on the door, and when Ursula opened it, there stood Mr Rose.

"Welcome!" said John to him. "Come in and give us your news."

"There shall be better welcome for me than them," he said, in his sad grave manner. "Know you that even this day doth my Lord of Somerset suffer?"

"Is there no help for it?" said Dr Thorpe, sternly.

Mr Rose answered sadly,--"There is alway help from G.o.d; but His help is not alway to be seen of men. From men, in this matter, there is none help whatever, remembering that he who should give it is my Lord of Northumberland. You may ask the lion to have mercy on his new-caught prey, but not John Dudley upon Edward Seymour. There is but this one barrier betwixt him and--"

Mr Rose did not finish in words, but a slight motion of his hands over his head [Note 1] showed well enough what he meant.

"But you count not that he would aim--" began Dr Thorpe.

Another motion of Mr Rose checked his further utterance.

"He that hath the thing in deed, doth sometimes all the better without the name thereof," he said quietly.

"Where dieth he?" saith John, in a low voice.

"Upon Tower Hill," Mr Rose replied.

"I would like," he answered, "to see him once more, and hear what he will say."

"You cannot," said Mr Rose. "There hath been commandment issued that all householders (except specially summoned) shall keep their houses, upon sore pain, betwixt six and eight of the clock this morrow, until all be over. List! there goeth six of the clock now. I thought to have gone somewhat further on my way, but now I must needs abide with you these two hours."

So they sat down and talked, mournfully enough, until the clock struck seven; and then Mr Rose, rising from his chair, said, "Brethren, let us pray." John drew the bolts, and the curtains over the windows, and all knelt down.

This morning England's heart was throbbing with pain; to-morrow she would be mourning for her dead son. The only man whom England trusted was dying on Tower Hill! And this group--atoms of England, and parts of England's heart--without such guards as these, they dared not pray for him.

Thus Mr Rose prayed:--

"O Lord, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders! whose way is in the sea, and whose path in the great waters, and whose footsteps are not known! We kneel before Thee this dread morrow, to beseech Thee on behalf of Edward Seymour, by Thy grace and providence Duke of Somerset. For causes unknown to us, but known to Thine unfathomable wisdom, Thou hast given leave to his enemies to triumph over him; and in Thy wise, and good, and just allowing and ordering of men's ways, he is as this day cast for death. We know, O Lord, that Thy judgments are right, and that Thou in faithfulness dost afflict and chasten man, whether for sin, or for correction and instruction in righteousness. Therefore we would not beseech Thee to remove Thine hand from him--as, even at the last moment, Thou wert able to do--but rather so to order this Thy very awful providence, that he may be strengthened for death, and enabled to put his whole trust in Thy mercy, and in the alone merits of the bitter cross and pa.s.sion of Thy Son our Lord.

Suffer him not to depart from Thy fear, nor to lose his full and entire confidence in Thy mercy. Let not the malice of the Devil, neither the traitorousness and perfidiousness of his own evil heart, cause him to fall short of Thy heavenly calling. O Lord G.o.d most holy, O Lord G.o.d most mighty, O holy and merciful Saviour, suffer him not, in his last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from Thee!"

He paused a moment, and all responded--"Amen." Yet he rose not. But while they knelt, from within the wall of the Tower enclosure came a sudden tumult, rus.h.i.+ngs to and fro, and shouts and cries of "Jesu, save us!" After a few minutes all was quiet.

And when all was quiet, Mr Rose went on.

"Lord, bow down Thine ear, and hear! Open, Lord, Thine eyes, and see!

Reveal unto this dying man the glory of Thy kingdom, the beauty of Thyself, that so he may count all things but loss that he may win Christ. Open unto him the gates of pearl, which the righteous shall enter into--make him to s.h.i.+ne forth as the sun in the kingdom of Thee, O Father. Grant him to endure this his cross for Thy love, and in Thy strength, and after to reign with Thee in glory evermore."

He made another pause--a longer one; and again all responded, "Amen."

During his silence came another roar from Tower Hill; but all was again silent [Note 2]. The minutes pa.s.sed slowly to the kneeling group. It seemed a long time ere he spoke again.

"O Lord, shed Thy peace over the last moments of this our brother in the Gospel of Christ--in Thy kingdom and patience. Let Thy servant depart in peace. Suffer not Satan to hara.s.s and annoy him, nor the thought of his own sins to grieve and shake him. Fix his mind firmly upon Thee and on Thy Christ. O holy and merciful Saviour, suffer him not, at his last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from Thee!"

As Mr Rose uttered the last word, the Tower guns rang out, clear and sharp, on the frosty morning air. Few sounds ever thrilled so straight to the Gospellers' hearts as that. None uttered another word while they knelt. Even the Amen was silent now. They might pray no more for Edward Duke of Somerset.

Slowly, one after another, all rose. All still, in silent mourning, they waited till the great clock of Saint Botolph's rang out eight times. The next minute every door in the street was opened, and men were pouring out in a ma.s.s toward Aldgate. Then Mr Rose, with a heavy sigh, rose and held out his hand. That action unloosed the tongues of the party.

"Ah! G.o.d be his rest!" said Dr Thorpe, meditatively. "He did not alway the right, but--"

"Do you?" answered Mr Rose, pointedly enough, with a quick flash in his eyes.

"As said poor King Harry, 'Kingdoms are but cares,'" said John [Note 3].

"He hath found a better now."

"He hath found a better, I am a.s.sured," answered Mr Rose, "and is now singing the new song before the Throne. Methinks he doth not wish himself back now."