The White Rose of Langley Part 19

"I can breathe better any whither than at Cardiff!" she said confidentially to Maude.

But in truth it was not Cardiff from which he fled, but her own restless spirit. The vine had been transplanted, and its tendrils refused to twine round the strange boughs offered for its support.

The Princess found her father at Haverford, but the pair were very shy of one another. The Duke was beginning to discover that he had made a blunder, that his fair young wife's temper was not all suns.h.i.+ne, and that his intended plaything was likely to prove his eventual tyrant.

Constance, on her part, felt a twinge of conscience for her pettish desertion of him in his old age; for to her apprehension he was now an old man: and she was privately conscious that she could not honestly plead any preconsideration for her husband. She had merely pleased herself, both in going and staying, and she knew it. But she spent her whole life in gathering apples of Sodom, and flinging away one after another in bitter disappointment. Yet the next which offered was always grasped as eagerly as any that had gone before it.

Perhaps it was due to some feeling of regret on the Duke's part that he invited his daughter and son-in-law to return with him. Constance accepted the offer readily. The Duke was Regent all that winter, during the King's absence in Ireland; and, as was usual, he took up his residence in the royal Palace of Westminster. Constance liked her visit to Westminster; she was nearly as tired of Langley as of Cardiff, and this was something new. And a slight bond of union sprang up between herself and her husband; for she made him, as well as Maude, the confidant of all her complaints and vexations regarding her step-mother.

Le Despenser was satisfied if she would make a friend of him about anything, and he was anxious to s.h.i.+eld her from every annoyance in his power.

It appeared to Maude, who had grown into a quiet, meditative woman, that the feeling of the d.u.c.h.ess towards her step-daughter was not far from positive hatred. She seemed to seek occasions to mortify her, and to manufacture quarrels which it would have been no trouble to avoid. It was some time before Maude could discern the cause. But one day, in a quiet talk with Bertram Lyngern, still her chief friend, she asked him whether he had noticed it.

"Have I eyes, trow?" responded Bertram with a smile.

"But wherefore is it, count you?"

"Marry, the old tale, methinks. Two men seldom discern alike; and he that looketh on the blue side of a changeable sarcenet [shot silk], can never join hands with him that seeth nought save the red."

"You riddle, Master Lyngern."

"Why, look you, our Lady Custance was rocked in a Lollard cradle; but my Lady d.u.c.h.ess' Grace had a saint's bone for her rattle. And her mother is an Arundel."

"But so is my Lord's Grace of York [the archbishop] himself an Arundel."

"Ay--as mecounteth you shall see, one day."

"Doth not the doctrine of Sir John de Wycliffe like, him well?"

"Time will show," said Bertram, drily.

It was quite true that Archbishop Arundel had for some two years been throwing dust in Lollard eyes by plausible professions of conversion to some of the views of that party. At a time when I was less acquainted with his character and antecedents, I gave him credit for sincerity.

[Note 1.] I know him better now. He was merely playing a very deep game, and this was one of his subtlest moves. His a.s.sumption of Lollardism, or of certain items of it, was only the a.s.sumption of a mask, to be worn as long as it proved serviceable, and then to be dropped and forgotten. The time for the mask to drop had come now. The death of Archbishop Courtenay, July 31, 1396, left open to Thomas de Arundel the sole seat of honour in which he was not already installed.

Almost born in the purple [Note 2], he had climbed up from ecclesiastical dignity to dignity, till at last there was only one further height left for him to scale. It could surprise no one to see the vacant mitre set on the astute head of Gloucester's confessor and prompter.

The Earl of Rutland presented himself at Westminster Palace before his sister left it, attended as usual by his squire, Hugh Calverley.

Bertram and Maude at once wished to know all the news of Langley, from which place they had come. Hugh seemed acquainted with no news except one item, which was that Father Dominic, having obtained a canonry, had resigned his post of household confessor to the Palace; and a new confessor had been appointed in his stead.

"And who is the new priest?" asked Bertram. "One Sir Marmaduke de Tyneworth." [A fict.i.tious person.]

"And what manner of man is he?"

"A right honest man and a proper [a fitting, satisfactory man], say they who have confessed unto him; more kindly and courteous than Father Dominic."

"He hath then not yet confessed thee?"

"I never confess," said Hugh quietly. The impression made upon Bertram's feelings by this statement was very much that which would be left on ours, if we heard a man with a high reputation for piety calmly remark that he never prayed.

"Never confess!" he repeated in astonished tones. "Not to men. I confess unto G.o.d only."

"But how canst, other than by the priest?"

"What hards.h.i.+p, trow? Can I not speak save by the priest?"

"But thou canst receive no absolving!"

"No can I? Ay verily, friend, I can!"

"But--" Bertram stopped, with a puzzled look.

"Come, out with all thy _buts_," said Hugh, smilingly.

"Why, methinks--and holy Church saith it--that this is G.o.d's means whereby men shall approach unto Him: nor hath He given unto us other."

"Holy Church saith it? Ay so. But where saith G.o.d such a thing?"

Bertram was by no means ignorant of Wycliffe's Bible, and he searched his memory for authority or precedent.

"Well, thou wist that the man which had leprosy was bidden to show him unto the priest, the which was to declare if his malady were true leprosy or no."

"The priest being therein an emblem or mystery of Christ, which is true Healer of the malady of sin."

"Ah!" said Bertram triumphantly, "but lo' thou, when our Lord Himself did heal one that had leprosy, what quoth He? 'Show thyself to the priest,' saith He: not, 'I am the true Priest, and therefore thou mayest slack to show thee to yon other priest, which is but the emblem of Me.'"

"Because," replied Hugh, "He did fulfil the law, and made it honourable.

Therefore saith He, 'Show thyself to the priest.' The law held good until He should have fulfilled the same."

"But mind thou," urged Bertram eagerly, "it was but the lither [wicked, abandoned] Pharisees which did speak like unto thee. What said they save the very thing thou wouldst fain utter--to wit, 'Who may forgyve synnes but G.o.d aloone?' And alway our Lord did snyb and rebuke these ill fawtors."

"Friend, countest thou that the Jew which had leprosy, and betook him unto the high priest, did meet with contakes because he went not likewise unto one of the lesser? Either this confession unto the priest is to be used with, or without, the confession unto G.o.d. If to be used without, what is this but saying the priest to be G.o.d? And if to be used with, what but saying that G.o.d is not sufficient, and the High Priest may not act without the lesser priest do aid Him?"

"But what sayest touching the Pharisees?" repeated Bertram, who was not able to answer Hugh's argument, and considered his own unanswerable.

"What say I?" was the calm answer. "Why, I say they spake very sooth, saving that they pushed not the matter to its full issue. Had they followed their reasoning on to the further end, then would they have said, and spoken truly, 'If this man can in very deed forgive sin, then is He G.o.d.' Mark, I pray thee, what did our Lord in this matter. He brought forth His letters of warrant. He healed the palsied man afore them--'that ye wite,' saith He, 'that mannes sone hath power in erthe to forgyve synnes.' As though He had said unto them, 'Ye say well; none may forgive sins but G.o.d alone: wherefore see, in My forgiving of sin, the plain proof that I am G.o.d's Son.' To show them that He had power to forgive sin, He did heal this man of his malady. And verily I ask no more of any priest that would confess me, but only that he bring forth his letters of warrant, as did his Master and mine. When I shall I see him to heal the sick with a word, then will I crede that he can forgive sin in like manner. Lo' thou, if he can forgive, he can heal: if he can heal by his word, then can _he_ forgive."

The waters were rather too deep for Bertram to wade in. He tried another line of argument.

"Saint James also saith that men should confess their sins."

"'Ech to othire'--well: when it liketh Sir Marmaduke to knowledge his sins unto me, then will I mine unto him, if we have done any wrong each to other. But look thou into that matter of Saint James, and thou shalt find it to touch not well men, but only sick; which, knowledging their sins when their conscience is troubled, and praying each for other, shall be healed of their sickness."

"Moreover, Achan did confession unto Josue," said Bertram, starting another hare.

"Ah! Josue was a priest, trow?"

"Nay, but if it be well to knowledge our sins each to other, it shall not be worse because the man is a priest."

"Nor better," said Hugh, in his quietest manner.

"Nay!" urged Bertram, who thought he had the advantage here, "but an' it be well to confess at all, it is good to confess unto any: and if to any, to a woman; or if to a woman, to a man; or to a man, then to a priest."