CHAPTER ELEVEN.
BEATEN BACK.
"I know not why my path should be at times So straitly hedged, so strangely barred before: I only know God could keep wide the door; But I can trust."
"Mistress Perrote, I pray you counsel me. I am sore put to it to bafflemy cousin's inquirations touching our Lady. How she cometh to knowthere is any such cannot I say; but I may lightly guess that Agatha hathlet it 'scape: and in old days mine uncle was wont to say, none nevercould keep hidlis [secrets] from Ricarda. Truly, might I have knownaforehand my Lady Foljambe's pleasure, I could have found to mine handto pray her not to advance Ricarda hither: not for that I would stand inher way, but for my Lady's sake herself."
"I know. Nay, as well not, Phyllis. It should tend rather to thine owndisease, for folk might lightly say thou wert jealous and unkindly tothy kin. The Lord knoweth wherefore such things do hap. At times Ithink it be to prevent us from being here in earth more blissful than itwere good for us to be. As for her inquirations, parry them as bestthou mayest; and if thou canst not, then say apertly [openly] that thouart forbidden to hold discourse thereanentis."
Amphillis shook her head. She pretty well knew that such an assertionwould whet Ricarda's curiosity, and increase her inquisitive queries.
"Mistress Perrote, are you ill at ease?"
"Not in health, thank God. But I am heavy of heart, child. Our Lady isin evil case, and she is very old."
We should not now call a woman very old who was barely sixty years ofage; we scarcely think that more than elderly. But in 1373, when thenumerous wars and insurrections of the earlier half of the century hadalmost decimated the population, so that, especially in the upperclasses, an old man was rarely to be seen, and when also human life wasusually shorter than in later times, sixty was the equivalent of eightyor ninety with us, while seventy was as wonderful as we think a hundred.King Edward was in his second childhood when he died at sixty-five;while "old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster," scarcely passed hisfifty-ninth birthday.
"Is she sick?" said Amphillis, pityingly. She had not seen her mistressfor several days, for her periods of attendance on her were fitful anduncertain.
"She is very sick, and Father Jordan hath tried his best."
The household doctor at that time, for a country house, was either themistress of the family or the confessor. There were few medical men whowere not also priests, and they only lived in chief cities. Ladies weretaught physic and surgery, and often doctored a whole neighbourhood. Ina town the druggist was usually consulted by the poor, if they consultedany one at all who had learned medicine; but the physicians most infavour were "white witches," namely, old women who dealt in herbs andcharms, the former of which were real remedies, and the latterheathenish nonsense. A great deal of superstition mixed with thepractice of the best medical men of the day. Herbs must be gatheredwhen the moon was at the full, or when Mercury was in the ascendant;patients who had the small-pox must be wrapped in scarlet; theblood-stone preserved its wearer from particular maladies; a hair from asaint's beard, taken in water, was deemed an invaluable specific. Theybled to restore strength, administered plasters of verdigris, and madetheir patients wait for a lucky day to begin a course of treatment.
"He hath given her," pursued Perrote, sorrowfully, "myrrh and milelotand tutio [oxide of zinc], and hath tried plasters of diachylon,litharge, and ceruse, but to no good purpose. He speaketh now ofantimony and orchis, but I fear--I fear he can give nothing to do anygood. When our Lord saith `Die,' not all the help nor love in the worldshall make man live. And I think her time is come."
"O Mistress Perrote! must she die without deliverance?"
"Without earthly deliverance, it is like, my maid. Be it so. But, ahme, what if she die without the heavenly deliverance! She will not listme: she never would. If man would come by that she would list, andmight be suffered so to do, I would thank God to the end of my days."
"Anentis what should she list, good Mistress?"
"Phyllis, she hath never yet made acquaintance with Christ our Lord. Heis to her but a dead name set to the end of her prayers--an image nailedto a cross--a man whom she has heard tell of, but never saw. Theliving, loving Lord, who died and rose for her--who is ready at thishour to be her best Friend and dearest Comforter--who is holding forthHis hands to her, as to all of us, and entreating her to come to Him andbe saved--she looketh on Him as she doth on Constantine the Great, asman that was good and powerful once, but long ago, and 'tis all over anddone with. I would fain have her hear man speak of Him that knowethHim."
"Father Jordan, Mistress?"
"No. Father Jordan knows about Him. He knoweth Him not--at the leastnot so well as I want. Ay, I count he doth know Him after a fashion;but 'tis a poor fashion. I want a better man than he, and I want leavefor him to come at her. And me feareth very sore that I shall winneither."
"Shall we ask our Lord for it?" said Amphillis, shyly.
"So do, dear maid. Thy faith shameth mine unbelief."
"What shall I say, Mistress?"
"Say, `Lord, send hither man that knoweth Thee, and incline the heartsof them in authority to suffer him to come at our Lady.' I will speakyet again with Sir Godfrey, but I might well-nigh as good speak to thedoor-post: he is as hard, and he knows as little. And her time is verynear."
There were tears in Perrote's eyes as she went away, and Amphillisentirely sympathised with her. She was coming to realise the paramountimportance to every human soul of that personal acquaintance with JesusChrist, which is the one matter of consequence to all who have felt thepower of an endless life. The natural result of this was that lessermatters fell into their right place without any difficulty. There wasno troubling "May I do this?" or "How far is it allowable to enjoythat?" If this were contrary to the mind of God, or if that grated onthe spiritual taste, it simply could not be done, any more thansomething could be done which would grieve a beloved human friend, orcould be eaten with relish if it were ill-flavoured and disgusting. Butsuppose the relish does remain? Then, either the conscience isill-informed and scrupulous, requiring enlightenment by the Word of God,and the heart setting at liberty; or else--and more frequently--theacquaintance is not close enough, and the new affection not sufficientlydeep to have "expulsive power" over the old. In either case, the remedyis to come nearer to the Great Physician, to drink deeper draughts ofthe water of life, to warm the numbed soul in the pure rays of the Sunof Righteousness. "If any man thirst, let him _come unto Me_ anddrink,"--not stay away, hewing out for himself broken cisterns which canhold no water. How many will not come to Christ for rest, until theyhave first tried in vain to rest their heads upon every hard stone andevery thorny plant that the world has to offer! For the world can giveno rest--only varieties of weariness are in its power to offer those whodo not bring fresh hearts and eager eyes, as yet unwearied and unfilled.For those who do, it has gay music, and sparkling sweet wine, andgleaming gems of many a lovely hue: and they listen, and drink, andadmire, and think there is no bliss beyond it. But when the eager eyesgrow dim, and the ears are dulled, and the taste has departed, the tiredheart demands rest, and the world has none for it. A worn-outworldling, whom the world has ceased to charm, is one of the mostpitiable creatures alive.
Sir Godfrey Foljambe had not arrived at that point; he was in acondition less unhappy, but quite as perilous. To him the world hadoffered a fresh apple of Sodom, and he had grasped it as eagerly as thefirst. The prodigal son was in a better condition when he grew weary ofthe strange country, than while he was spending his substance on riotousliving. Sir Godfrey had laid aside the riotous living, but he was notweary of the strange country. On the contrary, when he ran short offood, he tried the swine's husks, and found them very palatable--decidedly preferable to going home. He put bitter for sweet, and sweetfor bitter. The liberty wherewith Christ would have made him free wasconsidered as a yoke of bondage, while the strong chains in which Satanheld him were perfect
freedom in his estimation.
It was not with any hope that he would either understand or grant herrequest that Perrote made a last application to her lady's gaoler. Itwas only because she felt the matter of such supreme importance, thetime so short, and the necessity so imperative, that no fault of hersshould be a hindrance. Perhaps, too, down in those dim recesses of thehuman heart which lie so open to God, but scarcely read by man himself,there was a mustard-seed of faith--a faint "Who can tell?" which did notrise to hope--and certainly a love ready to endure all if it might gainits blessed end.
"Sir," said Perrote, "I entreat a moment's speech of you."
Sir Godfrey, who was sauntering under the trees in the garden, stoppedand looked at her. Had he spoken out his thoughts, he would have said,"What on earth does this bothering old woman want?" As it was, he stoodsilent, and waited for her to proceed.
"Sir, my Lady is full sick."
"Well! let Father Jordan see her."
"He hath seen her, Sir, and full little can he do."
"What would you? No outer physician can be called in."
"Ah, Sir, forgive me, but I am thinking rather of the soul than thebody: it is the worser of the twain."
"Verily, I guess not how, for she should be hard put to it to commitmortal sin, when mewed for eight years in one chamber. Howbeit, if sobe, what then? Is not Father Jordan a priest? One priest is full asgood as another."
"Once more, forgive me, Sir! For the need that I behold, one priest isnot as good as another. It is not a mass that my Lady needeth to besung; it is counsel that she lacketh."
"Then let Father Jordan counsel her."
"Sir, he cannot."
"Cannot! What for, trow? Hath he lost his wits or his tongue?"
"No, he hath lost nothing, for that which he lacketh I count he neverhad, or so little thereof that it serveth not in this case. Man cannotsound a fathom with an inch-line. Sir, whether you conceive me or not,whether you allow me or no, I do most earnestly entreat you to sufferthat my Lady may speak with one of the poor priests that go about infrieze coats bound with leather girdles. They have whereof to ministerto her need."
Sir Godfrey thought contemptuously that there was no end to the fads andfancies of old women. His first idea of a reply was to say decidedlythat it was not possible to trust any outsider with the cherished secretof the Countess's hiding-place; his next, that the poor priests were intolerably high favour with the great, that the King had commanded theprisoner to be well treated, that the priest might be sworn to secrecy,and that if the Countess were really near her end, little mischief wouldbe done. Possibly, in his inner soul, too, a power was at work which hewas not capable of recognising.
"Humph!" was all he said; but Perrote saw that she had made animpression, and she was too wise to weaken it by adding words. SirGodfrey, with his hands in the pockets of his _haut-de-chausses_, took aturn under the trees, and came back to the suppliant. "Where be they tobe found?"
"Sir, there is well-nigh certain to be one or more at Derby. If itpleased you to send to the Prior of Saint Mary there, or to your ownAbbey of Darley, there were very like to be one tarrying on his way, ormight soon come thither; and if, under your good leave, the holy Fatherwould cause him to swear secrecy touching all he might see or hear, nomischief should be like to hap by his coming."
"Humph!" said Sir Godfrey again. "I'll meditate thereon."
"Sir, I give you right hearty thanks," was the grateful answer ofPerrote, who had taken more by her motion than she expected.
As she passed from the inner court to the outer on her way to the hall,where supper would shortly be served, she heard a little noise andbustle of some sort at the gate. Perrote stopped to look.
Before the gate, on a richly-caparisoned mule, sat the Abbot of Darley,with four of his monks, also mounted on those ecclesiastical animals.The porter, his keys in his hand, was bowing low in reverential awe, foran abbot was only a step below a bishop, and both were deemed holy andspiritual men. Unquestionably there were men among them who were bothspiritual and holy, but they were considerably fewer than the generalpopulace believed. The majority belonged to one of four types--thedry-as-dust scholar, the austere ascetic, the proud tyrant, or thejovial _ton vivant_. The first-class, which was the best, was not alarge one; the other three were much more numerous. The present Abbotof Darley was a mixture of the two last-named, and could put on eitherat will, the man being jovial by nature, and the abbot haughty bytraining. He had now come to spend a night at Hazelwood on his way fromDarley to Leicester; for the Foljambes were lords of Darley Manor, andmany of them had been benefactors to the abbey in their time. It wasdesirable, for many reasons, that Sir Godfrey and the Abbot should keepon friendly terms. Perrote stepped back to tell the knight who stood athis gate, and he at once hastened forward with a cordial welcome.
The Abbot blessed Sir Godfrey by the extension of two priestly fingersin a style which must require considerable practice, and, in tones whichsavoured somewhat more of pride than humility, informed him that he cameto beg a lodging for himself and his monks for one night. Sir Godfreyknew, he said, that poor monks, who abjured the vanities of the world,were not accustomed to grandeur; a little straw and some coarse rugswere all they asked. Had the Abbot been taken at his word, he wouldhave been much astonished; but he well knew that the best bedchambers inthe Manor House would be thought honoured by his use of them. HisReverence alighted from his mule, and, followed by the four monks, wasled into the hall, his bareheaded and obsequious host preceding them.The ladies, who were assembling for supper, dropped on their knees atthe sight, and also received a priestly blessing. The Abbot wasconducted to the seat of honour, on Sir Godfrey's right hand.
The servers now brought in supper. It was a vigil, and therefore meat,eggs, and butter were forbidden; but luxury, apart from these, beingunforbidden to such as preferred the letter to the spirit, the meal wassufficiently appetising, notwithstanding this. Beside some fishes whosenames are inscrutable, our ancestors at this time ate nearly all wehabitually use, and in addition, whelks, porpoises, and lampreys. Therewere soups made of apples, figs, beans, peas, gourds, rice, and wheat.Fish pies and fruit pies, jellies, honey cakes and tarts, biscuits ofall descriptions, including maccaroons and gingerbread, vegetables farmore numerous than we use, salads, cucumbers, melons, and all fruits inseason, puddings of semolina, millet, and rice, almonds, spices,pickles--went to make up a _menu_ by no means despicable.
Supper was half over when Sir Godfrey bethought himself of Perrote'sappeal and suggestion.
"Pray you, holy Father," said he, "have you in your abbey at this seasonany of them called the poor priests, or know you where they may befound?"
The Abbot's lips took such a setting as rather alarmed his host, whobegan to wish his question unasked.
"I pray you of pardon if I ask unwisely," he hastily added. "I hadthought these men were somewhat in good favour in high place at thistime, and though I desire not at all to--"
"Wheresoever is my Lady Princess, there shall the poor priests findfavour," said the Abbot, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "TheKing, too, is not ill-affected toward them. But I forewarn you, my son,that they be not over well liked of the Church and the dignitariesthereof. They go about setting men by the ears, bringing down to theminds of the commoner sort high matters that are not meet for such tohandle, and inciting them to chatter and gabble over holy things inunseemly wise. Whereso they preach, 'tis said, the very women willleave their distaffs, and begin to talk of sacred matter--mostunbecoming and scandalous it is! I avise you, my son, to have none adowith such, and to keep to the wholesome direction of your own priest,which shall be far more to your profit."
"I cry you mercy, reverend Father! Truly it was not of mine own motionthat I asked the same. 'Twas a woman did excite me thereto, seeing--"
"That may I well believe," said the Abbot, contemptuously. "Women beever at the bottom of every ill thing under the sun."
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p; Poor man! he knew nothing about them. How could he, when he was taughtthat they were unclean creatures with whom it was defilement toconverse? And he could not remember his mother--the one womanly memorywhich might have saved him from the delusion.
Sir Godfrey, in his earnest anxiety to get out of the scrape into whichPerrote had brought him, hastily introduced a fresh topic as the easiestmeans of doing so.
"Trust me, holy Father, I will suffer nought harmful to enter my doors,nor any man disapproved by your Lordship. Is there news abroad, may manwit?"
"Ay, we had last night an holy palmer in our abbey," responded theAbbot, with a calmer brow. "He left us this morrow on his way toJesmond. You wist, doubtless, that my Lord of York is departed?"
"No, verily--my Lord of York! Is yet any successor appointed?"
"Ay, so 'tis said--Father Neville, as men say."
Amphillis looked up with some interest, on hearing her own name.
"Who is he, this Father Neville?"
"Soothly, who is he?" repeated the Abbot, with evident irritation."Brother to my Lord Neville of Raby; but what hath he done, trow, to beadvanced thus without merit unto the second mitre in the realm? Somemeaner bishop, or worthy abbot, should have been far fitter for thepreferment."
"The worthy Abbot of Darley in especial!" whispered Agatha in the ear ofAmphillis.
"What manner of man is he, holy Father, by your leave?"
"One of these new sectaries," replied the Abbot, irascibly. "A man thatfavours the poor priests of whom you spake, and swears by the Rector ofLudgarshall, this Wycliffe, that maketh all this bruit. Prithee, who isthe Rector of Ludgarshall, that we must all be at his beck and ordering?Was there no truth in the whole Church Catholic, these thirteen hundredyears, that this Dan John must claim for to have discovered it anew?Pshaw! 'tis folly."
"And what other tidings be there, pray you, holy Father?"
"Scarce aught beside of note, I think," answered the Abbot,meditatively--"without it be the news from Brittany of late--'tis saidall Brittany is in revolt, and the King of France aiding the same, andthe Duke is fled over hither to King Edward, leaving my Lady Duchessshut up in the Castle of Auray, which 'tis thought the French King shallbesiege. Man reckons he comes for little--I would say, that our Kingshall give him little ado over that matter, without it were to ransom myLady, should she be taken, she being step-daughter unto my Lord Prince."
"The Lord King, then, showeth him no great favour?"
"Favour enough to his particular [to himself personally]; but you willquickly judge there is little likelihood of a new army fitted out forBrittany, when you hear that his Grace writ to my Lord Archbishop ofCanterbury that he should in no wise submit to the tax laid on theclergy by my Lord Cardinal of Cluny, that came o'er touching thoseaffairs, and charged the expenses of his journey on the clergy ofEngland. The King gave promise to stand by them in case they shouldresist, and bade them take no heed of the censure of the said Nuncio,seeing the people of England were not concerned touching matters ofBrittany; and where the cause, quoth he, is so unjust, the curse mustneeds fall harmless."
"Brave words, in good sooth!" said young Godfrey.
"Ay, our Lord the King is not he that shall suffer man to ride roughshodover him," added his father.
"The which is full well in case of laymen," said the Abbot, a littleseverely; "yet it becometh even princes to be buxom and reverent to theChurch, and unto all spiritual men."
"If it might please you, holy Father, would you do so much grace as tellme where is my Lord Duke at this present?"
It was Perrote who asked the question, and with evident uneasiness.
The Abbot glanced at her, and then answered carelessly. She was onlyone of the household, as he saw. What did her anxiety matter to my LordAbbot of Darley?
"By my Lady Saint Mary, that wis I little," said he. "At Windsor,maybe, or Woodstock--with the King."
"The palmer told us the King was at Woodstock," remarked one of thehitherto silent monks.
The Abbot annihilated him by a glance.
"Verily, an' he were," remarked Sir Godfrey, "it should tell but littleby now, when he may as like as not be at Winchester or Norwich."
Our Plantagenet sovereigns were perpetual travellers up and down thekingdom, rarely staying even a fortnight in one place, thoughoccasionally they were stationary for some weeks; but the old and infirmKing who now occupied the throne had moved about less than usual of lateyears.
Perrote was silent, but her face took a resolute expression, which SirGodfrey had learned to his annoyance. When the "bothering old woman"looked like that, she generally bothered him before he was much older.And Sir Godfrey, like many others of his species, detested beingbothered.
He soon found that fate remembered him. As he was going up to bed thatnight, he found Perrote waiting for him on the landing.
"Sir, pray you a word," said she.
Sir Godfrey stood sulkily still.
"If my Lord Duke be now in England, should he not know that his motheris near her end?"
"How am I to send to him, trow?" growled the custodian. "I wis notwhere he is."
"A messenger could find out the Court, Sir," answered Perrote. "And itwould comfort her last days if he came."
"And if he refused?"
Perrote's dark eyes flashed fire.
"Then may God have mercy on him!--if He have any mercy for such aheartless wretch as he should so be."
"Keep a civil tongue in your head, Perrote de Carhaix," said SirGodfrey, beginning to ascend the upper stair. "You see, your poorpriests are no good. You'd better be quiet."
Perrote stood still, candle in hand, till he disappeared.
"I will be silent towards man," she said, in a low voice; "but I willpour out mine heart as water before the face of the Lord. The roadtoward Heaven is alway open: and they whom men beat back and tread downare the most like to win ear of Him. Make no tarrying, O my God!"