CHAPTER EIGHT.
A LODGING ON THE COLD GROUND.
"Christ is at hand to scorn or bless-- Christ suffers in our strife."
Christian Year.
In the evening, as previously ordered, Margery quitted Marnell Place inher litter for her prison in the Tower. The jailer stared at her, asAbbot Bilson, who accompanied her, gave her into his charge, andwhisperingly asked the reason for which she was to be incarcerated.
"Heresy, good friend."
"Heresy!" said the jailer, staring more than ever. "What pity for oneso marvellous young! Poor lady! it sorroweth me!"
When Margery was at length locked in, she had time to look round herprison. It was a small, square, whitewashed cell, completelyunfurnished; all the furniture had to be brought from Marnell Place.Not much was allowed. A mattress and blanket by way of bed, a stool,and a crucifix, were the only articles permitted. The barred window wasvery small, and very high up. Here Margery was to remain untilSeptember. The days rolled wearily on. Lord Marnell occasionallyvisited her; but not often, and he was her sole visitor. The jailer,for a jailer, was rather kind to his prisoner, whom he evidently pitied;and one day he told her, as he brought her the prison allowance forsupper, that "strange things" were taking place in the political world.There was a rumour in London that "my Lord of Hereford" had returned toEngland before his period of banishment was over, and had possessedhimself of the person of King Richard at Flint Castle.
"What will he do?" asked Margery. "Soothly I wis not," answered thejailer. "I trow he will make himself king. Any way, I trust it may hapfor your Ladyship's good, for it is the wont to release prisoners at thebeginning of a new reign."
Shortly after that, Henry of Bolingbroke fulfilled the jailer'sprediction, so far as regarded his kingship. He led Richard in triumphthrough London, with every dishonour and indignity which his own evilnature could devise; then consigned him to Pontefract to die and satdown on his throne. _How_ Richard died, Henry best knew. Thus closedthe life and reign of that most ill-treated and loving-hearted man, atthe early age of thirty-three. The little Queen, a widow at eleven, wassent back to France--her matchless collection of jewels being retainedby Henry. Few men have had more reason to describe themselves as HenryIV does in his will--"I, Henry, _sinful wretch_." [See Note 1.]
The change of monarchs, however, brought no change for Lady Marnell. Ifanything, it was the worse for her; for Abbot Bilson was a personalfriend of the new King, who was far more violently opposed to theLollards than his predecessor had been.
On the 16th of September, 1400, Lord Marnell was just quitting Margery'scell, when the jailer admitted Abbot Bilson, who courteously greetedLord Marnell, and replied rather more coldly to the salutation of hisprisoner.
"Good morrow, my Lord. Have you induced this wretched girl to see theerror of her ways?"
"I assayed it not," said Lord Marnell, somewhat sulkily. "Farewell,Madge,--I will see thee again ere long."
"Farewell, good my Lord," said Margery, and for the first time in herlife she was sorry to see her husband go. The truth was, that LordMarnell felt so much vexed with his spiritual advisers, that he wasseriously afraid, if he remained, of saying something which might causehis own imprisonment. The jailer locked the door after him, and theAbbot and Margery were left together.
"You have had time, daughter, to think over your sin, in penitence andprayer. Are you yet conscious that you have committed a grievous sin?"
"No, father."
"No are? [i.e., Are you not?] I grieve to hear it. Fear you not theban of Holy Church?"
"I fear it not, so Christ confirm it not; He did warn me afore of thesame. `_Thei schulen make ghou withouten the synagogis; but the ourcometh, that ech man that sleeth ghou deme that he doith seruyse toGod_.'" [John xvi. 2.]
"Cease thy endless quotations from Scripture!" cried the Abbot, waxingwroth, and forgetting his civilities.
But Margery only replied by another--"`_He that is of God herith thewordis of God; therefore ye heren not for ye be not of God_.'" [Johnviii. 47.]
"Take the curse of the Church, miserable reprobate!" cried Bilson,losing all command of himself, and smiting her in the face.
"Take you heed," was the answer, "that you bring not on yourself thecurse of Christ, who is the Head and Lord of the Church, for Hesuffereth not lightly that His sheep be ill handled."
"Aroint thee, sorceress!" said the abbot. "I am no sorceress," repliedMargery, quietly, "neither do I use evil arts; I speak unto you in thewords of Christ--bear you the sin if you will not hear. But lo! it iseven that which is written, `_He hath blyndid her yghen_ [their eyes],_and he hath maad hard the herte of hem; that thei see not with yghen,and undirstonde with herte, and that thei be conuertid, and I heelehem_.'" [John xii. 40.]
The abbot could bear no more. He struck her furiously--a blow whichstretched her senseless on the stone floor of the cell. Having by thisprimitive means silenced Margery's "endless quotations," he let himselfout with a private key.
When Lord Marnell returned to the prison that evening, he found Margeryin what he supposed to be a swoon. He summoned the jailer, and throughhim sent for a physician, who applied restoratives, but told LordMarnell at once that Margery had fallen, and had received a heavy blowon the head. By the united care of the physician and her husband, sheslowly returned to consciousness: not, however, fully so at first, forshe murmured, "Mother!" When Lord Marnell bent over her and spoke toher, she suddenly recognised him as if awaking from a dream. Yes, shereplied to their inquiries, she had certainly fallen, and she thoughtshe had hurt her head; but she would not tell them that the cause of thefall was a passionate blow from the Abbot's hand. The physician askedwhen her examination was to take place; and on Lord Marnell replying,"To-morrow," he shook his head, and said she would not be able toappear.
"Oh ay, ay, let me go!" said Margery, "I would not have delay therein.I shall be better by morn, and--"
But as she spoke she fainted away, and the doctor, turning to LordMarnell, said--
"She is no wise fit for it, poor lady! The inquiry must needs bedelayed, and the blame thereof be mine own."
"Then I pray you," replied Lord Marnell, "to say the same unto thecouncil; for they heed not me."
He answered that he would go to them as soon as he thought that hispatient required no further professional assistance. Margery seemedbetter shortly, and Master Simon, for such was the doctor's name,repaired at once to the council charged with the examination ofprisoners accused of heresy, and told them that their State prisoner,the Lady Marnell, was very ill in her dungeon, and would not be able toappear before them for at least some weeks to come. Arundel, whopresided, only laughed. The doctor insisted.
"Why," said be, "the poor lady is sickening for a fever; let her alone:how can a woman light-headed answer questions upon doctrine and heresy?"
The council, governed by Arundel, still seemed unwilling to grant theprayer; when, to the surprise of every one present, Abbot Bilson, theprincipal witness for the Crown, rose and supported the petition. Thepuzzled council accordingly granted it. Arundel was very much underBilson's influence, and Bilson had a private reason for his conduct,which will presently appear.
So the examination was adjourned until February, and Margery, releasedfor the moment from the struggle with her enemies, was left to combatthe fever which had seized her. Lord Marnell and Master Simon beggedfor an order of the council to remove poor Margery home, the latterasserting that she would never recover in the Tower. The councilrefused this application. They then requested that one of herwaiting-women should be allowed to attend her, and that bedding andlinen, with such other necessaries as Master Simon might deem fit, mightbe supplied to the prisoner from her own house. The council, after aprivate consultation among its members, thought fit to grant thisreasonable prayer.
Alice Jordan was made very happy by an order from Lord Marnell to attendher sick mistress. Everything that Marnell Place could fu
rnish, whichMaster Simon did not absolutely forbid,--and Master Simon was easy ofpersuasion--was lavished on the whitewashed cell in the Tower. Alice,however, was carefully searched every time she passed in and out of theTower, to see that she supplied no books nor writing-materials to theprisoner, nor took any letters from her. Poor Margery! the care wasneedless, for she was just then as incapable of writing as if she hadnever been taught.
Margery's illness lasted even longer than Master Simon had anticipated.On a dark, cold winter night, when snow was falling thickly outside theprison, and a low rushlight burned on the table, dimly lighting up thenarrow cell, Margery unexpectedly whispered, "Who is there?"
"I, dear mistress--Alice Jordan."
"Alice Jordan! Where then am I? Or was it all a terrible dream? Isthis Lovell Tower?" Alice's voice trembled as she said, "No."
"What then? Oh! I know now. It is the Tower of London, and the endcometh nigh."
"Nay, dearest mistress, you fare marvellous better now."
"I mean not the fever-death, good friend, but _the end_--the end of myweary pilgrimage, the gate of the Happy City. Welcome be the end of theway, for the way hath been a rough one and a sore! However sharp be theend, I can bear it now. My soul hath been loosed from earth. I seenothing now, I want nothing but Christ, and to be with Him in the glory.Alice, how fareth the child? I dared not to ask afore, since I cameinto this place, but I can now."
"I trow he fareth well, good mistress, but of a long season I have notseen him. My Lord hath sent him unto the care of Dame Lovell."
Margery's eyes, rather than her voice, expressed her pleasure at thisnews.
"Hath my Lord my husband been here sithence I took sick?"
"Every day, my Lady; and I trow he sent away the boy for that reason,lest his coming hither should give him the sickness."
"Knoweth my mother of my sickness?"
"I wis not, my Lady, but I trow that my Lord would tell her, when hesent the child down with Master Pynson."
"Master Pynson! Hath he been hither?"
"Yea, good my Lady, he came up, I ween, on Saint Luke's Day [October18], and took back the young master with him."
"What said he when ye told him of my prison, Alice?"
"He covered his face, and wept sore."
Margery turned her face to the wall. "A fiery trial!" she murmured, asif to herself--"a fiery trial for him as well as me! Is this the waywherein the Father will draw him? If so, Richard, I can bear it."
The 16th of February came. On the morning of that day, as Lord Marnellstepped out of his own house into the open air, with the intention ofpaying his usual visit to Margery, Abbot Bilson came up, radiant andsmiling, and carrying under his arm a large parchment roll.
"Ah, my very good Lord, well met! Whither away?"
"I purpose to see Madge."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Abbot, who was occupied with an amusement whichcomes naturally to men of his disposition, and has been wittily dennedas "washing one's hands with invisible soap, in imperceptible water."
"What hast under thine arm, reverend father?" asked Lord Marnell.
"Ah! this is the indictment of the Lady Marnell. Your Lordship witteththat she will be examined to-morrow afore the council, and by themsentenced."
"You will endeavour yourself, reverend father, that the sentence be madeas light as may be."
"My Lord, we have but one sentence for heretics," said Abbot Bilson,with a smile which showed all his teeth, like a wild beast. "The Actregarding them was yestermorn sceptred by the King's Grace."
"One!" remarked Lord Marnell, in some surprise. "The sentence now,then, is--?"
"_Death_."
Lord Marnell hastily laid his hand on a buttress, to steady himself,when he heard this awful news.
"You have deceived me, father! You have deceived me!" he cried. "Youtold me, some months gone, when first I called you into this matter,that the sentence on heretics was prison."
"My good Lord, I pray you remember that I told you but a moment back,that the new Act is just passed. Ere that the sentence truly was closeprison; but now--"
On finding himself thus inveigled by the cunning of Abbot Bilson, LordMarnell was beside himself with passion. He burst into a torrent of themost fearful language. Abbot Bilson stood calmly by, as if quiteaccustomed to such scenes.
"My good Lord, I pray you blaspheme not, or I must needs appoint you asore penance," was all that he mildly observed.
Lord Marnell recovered himself by a strong effort, and asked, aspolitely as he could, what description of death was commanded by the newAct.
"Burning or beheading, at the pleasure of the King's Grace," replied theAbbot, as unconcernedly as though the choice in question lay between acouple of straws.
"My wife, being a peeress, will of force be beheaded?"
"Likely, I trow," replied the Abbot, drawing his cowl closer over hishead, as a cold blast of wind came up the street.
"Father, you must use all effort that the sentence be so pronounced, ifthe King's Grace remit it not."
"The King's Grace remitteth never sentence on heretics," said Bilson,with another of his disagreeable smiles. "He is much too true andfaithful son of Holy Church therefor. And as to my poor efforts, myLord--"
"You _can_, and you _shall_," wrathfully answered Lord Marnell, and, notto prolong the contest, walked rapidly away.
Abbot Bilson stood looking after him, with an expression on his face notunlike that which a triumphant demon might be supposed to exhibit.
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Note 1. Henry had previously conspired against the King three times,and had even plotted the death of his own father. His father sentencedhim to death, and if Richard had not interposed, Henry would not havelived to depose his benefactor. "How true is the saying," cried poorRichard in his agony, "that we have no greater enemy than the man whomwe save from the gallows!"--See Creton's MS. Bibl. Imp. 8448-2_Ambassades_.