CHAPTER XIV
THE SACRED PURPLE
It was a bright morning a few days later when the Bishop of Rochestersuffered on Tower Hill.
Chris was there early, and took up his position at the outskirts of thelittle crowd, facing towards the Tower itself; and for a couple of hourswatched the shadows creep round the piles of masonry, and the lightdeepen and mellow between him and the great mass of the White Tower afew hundred yards away. There was a large crowd there a good whilebefore nine o'clock, and Chris found himself at the hour no longer onthe outskirts but in the centre of the people.
He had served the Prior's mass at six o'clock, and had obtained leavefrom him the night before to be present at the execution; but the Priorhimself had given no suggestion of coming. Chris had begun to see thathis superior was going through a conflict, and that he wished to sparehimself any further motives of terror; he began too to understand thatthe visit to the bishop had had the effect of strengthening the Prior'scourage, whatever had been the intention on the part of the authoritiesin allowing him to go. He was still wondering why Ralph had lent himselfto the scheme; but had not dared to press his superior further.
* * * * *
The bishop had made a magnificent speech at his trial, and hadprotested with an extraordinary pathos, that called out a demonstrationfrom the crowd in court, against Master Rich's betrayal of hisconfidence. Under promise of the King that nothing that he said to hisfriend should be used against him, the bishop had shown his mind in aprivate conversation on the subject of the Supremacy Act, and now thishad been brought against him by Rich himself at the trial.
"Seeing it pleased the King's Highness," said the bishop, "to send to methus secretly to know my poor advice and opinion, which I most gladlywas, and ever will be, ready to offer to him when so commanded, methinksit very hard to allow the same as sufficient testimony against me, toprove me guilty of high treason."
Rich excused himself by affirming that he said or did nothing more thanwhat the King commanded him to do; and the trial ended by the bishop'scondemnation.
* * * * *
As Chris waited by the scaffold he prayed almost incessantly. There wassufficient spur for prayer in the menacing fortress before him with itshundred tiny windows, and the new scaffold, some five or six feet high,that stood in the foreground. He wondered how the bishop was passing histime and thought he knew. The long grey wall beyond the moat, and thetowers that rose above it, were suggestive in their silent strength.From where he stood too he could catch a glimpse of the shining reachesof the river with the green slopes on the further side; and the freedomand beauty of the sight, the delicate haze that hung over the water, thebirds winging their way across, the boats plying to and fro, struck avivid contrast to the grim fatality of the prison and the scaffold.
A bell sounded out somewhere from the Tower, and a ripple ran throughthe crowd. There was an immensely tall man a few yards from Chris, andChris could see his face turn suddenly towards the lower ground by theriver where the gateway rose up dark against the bright water. The man'sface suddenly lighted with interest, and Chris saw his lips move and hiseyes become intent. Then a surging movement began, and the monk wasswept away to the left by the packed crowd round him. There were faceslining the wall and opposite, and all were turned one way. A greatmurmur began to swell up, and a woman beside him turned white and beganto sob quietly.
His eyes caught a bright point of light that died again, flashed out,and resolved itself into a gleaming line of halberds, moving on towardsthe right above the heads, up the slope to the scaffold. He saw a horsetoss his head; and then a feathered cap or two swaying behind.
Then for one instant between the shifting heads in front he caught sightof a lean face framed in a flapped cap swaying rhythmically as if borneon a chair. It vanished again.
The flashing line of halberds elongated itself, divided, and camebetween the scaffold and him; and the murmur of the crowd died to aheart-shaking silence. A solemn bell clanged out again from the interiorof the prison, and Chris, his wet hands knit together, began to countthe strokes mechanically, staring at the narrow rail of the scaffold,and waiting for the sight that he knew would come. Then again he wasswept along a yard or two to the right, and when he had recovered hisfeet a man was on the scaffold, bending forwards and gesticulating.Another head rose into the line of vision, and this man too turnedtowards the steps up which he had come, and stood, one handoutstretched.
Again a murmur and movement began; Chris had to look to his foothold,and when he raised his head again a solemn low roar was rising up andswelling, of pity and excitement, for, silhouetted against the sunlitTower behind, stood the man for whose sake all were there.
He was in a black gown and tippet, and carried his two hands clasped tohis breast; and in them was a book and a crucifix. His cap was on hishead, and the white face, incredibly thin, looked out over the heads ofthe crowd.
Chris hardly noticed that the scaffold was filling with people, until afigure came forward, in black, with a masked face, and boweddeferentially to the bishop; and in an instant silence fell again.
He saw the bishop turn and bow slightly in return, and in the stillnessthat wonderful voice sounded out, with the clear minuteness of wordsspoken in the open air, clear and penetrating over the whole ground.
"I forgive you very heartily; and I hope you will see me overcome thisstorm lustily."
The black figure fell back, and the bishop stood hesitating, lookingthis way and that as if for direction.
The Lieutenant of the Tower came forward; but Chris could only see hislips move, as a murmur had broken out again at the bishop's answer; buthe signed with his hand and stepped behind the prisoner.
The bishop nodded, lifted his hand and took off his cap; and his whitehair appeared; then he fumbled at his throat, holding the book andcrucifix in his other hand; and, with the Lieutenant's help, slipped offhis tippet and loose gown; and as he freed himself, and stood in hisdoublet and hose, a great sobbing cry of horror and compassion rose fromthe straining faces, for he seemed scarcely to be a living man, sodreadful was his emaciation. Above that lean figure of death looked outthe worn old face, serene and confident. He was again holding the bookand crucifix clasped to his breast, as he stepped to the edge of thescaffold.
The cry died to a murmur and ceased abruptly as he began his speech,every word of which was audible.
"Christian people," he began, "I am come hither to die for the faith ofChrist's holy Catholic Church." He raised his voice a little, and itrang out confidently. "And I thank God that hitherto my stomach hathserved me very well thereunto, so that yet I have not feared death.Wherefore I desire you all to help and assist with your prayers, that atthe very point and instant of death's stroke I may in that very momentstand steadfast, without fainting in any one point of the CatholicFaith, free from any fear."
He paused again; his hands closed one on the other. He glanced up.
"And I beseech the Almighty God of His infinite goodness and mercy, tosave the King and this realm; and that it may please Him to hold Hishand over it, and send the King's Highness good counsel."
He ceased abruptly; and dropped his head.
A gentle groan ran through the crowd.
Chris felt his throat contract, and a mist blinded his eyes for amoment.
Then he saw the bishop slip the crucifix into his other hand, and openthe book, apparently at random. His lean finger dropped upon the page;and he read aloud softly, as if to himself.
"This is life eternal, that they might know Thee, the one true God, andJesus Christ whom Thou hast sent. I have glorified Thee on the earth; Ihave finished the work which Thou gavest me to do."
Again there was silence, for it seemed as if he was going to make asermon, but he looked down at the book a moment or two. Then he closedit gently.
"Here is learning enough for me," he said, "to my life's end."
There was a movement am
ong the silent figures at the back of thescaffold; and the Lieutenant stepped forward once more. The bishopturned to meet him and nodded; handing him the book; and then with thecrucifix still in his hands, and with the officer's help, sank on to hisknees.
* * * * *
It seemed to Chris as if he waited an eternity; but he could not takehis eyes off him. Round about was the breathing mass of the crowd,overhead the clear summer sky; up from the river came the sounds ofcries and the pulse of oars, and from the Tower now and again the callof a horn and the stroke of a bell; but all this was external, andseemed to have no effect upon the intense silence of the heart thatradiated from the scaffold, and in which the monk felt himselfenveloped. The space between himself and the bishop seemed annihilated;and Chris found himself in company with a thousand others close besidethe man's soul that was to leave the world so soon. He could not pray;but he had the sensation of gripping that imploring spirit, pulsatingwith it, furthering with his own strained will that stream of effortthat he knew was going forth.
Meanwhile his eyes stared at him; and saw without seeing how the old mannow leaned back with closed eyes and moving lips; now he bent forward,and looked at the crucified figure that he held between his hands, nowlifted it and lingeringly kissed the pierced feet. Behind stood thestiff line of officers, and in front below the rail rose the glitter ofthe halberds.
The minutes went by and there was no change. The world seemed to havegrown rigid with expectancy; it was as if time stood still. There fellupon the monk's soul, not suddenly but imperceptibly, something of thatsense of the unseen that he had experienced at Tyburn. For a certainspace all sorrow and terror left him; he knew tangibly now that to whichat other times his mere faith assented; he knew that the world of spiritwas the real one; that the Tower, the axe, the imminent shadow of death,were little more than illusions; they were part of the staging,significant and necessary, but with no substance of reality. The eternalworld in which God was all, alone was a fact. He felt no longer pity orregret. Nothing but the sheer existence of a Being of which all personsthere were sharers, poised in an eternal instant, remained with him.
This strange sensation was scarcely disturbed by the rising of the leanblack figure from its knees; Chris watched him as he might have watchedthe inevitable movement of an actor performing his pre-arranged part.The bishop turned eastward, to where the sun was now high above theTower gate, and spoke once more.
"_Accedite ad eum, et illuminamini; et facies vestr? non confundentur_."
Then once more in the deathly stillness he turned round; and his eyesran over the countless faces turned up to his own. But there was acertain tranquil severity in his face--the severity of one who has takena bitter cup firmly into his hand; his lips were tightly compressed, andhis eyes were deep and steady.
Then very slowly he lifted his right hand, touched his forehead, andenveloped himself in a great sign of the cross, still looking outunwaveringly over the faces; and immediately, without any hesitation,sank down on his knees, put his hands before him on to the scaffold, andstretched himself flat.
He was now invisible to Chris; for the low block on which he had laidhis neck was only a few inches high.
There was again a surge and a murmur as the headsman stepped forwardwith the huge-headed axe over his shoulder, and stood waiting.
Then again the moments began to pass.
* * * * *
Chris lost all consciousness of his own being; he was aware of nothingbut the objective presence of the scaffold, of an overpoweringexpectancy. It seemed as if something were stretched taut in his brain,at breaking point; as if some vast thing were on the point ofrevelation. All else had vanished,--the scene round him, the sense ofthe invisible; there was but the point of space left, waiting for anexplosion.
There was a sense of wrenching torture as the headsman lifted the axe,bringing it high round behind him; the motion seemed shockingly slow,and to wring the strained nerves to agony....
* * * * *
Then in a blinding climax the axe fell.