CHAPTER V
THE SINKING SHIP
Dr. Petre had come and gone, and to all appearance the priory was asbefore. He had not taken a jewel or a fragment of stuff; he hadcongratulated the sacristan on the beauty and order of his treasures,and had bidden him guard them carefully, for that there were knavesabroad who professed themselves as authorised by the King to seizemonastic possessions, which they sold for their own profit. The officescontinued to be sung day and night, and the masses every morning; andthe poor were fed regularly at the gate.
But across the corporate life had passed a subtle change, analogous tothat which comes to the body of a man. Legal death had taken placealready; the unity of life and consciousness existed no more; the sealwas defaced; they could no longer sign a document except as individuals.Now the _rigor mortis_ would set in little by little until somatic deathtoo had been consummated, and the units which had made up the organismhad ceased to bear any relation one to the other.
But until after Christmas there was no further development; and theFeast was observed as usual, and with the full complement of monks. Atthe midnight mass there was a larger congregation than for many months,and the confessions and communions also slightly increased. It was asymptom, as Chris very plainly perceived, of the manner in which theshadow of the King reached even to the remotest details of the life ofthe country. The priory was now, as it were, enveloped in the royalprotection, and the people responded accordingly.
There had come no hint from headquarters as to the ultimate fate of thehouse; and some even began to hope that the half-promise of are-foundation would be fulfilled. Neither had any mark of disapprovalarrived as to the refusal to sign on the part of the two monks; butalthough nothing further was said in conversation or at chapter, therewas a consciousness in the minds of both Dom Anthony and Chris that awall had arisen between them and the rest. Talk in the cloister was aptto flag when either approached; and the Prior never spoke a word to thembeyond what was absolutely necessary.
Then, about the middle of January the last process began to be enacted.
* * * * *
One morning the Prior's place in church was empty.
He was accustomed to disappear silently, and no astonishment was causedon this occasion; but at Compline the same night the Sub-Prior too wasgone.
This was an unheard-of state of things, but all except the guest-masterand Chris seemed to take it as a matter of course; and no word wasspoken.
After the chapter on the next morning Dom Anthony made a sign to Chrisas he passed him in the cloister, and the two went out together into theclear morning-sunshine of the outer court.
Dom Anthony glanced behind him to see that no one was following, andthen turned to the other.
"They are both gone," he said, "and others are going. Dom Bernard isgetting his things together. I saw them under his bed last night."
Chris stared at him, mute and terrified.
"What are we to do, Dom Anthony?"
"We can do nothing. We must stay. Remember that we are the only two whohave any rights here now, before God."
There was silence a moment. Chris glanced at the other, and wasreassured by the steady look on his ruddy face.
"I will stay, Dom Anthony," he said softly.
The other looked at him tenderly.
"God bless you, brother!" he said.
That night Dom Bernard and another were gone. And still the others madeno sign or comment; and it was not until yet another pair had gone thatDom Anthony spoke plainly.
He was now the senior monk in the house; and it was his place to directthe business of the chapter. When the formal proceedings were over hestood up fearlessly.
"You cannot hide it longer," he said. "I have known for some while whatwas impending." He glanced round at the empty stalls, and his faceflushed with sudden anger: "For God's sake, get you gone, you who meanto go; and let us who are steadfast serve our Lord in peace."
Chris looked along the few faces that were left; but they were downcastand sedate, and showed no sign of emotion.
Dom Anthony waited a moment longer, and then gave the signal to depart.By a week later the two were left alone.
* * * * *
It was very strange to be there, in the vast house and church, and tolive the old life now stripped of three-fourths of its meaning; but theydid not allow one detail to suffer that it was possible to preserve. The_opus Dei_ was punctually done, and God was served in psalmody. At theproper hours the two priests met in the cloister, cowled and in theirchoir-shoes, and walked through to the empty stalls; and there, one oneither side, each answered the other, bowed together at the _Gloria_,confessed and absolved alternately. Two masses were said each day in thehuge lonely church, one at the high altar and the other at our Lady's,and each monk served the other. In the refectory one read from thepulpit as the other sat at the table; and the usual forms were observedwith the minutest care. In the chapter each morning they met for mutualconfession and accusation; and in the times between the exercises andmeals each worked feverishly at the details that alone made the lifepossible.
They were assisted in this by two paid servants, who were sent to themby Chris's father, for both the lay-brothers and the servants had gonewith the rest; and the treasurer had disappeared with the money.
Chris had written to Sir James the day that the last monk had gone,telling him the state of affairs, and how the larder was almost empty;and by the next evening the servants had arrived with money andprovisions; and a letter from Sir James written from a sick-bed, sayingthat he was unable to come for the present, for he had taken the fever,and that Morris would not leave him, but expressing a hope that he wouldcome soon in person, and that Morris should be sent in a few days. Thelatter ended with passionate approval of his son's action.
"God bless and reward you, dear lad!" he had written. "I cannot tell youthe joy that it is to my heart to know that you are faithful. It cannotbe for long; but whether it is for long and short, you shall have myprayers and blessings; and please God, my poor presence too after a fewdays. May our Lady and your holy patron intercede for you both who areso worthy of their protection!"
* * * * *
At the end of the second week in March Mr. Morris arrived.
Chris was taking the air in the court shortly before sunset, after ahard day's work in church. The land was beginning to stir with theresurrection-life of spring; and the hills set round the town had thatfaint flush of indescribable colour that tinges slopes of grass as thesleeping sap begins to stir. The elm-trees in the court were hazy withgrowth as the buds fattened at the end of every twig, and a group ofdaffodils here and there were beginning to burst their sheaths of gold.There on the little lawn before the guest-house were half a dozen whiteand lavender patches of colour that showed where the crocuses would starthe grass presently; and from the high west front of the immense church,and from beneath the eaves of the offices to the right the birds werepractising the snatches of song that would break out with full melody amonth or two later.
In spite of all that threatened, Chris was in an ecstasy of happiness.It rushed down on him, overwhelmed and enveloped him; for he knew nowthat he had been faithful. The flood of praise in the church haddwindled to a thread; but it was still the _opus Dei_, though it flowedbut from two hearts; and the pulse of the heavenly sacrifice stillthrobbed morning by morning, and the Divine Presence still burned asunceasingly as the lamp that beaconed it, in the church that was now allbut empty of its ministers. There were times when the joy that was inhis heart trembled into tears, as when last night he and his friend hadsung the song to Mary; and the contrast between the two poor voices,and the roar of petition that had filled the great vaulting a yearbefore, had suddenly torn his heart in two.
But now the poignant sorrow had gone again; and as he walked here aloneon this March evening, with the steady hills about him and the flushingsky overhead, and the
sweet life quickening in the grass at his feet, anextraordinary peace flooded his soul.
There came a knocking at the gate, and the jangle of a bell; and he wentacross quickly and unbarred the door.
Mr. Morris was there on horseback, a couple of saddlebags strapped tohis beast; and a little group of loungers stood behind.
Chris smiled with delight, and threw the door wide.
The servant saluted him and then turned to the group behind.
"You have no authority," he said, "as to my going in."
Then he rode through; and Chris barred the gate behind him, glancing ashe did so at the curious faces that stared silently.
Mr. Morris said nothing till he had led his horse into the stable. Thenhe explained.
"One of the fellows told me, sir, that this was the King's house now;and that I had no business here."
Chris smiled again.
"I know we are watched," he said, "the servants are questioned each timethey set foot outside."
Mr. Morris pursed his lips.
"How long shall you be here, sir?" he asked.
"Until we are turned out," said Chris.
* * * * *
It was true, as he had said, that the house was watched. Ever since thelast monk had left there had been a man or two at the gate, anotheroutside the church-door that opened towards the town; and another yetagain beyond the stream to the south of the priory-buildings. DomAnthony had told him what it meant. It was that the authorities had noobjection to the two monks keeping the place until it could be dealtwith, but were determined that nothing should pass out. It had not beenworthwhile to send in a caretaker, for all the valuables had beenremoved either by the Visitors or by the Prior when he went at night.There were only two sets of second-best altar vessels left, and a fewother comparatively worthless utensils for the use of the church andkitchen. The great relics and the jewelled treasures had gone longbefore. Chris had wondered a little at the house being disregarded forso long; but the other monk had reminded him that such things as leadand brass and bells were beyond the power of two men to move, and couldkeep very well until other more pressing business had been despatchedelsewhere.
Mr. Morris gave him news of his father. It had not been the true feverafter all, and he would soon be here; in at any rate a week or two. Asregarded other news, there was no tidings of Mr. Ralph except that hewas very busy. Mistress Margaret was at home; no notice seemed to havebeen taken of her when she had been turned out with the rest at thedissolution of her convent.
It was very pleasant to see that familiar face about the cloister andrefectory; or now and again, when work was done, looking up from beyondthe screen as the monks came in by the sacristy door. Once or twice ondark evenings when terror began to push through the rampart of the willthat Chris had raised up, it was reassuring too to know that Morris wasthere, for he bore with him, as old servants do, an atmosphere of homeand security, and he carried himself as well with a wonderfulnaturalness, as if the relief of beleaguered monks were as ordinary aduty as the cleaning of plate.
March was half over now; and still no sign had come from the worldoutside. There were no guests either to bring tidings, for the priorywas a marked place and it was well not to show or receive kindliness inits regard.
Within, the tension of nerves grew acute. Chris was conscious of adeepening exaltation, but it was backed by horror. He found himself nowsmiling with an irrepressible internal joy, now twitching withapprehension, starting at sudden noises, and terrified at loneliness.Dom Anthony too grew graver still; and would take his arm sometimes andwalk with him, and tell him tales, and watch him with tender eyes. Butin him, as in the younger monk, the strain tightened every day.
* * * * *
They were singing Compline together one evening with tired, overstrainedvoices, for they had determined not to relax any of the chant until itwas necessary. Mr. Morris was behind them at a chair set beyond thescreen; and there were no others present in church.
The choir was perfectly dark (for they knew the office by heart) exceptfor a glimmer from the sacristy door where a lamp burned within to lightthem to bed. Chris's thoughts had fled back to that summer evening longago when he had knelt far down in the nave and watched the serried lineof the black-hooded soldiers of God, and listened to the tramp of thepsalmody, and longed to be of their company. Now the gallant regimenthad dwindled to two, of which he was one, and the guest-master that hadreceived him and encouraged him, the other.
Dom Anthony was the officiant this evening, and had just sung lustilyout in the dark that God was about them with His shield, that they needfear no nightly terror.
The movement flagged for a moment, for Chris was not attending; Mr.Morris's voice began alone, _A sagitta volante_--and then stoppedabruptly as he realised that he was singing by himself; andsimultaneously came a sharp little crash from the dark altar that roseup in the gloom in front.
A sort of sobbing breath broke from Chris at the sudden noise, and hegripped his hands together.
In a moment Dom Anthony had taken up the verse.
_A sagitta volante_--"From the arrow that flieth by day, from the thingthat walketh in darkness--" Chris recovered himself; and the officepassed on.
As the two passed out together towards the door, Dom Anthony wentforward up the steps; and Chris waited, and watched him stoop and passhis hands over the floor. Then he straightened himself, came down thesteps and went before Chris into the sacristy.
Under the lamp he stopped, and lifted what he carried to the light. Itwas the little ivory crucifix that he had hung there a few weeks agowhen the last cross of precious metal had disappeared with theSub-Prior. It was cracked across the body of the figure now, and one ofthe arms was detached at the shoulder and swung free on the nail throughthe hand.
Dom Anthony looked at it, turned and looked at Chris; and without a wordthe two passed out into the cloister and turned up the dormitory stairs.To both of them it was a sign that the end was at hand.
* * * * *
On the following afternoon Mr. Morris ran in to Chris's carrel, andfound him putting the antiphonary and his implements up into a parcel.
"Master Christopher," he said, "Sir James and Sir Nicholas are come."
As he hurried out of the cloister he saw the horses standing there,spent with fast travelling, and the two riders at their heads, with thedust on their boots, and their clothes disordered. They remainedmotionless as the monk came towards them; but he saw that his father'sface was working and that his eyes were wide and anxious.
"Thank God," said the old man softly. "I am in time. They are comingto-night, Chris." But there was a questioning look on his face.
Chris looked at him.
"Will you take the horses?" said his father again. "Nick and I aresafe."
Chris still stared bewildered. Then he understood; and withunderstanding came decision.
"No, father," he said.
The old man's face broke up into lines of emotion.
"Are you sure, my son?"
Chris nodded steadily.
"Then we will all be together," said Sir James; and he turned to leadhis horse to the stable.
* * * * *
There was a little council held in the guest-house a few minutes later.Dom Anthony hurried to it, his habit splashed with whitewash, for he hadbeen cleaning the dormitory, and the four sat down together.
It seemed that Nicholas had ridden over from Great Keynes to Overfieldearlier in the afternoon, and had brought the news that a company of menhad passed through the village an hour before, and that one of them hadasked which turn to take to Lewes. Sir Nicholas had ridden after themand enquired their business, and had gathered that they were bound forthe priory, and he then turned his horse and made off to Overfield. Hishorse was spent when he arrived there; but he had changed horses andcame on immediately with Sir James, to warn the monks of the appr
oach ofthe men, and to give them an opportunity of making their escape if theythought it necessary.
"Who were the leaders?" asked the elder monk.
Nicholas shook his head.
"They were in front; I dared not ride up."
But his sturdy face looked troubled as he answered, and Chris saw hisfather's lips tighten. Dom Anthony drummed softly on the table.
"There is nothing to be done," he said. "We wait till we are cast out."
"You cannot refuse admittance?" questioned Sir James.
"But we shall do so," said the other tranquilly; "at least we shall notopen."
"But they will batter the door down."
"Certainly," said the monk.
"And then?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"I suppose they will put us out."
There was absolutely nothing to be done. It was absurd to dream of morethan formal resistance. Up in the North in more than one abbey theinmates had armed themselves, and faced the spoilers grimly on thevillage green; but that was where the whole country side was with them,and here it was otherwise.
They talked a few minutes longer, and decided that they would neitheropen nor resist. The monks two were determined to remain there untilthey were actually cast out; and then the responsibility would rest onother shoulders than theirs.
It was certain of course that by this time to-morrow at the latest theywould have been expelled; and it was arranged that the two monks shouldride back to Overfield, if they were personally unmolested, and remainthere until further plans were decided upon.
The four knew of course that there was a grave risk in provoking theauthorities any further, but it was a risk that the two Religious weredetermined to run.
They broke up presently; Mr. Morris came upstairs to tell them that foodwas ready in one of the parlours off the cloister; and the two laymenwent off with him, while the monks went to sing vespers for the lasttime.
* * * * *
An hour or two later the two were in the refectory at supper. Theevening was drawing in, and the light in the tall windows was fading.Opposite where Chris sat (for Dom Anthony was reading aloud from thepulpit), a row of coats burned in the glass, and he ran his eyes overthem. They had been set there, he remembered, soon after his own comingto the place; the records had been searched, and the arms of every priorcopied and emblazoned in the panes. There they all were; from Lanzo offive centuries ago, whose arms were conjectural, down to Robert Crowham,who had forsaken his trust; telling the long tale of prelates andmonastic life, from the beginning to the close. He looked round beyondthe circle of light cast by his own candle, and the place seemed full ofghosts and presences to his fancy. The pale oak panelling glimmeredalong the walls above the empty seats, from the Prior's to the left,over which the dusky fresco of the Majesty of Christ grew darker stillas the light faded, down to the pulpit opposite where Dom Anthony'sgrave ruddy face with downcast eyes stood out vivid in the candlelight.Ah! surely there was a cloud of witnesses now, a host of faces lookingdown from the black rafters overhead, and through the glimmeringpanes,--the faces of those who had eaten here with the same sacramentaldignity and graciousness that these two survivors used. It wasimpossible to feel lonely in this stately house, saturated with holylife; and with a thrill at his heart he remembered how Dom Anthony hadonce whispered to him at the beginning of the troubles, that if othersheld their peace the very stones should cry out; and that God was ableof those stones to raise up children to His praise....
There was a sound of brisk, hurrying footsteps in the cloister outside,Dom Anthony ceased his reading with his finger on the place, and theeyes of the two monks met.
The door was opened abruptly, and Morris stood there.
"My master has sent me, sir," he said. "They are coming."