CHAPTER SIX.
TAKEN IN THE NET.
"There is no time so miserable But a man may be true."
Shakespeare.
"Berthold, hast thou heard the news?"
"I have, Pastor. I was coming to ask if you had heard it."
"Ah, it was told me last night, by one that meant it kindly. I knew itwould come sooner or later."
"What will they do, think you?" Gerhardt hesitated. It was not so easyto guess in 1165 the awful depths to which religious hatred coulddescend, as it would have been some two centuries later. They knewsomething then of the fury of the Church against open unbelievers orpolitical enemies; but persecution of Christians by Christians onaccount of nothing but their belief and the confession of it, wassomething new at that time.
"They will impose penance on us, I suppose," suggested old Berthold.
"Doubtless, if we stand firm. And we must stand firm, Berthold,--everyone of us."
"Oh, of course," replied Berthold calmly. "They won't touch thewomen?--what think you?"
"I know not what to think. But I imagine--not."
"Fine and scourging, perchance. Well, we can stand that."
"We can stand any thing with God to aid us: without Him we can bearnothing. Thanks be to the Lord, that last they that trust Him willnever be called upon to do."
"I heard there was a council of the bishops to be held upon us,"suggested Berthold a little doubtfully.
"I hope not. That were worse for us than a summons before the King.Howbeit, the will of the Lord be done. It may be that the hotter thefurnace is heated, the more glory shall be His by the song of Hisservants in the fires."
"Ay, there'll be four," said old Berthold, bowing reverently. "Sureenough, Pastor, whatever we are called upon to bear, there will be Onemore than our number, and His form shall be that of the _Son_ of God.Well! the children will be safe, no question. But I am afraid thehottest corner of the furnace may be kept for you, dear Teacher."
"Be it so," answered Gerhardt quietly. "Let my Lord do with me what isgood in His sight; only let me bring glory to Him, and show forth Hisname among the people."
"Ay, but it does seem strange," was the response, "that the work shouldbe stopped, and the cause suffer, and eloquent lips be silenced, justwhen all seemed most needed! Can you understand it, Pastor?"
"No," said Gerhardt calmly. "Why should I? He understands who has itall to do. But the cause, Berthold! The cause will not suffer. It isGod's custom to bring good out of evil--to give honey to His Samsons outof the carcases of lions, and to bring His Davids through the cave ofAdullam to the throne of Israel. It is for Him to see that the causeprospers, in His own time and way. We have only to do each our littlehandful of duty, to take the next step as He brings it before us.Sometimes the next step is a steep pull, sometimes it is only an easylevel progress. We have but to take it as it comes. Never two steps atonce; never one step, without the Lord at our right hand. Never a cryof `Lord, save me!' from a sinking soul, that the hand which holds upall the worlds is not immediately stretched forth to hold him up."
"One can't always feel it, though," said the old man wistfully.
"It is enough to know it."
"Ay, when we two stand talking together in Overee Lane [Overee Lane ranout of Grandpont Street, just below the South Gate], so it may be: butwhen the furnace door stands open, an King Nebuchadnezzar's mighty menare hauling you towards it, how then, good Pastor?"
"Berthold, what kind of a father would he be who, in carrying his childover a bridge, should hold it so carelessly that he let it slip from hisarms into the torrent beneath, and be drowned?"
"Couldn't believe such a tale, Pastor, unless the father were eitherdrunk or mad. Why, he wouldn't be a man--he'd be a monster."
"And is that the character that thou deemest it fair and true to give toHim who laid down His life for thee?"
"Pastor!--Oh! I see now what you mean. Well--ay, of course--"
"Depend upon it, Berthold, the Lord shall see that thou hast gracesufficient for the evil day, if thy trust be laid on Him. He shall notgive thee half enough for thy need out of His royal treasure, and leavethee to make up the other half out of thy poor empty coffer. `My Godshall supply all your need, according to His riches in glory'--`that ye,always having all-sufficiency in all things, may abound to every goodwork.' Is that too small an alner [Note 1] to hold the wealth thouwouldst have? How many things needest thou beyond `_all_ things'?"
"True enough," said Berthold. "But I was not thinking so much ofmyself, Pastor--I've had my life: I'm two-and-fourscore this day; and ifI am called on to lay it down for the Lord, it will only be a few monthsat the furthest that I have to give Him. It wouldn't take so much tokill me, neither. An old man dies maybe easier than one in the fullvigour of life. But you, my dear Pastor!--and the young fellows amongus--Guelph, and Conrad, and Dietbold, and Wilhelm--it'll be harder workfor the young saplings to stand the blast, than for the old oak whoseboughs have bent before a thousand storms. There would most likely be along term of suffering before you, when my rest was won."
"Then our rest would be the sweeter," replied Gerhardt softly. "`Heknoweth the way that we take; when He hath tried us, we shall come forthas gold.' He is faithful, who will not suffer us to be tried above thatwe are able to bear. And He can make us able to bear any thing."
Gerhardt was just turning into Kepeharme Lane, when a voice at his elbowmade him pause and look back.
"Did you want me, friend?"
"No," answered a hoarse voice, in a significant tone. "You want me."
Gerhardt smiled. "I thank you, then, for coming to my help. I almostthink I know your voice. Are you not Rubi, the brother of Countess, whomade such a pet of my little child?"
An affirmative grunt was the response.
"Well, friend?"
"If an open pit lay just across this street, between you and the WalnutTree, what would you do?" asked the hoarse voice.
"That would depend on how necessary it was that I should pass it, wouldit not?"
"Life this way--death that way," said Rubi shortly.
"And what way honour?"
"Pshaw! `All that a man hath will he give for his life.'"
"Truth: yet even life, sometimes, will a man give for glory, patriotism,or love. There is a life beyond this, friend Rubi; and for that, noprice were too high to pay."
"Men may weigh gold, but not clouds," answered Rubi in a rather scornfultone.
"Yet how much gold would purchase the life-giving water that comes fromthe clouds?" was Gerhardt's ready response.
"At how much do you value your life?" asked Rubi without answering thequestion.
"Truly, friend, I know not how to respond to that. Do you count my lifeto be in danger, that you ask me?"
"Not if the morning light come to you in Aylesbury or Cricklade--atleast, perchance not. But if it dawn on you where you can hear the bellfrom yon tower--ay, I do."
"I perceive your meaning. You would have me to fly."
In the evening twilight, now fast darkening, Gerhardt could see a nod ofRubi's black head.
"`Should such a man as I flee?' Friend, I am the leader of this band ofmy countrymen--"
"Just so. That's the reason."
"Were I to flee, would they stand firm?" said Gerhardt thoughtfully,rather to himself than to the young Jew.
"Firm--to what?"
"To God," replied Gerhardt reverently, "and to His truth."
"What does a Gentile care for truth? They want you to worship one deadman, and you prefer to worship another dead man. What's the odds toyou? Can't you mutter your Latin, and play with your beads, beforeboth, and have done with it?"
"I worship no saints, and have no beads."
"Father Jacob! You must be a new sort of a Gentile. Never came acrossa reptile of your pattern before. Is that why Countess took to you?"
"I cannot say. It was the child, I think, that attracted her. Wel
l,friend, I am thankful for your warning. But how come you to know?"
A smothered laugh, as hoarse as the voice, replied--
"Folks have ways and means, sometimes, that other folks can't alwaysguess."
"If you know more than others," said Gerhardt boldly, "suffer me toquestion you a moment."
"Question away. I don't promise to answer."
"Are we all to be taken and examined?"
"All."
"Before the King?"
"And the creeping creatures called Bishops."
"Will any thing be done to the women and children?"
"Does the lion discriminate between a kid and a goat? `Let your littleones also go with you.' Even Pharaoh could say that--when he could nothelp allowing it."
"I think I understand you, Friend Rubi, and I thank you."
"You are not so badly off for brains," said Rubi approvingly.
"But how far to act upon your warning I know not, until I lay it beforethe Lord, and receive His guidance."
"You--a Gentile--receive guidance from the Holy One (blessed be He)!"Rubi's tone was not precisely scornful; it seemed rather a mixture ofsurprise, curiosity, and perplexity.
"Ay, friend, I assure you, however strange it may seem to you, the goodLord deigns to guide even us Gentiles. And why not? Is it not written,`Even them will I bring to My holy mountain, and make them joyful in Myhouse of prayer'? and, `O Thou that hearest prayer, unto Thee shall allflesh come'?"
"Those promises belong to the reign of the Messiah. He is not come yet.Do you new sort of Gentiles believe He is?"
It was a most difficult question to answer. "Yes" would probably driveRubi away in anger--perhaps with a torrent of blasphemy on his lips."No" would be false and cowardly.
"I believe," said Gerhardt softly, "that He shall yet come to Zion, andturn away iniquity from Jacob. May thou and I, Rubi, be ready towelcome Him when He cometh!"
"You are better than yonder lot," answered Rubi, with a scornful wave ofhis hand towards Carfax behind them. "Ay, I suppose the Blessed One hassome mercies even for Gentiles--decent ones such as you. Well, rememberyou've been warned. Good night!"
"Good night, Rubi, and God go with thee!"
As Gerhardt stepped into the Walnut Tree, Isel's voice greeted him fromthe top of the ladder leading to the upper chamber.
"Who is that--Gerard or Haimet?"
"It is I, Isel," said the German pastor.
"Well, now, don't put out your lantern, but do, like a good man, takethis girl back to the Castle. I've been on thorns how to get her back,for I've kept her talking a bit too long, and there hasn't a creaturecome near that I could ask. It's Leuesa, that Aliz de Norton spokeabout, and we've settled she's to be Derette's maid. It's a mercyyou've come just in time!"
"The next step!" said Gerhardt to himself with a smile. "Well, this atleast is no hard one."
The girl who came down the ladder and entrusted herself to Gerhardt'sescort, was very young-looking for an anchorhold: slim, fair, and frailin appearance, with some timidity of manner. They set out for theCastle.
"You know the girl who is to be my mistress?" asked Leuesa. "Will shebe easy or hard to serve?"
"Very easy, I think, so long as you obey her. She has a will of herown, as you will find, if you do not."
"Oh dear, I don't want to disobey her! But I don't like to be scoldedat from morning to night, whether I do right or wrong."
"Derette will not treat you in that fashion. She has a good temper, andis bright and cheerful."
"I am so glad to hear it! I get so tired--"
Leuesa suddenly broke off her sentence.
"You look young for the work," said Gerhardt.
"I am older than I look. At least, people say so. I am twenty-one."
"Dear! I should not have thought you eighteen."
"Oh yes, I am twenty-one," replied Leuesa, with a bright little laugh;adding with sudden gravity, "I think I am much older than that in someways."
"Hast thou found life hard, poor child?" asked Gerhardt sympathisingly.
"Well, one gets tired, you know," replied the girl vaguely. "I supposeit has to be, if one's sins are to be expiated. So many sins, so manysufferings. That's what Mother says. It will be counted up some time,maybe. Only, sometimes, it does seem as if there were more sufferingsthan sins."
"Is that thy religion, Maiden?" responded Gerhardt with a pitying smile.
"It's about all I know. Why?--isn't it good?"
"Friend, if thou wert to suffer for ten thousand years, without amoment's intermission, thy sins could never be balanced by thysufferings. Suffering is finite; sin is infinite. It is not only whatthou hast done, or hast left undone. The sin of thy whole naturerequires atonement. _Thou_ art sin! The love of sin which is in theeis worse than any act of sin thou couldst commit. What then is to bedone with thy sins?"
Leuesa looked up with an expression of wistful simplicity in her blueeyes.
She might be older than her years in some respects, thought Gerhardt,but there were some others in which she was a very child.
"I don't know!" she said blankly, with a frightened accent. "Can't youtell me?"
"Thank God, I can tell thee. Thou must get rid of this load of sin, bylaying it on Him who came down from Heaven that He might bear it forthee. Tell me whom I mean."
The flaxen head was shaken. "I can't--not certainly. Perhaps it's asaint I don't know."
"Dost thou not know Jesu Christ?"
"Oh, of course. He's to judge us at the last day."
"If He save thee not before He judge thee, thou wilt never be saved.Dost thou not know He is the Saviour of men?"
"Well, I've heard say so, but I never thought it meant any thing."
"It means every thing to sinners. Now, how art thou about to come bythe salvation that Christ has wrought for thee?"
"The priest will give me some, won't he?"
"He hath it not to give thee. Thou must go straight to the LordHimself."
"But I can't go save through the Church. And oh dear, but I should befrightened to have aught to do with Him! Except when He's a baby, andthen we've got our Lady to intercede for us."
"Art thou, then, very much afraid of me?"
"You? Oh no! You're coming with me to take care of me--aren't you?"
"I am. But what am I doing for thee, in comparison of Him who died forthee? Afraid of the Lord that laid down His life for thine! Why,Maiden, there is nought in His heart for thee save love and pity andstrength to help. He loved thee--get it into thy mind, grave it deep inthy soul--He loved thee, and gave His life for thee."
"Me?" Leuesa had come to a sudden stand. "You don't mean _me_?"
"I mean thee, and none other."
"Mother always says I'm so stupid, nobody will ever care for me. Ithought--I never heard any body talk like that. I thought it was onlythe very greatest saints that could get near Him, and then only throughthe Church."
"Thou and I are the Church, if Christ saves us."
"Oh, what do you mean? The priests and bishops are the Church. Atleast they say so."
"Ay, they do say so, the hirelings that foul with their feet the waterwhence the flock should drink: `we are the people, and wisdom shall diewith us!' `The Temple of the Lord are we!' But the Temple of the Lordis larger, and wider, and higher, than their poor narrow souls. Maiden,listen to me, for I speak to thee words from God. The Church of Godconsists of the elect of God from the beginning to the end of the world,by the grace of God, through the merits of Christ, gathered together bythe Holy Ghost, and fore-ordained to eternal life. They that hear andunderstand the Word of God, receiving it to their souls' health, andbeing justified by Christ--these are the Church; these go into lifeeternal. Hast thou understood me, Maiden?"
"I don't--exactly--know," she said slowly. "I should like tounderstand. But how can I know whether I am one of them or not?"
"Of the elect of God? If thou hast chosen God rather th
an the world,that is the strongest evidence thou canst have that He has chosen theeout of the world."
"But I sha'n't be in the world--just exactly. You see I'm going to livein the anchorhold. That isn't the world."
It was not easy to teach one who spoke a different dialect from theteacher. To Gerhardt, the world was the opposite of God; to Leuesa, itwas merely the opposite of the cloister.
"Put `sin' for `the world,' Maiden," said Gerhardt, "and thou wiltunderstand me better."
"But what must I do to keep out of sin?"
"`If thou wilt love Christ and follow His teaching,'" said Gerhardt,quoting from his confession of faith, "`thou must watch, and read theScriptures. Spiritual poverty of heart must thou have, and love purity,and serve God in humility.'"
"I can't read!" exclaimed Leuesa, in a tone which showed that she wouldhave deemed it a very extraordinary thing if she could.
"Thou canst hear. Ermine will repeat them to thee, if thou ask her--solong as we are here."
"Osbert says you won't be for long. He thinks you are bad people; Idon't know why."
"Nor do I, seeing we serve God--save that the enemy of God and menspreads abroad falsehoods against us."
They had reached the little postern of the Castle. Gerhardt rapped atthe door, and after two or three repetitions, it was opened.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Stephen's voice behind it. "Get you inquickly, Leuesa, for Hagena's in a terrible tantrum. She declaresyou've run away."
"I'm late, I know," answered Leuesa humbly; "but I could not help it,Stephen."
"Well, you'll catch it, I can tell you; and the longer you stay, themore you'll catch: so best get it over.--Gerard, will you come in? Iwant a word with you."
Gerhardt stepped inside the postern, and Stephen beckoned him into anouthouse, at the moment untenanted.
"What are you going to do?"
"About what?"
"What! Don't you know you are to be haled before the Bishops? Everybody else does."
"Yes, I have been told so."
"Are you going to wait for them?" demanded Stephen, with several notesof astonishment in his voice.
"I am going to wait for the Lord."
"You'll be a fool if you do!" The tone was compassionate, though thewords were rough.
"Never. `They shall not be ashamed that wait for Him.'"
"Do you expect Him to come down from Heaven to save you from theBishops?"
"As He pleases," said Gerhardt quietly.
"But, man!--if you are a man, and not a stone--don't you know that theChurch has authority from God to bind and loose--that her sentence isHis also?"
"Your Church has no jurisdiction over mine."
"My Church, forsooth! I am speaking of the Catholic Church, which hasauthority over every Christian on earth."
"Where is it?"
"Every where."
"The Church that is every where consists of faithful souls, elect ofGod. That Church will not condemn me for being faithful to the Word ofGod."
"Oh, I can't split straws like you, nor preach like a doctor of theschools either. But one thing I can do, and that is to say, Gerard, youare in danger--much more danger than the rest. Get away while you can,and leave them to meet it. They won't do half so much to them as toyou."
"`He that is an hireling, when he seeth the wolf coming, leaveth thesheep and fleeth; and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep.'Is that conduct you recommend, Stephen?"
"I recommend you to get outside of Oxford as fast as you can, and takeyour womankind with you; and if you don't, you'll be sorry, that's all.Now be off, and don't forget that you've been warned. Good night!"
"I have been warned thrice, friend. But where God has need of me, thereis my post, and there am I. There are penalties for desertion in thearmy of the Lord. I thank you for your kindly meaning. Good night!"
"Poor fool!" said Stephen to himself as he fastened the postern behindGerhardt. "Yet--`penalties for desertion'--I don't know. Which is thefool, I wonder? If I could have saved _her_!"
Gerhardt went back to the Walnut Tree, where they were sitting down tothe last meal. It consisted of "fat fish," apple turnovers, and spicedale.
"Eh dear!" said Isel, with a sigh. "To think that this is pretty nighthe last supper you'll ever eat in this house, Derette! I could crywith the best when I think of it."
"You can come to see me whenever you wish, Mother--much better than if Iwere at Godstowe."
"So I can, child; but you can't come to me."
"I can send Leuesa to say that I want to see you."
"Well, and if so be that I've broken my leg that very morning, and amlying groaning up atop of that ladder, with never a daughter to serveme--how then? Thou gone, and Flemild gone, and not a creature near!"
"You'll have Ermine. But you are not going to break your leg, Mother, Ihope."
"You hope! Oh ay, hope's a fine trimming, but it's poor stuff for agown. And how long shall I have Ermine? She'll go and wed somebody orother--you see if she doesn't."
Ermine smiled and shook her head.
"Well, then, you'll have Agnes."
"I shall have trouble--that's what I shall have: it's the only thingsure in this world: and it's that loving it sticks to you all thetighter if you've got nothing else. There's nought else does in thisworld--without it's dogs."
"`There's a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother,'" quotedGerhardt softly.
"There's precious few of them," returned Isel, who naturally did notunderstand the allusion. "You'll not find one of that sort more thanonce in a--Mercy on us! here's a soldier walking straight in!--whateverdoes the man want?"
Gerhardt's quick eyes had caught the foreign texture of the soldier'smantle--the bronzed face with its likeness to Derette--the white crossof the English Crusader.
"He wants his wife and children, I should think," he answered calmly;and at the same moment the soldier said--
"Isel! Wife! Dost thou not know me?"
Nobody in the room could have given a clear and connected account ofwhat happened after that. Isel cried and laughed by turns, the majorityall talked at once, and little Rudolph, divided between fear andadmiration, clung to his mother, and cast furtive glances at thenew-comer. Manning was naturally astonished to see how his family hadgrown, and much had to be explained to him--the presence of the Germans,the approaching marriage of Flemild, the past marriage of Romund, andthe profession of Derette. The first and third he accepted with bluffgood-humour. As to the second, he said he would have a talk with RavenSoclin--very likely he was all right now, though he remembered him atroublesome lad. But Derette's fate did not appear quite to please him.She had been his pet, and he had pictured her future differently andmore according to his own notion of happiness.
"Well, she seems to like it best herself," said Isel, "and I don't seebut you have to leave folks to be happy their own way, though the waysome folks choose is mighty queer. Father Dolfin says we must alwaysgive God the best, and if we grudge it to Him, it wipes out the merit ofthe sacrifice."
"Ay, Father Dolfin knows how they do things up yonder," answeredManning. "Do thy duty, and leave the priest to see thou comest safe--that's my way of thinking."
"But suppose he fails to `see'?" suggested Gerhardt.
Manning eyed him rather suspiciously.
"I hope you aren't one of that new lot that talk against the priests,"said he. "I've heard something of them as I came through Almayne andGuienne: saw one fellow flogged at the market-cross, that had let histongue run too freely. And I can tell you, I'm not one of that sort.You're welcome to stay while you behave decently, as I see you've been ahelp and comfort to my women here: but one word against the priests, orone wag of your head in irreverence to the holy mass, and out you go,bag and baggage!--ay, down to that child."
Rudolph seemed frightened by the harsh tones and loud words, and whenManning ended by striking his hand upon his thigh with a resounding slapto enforce his
threat, the child began to whimper.
"I trust, friend, you will never see any irreverence in me towards aughtto which reverence is due," replied Gerhardt; "but if you do, fulfilyour words, and I shall not trouble you longer."
"Well, look out!" said Manning. "I don't much like your long prayersjust now: they're a bad sign. As to Haimet's Latin grace, I supposehe's learnt that in the schools; and praying in Latin isn't so bad. Buta cross over the supper-table is plenty good enough for me. I never didbelieve in folks that are always saying their prayers, and reckoning tobe better than their neighbours."
"I believe in being as good as I can be," said Gerhardt with a smile."If that should make me better than my neighbours, it would hardly be myfault, would it? But in truth, Friend Manning, I do not think myselfany better, for I know too much of the evil of mine own heart."
"Ay, that's the lingo of the pestilent vipers in Guienne! I could findin my heart to lay a silver penny you'll turn out to be one of thatbrood. Girls, I hope you haven't caught the infection? We'll wait afew days and see--what we shall see."
"Eh, Manning, they're the peaceablest set ever came in a house!"exclaimed Isel. "Helped me over and over, they have, and never one of'em gave me an ill word. And Gerard's made a pretty penny with weavingand wood-carving, and every farthing he's given me, save what theywanted for clothes. Do, for mercy's sake, let 'em be! Flemild married,and Derette away to the anchorhold--I shall be a lost woman withoutAgnes and Ermine! Nigh on seven years they've been here, and I haven'tbeen so comfortable in all my life afore. They may have some queernotions in their heads--that I can't say; most folks have one way oranother--but they're downright good for help and quietness. They are,so!"
"What says Father Dolfin about them?"
"Well, he don't say much of no sort," answered Isel doubtfully, with anuneasy recollection of one or two things he had lately said. "But I saythey're as good folks as ever walked in shoe-leather, and you'll notfind their match in Oxford, let be Kepeharme Lane."
"Well," said Manning, "let them bide a few days: we shall see. But Ishall brook no heresy, and so I give you fair warning. No heretic,known to me, shall ever darken the doors of a soldier of the cross!"
"I pray you, hold to that!" was Gerhardt's answer.
The next morning dawned a fair autumn day. Manning seemed somewhat moreinclined to be friendly than on the previous evening, and matters wenton pleasantly enough until the hour of dinner. They had just risen fromtable when a rap came on the door. Flemild went to open it.
"Holy saints!" they heard her cry.
Then the door opened, and in walked two men in red and white livery,with four golden crosses patee embroidered on the left arm. With aglance round, they addressed themselves to Manning.
"Are you the owner of this house?"
Manning knew in a moment who his visitors were--official sumners of theBishop of Lincoln.
"I am," he said. "What would you have?"
One of the sumners unrolled a parchment deed.
"We have here a writ to take the bodies of certain persons believed tobe in your house, and we bid you, in the name of holy Church, that youaid us in the execution of our office."
Isel, terribly frightened, was muttering Ave Marias by the dozen. ToGerhardt's forehead the blood had surged in one sudden flush, and thensubsiding, left him calm and pale.
"When holy Church bids, I am her lowly servant," was Manning's answer."Do your duty."
"You say well," replied the sumner. "I demand the body of one Gerard, astranger of Almayne, of Agnes his wife, of Rudolph their son, and ofErmine, the man's sister."
"Of what stand they accused?"
"Of the worst that could be--heresy."
"Then will I give them no shelter. I pray you to note, Master Sumner,that I returned but last night from over seas, whither I have followedthe cross, and have not hitherto had any opportunity to judge of thesewhom I found here."
"You will have opportunity to clear yourself before the Council," saidthe sumner. "Find me a rope, good woman. Is _this_ your son?" headded, appealing to Gerhardt.
"This is my son," answered Gerhardt, with a tremulous smile. "He isscarcely yet old enough to commit crime."
"Eh, dear, good gentlemen, you'll never take the little child!" pleadedIsel. "Why, he is but a babe. I'll swear to you by every saint in theCalendar, if you will, to bring him up the very best of CatholicChristians, under Father Dolfin's eye. What can he have done?"
"He believes what has been taught him, probably," said the sumnergrimly. "But I cannot help it, good wife--the boy's name is in thewrit. The only favour in my power to show is to tie him with hismother. Come now, the rope--quick!"
"No rope of mine shall tie _them_!" said Isel, with sudden determinationwhich no one had expected from her. "You may go buy your own ropes forsuch innocent lambs, for I'll not find you one!"
"But a rope of mine shall!" thundered Manning. "Sit down, silly woman,and hold thy tongue.--I beseech you, my masters, to pardon this foolishcreature; women are always making simpletons of themselves."
"Don't put yourself out, good man," answered the sumner with a smile ofsuperiority; "I have a wife and four daughters."
Haimet now appeared with a rope which he handed to the sumner, whoproceeded to tie together first Gerhardt and Ermine, then Agnes andRudolph. The child was thoroughly frightened, and sobbing piteously.
"Oh deary, deary me!" wailed poor Isel. "That ever such a day shouldcome to my house! Dame Mary, and all the blessed Saints in Heaven, havemercy on us! Haven't I always said there was nought but trouble in thisworld?"
"It's no good vexing, Mother; it has to be," said Flemild, but therewere tears in her eyes. "I'm glad Derette's not here."
Derette had gone to see her cousins at the Castle,--a sort of farewellvisit before entering the anchorhold.
"Then I'm sorry," said Isel. "She might have given those rascals a lickwith the rough side of her tongue--much if she wouldn't, too. I'd liketo have heard it, I would!"
The prisoners were marched out, with much show of righteous indignationagainst them from Manning, and stolid assistance to the sumners on thepart of Haimet. When the door was shut and all quiet again, Manningcame up to Isel.
"Come, Wife, don't take on!" he said, in a much more gentle tone thanbefore. "We must not let ourselves be suspected, you know. Perhapsthey'll be acquitted--they seem decent, peaceable folk, and it may befound to be a false accusation. So long as holy Church does not condemnthem, we need not: but you know we must not set ourselves against herofficers, nor get ourselves suspected and into trouble. Hush, children!the fewer words the better. They may turn out to be all wrong, and thenit would be sin to pity them. We can but wait and see."
"Saints alive! but I'm in a whole sea of trouble already!" cried Isel."We've lost six hands for work; and good workers too; and here had Ireckoned on Ermine tarrying with me, and being like a daughter to me,when my own were gone: and what am I to do now, never speak of them?"
"There are plenty more girls in the city," said Manning.
"Maybe: but not another Ermine."
"Perhaps not; but it's no good crying over spilt milk, Isel. Do thebest you can with what you have; and keep your mouth shut about what youhave not."
Haimet was seen no more till nearly bedtime, when he came in with theinformation that all the Germans had been committed to the Castledungeon, to await the arrival of King Henry, who had summoned a Councilof Bishops to sit on the question, the Sunday after Christmas. Thatuntried prisoners should be kept nearly four months in a dark, damp,unhealthy cellar, termed a dungeon, was much too common an occurrence toexcite surprise. Isel, as usual, lamented over it, and Derette, who hadseen the prisoners marched into the Castle yard, was as warm in hersympathy as even her mother could have wished. Manning tried, notunkindly, to silence them both, and succeeded only when they had wornthemselves out.
About ten days later, Derette made her profession, and was installed inth
e anchorhold, with Leuesa as her maid. The anchorhold consisted oftwo small chambers, some ten feet square, with a doorway ofcommunication that could be closed by a curtain. The inner room, whichwas the bedchamber, was furnished with two bundles of straw, two roughwoollen rugs, a tin basin, a wooden coffer, a form, and some hooks forhanging garments at one end. The outer room was kitchen and parlour; itheld a tiny hearth for a wood-fire (no chimney), another form, a smallpair of trestles and boards to form a table, which were piled in acorner when not wanted for immediate use; sundry shelves were put uparound the walls, and from hooks in the low ceiling hung a lamp, awater-bucket, a pair of bellows, a bunch of candles, a rope of onions, astring of dried salt fish, and several bundles of medical herbs. Thescent of the apartment, as may be imagined, was somewhat less fragrantthan that of roses. In one corner stood the Virgin Mary, newly-paintedand gilt; in the opposite one, Saint John the Baptist, whom the imagerhad made with such patent whites to his eyes, set in a bronzedcomplexion, that the effect was rather startling. A very smallselection of primitive culinary utensils lay on a shelf close to thehearth. Much was not wanted, when the most sumptuous meal to be had wasboiled fish or roasted onions.
Derette was extremely tired, and it was no cause for wonder. From earlymorning she had been kept on the strain by most exciting incidents. Herchildhood's home, though it was scarcely more than a stone's throw fromher, she was never to see again. Father or brother might not even touchher hand any more. Her mother and sister could still enter her tinyabode; but she might never go out to them, no matter what necessityrequired it. Derette was bright, and sensible, and strong: but she wastired that night. And there was no better repose to be had than sittingon a hard form, and leaning her head against the chimney-corner.
"Shut the window, Leuesa," she said, "and come in. I am very weary, andI must sleep a little, if I can, before compline."
"No marvel, Lady," replied Leuesa, doing as she was requested. "I amsure you have had a tiring day. But your profession was lovely! Inever saw a prettier scene in my life."
"Ay, marriages and funerals are both sights for the world. Which was itmost like, thinkest thou?"
"O Lady! a marriage, of course. Has it not made you the bride of JesuChrist?"
Leuesa fancied she heard a faint sigh from the chimney-corner; butDerette gave no answer.
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Note 1. The alner, or alms-bag, was the largest sort of purse used inthe Middle Ages.