by A. D. Crake
Chapter 14: May Day In Lewes.
It was the May Day of 1259, one of the brightest days of thecalendar. The season was well forward, the elms and bushes hadarrayed themselves in their brightest robe of green; the hedgeswere white and fragrant with may; the anemone, the primrose, thecowslip, and blue bell carpeted the sward of the Andredsweald; theoaks and poplars were already putting on their summer garb. Thebutterflies settled upon flower after flower; the bees wererejoicing in their labour; their work glowed, and the sweet honeywas fragrant with thyme.
Oh how lovely were the works of God upon that bright May Day, asfrom village church and forest sanctuary the population of Sussexpoured out from the portals, after the mass of Saints Philip andJames; the children bearing garlands and dressed in a hundredfantastic hues, the May-poles set up on every green, the Queen ofMay chosen by lot from amongst the village maidens.
Never were sweeter nooks, wherein to spend Maytide, than around thevillages and hamlets of the Andredsweald, whither the action of ourtale betakes itself again--around Chiddinglye, Hellinglye,Alfristun, Selmestun, Heathfeld, Mayfeld, and the like--not, asnow, accessible by rail and surrounded by arable lands; butsettlements in the forest, with the mighty oaks and beeches whichhad perchance seen the coming of Ella and Cissa, long ere theNorman set foot in Angleland; and with solemn glades where the windmade music in the tree tops, and the graceful deer bounded athwartthe avenue, to seek refuge in tangled brake and inaccessiblemorass.
Chief amongst these Sussex towns and villages was the old boroughof Lewes, distinguished alike by castle and priory. The modernvisitor may still ascend to the summit of the highest tower of thatcastle, but how different (yet how much the same) was the scenewhich a young knight viewed thence on this May Day of 1259. He hadcome up there to take his last look at the fair land of England erehe left it for years, it might be never to return.
"It is a fair land; God keep it till I return."
The great lines of Downs stretched away--northwest to DitchlingBeacon; southwest to Brighthelmston, a hamlet then little known; onthe east rose Mount Caburn, graceful in outline (recalling MountTabor to the fond remembrance of the crusaders); southeast the longline stretched away by Firle Beacon to Beachy Head.
"Ah, there is Walderne, away far off, just to the left of theeastern range of Downs--I see it across the plain twelve milesaway. I see the windmills on the hill, and below the church towers,and the tops of the castle towers in the vale beneath. I shall soonbid them all farewell."
Then the young knight turned and looked on the fertile valleywherein meandered the Ouse. The grand priory lay below: itsmagnificent church, well known to our readers; its towers andpinnacles.
"And there my poor father wears out his days, now a brotherprofessed. And he, for whom Europe was not large enough in hisyouth, now never leaves the convent's boundaries. But he is aboutto travel to Jerusalem by proxy.
"If only I could see Martin again. I cannot think why Martin and Ishould be like Damon and Pythias, to whom the chaplain oncecompared us. But we are, although one will fain be a friar and theother a warrior."
He descended the tower after one more lingering glance at the view,but his light nature soon threw off the impression, and none wasgayer guest at the noontide meal, the "nuncheon" of Earl Warrenneof Lewes, the lord of the castle.
It was eventide, and the marketplace was filled with an excitedpopulation. There were ruffling men-at-arms, stolid rustics,frightened women and children, overturned stalls, shouts andscreams; unsavoury missiles, such as rotten eggs and stalevegetables, were flying about; and in the midst of the open spacethe figure of a Jew, who had excited the indignation of themultitude, was the object of violent aggression which seemed likelyto endanger his life.
A miracle had occurred. The crucifix over the rood at SaintMichael's Church had suddenly blazed out with a supernatural light,which had endured for many minutes: the multitude flocked in to seeand adore, and much was the reputation of Saint Michael's shrineenhanced, when this unbelieving Jew actually had the temerity toassert that the light was only caused by the rays of the sunfalling directly upon the figure through a window in the westernwall, narrow as the slits we see in the old castle towers, soarranged as on this particular day to bring the rays of the settingsun full upon the gilding of the cross {21}.
But the explanation, probably true, was the signal for franticcries:
"Out on the blasphemer! The accursed Jew! Let him die the death!"
And it is very probable that he would have been "done to death" hadnot an interruption, characteristic of the age, occurred.
Two friars, clad in the garb of Saint Francis, just then enteredthe square and learned the cause of the tumult. Their action wasimmediate. The brethren stalked into the midst of the crowd, whichmade way for them as if a superior being had commanded theirreverence, and one of the two mounted on a cart, and took for histext, in a clear piercing voice which was heard everywhere,"Christ, and Him crucified."
The swords were hastily thrust into their scabbards, the missilesceased. The other brother had reached the Jew.
"Vengeance is mine, I will repay," said he. "He is the prisoner ofthe Lord; accursed be he who touches him; may his hand rot off, andhis light be extinguished in darkness."
All was now silence as the first brother, pale with recent illness,but radiant with emotion, began to speak.
And Martin preached, taking his illustrations from thecircumstances of the day.
"The object of the Crucifixion," he said, "had yet to be attainedamongst them."
A crucifix had, as he heard, shone with a mysterious light, and onehad desecrated it with his tongue. But, worse than that, he saw athousand desecrated forms before him who ought to be livingcrucifixes, for were they not told to crucify the flesh with itsaffections and lusts, to remain upon their voluntary crosses tillChrist said, "Come down. Well done, good and faithful servant.Enter thou into the joy of the Lord"? And were they doing this?Were they repaying the love of Calvary, as for instance the saintsof that day, Saints Philip and James, had done; giving heart forheart, love for love; or were they worshipping dread and ghastlyidols, their own lusts and passions? In short, were they to becompanions of the angels--God's holy ones? Or the slaves and sportof the cruel and fiery fiends for evermore?
The power of an orator, and Martin was a born orator, over the menof the middle ages was marvellous. Few could read, and books werescarce as jewels. The tongue, the living voice, had to do the workwhich the public press does now, as well as its own, and thepreacher was a power. But those medieval sermons were full ofquaint illustrations.
Martin described the angels as weeping because men would not turnand love the Lord who had died for them. He described the joy overone repentant sinner, the horror over the sins which crucified theLord afresh. They were waiting now to set the bells of heaven aringing, when the news came of one soul converted and turned to theLord--one repentant sinner.
"They are waiting now," he said. "Will you keep them waiting upthere with their hands on the ropes?"
Cries of "No! no!" broke from several.
"And there be the cruel, rampant, remorseless devils with theirclaws, hoofs, and horns. They be terrible, but their hearts of fireare the worst, those evil hearts burning with hatred to the sons ofmen. Now, on my way I saw a vision: we rested at a holy house ofGod, where be many brethren who strive to glorify Him, according tothe rule of Saint Benedict. And as we were all at prayers in thechapel, methought it was full of devils whispering all sorts oftemptations, as they did to Saint Antony, trying to keep the monksfrom their prayers and meditations. And lo, I came to Lewes, andmethought one devil only sat on the gate, and swayed the hearts ofall the men in the town. He had little to do. The world and theflesh were helping him, and just now it was the devil of cruelty."
The men looked down.
"'A Jew! only a Jew!' you say; 'the wicked Jews crucified ourLord.'
"And ye, what do ye do? Why, ye crucify Him daily. Nay, look not soamazed. Saint
Paul says it, not I. He says the sins of Christianscrucify our Lord afresh."
And here he spoke so piteously of the Passion of the Lord and Histhirst for the souls of men, that women, yea and many men, weptaloud. In short, when the sermon was over, the crowd escortedMartin to the priory, where he was to lodge, with tears and criesof joy.
"Thou hast begun well, brother Martin," said Ginepro, when theycould first speak to each other in the hospitium.
"I! No, not I. God gave me strength," and he sank on the benchexhausted and pale.
"It is too much for thee."
"No, not too much. I love the good work. God give the increase."
"What Martin, my Martin, thou here? I have followed thee. I heardthee, but couldn't get near thee for the press," cried an exultantvoice.
"My Hubert, so thou art a knight at last?"
"Yes, and tomorrow I go to Walderne to say goodbye to the peoplethere, and the next day take ship from Pevensey for Harfleur, on myroad to the Holy Land.
"But how pale thou art! Come, tell me all. Art thou a brother yet?Hast thou earned it by some pious deed, as I earned my knighthoodby a warlike one? Come, tell me all, dear Martin."
"You tell your story first. I have only heard that you have wonyour spurs."
Hubert, nothing loth, told the story with which our readers areacquainted.
Then Martin told his story very simply and modestly, but Hubertcould not help feeling that he would sooner have defended a fordtwenty times over, than have spent one hour in that plague-infectedhouse.
They were very happy in their mutual love, and this last meetingwas made the most of. Old remembrances were recalled, scenes of thepast brought to recollection; until the compline hour, after whichall, monks and guests alike, retired to rest, and silence reignedthrough the vast pile.
Save in one narrow cell, where the sire and son were dispensed fromthe rule--where the old father rejoiced in his boy, devouring himwith those aged eyes.
"God will preserve thee, Hubert. I know He will, but there will betrials and difficulties."
"I am prepared for them."
"But God will bring thee back to thy old father, the vow fulfilled;and my freed spirit shall rejoice in thee again. Thou knowest thyduty. Thou must first visit the Castle of Fievrault, and there seekof the old seneschal the sword of the man I slew. He will give itthee freely when thou tellest thy story and disclosest thy name.But be sure thou dost not tarry there, no, not one night, for theplace is haunted. Then thou must take the nearest route toJerusalem."
"But it is now in the hands of the Mussulmen."
"Upon certain conditions, and the payment of a heavy fine, theyallow pilgrims to approach. Would that thou couldst enter it amidsta victorious host, but that day, in penalty for our sins, is notallowed as yet to dawn. Thou hast but to pray before the HolySepulchre, to deposit the sword to be blessed thereon, and thoumayst return."
"But will there be no fighting?"
"This I cannot tell at present; a temporary truce exists. It may bebroken at any moment, and if it be, thou mayst tarry for onecampaign, not longer. My eyes will ache to see thee again, andremember that but to have visited the Holy Places will entitle theeto all the indulgences and privileges of a crusader--Bethlehem,Nazareth, Calvary, Gethsemane, Olivet. The task is easier now, byreason of the truce, although the infidels be very treacherous, andthou wilt need constant vigilance."
So they talked until the midnight hour.
No ghostly visitant appeared to mar its joy, and the sire and sonslept. The old man made the youth lie on his couch, while he lay onthe floor. Hubert resisted the arrangement in vain; the father wasabsolute, and so they slept.
On the morrow the travellers (of both parties) left the priorytogether, after the chapter mass at nine. Hubert had bidden thelast farewell to his old father, who with difficulty relinquishedhis grasp of his adored boy, now that the hour for fulfilling thepurpose of many years had come at last. Martin and his brother andcompanion Ginepro were there, and the six men-at-arms who were toact as a guard of honour to the young knight in his passage throughthe forest to the castle of his ancestors. They purposed to traveltogether as long as their different objects permitted.
"My men will be a protection," said Hubert.
The young friars laughed.
"We need no protection," said Ginepro. "If we want arms, thesebulrushes will serve for spears."
"Nay, do not jest," said Martin.
"We have other arms, my Hubert."
"What are they?"
"Only faith and prayer, but they never fail."
Then they talked of the future. Hubert disclosed all his plans toMartin; how he must visit the castle at Fievrault; how he must seekand carry the sword of the knight whom his father had slain and layit on the Holy Sepulchre; how then he hoped to return, but not tillhe had dyed the sword in the blood of the Paynim, etc. And Martintold his plans for a mission in the Andredsweald; of his hope toreclaim the outlaws to Christianity, and to pacify the forests; toreunite the lords of Norman descent and the Saxon peasants togetherin one common love.
"Shall you visit Walderne Castle?" inquired Hubert.
"It may fall to my lot to do so."
"Avoid Drogo; at least do not trust him. He hates us both."
"He may have mended."
Hubert shook his head.
A few warm, affectionate words, and they came to the spot wheretheir road divided--the one to the northeast, the other to thesoutheast. They tried to preserve the proper self control, but itfailed them, and their eyes were very limpid. So they parted.
At midday the two friars rested in a sweet glade, and slept after afrugal meal, till the birds awoke them with their songs.
"They remind me of an incident in the life of our dear fatherFrancis," said Ginepro, "which my father witnessed."
"Tell it as we go. Sweet converse shortens the toil of the way."
"Once, when he was preaching, the birds drowned his voice withtheir songs of gladness, whereupon he said:
"'My sisters, the birds, it is now my turn to speak. You have sungyour sweet songs to God. Now let me tell men how good He is.'
"And the birds were silent."
"I can quite believe it."
"His power over animals was wonderful. Once a little hare wasbrought in, all alive, for the food of the brotherhood, and theywere just going to kill the wee thing, when Francis came in andpitied it.
"'Little brother leveret,' he said. 'How didst thou let thyself betaken?'
"The poor hare rushed from the hands of him who held it, and tookrefuge in the robe of the father.
"'Nay, go back to thy home, and do not let thyself be caughtagain,' he said, and they took it back to the woods and let it go."
Just at this point they reached Chiddinglye, and as they emergedfrom the forest on the green, Ginepro spied a number of childrenplaying at seesaw in a timber yard, laughing and shouting merrily.
Instantly he cried, "Oh, there they are; I love seesaw; I must goand have a turn."
"Are we not too old for such sport?" said Martin.
"Not a bit. I feel quite like a child," and off he ran to join thechildren amidst the laughter of a few older people.
But the young brother did not simply play at seesaw. He got thechildren around him, after a while, and soon held them breathlessas he related the story of the Child of Bethlehem and the HolyInnocents, stories which came quite fresh to them in those days,when there were few books, and fewer readers. And these littleSussex children drank in the touching story with all their littleears and hearts. In all Ginepro did there was a wondrous freshness.And that same evening, when the woodmen came home from work, Martinpreached to the whole village from the steps of the churchyardcross.
It was a strangely impressive scene. The mighty background of theforest; the friar in his gray dress, his features all animation andlife; the multitude listening as if they were carried away by theeloquence of one whose like they had never seen before; the tearsrunning down furrows on thei
r grimy cheeks, specially visible onthose of the iron smelters, of whom there were many in old Sussex.
Close by stood the parish priest, listening with delight andwithout that jealousy which too often moved the shepherds of theparochial flocks to resent the advent of the friar. And when Martinat last stopped, exhausted:
"Ye will both come with me, you and your brother, who has beenpreaching to my little ones, and be my guests this night."
And they willingly consented.
But we must return to our crusader and his fortunes.
