by A. D. Crake
Chapter 16: Michelham Once More.
It was a summer evening, and the sun was sinking behind the hillswhich encompass Lewes. His declining beams gilded the towers ofMichelham Priory.
Several of the brethren were walking on the terrace, whichoverlooked the broad moat, on the western side of the priory; forit was the recreation hour, between vespers and compline.
Across the woods came the knell of parting day, the curfew from thetower of Hamelsham: the "lowing herd wound slowly o'er the lea"from the Dicker, when two friars came in sight, who wore the robeof Saint Francis, and approached the gateway.
"There be some of those 'kittle cattle,' the new brethren," saidthe old porter from his grated window in the gateway tower over thebridge. "If I had my will, they should spend the night on theheath."
The friars rang the bell. The porter reluctantly opened.
"Who are ye?"
"Two poor brethren of Saint Francis."
"What do you want?"
"The wayfarer's welcome. Bed and board according to the rule ofyour hospitable house."
"We like not you grey friars--for we are told you are setters forthof strange doctrines, and disturb steady old church folk. Butnatheless the hospitium is open to you as to all, whether gentle orsimple, lay folk or clerks. So enter, only if you threw those graycloaks into the moat, you would be more welcome."
They knew that, but they were not ashamed of their colours.
"Look," said one of the monks to his fellow; "they that have turnedthe world upside down have come hither also."
"Whom the warder hath received."
"They will find scant welcome."
Meanwhile Martin was looking with curious eyes on the buildingswhich had first received him when he escaped from the outlaw lifeof old. But the evening meal was already prepared, and the bellrang for supper.
Many guests were there--lay folk on pilgrimage, palmers andpilgrims with their stories, pedlars with their wares, clerics ontheir road to the Continent from the central parts of the island,men-at-arms, Englishmen, Normans, Gascons, Provencals. And all hadgood fare, while a monk in nasal voice read:
A good old homily of Saint Guthlac of Croyland,
Above the clatter of knives and dishes.
Now this Saint Guthlac was an abbot of Croyland, and many conflictsdid he have with the devils of the fen country, whose presencecould generally be ascertained by the hissing which took place whenthey settled with their fiery hoofs and claws on the wet swamps andmoist sedges.
"And my brethren, certes we poor monks of Saint Benedict may learnmuch from these fiends; and first, from their hot and fiery tempersand bodies, we may be taught to say with Saint Ambrose:"
Quench thou the fires of hate and strifeThe wasting fevers of the heart.
At this moment a calf's head was brought in, very tender andsucculent, and the rest of the quotation was drowned in the clatterof plates and dishes. At last the voice emerged from the tumult:
"Which I have seen in these fens, whither Satan and his imps dooften resort to cool themselves in these stagnant waters. And firstthere be the misshapen, goggle-eyed goblins, with faces like thefull moon, only never saw I the moon so hideous; these be thedemons of sensuality, gluttony and sloth--libera nos Domine, andthen there be . . ."
The wine was handed round, wine of Gascony, where the friars ofMichelham had vineyards; full drinking, rich-bodied red wine,brought in huge jugs of earthenware, and poured generally intowooden mugs. Only the prior and subprior had silver goblets: glassthere was none.
Again the voice rose above the din:
"Affect the fat soils of our marsh land, and there, maybe, findconvenient prey amongst the idle and inebriate brethren who forgettheir vows, or the sottish loony who from the plough tail seek theale house. And moreover there be your fiends, long and slim, andcomely in garb, with tails of graceful curve, and horns like acomely heifer. Natheless their teeth be sharp and their clawsfierce. But they hide them, for they would fain appear like angelsof light, yet be they the demons of pride and cruelty, first-bornof Lucifer, son of the morning . . ."
Here the sweets and pastries came in, fruits of the abbey gardens,skilfully preserved, and cunning devices of the baker: there was achurch built of pie crust; a monk, baked brown and crisp, withraisins for his eyes, which, withal, filled his paunch, and,cannibal like, the good brethren ate him. Finally, that they, thebrethren, might not be without a memento mori, was a sepulchre oraltar tomb, likewise in crust, and when the top was broken, agoodly number of pigeons lurked beneath, lying in state:
"Which mop and mow, and chatter like starlings, but all, eithernaught in sense or naughty in meaning, oh these chattering goblins.Be not like them, my brethren--libera nos Domine."
Here to those who sat at the upper board were next presented, bythe serving brethren, dainty cups of hippocras, medicated againstthe damps and chills of the low grounds, or perchance the cruditiesof the stomach, or the cruel pinches of podagra dolorosa--
"Ah! will you say that agues, rheumatics, and all the otherafflictions which do befall the brethren be simply bred of stagnantwater and foul drinking? Nay, I say these hobgoblins give us them,and that even as Satan was permitted to afflict holy Job, so theyafflict you. But we have not the patience of Job; would we had! Ohmy brethren, slay me the little foxes which eat the tender grapes;your pride, anger, envy, hatred, gluttony, lust, and sloth, andbring forth worthy fruits of penance; then may you all laugh atSatan and his misshapen offspring until in very shame they flythese fens--libera nos Domine."
Here the leader sang:
"Tu autem Domine, miserere nobis."
And the whole brotherhood replied:
"Deo gratias."
The supper was ended, and the chapel bell began to ring for thefinal service of the day. The period of silence throughout thedormitories and passages now began, and only stealthy footfallsbroke the stillness of the summer night.
But the prior rang a silver bell: "tinkle, tinkle."
"Send me the elder of the two brethren of Saint Francis, him withthe twinkling black eyes and roundish face."
And Martin was brought to him.
"Sit down, my young brother," said Prior Roger, "and tell me whereI have seen thy face before. I have gazed upon thee all through thefrugal meal of which we have just partaken, for thy face is like aface I have seen in a dream. Not that I doubt that thou art here inflesh and blood, unlike the fiends of Croyland, of whom we havejust heard."
Martin smiled, and replied:
"My father, seven years agone, a noble earl found shelter here fromthe outlaws, from whom he was delivered by the self sacrifice of awoman, and the guidance of her son, an imp of some thirteen years."
"I remember Earl Simon's visit. Art thou that boy?"
"I am, my father."
"Ah well! ah me! how time passes! But there is another remembrancewhich thy face awakens, of a death bed confession. Sub sigillo,perhaps I am wrong in putting the two things together. SancteBenedicte ora pro me. So thou hast taken the habit of SaintFrancis. Why didst not come to us, if thou wishedst to renounce theworld and mortify the flesh?"
Martin was silent.
"And hast thou the gift of preaching? I do not mean of talking."
"My superiors thought so, but they are fallible."
"I should think so, very, but that is nought. I hope I have bettersense than to send for thee, poor boy, to teach thee to rebelagainst thy superiors, and perhaps after all we Augustinians aretoo hard upon Franciscans and friars of low degree--only we want toget to heaven our own way, with our steady jog trot, and you gofrisking, caracolling, curvetting, gambolling along. Well, I hopeSaint Peter will let us all in at the last."
Martin was silent, out of respect to the age of the speaker.
"Thou art a modest boy; come, tell me, who was thy father?"
"An outlaw, long since dead."
"And thy mother?"
"His bride--but I know not of what parentage. There is a secretnever disclosed to me,
and which I shall never learn now, only I amassured that I was born in holy wedlock, and that a priest blessedthe union."
"Did thy mother marry again?"
"She was compelled to accept one Grimbeard, a chief amongst the'merrie men' who succeeded my father as their leader."
"Now, my son, I know why I looked at thee--I knew thy father. Nay,I administered the last rites of Holy Church to him. I wastravelling through the woods and following a short route to thegreat abbey of Battle, when a band of the outlaws burst forth froman ambush.
"'Art thou a priest, portly father?' they said irreverently.
"'Good lack,' said I, 'I am, but little of worldly goods have I.Thou wilt not plunder God's ambassadors of their little all?'
"'Nay! But thou must come with us, and thy retinue must tarry heretill we bring thee back.'
"'You will not harm me?' said I, fearing for my throat. 'It is asthou hearest a hoarse one, and often sore, but it is my only one.'
"They laughed, and one said:
"'Nay, father, we swear by Him that died that we will bring theesafe here again ere sundown.'
"So they led me away, and anon they blindfolded me, and led myhorse. What a mercy poor Whitefoot was sure footed, and did notstumble, for the way was parlous difficult.
"And at last they took the bandage from off mine eyes, and I saw Iwas in their encampment, in the innermost recesses of a swampytangled wood. There, in a sort of better-most cabin, lay a youngman, dying--wounded, as I afterwards learned, in an attack upon theLord of Herst de Monceux.
"A goodly man of some thirty years was he, and a goodly end hemade. He told me his story, and as the lips of dying men speak thetruth, I believed him. He was the last representative of thatEnglish family which before the Conquest owned this very island andits adjacent woods and fields {24}. He was very like thee--hestands before me again in thee. Didst thou never hear of thydescent before?"
"That he was of the blood of the old English thanes I knew, butfallen from their once high estate. Had he lived he might havepossessed me with the like feelings which prompted him: hatred ofthe foreigner, rebellion to God's dispensation, which gave the landto others. Even now as I speak, Christian though I am, I feel thatsuch things might be, but I count them now as dross, and seek agoodlier heritage than Michelham."
"Poor lad! What has brought thee here again?"
"The desire to do my Master's will, and to preach the gospel to mykindred. For if Christ shall make them free, then shall they befree indeed."
"Hast thou heard of thy mother?"
"That she was dead. The message came through Michelham."
"I remember an outlaw came here one day and sought me. He bade mesend word to the boy we had (he said) stolen from them, that hismother was no more. We did so; but who was thy mother by birth?"
"I know not."
"But I know."
"Tell me, father."
"It is a sad story."
"Let me hear it."
"Not yet. Go forth tomorrow. Seek thy kindred, and if thou livestthou shalt know. Tell me, what is thine age?"
"I have seen twenty years."
"When thou hast attained thy twenty-first birthday, I may revealthis secret--not before. Until then my lips are sealed; such wasthe will of thy father."
"Shall I find the outlaws easily?"
"I know not; they have been much reduced both in numbers and inpower, and give small trouble now to the nobles and men of highdegree. Many have been hanged."
"Does Grimbeard yet live?"
"I know not."
"Father, I start on my search tomorrow; give me thy blessing andpray for me."
Martin could not sleep. He stood long at the window of his cell ina dreamy reverie. The story of the last Thane of Michelham, asrelated in the Andredsweald, had often been told around the campfires, and although he was only in his thirteenth year when he leftthem, it was all distinctly imprinted in his memory. Oh! howstrange it seemed to him to be there on the spot, which but for theconquest of two centuries agone would perhaps have still been thehome of his race! But he did not indulge in sentimental sorrow. Hebelieved in the Fatherhood of God, and that all things work forgood to them that love Him.
What a dawn it was! A reddening of the eastern sky; a low band ofcrimson; then rays like an aurora shooting upwards into the midheavens; then such tints of transparent opal and heavenly azureoverspread the skies all around, that Martin drank in the beautywith all his soul, and almost wept for joy, as he thought it aforetaste of the new heavens and the new earth, wherein he hoped todwell, and whereon his heart was already surely fixed. And as hegazed upon the distant woods, wherein dwelt the kindred he came toseek, he prayed in the words of an old antiphon:
"O Day Spring, brightness of the Eternal Light and Sun ofRighteousness, come and lighten those that sit in darkness, and inthe shadow of death."
