For the Faith: A Story of the Young Pioneers of Reformation in Oxford

"I will yet live to do Him service!" cried Garret, with kindling eyes. "I will yet live that I may lay down my life for Him if He call me. If I have been deceived this once, He will lead me aright in the days to come. Mine hour will yet come; I know it, I feel it. And He shall see then that Thomas Garret will not shrink even from death for His name's sake."

Dalaber looked straight into his face.

"I consented to take part in this penance today because I heard that you had submitted. I believed that all had done so. Had I known that Master Clarke had refused, God helping me, I would have refused also; for surely never was there a man who had so fully the mind of the Lord Jesus as John Clarke."

Garret's glance fell before that burning gaze. He too had noted that Clarke was not amongst the penitents, and it had cut like a knife into his heart. He had always been so ready with his protestations of willingness to die for the faith, yet he had been won over to an act which looked like one of recantation. Clarke had never boasted, had always spoken with gentle warning of the dangers which beset them, and his doubts as to whether they should have strength to withstand the fiery trial if it came upon them. There had been times when Garret had openly charged him with being lukewarm in the cause. Yet Clarke lay still in his noisome prison, excommunicate, and in danger of death at the stake, whilst they stood free men, reconciled to the church, and restored to her favour.

Whose position was that of most true blessedness? Garret twisted his hands nervously together as this flood of thought came surging over him.

"They say that Clarke would have been there," spoke young Fitzjames, "but that he was too enfeebled by captivity to walk in the procession."

"That is false," said Freda, in a low voice. "Master Clarke might have won his liberty with the rest, but he refused to take any part in the spectacle today at Carfax."

"Yet he never circulated the books," broke out Garret. "He ofttimes cautioned me against importing too many of the treatises written in Germany. He would not approve all that they contained. He could have cast such books upon the flames without violating his conscience. Wherefore was he not there with the rest of us?"

It was Freda who, after a pause, made answer:

"He knew that men would not distinguish between the burning of books by men and the burning of the precious Word of God. It was this that held him back."

"Yea, verily," cried Dalaber, with a blaze of his old excitement, "he was true to his conscience, and we were not. He knew that those who saw that procession would regard it as an admission of heresy. He was no heretic, and he would have neither part nor lot with it. He has ever stood firm in this-that the church of the living God is pure and holy, and that she asks no such acts of submission and recantation from her sons, when their only desire has been to extol Him and to make His way clear upon earth. How could his pure and holy spirit make confession of evil? He could not, and he would not. He will lay down his life for the gospel's sake; but he will not be deceived, as we were.

"I can see it now as I could not when the walls of prison and the mists of fever were closing me in. We have, as it were, admitted that to read the Word of God and to give it to others to read is a sin against the church. He has stood on the ground he adopted from the first-that the church has never forbidden it, and that those who do so are not her true and faithful stewards and ministers; and for that conviction he is ready to die. He will not let himself be deceived or cajoled. His light is the light from above, and it will shine upon his path to the very end."

Ferrar and Garret had no intention of lingering long. They were about to go forth together into the world-probably to make their way to Germany-and Garret had had some thought that Dalaber might possibly accompany them on their journey. But they saw that he had other views for himself, and did not even ask him.

The spell which Garret had once exercised upon him was broken now. They would ever be as friends and brothers in a good cause, but the special tie had snapped. Garret was no longer a hero in the eyes of Dalaber, and he felt the subtle change which had come over his ex-pupil.

So they clasped hands warmly, exchanged farewells, and the two companions passed out into the darkening night, whilst young Fitzjames lingered wistfully, and brightened as Freda bade him take up his old quarters in that pleasant house.

"And on the morrow we will all travel to Poghley together; and you, Fitzjames, shall take word to others who have suffered imprisonment, and whose friends, perchance, may look coldly upon them, that they are welcome to Arthur's house, if they desire a brief space for rest and refreshment. It is open to all who have suffered, but are now 'reconciled,' as it is termed. Anthony and I go thither early in the day, and any who desire may come with or follow after us."

"I feel as though I never wished to set eyes on Oxford again, once I get free from it!" cried the youth, who felt bitterly the ignominy and hardships through which he had passed.

He had submitted to the imposed penance, having, indeed, no very strong opinions of his own upon controverted subjects, though he had heard much, and received the new doctrines with open mind. But now he felt as though he hated the rulers of the church with a deep and implacable hatred. His boyhood seemed to have passed away from him during those weeks of harsh imprisonment; and he came forth a man, with a stern hatred of bigotry and intolerance, with no formulated plan of action or resistance, with no very definite opinions as to doctrine or dogma, but with a fixed resolve to cast in his lot with those who were fighting for liberty of conscience, or liberty in any form, and with a strong hope that he might live to see the day when he should break a lance for the cause he had espoused.

It was indeed too often that men's hearts were filled with bitterness, and that those in places of power and authority made themselves bitter enemies, even of those towards whom they were kindly disposed; whilst the day was coming slowly but surely when they were to reap what they had sown.

It was a soft and radiant evening when Freda and her father and Dalaber rode slowly through the gates which led to the moated manor where Arthur Cole and his bride awaited them. Fitzjames and a few others were to follow. But these three, with a couple of servants, arrived first; and upon their approach through the golden green of the beech avenue, Magdalen flew, as it were, to meet her twin, and the sisters were clasped in each other's arms. Arthur was not far behind his fleet-footed spouse, and was clasping hands with Dalaber, and gazing long and searchingly into his face.

"Welcome, my friend, welcome!" he said. "It is good to see you stand a free man once more. You have suffered, Anthony; I can see it all too clearly in your face. But I trust that the dark days are over now, and that better times are in store. In the sweet security of home we will seek to forget those trials and troubles which have gone before."

Dalaber looked round him at the awakening beauty of the springtide world, and a lump seemed to rise in his throat. His face contracted as though with a spasm of pain, and he spoke in sharpened accents of suffering.

"The world of nature looks-thus-to me. And Master Clarke lies rotting in a foul prison, in peril of his life both from sickness and from the cruel malice of the bishop. How can I forget? How can I be happy? Methinks sometimes I would he more truly happy were I lying beside him there."

Arthur drew Dalaber a little away from the rest.

"Have you had news of him?"

"Such news as might be had. Some of the brethren, if they can still be so called, when they are as sheep scattered without a shepherd-some of them came to bid me adieu and speak comforting words. I asked them one and all of him, our beloved teacher; but none had seen him-only they had one and all made inquiry after him, and one had heard this, and the other that. But all affirmed that he, together with Sumner and Radley, was lying in a foul prison, sick unto death with the fever that besets those who lie too long in these noisome holes, or, as some said, with the sweating sickness, which has shown itself once more in Oxford.

"But since he refused to take part in the scene at Carfax, and as his companions were firm as himself, they are kept yet in the same foul place. And if help come not they will certainly die; for how can men recover of sickness without some care, or tendance, or better nourishment than will be given them there? Ah, it makes my blood boil to think of it!"

It was almost impossible for Dalaber to rejoice in his own freedom and in the beauty of all about him, so woeful were his thoughts about this man whom he so greatly loved. He went to his room that night, but sleep came not to him. He paced to and fro in a strange tumult of mind; and with the first light of dawn he clad himself in his riding suit, and when the household began to stir he sought a servant, and bade him tell the master that he desired instant speech of him.

Arthur came in brief space, and looked with surprise into Dalaber's pale, set face. His wan looks told of his sleepless vigil, but he gave no chance for questions to be asked. He spoke himself, and that rapidly.

"Arthur, I must forthwith to London. Canst thou lend me a good horse? Else I must needs go afoot."

"A horse! Why, the pick of the stable is at thy service, friend Anthony. But whither away so fast, and wherefore?"

"I go to seek speech with the cardinal."

"With the cardinal, quotha? And wherefore with him?"

"I go to ask the life of Master Clarke. They say the cardinal is not bloodthirsty or cruel. I will prove that for mine own self. And if a victim must needs be had, I will offer myself in his place.

"Yes, Arthur, I will. Seek not to stay me by fair words. Methinks I have had too much of such. I have been cozened both by friend and by foe-for mine own good, as they would say, but not I. My heart is heavy and hot within me. If Clarke is to lie languishing in prison, let me lie there with him. There can be a worse prison house of the soul than any made by bolts and bars. We can suffer as keenly in such a place as this as in the lowest depth of a dungeon. I have made trial of both. I know what I say. Seek not to stay me, good Arthur, for I must needs go. The fire burns hot within me. It will not be quenched."

Arthur looked keenly at him. He was silent for a very brief while, and then he spoke quietly and persuasively.

"Thou shalt go, Anthony; but wait only for Monday. Thou art in need of rest, and upon the eve of the festival of Easter thou wouldst never get nigh to the cardinal. Thou art not fit for the long ride today. In two days more thou wilt be in better case for the journey. And I myself will be thy companion, for I have some friends in high places who will lend me their help; and it will be strange if together we cannot succeed in obtaining sight and speech of the cardinal, and proffering our petition. Only wait these two days, that thou mayest be more fit for the fatigues lying before thee."

Dalaber would fain have been off that moment, but he saw the force of Arthur's words; and, in truth, the long strain was telling heavily upon him, and as he stood he almost reeled from weakness. He was in no fit state for another day's riding; and when Freda added her voice to that of Arthur, he consented to put off his journey until after Easter.

Yet he looked straight into her eyes in making this concession, and added firmly:

"But when the time comes I must go. And thou wilt bid me Godspeed, my beloved; and if this journey should perchance bring me hurt-if I should not return to thee therefrom-thou wilt not grieve over it too much. Thou wouldst not withhold me, Freda?"

She looked into his eyes. She knew that peril might menace her lover. It was as though he would, having once escaped, put his head again into the jaws of the lion. None could say, if he and the cardinal met, what might be the result to the impulsive but not always discreet Dalaber. It seemed as though some power from within urged him to make a confession, different from the one he had so recently signed. It seemed as though his conscience would not let him rest-as though he felt that he had been guilty of some act of treachery towards his Lord.

Freda understood. She would not hold him back, though her eyes filled with tears as he put the question.

"I will never withhold thee from what thou dost deem the right path to tread, my beloved," she answered. "I will trust thee in the hands of the all-loving Father, and pray that He may deliver thee out of all peril. Be not rash. That is all I ask. Be as Master Clarke-gentle, faithful, true, pure of heart and blameless of speech. I ask nothing more of thee. Be true unto thine own better self, and thou wilt be supported and upheld through all."

Arthur and his wife spoke much of the proposed journey.

"Wilt thou risk aught by it, my husband?" asked Magdalen, with a tender anxiety in voice and look.

"I risk but little-nothing, perhaps; and right glad am I to proffer this petition for our dear friend and teacher, Master Clarke. It may be we shall fail in what we seek to accomplish, and it may be that Anthony may fall once again under suspicion, and be cast into prison as a heretic. No man can forecast these things, and he will not seek to save himself this time.

"He has suffered already from tampering with his conscience. Perchance I overbore him too much. It is hard to know what a man in such straits should do. But I will seek to safeguard him all I can, and bring him safely back. And if we win our petition, and gain liberty for those three sick prisoners, it will be worth all the risk and labour we have undergone to gain it."

"Hast ever had speech with the cardinal before?" asked Magdalen, trembling a little at the thought.

"I have been in his company at times, but received nothing but a fleeting glance or a passing word of courtesy. I have watched him in converse with others many times. He hath a stately presence, and a great gift of speech. He can win hearts by the grace and kindliness of his address, or he can send men away quaking in fear by the flash of his eagle eye and the stern rebukes which fall from his lips. And none can know beforehand which will be his fashion of receiving a petition, and particularly such a petition as ours.

"In God's hands must we leave the issues. But at least for such a man as John Clarke it must surely be right to adventure somewhat. I will go with Anthony. Together, I trust, we shall succeed."

"And we at home will pray day and night for your success," answered the young wife, clinging to her husband, from whom she must make up her mind to part on an errand that might be fraught with peril; "and surely I think that God will hear and answer us, and give you grace and power to intercede."

So as soon after Easter as Anthony was fit for the saddle the two friends started off together on horseback for London, whilst the wife and the betrothed stood to watch them away, waving them a farewell, and hiding from their eyes the starting tears, which were only allowed to fall when the sisters were left alone together.

Chapter XVII: The Clemency Of The Cardinal

The great man sat in his private closet, with the ivory crucifix in the corner before the prie dieu chair, a wonderful picture of the annunciation on the wall, where he could see it every time he lifted his eyes, and a table piled with papers before him, though piled with a certain method and order which enabled him to lay his hand in a moment upon any required document.

He wore the scarlet robes of his office, and a scarlet skullcap was on his head. His features were those of the ascetic and man of the world. The skin was pale and slightly sallow, like old parchment; the hair was turning white, and was thin upon the temples. The clear-cut features were impressive, both in outline and in expression, and the eye was as the eye of the eagle, so keenly penetrating and far-seeing that many had shrunk before its gaze as before the sharp thrust of a rapier.

Arthur Cole entered the presence of the great man with the habitual courtly and almost exaggerated reverence that custom imposed. But Anthony Dalaber, who followed, only bowed with a sort of sullen defiance in look and aspect, not even raising his eyes to meet the flashing, rapid glance which the great man bent upon him as he slowly followed his companion into that august presence. He stood in the background, and his dark face and gaunt figure did not lack elements of dignity. There was something distinguished in the personality of Dalaber, of which those who knew him were keenly conscious.

The statesman, who had all his life been wont to take the measure of men with great acumen and discernment, gave more than one quick, keen glance in the direction of Dalaber, as he received Arthur's credentials and cast his eye over them.

"You are welcome, Master Cole. I have heard of you before, and everything I have heard redounds to your credit. You are highly spoken of in Oxford, and your career there has not been without distinction. I am keenly interested in all that happens there, and in the welfare of each individual clerk and student. To hear a good report of any gives me sincere pleasure. I am glad on that account to give you this audience, albeit I am always pressed for time in which to compress each day's work."

"I thank your Eminence from my heart," answered Arthur; "and if I be permitted to speak, I will be as brief as I can in presenting my petition and pleading my Cause."

"You come with a petition? Very good; I will listen and consider it. Is it one that relates to yonder companion of yours? -

"Anthony Dalaber, I believe I mistake not in calling you by that name."

Dalaber came a step forward, but made no reply, for Arthur had answered for him, and the cardinal was turning over some papers upon his table, and selecting one or two, ran his eyes rapidly down them, after which he looked up.

"I hear of you that you are a youth of excellent parts, and of a quick understanding, and that, with industry and application, you may do great things. I also hear that though you have been led into some indiscretions and dangerous courses, that you have submitted to lawful discipline, and are forgiven and reconciled. All this is as it should be. I rejoice in the repentance of any sinner. I pray, my son, that in the future you may be guarded from all such perilous courses."

Arthur almost trembled as these words were spoken. The cardinal's wonderful eyes were fixed full upon the face of Dalaber, and the magnetic nature of the glance seemed to act with a curious, restraining power upon him. He spoke, but it was not with the outburst which his comrade had feared. It was slowly and almost haltingly.

"I have done amiss," he said. "None can better know than I how much amiss I have done. I repent me from the bottom of my heart. But I repent not of those things for which I suffered in prison, for which I thought I might be called upon to lay down my life. I repent me that I, having put mine hand to the plough, did look back. I would I had had the courage and steadfastness to resist and stand firm."

Arthur trembled; his eyes sought the cardinal's face. Wolsey was regarding Dalaber with great intensity of interest, whilst a fine smile played in shadowy fashion over his thin lips.

"Is that what you have come hither to tell me, my son?"

"In part it is," answered Dalaber, "for I have felt like a hypocrite and renegade all these days. I love the church; I hold her doctrines; I trow that I would die for the truth which she teaches: but I hold also that men should not be condemned for the reading and free discussion of the Word of God; and if those who did persuade me to submit to discipline and penance for disobedience believe that I repent me of holding and spreading that doctrine, then must I ever live with the sense of having been a traitor to the cause of my Lord and my God."

"And you wish to tell me this?"

"Yes; that your Eminence may send me back to prison, or to the stake, if it be your will."

The same slight smile played round the cardinal's lips. He looked once more at his papers.

"It is said here, Anthony Dalaber, that you have given up the study of divinity, and have taken up that of the law?"

"That is true," he answered freely. "I am not made for the priesthood; of that I am well assured. I will seek to serve God in the lesser calling, and do my duty there to Him and to the brethren."

"A laudable resolve," answered the great man, "in which I wish you all success. Listen to me for a brief moment, my son. The words you have spoken here this day will not be used against yon. I have followed your career. I know your courage and steadfastness of spirit, as well as its weaknesses and vacillations. I know how many godly youths are in like case with you-halting between two opinions, torn asunder in the struggle to judge all these hard and difficult questions for themselves. For you, and for all who yet love Holy Church, I have this piece of counsel to give. Beware how you seek to tamper with the unity of the one body. Beware how you sacrifice the greater for the lesser. It is only a church at unity in herself that can convert the world; we have the Lord's own word for that. If you have read in any tongue His last charge on earth to His apostles, as recorded in the Gospel of St. John, you must see and recognize that. The burden of that wonderful pastoral is, 'That we all may be ONE: that the world may believe.' To rend the body is to destroy its unity. To destroy its unity is to hinder the work of Christ upon earth. Think and ponder that well, and pray for guidance, for patience, for the submissive will which would endure much rather than bring war amongst the members of the one body. Our Lord Himself has warned those who are devout and sincere from the error of straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel. Let the church minister the Word of God. Let those who hunger for more ask of her. She will not send them empty away. Already those who style themselves reformers are quarrelling amongst themselves. Soon they will be broken up into a thousand camps. Unity will cease to reign in the church. Confusion and hatred and even bloodshed will follow.

"Be advised, Anthony Dalaber. Quit these hard and vexed questions for a while. Take to the less perilous study of the law. With age and experience you will learn your lesson. And I will pray for a blessing upon you, my son, for in truth I believe that the Lord may have work for you to do in days to come; and if so, I trow you will not shrink from doing it."

Anthony stood mute. A thousand questions and replies seemed to spring to his lips, but no word passed them. He felt that in argument he was no match for the cardinal, even had disputation with so eminent and august a personage been possible. He felt that somewhere there was an answer to this irrefragable argument, but for the moment he could not find it; he stood tongue tied, silent. The cardinal looked at him with his slight, peculiar smile, and then turned once again to Arthur.

"And now for your petition. If it is for favour to be shown to your ardent young friend, after the statement he desired to make to me, with greater courage than discretion (for which, however, I like him none the less), then it is granted already."

"It is not for him," answered Arthur; "we have both come hither on the same errand. But we do desire your Eminence's good offices for one who was in somewhat similar case with Dalaber. We have come to plead for the life and liberty of John Clarke, canon of your own beauteous and godly college in Oxford, who, with two other companions, one of them a canon and the other a singing man of that foundation, is lying near to death in a foul prison, and will without doubt perish miserably there, if release doth not speedily come."

The cardinal's steel-blue eyes took a new expression, and one which Arthur could in no wise interpret.

"Like to die!" He spoke somewhat more abruptly than had hitherto been the case. "You are sure of that?"

"I am sure of it," answered Arthur; "and Dr. Higdon, the dean, will tell you the same, if your Eminence will ask him of it. And though Master Clarke lies under the imputation of heresy, I trow there is no sounder churchman nor godly and pure-living man in all Oxford than he, nor one whose life holds so fair a promise of shining like a light in a dark world."