The House of Walderne Part 24

"But not as the Viatic.u.m {20}, thank G.o.d. Wait awhile, I go to fetch it from the altar."

And the successor of Adam de Maresco, the new head of the Oxford House, left the youth and went into their plainly-furnished chapel, where, in a silver dove, the only silver about the church, the reserved sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ was always kept for the sick in case of need. It hung from the beams of the chancel, before the high altar.

First the prior knelt and thanked G.o.d for having preserved the life of the youth they all loved.

"Thou hast yet great things for him to do on earth ere it come to his turn to rest," he murmured. "To Thee be all the glory."

Then he returned and gave the young novice his communion. Martin received it, and said, "I have found Him whom my soul loveth. I will hold Him and will not let Him go."

From that time the patient was able to take solid nourishment, and grew rapidly better, until at last he could leave his room and sit in the sunny cloisters:

Restored to life, and power, and thought.

And one day he sat there, dreamily watching old Father Thames, as he murmured and bubbled along, outside the stone boundary.

"Onward till he lose himself in the ocean, so do flow our lives till they merge into eternity," said the prior. "Now with impetuous flow, now in gentler ripple, but ever onward as G.o.d hath ordained; so may our souls, when the work of life is accomplished, lose themselves in G.o.d."

Martin moved his lips in silent acquiescence.

It was intense, the enjoyment of that sweet spring day, a day when all the birds seemed singing songs of gladness, and the air was balmy beyond description. Life seemed worth living.

"My son, when thou art better thou must travel for change of air."

"Whither?" said Martin.

"Where wouldst thou like to go?"

"Oh, may I go to my kindred and teach them the holy truths of the Gospel?"

"Thou shalt. Brother Ginepro shall go with thee, and ere thou startest thou shalt be admitted to the privileges and duties of the second order, and be Brother Martin."

"And when shall I be ordained?"

"That may not be, yet. Thou art not twenty years of age. Thou mayst win many souls to Christ while a lay brother, as did Francis himself, our great master. He did not seek the priesthood also, too great a burden for a humble soul like his, and certes, if men understood what a priest is and what he should be, there would be fewer but perchance holier priests than there are now."

The reader must remember that nearly all the friars were laymen; lay preachers, as we would say; preaching was not then considered a special clerical function.

Martin could not speak for joy, but soon tears were seen to start down his cheeks.

"I was thinking of my poor mother. Oh, that she had lived to see this day," he exclaimed, as he saw the prior observe his emotion.

The reader will remember that news of her death had reached Martin soon after his arrival at Kenilworth, without which he could not have remained all these years away from the Andredsweald. Her death had partially (only partially) snapped the link which bound him to his kindred, the love of whom now began to revive in the breast of the convalescent.

Chapter 14: May Day In Lewes.

It was the May Day of 1259, one of the brightest days of the calendar. The season was well forward, the elms and bushes had arrayed themselves in their brightest robe of green; the hedges were white and fragrant with may; the anemone, the primrose, the cowslip, and blue bell carpeted the sward of the Andredsweald; the oaks and poplars were already putting on their summer garb. The b.u.t.terflies settled upon flower after flower; the bees were rejoicing in their labour; their work glowed, and the sweet honey was fragrant with thyme.

Oh how lovely were the works of G.o.d upon that bright May Day, as from village church and forest sanctuary the population of Suss.e.x poured out from the portals, after the ma.s.s of Saints Philip and James; the children bearing garlands and dressed in a hundred fantastic hues, the May-poles set up on every green, the Queen of May chosen by lot from amongst the village maidens.

Never were sweeter nooks, wherein to spend Maytide, than around the villages and hamlets of the Andredsweald, whither the action of our tale betakes itself again--around Chiddinglye, h.e.l.linglye, Alfristun, Selmestun, Heathfeld, Mayfeld, and the like--not, as now, accessible by rail and surrounded by arable lands; but settlements in the forest, with the mighty oaks and beeches which had perchance seen the coming of Ella and Cissa, long ere the Norman set foot in Angleland; and with solemn glades where the wind made music in the tree tops, and the graceful deer bounded athwart the avenue, to seek refuge in tangled brake and inaccessible mora.s.s.

Chief amongst these Suss.e.x towns and villages was the old borough of Lewes, distinguished alike by castle and priory. The modern visitor may still ascend to the summit of the highest tower of that castle, but how different (yet how much the same) was the scene which a young knight viewed thence on this May Day of 1259. He had come up there to take his last look at the fair land of England ere he left it for years, it might be never to return.

"It is a fair land; G.o.d keep it till I return."

The great lines of Downs stretched away--northwest to Ditchling Beacon; southwest to Brighthelmston, a hamlet then little known; on the east rose Mount Caburn, graceful in outline (recalling Mount Tabor to the fond remembrance of the crusaders); southeast the long line stretched away by Firle Beacon to Beachy Head.

"Ah, there is Walderne, away far off, just to the left of the eastern range of Downs--I see it across the plain twelve miles away. 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 soon bid them all farewell."

Then the young knight turned and looked on the fertile valley wherein meandered the Ouse. The grand priory lay below: its magnificent church, well known to our readers; its towers and pinnacles.

"And there my poor father wears out his days, now a brother professed. And he, for whom Europe was not large enough in his youth, now never leaves the convent's boundaries. But he is about to travel to Jerusalem by proxy.

"If only I could see Martin again. I cannot think why Martin and I should be like Damon and Pythias, to whom the chaplain once compared us. But we are, although one will fain be a friar and the other 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 was gayer guest at the noontide meal, the "nuncheon" of Earl Warrenne of Lewes, the lord of the castle.

It was eventide, and the marketplace was filled with an excited population. There were ruffling men-at-arms, stolid rustics, frightened women and children, overturned stalls, shouts and screams; unsavoury missiles, such as rotten eggs and stale vegetables, were flying about; and in the midst of the open s.p.a.ce the figure of a Jew, who had excited the indignation of the mult.i.tude, was the object of violent aggression which seemed likely to endanger his life.

A miracle had occurred. The crucifix over the rood at Saint Michael's Church had suddenly blazed out with a supernatural light, which had endured for many minutes: the mult.i.tude flocked in to see and adore, and much was the reputation of Saint Michael's shrine enhanced, when this unbelieving Jew actually had the temerity to a.s.sert that the light was only caused by the rays of the sun falling directly upon the figure through a window in the western wall, narrow as the slits we see in the old castle towers, so arranged as on this particular day to bring the rays of the setting sun full upon the gilding of the cross {21}.

But the explanation, probably true, was the signal for frantic cries:

"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" had not an interruption, characteristic of the age, occurred.

Two friars, clad in the garb of Saint Francis, just then entered the square and learned the cause of the tumult. Their action was immediate. The brethren stalked into the midst of the crowd, which made way for them as if a superior being had commanded their reverence, and one of the two mounted on a cart, and took for his text, in a clear piercing voice which was heard everywhere, "Christ, and Him crucified."

The swords were hastily thrust into their scabbards, the missiles ceased. The other brother had reached the Jew.

"Vengeance is mine, I will repay," said he. "He is the prisoner of the Lord; accursed be he who touches him; may his hand rot off, and his 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 ill.u.s.trations from the circ.u.mstances of the day.

"The object of the Crucifixion," he said, "had yet to be attained amongst them."

A crucifix had, as he heard, shone with a mysterious light, and one had desecrated it with his tongue. But, worse than that, he saw a thousand desecrated forms before him who ought to be living crucifixes, for were they not told to crucify the flesh with its affections and l.u.s.ts, to remain upon their voluntary crosses till Christ 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 saints of that day, Saints Philip and James, had done; giving heart for heart, love for love; or were they worshipping dread and ghastly idols, their own l.u.s.ts and pa.s.sions? In short, were they to be companions of the angels--G.o.d's holy ones? Or the slaves and sport of the cruel and fiery fiends for evermore?

The power of an orator, and Martin was a born orator, over the men of the middle ages was marvellous. Few could read, and books were scarce as jewels. The tongue, the living voice, had to do the work which the public press does now, as well as its own, and the preacher was a power. But those medieval sermons were full of quaint ill.u.s.trations.