Richard de Lacy. A tale of the later Lollards

Front matter

RICHARD DE LACY. A JeJU of Jie Wer WolWas CGdomnd (0&.unc€ Welts G&RDneR, H&RTorv €S»C° Lonoon: 2. Paternoster fiuitctm^s €C Westminster; 44Victorie, Sr S.W. RICHARD DE LACY a ttale ot the later XoIIar&s. BY C. EDMUND MAURICE, AUTHOR OF "ENGLISH POPULAR LEADERS IN THE MIDDLE AGES," "THE REVOLUTIONS OF 1848-9 IN ITALY, GERMANY, AND AUSTRIA-HUNGARY." Thoughts that great hearts once broke for, we Breathe cheaply in the common air ; The dust we trample heedlessly Throbbed once in saints and heroes rare. —Lowell. LONDON: WELLS GARDNER, DARTON, & CO. 2 PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C. AND 44 VICTORIA STREET, WESTMINSTER, S.W. IN THE IN WORK I ©e&fcate THIS BOOK TO MY DEAR SISTER-IN-LAW, 0 C T A V I A HILL, HOPE THAT SHE MAY BE ENCOURAGED IN HER DEPTFORD AND SOUTHWARK BY THE MEMORIES OF THOSE WHO LABOURED AND SUFFERED THERE IN EARLIER TIMES.

Preface

. It is superfluous, at the present day, to attempt a defence of the ordinary functions of the historical novelist. The right to use the imagination, and even the fancy, in reproducing past times, and realising more vividly the characters of well-known public persons, is granted by all. But there is another privilege, not so generally admitted, which I have claimed to exercise in the following story : the right, namely, of using the forms of fiction as a help in solving historical problems, and filling up the gaps in characters and events which have been left incomplete by the ordinary historian. With regard, for instance, to the character of Bishop Pecock, it must be admitted that a man who has been set down by some as a rather timid Protestant, and by others as an extreme champion of the Papacy, must certainly have had peculiarities worth studying, especially when \ve consider the storm of hatred which at last burst upon his head ; and I have thought that I could give my readers a much clearer concep tion of his character by introducing him in conversation with Archbishops and Lollards, than by writing an historical treatise on the subject.

So, again, with regard to the Lollard movement in the reign of Henry VI., I thought that I could best explain its relations to the other events of the time partly by showing its influence on a young man who was swayed and excited by the various interests of that period, and partly by filling out and developing the lives and characters of two of the most influ ential reforming leaders, whose stories have hitherto been left in a very fragmentary state. preface. VIII Lastly, with regard to the character, purposes, and political position of Jack Cade, I felt that, much as had been done by my friend Mr. Gairdner in the Fortnightly Review to remove ordinary misconceptions, there still remained problems in connection with his story which no historical documents could solve, but of which the solution could best be suggested in a work of fiction.

I have now only to thank those friends who have helped me in this work. Mr. Gairdner has made more than one suggestion of value with regard to certain historical points ; while Mr. Walter Besant suggested modifications, which I have adopted, in the original plan of my story. My friend Mr. Shadwell, of Oriel, has assisted me by giving me access to the Oriel MSS., and by first calling my attention to the valuable work of Mr. Maxwell Lyte on the history of the University of Oxford; Mr. Nathan Dews and the Rev. H. Hawkins have assisted me with the Deptford part of my story, and Mr. Halsted, of Chichester, procured me admission to the Records of that town. The Dean of Wells gave me a useful hint about the appointments to livings made by the monks of the fifteenth century, and the Librarian of Lambeth Palace gave me every facility for studying the Archiepiscopal Registers of the period.

CONTENTS. CHAP. r-AGE I. THE TWO RICHARDS I II. OXFORD IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY .... 7 III. A CRISIS 18 IV. BREAKING WITH THE PAST 36 V. A STRANGE ELECTION 55 VI. LONDON IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY .... 62 VII. DISCORDANT WATCHWORDS 68 VIII. NEW DIFFICULTIES AND NEW DECISIONS . . . ■ 79 IX. VICTORS AND VICTIMS 88 X. A BORN LEADER IO9 XI. LOVE IN SORROW 1 23 XII. A WIZARD AND A HERETIC 1 38 XIII. VICTORY IN DEFEAT 1 52 XIV. PREPARATIONS FOR REBELLION 185 XV. NEW GRIEVANCES AND NEW ENCOURAGEMENTS . . 2I4 XVI. A DOWNWARD STEP 226 XVII. THE RISING OF THE COMMONS 23O XVIII. THE FIRST REBUFF 236 XIX. CADE'S VICTORY 245 XX. THE RISING OF THE RABBLE 258 XXI. THE END OF THE REBELLION 265 XXII. THE BETTER CHOICE RICHARD DE LACY.

Chapter I. The Two Richards

"Those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain-light of all our day." — Wordsworth. It was a bright June day in the year 14 19. The sun was shining in through the windows of Chichester Cathedral, and lighting up the pale face of the recumbent statue of St. Richard, the bishop whose name is specially dear to the worshippers of that town. Two people were standing by the tomb. The elder was a stern-looking man, whose strongly-marked features showed signs of the struggles through which he had passed ; and a long scar on the left cheek suggested that he had at one time engaged in conflicts of a different kind. His Dominican dress added yet more to the somewhat forbidding aspect of his face. But, just at this moment, the grimness of his look was softened by the kindly glance of his eyes as he bent down to speak to his companion.

The latter was a youth of about sixteen, whose flowing hair and delicate features formed a marked contrast to the scarred and worn appearance of the elder man, while the movement of his sensitive mouth and rapt expression of his eyes showed the earnest attention with which he was listening to the words of his teacher. "Yes, Richard," the friar was saying, "thou art going into a world where strange and new temptations await thee. Not only secular learning, though our Holy Order has never scorned that help, as the foolish followers of St. Francis have done, but even righteousness and faith, purity, and obedience A "Ricbaro oc Xac£. 2 to Holy Church are decaying at Oxford in these latter days. It is therefore that I have brought thee to this place, that thou mayest refresh and strengthen thy spirit by the memory of the holy saint whose name thou bearest, and whose prayers thou wilt need.

Remember that neither king nor other earthly lord, neither the opinion of the world, nor the temptations of the flesh " Here the friar stopped for a moment, shuddered, and murmured a prayer to himself. Then he proceeded more firmly, " Nor the scorn of the proud, nor the evil-speaking of backbiters could turn the saint from his course. And that thou mayest ever have with thee a memo rial of the great work to which thou art called, and of the name which thou bearest, I give thee here this rosary made from the wood on the blessed Mount of Olives, which was worn by the saint in his last days, and left by him to an ancestor of thine, who preserved it in memory of the saint, and in token of penitence for the harshness which he had shown him in early life. From him it has been handed down in thy family till this day ; and now let it be to thee a symbol and token of that struggle after saintliness to which thou art consecrated, in fulfilment of that vow to fight against the infidel which thy father took with the late king, but which he was not suffered to fulfil.

And so, perchance, it may be given thee, as it was to the saint, to multiply the food of the hungry, and cure the diseases which earthly physicians knew not how to touch, and to vindicate the cause of the Church against infidels, Jews, and heretics." The voice of the Dominican had risen into a kind of chant as he spoke the last words ; and, as young Richard de Lacy bent forwards to receive the rosary, the sunlight seemed to make a kind of aureole round his hair, as if to embody in an outward sign the consecration of which his teacher spoke. The youth sank on his knees before the shrine of his name sake, and the Dominican, murmuring a blessing, left him to his devotions, and turned away into another part of the cathedral, from whence he passed into the cloisters. When Richard rose at length from his knees, he turned instinctively towards the window opposite the tomb of St. Richard, through which the sun was still streaming.

This window had been put up by John Langton, the Btshop of Chichester, whose part in resisting the corrupt favourites of Edward II. had been as decided as that of his more cele brated namesake in the struggle against John. In a niche in Ubc Œwo TOcbar&s. 3 the wall under the window stands Bishop Langton's tomb; and when Richard looked up, he saw the figure of a man, who was leaning against the tomb, and gazing alternately, and as if in deep thought, on the monuments of the two bishops. Richard, at the first moment, thought that the friar was still before him; and he had actually began to address him when the stranger started from his reverie and came forward. He was a man of about sixty years of age, but appeared at first sight somewhat older, partly from a stoop of the shoulders, and partly from the lines of care and sorrow that were marked on his face.

The brow was broad and thoughtful, and a sweet smile played about his mouth ; but there was an anxious and hesitating expression on it, which was certainly a striking contrast to the fiery enthusiasm of the Dominican, for whom Richard at first had mistaken him, and his dress was that of a secular priest. "I fear," he said, stepping forward, "that I have disturbed you at your devotions." Richard courteously reassured him, and asked if he was acquainted with the cathedral. " The memories," said the stranger, without seeming to notice the question, " of such saints and bishops as these must do much to nerve young men in their struggles with the world." "Not their memories only," answered Richard, "but their prayers also, and sometimes the miracles which they will per form for the benefit of their worshippers."

" Have you seen any of these miracles ? " said the stranger. " Not I," answered the youth ; " but there are many re corded in the Life of St. Richard." " St Richard ! " repeated the stranger. " I seem to have heard in early days of a Richard who was bishop here. Can you tell me what his surname was ? " "Yes," answered De Lacy ; " he was Richard de la Wyche, a member, as I understand, of a family well known for their services both to Church and king. The stranger started, and then stepped forward for a moment to the tomb, as if with an irrepressible impulse. But he drew back immediately, and turning to De Lacy said, " And what claim has he to saintship ? " " How mean you ? " said Richard, shrinking from his new acquaintance with astonishment. " He was duly canonised by our Holy Father the Pope, and the records of his life have been preserved by careful chroniclers."

" Ah ! yes," said the stranger, looking cautiously round TRicbarS oc %ac&. 4 him ; " and doubtless this bishop by whose tomb I am stand ing has also received this same honour." "Not that I know of," replied Richard; "yet he too did good service to the Church and the people against a corrupt king and his evil advisers." "And such services " said the stranger pausing. " But doubtless," he said, breaking off and looking more closely at Richard, "you have, as yet, known little of the evils which a corrupt government can bring upon a country. There is a monument here, in another part of the cathedral, of which you can perhaps tell me more, and which may have more interest for such as you." He led the way down the aisle and across the nave of the church. As they passed before the altar, Richard made his obeisance, and then, with a strange, irresistible curiosity, glanced at his new acquaintance.

The priest had stood still for a moment before passing out of the aisle, then, with some hesitation, had crossed the nave, at first erect ; then, on seeing Richard's glance, he made a slight inclination of the head, and an almost imperceptible movement of his body in the direction of the altar, after which he walked hurriedly on, and laid his hand on the monument to which he had alluded. It represented a knight and a lady lying side by side ; but it was in striking contrast to the stiff formality of ordinary sepulchral monuments. The knight has drawn off with his left hand the gauntlet from his right, and his bare hand clasps that of the lady, which she stretches across her breast to him. The stranger touched the monument, and looked inquir ingly at Richard. " I believe," said the latter, " that the man who lies there was a knight who fought under Edward III. in France, and who was celebrated for his fierceness and strength."

"Yet he seems to have been tamed," replied the priest, with a sad smile. "What do you know of the lady ? " " Only that she was his wife," answered Richard. " Only I" repeated the stranger; "yet she must have taught him things that your saintly bishop there knew little of." Richard glanced again in surprise at the dress of his companion. " Surely," said he, " I am not mistaken in think ing that you are " "A priest?" said the other. "No; you are ri-ht I have been a priest for many years, and I am proud^of my calling. Yet it is well that those who incline to take upon Zbz Uwo TRtcbarbs. 5 themselves the priest's office, or whose friends desire it for them, should know what they must renounce, as well as what they win, what they can teach, and what they are ignorant of." " But," said Richard in astonishment, " if you are ignorant of these things, how can you speak with such certainty of their excellence ?

" " Passing visions," replied the other, with a look half humorous, half sad, " may be granted to some of us ; just clear enough to make us realise what we have lost, and to enable us to warn others of the dangers in their path." " And how know you," said Richard, " that these dangers are likely to trouble me?" " I have not lived in the world so long, nor gone through so many experiences," said the priest, " without learning to read the faces of those whom I meet ; and I know well the kind of material of which those are made who enter eagerly into the service of the Church, and break their hearts in find ing that they have taken a wrong way to serve her. Am I not right in thinking that, either by your own wish or that of some friend, you too have been marked out for the priesthood?" There seemed to Richard something incomprehensible in the stranger's insight, and in the unexpected interest which he showed in Richard's affairs.

The suddenness of his appear ance ; his hesitation in crossing the nave of the cathedral ; his suggestions about the preferability of that human love which the Dominican had taught Richard to identify with sexual passion ; his strange smile, and something, as Richard fancied, in his walk, all brought to him the suggestion which was most natural to a youth of his temperament in such an age and time. Springing back and crossing himself, he ex claimed in a loud tone, "Apage, Sathanas !" The stranger was startled at this sudden outburst from a youth so gentle in appearance and manner; and he so far obeyed the adjuration of his companion as to step back a few paces before he could recover himself. Then he said slowly, and half to himself, "Why should I be "astonished at this treatment ? If they have called the Lord of the house Beel zebub, how much more them of His household !

" Then turning to Richard he said, " I have tried to serve Christ for many years, and do not fear reproach for His name." " But why, then," said Richard, " should you tempt me to desert His service? And why," he added, his suspicions "IRtcbarfc be Xacp. almost returning at the thought, "did you hesitate just now to bow before the high altar?" "Is that your proof of Satanic influence?" said the other with a smile. "Trust me, it is not the devils who shrink from the outward and formal service of the altar." " But who or what are you ? " said Richard ; " and why do you take such an interest in me ? " "I take an interest in you," said the other, "as one who seems about to tread the same course that I have trodden. And as for my name, it is one which, if you have heard, you have probably learnt to condemn.

Yet, as there can be no confidence without risk, I would tell you at once that my name is Richard Wyche." " Indeed," said the younger Richard with astonishment ; " then perhaps you are a kinsman of the saint ? " " I have that honour," replied the priest, " however unworthy I may seem to you to be ; yet I have never, till this day, seen the shrine of my saintly kinsman." Richard was puzzled at the tone of the speaker; but his interest in having discovered a relative of his patron saint overpowered every other feeling, and he hastened to offer a welcome to the stranger. " I indeed am to start for Oxford to-morrow," he said, " but my mother will feel honoured to welcome any of the kindred of our famous saint." "Perhaps there may be other inmates of your house to whom I might not be so welcome," replied Wyche suspiciously.

"There are only Father Felix, my Dominican confessor, and the servants," replied Richard. "A Dominican!" exclaimed the priest. "I fear that he would scarcely greet me so warmly." Again De Lacy looked suspiciously at his new friend. But the other at once added, "Do not think evil too hastily. There are many things which I may explain to you hereafter. And in return for your hospitable offer, if you should need a friend at Oxford, give this," and he wrote a few words hurriedly on a tablet, " to Master Peter Payne." So saying, he slipped the tablet into Richard's hand and disappeared in the aisles of the cathedral.

Chapter II. Oxford In The Fifteenth Century

" Cronica si penses, quum pugnant Oxonienses, Post paucos menses, volat ira per Angligenenses." — Old Rhyme. The next day Richard started for Oxford. The roads at that time were often dangerous, but Lady de Lacy provided so strong an escort, that her son travelled quite safely ; and having rested a night at Reading, he took boat up the Thames, and arrived at Oxford on the following day. As he entered the town from the river-side, he heard a buzz of voices, and noticed a number of people in holiday clothes pressing towards the south gate of the town ; and when he came near, he saw men in monks' dress standing near, who asked his name and business. He looked in some astonish ment at these guardians of the gate, and asked in whose name they made this demand. " In the name of the Prior of Abingdon," answered one of the monks.

" This gate is in his charge during the Fair of St. Frideswide." Richard looked down the narrow street, and saw it filled with stalls covered with every kind of rich ware, while mummers and buffoons were dancing and gesticulating in the neighbouring streets. One of the buffoons, with a cap and bells on his head, and a dress of all colours, drew near even while the monk was speaking; and Richard could not help contrasting the stern look and monastic garments of his questioner with the strange antics of the performer, who was apparently sanctioned by the monkish authority. He was so bewildered that he could hardly answer the questioner. "Now, young sir, will you answer my demand?" repeated the monk haughtily. " I come to study at Oxford," answered De Lacy, " and must needs ask if I have lost my way, or if you can direct me to Oriel College ?

" tRicbar5 be %ac\\ " A new scholar of Oriel ! " said the monk somewhat bitterly. "Ay! no wonder you love not monks; but you may hear more of us yet." " Drive us not too far, holy father," said a voice near him in a slightly foreign accent ; " or the scholar of Oriel may be more than a match for the monk." Richard turned towards the speaker, and encountered the glance of a sturdy broad-shouldered man, with a strange look in his dark lustrous eyes, which at once left an impression on Richard that he never forgot. He felt half inclined to shrink from him, and yet the next minute he was attracted in spite of himself. But before he could exchange any further greeting, the speakers were interrupted by a new comer. This was a graceful young man in a richly furred gown, whose manner and bearing seemed to claim submission as a right, and con trasted with the somewhat coarse insolence of the monk and the fierce aggressiveness of the scholar.

He at once addressed De Lacy, ignoring the other speakers. " I think, sir," he said, " from the livery of your followers, and from your like ness to one whom I saw when I was a boy, that you must be some relation to the late Sir John de Lacy." "I am his son," said Richard eagerly. " That is good," said the other cordially. " I am the Earl of Suffolk. Your father fought and died by my brother at Agin court, and I bid you heartily welcome to Oxford. Come with me to my rooms." As they passed down the streets together, threading their way with some difficulty through the booths which filled that part of the town, the Earl remarked, " I would not willingly seem to oppose the authority of the Church, though I do not greatly love the monks ; but it is needful to assert the privi leges of the nobility in the Oxford of to-day.

I hear that in the timeof King Richard the wiser spirits of the university made petition that none of villein blood should study here ; but that unfortunate king, who was too often misled by ill' advisers, would not listen to this just request, and since that time even more and stranger folk have come here; and, between the coarse Northerners and the wild Irish and Welsh, the university will soon be no place for men of noble blood and courtly breeding. But I hope soon to be quit of it. I leave shortly for the court, and then, if Heaven and the king so decide for the French wars." As he spoke they passed under the gateway of Oriel, and ©Ssorfc in tbe ffifteentb Centurg. 9 climbing a staircase in the only court which had then been built, they entered a room furnished with more luxury than any which Richard had known in the old-fashioned military simplicity of Lacy Castle.

The room indeed was small, but the air of refinement about the seats, the elaborate covers of the books, and the richly ornamented lutes and rapiers which lay in different places, gave an impression both of wealth and taste that contrasted almost as vividly with De Lacy's con ception of university life as had the strange confusion of St. Frideswide's Fair. Richard had scarcely had time to make these observations when there came a light tap at the door, and a tall and stately looking man entered the room. The new-comer was a little over thirty years of age ; his fine forehead, delicately-cut mouth, and upright figure gave him the appearance of a comely man ; and his face was but slightly marred by a scar which ran down the left cheek, marking the remains of a disease from which he had suffered in early life.

His manner was slightly pompous, and there was a general impression of self-satisfaction, which was yet not inconsistent with a humorous twinkle that lurked in the corner of his eye. All these points gradually forced themselves on Richard's notice as the new comer spoke. " Well, my lord ! " he said, " so I hear that these Northerners will yet give us more trouble with their turbulence. Some leaders of the former sedition have been seen in the town. I have told Dr. Gascoigne that if he desires to restore order in the Church, he must begin with his own friends and supporters." " They say," answered the Earl, " that Dr. Gascoigne aims at the Chancellorship for next year. It would be but an evil time for you, Dr. Pecock, if that should come to pass. But let me bring you a new pupil. This is young Richard de Lacy, a son of my brother's old comrade-in-arms ; and this, Master Richard, is the learned Dr. Pecock, who has trained me in such small learning as I have mustered, and to whom I commend you."

" Come with me, young man," said Pecock, " and let me see of what you are capable. I take my leave of you, my lord." Suffolk answered his inclination with a slight bow; and Pecock conducted his new pupil to a somewhat larger room, in another part of the college, where, throwing himself into a chair, he addressed Richard as follows : — " Well, young man, you have come to Oxford at a some what troublous time, when men seem inclined to settle all difficult questions by the fist, club, sword, or stake, rather than TRfcbarD &e Xacy>. 10 by argument; and you are, doubtless, eager to rush to the wars instead of spending your youth in the study of learned languages or theological subtleties." Richard looked up in surprise, and Pecock, catching the look, added, "But perhaps I am mistaken in you." " Indeed, sir," said Richard, "I have been set apart for the priesthood from my earliest years ; and, though the memory of my father makes his profession dear to me, I have no desire to do aught that is unfitted to the sacred calling for which I am chosen.

And besides," he added with a smile, " Father Felix has often told me that I shall need as much energy for the war against heresy as any soldier might need for the wars in France." "Hm!" answered Pecock doubtfully; "and who is this Father Felix, who has trained you in this love of spiritual warfare ? " " He is a brother of the Order of St. Dominic," replied Richard, "who was himself a soldier in his youth." "Ah!" said Pecock, "and no doubt he thinks that the secular sword should be ever used to second the sword of the spirit. Not that I would say a word to diminish the honour due to the Regular Orders, but their zeal sometimes outruns their discretion. And with what weapons has Father Felix girded you for this warfare? " " He has trained me in the study of the breviary, in the lives of the saints, and the writings of the early Fathers."

Pecock threw himself back in his chair, stroked his chin, and a complacent smile stole over his mouth. "Excellent training {or youth" said he with an emphasis on the last word. " But you are aware that here, in Oxford, we must cultivate the study of logic and reason. And as for the Fathers," (he smiled again), " I trust Father Felix has reminded you that the Fathers at best were but men ; and that there may be those who have lived since their time who have had, per chance, more knowledge of men, and some greater inkling of the rules of logic." Richard felt puzzled and pained by this speech. The mixture of self-satisfaction, and, as it appeared to him, of want of reverence, suggested a contrast with the stern and heroic tone of Father Felix, which could not but tell against the new acquaintance.

Pecock was conscious, in some degree, of the want of sympathy in his auditor. But the vanity which so strangely mingled with, and sometimes obscured, his shrewd- Oicfovb in tbe fftsteentb Century. 11 ness and ability, continually hindered him from being able to find points of contact with those whom he most desired to influence ; and, while his followers, unable to take the middle course which suited his peculiar intellect, drifted into the ranks of those stern reformers whom Pecock disliked, his enemies were as much embittered by his arrogance as alarmed by the freedom of his speculations. To such speculations Richard had no inclination ; nor had he any desire, on the other hand, to condemn or fight against undue claims of his elders over him. Words of contempt for authority simply made him shrink into himself, and feel that there was nothing in common between him and this man.