"I have nought to do with that, nor have you, Master Miles. It is your duty to obey your father, and not consider questions of State,—how the nation is to be fed."
"Nay, but I may consider how I am myself to be fed by-and-bye, I trow. Of what use is a goodly store of wool if there is no corn to make bread?"
"Corn can be bought in the Low Countries, whither we send our wool; but that is not the question we have to consider, but the signing these parchments for Master Morpeth, who is in haste to take possession."
"I have told you what I think of the matter: that I will not sell my birthright for a sack of wool or gold either. It will be mine own inheritance in a few years' time, and I may then sorely sorrow over it if I should give mine inheritance to a stranger now."
"And is this the answer I am to take to Sir Thomas?" asked the monk.
"Nay, I will talk with my father over the matter, but I shall not alter my present will about it."
"Nay, Sir Thomas will not talk again with thee upon this matter, but he bade me warn you that he should go to Diccon, the blacksmith, without delay," and as he spoke the monk watched Miles closely, to see what effect this threat had upon him.
Try as he would the lad could not keep the look of horror out of his eyes, or his cheeks from paling as he sat and looked at the rolls of parchment, which the monk deliberately put up while he watched the effect of his words upon the lad.
The result seemed to satisfy him, for, with a low chuckle, he said, as he bade Miles good morning, "You will sign these to-morrow."
Miles made no reply to this, but as soon as the monk had left the house, and he saw him striding back to the monastery, he went up to his sister's room—not to trouble her with what had passed—but to have one more talk with her, for when the monk said, "You will send for me again to-morrow," he resolved to go back to Oxford while he was able to do so, for he feared his father might carry out his threat in his anger and disappointment at his refusal to sign the parchments.
Fortunately he had a good sum of money that his father had given him the day before, and so he went to his sister's room first, and then to the stable to tell his servant to have the horses ready in a few minutes, as he intended to ride to the town of Woodstock.
He made no secret of this intention, and, meeting his mother, he told her of it, and bade her good-bye with all the affectionate deference she would permit.
As he rode through the park he looked back at his sister's window, and waved his hand to her in token of farewell, and then bade his servant ride on with all speed possible, as he hoped to reach Oxford by nightfall.
"Oxford?" queried the servant in a tone of amazement.
"Aye; did'st ever hear of mad Sir Philip Warren and his cage?" said Miles.
"Aye, I have, master," said the young fellow, with a shudder.
"Well, Oxford must save me from that fate. My father will have it that I am mad over some matters in which we cannot agree, and so I must leave home until his anger cools or his purpose changes, for I know not but they might drive me mad, and then put me in such a cage."
"And is that the business Diccon the blacksmith was to see about in such haste, Master Miles?"
"Then my father hath seen Diccon?" said the lad.
"Aye, he went to the forge while the monk was at the Hall," said the servant, and then both of them urged their horses into a canter, fur they must push on with all speed possible that the shelter of the college might be reached with as little delay as possible.
IT is possible that if Miles and his servant had not been so intent upon gaining the shelter that would be afforded by the university, they might have noticed the rustling of twigs and the movement in the bushes bordering the lane down which they were travelling, but, as it was, they were taken wholly by surprise when a party of men sprang out upon them. While two seized the heads of their horses and brought them to a standstill, others seized Miles and his servant, dragged them to the ground, and proceeded to pinion their arms behind, though they fought and struggled, and kicked and swore, and made every effort to throw off their captors. The party was too large for them to do anything beyond giving the robbers a few ugly blows that did but madden them the more, while they bound their captives and carried them into the shelter of the adjacent wood before other travellers should come along and try to effect a rescue.
Miles had tried to shout while he was being bound, but his efforts were effectually stopped by a rag of some sort being thrust into his mouth, and his servant was treated in the same way when he tried to help his master.
The whole affair had happened so quickly and unexpectedly that it had passed in comparative silence; and they were being carried like trussed poultry into the heart of the wood before Miles had time or thought to notice very particularly who his captors were, but, after the first shock of the capture was over, he began to notice some of these particulars, and the sight was not reassuring. The whole party were evidently robbers, who would stick at nothing in carrying out their purpose, and whether he would ever see the walls of Oxford again was very doubtful, he thought, for, having stolen the horses, they would very likely murder their prisoners on the principle of dead men telling no tales.
As he caught sight of the face of his servant, Reuben Patter, he saw from the white, terror-stricken look in it that the same thought had occurred to him, but neither could speak, they were both too effectually gagged; and so they were half-carried, half-dragged, over the briery ground until they were suddenly met by a scattered crowd, who had evidently been out begging in spite of the rigorous laws against this practice, and were making their way to some common centre by different woodland paths that converged near this place.
Some of these were strong, stalwart men, unkempt and ragged, whose faces were stamped with misery and despair rather than vice. There were blind men being led by snappish little curs, and others who bore on their cheeks the cruel marks of the searing iron, branding them for ever as beggars and vagabonds and rogues, from force of circumstances if not from choice. The motely throng gave a faint cheer at the sight of the prisoners, for although they might not be of so much use to the hungry crew as a good fat sheep or a couple of hogs, still they knew their captors well enough to feel assured that they would not be allowed to escape without a good stiff ransom being paid, and so they stepped on more cheerfully and briskly.
From the muttered words and oaths that were uttered by the party who had captured them it was evident to Miles that this meeting with the beggars and less determined rogues of the band was by no means welcome to their captors, and a hasty parley was held, but Miles could not make out much of what was said, for it was conducted in thieves' and beggars' language. But the outcome of it was that their eyes were bandaged the next minute, and, as it seemed to them, the course of their journey was altered.
But before they had gone far they were met by another party of beggars returning with what they had been able to beg, steal, or earn by plying the trade of tinkers, and they kept with these to the great relief of Miles.
Judging by the sound rather than by what they could see, they were carried into a large cave a few minutes later, and deposited at the back of it, both helplessly bound still, but the bandages were taken off their eyes, and the dirty rags out of their mouths, and, for the first time, Miles was asked his name and where his friends might be found.
"My name is Miles Paton, and I am the son of Sir Thomas Paton of Woodstock," said Miles.
Something like a hush fell upon the group that was near him as he said this. Miles was sensible of it although no word was spoken, and he wondered whether these were some of the villains who had killed his brother, and would only be too glad to kill him now they had got the chance. But he would not let them see his fears. He asked them in a calm voice to loosen the rope round his wrists, for it was cutting sorely into the flesh, and caused him great agony. But they paid no attention to his request. That he was a son of Sir Thomas Paton was a fact that needed a good deal of discussion it seemed; and the men turned away and left their captors to consider among themselves what their next step should be.
Miles groaned aloud, for the pain and strain of wrists and arms wrung this from him, while poor Reuben, giving himself up for lost, bellowed aloud for his poor old father and mother.
"Don't, don't, Reuben—be a man," said Miles, when, just as he spoke and before he could say another word, there came a stealthy hand out of the darkness at the back, and, to Miles' intense surprise, began untying the knotted rope.
"Cry—groan—make a noise," were the whispered words spoken in his ear by a woman's voice, and Miles felt sure he had heard that voice before somewhere.
He gave the requisite groans, while Reuben indulged in a low, half-suppressed howl, that was sufficient to let the rest of the party know that they were having an uncomfortable time of it, and so give the woman a chance of loosening their bonds.
They found that she did not dare to leave them untied, but the slackening of the thongs was an intense relief, and when she had finished her task he asked her name.
"Patty Bunce," answered the woman, "and my husband worked for Farmer Rankin until we were all turned off the land to make room for the sheep, and now we are all beggars here, or worse." The poor woman then burst into tears in spite of her efforts to keep calm and still for fear she should be discovered.
She made haste to leave that part of the cave, and Miles heard her voice calling to one of her children the next minute.
As he lay now he managed to see more of this motely crew. Men, women, and children of all ages seemed to have found a shelter here, for there was a dull fire of sticks burning in the middle of the cave, and here such primitive cooking was done by one and another as their means would afford.
There were a few decent folks like the Bunces and Rankins who tried to keep the boys and girls close round them when the rougher dwellers of the cave came to take possession, but it was evident the younger ones were getting used to their surroundings, and liked listening to the ribald tales and coarse jokes, and joined in the laughter that rang through the place.
There were several cripples as well as blind men in the company; old soldiers who had lost a leg in the wars between France and England, and, escaping death on the battlefield, had been brought home and turned adrift, maimed and almost helpless, eking out a miserable existence with the tales they could tell for a piece of bread or a jug of mead, and finding a refuge with other outcasts during the night.
Miles lay and listened, and watched the various groups. Some were thieves from choice there was little doubt, but many alas! were decent farmers and farm labourers, who, with their families, had been driven from the land, and whose number his father wanted to increase.
By-and-bye he saw Rankin himself enter the cave, but he was greatly changed from when he had last seen him. Instead of the bluff, hearty manner of the old days, he walked with a slouching step, and had a furtive hangdog look about him. But when someone whispered a few words, and pointed to the back of the cave, evidently telling him where the son of his greatest enemy lay helplessly bound, a look of anger came into the man's face, and he clenched his fists. Miles saw that there was little mercy to be expected from his old neighbour, and his heart almost died within him.
Reuben also saw the look, but he was more hopeful than his master, if he could only get a chance of speaking to Rankin, and so it was a great relief to him when he heard one of their captors say, "Now, Rankin, I give them into your charge; you have no cause to love a Paton or any of the brood. If we can make a little money of him we will, but we must hear about the horses first," and from what followed Miles learned that these had been taken in different directions to be sold, and if they could make a similar bargain for the release of Miles and his servant with Sir Thomas, his father, they would.
The prospect thus opened before the young fellow made him groan aloud in despair, and when Rankin came and took up his post as gaoler he said, impulsively, "Kill me outright if you like, Rankin, but don't sell me to my father."
"Then you know who I am, sir," said the man, in a surly tone.
"Yes, I know you, and know you have no cause to show mercy to a Paton."
"Perhaps not," said Reuben, "but I never harmed Master Rankin, and so I hope he'll spare my life, and hear what I've got to say, before he goes to tell Sir Thomas where you may be found."
"Well, speak out, man," said Rankin, "my temper ain't got any sweeter while I have been here, and I curse the Patons every day of my life."
"Yes, yes, and you have cause, poor fellow," said Miles, pityingly, "but I can tell you it was not my fault, and I never knew what had happened until I went home to my brother's funeral and saw the village empty."
"Aye, and if you sell us to Sir Thomas there'll soon be another village empty, and the farms given up to sheep," interrupted Reuben, "for my master here is to be put into a cage, like mad Sir Philip Warren, because he will by no means sign the papers to make the rest of the land into sheep farms."
Rankin had heard something of this being in contemplation, and so he listened in stolid silence while Reuben told his tale. Miles said a word now and then on behalf of his father, and, but for his desperate strait, would not have let Reuben tell why they were flying to Oxford, but nothing Reuben could say would lessen or increase the hate that burned in the breast of this man against his oppressor, or the son that had practically forced his father into taking this step. But against this Oxford lad they had no grudge. On the contrary he had always made himself a friend of the farmer and villagers alike, and Reuben's story now, and the consequences that would follow if Miles should be taken and declared to be insane, would be disastrous to everybody.
Already the country was so overrun with beggars and thieves that those who felt the greatest pity had to refuse help because of the numbers that beset them day by day, and so, for this number to be increased, when it could be prevented, was not to be thought of. But at the same time the men had set out on their journey to Woodstock to try and negotiate for the ransom for their two prisoners, and so, if anything was to be done to save them from being handed over to Sir Thomas, it must be done at once.
Doubtless the thought of doing the squire an ill turn was not without its charm for Rankin, but he did not say a word about this. He sat for a minute or two considering the matter, and then he said, "We must all go, and get away as soon as possible."
"What do you mean?" asked Miles, as Rankin began to saw away with his blunt knife at the cords round his ankles.
"It will be my life for yours, Master Miles," said the farmer in a whisper.
"Then leave us where we are," said Miles.
But the man shook his head, saying, "You are of more use than I am, and my wife is not here just now, so we may be able to get away together when it is dark."
"But if you are caught?" said Miles.
"Then you must try to get away so as not to be forced into setting up more sheep farms. If Master John had only done as you have he would have been alive now. Mind, I did not kill him, and I knew nothing about it till afterwards, but I know he would not have met with his death if so many of us had not been driven from our homes."
While he had been speaking he had cut all their bonds, but told them to keep quite still until the rest of the party were fast asleep, and then to follow him silently, without asking a question as to where they were going.
The women and children had mostly retired by this time to their several nooks and lairs, but the festivity of the few half-drunken rascals, who were still sprawling round the fire, had not ceased, and to the anxious watchers at the back of the cave it seemed as though these roysterers would never go to sleep.
Night had fallen long since, and it seemed as though morning would dawn before the last of them fell asleep. But their patience was rewarded at last with a chorus of snores that assured them they could move at last, and they followed their guide—not to the mouth of the cave, as they expected—but into what seemed the very wall of it at the first touch, which, however, gradually revealed itself as a narrow winding passage that was just large enough for them to creep through, and at last opened in the midst of some bushes on the brink of a pond.
"Hush!" whispered Rankin, when Miles would have thanked him, for to breathe the fresh, pure air after that noisome cave was something to be thankful for.
Silently they followed, as he led them by winding woodland paths, through the tangle of trees and briers, out into a wider and more frequented roadway.
"We are little more than an hour's walk from Oxford now," said Rankin, "and I think you would be able to find your way to the gates as soon as they are opened in the morning."
But Miles begged him to stay, and go with him to the town, and try to get some employment there.
If he could only have seen it, the man's face would have told him how grateful he was, even for the offer of such help as this, but he said, "I am afraid it is too late for me to get any work but farming."
"Nay, but come and see. I have friends in the town as well as in the colleges, and surely someone might find room for a pair of willing hands and strong arms. I have enough to keep you for a few days at an hostelry; and then—"
As he spoke Miles put his hands to his leathern pouch, which he thought was securely fastened under his doublet. But alas! the robbers had stripped him of that and every crown that was in it, so that he was penniless.
He sank down upon the ground and groaned aloud as he realised this, for what should he do now if his father refused to send him any more? And he felt sure that his father would refuse unless he should agree to sign the documents that would practically consign several other families to ruin.
"What is it, my master?" asked Reuben, fearing his master had been wounded.
"My money I my money Reuben. The rogues have robbed me of every penny."
"Yes, I saw them do it while you were struggling on the ground. I thought you saw it too."
"No, I thought only of getting away from them. This is ruin indeed."
"But we can all work, my master," said Reuben, cheerfully, but Rankin spoke no word, for he knew better than either of the others how helpless a man was in the world without money. But he resolved to stand by the young fellow who had dared so much for the sake of saving others from the ruin that had overtaken him; and so the three trudged on through the dawning light, hoping to gain the gates of the city by the time they opened, and so secure a refuge before their escape was discovered.
OUR three friends presented a sorry spectacle in the streets of Oxford, but Miles was known at a small hostelry near his college, and to this he took Rankin and Reuben, bidding the landlord supply them with a good meal, and the means of making themselves decent.
He then went in search of some of his own friends, and, as it was still early, had little difficulty in finding them.
They laughed at his sorry appearance, and his story of falling among thieves on his way, but they were ready enough to help him, for he was very popular, both with students and teachers, and they were glad enough to see him back among them.
In the quiet of his own room, however, Miles began to think of the graver difficulty that beset him now, for he feared his father would not send him any money; and, as he had not entered the college as a poor student, money was needed at every turn.
Fortunately the robbers had not taken his Greek New Testament, but had put it back into the inner pocket when they took his money, probably thinking it was safest there and of no value to them; and as Miles laid this precious treasure on the table while he changed his clothes, it suddenly occurred to him that he might perhaps earn a little money by translating this, or some portion of it, into English. Many of the students, who were not sufficiently masters of the Greek tongue, had openly wished that someone would translate it into English for them, and as he was a pretty good Greek scholar he thought he might be able in his leisure time to translate one or two of the Gospels, and, having made one fair copy, it would not take long to copy it again, and he resolved to sit down to his task that very day and try what he could do, before mentioning it to any of his friends.
Then he had to consider what was to be done for Reuben and Rankin. Without money to help himself, it was a sore perplexity to know what to do for them. Reuben would go back to Woodstock, of course, and tell his father what had happened, and the sooner he set out the better. But there was also the farmer, who had risked his life to save him, he also must be thought for, and, if possible, provided for, though how it was to be done it was hard to say; and Miles was so long considering the subject that two of his friends came in search of him an hour or two later.
"Why did you not come to the lecture?" said one. "We made sure we should see you there."
"Well, I must go and see my tutor, and ask him a few questions before I can do anything," said Miles, "and I was hardly fit for lecture this morning, having had no sleep all night." And then by degrees he told these friends something of the difficulties in which he found himself placed, and the uncertainty whether his father would send him any more money, even when his servant got back to Woodstock.
"Why, you are trying to work out More's 'Utopia,'" said one of his friends, laughing.
"What is that?" asked Miles. "Another new book from the Greek?"
"Oh, no; it is in simple English that anyone can read, and so I suppose it is beneath the notice of you Greek scholars."
"But you said I had been trying to practice it."
"Well, it seems like it from what you say, for the dwellers in 'Nowhere'—More's grand republic—must all have set to work in your way, and tried to do to others as they would be done by."
"But, man alive, that is not in the 'Utopia,' but in the New Testament, and one of the commands of Christ Himself," said Miles, quickly. "That is why it would be such a good thing if we could get the New Testament translated into English, that men may learn what the mind of Christ is in such matters. That was why Dean Colet was so anxious that all Oxford students should study Greek—that each might find for himself a rational and practical basis for religion—one fit to help a man in the every-day concerns of life, and not for a monastery. Monasteries might have been all very well a few hundred years ago, but we want a religion for farmers, and landlords, and workpeople, in this year of grace and new light 1520."
"So you've begun the practice of it as a landlord's son," said one of his friends, a little derisively. "I think I should have done my father's bidding, and let him take the responsibility," he added.
"But none could take that for me when I had once learned the truth of the Gospel in such matters," answered Miles. "It is my father who cannot take the responsibility, because he has not learned what I have. The light of the new learning had not dawned when he was at Oxford, and so he can but walk in the old darkness, as it seems to me. But for me to follow, because the light makes my path a little harder, is to brand myself as a coward, and unworthy of the new learning. Could I be a true Grecian, do you think, and not do what I can to save the poor from further wretchedness?"
"Oh! you are one of More's Utopians. I will bring you the book and let you read it," he said, laughing, "if you can condescend to read anything so simple as English."
Miles felt a little disturbed by this talk with his friend, for there was a touch of irony in his tone, and a want of sympathy that hurt the lad's sensitiveness, and he wondered whether his tutor would pour ridicule on his proposed plan to help himself.
But before going to see this older and more experienced friend he went in search of Reuben, whom he found still at the hostelry. But Rankin had been too impatient to go in search of work, to stay longer than was necessary to make himself look more like a decent workman.
"Well, you must abide here to-night, and then set off on your journey to Woodstock early in the morning. It may be you will find travellers going in the same direction, and who will be glad for you to join them. My father will be angry over the loss of the horses, I am sure, but you must do what you can to smooth matters for me, Reuben. And for the rest, tell my father I was very sorry to depart from home in such haste, but his commands left me no choice. If he will send me such moneys to Oxford as I need, to pay the cost of my learning, I shall be truly thankful; but if he will not, then I must seek such employment as I can get, to enable me to finish that which has been well begun. Give my reverent love to my mother, and assure her that I shall not do anything to disgrace the name of my father and mother. If you can obtain speech of my sister, or her maid, ask her to send me somewhat from her store, by the hand of any faithful messenger, that I may be able to pay your score here, for the rogues left me without a penny, and I shall have to sell some of my books to supply my own wants until I can earn a little money."
He bade Reuben farewell, rather ruefully, and then decided to walk round the town, and see how the new college was progressing.
"I wonder what name they will give it when it is finished?" he said, half aloud, as he paused in front of the building that was now well on its way to completion.
"Oh, it will be 'Cardinal College' or 'Wolsey College,' of course, as it is being built for the honour and glory of our great Chancellor," remarked a stranger who stood near.
But before Miles could reply he was pushed aside by a party of workmen, bearing some heavy slabs of stone, which they seemed to be very careful should not be damaged, and to his great surprise he recognised Rankin as one of the party.
The man was too intent upon preserving from damage the stone that he was carrying to notice Miles, but he saw that already the man's whole aspect had undergone a change, and he followed until the stone was set down, and Rankin was free to stretch himself and say a word as he walked back to fetch the next load.
"Why, Rankin, how is this?" asked Miles, in a tone of pleased surprise.
"Aye, Master Miles, you may well say, 'How is this?' God and the Blessed Virgin be thanked! for I never expected such good luck would come to me, I can tell you."
"Aye, you have got work I can see. But will it last beyond the day?"
"Oh, yes, I hope so. You see they are pulling down the monastery away yonder to build this new college, and some of the stones they are moving now are delicately carved, and need careful handling, as well as a strong man to do it. This morning there was an accident—one of the stones got damaged, and one of the men hurt, and, as I was near, I lent a hand to save the poor fellow from being crushed. One of the master masons saw me do it, and when the injured man had been carried to the convent for the monks to nurse him, he asked if I would take his place, as I seemed a strong man and able to handle the stones. So here I am, and I hope I shall stay here, and be able to help my poor wife and children to something better than a home in a cave before the winter quite settles down upon us."
"Aye, that would be a blessing indeed," said Miles, warmly, "worth being taken prisoner and robbed," laughed he. "I wonder you have not tried to get work before, Rankin," he added.
"Tried! Master Miles, I have almost gone down on my knees when I have been asking for work," said the man, earnestly. "I suppose the Lord sent it just now, because He knows I can't go back to the woods for a living. But there's my poor wife to be thought of still."
"Yes, but I thought she had gone to stay with her sister for a few weeks," said Miles. "Now, couldn't Reuben take a message to her on his way back to Woodstock? Let him carry the good news that you have found work at last, and it may be she can stay where she is for the present, as you will be able to pay something of her charges when a messenger can be found to carry it; or one of us can journey thither ourselves."
"Master Miles, that is a wise thought, and if Reuben will only carry the news I shall be thankful. I cannot stay to talk longer," he added, and he ran off after his fellow-workmen, for fear he should be thought to be idling if he was not ready with the rest to shoulder the slab that should be given into his charge.
It was heavy work, but the landlord of the hostelry had given him a good meal, and he could pay for the next himself, and hope gave him strength and courage too.
It also cheered Miles, and, as he took his way to his tutor's room, he thought his mischance of being taken prisoner was not such a grievous calamity after all if it helped poor Rankin into a settled mode of living.
He was so full of this that he told his friend all about this first, and then spoke of his own changed prospects unless his father would forgive him and send him the needful means to continue his studies until he could take his degree.
"You are a very good Greek scholar I know, Paton, but whether you could earn anything by translating is another matter. There is also the law of the Church to be considered, for what you propose to do is in direct contravention of it. We have this beautiful Testament of Erasmus, and we cannot be too thankful for it, but although our present Archbishop Warham, and many others, approve of it, many see in it a great danger to the Church, and what they would say or do, if it was known that anyone dared to do it into English, I cannot tell."
Miles opened his eyes in astonishment. "If it is so good for us who have learned the Greek tongue, why should it not be good for those who can only read English, but yet desire to find a rational practical religion such as the New Testament teaches?"
"Because it is not considered safe to put the Bible into the hands of the unlearned. While it is in Greek and Latin only it is safe from the simple folk; but, if it is rendered into English, they would be able to read it for themselves."
"And wherefore should they not have this great gift for which, you say, we ought to be thankful?"
But his friend only smiled, and shook his head cautiously. He would not encourage the lad in such a dangerous project, and he told him so, at the same time warning him that if he did undertake such a task he must go about it very carefully, or he would involve himself and his friends in a good deal of trouble.
Poor Miles went back to his rooms feeling very much perplexed. Here was the great Chancellor Wolsey building a new college to extend the new learning, which everybody extolled, and for the want of which his father was acting so unjustly towards his poor, helpless tenants. And yet when he proposed to extend the most notable outcome of this, by translating the Greek New Testament into English, he was told that he should be breaking one of the fundamental laws of the Church! And the Church itself was believed to be founded on the very truths and doctrines he wanted to make known to the unlearned, as well as those who could read Greek, that they might form their lives upon the truth of Christ Himself!
Life was a dreadful puzzle, he thought, as he sat down in his little room to try and think out the problem that had been forced upon him.
He had enrolled himself among the Grecians of his college without thinking much about it, beyond its being a good rallying cry when there was a fight among the students and the town lads, or among the students themselves over some knotty point that could not be solved by logic, and until he went home and saw the depopulated village this had satisfied him.
There, however, while his injured ankle compelled him to keep within the shelter of his own room, he had time to think of many things, and what he heard and saw during this last visit to his home had brought him face to face with the stern realities of life in a fashion he had never dreamed of before. Now, for the first time, his public profession of being a "Grecian"—a follower of the new learning—had brought him into conflict with that which, to his mind, the word "Trojan" represented; and he clung most tenaciously to the thought that if his father had only had the opportunity of learning Greek, and reading the New Testament in that language, he would never have turned Rankin and the rest of the poor folks off the land as he had done.
This being so, was it not the duty of those who had been enlightened to do what they could to extend its influence, so that men like his father, who were too old to learn a new language, or Rankin, who would never have time to do so, might yet be able to learn these all-important truths, which, if carried out, would make life for all mankind a fairer, sweeter, holier thing than men had ever dreamed it could be?
In the midst of these reflections his friend came in who had promised to lend him a book written in English by an Englishman; and he was almost as eager to hear about it as his friend was to tell him of its wonders.
Sir Thomas More, it seemed, on one of his journeys abroad, had met with a sailor who had seen the new world beyond the great sea, and this had set Sir Thomas More thinking of what this new land of "Nowhere" or "Utopia" ought to be.
"Let me read you a little bit about the houses in 'Utopia,'" said his friend, after he had related some of its wonders. "'The houses in the beginning were very low,'" he read, "'and like homely cottages, or poor shepherd huts, made at all adventures of every rude piece of timber that came first to hand, with mud walls and ridged roofs thatched over with straw.'"
"Oh! we can see them any day here in Oxford or Woodstock," interrupted Miles.
"Yes, of course, but wait a minute; whoever saw houses like these?" And he read on, "'The streets were twenty feet broad; the houses backed by spacious gardens and curiously builded, after a gorgeous and gallant sort, with their stories one after the other. The outsides of the walls be made either of hard flint, or of plaster, or of bricks, and the inner sides be well strengthened with timber work. The roofs be plain and flat, covered over with plaster that be so tempered that no fire can hurt or perish it, and withstanding the violence of the weather better than any lead. They keep the wind out of their windows with glass, for it is there much used, and sometimes also with fine linen cloth dipped in oil or amber, and that for two commodities, for by this means more light cometh in, and the wind is better kept out.'"
"Then he would have us all live in palaces," remarked Miles. "But I do not see how that is to make us better Grecians," he added.
"Oh, just hear what he says we are constantly trying to do at the present time," said his friend, turning the pages of his book, "'The rich are ever striving to pare away something further from the daily wages of the poor by private fraud, and even by public law, so that the wrong already existing (for it is a wrong that those from whom the State derives most benefit should receive least reward) is made yet greater by the law of the State. The rich devise every means by which they may, in the first place, secure to themselves what they have amassed by wrong, and then take to their own use and profit, at the lowest possible price, the work and labour of the poor, and so soon as the rich decide on adopting these devices in the name of the public they then become law.'"
"I don't know whether it is as bad as that," said Miles, thoughtfully, "but what does he propose should be the remedy for this state of things?" he asked, eagerly.
"Listen—'In "Nowhere" the aim of legislation is to secure the welfare, social, industrial, intellectual, religious, of the community at large, and of the labour class, as the true basis of a well-ordered Commonwealth. The aim of its labour laws was the benefit of the labourer.'"
"Then in 'Nowhere' all men must be true Grecians," said Miles, after a pause, "for if they were not they would not pass such laws, and they would not be fit to live in its palaces. I wonder whether the new learning will ever change our Merry England into such a kingdom as this Utopia."
"Ah! I wonder," said his friend, and then the two young men began talking of other matters, but he left his "Utopia" for Miles to read. And Miles sat up until far into the night devouring this most fascinating book, that gathered into itself all the hopes and dreams of such men as Colet, Erasmus, More, Warham, and others like-minded with them, and which he now fondly hoped he should see become a reality.
MILES PATON found that life at the university with very little money in his pocket was a hard one. In spite of what had been told him, that the translation of the Bible into English would be a breach of the law of the Church, he resolved to do what he could to give to others the light he had learned to prize so dearly. And so he set to work upon the translation of the Gospel of St. Matthew. Of this he managed to make several copies, and sold them to friends. The first completed copy he sent to his sister, and she did not forget to repay him handsomely for his gift. But for this, and the kindness of friends and fellow-students, he could not have remained at Oxford, but now he felt more unwilling than ever to leave what seemed to him now the very centre of the world. For news of what was going on in a distant German university town found its way here in the course of a few months, and the name of Luther—who was causing such a stir in the far away town of Wittenberg—was talked of here in Oxford almost as eagerly as though he belonged to the sister university of Cambridge.
But the news set men not merely talking, but strongly denouncing or warmly approving what was being said and done by this new teacher. Nothing less than vehement approval or strong denunciation could express what men felt upon this matter; for, in the pamphlets brought over and handed round from one friend to the other, Luther denounced, not merely the abuses of the Papacy, but the Papacy itself.
The infallibility, the authority, and the truth of the doctrines of the Romish Church were denied and scoffed at in the most vigorous language, and, in proof of his assertions, this bold monk quoted Scripture as the authority that what he said was true. That the people might know the truth in this quarrel he promised that the New Testament should be translated into the language of the people, that they might read and judge for themselves in this matter.
"Well, that is fair enough," said Miles, when one of his student friends told him of the crowning enormity, as he considered it.
"What! you would put the Gospels into the hands of the common people?" exclaimed his friend.
"Yes, indeed! if I could, every farmer and every man at the plough should have his Gospel to read when the day's work was done."
"And where would the ploughing be if such a thing could be done? But there, the Church will never allow it," said his friend, in a calmer tone.
Not merely among university students did the conflict of talk rage with ever increasing fury, but the King himself must needs enter the lists against Luther, and in defence of the Church he wrote a book, which he called "The Assertion of the Seven Sacraments." Whether it added very much to the enlightenment of mankind upon the points in dispute was of small moment. It served the statecraft of Pope Leo the Tenth to make much of its royal author, and he had the title of "Defender of the Faith" conferred upon him—a title which every English sovereign has held since—empty of all meaning as it has long since become.
Miles, and many greater men than he, saw with dismay that what they had hoped would be a gradual enlightening of the people from the new learning, would now be a bone of contention and bitterness over which all the angry passions of men would rage and roar. It was evident that this quarrel of friars would become a quarrel of nations, and of friends and families, for already some of his old friends began to breathe the hateful word "heretic" against Miles, because he had taken sides with Luther so far as to say that it was fair for people to have the Scriptures to read for themselves, that they might judge who was in the right—Luther or the Pope.
It was some comfort to Miles to reflect that the man who guided the destinies of England, both civil and religious, was a friend to the new learning, and was doing all he could to foster it. Not only here at Oxford was the great Cardinal Wolsey doing what he could to further the cause of education, but at his own town of Ipswich he had founded a grammar school, much after the pattern of that founded by the good Dean of St. Paul's in London—Dr. Colet. And so, schools being provided for poor lads, who could not otherwise get a good education, they might hope that men would learn to judge fairly and righteously in this quarrel.
The practical outcome of it, so far as Miles was concerned, was to make him the more eager to copy his Gospel, not merely for the money the sale brought him, but because he was anxious to multiply copies of it, that more of those to whom the Greek language was unknown might be able to read it in English.
But while he toiled, and almost starved sometimes, he did not forget the mason's labourer working at the Cardinal's college. Some portion of it was already opened, and professors had been installed in some of the chairs, and more students were flocking to Oxford than ever, drawn thither by the fame of the new college and the wealth that had been lavished upon it.
Among those who thus publicly lectured was John Clark, a Cambridge master of arts, learned and conscientious; and he took the Greek Testament of Erasmus as the basis of many of his lectures. To meet a student like Miles was a joy to the new lecturer; and he soon heard of the young man's difficulties, and resolved to help him at the first opportunity; and this presented itself earlier than he anticipated.
To complete his college, Wolsey had obtained a bull from the Pope to suppress the monastery of St. Frideswide, and several smaller monasteries as well. This had caused an outcry among those who wished to see the old state of things continued, and some difficulty had arisen, which required the despatch of a messenger of some intelligence, not merely to carry despatches to the Cardinal, but to explain some matters to him by word of mouth, that could hardly be committed to paper; and Miles was recommended by his friend Master Clark as a suitable person to perform the delicate mission.
"This may prove an opening into a new life to you, my lad," said his friend, when he sent for Miles and explained that he was to go to London, and would probably see the great Cardinal himself. "The errand upon which you are going is a special one, and the future usefulness of this college depends much upon the despatch and skill you may exercise in getting these papers placed in the hands of the Cardinal himself without delay."
"Thank you for entrusting me with such an errand," said Miles, bowing before his master and friend. "I will do my utmost to fulfil your wishes. How soon am I to start?"
"To-morrow at daybreak a party of travellers will set off for London, and it is desirable that you should join them. But we do not wish it known that you are going to York House, where the Cardinal is living just now; and so another missive has been prepared for Bishop Tunstall. This also must be delivered, but your errand is to the Cardinal first. Place yourself in his hands, and whatever he directs you are to do. If he decides that another messenger shall be sent to the Bishop, then let it be so. He is to decide. His will must be law."
Of course Miles felt pleased to be chosen for such a mission, and he went at once to prepare for his journey.
He went to his own room at the college first, and packed up all his translations, for as it was pretty well decided now that for a man to translate the Scriptures into English was to proclaim himself a heretic, he resolved to take all these compromising papers with him, securely placed inside the lining of his doublet, for he began to fear that persecution such as had fallen upon the followers of Wickliffe a hundred years before might occur again, if this ferment continued over the sayings and doings of the German monk Luther.
Having settled his more private affairs, he went to the hostelry from whence travellers usually started on their journey to the south, and where he hoped he should find other travellers going in the same direction.
"A large party will leave by six o'clock to-morrow morning," said the landlord, in answer to Miles' enquiry; and then he went once more to tell Master John Clark that he had made all needful preparations for his journey, and to receive the despatches he was to carry.
"Now, if it be possible, I want you to let the Cardinal know that we are in no fear of the teaching of Martin Luther here. The new learning will not be disturbed in Oxford by—"
"But it is disturbed," interrupted Miles.
The elder man smiled. "Students' discussions are like a brawling brook after summer rain. What we desire is that there shall be no hindrance put in the way of the free circulation of God's Word, but we want it done quietly, peaceably, and the Cardinal alone can hinder or help forward this work. But say no word to His Eminence of what you yourself have been doing, for he would think you unfit for such a task, and I have told you before that there is danger in it, for the Church is very jealous lest the unlearned should attempt what she claims to be her own prerogative. I hope and believe that the aim of the Cardinal is the same as ours, but he is a man of affairs, and understands the temper of the times better than we do; and so I would have you watch and be wary, but true to God and the new learning above all things."
"I will not fail to keep your counsel in mind," said Miles, thanking him for all his kindness.
A good sum of money having been given to him to meet the expense of the journey, Miles turned his steps toward his own room once more, smiling to himself as he went, for Master Clark, by his lectures and teaching, was fast earning for himself the name of heretic. He was wise, perhaps, to bid Miles be wary and careful of what he said and did, but he deemed his own position gave authority to teach the unsearchable riches of Christ revealed in the Scripture; and he could honestly thank God that such a man as the great Cardinal Wolsey was at the head of Church and State.
At this time the whole direction of English home and foreign affairs rested with Wolsey alone. As Chancellor he stood at the head of all public justice; and, as Cardinal Legate, all ecclesiastical affairs, instead of being referred to Rome, came into his hands as the Pope's representative for this realm.
This suspension of the custom of sending weighty appeals to Rome served a useful purpose later on, when the time came for the King to declare that his kingdom should sever from the Church of Rome, and he himself would be the head of the English Church. For men had grown accustomed to this state of things under Cardinal Wolsey, and the Cardinal frequently declared that he held all this vast power for the King, and at his will; and so he was slowly but surely preparing the way for the greatest blow to be dealt at the Church of Rome it had ever received.
No such intention was dreamed of by the Cardinal, who carefully insisted, not only that the King could do no wrong, but that the property and persons of his subjects were his also, and that a man had no right to more than the King thought fit not to take from him. And these maxims were being practically carried out in matters of State policy by the man who now ruled in both Church and State.
So he forged the fetters to bind England's liberty with one hand, and with the other sowed the seed that should burst them asunder; for the new learning owed much to the fostering care of the great Cardinal, and he was ready to join hands with Colet in improving its education.
Miles joined the party of travellers early next morning, and to be on horseback once more and out in the open country was in itself sufficient to fill him with delight. He had always loved to be out beside the budding hedgerows, or watching the springing corn at the dear old home, which he might never see again perhaps, for his father had written to tell him never again to show his face at Paton Hall, and he had not dared to brave his father's displeasure, beyond writing a letter to his mother, which his father had sent back unopened. Visions of his home rose before him as his horse plodded on and disturbed the sheep that were grazing just over the hedge.
The sight of the sheep in such numbers, and in such widely extended pastures, was not a pleasant one to Miles, for he knew the sorrow and ruin that had been wrought in the old cornfields to bring this about. A bitter feeling crept into his heart, and he wondered what would be the end of this greed for money if it was not speedily checked.
He did not have much to say to any of the party journeying with him except to one young man about his own age, who, after their first halt at a wayside tavern, became more cordial in his manner towards Miles when he found that he was an Oxford student.
He had been on a visit to some friends at Oxford it seemed, and as a great favour had been taken to hear some of the lectures of Master John Clark, who was just now attracting a great deal of notice in the university.
"But I don't like him or his teaching at all," said the young man, before Miles had time to utter a word of comment. "He teaches very dangerous doctrines, my uncle says, and he ought to know, for he is the best tallow chandler in the town."
Miles looked his surprise at the young man's words. "Most men are glad to hear such truths as Master Clark preaches," he said.
"Then they haven't got trades that this teaching will ruin," said the young man, frankly. "Now, my father is candlemaker to a good many of the churches in London, and, of course, we don't want the old state of things disturbed. What would become of the honest trade of candlemaking if people were to believe that there was no good in having candles and Masses for the dead? Why, we sell more candles for the dead than we do to give light to the living," said the young fellow, and he felt half-offended that Miles could not take precisely the same view of the matter that he did. "It is no better than robbery for a priest to stand up and tell people that they ought not to buy candles for the funerals and Masses. This new learning is like to prove a great curse to the world if it is suffered to get into the hands of the poor and unlearned," he added.
"But why should the Gospel be kept from the poor? Surely they need it even more than the rich," answered Miles.
His fellow traveller shrugged his shoulders. "I know it will be a bad day for us candlemakers when the poor hear such preaching as this of Master John Clark, for think you they will half starve themselves to buy a good stock of candles for mother or father if they think they can do just as well without them? I trow not; and it is not the rich so much as the poor who keep our business brisk."
Miles tried to make his new friend see that this was a very selfish policy, but the young man contended that without candles the world would not be a fit place to live in, and certainly no candlemaker could make a living at his trade if he did not have to supply the churches and funerals. And so the world would have to go without candles if ever the people were so foolish as to follow the counsel of men like Master Clark.
Miles laughed outright at this view of the matter, which half-offended his fellow traveller. But though he laughed, he thought of what he had heard, and began to see that not only the priests and monks would combine to uphold the present condition of things, but all who made a profit out of the people's ignorance would combine to keep them ignorant if they could.
BEFORE London was actually reached, the party of travellers began to break-up, one going one way, and another taking an opposite direction; so that by the time they had reached the outskirts of the village of Charing, Miles was directed to York House, the Cardinal's London residence, which he had set up not far from the winding Thames and Westminster on one side, and the pleasant green fields of St. Martin on the other.
Miles had heard something of the greatness of the Cardinal before he left Oxford, but he was scarcely prepared for the almost royal state that surrounded this palatial mansion.
Splendidly-dressed guards challenged him as he dismounted at the gate, and he had to remember that he was Sir Thomas Paton's son, as well as the messenger from Cardinal College, or he would not have gained entrance, even to the outer court, so insolent were these lacqueys of the great statesman to Miles, because they fancied he was a mere country bumpkin who had been sent on some trivial errand to their master.
But when Miles drew himself up in anger, at the thought of his precious time being wasted in useless parleying with these servants, and answered them sharply, and bade them announce him without delay, they allowed him to pass to the next set of footmen who were lounging in the inner hall, and did not condescend to turn their heads from the game they were playing, to look at the new comer.
So, after pausing a moment to look round upon the elegantly dressed lacqueys, he passed on without saying a word to them, until he was stopped at the door opposite, by one of them springing up and asking him what business he had to pass through the hall of His Eminence without asking permission of his servants.
"By the urgency of the business that brings me hither, which will brook no delay from the Cardinal's footmen," said Miles, in a commanding tone, and without another word the man preceded him to a corridor where others were waiting to speak to the Cardinal, or one of his numerous secretaries. Having passed the door, Miles was told to wait there while the footman went to announce him to a gentleman sitting at a desk, and, after a minute or two, he was summoned to give his name and address, and the business upon which he desired speech of the Cardinal. When the secretary heard that he was the bearer of private letters from Oxford concerning the Cardinal's College that had been recently established, he summoned a page who was standing near, and bade him take Miles to the ante-room of the Cardinal's private chamber. "You may have to wait some hours," said the secretary, as he told Miles to follow this elegant fop, who was evidently too well pleased at his own appearance, as he caught sight of himself in the Venetian glass that adorned the opposite wall, and which was regarded as a great curiosity and luxury in those days.
"You must wait for His Eminence," lisped the young man.
"Nay, my business will not brook the delay of waiting," said Miles, speaking loud enough to attract the attention of a little procession that was just entering the gallery at the other end.
"Back! Back!" cried the page, pulling at his doublet, and himself following on his knees, while the other gentlemen standing round bowed low, for it was no other than the great Cardinal himself, sumptuously attired and moving slowly, followed closely by several secretaries.
"Back! Back!" hissed the page, once more trying to drag Miles down upon his knees.
But he shook him off, though it was at the cost of a rent in his new cloth doublet; and guessing truly who this imperious-looking man was, he fell on one knee as he approached, and held out the packet entrusted to his care. "Pardon me, my lord, if I have transgressed any rule, but I was bidden to seek you with all haste, and deliver into your own hand alone these letters from Master Clark and others."
"Master Clark hath chosen an over-bold messenger," said Wolsey. But the lad's treatment of the page somewhat amused him, for it reminded him of an episode in his own life; and he bade Miles rise, and promised to read the papers at once.
"Where is your lodging if we should need to send back an answer?" asked the Cardinal, looking at Miles critically; "I have not yet received your name as waiting an audience," he added.
"My name is Miles Paton. I am the son of Sir Thomas Paton, of Paton Hall, near Woodstock. But I have only now arrived from Oxford, and my horse is even now at the gate; but my errand brooked no delay, and so I may not have been over courteous to the servants of your Eminence."
"And does this business concern yourself?" asked Wolsey.
Miles shook his head. "Nay, I am but the messenger," he said, as he stepped back for the great Cardinal to pass on.
"Come hither again to-morrow morning at this hour for the answer to thy missive." And, saying this, the Cardinal hastened through the corridor, and disappeared through a door covered with arras, and which was opened by waiting pages at the approach of their master.
That the Cardinal had condescended to speak to Miles, without any of the formalities usually observed before granting anyone an audience, was sufficient to impress the pages and footmen of the importance of the visitor and his errand; and he was bowed out of the series of waiting-rooms in a fashion that rather embarrassed the simple country lad, who, although he was used to a troop of servants at his father's house, had learned to wait upon himself at the University, and especially during the last few months.
He was glad, therefore, when he reached the street, to find that his importance had slowly evaporated during his passage through the inner hall, and that the guard at the door simply remarked that he had not been long on his errand.
"No, I am to have an audience of His Eminence to-morrow," said Miles, in a matter of fact tone. "Now, can you recommend me to a lodging in this neighbourhood?" he added, "for I am but now come from Oxford and know little of the ways of this town."
"Most young gallants speedily learn them, though," said the man, with a short laugh.
"Well, I have not time, seeing my business will not brook delay, so prithee tell me where I can find an hostelry that will give rest and food to me and my horse with as little delay as possible."
Miles having delivered his precious packet began to feel very hungry, for he would not wait even for breakfast before finding his way to York House; and once there he must needs complete the business he had come upon. It was fortunate for him that the Cardinal had departed from his usual custom, for he might have had to wait about all day, faint and hungry, without a chance of obtaining any food: and the guard told him this when he said he had not yet had any breakfast.
The man directed him to an hostelry close by, for the frequent coming and going of messengers between York House and all parts of the kingdom, had made it a busy centre, in spite of its being outside London, and Westminster too, for people must needs find accommodation close at hand, when so many hours were often wasted waiting for a chance to bring some case before Wolsey, either in his capacity of Lord Chancellor of England, or Cardinal Legate of the Court of Rome.
So Miles found his way to the tavern where accommodation could be had for his horse as well as himself, and where he found all the talk of the customers was about the doings of the Great Cardinal.
It seemed that, in spite of the enormous amount of business and powerful interests that were accumulated in Wolsey's hands, he gave personal attention to every case that came before him, and clients had their cases decided quickly and fairly; so that everywhere men tried to get their causes brought before the Lord Chancellor, that the wearisome delays of the Law, that were often so ruinous, might be done away with.
There was talk now of a subordinate court being set up, to be called the Rolls Court, that would relieve some of this pressure of business that so frequently hindered the Cardinal from spending as much time with the king as he wished, and which Henry the Eighth was inclined to construe into negligence on the part of his great minister.
As Wolsey held all his great offices at the will of the king, and was never weary of proclaiming that all the power vested in him, he did but wield as the king's servant, Henry was not likely to brook anything like neglect from this servant, and it would not do to let him feel that he was of less importance than some weighty concern of Church or State.
So it often happened that the Cardinal hurried away from the business of the Court of Chancery, or the considering of some ecclesiastical cause of great moment to the Church and Realm, to join in some merry frolic at Greenwich or at the Tower.
Whether Wolsey himself ever really liked this side of his life, no one ever knew, for he carried out practically in his own life what he declared was the king's right over the persons and possessions of his subjects; only he did it in such a way that he always made it subserve his own purpose, while seeming to serve only the king. Of his hauteur, pride, and ambition there could be no question; but still the tavern gossips all agreed that he was ruling England well, and doing what he could to foster the growing trade in wool; as well as encouraging the new learning, which some of the bishops and clergy were beginning to hate.
After a good stoup of ale and a slice from a boar's head for his own breakfast Miles went to see that his horse was fed and cared for, and then wandered out to see the barges on the river and the sloping gardens of the great noblemen who had dwelling-houses along the Strand.
Miles found plenty to amuse and interest him all that day, and he hoped to be able to set out on his return to Oxford the following noon or the next morning. And before he went to bed that night he asked the landlord to tell anyone he knew of, who was going that way, that he should like to join them.
"Aye, to be sure, it would not be safe to set out on such a journey alone; and I will send Dick the ostler to enquire at the 'Falcon' whether they have any travellers there who are going that way."
"The 'Falcon' is the starting place, then?" enquired Miles.
"Yes, it is hard by the village of Charing; but Dick shall find out all that is needful to learn, for, if they have none journeying so far just now, you must needs abide here for a day or two. There is plenty to see in London town," said the landlord, persuasively.
Miles thought of his score as he smiled and shook his head. He, however, accepted the landlord's offer to send the ostler, but was not surprised when he returned and said a party would set off to Oxford that day week, and the roads would not be safe to travel sooner than that, as there had been a great flood, and all the fords were impassable.
Miles laughed. "So these are your tricks upon travellers," he said, but he made no further remark, resolving to make enquiries for himself the next day; doubtless these London tavern keepers played into each other's hands whenever it was possible to do so at the cost of some unwary wight. He went to bed, and slept soundly till the morning, in spite of the watchmen crying the time every half-hour under his window in most stentorian tones.
"Half-past ten o'clock, and a windy night," came sharply from the street below; and it sounded as though the man's head was just on a level with his casement, and that he bawled the words at him. There was a cry just afterwards of "Watch! watch!" and the sound of running feet, but after this Miles fell asleep, and all the watchman's bawling, or belated travellers' cries for help during the rest of the night, failed to disturb him, for he was tired with his journey and the excitements of the day.
The next morning he presented himself early at York House, but found he was by no means the first, there being a little crowd at the gate, each person having urgent and important business with the Cardinal.
But Miles was not kept waiting to-day. His manner of dealing with semi-royal guards the previous day had not been forgotten, and they simply bowed as he passed, and he was allowed to go on through entrance halls and corridors until the secretary's desk was reached, where his name, address, and business had been taken the previous day. Here he paused, and the gentleman said, "The command from His Eminence is that you are to wait until he is at liberty to see you. Better sit down," he suggested as Miles stepped aside as if to be ready for the audience the next minute.
"Do you think I shall have long to wait?" asked Miles.
"I cannot tell; it is the Cardinal's orders that you should wait, and these we never question."
Miles sat down in the broad window seat close by, and for the first half-hour was amused and interested in watching the different faces of those who presented themselves to the secretary, who directed them to go this way or that, according to the nature of the business they came about. If any began to talk aloud, there was instantly a distinctly uttered "Hush!" from one of the waiting pages; and the business went on silently, swiftly, with just the slightest hum of subdued voices, as men spoke one to the other in whispers, or asked and answered questions at the desk.
This low hum of busy, half-suppressed life went on constantly around him, yet rather soothed than disturbed him. But it grew monotonous at last, and Miles drew from his pouch his precious Greek New Testament, in which he was never weary of reading. And so the hours slipped by, while Miles was mentally translating the gospel of St. John, to be rendered into English when he got back to Oxford.
Hour after hour slipped away, and the afternoon began to decline, and Miles thought he must surely have been forgotten. He was hungry, too, having eaten nothing since the morning, and he was just considering whether he had not better ask this secretary if he should go and come again the next day, when he saw an elegantly dressed gentleman come from another door in the gallery and speak to the secretary, who at once rose and directed his attention to Miles.
"You are waiting to see His Eminence?" said the nobleman, glancing at the book in his hand.
"His Eminence commanded me to wait," said Miles, bowing as he rose from his seat to reply.
"Then follow me," said the gentleman; and, preceded by two pages, he turned and walked away, closely followed by Miles.
It seemed to the lad, as he followed his guide, that the old Hall at Woodstock was nothing to this palace, with its passages and galleries, anterooms and halls, which they traversed before they reached the Cardinal's private room, where, it seemed, he had chosen to receive this messenger from Oxford.
This room was plainly furnished in comparison with those they had passed through, many of which were of surpassing splendour, and quite dazzled simple Miles Paton.
As soon as they entered the presence of the Cardinal he made a sign with his hand, and they were left alone; and then he bade Miles tell him, as shortly as he could, the whole story entrusted to him.
When he had finished he said, "I find you are one who can sweep all obstacles from your path for the sake of the business entrusted to you, and you can also wait patiently for the sake of the same business. I need such a one as you to be about my own person, and as Master John Clark recommends you to me as one careful and studious, and devoted to the new learning, you can, I think, be of great service to me."
Miles was altogether too much surprised to speak for a moment. He understood well enough that this was rather a command than an offer, for, as the King's servant, the Cardinal deemed himself to have the right to command the personal service of any of the King's subjects. Fortunately for Miles he was only too glad to accept this offer, and so, as soon as he could command his voice, he thanked the Cardinal, and most gladly promised to do his utmost to prove himself worthy of the honour and trust reposed in him.
"Very well, I will send my reply to Oxford by another messenger. Return to your lodging now, and present yourself to the Controller of my household to-morrow morning. He will appoint you your lodging here, and give you all needful instructions." Saying this, Wolsey waved his hand in sign of dismissal, and Miles retreated backwards from the room, in the fashion he had seen the gentleman leave the august presence of the man, who demanded that the same reverence given to his royal master should be accorded to himself.
He hardly knew whether he stood on his head or his feet—whether he was glad or sorry that his stay at Oxford was thus suddenly brought to a close. But he went back to the tavern and had a hearty meal first, and then sat down to write a letter to his good friend Master Clark immediately afterwards; and then one to his sister enclosed in it, which he asked his friend to forward to Woodstock by the first messenger going that way. This packet he contrived to send by the Cardinal's messenger to Oxford, who went the next day with the reply to the letter Miles had brought. And Miles went to take up his abode at the Palace of York House—known to us later as Whitehall.