Chapter XV: Miles to the Rescue

THE Cardinal always took care that no listener should ever become possessed of his secrets, or what he might wish to communicate to his secretaries, so that it was not through anything that passed in the palace that Queen Catherine heard the next morning, before she left her closet, that her young favourite, who had recently gone to the convent, had not gone heart-whole, and that her parents might seek to delay or prevent her taking the vows of a nun when her novitiate was at an end.

The fact was that Miles had not been very careful to look about him when he went to the Controller's garden, or he would have seen that a dwarf, known about the palace as Saladin, had dogged his steps, and was hiding behind a convenient privet hedge while he was talking about Cicely to her sister.

Being of a prying, mischievous disposition, he crept close under the window when Miles went into the house, and with what he heard and what he surmised and added to the story, he went back to his friend in the palace with the tale that the little nun was to be rescued from the convent, and married to one of the King's gentlemen, for he had mistaken Miles for a young gallant who had often paid court to Mistress Cicely while she was in the service of the Queen.

Nominally, the dwarf was in the service of the girl Princess Mary, but he was allowed a good deal of freedom by his mistress, and had attached himself to the Queen's confessor, because he generally had some sweet dainty to give him when he carried him any tale of the doings of the ladies and gentlemen about the Court.

Saladin was the butt and plaything of everybody within the precincts of Placentia, and, while passing for half an idiot among those who only saw him as the dwarf to make game of, the priest was training him to become an acute observer and a careful retailer of all the sundry scraps of gossip that came in his way. From the miscellaneous collection poured out to him every evening, the watchful priest could select such as were likely to be useful to himself or his mistress, and reject the rest.

Already did this watchful friend of Queen Catherine know that grave danger threatened his mistress in the person of the merry, black-haired little lady, who had come recently from the Court of France, and who, though little more than a girl of sixteen, had sufficient strength of character to hold fast by the fashion in which the ladies dressed there, which was altogether more neat and becoming than the English fashion, which Queen Catherine had followed blindly, caring too little to approve or disapprove of the cut of a gown or wimple, so that it was splendid enough to please her husband. The Princess Margaret, the French king's sister, had done her best to teach her ladies greater simplicity in dress, which this English girl had adopted, and refused to give up now that she had returned to England. It was not the only thing either that she had learned at the French Court, he heard, for scraps of gossip had come to him, making him fear that the Lady Anne, in spite of her merry laugh and coquettish ways, had learned something of the heresy that was whispered the Princess encouraged, so that Saladin had been warned to collect all he could about the Lady Anne, and it had been a relief to the priest when he heard that Lord Percy would marry her presently.

Then, a day or two later, Saladin brought him the news that Lord Percy and Master Guildford together were going to break into the convent, and carry off Mistress Cicely, the little nun.

Father Dominic did not believe in the literal fact of this being attempted, but Saladin's story was too circumstantial not to be believed in its essential, and so he hastened to the Queen and told her that her favourite must be removed from the neighbourhood of Greenwich without delay if the King's waning affection was to be retained, and she become the mother of an heir to the English throne.

The fact was, Cicely had been devoted to the conventual life as a sort of hostage for the Queen herself. Catherine had grown very fond of the girl, and just because she was the sweetest thing about the Court to her, she must be sacrificed to the Church, that through this, and the prayers of the girl herself, the greatly desired gift of a son might be bestowed upon her, and her husband's heart turned towards her once more. If the Queen herself thought that the death of her babies was a proof of the anger of God against her, it was because she had chosen to become the Queen of England rather than the higher vocation of a nun; and so, in sending Cicely to the convent, surely heaven would pardon her sin, and accept the sweet, fresh life of the girl as an equivalent, while she would do all she could to further the power and glory of the Church through the exalted position which she occupied.

She knew nothing as yet of her husband's regard for Lady Anne, nor of the reputed love of Lord Percy for Cicely. Her confessor only gave her carefully assorted pieces of information, and so all she heard of the affair was that there was danger that her favourite might be removed forcibly from the convent if she was not sent to a distance, and this so alarmed the Queen that she gave orders that the girl should be removed at once to a place of safety at some distance from Greenwich.

The community had a branch establishment in the neighbourhood of Oxford, and the very next night, under cover of darkness, a party of nuns and guards set out on the journey thither, while Miles was fondly imagining that his beloved was walking behind the wall he knew so well, and listening to the rustle of the trees, under which they had often walked together, and he had read to her scraps of his beloved Greek Testament, or some of the notes that Erasmus had written to make the text quite clear.

Under the trees in Greenwich Park, too, he had given her the translation he had copied for her; and he wondered now whether she had taken this with her to the convent, or left it with her girlish trinkets for her sister to claim by-and-bye.

Miles would have liked to know what had become of this. Certainly, such a gift as his was not calculated to make her stay in the convent any happier, and he almost hoped she had left it at home, and that he should hear the next time he came that his gift had been found, with her rings and brooches, in the drawer which she said was not to be opened until she had been in the convent two years.

The removal of Cicely from Greenwich was effected so quietly that her father and mother knew nothing about it. But the Cardinal, sitting in his room at Placentia, knew the whole matter, and where they were going to take the lady; however, he was careful that no breath of this should reach the ears of Miles just now, for fear he should make some rash attempt to run away with her while they were upon the road. Such clumsy methods would not have fitted in with the purpose the Cardinal had at heart. He could watch and wait, and he hoped to be able to outwit the Queen, and her confessor too, though he was an astute man, and a Spaniard to boot. If he did not possess a dwarf like Saladin, he had other spies in his service, for he could not have been at the King's elbow at every crucial moment if he had not watchful and intelligent spies about the Court, who kept him informed of every move in the game that was going forward on the chessboard of European politics.

This system of espionage was rapidly growing in his hand, but it was nothing to what it became in the hands of his successor, Thomas Cromwell.

Cromwell governed England and the King through his army of paid spies, he having studied deeply the methods of Machiavelli. The whole system of English government was built up on this system, so that no man could tell but that his dearest friend, or even son or daughter, was not a paid agent of Cromwell, and that his most simple and confidential words and deeds would not be reported to the Chancellor; with the result that the very springs of social and private life were poisoned at their source by the infamous system that was now coming into vogue everywhere, and was so largely used by the Cardinal for the furtherance of his own plans.

As soon as his business with the King was finished, he and his retinue returned to York House, and early the following day Miles was summoned to his presence.

"I shall require you to go to Oxford on certain business connected with the new college, that is now well-nigh completed," he said.

Miles was full of grief and anxiety on Cicely's account, but he could not help feeling delighted at the thought of revisiting his Alma Mater, and seeing the friends whom he had left behind; and he thanked the Cardinal for selecting him for the service that would allow him to see these dear friends again.

"You have proved yourself wary and careful at York House and other places, but you will need to exercise the same discretion, as my commissioner, to enquire into the condition, revenue, and inmates of the smaller convents and monasteries of the diocese of Oxford. I appoint you to this post as Cardinal Legate," said Wolsey, in answer to the look of dumb amazement with which Miles received his master's news. He could not thank him, for he did not know what to think of such an offer, except that he was wholly unfitted for it, both on account of his youth, and also because he had had no previous training in such work. He, however, managed to say this, after a pause, during which the Cardinal had looked at him with an amused smile.

"As to experience—who has ever dared to interfere with these dirty nests of unclean birds?" said Wolsey. "But if ever the Church is to be reformed, the revenue that now goes to keep a lot of lazy men and women in dirt and idleness, must be used for the founding of schools and colleges. If you are in doubt as to whether these places are as I have described them, read Erasmus's 'Colloquies.' He will tell you something of what a monastic life is in reality, and he ought to know, for he took the vows and spent six years of his life in a monastery, and Erasmus is not a man to speak untruly."

"I have heard, too, that the father of Erasmus was a monk," Miles ventured to say.

"Aye, he was; he had left his girl-wife before our Erasmus was born, to go to Rome in search of learning, and before he got back he heard a false report of the death of his wife; and he went to a monastery to bury his sorrow, and only found out that he had been deceived, and that his wife and son were living, when it was too late. You may judge therefore how Erasmus likes these lazy hooded crows, whom he makes us laugh at, though it is no laughing matter for the Church to have these 'Colloquies' and the praise of folly so widely read as they are, unless she means to set about the cleansing of her houses; and therefore do I send you on this errand, for I know you to be one who has the reform of the Church at heart, though you may not have set about providing a remedy in the wisest fashion. Nov, however, I give you the authority to work for the purification of the Church; and the first step must be in the monasteries and convents, for these are the hot-beds of corruption. Now, having told you so much, I will prepare you for a surprise that may meet you at the outset of your work. I have reason to believe that Mistress Cicely Guildford has been removed from the Franciscan Convent of Greenwich to a smaller house of the same community at Oxford, and it will be the duty of you and your colleague to secure the names of all the inmates of the house, and, wherever it is possible, reduce the number of the inmates by sending back to their friends all who are not fully professed nuns, whether they wish it or not; and if any of those who have taken the vows desire to return to the world, encourage them to do so; and carefully note whether they have given wealth to the community, and in such cases tell them the half of what has been so given shall be returned, unless it has been otherwise disposed of. In this way make as many reductions in each house as you possibly can, and I need not tell you that I shall be glad to hear that Mistress Cicely is your wife."

The Cardinal rarely waited for anyone to speak to him when he was issuing orders, but in this case Miles did not know what to say. The news that this was to be for the rescue of Cicely banished from his mind any reluctance that he might otherwise have felt in undertaking such a task. That he was to have a colleague was also a relief to his mind; and, when later in the day he was introduced to an elderly, benevolent-looking man, Miles was glad that he had not expressed to his master all the reluctance he actually felt in undertaking such a responsible post.

With this grave, elderly man to guide and direct his movements while he acted as secretary and kept the Cardinal informed of all that took place, was a very different matter than being such a missionary himself.

Miles' first care was to write a letter to his sister, and ask her to meet him in Oxford. He had heard that her health had greatly improved during the last year, so that he hoped it would not be impossible for Margery to travel with her maid and one or two of the servants to the principal hostelry in Oxford, whither a messenger had been despatched to secure accommodation for the Cardinal's two commissioners and their servants.

In an ordinary way the monasteries themselves would entertain them in no grudging fashion, but it was scarcely to be expected that such an enquiry as they were about to make would be welcomed by any of the convents, and it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that the commissioners might meet with hard treatment if they accepted the hospitality usually offered to such guests. The Cardinal had therefore bidden both his commissioners to avoid either eating or drinking at these places, and to pay for their lodging, as other travellers did, at the best hostelry they could find.

"If aught of harm befell either of you, I should be compelled to make close enquiry, and this I do not want to do, because if it is possible I want a reform of these religious houses before the people know anything of what is going on. Therefore, I say to you once more, Master Miles: be silent and wary, watchful and quick to take any advantage that may offer, but do nothing to cause an outcry, or draw the attention of people to what you are doing, or my projects may be thwarted, and your hopes blighted so far as Mistress Cicely is concerned."

Saying this, the Cardinal left him to make the final arrangements for their journey, which was a much more elaborate business than when he came up from Oxford as the messenger of Master John Clark, Professor of Cardinal College.

Now he was one of the great Cardinal Legate's commissioners, sent to enquire into the whole monastic system of the Church in England; and who can wonder if Miles shrunk a little from such an ordeal.

He went to "The Sign of the Golden Fleece" to bid his friends farewell; and even Master Monmouth and the priest, William Tyndale, shook their heads dubiously, when they heard what the Cardinal had decided to do.

"'Tis easier to pluck down than to build up, Master Miles; and if the monks are to be turned out upon the highways, the number of beggars will be sorely increased," said the merchant.

"But you have the sturdy fellows bellowing for alms a dozen times a day now for the different monasteries," said Miles, who was determined to defend his master's action, on account of the hope it gave him that he might be able to rescue Cicely.

The merchant laughed when he was reminded how often the monk's wallet was seen at his door, and how seldom any went away without a supply of food in some form or other. It was a sort of tax the London citizen was used to paying, and did not grudge it. Besides, sometimes the jolly monk would stop and crack a joke, or drink a stoup of ale with the merchant, or tell a good story by way of payment for the alms bestowed; and so the notion that this side of London's social life might be disturbed, if the Cardinal succeeded in carrying out his plans, was not eagerly welcomed.

Of course they were willing to admit that the monks were, for the most part, a set of lazy rascals; and they were proud of such a school as Dean Colet's, where a boy could learn Greek and Latin, as well as other subjects; but they had not yet made up their minds that they wanted to get rid of the gossiping old monks, even for good grammar schools; for these same monks were such an integral part of the social life of London. While in the country, the connection with the gentry of the neighbourhood on the one hand, and the poor on the other, was so close, that Miles feared his master had put his hand to a task that might prove too great, even for him to carry out; and he saw the wisdom of confining their enquiries to the smaller and more insignificant monasteries at first, and not attempting to do more than curtail the number of inmates, and prevent, if possible, that any should be sent there against their will, as Cicely had undoubtedly been.