The story of Coventry. Mary Dormer Harris

The story of Coventry - Mary Dormer Harris


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rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_2d535eb2-4e80-5910-8252-c7b90e0c910d">[145] Gross, Gild Merchant, ii. 49; Toulmin Smith, Eng. Gilds, 231. In the return of 1389 it is stated that several messuages worth £37, 12s. 4d. a year are waiting for the licence of the King and the mesne lords to be given to the guild. No doubt the Statute of Mortmain was often evaded. The corporation records show that the guild held house property as early as 1353 (Corp. MS. C. 148).

      CHAPTER VIII

       The Mayor, Bailiffs, and Community

      We have seen that it was the stable and well-to-do classes which bore rule over their fellow-citizens. Men of substance, and they only, were eligible for office, and the terms "degree of a mayor," "degree of a bailiff," used in assessing fines, show that there was some strictness maintained with regard to this property qualification. And indeed it was needful that mayors, bailiffs and the like should be moneyed men, for their responsibilities were great and the turns of fortune curious, for should any source of revenue fail, they were compelled to make up the deficit, and hence were poorer men at the year's end than at the beginning. Thus when the prior refused to pay the murage tax for twenty years, the chamberlains, or treasurers, contributed the sum that was lacking from their own purses.[161] Still, on the whole, the magnates preferred to acquiesce in their election rather than pay £100, 100 marks, or £40 as a fine for refusing to fill the respective offices of mayor, sheriff or master of either guild. Once, indeed, a certain Roger a Lee declined to occupy the office of chamberlain, though he was a man well-to-do, having received £30 in money and plate with his wife, and must—so the prevailing opinion was—have "had right largely of his own," or else "John Pachet would not have married his daughter to him." When solemnly adjured to "come in and exercise the said office," Roger persisted in his refusal, nor did the imposition of a fine of £20 avail to shake his resolution.[162]

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      THE CITY KEYS

      But having once accepted office, with all its emoluments, risk and toil, a citizen was forthwith raised to a platform, high above the mere "commoner," who had neither lot nor part in the rule of his city. He became one of the "men of worship," whom to insult was a dire offence;[163] and his doings must not be cavilled at, or explained to the vulgar herd. Gravity, decorum, and, above all things, secrecy[164] marked the councils wherein he took part. Seemliness of behaviour was demanded from him; a late mayor must live cleanly, the leet decreed, and not give way after warning to "avowtre, fornicacion, or usure," if he wished to rise higher as master of the Trinity guild, or continue to meet his brethren at the council board.[165]

      

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      THE SWORD

       THE CITY MACE

      Distinguished on great occasions by his official dress, he was surrounded by an atmosphere of form and ceremony, which no doubt had its effect on the outside world. When the mayor went to mass every morning at "seven of the clock" the sword-bearer and officers attended him. A like procession was formed on the way back, for though the underlings might go about their business during service, they were commanded to "hearken" the time of the mayor's coming out of church so as to be ready to accompany him homewards.[166] So sensible were these worthy men of the dignity of their position, that questions of precedence were ever considered of great moment. When Harry Boteler, the recorder, fell into disgrace in 1484 by magnifying his office at the mayor's expense, the council thought it a due punishment that he should yield his place to the master of the Trinity guild, who thenceforth went by the mayor's side in all municipal processions,[167] an order afterwards rescinded probably to gratify one of Boteler's successors; the mayor from that time walked alone, the master and recorder together.[168]

      The labours of the town officials were greatly increased by the all-embracing character of the local legislation. The people of the Middle Ages believed devoutly in the efficacy of the law, and many matters concerning prices, wages, and the like, now known to regulate themselves according to supply and demand, were at times the subject of an infinite amount of often fruitless law-making. Nothing could check the zeal and energy of the local law-givers; no subject was too difficult for them to grapple with, none beneath their consideration. The worshipful men might reverse the whole organisation of the crafts connected with the iron industry at one leet sitting,[169] or, on the other hand, turn their attention to the local supply of halfpenny pies, or the amount of wheat put by the families of the two parishes into the holy cake, or blessed bread, distributed to the congregation. No doubt it was impossible to enforce all these regulations. All the energy of the leet, or council, and the vigilance of the town officers often failed to do away with a long-standing abuse. It was forbidden, under penalty of £10, to throw refuse into the Sherbourne; yet though "great diligence" was made to learn who the offenders were, it did not hinder the commission of the offence.[170] And although, according to the decrees of leet and council, people


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