Agincourt (Historical Novel). G. P. R. James
devout exercise of the jaws, he left the building, accompanied by Hal of Hadnock.
Both laughed as soon as they were out of the church; but the guest of Sir Philip Beauchamp soon fell into deep thought; and after walking forward for a little distance, he observed, "It is strange, how men are inclined to make religion subservient to all their appetites. What are such things as these? what are many of our solemn customs, but the self-same idolatrous rites practised by the ancient pagans, who deified their passions and their follies, and then took the simplest means of worshipping them?--What can be the cause of such perversity?"
"The devil! the devil!" answered Richard of Woodville; "he who leads every one on from one wickedness to another; who first teaches man to infringe God's commandment, in order to gratify some desire, and then, as that desire grows fat and strong upon indulgence, first persuades us that its gratification is pleasing to God, and in the end makes us worship it, as a god."
"But yet these same good folks fast and mortify themselves at certain times," said Hal of Hadnock; "and then carouse and revel, as if they had won a right to excess."
"To make up for lost time," said Woodville; "but the truth is, it is like a man playing at cross and pile, who, when he has lost one stake, tries to clear off the score against him by doubling the next. We have all sins enough to atone for; and we play the penance against the indulgence, and the indulgence against the penance. Give me the man who always mortifies himself in all that is wrong; who fasts from anger, malice, backbiting, lying, and uncharitableness; who denies himself, at all times, excess in anything, and holds a festival every day, with gratitude to God for that which he, in his bounty, is pleased to give him. But, after all, it is very natural that these corruptions should take place, even in a faith like ours. Depend upon it, the purer a religion is the more strong will be the efforts of Sathanus to pervert it; so that men may walk along his broad high-road, while they think they are taking the way to everlasting salvation."
"There is truth in that, good Richard," replied his companion; "but I fear me, you have caught some of the doctrines of the Lollards, of whom you were speaking."
"Not a whit," answered Woodville; "I am a good catholic Christian; but I may see the evils which men have brought into the Church, without thinking ill of the Church itself; just as when looking at the Abbey down yonder, I see that a foolish architect from France has changed two of the fine old round arches, which were built in King Stephen's time, to smart pointed windows, all bedizened with I don't know what, without thinking the Abbey anything but a very fine building, notwithstanding."
Although Richard of Woodville would not admit that any impression had been made upon him by the preaching of the Lollards, certain it is, that the teaching of Wicliff and his disciples had led men generally to look somewhat narrowly into the superstitious practices of the day, and that the minds of many were imbued with the spirit of their doctrines, who, either from prejudice, timidity, or conviction, would not adopt the doctrines themselves. Nor was the effect transitory; for it lasted till, and prepared the way for, the Reformation.
In a thoughtful mood, both the young gentlemen proceeded on their way through the wood; and, on their arrival at the hall, found Sir Philip Beauchamp, and the rest of his family and guests, already seated at the early dinner of those days. The old knight received their excuses in good part, laughed at Hal of Hadnock's curiosity to see a Glutton mass, and insisted he should sit down and finish his meal with him. "Had you been at Andover yesterday," he said, "you might have seen another strange sight: the Mayor sit in the stocks, and a justice on either side of him."
"Indeed!" cried Hal of Hadnock, seriously; "that were a strange sight to see. Pray, on whose authority was it done? and what was the crime these magistrates committed?"
"Good truth, I know not," answered Sir Philip. "A party of wild young men, they say, did it; and, as for the crime, it is not specified: but, on my life, it was justice, though of a rash kind; for Master Havering, the Mayor, has worked well for such a punishment; though, belike, the hands that put him in were not the best fitted for the office."
"I should think not, certainly," replied Hal of Hadnock, in the same grave tone, and with an immovable countenance; though Richard of Woodville, who had contrived to seat himself next to Mary Markham, on the other side of the board, gave him a merry glance of the eye, as if he suspected more than he chose to say.
When the meal was over, which was not speedily, Hal of Hadnock proposed to take his departure; but Sir Philip, with all courtesy, besought him, at least, to stay till the afternoon meal, or supper (then usually served at four o'clock), with the hospitable intent of urging him afterwards to spend another night under his roof; and, in the meantime, he promised to show him his armoury, his horses, and his library; though, to say the truth, the suits of rich armour were more numerous than the books, and the horses more in number than the people who frequented the library. Hal of Hadnock, for reasons of his own, accepted the invitation; and Richard of Woodville, though his approaching departure was already announced, agreed to stay, in order to bear him company when he went.
I will not lead the patient reader through all the rooms of the hall, or detain him with a description of the armoury and its contents, or carry him to the stable, and show him all the horses of the good old knight, Sir Philip, from the battle-horse, which had borne him through many a stricken field in former days, to the ambling palfrey of his daughter Isabel. Hal of Hadnock, indeed, submitted to all this with a good grace; for he was a kind-hearted and considerate person, and little doubted that his friend Richard of Woodville was employing the precious moments to the best advantage with fair Mary Markham. To all these sights, with the discussion of sundry knotty points, regarding shields, and pallets, and unibers, the properties of horses, and the form and extent of the manifaire, were given well nigh two hours; and, when Hal of Hadnock and his noble host returned to the great hall, they found it tenanted alone by Catherine Beauchamp and Sir Simeon of Roydon.
Richard and Dacre, Isabel and Mary, the lady said, were gone to walk together in the park; but she had waited, she added, with a coquettish air, thinking it but courtesy to give her uncle's honoured guest a companion, if he chose to join them.
So direct an invitation was, of course, not to be refused by Hal of Hadnock; and he thanked her with high-coloured gallantry for her consideration.
"Do you go too, Sir Simeon?" inquired Sir Philip Beauchamp; but the courtly knight replied that he had only waited to take his leave; as he had business to transact in the neighbourhood, and must be home ere night. Before Catherine and her companion set out, however, Sir Simeon drew her aside, as the relationship in which she stood towards him seemed to justify, and spoke to her for a moment eagerly. A few of his words caught the quick ear of Hal of Hadnock, as he stood talking to the old knight, who took care to impress him with the knowledge, that his fair niece was fully betrothed to Sir Harry Dacre; and though those words were, apparently, of small import, Hal of Hadnock remembered them long after.
"I will tell you all, if you come," replied Sir Simeon, to some question the lady had asked; "but mind, I warn you.--Will you come?"
"I do not know," answered Catherine, with a toss of the head; "it is your business to wait and see."
"Wait I cannot," rejoined the knight; "see I will;" and the lady, turning to her uncle and his companion, accompanied the latter through a long passage at the back of the hall, to the door which led to the ground where the sports of the morning had taken place.
The park of Dunbury was very like that described by old Chaucer:--
'----A parke enclosed with a wall
la compace rounde, and by a gate small,
Who so that would he frelie mighten gone
Into this parke, ywalled with grene stone.
* * * * *
The soile was plain, and smoth, and wondir soft,
All overspread with tapettes that Nature
Had made herself, covirid eke aloft
With bowis grene, the flouris for to cure,
That in ther beautie thei mai long endure.'--
The walks