Chapter XIX · THE KING’S PEACE

The Act for the Suppression of the Monasteries may be compared to a stone flung into a pool, where its fall causes first a wave, then circle beyond circle of ripples, each one fainter than the last. After the wave of revolt had passed, there followed a succession of conspiracies, none showing any promise of success, and each giving the King an excuse for further bloodshed.

Lancashire was not included in Norfolk’s commission, but disturbances had taken place there which the King was not inclined to overlook. Towards the end of February 1536–7 he sent down Robert Ratcliff, Earl of Sussex, as his lieutenant in those parts, jointly with the Earl of Derby^[680]. In January Sussex had married for a second time; the lady was Mary daughter of Sir John Arundel. “Some are glad of it, and some sorry, for the gentlewoman’s sake,” wrote John Husee^[681].

On 18 February Sussex was preparing to set out for Lancashire^[682]. The instructions provided for himself and his fellow lieutenant were similar to Norfolk’s. They must administer the oath, first to the gentlemen, then to the commons. They must seek out the beginners of the insurrection, and punish all offenders since the pardon. The monks were to be expelled, their evil lives exposed, and the article in their favour which had been promised at Doncaster must be explained away. The Lieutenants were also to reform any pressing grievances as to enclosures and fines, and to discover the full strength of Lancashire and Cheshire when mustered^[683].

Sussex, with Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, reached Warrington on Monday 26 February. Next day the Earl of Derby and the gentlemen appointed to form the Lieutenants’ council joined them, together with most of those who were on the commission of oyer and terminer. 142The meeting was held at the Friary, where the new oath was taken, and proclamation was made that all complaints would be heard. Next day the commons took the oath with great good will, and on Thursday the Lieutenants went on the same business to Manchester, whence they would proceed to Preston and Lancaster. A refugee from Carlisle, who was spreading the rumour about a tax on ploughs, christenings, and burials, was brought before them. They were anxious to execute him, but were obliged to postpone the matter, as the offence had been committed in another county^[684].

Sussex was at Lancaster during the first weeks of March, very busy with the assizes. His expedition was particularly aimed against the religious; he boasted to Cromwell that he was keeping his promise “for the punishment of such traitorous monks.”^[685] Whalley was the first house to be attacked. No documents concerning its fall remain, except some examinations of monks about the sale of the abbey plate^[686], but the accusations against the abbot were bound up with the affairs of Sawley. It has been shown that Sir Arthur Darcy occupied Sawley and arrested the abbot. He took some depositions against the house, but these are lost. There was evidence against the abbot without them; his supplication had been found among Sir Thomas Percy’s papers, and his servant Shuttleworth had made his confession^[687].

Shuttleworth was sent up to London and examined there on 23 February, when he told all the details of his mission to Percy^[688]. At the same time Sir Arthur Darcy arrested the abbot. No doubt this alarmed the scattered brethren, and Richard Estgate, the abbot’s chaplain^[689] who had been in his confidence, fled to Whalley Abbey, where his brother John Estgate was a monk. According to Sanders the fugitive reached Whalley while the brethren were at supper, and was sheltered by the monks unknown to the abbot, yet for this offence alone the abbot of Whalley was hanged^[690]. This story receives some confirmation from the fact that Richard Estgate, a monk of Sawley, was hanged at Whalley the day after the abbot’s execution, in company with William Heydock, a monk of Whalley, ten laymen and some of the canons of Cartmell^[691].

The indictment of the abbot has not been discovered among the records of riots, thefts and so forth which were tried at the spring 143assizes in Lancaster that year, but it is known that John Paslew, twenty-fifth and last abbot of Whalley, was convicted of high treason before the Earls of Sussex and Derby and was executed at Whalley on 10 March 1536–7, “in a field opposite his birth-place.”^[692] Stow says that John Estgate was executed with the abbot^[693], but this is a mistake, as John Estgate went to the monastery of his order at Nethe on the dispersal of the brethren^[694]. Stow must have confused John with his brother Richard Estgate, the monk of Sawley. Sussex believed that the abbot of Whalley’s conviction was brought about by a special providence, because he had so many friends that it might have proved difficult; “it will be a terror to corrupt minds hereafter.”^[695]

It is not known when the abbot of Sawley suffered or whether any of his brethren were with him. He was within Norfolk’s not Sussex’ jurisdiction, and the King sent special orders that matter must be found against him^[696]. There is only one reference to his death. Sir Stephen Hamerton, examined in the Tower on 25 April 1537, related that “the abbot [of Sawley] when condemned to die, sent to ask his forgiveness for having named him in the said letter [the supplication] ... this Sir Arthur Darcy can himself show.”^[697] The abbot’s “most sinister back-friend” was with him at the last. In the end of the Coucher Book of Sawley Abbey are written some latin verses which have been regarded as a lament for the death of the last abbot. Examination shows, however, that they cannot be interpreted as referring to him, for the writing is of too early a character, and is probably not later than the beginning of the sixteenth century. The verses are, in fact, a short poem on the Crucifixion, but Whitaker, who printed an incorrect copy of them, thought they contained an allusion to the death of the last abbot, and Harland, the historian of the abbey, accepted Whitaker’s conjecture. The version printed by both these antiquaries is unintelligible; a new transcript is given below^[698].

According to some accounts the abbot of Sawley was executed at Lancaster but this must be a mistake arising from a confusion between the two abbots of Whalley and Sawley. It is said that the prior of Sawley was executed with the abbot^[699]. There is no proof of this, but it is not improbable.

144However many Sussex executed, there were still some who escaped him. These included the sub-prior and two brethren of Cartmell, Captain Atkinson, the bailiffs of Dent, Milnthorpe and Kendal, and four or five more^[700]. Atkinson and the bailiff of Kendal, however, were afterwards captured by Norfolk. Atkinson was betrayed by “his own sister’s son.”^[701]

Sussex wrote to Norfolk that Sir Richard Tempest “was neither good first nor last”; his brother Nicholas and his servants were the first men who stirred Lancashire. As for the present state of the country, “as long as the world standeth this will be a dreadful example”; the commons were sorrowful for their offences and meekly made submission^[702].

In a letter to the King written on 11 March 1536–7, but now lost, Sussex told the story of an old man, who, on being condemned as a traitor, made lamentation at the bar, crying out that he had thrice served the King against the Scots. The Lieutenants, whether from pity or policy, respited him and referred the matter to their master. Henry replied that he took their action in good part, but none was more worthy to suffer than a man who had so often taken the King’s wages. In this letter, dated 17 March, the King heartily thanked the Earls for their diligence in redressing the grievances of true subjects and in punishing corrupt ones. He was especially pleased with their seizure of the goods of Whalley Abbey, and the execution of the abbot. As the house had been so evil, he thought it would be better in his own hands; the crown was entitled to it, as he explained, by the attainder of the abbot. The Earls were to persuade the monks to enter other houses, as they would be safer there than wandering about the country. If some would not consent to this, they might be given capacities. Above all the Earls must take care that the abbey goods were not embezzled^[703].

On 21 March 1536–7 Sussex wrote to Cromwell from Preston. He had been very busy with the assize work, but expected to have finished it in five or six days. He needed the King’s letters for bestowing the monks of Whalley; after that was arranged, there would be no longer any need of his presence in Lancashire. He did not believe horse meat and man’s meat could be so hard to get in any other shire in England. He would leave the people in very good obedience, but he thought the monks of Furness had been concerned in the insurrection. Cromwell had asked for Richard Estgate’s confession, 145but neither before nor after his condemnation could the Earl bring him to accuse anyone, save that he once said Nicholas Tempest was a great favourer of the house of Sawley^[704]. Henry’s nobles always hated being sent to the north, which they naturally regarded as “the last place God made,” in a phrase of the time. Sussex did his best to earn a speedy recall and a sunny welcome to court, and the monks suffered in consequence.

Furness was the next house to which the Earl turned his attention. On 14 March 1536–7 Alexander Richardson, the bailiff of Dalton, deposed what he knew against the monks. His evidence as to the first rebellion was all hearsay; he was told that their tenants had been summoned to come out with horse and harness, that the abbot had “taken a way to be sure both of King and commons,” and that money had been sent to the rebel host. About a fortnight before he made his deposition a friar told him that one of the monks named Henry Sawley had said, “there should be no lay knave head of the Church.” Meeting the same friar on 13 March, just after the execution of the abbot and monks of Whalley, the bailiff asked what was likely to happen to Dan Henry Sawley “now at my lords’ being here?” The friar answered, “Nothing, I will say nothing.”^[705] This friar was Robert Legate, who had been “put into that monastery of Furness to read and preach to the brethren,” and also, probably, to act as one of Cromwell’s spies^[706]. Sussex received orders from the King to “search out the whole truth” about the disloyalty of the Furness monks and to imprison them till further orders were sent. The King enclosed letters for the brethren of Whalley to go to other houses, but those who wished to go to Jervaux must choose another place, as that abbey was likely to be suppressed for the same offence as their own. Those who had chosen capacities might be given “bedding, chamber stuff and some money.” Richard Estgate must be sent to London, for Sir Arthur Darcy knew such matter against him as might lead him to confess^[707]; but the monk was already hanged. The affairs of Whalley were soon despatched, and an inventory of the plate and goods was taken on 24 March^[708]. The prior, a man of eighty, who had been fifty years a monk, begged that he might be appointed to the parish church; Sussex thought this would be charitable, and the prior was not likely to live long^[709].

146Sussex attended to this suppression, while Derby was still at Preston sitting in justice. The Abbot of Furness was ordered to attend at Whalley, and beheld the ruin that was soon to overtake his own house. The commissioners made every effort, but they could find only two out of his thirty-three brethren who had offended since the pardon. A good deal of evidence was produced by Robert Legate, the vicar of Dalton, and the abbot himself. The monks had repeated prophecies which were supposed to foretell the King’s death^[710]. They had favoured the Pilgrims and one of them had spoken against the supremacy since the pardon. Dan Henry Sawley, who used to speak slanderously against the King when overcome with ale, was committed to Lancaster Castle, with another of the monks. Robert Legate did not say “nothing,” but accused him of traitorous words, and related that when he, Legate, preached a sermon commending the King’s just laws, Sawley said “it was a marvel that God did not take vengeance of us both, of him for his preaching and of us for hearing him.” Legate accused the abbot of ordering the monks to make no complaints to the King’s commissioners; another charge was that he concealed Sawley’s traitorous words about the “lay knave” who was head of the Church^[711].

The abbot had boasted that he had made himself safe both with King and commons; but now he was in the gravest peril, while a brother abbot was not a fortnight dead. He must have gone to Whalley full of the darkest fears and eager to clutch at any chance of escape. Those who had anything to give and were weak enough to give it could often buy a pardon from the King. The abbot was again examined before Sussex, more straitly than ever. Still nothing could be found that would “serve the purpose,” and the Earl wrote to the King quite frankly that, one way failing, he sought out another to dispose of the monks, that the abbey “might be at your gracious pleasure.” Sussex suggested to the abbot that he might surrender the house of his own free will. The abbot was “very facile,” and wrote out a form of surrender immediately in the presence of Sussex and his council^[712]. He said that with their aid the brethren might be brought to ratify it under the convent seal. Three knights were sent off to take charge of the house, and to see that nothing was embezzled. Sussex proposed to follow them shortly^[713]. Henry was entirely satisfied with this prudent conduct of the affairs of Furness; 147he ordered inventories to be taken of the goods and jewels of the house, and arrangements to be made for the confiscation of the lands. The monks were to be dealt with as in the case of Whalley; the Earl might allow them apparel and “other things as be of no great value,” considering the King’s profit, “and yet rid the said monks in such honest sort as all parties shall be therewith contented.”^[714] So anxious were Sussex and his council to make no blunders about the King’s claim that no less than three forms of surrender were drawn up^[715]. The final suppression of Furness Abbey did not take place until July^[716].

Besides the trial of offenders and the suppression of monasteries, Sussex had a third duty to perform, the collection of evidence against the leaders of the Pilgrimage. A clue was provided when a copy of Norfolk’s letter to Darcy about the second meeting at Doncaster^[717] was discovered in the chamber of Randolph Lynney, the vicar of Blackburn^[718]. Lynney was imprisoned in Lancaster Castle. While Sussex was at Whalley he sent for the vicar and examined him as to how he obtained the letter. This examination is lost, but there is one still extant which was taken at the same time. This second prisoner was William Talbot, one of Darcy’s servants^[719]. Before the second appointment at Doncaster Talbot had been sent from Templehurst into Lancashire with letters to the Abbot of Whalley. Among them he brought the copy of Norfolk’s letter, which had been given to him by one of Aske’s servants. It must have been sent as definite proof that Norfolk had consented to a meeting, and the vicar of Blackburn must have received it from the abbot.

Talbot was a Lancashire man, and had Darcy’s orders to raise the country, but not, probably, unless the negotiations fell through. The vicar of Blackburn was ready to help him, and said that if the commons rose again “he would bear the cross afore them and said God speed them well in their journey,” but, receiving no further orders, Talbot remained quietly in Lancashire until Sussex sought him out. He recalled a number of anecdotes and sayings of Darcy’s, but they all related to the period covered by the pardon, as Talbot had never seen his master since the second appointment. Nevertheless they are endorsed “Talbot’s Confession against Lord Darcy, traitor.”^[720] On 8 April 1537 Sussex sent to Cromwell this document and the 148vicar of Blackburn’s lost confession^[721], together with the depositions of the monks of Whalley about the sale of plate^[722], some evidence against William Colyns bailiff of Kendal^[723], and Dr Dakyn’s letter to the Prior of Cartmell^[724]. Information was also required against the Tempests^[725], whom Sussex believed to be very blameworthy.

The King was delighted with all this evidence, and particularly with Dakyn’s letter, by which another monastery might be brought into his hands. Sussex received gracious permission to return to court when the affairs of Furness were settled, and the King promised that the abbey lands should not be bestowed without the Earl’s advice^[726]. Sussex set out for London about 18 April. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, his companion, sent Cromwell a eulogistic account of the wisdom and diligence by which he had brought Lancashire into perfect obedience^[727].

At the same time as the Lancashire assizes the prisoners at Lincoln were being tried and put to death. The insurgents there may have shown weakness at the crisis of their attempt, but the expiation of their failure was very terrible. The swift execution that the King had designed for them would have been more merciful than the long winter of captivity during which their fortune swung between life and death. In order to understand the circumstances it is necessary to go back to 12 October 1536, when Suffolk sent up to the King the names of the gentlemen who had surrendered themselves at his camp. They were all the principal commissioners who had been taken by the commons, Tyrwhit, Skipwith, the Dymmokes and the rest^[728].

The King’s lieutenants, the Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Shrewsbury, were anxious to treat the matter as an ordinary riot. A certain number of the commons might be executed, and the whole affair forgotten. They both assured the King of the gentlemen’s loyalty^[729]. Henry was not so easily satisfied. The inclination of the gentlemen to join the rebels was the most dangerous feature of the situation, and on 15 October he sent orders that they were all to be examined. Those whose conduct had been suspicious must be sent up to London; the rest might be “dismissed with good words,” but they were to remain in Suffolk’s custody until the commons had surrendered their weapons. Hudswell and Cutler must be sent up to 149London, and the Lieutenant might keep for execution four captains of Louth, three of Horncastle and two of Caistor as a beginning^[730].

Suffolk reported that the sheriff, Edward Dymmoke, had already presented to him “an arrant traitor,” who was in ward at Stamford and would be executed in two or three days^[731], but this did not satisfy Henry. He suspected that the gentlemen would persuade Suffolk to execute out of hand the commons who could bear evidence against them. He therefore instructed his Lieutenant to be cautious as to whom he hanged. Also he was not to execute one alone, but to proceed as instructed at Louth, Horncastle and elsewhere with “as many of the common traitors as shall seem requisite.” No gentlemen need be executed there. Any who had notably offended must be sent up to London^[732]. Henry despatched his answer to the Lincolnshire petition on 19 October. In it the number of victims necessary to satisfy the royal vengeance was appointed at a hundred^[733].

Hitherto the King had felt no serious doubt that he could do as he liked in Lincolnshire, and he seems to have reproached Suffolk with slackness, in that not a single execution had yet taken place. But at this point the effect of the rising in Yorkshire began to be experienced. Suffolk dared not hang men; he dared not even “take them cruelly,” or Lincolnshire would join Yorkshire^[734]. Nevertheless he proceeded slowly with the examinations. Cutler, Hudswell, and Lord Hussey were sent up to London on 18 October^[735]. The confession of Abbot Mackerell of Barlings was taken on 20 October^[736], and numbers of others followed^[737].

On 22 October it was known at court that two hundred men of Louth had taken the oath to the King and surrendered fifteen of their ringleaders, including Nicholas Melton, otherwise Captain Cobbler^[738]. On the same day Horncastle submitted. Suffolk prepared books of the examinations to be sent to the King and apologised for the delay in the executions. “We have so much to do that we cannot possibly provide for all things,” but he promised that the traitors should receive their full deserts in time^[739], and sent lists of the gentlemen who had taken the King’s oath and of the rebels whom he held prisoner^[740]. The King sent back a list of the points on which the prisoners must be interrogated in order to reveal the complicity 150of the gentlemen^[741]. Wriothesley was disgusted that they were not to be sent up to London for examination^[742], but the King did not wish to alarm the gentlemen, who might still escape to Yorkshire. George Hudswell, however, who had already been sent up, was examined^[743], and, probably on his accusation, Thomas Moigne was arrested and sent to London on 26 October. Richard Cromwell informed his uncle of Moigne’s arrest. His letter contains one of those minor mysteries which cannot be explained. “This night, by my Lord’s command I have, with much business, taken George Wyndessor.”^[744] Perhaps the business involved the wounding of the captive so severely that he did not survive; at any rate his name is never mentioned again, although Richard Cromwell attached so much importance to his arrest.

The council at Lincoln still used the gentlemen very gently. Cromwell’s servants looked forward to more rigorous measures^[745], when the first appointment at Doncaster stopped the proceedings altogether. Norfolk’s letter, which announced the truce to the Privy Council, concluded “for God’s sake help that his Highness cause not my lord of Suffolk put any man to death unto my coming.”^[746] The prisoners were kept in the castle at Lincoln^[747]. Only one man is known to have been executed^[748], but it is probable that some others suffered at this time, just before the first appointment. There were rumours to that effect^[749], and it is significant that the names of Nicholas Melton (Captain Cobbler) and Thomas Foster the singing-man of Louth never occur after their examination on 21 October. It is not likely that they were spared. The probability is that they and perhaps others were executed without any record of their death. The Abbot of Barlings was saved from execution by the truce^[750]. After the truce the examination of the prisoners continued^[751].

On 14 November 1536 the King sent a pardon to be proclaimed in Lincolnshire for all except the prisoners^[752], of whom there were at this time about 140 in Lincoln Castle and more in the town^[753]. After this nothing more is heard of them, except that they were safely guarded^[754], until 12 January 1536–7. By that time twelve, including 151the Abbot of Barlings, had been removed from Lincoln to the Tower, where they were examined again^[755].

There was still a party in Lincolnshire eager for a new rising. Aske was told “that if any power had come [from Yorkshire] into Lincolnshire before the agreement at Doncaster, the commons of Lincolnshire would have taken their part.”^[756] There are traces of a plot for a new rebellion in January 1536–7^[757]. The leader of the project was William Leache, who, though he had been excepted from the pardon, had never been captured. A man who carried messages from him was taken and sent to the Duke of Norfolk before 14 February^[758]. Leache’s two brothers, Nicholas vicar of Belchford, and Robert, were among the prisoners, and the long delay, during which it seemed sometimes that the prisoners would be freed, sometimes that they must die, could not but produce an attempt in their favour, but it came to nothing.

On Monday 5 March Sir William Parre arrived at Lincoln to try the rebels. After him came Sir Walter Luke, Serjeant Hinde, William Horwood the King’s Solicitor, and the gentlemen of the county who were royal commissioners; they were all royalists. The trials were not disgraced by the unnatural proceedings which had characterised Norfolk’s assizes at York^[759].

There were now a hundred prisoners in the charge of the sheriff^[760], exactly the number which the King had named^[761]. Yet in November 1536 there had been over 140. It is unknown what became of the rest. Perhaps they were discharged; perhaps they died in the overcrowded and insanitary prisons; perhaps some of them were executed, for it was reported in Yorkshire in February that “they were busily hanged” in Lincolnshire^[762].

Thirty-four prisoners were brought to trial on the morning of Tuesday 6 March 1536–7. In spite of the King’s efforts to discover the guilt of the gentlemen, only one of them appeared among the prisoners, Thomas Moigne the lawyer, who served as a scape-goat for the rest. His execution was desirable, from Henry’s point of view, as he was a very able man, but in one way it would have been safer to select a less capable victim, as he “for three hours held plea with such subtle allegations, that if Sergeant Hinde and the Solicitor had not acquitted themselves like true servants to the King and profound 152learned men, he had troubled and in a manner evict all the rest.”^[763] Moigne’s labour, however, was thrown away, as all the prisoners were condemned^[764].

The sentence cannot be described as unjust. Not only according to Tudor laws, but by any law, it is treason to bear arms against the government, or to give aid to rebels. The prisoner may plead that he acted from fear, or in the hope that he might acquire sufficient influence over the rebels to make them alter their intentions, but if the judge does not choose to listen to the plea, he may be blamed for harshness but not for injustice. The lives of the Lincolnshire men were forfeit, for they had made no terms. When they had weapons in their hands they had not tried to save themselves, and now they paid the penalty.

Among the condemned were fourteen laymen, including Moigne and Guy Kyme^[765], who acted as an intermediary between Yorkshire and Lincolnshire, six parish priests, including Thomas Yoell a native of Louth but priest of Sotby, who was aged and blind^[766], four monks of Barlings, six monks of Bardney, three monks of Kirkstead and Richard Harrison the Abbot of Kirkstead. All the monks of Kirkstead had been with the host, and the abbot sent money and food, though he excused himself as he was ill. The monks said in their defence that the commons had threatened to burn the house if they did not come, and that the abbot rejoiced when they came back and thanked God that there had been no business^[767].

Moigne, Kyme and the abbot were executed at Lincoln on Wednesday 7 March 1536–7. Moigne suffered the full penalty, but the other two were only hanged^[768].

Meanwhile on Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday morning the other sixty-four prisoners were tried. They were found guilty and condemned, but apparently it was understood that they were not to be executed, and the court presented a formal petition that the King would show them mercy^[769]. They were all laymen^[770], and among them may be noticed Robert Horncliff and Anthony Curtis, whose adventures have already been related^[771]. Curtis was indicted but not arraigned, “because it is thought he is within the compass of the pardon and would plead it.”^[772] The other two prisoners who made up 153the hundred were Roger New of Horncastle, who was in the Tower^[773], and Robert Carre of Sleaford, who had been discharged by Cromwell’s orders^[774]. The goods of all the prisoners were forfeited to the King by their attainder. Sir William Tyrwhit, the new sheriff, petitioned for the property of Guy Kyme in recompense for his expenses over the prisoners^[775].

Those who had been pardoned were set at liberty upon sureties. The rest of the condemned were executed on Friday 9 March at Horncastle and on Saturday 10 March at Louth, before all the people assembled for the market^[776]. The country was then reported to be in perfect quiet, and Parre proceeded to take inventories of the lands and goods of Kirkstead and Barlings. A monk had been discovered at Bardney who had not been tried at the last assize, and Parre wished to know what was to be done with him^[777].

The first business of the court at Lincoln of 5 March had been to find a true bill for high treason against the twelve prisoners in the Tower, Matthew Mackerell Abbot of Barlings, Thomas Kendall vicar of Louth^[778], Thomas Ratford vicar of Snelland^[779], Robert Southbye^[780], George Hudswell^[781], Roger New^[782], Bernard Fletcher^[783], Brian Staines^[784], Philip Trotter^[785], Nicholas Leache^[786], Robert Leache^[787], and William Burreby alias Morland the monk of Louth Park^[788]. The prisoners were brought up for trial at the Guildhall on Monday 26 March 1537. The charge was that they

“did on Monday 2 October [1536] 28 Henry VIII at Louth riotously assemble with others in great numbers, compassing and imagining the death of the King; and for that intent held a discourse amongst themselves that they with a great multitude and power would rule and govern the King against his will and deprive him of his royal liberty and power, and subvert and annul divers statutes ordained in the reign of the said King for the common weal and government of England; and for such purpose did levy war against the King. And that they with arms, etc., levied war against the King, and slew divers of the lieges who 154refused to fulfil their traitorous intent; and made proclamations, and rang the common bells and so assembled 4000 persons until Wednesday 4 October, when, having chosen captains and assembled 6000 persons, they proceeded to Caistor and compelled Sir Robert Tyrwhit and his fellow justices, then holding sessions there, to fly, and took certain of the said justices. Further, that the said Leache, etc., continued in arms, etc., at Louth, Caistor, Legbourne and elsewhere from that Wednesday until the Thursday following, when they assembled at Towys to the number of 10,000 persons, and thence on the following Friday, to the number of 12,000 with banners displayed, went towards Lincoln and continued the same day in a field at Netlam, called Netlam Field, at war against the King. And thus the said Leache, etc., compassed and imagined the King’s death, etc.”^[789]

The prisoners pleaded “not guilty” but were all found guilty and condemned to death. The sentence was carried out with the usual barbarities at Tyburn on 29 March 1537, and the bodies were buried at Pardon Churchyard by the Charterhouse^[790].

These were all the prisoners from Lincolnshire who are known to have been executed. There were a few others whose fate is unknown. William Longbottom was examined in the Tower on 12 January 1536–7, but he was not among those tried at the Guildhall^[791]. A canon of Barlings was in the Tower on 18 March 1536–7^[792], but he has no further history, and no directions concerning the monk of Bardney, about whom Parre wrote, have been preserved.

The most interesting of the sufferers is Matthew Mackerell Bishop of Chalcedon and Abbot of Barlings. He is described as a man of remarkable eloquence. In 1524 he preached the funeral sermon of the old Duke of Norfolk, and so moving was his discourse on death and the Resurrection that the whole congregation was seized with a dread that the dead duke was about to rise from his coffin, and all rushed tumultuously from the church^[793]. It is singular that priestly eloquence played so small a part in the rebellion. Several of the laymen could sway multitudes by their speech, but the only two instances of priests using this their chosen weapon were the “collation” of Thomas Kendall the vicar of Louth and Archbishop Lee’s unfortunate sermon at Pontefract. Abbot Mackerell might have been a powerful ally and his gift must have made him a special object of dread to the King. According to all the historians before and including Froude, the Abbot played a distinguished part in the 155rising, although he was not, as some chroniclers imagined, Captain Cobbler. Recently, however, it has been pointed out that his activity was much less than had been supposed. As his is in a sense a test case, it may be as well to go into it in detail.

The Abbot of Barlings was accused of having had foreknowledge of the rebellion, because about a month before it broke out he had sent away much of the plate and ornaments of the monastery to be hidden in the houses of laymen^[794]. To this charge he replied that when the King’s surveyors were seizing the goods of the lesser monasteries, it was reported that after Michaelmas they would return and take those of the greater houses, beginning at Barlings. When he heard this he called the brethren together and advised them to make provision for themselves by selling their plate and vestments, as the government pension was only 40s. a-piece. The monks agreed and he proceeded to sell the plate^[795]. This was not very honest dealing, as the possessions of the monastery did not, of course, belong to the individual monks. On the other hand, neither did they belong to the King, who had received the lesser monasteries, but not the greater, by Act of Parliament. It was easy for the monks to persuade themselves that they had a better right to the valuables than the King. Nevertheless the abbot can be acquitted of treason only by acknowledging embezzlement.

Second, he was charged with inciting the commons to plunder the house of John Freeman, one of the surveyors, and to murder Freeman himself^[796]. This charge rested only on Freeman’s own assertion, and therefore is not worthy of consideration.

Third, he was accused of having aided and encouraged the rebels. He confessed that he had aided them by the gift of provisions and money, but he protested that he acted through fear, weeping and trembling in a far from encouraging manner. The main charge was that when he brought the provisions to the rebel host, he urged the captains to proclaim what he had brought. He defended this by saying that he hoped the proclamation would appease the commons and prevent them from demanding more^[797]. His words were, “Masters, I have according to your commandment brought you victual, beseeching you to be good unto me and preserve my house from spoil, and if ye will let me have a passport I will go to a lordship of mine called Sweton, where, against your coming to Ancaster Heath, I will prepare 156for you as much more victual”^[798]; but it was reported that he said, “Go forward and stick to this matter,” and the messengers to Beverley told the Yorkshire men of the abbot’s great present and his comfortable words^[799].

The case of Abbot Mackerell is typical of those of the other abbots and religious men who were involved in the rebellion. It is curious that their most ardent apologists dwell particularly on the small share that the monks took in it, as this does not at first sight appear to be to their credit. The Pilgrims were putting themselves, “lives, wives, children, lands, goods and chattels ... to the utter adventure of total destruction,” on behalf of the monks. In return they were received with terror, helped grudgingly, and dismissed as soon as possible. Their champions might risk their all, but the monks would risk nothing in return if they could help it. They were ready to share the fruits of victory, but they had no mind to suffer for a possible defeat. The attitude of the Abbot of Furness was only too common—they wanted to be safe with both sides.

In extenuation it may be urged that the arrival of a band of rebels at a monastery was often indistinguishable from the arrival of a gang of marauders. At the beginning of the rebellion, moreover, the commons often compelled the monks to serve in their ranks, which was contrary to the monastic vow; it is not suggested that the religious should have borne arms, but that they might have been more liberal of money, encouragement and prayers.

Then too the monks were landowners, sharing all the interests and terrors of the propertied class. They might on the whole be better landlords than laymen were, but in individual cases they had aroused hatred, and they feared the consequences. The Abbot of Jervaux’s tenants were ready to murder him. Mackerell said that many of the commons were his mortal enemies^[800]. The poor were groping towards a policy of their own, that they would defend the monasteries if the landlords would remedy their grievances. The religious were not farsighted enough to understand and adopt this policy. They would not take part with the commons; they were merely afraid of them and thought that somebody ought to keep them in order. They did not see that by their own faith they might convert a disorderly rabble into a body of crusaders. It was not impossible; the miracle had been wrought before and would be again, but the English religious of that age were not the men to perform it. They were in the main 157worthy creatures enough, but incapable of either a martyr’s complete self-abnegation or a rebel’s courage and decision:

“The life of the monastery was cut off from the life of the nation. Narrowness of sympathy was the most serious fault of the monk. He had little interest in what went on outside the abbey close. He had nothing to care for or to work for, except the maintenance of the wealth and position of his house. His whole life was spent in its corridors and gardens, except when he was sent out in company with another brother to gather the rents of its distant estates, or to accompany the abbot on his occasional visit to London. He spent all his waking hours in company with several score of other men, as singly devoted as he was himself to the interests of the place.... It is not wonderful that he developed a narrowness of mind which made him, in questions of local or national interest, a dead weight on society.”^[801]

When the order came for the monks to go, they lamented—and accepted the King’s pension. There were among them some martyrs and some rebels, but even out of those who were executed many would have submitted to the King on any terms if he would have accepted their submission.

Henry was not inclined to be lenient, and he had no difficulty in satisfying his anger against the clergy, regular and secular, but that was not enough; he wanted also to punish the gentlemen, whom he suspected of great negligence and probable disloyalty, because they had not prevented the rebellion at the first signs of disturbance. In this he was partially baffled by the strong class spirit of the gentlemen. His lieutenants were reluctant to gather evidence against men of their own order. They were quite willing to sacrifice the commons, and they could not save the monks, but as far as possible they protected the gentlemen and even the higher of the secular clergy^[802].

This reluctance could not be more than a temporary check to the King. If he could not trust his agents, he would act himself. There is reason to suppose that he did not intend to permit some of the northern gentlemen who rode up to court at Christmas 1536 to return to the north again, but if this were so the outcry of the commons in the north temporarily saved their lords, and convinced the King that the time for the blow had not come. The commons were inspired more by fear than by love. They were not so much anxious lest their masters should be put to death as suspicious that they were plotting with the King against the commons. As it turned out the effect of the gentlemen’s return was greatly in the King’s favour, as it encouraged those whom he summoned later to come up to him 158without fear. In this way the Percys, Sir Robert Constable, and Lord Darcy went unsuspiciously up to London.

The proceedings of Norfolk and Sussex and the executions in Lincolnshire shook the confidence of the gentlemen who remained in the north. They could not help seeing that the King’s oblivion of the past extended only to the appointment of Doncaster. He had forgotten his own promises, but he was not inclined to forget the behaviour of the gentlemen, and he was prepared to strain the law to the utmost in order to evade the observation of the pardon. As this came to be realised in Yorkshire the uneasiness which it produced was the cause of the last Yorkshire plot, devised by that particularly unsuitable conspirator, Sir John Bulmer.

About the middle of March the Bulmers’ peace was suddenly disturbed by the delivery of a royal citation summoning both Sir John and Margaret his wife to go up to London^[803]. This part of the affair is difficult to follow, but it is probable that information had been laid against them by Gregory Conyers, who played so mysterious a part in Bigod’s rising^[804]. Norfolk must have sent his accusations to London, but the letter containing them is lost.

On receiving the summons the unfortunate couple realised that it was probably their death warrant, but Sir John resolved to make sure. He obtained licence from Norfolk to delay his journey until Easter, and wrote privately to his son Ralph, who was still in London, to ask whether he might safely obey the summons^[805]. Ralph sent back a servant named Lasingham with the message that Sir John “should look well to himself, for, as far as he could perceive, all was falsehood that they were dealt withal,”^[806] a true but dangerous message. The gentlemen who were summoned to London at that time were all wanted for trial, and the Bulmers, conscious of their secret, were driven desperate by fear.

Lady Bulmer was terrified lest she should be parted from her husband. Their connection had been irregular, and she knew that there was no hope of mercy if her conduct were called in question. Sir John Watts, the parish priest of Easington, Yorks, said, “She is feared that she will be departed from him for ever ... she peradventure will say, ‘Mr Bulmer for my sake break a spear,’ and then he like a dow will [say], ‘Pretty Peg, I will never forsake thee.’” His servants heard him say that “he had liever be racked than part from his wife,”^[807] and she for her part declared that “she would liever be 159torn in pieces than go to London.” Apart from other considerations, her baby son was not three months old, and it would be equally hard to take or to leave him. In spite of the priest’s assertion that Margaret encouraged her husband to plan a new insurrection sooner than obey the royal summons, it seems that she really used her influence to persuade him to escape by sea either to Ireland or to Scotland^[808]; but it was very difficult to induce a man to leave his father’s home and his native land in those days. In almost every case a suspected man preferred the probability of death to the certainty of exile. Sir John would not fly, but neither would he go to London. He preferred the desperate expedient of an attempt to raise a new insurrection, saying, “As good be slain and die in the field as be martyred as many other were above.”^[809] The exact date when Ralph Bulmer’s warning was received is not known, but it was about Palm Sunday 25 March 1537. In “Palm Sunday week” Margaret begged Sir John to fly, but he resolved to stay and make a last effort to revive the Pilgrimage.

On Thursday 29 March Sir John Bulmer’s chaplain, William Staynhus, set out from Lastingham, where Sir John was living, on a tour among the neighbouring parish priests “to inquire if the commons would rise again, which they should know by men’s confessions.” Margaret suggested that he should go to Bartholomew Cottam and Parson Franke, rector of Lofthouse, who had been a captain in the first insurrection^[810]. The chaplain was also to visit John Watts the parson of Easington, the parson of Hinderwell and, perhaps, Gregory Conyers. His message seems to have been that an attempt should be made to seize Scarborough on Easter Day^[811], though if this is correct Bulmer was allowing very little time for preparation as it was already Thursday and Easter was the following Sunday.

Other messengers were sent out besides the chaplain. Robert Hugill went to the vicar of Kirkby in Cleveland, and Sir John Bulmer wrote to Lord Lumley “to come and live with him till they might provide some way for themselves.”^[812] With the letter he sent a copy of a treasonable bill which had been brought to him by his servant Blenkinsop^[813]. Lord Lumley’s son was in the Tower, with very little hope of obtaining mercy from the King. Staynhus told Sir John that Lumley had said, “If he were commanded to come up [to London], he would bring 10,000 at his tail.” Sir John replied that it was impossible for both himself and Lord Lumley together to raise 160enough men to save them from the King. Staynhus did not press the point and merely said, “Nay, that is truth, but thus speak they there.”^[814] Shortly before Good Friday Sir John visited Lord Lumley, who was living at Kilton near Guisborough; although Lumley had intended to spend Whitsuntide at Kilton, after Sir John’s visit he left the place hurriedly, “which things causeth a great murmur to be here in the country.”^[815]

Bulmer was counting on the help of Lord Latimer, who had also been summoned to London, and of Sir James Strangways, an old friend of his, but it does not appear that he sent them any messages^[816]. When he received his son’s warning, however, he sent it on to Lord Darcy and perhaps to Sir Robert Constable^[817], but they probably had set out for London before the message arrived; at any rate they paid no attention to it.

After despatching his messengers Sir John went to Rosedale, where he was the lessee of a suppressed monastery^[818]. The parish priest, Sir James Otterburn, said to him on Good Friday, “Here is great destruction of people since my Lord Norfolk came,” and hinted that the country was ready to rise again^[819]. Sir John received further encouragement from a very unexpected quarter. Young Sir Ralph Evers had occasion to write to him about the presentation to the living of Settrington, and in his letter he sharply criticised both Norfolk and Cromwell. It is true that Evers afterwards denied that he had written this part of the letter, and asserted that it had been forged by his enemies, but Norfolk, who investigated the affair, came to the conclusion that Evers was really responsible for the words^[820]. As he, next to the Earl of Cumberland, had been the chief supporter of the King’s cause in the north, the fact that even he was turning against the King’s measures is highly significant, and must have been very encouraging to the Bulmers. This, however, was the end of their success, for William Staynhus’ mission was a failure.

Staynhus went first to see John Watts, parson of Easington, and revealed his master’s purpose to him in the presence of Bartholomew Cottam. Watts, a garrulous but harmless old man, entered into a long discourse about “the chronicles.” Probably, like Wilfrid Holme, he proved from history to his own satisfaction that “treason can never 161prosper.” By his account his arguments completely baffled Staynhus, who could not of course complete the rhyme. “He gave no answer, but I answered that,” “he answered no word”—are Watts’ report of Staynhus’ share in the conversation. He managed to say that he was on his way to Parson Franke at Lofthouse, and Watts determined to forestall him; “my purpose was that he [Franke] being a marvellous witted man as we have in all our country might have his answer surely.”

Although Watts said service before he set out, he arrived at Lofthouse before Staynhus, whose horse was weary. Watts repeated the chaplain’s message to Franke, “he hearing me patiently,” and then suggested that he had better go home again before Staynhus arrived, so that his errand should not be suspected. The two priests set out together, but they met Staynhus on the road. Staynhus said, “I have a message to show you from my master and my lady.” Franke answered, “If ye have any message to say to me, my brother parson shall hear and the bailiff and the constable both, because your master was with my Lord Lumley within these two days, saying he had both brewed and baked and slain his beefs, and suddenly my Lord Lumley is gone.” As Franke was angry, Staynhus gave him a harmless message: “My master and my lady commended them to you, desiring you to show them whether they may make a proctor to excuse them. They are sent for to London.”^[821] Franke exclaimed, “Twisshe, straws! I can neither thee neither thy master thanks for sending to me for any such counsel.... If thy master be sent for to London let him go as he is commanded. I can give him none other counsel.”^[822]

Watts, “hearing that cloaked matter contrary to his [Staynhus’] saying before Bartholomew Cottam,” cried out, “‘Parson, these be not the matters he said he would show to you, but if ye will hear I will rehearse them before you.’” Franke had no desire to assist at so dangerous a rehearsal, and replied hastily that he would hear nothing, and that Watts was “frantic.” Watts, angry in his turn, said “he should hear them whether he would or no,” but Franke went away and summoned the bailiff to hear Staynhus’ message, and in the interval Watts cooled. When the bailiff came Franke repeated the “cloaked” message, and asked if there were any harm in it. The bailiff said none that he could perceive, and went home. Watts and Staynhus followed him^[823]. The chaplain had a letter for Franke from Sir John Bulmer, but “finding the parson did not favour his master,” 162he tore up the letter and threw the pieces “into a water between the bailiffs house and the church.”^[824]

The two priests talked together as they went along. Staynhus asked Watts what he thought would happen to the gentlemen whom the King had sent for; Watts replied vigorously but discouragingly, “All false harlots should be hanged by the neck.” He asked how Sir John hoped to resist the summons, and Staynhus said that Lord Lumley had promised to succour him to his power. Watts had no confidence in Lumley, and said he would forsake Sir John. He also declared that he was sure the whole plot was devised by that wicked woman Margaret, Sir John’s pretended wife. He gave as his reason for this the story of one of Bulmer’s tenants at Rosedale, who had heard a servant of Sir John’s say that his master had said that he would rather be racked than parted from his wife. This was merely a fourth-hand report, and Watts’ conviction was based on his disapproval of Margaret’s past life rather than anything in her present conduct.

Staynhus said nothing to confirm Watts’ opinion that Margaret was at the bottom of the plot. When Watts went so far as to say, “Sir William, take heed of yourself, an ye are a wanton priest, beware ye fall not in love with her, for if ye do ye will be made as wise as your master and both will be hanged then,” he was moved to protest, “Of a truth I never wist she loved me but of late,” i.e. I was never on friendly terms with her until lately.

Watts reported the conclusion of the conversation as follows:

“Then at last of all I said, ‘Sir, ye are a priest, counsel your master to take heed of himself, and also take ye heed, for surely ye must be first hanged; for surely, Sir William, there is not one man in all England will take your master’s part.’ Then said Sir William, ‘Parson, I dare show my mind to you.’

‘What else?’ said I, ‘I am sure enough, and that know ye well enough.’

‘Thus it is, if my master mistrusted that the commons would not be up at a wipe, surely he will flee to Ireland, and he trusts to get his lands again within a year.’

Last word that ever I said to the said Sir William, I said: ‘Fare well Sir William, for of a truth thou wilt be hanged by the neck.’”

With this encouragement Staynhus departed. Watts passed the night at the bailiffs house at Lofthouse, and next day went home to serve mass on Easter Even. He confessed himself to be “marvellously ‘commeryd’ in the mind how I should do in this matter which passed greatly my wit.... I knowing all this, some men would think I had no 163cause to be very merry at my heart.... I could not compass in my mind how I should disclose this hideous and parlous case which passeth my rude understanding.”^[825]

If the worthy parson was troubled and frightened, the situation of Sir John and his fellow conspirators was still more “hideous and parlous.” The chaplain’s visit to Lofthouse was on Good Friday, 30 March, and by 8 April they were all under arrest. The matter came to light through Gregory Conyers, who must have laid information very soon after Staynhus parted from Sir John Watts, as Norfolk had time to collect some confessions, which probably included that of Watts, before he sent up to London on 8 April Nicholas Rudston, Gregory Conyers, William Staynhus and Margaret Bulmer^[826]. Already the husband and wife were parted, for Sir John was to be sent up later, and did not reach London until 21 April^[827]. Sir William Bulmer, on hearing of his brother’s arrest, went to Norfolk to find out whether anything was laid to his charge, but after examination Norfolk acquitted him and sent him up to London, not as a prisoner but as a messenger^[828].

As Staynhus, Rudston and Conyers were making their weary journey up to London, Rudston asked the chaplain who were his accusers^[829]. Staynhus replied that they were the vicar of Easington and the rector of Lofthouse. Rudston, sympathising with him, remarked that Franke had done much worse than the acts with which he charged Staynhus, as he was a head captain in Howdenshire, and caused Sir Thomas Percy to rise; “he [Rudston] could say more if he list, ... he [Franke] was the unknownest fellow in Yorkshire.”^[830] Rudston’s accusation was correct; Franke is mentioned as a captain in one of the earliest of Aske’s manifestos^[831].

It is not certain where Lady Bulmer was imprisoned at first, but when Sir John was sent up they were reunited in the Tower^[832]. Staynhus was confined in the Marshalsea, and found there another prisoner, John Pickering the priest—not the friar—who was an old friend of his. They were not harshly treated, and after they had heard each other’s confession and dined, Staynhus told his friend why he was committed. His story was that Sir John Bulmer had sent him to Parson Franke with the letter of citation to London, because Bulmer wanted Franke’s advice about it. Staynhus had called upon 164the priest of Easington on the way about his private affairs, and the priest, when he heard that Sir John was cited to London, said that he would lose his head. Franke had been angry at Sir John’s message, and consequently Staynhus had never delivered his master’s letter. He repeated to Pickering Rudston’s accusation of Franke, and said that Gregory Conyers was a witness to the words. Pickering thought the matter so important that he repeated it to another prisoner and also to the keeper of the Marshalsea. Staynhus was a vindictive man. He declared that if he were hanged he would cause Parson Franke to hang Rudston or Rudston Parson Franke^[833].

Thus by the beginning of May 1536 all the principal leaders of the Pilgrimage were in the Tower, and the last hope that the appointment of Doncaster would be observed had vanished. The humiliation of the north was completed by the mock trial of the prisoners before a jury of their own relations; no further resistance was possible when men had been reduced to this infamy. In the south, however, the failure of the insurrection caused keen disappointment in some quarters, while the people had not the evidence of the King’s severity before their eyes to restrain the expression of their grievances. It is true that the south could not be induced to rise simultaneously and complete the work of the Pilgrims. The southern sympathisers were less warlike and less enthusiastic than the northerners. They hoped that the northern rebels could do all that was required, and that they would enjoy the result without sharing in the risk.

After the second appointment of Doncaster, there was an outburst of activity among the conservative priests which the government suppressed as far as possible. On 23 December 1536, Richard Southwell announced that he had arrested two priests who were circulating copies of the rebels’ oath^[834]. His brother Robert Southwell reported about Easter 1537 the execution of two priests who were taken in Sussex and were perhaps the same men^[835].

On 31 December 1536 another priest was charged with sowing abroad slanderous bills against Cromwell in Cambridgeshire, where many such bills passed about^[836]. Richard Jackson, the parson of Witnesham, Suffolk, was reported on the same day to have brought into the pulpit the King’s Book of Articles, and said, “shaking the book in his hand, ‘Beware, my friends, of the English books ... he 165that was the first and chief setter forward of them shall be the first that shall repent him’”; besides other speeches in favour of the Pope’s supremacy^[837]. Hugh Payne, the curate of Hadley in Suffolk, taught that one paternoster said by a priest’s commandment was worth 1000 said voluntarily. Archbishop Cranmer enjoined penance upon him, but he continued to preach at Stoke Nayland in Suffolk, and Cranmer reported to Cromwell on 28 January that he was a “wolfish Pharisee.”^[838] Payne was imprisoned in the Marshalsea, where he “was like to die of sickness and the weight of his irons.”^[839] Robert Canell was accused of preaching a seditious sermon at Windsor on Advent Sunday 1 December 1536^[840], and John Woodward was committed to Stafford gaol for the same offence at Christmas^[841].

Early in January 1536–7 the rumours began to spread again. It was said in London that the King had levied a tax on christenings in the north^[842]; another story told at Rochester was that the Earl of Cumberland had refused to obey the King’s summons to court and was holding a castle against him^[843], while in Buckingham it was said that the churches would be pulled down and their jewels sold. A barber’s boy of Aylesbury was examined about this tale; he said he heard it from his dame, and she in her turn had heard it “at the common bakehouse, where they were to set their bread.”^[844] The same rumour was discussed in the ale-houses of Shrewsbury early in March^[845]. It had probably spread from Wales, where there had never been more rioting than there was that spring^[846]. The Bishop of St Asaph banished one priest from his diocese “for not rasing the Bishop of Rome’s name and for other crimes.”^[847] Another priest was accused of repeating a rumour that the King would pull down parish churches. He had also said “that if the men of Holy Church would rise with one assent that they would not give a point for the King’s Grace,” and other words against the King. Although he denied the words the Council of Wales were satisfied of his guilt by the evidence^[848]. The Abbot of Wigmore was accused of having in his service a suspected northern rebel^[849].

There was very little heresy in Wales, “for their language does not agree to the advancement thereof,” but on 15 January 1536–7 166the Bishop of Coventry sent up to London articles against a heretic who had been preaching in the diocese of St David during November 1536. One effect of his doctrine was that the Prior of Woodhouse in Cleobury Mortimer (Cleeland) “without authority despatched the goods of his monastery and changed his vesture in this ruffling time.”^[850]

The only article of the second appointment of Doncaster which the King was inclined to observe was the promise that he would summon a council of divines to show their learning on religious questions. They were not, of course, permitted to discuss the royal supremacy or the other most important points which the rebels wished to lay before them, but they were entrusted with the revision of the Ten Articles. By 18 February 1536–7 “most part of the bishops have come [to London], but no one knows what is to be done.”^[851] The tendency of the assembly was on the whole reactionary. The four sacraments which had been omitted from the Ten Articles were “found again,”^[852] and it was rumoured, incorrectly, that “Our Lady is now found again, thanked be God, that was lost before.”^[853]

Another sign of conservatism was the renewed prosecution of heretics which occurred in the early part of 1537^[854]. The northern rebels had a saying, “If you call us traitors we will call you heretics.” The reverse of this was literally true in the heresy cases, for the accused always retorted that his accuser had used treasonable words during the rebellion; all the preacher’s friends swore to the treason, and all the accuser’s friends to the heresy, and the whole countryside was filled with quarrelling and counter-accusations.

An instance of this occurred in the neighbourhood of Ipswich. John Bale, formerly Prior of the White Friars there, gave up his office on account of his changed opinions, and became vicar of Thorndon. He was constantly in trouble for his preaching, and in return accused his parishioners of sympathy with the Lincolnshire rebels^[855]. While he was accused of heresy, the Prior of Butley, who was also Suffragan of Ipswich, was accused of treason, as he was inconveniently reluctant to surrender his house^[856].

Bishop Latimer’s diocese of Worcester was torn by dissensions, some of the clergy supporting their bishop, others calling him a false 167harlot and a “horesone” heretic^[857]. John Kene parson of Christchurch, Bristol, despised the new preachers and condemned their doctrines. Most of his parishioners were offended because he “prayed not for the King four Sundays together in his chief wars against the rebellious and traitors,” but a few were on his side, and William Glaskeryon said at the time of the rising, “We may bless the time that we were born; they rise to strengthen our Faith.” Another man, when he heard the rebels had fallen, hoped that they would rise again, and said that he would join them himself. About Candlemas seditious bills appeared on the steps of Christchurch, Bristol, and during Lent the warden of the Grey Friars, who was of the old way of thinking, and the Prior of the Friars Preachers, who was of the new, preached one against the other^[858].

The hopes of the reactionaries were dashed by a proclamation issued by the King about the middle of Lent which permitted the eating of white meats, milk, eggs, etc., during the fast^[859]. This was a new source of strife. A mariner of Brighton was accused of saying that “he could not judge how the King should be Pope and have power to license people to eat butter, cheese and milk in Lent”; but the justices decided that the accusation was malicious and false^[860].

The diocese of Salisbury was in much the same condition as that of Worcester. Bishop Shaxton was a reformer, but his people were conservative, and when the King’s dispensation was posted up in the city of Salisbury it was immediately torn down. The Bishop’s chaplain, John Madowell, urged the mayor to investigate the matter, and was promptly thrown into prison^[861]. He complained to Cromwell both on his own behalf and on that of another man, who had posted a bill against the seditious preaching of a certain friar and had been imprisoned for it^[862]. On Cromwell’s remonstrance the prisoners were reluctantly set at liberty under surety, but the mayor defended his conduct on the grounds that Madowell was a Scot and had used himself uncharitably and slanderously against the corporation^[863].

There was a similar breach in Kent between the Archbishop and the lower clergy^[864]. At the time of the insurrection “one Sir Davy, a priest” quarrelled with a man called John Drewry in a tavern. The priest said that the King was “a tyrant more cruel than Nero; for Nero destroyed but a part of Rome but this tyrant 168destroyeth his whole realm.” Drewry called him a traitor, whereupon the priest drew his dagger and chased Drewry into the kitchen, “where my host and hostess were, he grinding of malt and she dressing her child by the fire.” Davy wounded Drewry and fled, thinking he had killed him. The fugitive was protected by the commissary of Maidstone and by the curate of Headcorn^[865]. In April certain of the curate’s parishioners brought charges against him, but the rest of the parish were so much enraged that they said “there would be no peace till five or six of these new fellows were killed,” and kept the accusers in terror of their lives^[866].

The complete failure of the insurrection was generally known in the south by Easter. The executions in the north and in Lincolnshire, the King’s Lenten proclamation, and the absence of any preparations for a parliament, showed that there was no further hope. The result of this was two-fold, for while the timid ceased to murmur against the government, the bolder spirits dreamed of a last effort which might snatch a victory when all seemed lost. There were certain districts where the disaffection was so strong that definite ideas of resistance were entertained. It often happened that these were the places where there was also a good deal of heresy. Sedition and heresy in fact went hand in hand, for where one party was strong, the other was provoked into violence.

Particular efforts were made to force the acceptance of the King’s reforms upon the two universities. Not much is known about the attitude of Cambridge during this period, except that the vicar of All Hallows, who was a chaplain of the Bishop of Ely, caused much offence by the manner in which he ministered the Sacrament, and the vicar of Caxton was accused of giving his parishioners ale instead of wine at the mass on Easter day^[867].

There is more information about Oxford, where several royal preachers spoke against the primacy of Rome and in favour of justification, without obtaining much acceptance^[868]. A certain John Parkyns laid information against the Abbots of Oseney and Eynsham and against Serls, vicar of St Peter’s in the East, Oxford, but the man seems to have been a lunatic, as even Cromwell admitted, for he endorsed one of Parkyns’ letters “a fool of Oxford or thereabouts.”^[869] Although Parkyns’ tales cannot be credited, there are other signs that there was disaffection both in the country and in the university. 169The people of Thame insisted upon celebrating the day of St Thomas à Becket [29 December 1536]. Thomas Strebilhill said to the vicar, “Master Doctor, ye have kept a solemn feast this day, where had ye such authority?” The vicar replied that the people would have it so. Strebilhill persisted that within a mile and a half there were men at work, whereupon another man said, that “he wished their horses’ necks had been to-braste and their carts fired.” Strebilhill remonstrated, “I think thou art one of the northern sect; thou wouldst rule the King’s Highness and not be ruled.” In May there was a rumour at Thame that the King would take away the church jewels^[870]. An Oxford scholar was heard to say on 19 January 1536–7 that “if the northern men should continue rebellious his Grace would be in great danger of his life or avoid his realm before the end of March.”^[871]

About the beginning of February the Abbot of Whalley sent a letter to “his scholar at Oxford” and to the Abbot of Hailes, of whom he said in his message: “I would be glad to see him once more ere I departed out of this world, seeing I brought him up here of a child.” The proctor of Blackburn sent a letter to the scholar by the same messenger, William Rede, a baker of Oxford. On his journey Rede spent the night at his usual halting-place, the house of Richard Oldfelden, a schoolmaster at Knutsford^[872]. In order to be a successful schoolmaster it was necessary to be a conservative in religion; all parents like to think that their children are being taught what they themselves learnt when they were young. The failure of Gervase Tyndale, the reformer, in the profession has already been recorded^[873]. Robert Richardin, another reformer and would-be schoolmaster, was driven out of Lincolnshire by the insurrection^[874]. Oldfelden, however, was a conservative and must have prospered, as he had a son Philip at Oriel College, Oxford, and was thinking of sending another son there, if he could get him a place as a butler^[875]. Oldfelden asked Rede to carry a letter to Philip, and especially charged him not to show it to any man, and to deliver it into Philip’s own hands^[876]. In this letter, among various items of family interest, Oldfelden told his son that he would send him “a hundred verses and more made by Roger Vernon in your brother John’s name, concerning the insurrection in the north. Cave dicas resurrection [beware lest thou say resurrection].” Philip might show these verses and others which his father was sending to 170his master. At the end of the letter Oldfelden was seized with caution and added that he would not send the verses, lest the poor man who carried the letter should show them to anyone or be searched^[877]. This omission is a pity; it would have been interesting to see the verses, which might have been preserved with the letter, and Oldfelden’s danger could not have been increased, as they had been mentioned. The schoolmaster’s fears were justified; Rede spent the next night in the constable’s house at Wotton. He told the constable that he was ill and would be glad to go back to Lancashire if he could find anyone to deliver his Oxford letters. The constable took the letters, opened and read them, and laid them before a magistrate at Kenilworth Castle. He promptly imprisoned Rede who was examined on 10 February 1536–7^[878]. As he had been solemnly warned not to part with the letters, he deserved his misfortune.

Thomas Reynton, another north country man at Oxford, corresponded with his friends at Durham in no loyal terms. He told them that the most part of the King’s levies were but boys, and that the people of Oxfordshire were so weary of being summoned to musters and then countermanded “that they say ere they rise again the King shall as soon hang them up at their own doors.”^[879] The King’s levies, and particularly the pressing of horses, caused complaints in several places^[880].

At Oxford there was opposition to the new opinions, but in the more remote parts of England there was an obstinate adherence to the old customs. In September 1536 John Tregonwell reported to Cromwell that the people of Cornwall were as quiet and true to the King as any in the realm, and rejoiced greatly “that the King has allowed the festum loci of every church to be kept holy, at Cromwell’s intercession.”^[881] Either a special indulgence had been granted to Cornwall for a limited time, or Tregonwell had misunderstood Cromwell’s injunctions, as not all the church holy days were permitted. One of those which were prohibited was the day of St Keverne [St Kevin’s day, 3 June], who was the patron saint of a large and unruly parish in Cornwall, the first to rise in the insurrection of 1497^[882].

It is probable that the discontent which the suppression of the local feast caused was encouraged by a copy of the Pilgrims’ oath and articles which some Cornish soldiers had obtained at King’s Lynn, 171when Norfolk disbanded his troops^[883]. Early in April 1537 two fishermen of St Keverne’s, named Carpyssacke and Treglosacke, when selling their fish at Hamell beside Southampton, met two men who were evidently agents of the rebellious party. They asked the Cornish men why they had not risen with the north, and the fishermen were so much moved by their words that they “swore upon a book to help them,” and began their preparations by buying 200 jerkins.

When the fishermen went home they directed a local painter to make a banner for the parish of St Keverne, “in the which banner they would have first the picture of Christ with his wounds abroad and a banner in his hand, Our Lady on the one side holding her breast in her hand, St John à Baptist on the other side, the King’s Grace and the Queen kneeling, and all the commonalty kneeling, with scripture above their heads, making their petition to the picture of Christ that it would please the King’s Grace that they might have their holidays.” Carpyssacke intended to display this banner on Pardon Monday, and he expected that the people would follow it^[884]. In consequence prophecies of the King’s death and rumours of musters arose in the neighbouring county of Devonshire^[885]. The plot, however, was a very ingenuous one, and was quickly discovered. The painter was alarmed at so dangerous a commission, and reported the matter to a local magistrate, who wrote on 22 April to Cromwell for orders, with assurances that the whole county was quiet and well-disposed, and that Carpyssacke was the only traitor; nevertheless he begged that the King would permit the people to “hold the day of the head saint of their church.”^[886] He was commanded to arrest the two fishermen and send them to London, but they had gone back to Southampton and Treglosacke seems to have escaped altogether^[887]. Carpyssacke was eventually taken and imprisoned in Cornwall. He was not sent up to London, and there must have been some powerful influence at work in his favour, for the justices of assize said that they had no authority to inquire for high treason and refused to try him^[888]; he is last heard of on 28 August 1537, still uncondemned^[889]. In July it was reported that the people of Exeter were “half afraid of a privy insurrection of Cornishmen.”^[890]

These mutterings and plots are all connected with the religious discontent, but the failure of the rebellion was also a severe 172disappointment to the commons who had hoped for social reforms, and the methods in which they vented their baffled feelings were more dangerous than the feeble efforts of the religious.

In Somerset, although the suppression of the monastery of Clyffe^[891] caused much lamentation^[892], social grievances were uppermost. The levying of the subsidy had been stopped in several counties during the insurrection. In April 1537 it began again, and the commissioners inquired “whether we shall stand to the old taxation or attempt higher sums.”^[893] As the King was badly in need of money after the expenses of the insurrection, they were probably ordered to get as much as they could, but the exaction which provoked the rising was not the subsidy. The outbreak was caused by a “certain commission ... to take up corn,” apparently an exercise of the hated royal right of purveyance, due to the King’s poverty. The commons tried to rise against the commissioners, but were repressed by “young Mr Paulet and other great men.” Sixty rebels were imprisoned, of whom fourteen were executed for treason, one being a woman. The rest were pardoned^[894].

It is curious that there is no reference to this attempt among the “Letters and Papers of Henry VIII” until 13 May, after the prisoners had been executed at Taunton. There was a rumour in the county that the King was displeased with Thomas Horner for “his taking the men imprisoned at Nonye”^[895] and causing them to be executed at Taunton. It was said that Horner’s life had been saved only by the intercession of Sir John St Low and that the King said that “he had liever have given Sir John 1000 marks a year.”^[896] Sir John St Low wrote to Cromwell to request that the rumour might be contradicted and its authors punished, as it was greatly to Horner’s detriment^[897]. It is unlikely that Henry took any active measures to suppress the story, as he encouraged the popular view of his character, upon which it was based, that he was a good-natured but careless man, who left too much to his agents, but was shocked and grieved when his attention was called to their severity.

It is interesting to notice the previous history of Somerset. The peasants of the shire had risen in the great revolt of 1381. In the fifteenth century lollardy was widely diffused there. Without entering into the vexed question as to how long lollardy survived as a creed^[898], 173it may be remarked that the lollards of 1447 were nearer in point of time to the men of 1537 than John Wesley is to our own time, and it is possible that their influence may have lasted as his has done.

It is still more interesting to trace the history of revolt in Norfolk and Suffolk. In 1381, under the vigorous rule of Bishop Spencer, these counties were considered the most orthodox in England^[899]. Nevertheless the peasants’ revolt there in that year was exceedingly violent and unusually well organised. Its objects were purely social, and many parish priests and chaplains were with the insurgents, still the monasteries were savagely attacked, not on religious grounds, but because their tenants felt themselves oppressed^[900]. The hatred of the monks was so strong that it is surprising that their fall 150 years later should have excited any regret, but the changed feeling of the people is accounted for by the changed social conditions. The monasteries were above everything conservative. In 1381, after the great catastrophe of the Black Death, they insisted on exacting the old dues, which had become oppressive, and in paying the old wages, which were inadequate. The peasants in consequence wanted to force their lords to move with the times. In Henry VIII’s reign, on the contrary, it was the lords who were moving faster than the peasants liked. The monasteries became popular because they still practised the old hospitality, and to some extent cultivated the land in the old way.

After the death of fighting Bishop Spencer, lollardy spread rapidly through East Anglia; the large lollard communities there underwent vigorous persecution in 1428^[901]. Social discontent, more than religious conservatism, caused the commons of this region to meditate a rising in 1537, and the rebels of 1549 definitely professed themselves to be protestants^[902]. Yet the first suggestion of a revolt was connected with the suppression of Buckenham Priory. As three men were riding home from Stone Fair on 1 August 1536 [Lammas Day], one of them, Hugh Wilkinson, said to the other two: “Let us go home, for now are the visitors in putting down of our house. And if ye will do after me, I have here an angel noble in my purse that never did me good, and that shall ye have between you, if ye will come in the evening and kill them in their beds, for I know the gates of every door, so that I shall let you into every chamber. And when ye have done ye may soon be out of the way for the wood is at hand. And when 174they be in their beds ye shall be sure that they have no weapon at hand to defend themselves withal. And if I had no more to lose than one of you hath, it should be the first deed I should do.” But the two others refused the rather inadequate bribe^[903].

Later in the year 1536 there were disturbances in Norfolk which were suppressed by the Duke of Norfolk^[904]. When the Lincolnshire rebellion broke out there was much anxiety lest it should spread to Norfolk, and this was prevented only by prompt and severe measures^[905].

In November copies of the Yorkshire oath and manifesto appeared at King’s Lynn and Walsingham^[906] and murmurs were heard of an intended rising^[907]. The great shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham was naturally a centre for all the rumours of the country. One of the priests, Henry Manser, was accused of having discussed the rebellion with some Lincolnshire pilgrims to the shrine on 7 December 1536; in the course of the conversation they had regretted that Norfolk and Suffolk had not risen at the same time as Lincolnshire, for then the rebels “would have gone through the kingdom.” The way in which the conversation was revealed is rather suspicious. In June 1537 the priest caused “a sore and a diseased” beggar to be turned out of Our Lady’s Chapel and set in the stocks. The beggar in revenge accused the priest of the treasonable conversation which he asserted that he had overheard^[908].

Information was laid on 15 February against John Hogon, a fiddler, who went about Norfolk and the neighbouring counties singing seditious songs^[909]. During Lent Harry Jervyse of Fincham said that he wished the Yorkshire men had prospered, for then “the holydays that were put down should be restored again,” and after Easter he rebuked some of his friends, saying that if they had been ruled by him he would have cried “Fire!” at mass time at the house of John Fincham, the principal gentleman; when he ran out they might have taken him, and if he would not be ruled by them “they would make a cart way betwixt his head and his shoulder.” Jervyse also urged his friends to ring the bells in every town to raise the commons^[910].

The suppression of the monasteries and the levying of the subsidy were suspended in Norfolk during the rebellion, but on 6 January 1536–7 the Duke of Norfolk recommended that the commissioners 175should begin their work again^[911]. One of the collectors went to John Cokke, a worsted weaver of Norwich, for his payment during Lent. Cokke was accused of saying, in reply to the collector’s demand: “I cannot pay for I can sell no worsted, wherefore I see no remedy without poor men do rise.” Cokke denied having said the words, unless he was drunk at the time^[912].

After Easter a plot for a rising began to be discussed at Walsingham Priory. The chief mover was Ralph Rogerson, a singing man of the Priory. Nicholas Myleham the sub-prior was also accused of taking part in the conspiracy, but there was little evidence against him^[913]. About the middle of April Rogerson discussed the state of the nation with his friend George Guisborough. Guisborough said that “he thought it very evil done for the suppressing of so many religious houses, where God was well served and many other good deeds of charity done.” Rogerson agreed and said that the living of poor men went away with the abbeys, for now the gentlemen had all the farms and cattle of the country in their hands. They decided that “some men must step to and resist them,” and they resolved that they would raise a company by firing some beacon and go to the King to complain. They appointed St Helen’s Day, 21 May, as the date on which to proclaim their intentions; the mustering place was to be Shepcotes Heath, and meanwhile they sounded their friends on the subject^[914].

It is difficult to judge of their success, as Guisborough was honourably reluctant to accuse others, and Rogerson’s confession has not been preserved, but the conspirators held several meetings. On one occasion they made use of the opportunity offered “at a game of shooting of the flyte and standard” at Benham, where they held a consultation^[915]. Their fully developed plan was to assemble the people in the night, fire the beacons on the coast, and cause the head constables and under constables of the hundreds to summon the musters. Then the rebels would kill and plunder all who resisted them, seize Brandon Ferry and Brandon Bridge in order to cut off communications with London, and march to help the northern men.

Unfortunately for themselves, they admitted into their secret John Galant, a servant of Sir John Heydon. In spite of their threats that they would kill anyone who betrayed them, this man informed his master of the plot on 26 April. Sir John immediately 176sent the news to London and arrested George Guisborough and his son William, who was in the plot^[916]. The rest of the conspirators were taken on 30 April^[917], and orders were sent down on 8 May that the offenders were to be executed without sparing^[918].

The social discontent was strong in Suffolk, although it did not culminate in an organised conspiracy. On May day there was a May game at some place in Suffolk, “which play was of a king how he should rule his realm, in which one played Husbandry and said many things against gentlemen more than was in the book of the play.”^[919] After the games Husbandry prudently disappeared and could not be found^[920].

On 11 May Richard Bushop of Bungay had a long conversation with Robert Seyman in Tyndale Wood, Suffolk. Bushop asked, “What tidings hear you? Have you any musters about you?” Seyman replied no, and asked if there were any at Bungay. Bushop complained that it was a hard world for poor men, and when Seyman agreed, he went on: “Methinketh ye seem to be an honest man, such a one as a man may trust to open his mind unto. We are used under such fashion now a days as it hath not been seen, for if three or four of us be communing together the constables will examine what communication [we have] and stock us if we will not tell them: good fellows would not be so used long if one would be true to another. And as I have heard, now lately at Walsingham the people had risen if one person had not been; and as I hear some of them now be in Norwich Castle, and other be sent to London.... If two men have communication together, a man may go back on his word as long as no third man is there; three may keep counsel if two be away.”^[921] Bushop offered to show Seyman a prophecy “which one man had watched in the night to copy.” In it the King was called a mole who should be put down this year or never^[922]; also “There should land at Walborne Hope the proudest prince in all Christendom, and so shall come to Mousehold Heath, and there should meet with two other kings and shall fight and shall be put down, and the white lion should obtain.” Bushop had been told that the Earl of Derby had rebelled, and that the Duke of Norfolk was so beset in the north that he could not escape^[923]. The man must have been drunk to run on like this to a stranger. He paid a heavy price for his folly. Seyman 177informed against him, and Bushop was forced, probably by torture, to confess his words, and was then executed. It seems that Seyman shared his fate^[924]. It is rather surprising that Cromwell was able to find such a number of informers, considering that they were occasionally imprisoned and hanged with the guilty person.

The disaffection in East Anglia was due to the subsidy, the bad state of the cloth trade, the government espionage, and particularly to the aggressions of the gentlemen. In spite of its connection with Walsingham Priory the religious motive was not strong. The conspirators objected to the suppression of the monasteries partly because their almsgiving ceased, but chiefly because the confiscated lands went to increase the wealth and influence of their chief enemies, the country gentlemen. The prisoners at Norwich were heard to say that “if any great man had two dishes on his table, they would have had the one if they had gone forward with their business.”^[925]

The evidence from Aylesham is still more clear. This town was quite a centre of heresy, but it was also a centre of sedition. About the beginning of May seven persons were accused of heretical speeches. One case was very singular. Thomas Rooper “set up in the town of Aylesham a cross of wood whereon was made the image of the Pope with his three crowns, gilded, and a cardinal, which was gilded by John Swan of Aylesham and Simon Cressy the carver and setter up thereof.” It is difficult to deduce the religious belief of the designer of this curious symbol. Two persons said that they knew a hundred traitors in Aylesham, which is perhaps partly explained by the conduct of four other men who “reported that there was an Act of Parliament made that if their church lands were not sold before May Day the King would have it; whereupon they sold it to defeat the King thereof, and have converted the money coming of the sale thereof to their own use.” They tried to get hold of the church jewels also, but the churchwardens refused to give them up, saying “if the King wished to have it he was most worthy.” Again the thieves’ religious convictions cannot be deduced from their action; the devout stole church property to prevent the sacrilege of its falling into the King’s hands, the reformers did the same to prevent idolatry^[926].

There can be no doubt about the opinions of Elizabeth Wood of Aylesham, who on 12 May said to John Dix, tailor, as she was leaning upon his shop window, “It is pity that these Walsingham men were 178discovered, for we shall have never good world till we fall together by the ears:

And with clubs and clouted shoon

Shall the deed be done,

For we had never good world

Since this King reigned.

It is pity that he ’filed

Any clouts more than one.”^[927]

She was singing or saying an old rhyme which played its part in the later Norfolk rising^[928].

Twenty-five men were imprisoned at Norwich for the Walsingham plot^[929]. According to the report of some prisoners, Rogerson and George Guisborough thought of accusing several others who had known their plans, especially “a rich gentleman” who had promised them six or seven score sheep, and had said they should not lack sheep as long as he had any. They had even written out their accusation, when William Guisborough, George’s son, remonstrated with them, saying, “Father, there is no remedy but death with us, and for us to put any more in danger, it were pity.” His gentleness touched the others and they tore up the paper. Several of the prisoners gave evidence that they had seen pieces of paper “as small as pence or two pence” flying about; one had seen a fragment “about the breadth of a groat ... stamped in the water by James Biggis, his fellow that he was coupled unto.”^[930] Five prisoners were prepared to give the names of those whom they had heard Rogerson mention as his fellow-conspirators, but others whom they named as witnesses declared that they had never heard Rogerson speak in the prison. They were in a different house from him, and saw the other prisoners only occasionally from a distance in the chapel. All the accused denied absolutely that they knew anything about the plot^[931].

The conspirators were tried on Friday 25 May 1537. Twelve were condemned to execution, three to perpetual imprisonment, two were remanded to prison without judgment, and the other eight were pardoned. Rogerson and four others were executed at Norwich next day. On the scaffold a most unusual incident occurred; Rogerson attempted to address to the crowd a justification of his conduct. He was cut short by the executioner^[932]. This gives one reason why the 179last words of the condemned at this period are nearly always said to have been a confession of the crime, an acknowledgment of the impartiality of their trial, and a humble apology. If the criminal attempted to say anything inconvenient he was promptly silenced for ever. Two more of the prisoners were executed at Yarmouth on Monday 28 May, George Guisborough and Nicholas Mileham suffered at Walsingham on 30 May, and William Guisborough and another at Lynn on Friday 1 June. The twelfth man seems to have been spared^[933].

After the executions at Norwich two men of Houghton juxta Harpley were discussing the news. One of them, Thomas Westwood, had been sent to ask the other, Thomas Wright a carpenter, to come and work for his master. Westwood remarked that the wife of one of the traitors fell down in a swoon when her husband was executed, and lay so for an hour, but her husband had as he deserved. Wright was accused of answering, “They that did for the commonwealth were hanged up.”^[934]

The state of England cannot be considered healthy or happy when such an unscrupulous watch was exercised over every careless word and every expression of ordinary humanity, but it is a good sign that this spying was deeply resented by the people themselves. The monks of Lenton Abbey, Notts, talking together at Easter, said: “It is a marvellous world, for the King will hang a man for a word speaking nowadays,” to which another replied, “Yea, but the King of Heaven will not do so, and He is King of all kings; but he that hangs a man in this world for a word speaking, he shall be hanged in another world his self.”^[935] These sentiments were very natural, but they provoke the reflection that it was the Church which had taught the King that a man otherwise blameless might be put to death “for a word speaking” or for holding heretical opinions. For centuries Church and State had played into one another’s hands. So long as the clergy felt certain that the heretics whom they condemned and “relaxed to the secular arm” would be burnt, they were ready to teach that obedience to the King was a duty second only to obedience to the Church, and they blessed with their approval and imitation the barbarous penalties for treason. Now that the age-long alliance was broken, they were shocked and indignant to find themselves suffering the fate that they had complacently inflicted on others.