Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [391]
“And who are the best Christians?” Stephen asked his son a few days later.
“The poorest friars, and the mystics,” Martin answered at once.
The merchant could not, in his heart, disagree. It was a conclusion that many men, in that century shot through with the darkness of the Black Death, had come to. At this very time, great mystic writers like Thomas à Kempis and Julian of Norwich were writing books on the spiritual life that would be classics for centuries to come. When all the world’s riches could so visibly turn to dust, how could a thoughtful man fail to turn from the world?
But whatever his occasional thoughts might be, Stephen Shockley was a practical man.
“You’ve made your protest,” he told his son simply. “But you must consider your family now. You must either leave my house, and Sarum, or you must hold your beliefs in private.”
At first it seemed that Martin would refuse even this; but finally, after his mother had pleaded with him, he unwillingly agreed to say no more for the time being.
“Though at Oxford, or in London,” he assured his father, “it will be different.”
And Stephen was forced to confess to his wife: “I don’t think he’ll stay here for long.”
The uneasy peace between Martin Shockley and the cathedral canons was shattered by the events of June 1381.
The Peasants’ Revolt did not come to Sarum. It was from Kent and Essex that the great horde came, enraged by the king’s new poll taxes which fell most heavily upon the poor. At London, they had elected Wat Tyler as their leader and then terrorised the city for days.
Fortunately it was soon over. The brave young King Richard had gone out to face them and promised to grant their demands; then his followers had killed Tyler, and soon afterwards, all the king’s promises forgotten, the rebel leaders had been horribly punished. Sensible men like Stephen Shockley had breathed a sigh of relief.
But more worrying to those in authority was the sense of general unease in the countryside. The rebels in the east had been roused by the hedgerow preacher John Ball whose followers chanted the rhyme:
When Adam delve and Eve span
Who was then the gentleman?
It was an ugly, seditious thought, and not to be tolerated. There must be masters and servants or the whole fabric of society would collapse. As for their demands that serfdom be ended and the Statute of Labourers abolished, that could not be either. True, the old feudal obligations had been gradually lessening for a century and a half, and the Statute of Labourers had frequently failed to hold wages down. But to demand that ancient obligations should be forgotten was another matter. That was a question of principle.
It was not surprising that many, especially in the Church, blamed Wyclif for these disturbances – though in fact anything that threatened the revenues from his small estates would have irritated that absentee landlord considerably.
“He sets his face against authority, and he encourages foolish and ignorant men to think they can take the law into their own hands,” Portehors told Stephen Shockley sententiously, soon after news of the troubles had reached Sarum. “I hope your son will soon learn his lesson.”
But even Portehors would never have imagined the wickedness and folly of what Martin did next.
For during the riots, Sudbury, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was killed by the mob.
And it was on the morning that news of this terrible event was circulating in the market place that Martin Shockley let out a great cry and shouted: “Good! There’s one damned worldly prelate less!’
There was no doubt about it. There were fifty witnesses.
And now the bishop struck.
Bishop Erghum of Salisbury was not a man to be trifled with.
He also had a most unusual passion – for mechanical clocks.
These were still a great rarity. When the bellringers in the tall belfry tolled the hours, they were regulated not by any mechanical device, but by long candles, with marks on their side, whose accuracy was occasionally checked with a great hour glass.