[For the purpose of diffusing the knowledge of the blessed King and martyr, we have annexed this, we hope not irrelevantly, to the foregoing. Not that I who am so insignificant a person, and of scarcely any account, should set it forth with a historical t.i.tle; but insomuch as Master Jocelin, our almoner, a man of exalted piety, powerful in word and deed, did so begin it at the request and desire of his superior, I may look upon it as my own work, because, according to the precept of Seneca, whatever has been well said by another, I may without presumption ascribe to myself.

When the abbot came to Reading, and we with him, we were suitably entertained by the monks of that place, among whom we met Henry of Ess.e.x, a professed monk, who, having obtained an opportunity of speaking with the abbot, related to him and ourselves as we all sat together, how he was vanquished in duel, and how and for what reason St. Edmund had confounded him in the very hour of battle. I therefore reduced his tale into writing by the command of the lord abbot, and wrote it in these words.

As it is impossible for us to shun evil unless it be apparent, we have thought it worthy to commit to historical record the acts and excesses of Henry of Ess.e.x, as a warning and not for imitation. The warnings that can be enforced by anecdotes are useful and beneficial. The aforesaid Henry, therefore, while in prosperity was in high esteem amongst the great men of the realm, a man of much account, of n.o.ble birth, conspicuous by deeds of arms, the king's standard-bearer, and feared by all on account of his power. His neighbours endowed the church of St. Edmund, the King and martyr, with possessions and rents; but he not only shut his eyes to this fact, but also by force and by injuries, with violence and evil speaking, wrongfully withheld an annual rent of five shillings, and converted it to his own use. Nay, indeed, in process of time, when a cause touching the rape of a certain damsel was prosecuted in the court of St. Edmund, the said Henry came thither, protesting and alleging that the same plaint by law ought to be decided in his court, in view of the birthplace of the same damsel, who was born within his lordship of Lailand; and by reason of this pretext he presumed to hara.s.s the court of St. Edmund with journeys and innumerable expenses for a long s.p.a.ce of time.

In the meantime, in these and such like acts, fortune, smiling upon his desires, suddenly brought in upon him the cause of perpetual sorrow, and, under the appearance of a joyful beginning, she contrived for him a joyless end; for she is wont to smile that she may afterwards rage, to flatter that she may deceive, to raise up that she may cast down. All at once, there rose up against him Robert of Montfort, his kinsman and equal in birth and power, impeaching and accusing him before the princes of the land, of treason against the King. For he a.s.serted that Henry, in the war with the Welsh, in the difficult pa.s.s of Coleshill, had traitorously thrown down the standard of our lord the King, and had with a loud voice proclaimed his death, and so turned to flight those who were hastening to his a.s.sistance. In point of fact, the aforesaid Henry of Ess.e.x did believe that the famous King Henry the Second, who had been intercepted by the stratagems of the Welsh, had been killed; and this would indeed have been the case, if Roger Earl of Clare, ill.u.s.trious (clarus) by reason of birth, and more ill.u.s.trious by deeds of valour, had not come up in good time with his Clare men, and raised the standard of our lord the King, to the encouragement and heartening of the whole army. Henry, indeed, strenuously opposed the aforesaid Robert in a speech, and absolutely denied the accusation, so that after a short lapse of time it came to a trial by battle. And they came to Reading to fight in a certain island hard by the abbey; and thither also came a mult.i.tude to see what issue the matter would take.

Now it came to pa.s.s, while Robert of Montfort thundered upon him manfully with hard and frequent strokes, and a bold onset had promised the fruit of victory, Henry, his strength a little failing him, glanced round on all sides, and lo! on the border of the land and water he saw the glorious King and martyr, Edmund, armed, and as if hovering in the air, looking towards him with a severe countenance, shaking his head with threats of anger and indignation. He also saw with him another knight, Gilbert of Cereville, not only in appearance inferior, but less in stature from the shoulders, direct his eyes upon him as if angry and wrathful. This man, by the order of the same Henry, had been afflicted with chains and torments, and had closed his days in prison at the instance and on the accusation of Henry's wife; who, turning her own wickedness upon an innocent person, stated that she could not endure the solicitations of Gilbert to unlawful love.

Therefore, Henry, on sight of these apparitions, became anxious and fear-stricken, and remembered that old crime brings new shame.

Becoming wholly desperate, and changing reason into violence, he a.s.sumed the part of one who attacked, not one who was on the defensive; who, while he struck fiercely, was more fiercely struck; and while he manfully fought, was more manfully attacked in his turn.

In short, he fell vanquished.

As he was believed to be dead, upon the pet.i.tion of the great men of England, his kinsmen, it was permitted that the monks of that place should give his body the rites of sepulture. Nevertheless, he afterwards recovered, and now with restored health, he has wiped out the blot upon his previous life under the regular habit, and in his endeavour to cleanse the long week of his dissolute life by at least one purifying sabbath, has so cultivated the studies of the virtues, as to bring forth the fruit of happiness.]

CHAPTER IX

TROUBLES WITHOUT

Geoffrey Ridel, Bishop of Ely, sought from the abbot some timber for the purpose of constructing certain great buildings at Glemsford. This request the abbot granted, but against his will, not daring to offend him. Now the abbot making some stay at Melford, there came a certain clerk of the bishop, asking on behalf of his lord, that the promised timber might be taken at Elmswell; and he made a mistake in the word, saying Elmswell when he should have said Elmsett, which is the name of a certain wood at Melford. And the abbot was astonished at the request, for such timber was not to be found at Elmswell.

Now when Richard the forester of the same town had heard of this, he secretly informed the abbot that the bishop had the previous week sent his carpenters to spy out the wood of Elmsett, and had chosen the best timber trees in the whole wood, and placed his marks thereon. On hearing this, the abbot directly discovered that the messenger of the bishop had made an error in his request, and answered that he would willingly do as the bishop pleased.

On the morrow, upon the departure of the messenger, immediately after he had heard ma.s.s, the abbot went into the before-named wood with his carpenters, and caused to be branded with his mark not only all the oaks previously marked, but more than a hundred others, for the use of St. Edmund, and for the steeple of the great tower, commanding that they should be felled as quickly as possible. When the bishop, by the answer of his messenger, understood that the aforesaid timber might be taken at Elmswell, he sent back the same messenger (whom he overwhelmed with many hard words) to the abbot, in order that he might correct the word which he had mistaken, by saying Elmsett, not Elmswell. But before he had come to the abbot, all the trees which the bishop desired and his carpenters had marked were felled. So the bishop, if he wanted timber, had to get other timber elsewhere. As for myself, when I witnessed this affair, I laughed, and said in my heart, "Thus art is deceived by art."

On the death of Abbot Hugh, the wardens of the abbey desired to depose the bailiffs of the town of St. Edmund, and to appoint new bailiffs of their own authority, saying that this appertained to the King, in whose hand the abbey then was. But we, complaining thereof, sent our messengers to lord Ranulf de Glanville, then justiciary. He answered, that he well knew that forty pounds a year ought to be paid from the town to our sacrist, specially for the lights of the church; and he said that Abbot Hugh, of his own will, and in his privy chamber, without the consent of the convent, had granted the bailiwick as often as he chose, and unto whom he chose, saving the forty pounds payable to the altar. And therefore it was not to be wondered at if the King's bailiffs required this same thing on the King's behalf. Speaking in bitter language, he called all our monks fools for having permitted our abbot to do such things, not considering that the chief duty of monks is to hold their peace, and pa.s.s over with closed eyes the excesses of their prelates; nor yet considering that they are called barrators if they, whether it be right or wrong, contravene their superiors in anything; and, further, that sometimes we are accused of treason and are condemned to prison and to exile. Wherefore it seems to myself and others the better counsel to die as confessors rather than as martyrs.

On the return of our messenger home, and on his relating what he had seen and heard, we, as being unwilling and, as it were, under compulsion, resolved, so far as we were able, that the old bailiffs of the town should be deposed, as well with the common consent of the convent, as by the keepers of the abbey. Samson, then sub-sacrist, was very reluctant to join in this proposition. However, when Samson was made abbot, he, calling to remembrance the wrong done to the abbey, on the morrow after the Easter following his election, caused to be a.s.sembled in our chapter-house the knights and clerks, and a number of the burgesses, and then in the presence of them all, said that the town belonged to the convent and to the altar, namely, to find tapers for the church; and that he was desirous of renewing the ancient custom, so that in the presence of the convent, and with the consent of all, some measure should be taken concerning the bailiwick of the town, and of such like matters which appertained to the convent.

At that time were nominated two burgesses, G.o.dfrey and Nicholas, to be bailiffs; and a discussion taking place from whose hand they should receive the horn, which is called the moot-horn, at last they took it from the hands of the prior, who, next to the abbot, is head over the affairs of the convent.

Now these two bailiffs kept their bailiwick in peace many years, until they were said to be remiss in keeping the King's justice. On the abbot's suggestion that greater security should be given to the convent upon this point, they were removed, and Hugh the sacrist took the town into his own keeping, appointing new officers, who were to answer to him concerning the bailiwick. In process of time, I know not how, new bailiffs were subsequently appointed, and that elsewhere than in chapter, and without the concurrence of the church; wherefore a like or perhaps greater peril is to be apprehended after the decease of Abbot Samson than even was after the death of Abbot Hugh.

One of our brethren, too, fully relying upon the regard and friendship of the abbot, upon a fit opportunity and with propriety and decency, talked over the matter with him, a.s.serting that dissatisfaction was expressed in the convent. But the abbot upon hearing this was silent for a long time, as if he was somewhat disturbed. At length he is reported to have said, "Am not I, even I, the abbot? Does it not belong to me alone to make order concerning the affairs of the church committed to my care, provided only that I should act with wisdom and according to G.o.d's will? If there should be default in the administration of the King's justice in this town, I shall be challenged for it; I shall be summoned; upon myself alone will rest the burden of the journey, and the expenses, and the defence of the town and its appurtenances; I alone shall be deemed a fool, not the prior, not the sacrist, nor yet the convent, but myself, who am and ought to be their head. Through me and my counsel, with G.o.d's a.s.sistance, will the town be securely preserved to the best of my ability, and safe also will be those forty pounds payable annually to the altar. Let the brethren grumble, let them slander me, let them say amongst themselves what they will, I am still their father and their abbot; so long as I live 'I will not give my glory to another.'" This said, that monk departed, and reported these answers to us.

I for my part marvelled at such sayings, and argued with myself in various ways. At length I was compelled to remain in a state of doubt, inasmuch as the rule of law says and teaches, that all things should be under the governance of the abbot.

The merchants of London claimed to be quit of toll at the fair of St.

Edmund. Nevertheless many paid it, unwillingly indeed, and under compulsion; whereof a great tumult and commotion was made among the citizens in London at their hustings. They came in a body and informed Abbot Samson that they were ent.i.tled to be quit of toll throughout all England, by authority of the charter which they had from King Henry the Second. The abbot answered that were it necessary, he was well able to vouch the King to warrant that he had never granted them any charter to the prejudice of our church, or to the prejudice of the liberties of St. Edmund, to whom St. Edward had granted and confirmed toll and theam and all regalities before the conquest of England; and that King Henry had done no more than give to the Londoners an exemption from toll throughout his own lordships, and in places where he was able to grant it; but so far as concerned the town of St.

Edmund he was not able so to do, for it was not his to dispose of. The Londoners, hearing this, ordered by common council that none of them should go to the fair of St. Edmund. For two years they kept away, whereby our fair sustained great loss, and the offering of the sacrist was much diminished. At last, upon the mediation of the Bishop of London and many others, it was settled between us and them that they should come to the fair, and that some of them should pay toll, but that it should be forthwith returned to them, that by such a colourable act the privilege on both sides should be preserved.

But in process of time, when the abbot had made agreement with his knights, and as it were slept in tranquillity, behold again "the Philistines be upon thee, Samson!" Lo! the Londoners, with one voice, were threatening that they would lay level with the earth the stone houses which the abbot had built that very year, or that they would take distress by a hundredfold from the men of St. Edmund, unless the abbot forthwith redressed the wrong done them by the bailiffs of the town of St. Edmund, who had taken fifteen pence from the carts of the citizens of London, who in their way from Yarmouth, laden with herrings, had made pa.s.sage through our demesnes. Furthermore, the citizens of London said that they were quit of toll in every market, and on every occasion, and in every place throughout all England, from the time when Rome was first founded, and that London was founded at the very same time. Also, that they ought to have such an exemption throughout all England, as well by reason of its being a privileged city, which was of old time the metropolis and head of the kingdom, as by reason of its antiquity. The abbot asked that the matter might be deferred until the return of our lord the King to England, that he might consult with him upon this; and having taken advice of the lawyers, he replevied to the claimants those fifteen pence, without prejudice to the question of each party's right.

In the tenth year of the abbacy of Abbot Samson, by the common counsel of our chapter, we complained to the abbot in his own hall, stating that the rents and issues of all the good towns and boroughs of England were increasing and augmenting, to the profit of the possessors, and the well-thriving of their lords, all except this our town, which had long yielded forty pounds, and had never gone beyond that sum; and that the burgesses of the town were the cause of this thing. For they held so large and so many standings in the market-place, of shops and sheds and stalls, without the a.s.sent of the convent, indeed from the sole gift of the bailiffs of the town, who in old time were but yearly renters, and, as it were, ministers of the sacrist, and were removable at his good pleasure. The burgesses, being summoned, made answer that they were under the jurisdiction of the King's courts, nor would they make answer in derogation of the immunity of the town and their charters, in respect of the tenements which they and their fathers had holden well and peaceably for one year and a day without claim. They also said the old custom had been that the bailiffs should, without the interference of the convent, dispose of the places of the shops and sheds in the market-place, in consideration of a certain rent payable yearly to the bailiwick. But we, gainsaying this, were desirous that the abbot should disseise them of tenements for which they had no warranty.

Now the abbot coming to our council, as if he were one of us, said to us in private, that he was willing enough to do us right, according to the best of his ability, but that he, nevertheless, was bound to proceed in due course of law; nor could he, without the judgment of a court, disseise his free men of their lands or rents, which they had held for many years, were it justly or unjustly. If he should do this, he said, he should fall into the King's mercy by the a.s.size of the realm. Therefore, the burgesses, taking counsel together, offered to the convent a rent of one hundred shillings for the sake of peace; and that they should hold their tenements as they had been wont to do. But we, on the other hand, were by no means willing to grant this, rather desiring to put that plaint in respite, hoping, perhaps, in the time of another abbot, to recover all, or change the place of the fair; and so the affair was deferred for many years.

When the abbot had returned from Germany, the burgesses offered him sixty marks, and sued for his confirmation of the liberties of the town, under the same form of words as Anselm, and Ording, and Hugh had confirmed them; all which the abbot graciously accorded.

Notwithstanding our murmuring and grumbling, a charter was accordingly made to them in the terms of his promise; and because it would have been a shame and confusion to him if he had not been able to fulfil his promise, we were not willing to contradict him, or provoke him to anger.

The burgesses, indeed, from the period when they had the charter of Abbot Samson and the convent, became more confident that they, at least in the time of Abbot Samson, would not lose their tenements or their franchises; so that never afterwards, as they did before, were they willing to pay or offer the before-named rent of one hundred shillings. At length, however, the abbot giving attention to this matter, discoursed with the burgesses hereupon, saying that unless they made their peace with the convent, he should forbid their erecting their booths at the fair of St. Edmund.

They, on the other hand, answered that they were willing to give every year a silken cope, or some other ornament, to the value of one hundred shillings, as they had before promised to do; but nevertheless, upon this condition, that they were to be for ever quit of the t.i.thes of their profits, which the sacrist sharply demanded of them. The abbot and the sacrist both refused this, and therefore the plaint was again put in respite.

In point of fact, we have from that time to the present lost those hundred shillings, according to the old saying, "He that will not when he may, when he will he shall have nay."

CHAPTER X

TROUBLES WITHIN

The cellarers quickly succeeded each other, and every one of them at the year's end became involved in a great debt. There were given to the cellarer, in aid, twenty pounds out of Mildenhall, but this did not suffice. After that, fifty pounds were a.s.signed to the cellarer each year from the same manor; and yet the cellarer used to say that this was not enough. The abbot, therefore, being anxious to provide for his security from loss and comfort, as well as for our own, knowing that in all our wants we must have recourse to him as to the father of the monastery, a.s.sociated with the cellarer a certain clerk of his own table, by name Ranulf, so that he might a.s.sist him both as a witness and companion in the expenses and receipts. And lo! many of us speak many things, murmurings thicken, falsehoods are invented, scandals are interwoven with scandals, nor is there a corner in the house which does not resound with venomous hissing.

One says to another, "What is this that is done? Who ever saw the like? There never was such an insult offered to the convent before.

Behold! the abbot has set a clerk over a monk; see, he has made a clerk a master and keeper over the cellarer, as if he could do no good without him. The abbot thinks but lightly of his monks; he suspects his monks; he consults clerks; he loves clerks. 'How is the gold become dim! How is the fine gold changed!'" Also one friend says to another, "We are become a reproach to our neighbours. All of us monks are either reckoned faithless or improvident; the clerk is believed, the monk is not. The abbot had rather trust the clerk than the monk.

Now is this clerk a whit more faithful or wise than a monk would be?"

And again, one friend would say to another, "Are not the cellarer and sub-cellarer, or can they not be, as faithful as the sacrist or the chamberlain? The consequence is, that this abbot or his successor will put a clerk along with the sacrist, a clerk with the chamberlain, a clerk with the sub-sacrists to collect the offerings at the shrine, and so on with all the officials, wherefore we shall be a laughing-stock and derision to the whole people."

I, hearing these things, was accustomed to answer, "If I, for my part, were cellarer, I had rather that a clerk were a witness for me in all my transactions; for if I did well he would bear witness of the good.

If, again, I had, at the end of the year, become laden with debt, I should be able to gain credence and to be excused by the testimony of that clerk."

I heard, indeed, one of our brethren, a man truly discreet and learned, say something upon this subject which struck myself and others very much. "It is not," he said, "to be wondered at, should the lord abbot interpose his exertions in the safe conduct of our affairs, especially as he wisely manages that portion of the abbey which belongs to him, and is discreet in the disposing of his own house, it being his part to supply our wants in case of our carelessness or inability to do so. But there is one thing," he added, "which will prove dangerous after the death of the abbot Samson, such as has never come to pa.s.s in our days or in our lives. Of a surety the King's bailiffs will come, and will possess themselves of the abbey, I mean the barony which belongs to the abbot, as was done in the past after the deaths of other Abbots. As after the death of Abbot Hugh, the King's bailiffs likewise desired to appoint new bailiffs in the town of St. Edmund, alleging as their warrant that Abbot Hugh had done this, in the same way the King's bailiffs will, in process of time, appoint their clerk to keep the cellary, in order that everything shall be done therein by him, and under his discretion. And then we shall be told that they are ent.i.tled to act in this manner because Abbot Samson did so. Thus they will have the power of intermixing and confusing all the concerns and rents of the abbot and of the convent; all which, indeed, Abbot Robert, of good memory, had, with due consideration, distinguished in account, and had separated one from the other."

When I heard these and such like expressions from a man of great thought and foresight, I was astonished, and held my peace, not wishing either to condemn the lord abbot, or to excuse him.

Hubert Walter, the Archbishop of Canterbury and legate of the apostolic see, and Justiciary of England, after he had visited many churches, and had by right of his legation made many changes and alterations, was on his way home from his natural mother, who lived at Dereham and was then dying. He sent two of his clerks over to us, bearing the sealed letters of their lord, wherein it was contained that we should give credit to what they should say and do. These men inquired of the abbot and convent whether we were willing to receive their lord, the legate, who was on his way to us, in such wise as a legate ought to be received, and, in fact, is received by other churches. If we were agreed to this, he would shortly come to us, for the purpose of making order concerning the matters and affairs of our church according to G.o.d's will; but if we were not agreed, those two clerks could more fully communicate to us their lord's behest.

Thereupon the abbot called together most of the convent, and we came to the decision that we would give a gracious answer to the clerks thus sent to us, saying that we were willing to receive their lord as legate with all honour and reverence, and to send together with them our own messengers, who, on our part, should communicate the same to the lord legate.

Our intention was that, in the same way as we had done to the Bishop of Ely and other legates, we would show him all possible honour, with a procession and ringing of bells, and would receive him with the usual solemnities, until it should come to the point, perhaps, of his holding a visitation in chapter. If he were to proceed in doing this, then all of us were to oppose him might and main to his face, appealing to Rome, and standing upon our charters. And the lord abbot said, "If at this present time the legate will come to us, we will do as is aforesaid, but if indeed he shall defer his arrival to us for a time, we will consult the lord Pope, and inquire what force the privileges of our church ought to have, as being those which have been obtained from him and his predecessors, against the archbishop who has now obtained power from the apostolic see over all the privileged churches of England." Such was our determination.

When the archbishop had heard that we were willing to receive him as legate, he received our messengers graciously and with giving of thanks. And he became favourable and kindly disposed towards the lord abbot in all his concerns, and for certain pressing causes deferred his visit to us for a time. Therefore, without the least delay, the abbot sent to the Pope the same letters which the legate had sent to him and the convent, wherein it was contained that he was about to come to us by authority of his legation, and by the authority of the Pope, and, moreover, that to him was given power over all the exempt churches of England, notwithstanding the letters of exemption obtained by the church of York or any other.

The abbot's messenger expediting the matter, our lord the Pope wrote to the lord of Canterbury, a.s.serting that our church, as his spiritual daughter, ought not to be accountable to any legate, unless he were a legate of our lord the Pope sent _a latere_, and enjoined him that he should not stretch forth his hand against us; and our lord the Pope added as from himself a prohibition against his exercising jurisdiction over any other exempt church. Our messenger returned to us, and this was kept a secret for many days. Nevertheless, the same was intimated to the lord of Canterbury by some of his adherents at the court of our lord the Pope.

When, at the end of the year, the legate made his visitation through Norfolk and Suffolk, and had first arrived at Colchester, the legate sent his messenger to the abbot, privately letting him thereby know that he (the legate) had heard say that the abbot had obtained letters contravening his legation, and requesting that he, in a friendly way, would send him those letters. And it was done accordingly, for the abbot had two counterparts of these letters. The abbot, indeed, did not pay a visit to the legate, either by himself or by proxy, so long as he was in the diocese of Norwich, lest it should be thought that he wished to make fine with the legate for his entertainment, as other monks and canons had done. The legate, disconcerted and angry and fearing to be shut out if he came to us, pa.s.sed by Norwich, by Acre and by Dereham to Ely, on his way to London.

The abbot meeting the legate within the month, between Waltham and London, on the King's highway, the legate censured him for having refused to meet him, as being justiciary of our lord the King whilst he was in that country. The abbot answered that he had not travelled as justiciary, but as legate, making visitation in every church; and alleged the reason of the time of year, and that the pa.s.sion of our Lord was nigh at hand, and that it behoved him to be concerned with Divine services and cloister duties.

When the abbot had opposed words to words, and objections to objections, and could neither be bent nor intimidated by threatening language, the legate replied with scorn that he well knew him to be a keen wrangler, and that he was a better clerk than he, the legate, was. The abbot, therefore, not timidly pa.s.sing by matters inexpedient to allude to, nor yet arrogantly speaking upon matters that were to be discussed, in the hearing of many persons made answer that he was a man who would never suffer the privileges of his church to be shaken either for want of learning or money, even if it should come to pa.s.s that he lost his life, or was condemned to perpetual banishment.

However, these and other altercations being brought to a close, the legate began to flush in the face, upon the abbot lowering his tone and beseeching him that he would deal more gently with the church of St. Edmund, by reason of his native soil, for he was native born of St. Edmund, and had been his fosterling. And, indeed, he had reason to blush, because he had so unadvisedly outpoured the venom which he had bred within him.