The wrath of the cardinal was greatly stirred.  Thomas Garret had escaped once again.  His own college had been proved to be, if not a hotbed of heresy, at least one of the centres whence dangerous doctrines had been disseminated; and amongst those who had been engaged in this unrighteous task were several of those very men whom he himself had introduced there, that they might, by their godly life and conversation, be shining lights amongst their companions.

It was natural, perhaps, that Wolsey’s wrath should burn somewhat fiercely, and be especially directed against the black sheep of his own college.  He was too busy with public affairs to come himself to Oxford at this juncture; but he wrote many and lengthy epistles to the authorities there, and prayed them to use every means in their power of ridding the place of heresy, promising to give the matter his own earnest consideration.  He had believed that heresy was for the present stamped out in London, owing to the prompt and decisive measures taken.  He declared it would be far easier to tackle in the smaller town of Oxford; yet he and others who knew the two schools of thought had an inkling that the seed, once sown in the hearts of young and ardent and thinking men, would be found sprouting up and bearing fruit sometimes when least expected.

However, there was no lack of zeal in executing the cardinal’s commands; and Clarke, together with other canons of his college, Dalaber of Gloucester College, Udel, Diet, Radley, and even young Fitzjames, whose friendship with Dalaber was thought highly suspicious, were all cast into prison, and some of them into very close and rigorous captivity, with an unknown fate hanging over them, which could not but fill even the stoutest soul with dread and horror.

The prisons of the middle ages will scarce bear detailed description in these modern days; the condition of filth and squalor of the lower cells, often almost without air, and reeking with pestilential vapours, baffles words in which to describe it.  To be sure, persons in daily life were used to conditions which would now be condemned as hopelessly insanitary, and were not so susceptible and squeamish as we have since become.  The ordinary state of some of the poorer students’ halls in Oxford appears to us as simply disgusting; yet the thing was accepted then as a matter of course.

Nevertheless, the condition of those cast into the prisons of those days was a very forlorn and terrible one, and almost more calculated to break the spirit and the constancy of the captive than any more short and sharp ordeal might do.  It is scarcely to be supposed that the prisons in Oxford were superior to those in other parts of the country, and indeed the sequel to the incarceration of Clarke and his companions seems to prove the contrary.

But at least, in those days, bribes to the jailers could do, in most cases, something for the amelioration of the lot of the prisoner; and Arthur Cole was possessed of a warm heart, a long purse, and a character for orthodoxy which enabled him to associate on friendly terms with suspected persons without incurring the charge of heresy.  His own near relative being proctor of the university, and his own assured position there, gave him great advantages; and these he used fearlessly during the days which followed, and even sought private interviews with the three heads of houses who had the main jurisdiction in the matter of these unfortunate students.

But for the first few days after Dalaber’s arrest and imprisonment the excitement was too keen to admit of any mediation.  The authorities were busy unravelling the “web of iniquity,” making fresh discoveries of books, chiefly copies of the New Testament, circulating amongst the students, and sending to prison those who possessed them, or had been known to be connected with the Association of Christian Brothers.

All that Arthur could contrive during that first week was a visit to the cell of Dalaber.  He was absolutely refused admittance to Clarke, who, he heard, was lodged in a dark and foul prison, where once salt fish had been stored, and which was the most noxious of any in the building.

Clarke, it seemed, had now become the object of the greatest suspicion and distrust.  The Bishop of Lincoln ­then the Diocesan of Oxford ­had written most stringently on his account, and no inducement would prevail to gain admittance to him; nor did Arthur feel the smallest confidence that the money greedily accepted by the warder in charge would ever be expended upon the prisoner.

He was very heavy-hearted about this friend of his; but he had better fortune in his attempts to gain speech with Dalaber.

At the end of a week he prevailed so far as to gain a short interview with him, and was locked into the cell in some haste by the jailer, and bidden to be brief in what he had to say, since it was not long that he could be permitted to remain.

Dalaber sprang up from the stone bench on which he had been sitting in a dejected attitude, and when he saw the face of his friend he uttered an exclamation of joy.

“Arthur! you have come to me!  Nay, but this is a true friend’s part.  Art sure it is safe to do so?  Thou must not run thine own neck into a noose on my account.  But oh, how good it is to see the face of a friend!”

He seized Arthur’s two hands, wringing them in a clasp that was almost pain, and his face worked with emotion.

Arthur, as his eyes grew used to the darkness, was shocked at the change which a week had wrought in his friend.  Dalaber’s face seemed to have shrunk in size, the eyes had grown large and hollow, his colour had all faded, and he looked like a man who had passed through a sharp illness.

“What have they done to you, Anthony, thus to change you?” cried Arthur, in concern.

“Oh, nothing, as yet.  I have but sat in the stocks two days, till they sent me for closer ward hither.  After Master Garret’s escape bolts and bars have not been thought secure enough out of the prison house.  But every time the bolt shoots back I think that it may be the men come to take me to the Tower.  They have threatened to send me thither to be racked, and afterwards to be burnt.  If it must come to that, pray Heaven it come quickly.  It is worse to sit here thinking and picturing it all than to know the worst has come at last.”

His hands were hot, and the pulses throbbed.  Arthur could see the shining of the dilated eyes.  Dalaber’s vivid imagination had been a rather terrible companion for him during these days of darkness and solitude.  The authorities had shown some shrewd knowledge of human nature when they had shut him up alone.  Some of the culprits had been housed together in the prison, but Dalaber had been quite solitary.

It was not so evil a cell that he occupied as some of the others.  Arthur’s gold had prevailed thus far.  But nothing could save him from the horrors of utter loneliness, and these had told upon him more than greater hardships would have done, had they been shared with others.  It had been characteristic of Dalaber all through his life that he could be more courageous and steadfast for others than for himself.

“Tush, Anthony!  There will be no more such talk now,” answered Arthur, with a laugh.  “They have found out for themselves all that you withheld.  They have laid by the heels enough victims to satisfy the wrath of the bishop and the cardinal.  And already there is a difference in the minds of the authorities here.  In a short while they will become themselves advocates of mercy.  They took a great fright at hearing of heresy in Oxford; but persecution is against the very essence of our existence as a university ­persecution for what men think.  Mine own uncle only last night was beginning to hope that, having laid hands upon the culprits, they would now be gently dealt with.  But for the cardinal and the bishop there would be little to fear.”

Anthony drew a deep breath, as of relief.  His clasp on Arthur’s hands slowly slackened.

“Then they talk not of the Tower for me, or for any?”

“I have heard no word of it.  I am sure such matter is not in their thoughts.  And truly, if heresy be so grievous a crime, they have need to look to themselves; for those same three judges before whom ye were brought, Anthony, have committed an act of heresy for which the penalty is the same death with which they have threatened you and others.”

“What mean you?” asked Dalaber, with wide-open eyes.

“Marry, this ­that when they sought in vain for Master Garret, and were unable to find him, they went themselves to an astrologer, and bid him make a figure by the stars, that he might know whither the fugitive had fled; and he, having done so, declared that Garret had escaped in a tawny coat to the southeastward, and was like to be found in London, where doubtless some of the brotherhood have hid him.  And this they have dared to tell to the cardinal and to the bishop, in no wise ashamed of their own act; whereas the church forbids expressly any such asking of portents from the stars, and it is as much heresy as any deed of which you and your comrades have been guilty.”

Dalaber broke into a short laugh.

“By the Mass, but in sooth it is so!” he exclaimed, drawing a long breath.  “Shall not the God of all the earth look down and judge between us and our foes?  O Arthur, Arthur, how can one not call such men our foes?  They hunt us down and would do us to death because we claim the right to love and study the Word of God, and they themselves practise the arts of necromancy, which have been from the beginning forbidden as an abomination in the sight of the Lord, and they feel no shame, but blazon abroad their evil deed.  Is it not time that the church were purged of such rulers as these?”

“Perchance it is; but that I hold is to be settled not by us but by God Himself.  He has not shown Himself backward in the past to cleanse His sanctuary of defilement, and I trow we can leave this work to Him now, and wait His time.  Patience, good Anthony, patience.  That is my word of counsel to you.  You will not reform the church singlehanded.  The brethren will not do it; and it were only a source of weakness to rob the church of those of her sons who are longing after righteousness and truth.  Be not in such haste.  Be content to stand aside, and see for a while how the Lord Himself will work.  You know the words of Scripture, that in quietness and confidence shall be your rest.  There may be periods when quietness does more to prevail than any open strife.  You have made your protest.  The world will not listen yet; but the time shall come when it will be more ready.  Wait in patience for that day, and seek not to run before the Lord.”

Such sage counsel was not unpalatable to Dalaber, who was in a less combative mood now than he had been of late.  He had been threatened with excommunication, and indeed for a while there was no hope that he would be regarded as a fit person to receive the holy rite.  That in itself was terrible to his devout spirit, and when any person spoke gently and kindly to him, and in a friendly and persuasive fashion, he was always eager to declare his love and loyalty for the Catholic Church.

He hated the thought of being regarded as an outcast and heathen.  He knew that it was so terribly unjust.  He had borne witness to his own beliefs; he had made full confession of faith; he had steadfastly refused to betray any comrade.  Perhaps he had now done enough for the cause of liberty and righteousness, and might step aside for a while and see what would be the result of the movement now set on foot.

He asked eagerly about those who had been taken, and his eyes filled with tears when he heard that Clarke was one of the victims, and one who was likely to be treated with greater harshness than the rest.

“A saint of the Lord, if ever there was one!” cried Dalaber earnestly.  “Oh, if only they would let me share his confinement!  What would not I give to be with him, to tend and comfort him, and listen to his godly words!  I should fear nothing, were he beside me.  Surely the angels of the Lord will be about his bed through the hours of darkness, and will keep him from the malice of his enemies.”

“I trust that he will be liberated ere long,” answered Arthur gravely.  “But they will never make him speak a word that his heart goes not with.  And it is said that the bishop and the cardinal are much incensed against the canons of the college who have been found tampering, as they choose to call it, with the holy Catholic faith.”

“And Freda?  How is she, and what says she of all these matters?”

“She is in much trouble of spirit, but she bears it with courage, and I do all that I may to comfort her.

“I have won the right to think of her as a sister now,” added Arthur, with the colour rising in his face, “for Magdalen has promised to be my wife.  We are betrothed, and I ask your gratulations, Anthony.”

These were given with great fervour, and for a brief while the two young men forgot all else in eager lovers’ talk.  Anthony was assured that no danger threatened the house of Dr. Langton for his friendship with Clarke and others of those now in prison.  The anxiety of the authorities was simply with the students and those under their care in the university.  The private opinions of private persons in the place did not concern them in any grave fashion.

Already enlightened men were beginning to foresee a gradual change in ecclesiastical government in the land, though it might not be just yet.  Even the most zealous of the church party, when they were shrewd and far-sighted men, and not immediately concerned with the present struggle, saw signs of an inevitable increase in light and individual liberty of thought which would bring great changes with it.  To check heresy amongst the students was the duty of the authorities, in virtue of their office; but they gave themselves no concern outside the walls of their colleges.  Perhaps they knew that if they attempted to hunt out all heretics, or such as might be so called, from the city, they would denude it of half its population.

Indeed, having once laid hands on the offenders, and argued and talked with them, Dr. London himself, though regarded by the culprits as somewhat like a greedy lion roaring after his prey, and being, in truth, a man of whom not much good can be written, wrote to the cardinal and the Bishop of Lincoln, plainly intimating that he thought the matter might be safely hushed up, and that it would be a pity to proceed to any extremity.

“These youths,” he said, “have not been long conversant with Master Garret, nor have greatly perused his mischievous books; and long before Master Garret was taken, divers of them were weary of these works, and delivered them back to Dalaber.  I am marvellous sorry for the young men.  If they be openly called upon, although they appear not greatly infect, yet they shall never avoid slander, because my lord’s grace did send for Master Garret to be taken.  I suppose his Grace will know of your good lordship everything.  Nothing shall be hid, I assure your good lordship, an every one of them were my brother; and I do only make this moan for these youths, for surely they be of the most towardly young men in Oxford, and as far as I do yet perceive, not greatly infect, but much to blame for reading any part of these works.”

It was Arthur who brought word to the Bridge House of this letter of mediation which had been sent to the bishop, who would then confer with the cardinal; and the hearts of all beat high with hope.

“Surely, when he reads that, he will not deal harshly with them!” spoke Freda, her colour coming and going.

“I hope not ­I trust not; but for the bishop none may answer.  I would rather we had the cardinal directly over us; but it is the bishop who is our lord and master.”

“And is he a hard and cruel man?”

“He is one who has a vehement hatred of heresy, and would destroy it root and branch,” answered Arthur.  “It may be that even this letter will in some sort anger him, though it is meant for the best.”

“How anger him?” asked Magdalen.

“Marry, in that he sees how godly and toward has been the walk of those youths who are now accounted guilty of heresy.  Even Dr. London, who has been so busy in the matter of the arrests, now that he hath gotten them safe in ward, is forced to own that they are amongst the best and most promising of the students of the university, and therefore he himself pleads that they be not harshly dealt with.  But how the bishop will like to hear that is another matter.”

“Yet to us it cannot but be a testimony,” spoke Dr. Langton gravely, “and one which those in authority would do well to lay to heart.  In the matter of wisdom, prudence, and obedience, these young men may have failed somewhat ­they may have been carried away by a certain rashness and impetuosity; but that they are of a pious and godly walk and conversation, even their accusers know well.  And here in Oxford, where so much brawling and license and sinfulness stalks rampant, does it not say somewhat for these new doctrines that they attract the more toward and religious, and pass the idlers and reprobates by?”

So there was much eager talk and discussion throughout Oxford during the days which followed, and excitement ran high when it was known that Garret had been taken ­not in London, not in a tawny coat, but near to Bristol ­by a relative of Cole, one of the proctors, who had recognized him from the description sent by his relative, and was eager to be permitted to conduct him to Oxford, and hand him over to the authorities.

Arthur heard all the story, and was very indignant; for though Garret was no favourite or friend of his, he was a graduate of his own college, and he felt it hard that he should have been hunted down like a mad dog, and caught just at the very moment when he was nearing the coast, and might well have hoped to make good his escape.

“I am no friend to Master Wylkins for his zeal,” he said, “and right glad am I that the law would not allow him to take possession of the prisoner, but had him lodged in Ilchester jail, despite his offer of five hundred pounds as surety for his safe appearance when called for.  He is to be taken now to London, to the cardinal, under special writ.  But I have greater hopes of his finding mercy with the cardinal than had he come here and been subject to the Bishop of Lincoln.”

A little later and the news came that the monk Ferrar, who had suddenly disappeared from Oxford after the arrest of Dalaber, had been taken in London in the house of one of the brethren, and that he and Garret were both in the hands of the cardinal.

“What will they do to them?” questioned Freda of Arthur, who came daily to visit them with all the latest news.

But that was a question none could answer as yet, though it seemed to Freda as if upon that depended all her life’s future.  For if these men were done to death for conscience’ sake, could Dalaber, their friend and confederate, hope to escape?

Arthur always spoke hopefully, but in his heart he was often sorely troubled.  He came at dusk today, clad in a cloak down to his heels, and with another over his arm.  He suddenly spoke aside to Freda.

“Mistress Frideswyde, I sometimes fear me that if our friend Anthony get no glimpse of you in his captivity he will pine away and die.  I have leave to take some few dainties to the prison, and I have below a basket in which to carry them.  It is growing dusk.  Wrapped in this cloak, and with a hat well drawn down over your face, you might well pass for my servant, bearing the load.  I might make excuse that you should carry in the basket instead of me.  Are you willing to run the risk of rebuke, and perchance some small unpleasantness at the hands of the keepers of the prison, to give this great joy to Anthony?”

Freda’s face was all aflame with her joy.  In a moment she had, with her sister’s aid, so transformed herself that none would have guessed her other than the servant of Arthur, carrying a load for his master.  She was tall and slight and active, and trod with firm steps as he walked on before her in the gathering dusk.  She suffered him not to bear the load even a portion of the way, but played her part of servant to perfection, and so came with a beating heart beneath the frowning gateway of the prison, where it seemed to her that some evil and terrible presence overshadowed all who entered.

Arthur was known to the sentries and servants by this time.  He visited several of the prisoners, and his gratuities made his visits welcome.  He was conducted almost without remark towards Dalaber’s cell, and no one made any comment when he said to Freda, in the commanding tone of a master: 

“Bring the basket along, sirrah!  Follow me, and wait for me till I call.  I shall not be above a few moments.  It grows late.”

Freda had trembled as she passed the portal, but she did not tremble now.  She stood where she was bidden, and Arthur, for a very short time, disappeared in the darkness, and she heard the shooting of a bolt.  Then the turnkey came back and said, with a short laugh: 

“Thy master hath a long purse and a civil tongue.  I go to do his bidding, and refresh myself with a sup of good canary.  Go on thither with that basket.  I shall be back in a few short minutes.  He will call thee when he wants thee.”

The man and his lantern disappeared, and the door of the corridor was slammed to and locked.  There was no hope of escape for any behind it, but at least there was entrance free to Anthony’s cell.

The next moment she was within the miserable place, faintly lighted by the small lantern Arthur had brought, and with a cry she flung herself upon her knees beside the pallet bed on which Dalaber lay, and called him by his name.  Arthur meanwhile stood sentry without the door.

“Freda, my love!” he cried, bewildered at sight of her, and with the fever mists clouding his brain.

“Anthony, Anthony, thou must not die!  Thou must live, and do some great good for the world in days to come.  Do not die, my beloved.  It would break mine heart.  Live for my sake, and for God’s truth.  Ah, I cannot let thee go!”

He partly understood and kissed her hand, gazing at her with hungry eyes.

“I would fain live, if they will let me,” he answered.  “I will live for thy sweet sake.”

She bent and kissed him on the brow.  But she might not tarry longer.  The sound of the bolt was already heard, and she stood suddenly up, and went forward.

“I will live for thy sake, sweetheart!” he whispered; and she waved her hand and hurried out, with tears gushing from her eyes.