We now return to Reginald Clayton. The rage of the officer was very great when he discovered that his younger prisoners had escaped, it being increased by fear, as he dreaded the penalties he would have to suffer when it was known that he had arrived without them in London. He swore at, and threatened Mr. Clayton, who replied calmly that he had neither aided nor abetted them, and that it was natural that they should have attempted to escape, seeing the treatment to which it was likely they would be exposed.
Calling a halt, the officer shouted to the troopers who had had charge of the younger prisoners to go in chase of them, but this order was more easily given than obeyed, seeing that two had lost their horses altogether, and that the other two had had their bridles cut through, and could in no ways mend them in the dark. They, however, replied that they would forthwith obey, and the rest of the cavalcade moved forward. Mr. Clayton rejoiced greatly at the thought that his children had escaped, and this made him more ready to bear the sore trials to which he was about to be exposed. In those days prisons were truly places of punishment, foul, dark, and damp dungeons, into which those accused of crime, as well as those found guilty of the most heinous, were indiscriminately huddled together. Into such a place Reginald Clayton was thrown, and with him his son and fair young daughter would have been thrown likewise.
Many of those among whom he found himself were accused of heresy, and others of murder, highway robbery, house-breaking, cattle-stealing, thefts of all sorts, who would, if found guilty, have to answer for their crimes with their lives. Yet these men of all others, took a strange delight in insulting and abusing him on account of his heresy, telling him that he would assuredly burn, because he put no faith in the Pope or the Mass, and obeyed not the Queen or Bishop Bonner. When he could he avoided speaking, and when he was compelled to speak, he replied with mildness and dignity. "That he acted only according to what he believed to be a right judgment, wishing to offend no man." He had been in this abode of wretchedness and crime for about three days, when he heard his name called, and found at the gate of the cell the officer who had brought him there.
“Art ready to take another ride, Master Clayton though not so far?" asked the officer. "The Lord Bishop of London has sent to talk to thee. If thou art a wise man, thou wilt answer him discreetly;'
“To the best of my power, and in accordance with the truth, I will," answered Mr. Clayton, as he was conducted to the courtyard where a horse stood ready for him. There were sights in London in those days happily not to be seen at present. Friars and priests walking about in gaudy vestments, with censers swinging, and bells tinkling, and figures of the Virgin and Child, or of saints, held aloft; and gibbets at the end of most thoroughfares, some with men still hanging on them, rebels taken in arms; and others with the chains or ropes alone remaining, to which they had been attached; and then there were people dragged along, unwillingly, to be whipped or imprisoned, or hung, or, maybe, to be burnt, for seldom many weeks passed by during the good Queen's reign, without people being taken to Smithfield, or into Essex, or elsewhere, for that purpose, to remind the lieges of their blessings, and of the advantages to be gained by the complete restoration of the Roman Catholic faith in Old England.
As Reginald Clayton rode on, he took note of these things; and, disregarding himself, he prayed that his country might be delivered from the thralldom under which she groaned, and remain forever after truly Protestant. At length he reached the palace of the Bishop, and was placed in an ante-room, where guards with drawn weapons were stationed, and where there were several other persons of various degrees waiting to be examined on their religious opinions. They were not prohibited from conversing with each other. Some had before been under examination, some were wavering, some firm, and some had been taken up for idle words spoken at random, without much knowledge of the truth.
"Verily this is a time, friends, above all others, when we should be able to give a reason for the hope that is within us," observed a grave and aged divine, who was, within three days, to seal his opinions with his blood.
Among them all there was, however, but little fear or trembling. At length Reginald Clayton was called in. The Bishop was seated at a heavy oak table, in a huge arm-chair. His cap was somewhat thrown back, a frown was on his brow, a sneer on his lips. A keen-eyed priest, with shaven crown, who acted as his secretary, sat at the end of the table taking notes.
Bonner cast a withering glance at Mr. Clayton, and fiercely addressed him:—“So, Sir Yeoman, I have been informed that you are among those ill-disposed subjects of Her Majesty who dare to read the Bible, and forsooth, to understand its meaning, and to explain it to others in a way contrary to that which our Holy Mother the Church allows; and, therefore, contrary to the truth. How is it that you, a simple-minded man, who might better attend to your cattle and your swine, can venture to commit such folly?”
“My Lord Bishop, since you demand an answer, I will reply," said Clayton, with all the calmness he could command. "I am told, and believe, that the Bible is the Word of God, and in it I find that I am directed to search the Scriptures, and that if I do so, with prayer, that I shall have the guidance of God's Holy Spirit to enlighten my mind, and to enable me to understand them. This, and this alone, have I done.”
“Ah! Knave, you acknowledge then that you have the right to set up your opinion against that of the Church and our Holy Father the Pope?" exclaimed Bonner. "You are thus, methinks, a worse heretic than many who have gone to be burned, a fate which I doubt not will be yours unless you gain wisdom.”
“My Lord Bishop, I crave your pardon, I trust not to my own opinion," said Reginald Clayton.
“Ah! I thought not," exclaimed Bonner, interrupting him. "Thou wilt be wise then, and recant.”
“I said not that; but I was about to say that I put my trust in the Lord, and in His Word, and fear not what man can do unto me.”
“That is to be seen, bold fellow," exclaimed Bonner. "Then thou dost not believe in Transubstantiation, Sir Knave?”
“I find not the matter explained in the New Testament," said Clayton humbly.
“Ah, ah! Nor, I warrant, in the efficacy of penance and alms-giving?”
“I know the efficacy, nay more, the necessity of repentance—a broken and a contrite spirit, and a firm trust in the one great sacrifice of our Lord Jesus Christ, whose blood alone can wash away sin," said Clayton, boldly; "I find no word of penance in the Scriptures, nor do I see that alms-giving can win Christ when He is won already by faith; yet I doubt not that almsgiving, if done for love of Him, is well-pleasing in His sight.”
“Hold! hold! thou most disputative heretic," exclaimed the Bishop, with a fierce frown on his brow, "thou wilt have to bridle thy tongue the next time we meet, or to the stake you will go. He, warder, take this knave back to prison!”
Thus finished Reginald Clayton's mock examination. He was conducted back to prison as he came, in the company of others, who, not being wanted just then for burning, were allowed to drag on existence in its noisome dungeons. There he and others remained for weeks, compelled to herd with the vilest outcasts, and feed on the worst fare. Still he bore up manfully, and was not without consolation. Though he had not been allowed to bring his Bible, he remembered, and could repeat, many and many passages, and often large portions, which brought joy and comfort to his soul, and instruction and often comfort likewise to those who listened, and some there for the first time heard the truths of the Gospel, the believing in which brought them joy, and peace, and life eternal.
He had another consolation in the trust that his children had escaped, and were in safety. This was at length confirmed by a note, which John Goodenough contrived to have conveyed to him, though John had to pay a heavy bribe to obtain his object.
After weeks of suffering, when, under like circumstances, the spirits of many had given way, he was once more conveyed into the presence of the Bishop. This time numerous persons were present, and among them, though in the dress of an ecclesiastic, he recognized Master Dixon, who, however, appeared to be utterly unconscious that they had ever before met. On this occasion Bonner pushed home his questions with far more vehemence than before. On the first, he had seemed like a cat playing with her prey; now he looked as if prepared to rend his victim. "Thou art a most contumacious heretic," fiercely exclaimed the Bishop at length. "Had I required more evidence of your heresy, I possess it at hand, but I have enough and to spare to burn you ten times over! Away with him! and let him be taken to Smithfield, there to expiate his most abominable crimes at the stake! I will forthwith make out the order for his execution!”
Now, Reginald Clayton, you have need of all your resolution—of all your strength—of all your faith; for, to-morrow, you will have to endure ignominy, torture, and death; yet you cheerfully accept all, looking to that crown of glory in the heaven which fadeth not away!