Chapter XIX: The King’s Peace (1)

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. The 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 assizes 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.

However 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, but 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].

Sussex 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; he 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 vicar 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 London, 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 of 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 the 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 learned 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 the 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 refused 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 rising, 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 40_s._ 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 for 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 worthy 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 without 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 torn 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 enough 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 prosper.” 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,” he 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.’”