Treason by Nicky Brockwell

The modern world is riddled with disputations in the name of God, which become seen as disputes in the name of ‘religion’. Religion is a man-made concept in an attempt to create God in our own image. Religion has been misappropriated and organised along our own political, social and economic dysfunctional systems. We speak of human nature here, and since the human heart and mind has choices there will always be the battle between the best and worst of us. The story before us is an historical example of this timeless and oft times mythical inner conflict of ourselves as beings we call human. The 16th and 17th Centuries in our nation brought political and economic issues to a head as the world horizon expanded. There was a polarisation of nations which became safely focussed as religious in nature, where God was on everyone’s side. In our Isles the choice was the Pope of Rome or The Archbishop of Canterbury and their dedicated European Royal puppet followers authorised the slaughter. With 700 years of presence, the people of St Mary’s of the Low-gate in Kingston-upon-Hull, have lived through these times, suffered persecution, at times enjoying renewal, but always have been a powerfully compassionate and generous people. The history of St Mary’s speaks of the God that works on compassionately despite the superficial ferment of human greed. It speaks of the God who suffers alongside the forgotten and poorest of the historical age, and that age is now. The people have changed but, all thanks to our ancestors, that spirit of the original care in the community is alive and well today. There is also, as has ever been, the prophetic and challenging voice of this community such that even princes may be toppled. Our present task is to restore the oldest shrine in the City of Hull, to become fit for contemporary purpose, and to work under the radar with those who can so easily be lost. St Mary’s always has been and remains a ‘gathering place’. Thank you for any help you might be inspired to give us. Fr. Paul (Priest-in-Charge) 12th April 2016.

t was 1558, the dark and troubled years of Queen Mary’s reign were drawing to a close. With anxious hope, the country awaited the event which would terminate the oppressive horrors of persecution and martyrdom. The Queen lay on her couch in agonies of mind and body, yet un- softened by suffering. Still she turned a willing ear to her evil counsellors, Philip of Spain, her bigoted and gloomy husband, and bishop Bonner, the cruel and fanatic persecutor of England’s noblest sons. It was a sunny morning in August that a party was assembled round the breakfast table in a pleasant parsonage house of a quite village, twenty miles from London. Philip Aubrey, the clergyman, was a man of talent. Deep and sincere where his religious principles, and devoted his attachments to the Church of England – that church just emerging, in all its former purity, from the misty clouds of Romanism which had so long obscured it. But Mr. Audrey, with all his talents, with all his devotion, was no bold energetic denouncer of the Romish errors. Happily, in his family, in the love of his parishioners, in his beautiful home, life was very precious to him, and while earnestly preaching the Bible’s sacred truths, he avoided all the needless assertion of the errors of others, all defiance which could lead to notoriety and the STAKE! Spies were everywhere, and one incautious word had led many to martyrdom. It was a happy party that August morning, the pastor, with his mild, intellectual face, was talking intently to his wife; the children, three graceful girls sat in silent attention to the exciting topic of conversation, while the eldest, a lad of fifteen, joined in with remarks beyond his years. Which much of his father’s intellect, he possessed also his mother’s energetic spirit. News had arrived the previous day from London. The rumours of the declining state of the poor Queen’s health had been confirmed, and there was in every Protestant home longing hopes for the accession of a Protestant Queen. “Father,” said the lad, “It is glorious to be a martyr, to die for our holy faith, like the noble Latimer.” Mrs. Aubrey turned her eyes proudly and lovingly to her son. “Frederic,” said the father, “I trust the years of bloodshed and persecution have drawn to a close. Unspeakably noble is the martyr’s death, and a dazzling will be the martyr’s crown; yet, for my children, I now hope for happier times on earth, a life for you, my boy, of active and usefulness. Your talents and energy so employed, that the sentence may, at last, be earned- “Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.” At this moment, a servant entered the room and informed Mr. Aubrey that a poor man in the village, named John Williams had sent to say he was very ill and wished to see the pastor. Exclamations of surprise were uttered, for Williams had always been known as a rigid Roman Catholic, and completely under the influence of the priest residing in the village.

This priest was a gloomy and austere man, with feelings of deadly enmity against all who had professed the Reformed Faith. He had only lately come to the village, as his predecessor, a man of humane and refined disposition, had died about a year previously. Mr. Aubrey was fully aware of Father Dymoch’s hatred for himself and felt assured that he only waited for an opportunity of denouncing him before the dread tribunal in London. Hitherto he had been able, without neglecting his duty, to avoid all collisions with the priest, so careful had been his language, so guarded his conduct. Now a shade of misgiving -a momentary doubt – crossed the pastor’s brow, as he heard the message from Williams. It was but momentary; the shadow, the hesitation passed away, and calmly Mr. Aubrey rose to obey the urgent call and speak words of hope and peace to a dying sinner. The loving wife pressed her husband’s hand as he departed. She had seen the moment’s doubt, she had divined the danger, but not a word would she utter to dissuade him from the steadfastly walking in the path of duty. Yet a dark presentiment of evil oppressed her and dismissing her children she spent in solitude and prayer the hours of her husband’s absence. Mr. Aubrey on arriving at the cottage of the sick man was taken immediately to his bedside. The room he was in opened into another, the door was partly closed. Williams appeared to be in great pain and declared the doctor’s hopeless opinion of his case. “I am very miserable, Sir,” he said, “I have been very wicked and the horrors of purgatory are before me. The priest has been but given me no comfort. I cannot die like this. Tell me for I know you are good and learned, will the virgin intercede for one so sinful? Do you, think I must go to purgatory?” Then the pastor silently uttered one earnest prayer for guidance and help and seating himself by the sufferer’s side, explained in simple yet eloquent words of the holy truths of our Apostolic and Protestant faith- that Jesus was alone Mediator and Intercessor; that his death and suffering were the one atonement for the sins of all who came on to Him and follow His steps in faith and earnestness; that the doctrine of purgatory, the expiation of sins beyond the grave, was one entirely opposed to all that the Bible taught. This and much more did Mr. Aubrey say, ending by a solemn and earnest prayer of the enlightenment of that sinful and darkened soul. He then left, promising to return on the following day. Williams had been quite throughout the interview merely putting out his hands and muttering “Thank you, Sir,” as the pastor took his leave. Mr. Aubrey returned slowly and thoughtfully to his home, and, after speaking to his anxious wife, entered his study, and was soon deeply reading. In half an hour a slight tap on his window disturbed him. Rising he opened it, and his son, evidently much excited and agitated, entered. “What is the matter, Frederic?” exclaimed the father, “Has anything gone wrong?” “Alas, father!” answered the lad almost breathless from excitement, “I fear there has been treachery, that your life is in peril. I went down to the village just now on an errand for my mother. Looking back, after I passed the Williams’ cottage I saw you leave it; ten minutes later, on my way home, as I passed Father Dymock glided stealthily out. I feel sure he must have been there during your interview with that wretched man. You have been deceived and betrayed. What must be done?”

Mr. Aubrey sat down, calmly considering the words of his son. The deception seemed likely enough, and he remembered that while talking to Williams he had heard a slight stir in the next room. “Father, you must fly and conceal yourself for a time; the Queen, they say, cannot live many weeks or perhaps days, then all will be right again.” “No Frederic,” quietly but firmly said his father, “I will not fly. This idea of treachery may be altogether a mistake; if not, doubtless I am watched; besides I would not leave you all to bear the insults and perhaps cruelties that my escape would provoke. I have promised, too, to visit the poor man again tomorrow. So we will say nothing on this subject to your mother, but leave all in the hands of God. You would be a noble and courageous martyr yourself, my boy, but you are very fearful for your father.” Early that evening the Pastor and his wife were walking in their garden- a blooming and beautiful paradise of flowers- when a rustle behind the fence attracted their attention, and looking in the direction of the noise they perceived a head peeping over, and a hand beckoning them. Instantly approaching they saw that it was the eldest son of John Williams, a boy of fourteen; he was standing in between a group of trees which skirted the garden fence. His eyes were roving, anxiously around as if fearful of being seen, as soon as Mr. Aubrey was close to him, he leaned cautiously over the fence and whispered in low tones in his ear. “Sir, my father has sent me to you; he is in great sorrow. You were betrayed this morning. Father Dymock was concealed in the next room and heard all you said. He has gone to London and will arrest you and you are watched. Father is so grieved he has betrayed you, he says your words this morning has sunk deeply into his heart, and he begs you to fly at once and conceal yourself. The lad then crept swiftly and noiselessly away. Mr. Aubrey had led a serene and happy life in his quite a village, his duties ever his pleasure and well had he fulfilled them. From suffering, trial or discord this gentle nature had always shrunk. Yet, now when the deep waters of trouble were rising around him, when he felt that he might be gazing for the last time on the loved home scenes, his courage rose, strength from God was given, strength which enabled him to say, even at this sad hour, in peaceful resignation, “Thy will be done.” The anxious wife, after the first shock was over, began to consider the possibilities of escape or concealment. If only the delay of a few days could be gained, the Queen might die and her husband is saved. As they were returning to the house Frederic met them. Mr. Aubrey told him of the warning he had just received, and the lad joined intensely in his pale and anxious mother’s schemes of concealment. To leave the house he thought was not desirable, except at night and in disguise for he remembered now to have observed one or two men lurking near, and evidently watching. It was getting dark, but the officials, to drag the Pastor from his peaceful home, might be at hand. Mr. Aubrey was fully aware of the malignity of the priest and the vigilance of the Romish emissaries, and his heart revolted at the thought of being taken in the act of flight or concealment. At length, however, he yielded to the prayers of his wife and son and consented on the approach of his captors to retire to a secret closet, the entrance to which was by a sliding panel in the dining room.

Arrangements were made for this, and then the door and windows were securely fastened, and the three sat down, sorrowfully, but quietly, to their supper, feeling that it was the last meal they might ever again take together. How it changed since the bright sunny morning, when they had sat in happiness around that table; only a few short hours and that happiness had vanished and gloom and painful anxiety had taken its place. The younger children were asleep and unconscious of their fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s peril, but the faithful servants had been told all and were deeply mourning over the fate that threatened their beloved master. â&#x20AC;&#x192;

Supper was not cleared from the table, and the anxious party was sitting intensely converse when a violent ringing of the doorbell startled them. The servant, who had received her orders, went with a lingering steps to answer it, and four men, well-armed, walked into the hall and demanded to see Mr. Aubrey with a firm and unfaltering step, at once came forward, and courteously requested to be informed of their business with Mr. Aubrey, at the same time telling them that they would not be able to see him that evening. “We come, madam,” said the leader of the party. “to arrest Mr. Aubrey on the charge of heresy, and endeavouring to corrupt from the true faith a member of the Holy Catholic Church. Unless we he immediately surrenders, we have orders to search the house and take him. Do you refuse to tell me where he is?” “I do,” calmly replied, Mrs. Aubrey, “and I trust that God may preserve him from such treachery and false accusation.” The men then received orders to make an immediate and close search in every part of the house. Others had already been posted on the outside to prevent escape. The examination, through conducted with method and vigilance was unsuccessful, and the baffled men returned to report their failure to their officer, who had remained in the hall. When he had angrily ordered them to renew their search, he entered the dining- room where Mrs. Aubrey and her son sat anxiously in suspense. “Madam,” he said, “I feel sure that your heretic husband is hidden in this house, and I must find him before I leave it.” Then glancing at the supper table, he exclaimed, - “Pray, who was the third person seated at the table, for three I preserve have been there?” It was and he is, I am now convinced, concealed somewhere in this very room.” Calling in one of his men, and taking a candle from the table, be began to carefully scrutinize the walls of the apartment., trying the panels with the hilt of his sword. At length, a hollow sound in one of them attracted his attention, and he paused and looked malignantly at Mrs. Aubrey’s pale face. Summoning his men, he ordered them to break open the panel, At the second blow the spring was touched, and the door slipped back, and Mr. Aubrey calm and resolute come quietly out of the secret chamber in which he had most unwillingly allowed himself to be concealed. He requested to see the warrant for his arrest and also be acquainted with the nature of the accusation against him. The warrant was speedily displayed, and Mr. Aubrey rather roughly informed that he must at once accompany his captors. The jail about two miles off was his destination for that evening, and on the following day, he was taken to London, there to stand trial for heresy and, illegal attempts to prevent from the true faith a son of the church. Mrs. Aubrey earnestly entreated that she might be allowed to accompany her husband, but was denied her, but she was told that an interview with him before his trial, might perhaps be obtained in London.

Who can portray the agonies of that parting, the last embraces given, the last words said as the pastor left his beloved home, it might be forever? The mother and children so suddenly bereaved passed a sleepless night in tears and sorrow, mingled with many prayers. Morning, at last, and, Mrs. Aubrey’s energetic spirit rose to “breast the blows of circumstance and, grapple with her evil star.” She resolved to go to London and in the event of her husband’s condemnation, to seek access to the Queen, and implore his pardon. A friend of her youth, was now one of the royal households, and through him she trusted to gain an audience of the Un- happy Mary, who, the report said could occasionally be soft and relenting, when not directly influenced by her evil counsellors. Mrs. Aubrey was early at the jail the morning after her husband’s arrest hoping that she might be allowed to see him, but to her disappointment, she was informed that he was already on his way to London. Sadly, she returned to her now desolate home and to her weeping children. She made immediate arrangements to follow him to London. The only carriage in the village, a clumsy and lumbering vehicle was procured, and Frederic accompanied this mother. On arrival in London, they drove to the house of a friend of Mrs. Aubrey’s who received them with many words of astonishment and welcome. Mrs. Murray was a widow. After her husband’s death, she continued to live on in the house where her happy married life had been spent; through often in the last five years – those of the Queen Mary’s reign of blood and terror -she had resolved to leave London forever. Smithfield’s fires had of late been more frequent than in the previous years, with a strong predilection for the principles of the reformed faith, Mrs. Murray’s was filled with grief and sympathy for the sufferers. She entered warmly into the sorrow of her friend and encouraged her and her son to stay with her during their visit in London. Mrs. Aubrey thankfully accepted. Before the trip to London she had ascertained where her husband was likely to be confined while waiting to take his to trial, and on the morning after her arrival, she took Frederick with her and went to Mr. Aubrey’s prison. With no difficulty, she obtained an interview with the governor, who being a tolerably humane man, and not having received any orders, on the contrary, allowed her to spend an hour with her captive husband. The Clergyman was calm and resigned. He felt that his fate was decided, that the joys of the home had passed from him forever in this world., and that a fearful and painful death must soon separate him from all he loved on earth. Sad, was he, for life with him, had been very happy, and he knew how his dear ones would miss and mourn him. His grief was for them. For himself, he could almost triumph that his Lord should count him, timid and unworthy servant as he felt himself be, worthy of winning the martyr’s crown. The trail would take place on the following day. Mrs. Aubrey, herself could not doubt the result, but rested her hopes on her interview with the Queen.

On returning to Mrs. Murray’s she found that lady had already seen Sir Charles Lavee, her cousin, and the friend whom Mrs. Aubrey depended for access to the stern but suffering Mary. Sir Charles Lavee was a rigid Roman Catholic, but his noble and humane heart revolted at presentation and bloodshed. He held a high office at Court. Often he had thought of resigning as some fresh horrors came to his knowledge, but then ambition would tempt him to remain, and perhaps, sometimes thought that his influence might sway that stern council to the side of mercy. Sir Charles promised that in the event of Mr. Aubrey’s condemnation, his wife should be introduced to the Queens presence, that she might plead for his life, but he could not give any great hope of the success of this appeal. The day the trial arrived. Mr. Aubrey appeared before his judges. Principal among them were the bishops, Bonner, and Gardiner. The accusations were read, and the prisoner asked what he had to say in his defence. In simple, yet eloquent words Mr. Aubrey spoke. The eyes of Father Dymock, who was present glared on him vindictively, as he told of the snare into which he had been betrayed; of the caution he had ever used, perhaps, sinfully and unworthy, to avoid offence. He pleaded intensely, for life was dear to him, as the thought of the sorrowing hearts in his once happy home. But there was no bending- no pity- in the stern faces arrayed before him. As gazed around, he felt that his doom was fixed, he bowed his head, as he raised a prayer for strength to endure. A short private discussion among his judges followed, one more merciful than the rest urging that an offer for pardon should be given if Mr. Aubrey would make a formal and public recantation of his errors. The proposition was rejected. He had spoken his heresies besides the bed of a dying son of the church and had sinned beyond forgiveness. He was condemned to death by fire, to be taken back to his native village, and there burnt at the Stake. This was not usual. The executions generally took place in London. Smithfield was the fatal spot where so many noble ones had yielded up their life, but an example of striking terror was needed. Heresy was increasing, and in his own parish, in his friends and neighbours, Mr. Aubrey must die. He was removed back to his prison, where his wife was waiting to hear the news she dreaded. Frederic was not with her during his father’s trial; he had been lingering near, though not permitted to enter the council chamber. At its conclusion, as Mr. Aubrey was being conveyed back to his prison, he contrived to enter and appear before the judges and carved and hearing. Struck by surprise, they sat in silence while the boy poured his words that filled his heart. In torrent of grief and indignation he spoke of the kind- hearted man they had just condemned to a cruel death, he spoke of another world, where punishment and retribution surely awaited the iniquitous accusers and the unjust judge, and he ended by entreating that they would allow him to die in his father’s place.

The boy’s youthful appearance, his flashing eyes, his flow of eloquent and passionate words, his bold and unflinching demeanour stuck all present with the astonishment and almost admiration, but Bonners face grew dark and stern, he rose and commanded silence. There was almost a kindly look on Bishop’s Gardiner’s face as he gazed at the brave and noble boy who stood before him. Frederic noted the softening expression, and turning to him, he pressed his entreaties that he might be allowed to die instead of his father. “It cannot be, “was the reply, while the angry Bonner thundered his commands for the youth’s instant removal. Slowly and sadly Frederic retired from that gloomy chamber. He walked to the prison. His mother was just quitting it, and no been allowed to see his father, he accompanied her back to Mrs. Murray’s. No time was now to be lost in gaining the audience of the Queen. Mrs. Murray at once sent to Sir Charles and received a reply that in two hours he would be ready to conduct Mrs. Aubrey to the Queens presence. He came in his carriage, by the time he appointed and at once drove Mrs. Aubrey accompanied by Frederic to the palace. On their way, Sir Charles informed her that the Queen was very ill, but had consented through his earnest intercession, to see a petitioner, but was not aware of the nature of the appeal to be made. He cautioned her against being too sanguine, for the influence of Bonner over Mary was great, and it was rarely that she opposed his counsel. Sir Charles Lavee’s name was a password in the Court, and he had no difficulty in conducting his sorrowful companions to the presence of the Queen. In a grand but secluded apartment, on a couch of crimson velvet and supported by cushions, lay the suffering Mary. Her sallow features were wasted and careworn and bore on them the manifest impress of death. Two or three ladies sat around, endeavouring to soothe and amuse her. The deep melancholy of her expression lightened a little as Sit Charles advanced and bent his knee before her. “what would you, Sir Charles? She said “and who are these who come to beg a boon of me?” At a sign from her friend Mrs. Aubrey came forward and throwing herself on her knees at the feet of the Queen, poured her heart out of sorrow and hope. Mary listened in silence. Then turning to Sir Charles, expressed her surprise that he should take so much interest in a miserable heretic. Sir Charles briefly but warmly spoke of Mr. Aubrey’s goodness and the stratagem that had been used to ensnare him, and ended by entreating her Majesty to listen to the prayers of his unhappy wife. Mary looked down at the beautiful and streaming eyes that were raised imploringly to hers. But there was no relenting on her face, through her ladies around were weeping. Unhappy in her own private life, she had little sympathy with the joys or the sorrow of others.

Frederic had hitherto been silent. He now advanced nearer to the Queen and she gazed at the boy who pleaded eloquently and well, and as he proceeded, her expression softened, and tears gathered in her eyes. Hope was rising in the heart of the suppliants when suddenly a door opened, and Bishop Bonner was ushered into the royal presence. With an angry and haughty gesture, he advanced to the side of the Queen and confronting the unhappy petitioners, who now felt all hope was gone demanded the meaning of this intrusion. Sir Charles Lavee was about to answer, but the Queen, who had now resigned her usual apathetic composure, motioned him to silence. “Bishop Bonner, “she said, “they have come to plead for the life of a heretic, is he worthy of my mercy, and will he recant?” “Madam,” exclaimed Bonner, “I had heard of these petitioners and I came to prevent any promise of mercy. This heretic must die. The warrant is already made out, and being after being signed by your Majesty will be forwarded tomorrow evening to the village where he has shown his false and accursed doctrines. Further pleading was useless, and at the command of Bonner the unhappy wife and son were hurried from the royal presence. Sir Charles accompanied them back to Mrs. Murray’s house, but he could not give them comfort or hold any hope of Mr. Aubrey’s pardon.

(Bishop Edmund Bonner) (Image under the Creative Comman License )

As they stepped off the carriage at the door of Mrs. Murray’s house, a man haggard and travel-stained, press forward and arrested their steps. It was John Williams, who had been the tool used to gain the evidence which had led Mr. Aubrey condemnation. “Is he condemned?” he asked eagerly. “He must not die. I will save him or die too.” “How can you save him?” asked Frederic “The warrant for his execution is to be sent down to the village tomorrow evening.” “Oh that it could be delayed!” sighed Williams. “They say the Queen will not live many days. My daughter is a servant to one of the royal physicians, and she has overheard that even in a few hours may end her Majesty’s life – I will do it.” “Do what? “said Frederic, in astonishment. “Save your father’s life or die!” he said in an excited whisper, and without waiting to explain he quickly walked away. It was a lovely Autumn morning, warm and bright. Although late in August, nature was still blooming, but the blue skies and the brightness seemed to mock the many who mourned in Mr. Aubrey’s parish. Groups were standing about in principle street; some talking, others weeping for the Clergyman they had so longed known and loved, as a kindly neighbour, if not as their spiritual pastor, was to pass through the village that day on his way to jail, previous to his execution on the following morning. In the afternoon the gossip spread from lip to lip that he was approaching, and shortly a strong body of officials well- armed and mounted on horses, clattered along the village streets, having as their prisoner Mr. Aubrey who was pinioned, and strongly secured to the horse he rode. As the people thronged around, his pale face flushed and he bowed his head in answer to their sympathy and greetings, but the way was quickly cleared, and he was hurried towards his destination. As he passed the entrance to his once happy home, now so deserted and sorrowful, his firmness gave away. But it was only for a moment, and he regained his posture as he entered his gloomy cell, there to await his death upon the morrow. Mrs. Aubrey and her son had already returned home, and that night the last parting was to take place. Frederic had told his mother of his interview with Williams, and of that unhappy man’s resolve to save his father or die with him. But they could not hope, they never had any grounds to do so, Together the family weeping through a prayer of endurance and then calmly waited for the final hour when the last farewells must be said.

After leaving Frederic, Williams had set out on foot for his home, weary and miserable he reached his cottage late in the evening. After a few hours’ rest, he set himself to the scheme he had set to devised. His object was to intercept the village courier, who brought the post-bags, and get possession of Mr. Aubrey’s death warrant, hoping if he could do this the unhappy Queen might die before another could be obtained and that Mr. Aubrey might be saved. He was well aware of the danger of the attempt, for the postman carried arms, and would not likely to resign his charge. He thought of taking a weapon himself, but to trust the stratagem and the effort of a sudden fright. On the Outskirts of the village, the road from London passed through a dense and gloomy forest. Many strange and mysterious tales were told of sights and sounds seen and heard by travellers, a few of the villagers would willingly enter the shade of the tall and wide-spreading trees after dark. Sitting with his companions around the fire in the dark evening of the winter, the postman had often listened to these tales of wonder. His route lay partly through the thickest of the forest, but it was always a boast that no strange sounds had ever met his ears. No spectre horseman or whiterobed ghost had ever frightened him. The postman and usually arrived between nine and ten o’ clock carrying the mail bags bound on the saddle before him. On this August evening, when the darkness hits the forest, Williams, with a bundle in his arms cautiously left the village and crept through the closely planted trees. Proceeding quickly to a spot he had previously selected and placing himself in the shade of a giant oak, he began his preparations. The road at this spot was broken by boggy and a fall on the deep soft mud, Williams thought, would do the postman no great harm. Assuming the disguise, he had provided, he waited patiently, yet with a throbbing heart, for the distant sound of horse’s feet. In the distance, the anxious watcher heard of a horse coming at a swinging pace along the forest road. In a few minutes it got on the broken ground, and at the same instant what seemed to the postman to be a gigantic and terrible form, with eyes blazing and lurid, suddenly darted before the frightened horse, and seized the bridle. The horse reared in sudden fear, and the rider was half thrown and half leaped to the ground. Williams had kept hold of the bridle, to leap on the animals back, to feel that the mail bag was safe, and to gallop off into the depth of the forest, was the work of a minute. Then securing the horse to a tree, he rapidly examined the letters. Williams could not read, but he had no difficulty which was the government dispatch. By the huge, official seal, and the long, formal superscription, he once distinguished it from the rest of the papers, and opening the lantern which had helped him deceive the postman, he opened the warrant and burnt it to ashes. He then replaced the other letters and secured them onto the saddle and led the horse back to the road, at a point some distance from where intercepted the postman, for he knew the animal’s instinct would guide him safely back to the stable. Meanwhile, there had been no small consternation, in the village. Long after his accustomed time the postman, muddy and discomfited made his appearance on foot. As he reached the inn he was soon surrounded by an eager crowd of questionnaires. His tale was quickly told. How that a black and gigantic ghost had suddenly flown up in his path, as he was riding through the forest, had thrown him to the ground and seized his horse, and vanished.

While discussing with faces of terror this mysterious event, a messenger from the Governor of the jail appeared among the panic-stricken crowd. He was in quest of the expected warrant for the execution of Mr, Aubrey. Treating with contempt the superstition of the villagers, he commanded that instant pursuit should be made of the robber of the missing bag. Under direction, a party of reluctant men was collected for the purpose, but they had only just set out when they met the postman’s horse, making its way to the stable at the hostel. The mail bag was safely strapped on its saddle, and the letters were soon under examination. There was no death warrant among them, that was certain though the postman declared that a government paper with a large seal had been given to him, and had been put safely in his pocket, but had now mysteriously disappeared. The messenger from the jail went back with his intelligence, and the Governor announced that the execution must be delayed until further orders were received from London, or until the missing dispatch was found. When the mournful family came to the prison that evening, for their last farewells, they were informed that Mr. Aubrey’s death warrant had not been received and the execution on the morrow would not take place. They were allowed a short interview with the prisoner and left him with some glittering hope that he might be saved. Another sun was set and Queen Mary was no more, that hand that had signed so many death warrants would sign no more, for the Judge of all the earth had summoned her before a great tribunal, to give an account to the deeds done in the body. Persecution for holding the doctrines of the reformed faith was over, the prisons were opened and Elizabeth, a Protestant Queen ascended England’s throne, to the almost universal satisfaction of her subjects who were sick at heart and weary of inquisition, terror, and judicial deaths. Mr. Aubrey was saved. Except his own family. Williams never told the tale of his lawless exploit, and the villagers believed that their clergyman had really been saved by a supernatural interference. The home of Mr. Aubrey was once more bright and with a happy face, his son fulfilled his father’s earnest desire by became a burning and shining light in the church of England.

St Mary the Virgin , Lowgate, Hull www.stmarylowgate.org.uk Rev Paul Burkitt- (01482 - 218879) Follow us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/StMarysLowgate/?fref=ts