CHAPTER NINE

 

Flee for your lives! Hide in the wilderness!

(Jeremiah 48:6)

 

It seemed that I had just closed my eyes, when John awakened me. “Sarah, it’s time to leave,” he said, gently touching my shoulder. “What time is it?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and rising from the pallet. My back hurt terribly from sleeping on the floor, our beds and other furnishings having been loaded into the wagon, so that we might leave quickly.

“Probably about 3 o’clock,” John said, as he bent over to put on his shoes.

Hurriedly, I awakened the older children and herded them out to the wagon behind the house. The twins, Arthur and Mary, were sleeping peacefully and didn’t stir when I placed them side-by-side in the front of the wagon-bed under the seat on a pallet. Henry and Alexander climbed up top between John and I on the seat, clearly enjoying what was to be our mad dash to safety. Looking up, I saw that it was a clear night. The moon was at its zenith over my right shoulder, and a million stars dotted the darkness overhead. It’s cool tonight. Spring’s still new. Summer’s heat was still a couple of months away. Pulling my cloak closer around me, I checked on the babies and pulled the blanket over their heads. Our combined body heat would keep the boys between us warm and cozy.

John clucked to Goliath and the big old horse headed out. Soon we were on the Great North Road heading towards our destination—and what I hoped was finally a place of safety. It wasn’t long before Henry and Alexander fell asleep again, and stopping alongside the road, John and I settled them in the back beside the twins. We rode along in silence for a great while and I found myself nodding off several times.

“Why don’t you lean against me, Sarah, and try to get some sleep,” John said, taking the reins in one hand and sending his other arm around my shoulders, hugging me to his side.

Doing as he suggested, I fell asleep instantly. I awoke when the swaying of the wagon stopped. “How long have I been asleep?” I said, sitting up slowly and rubbing my eyes.

“A couple of hours, I think. The sun should be coming up soon. We’ll have to get off the road during the day. We’re almost to Long Sutton. There’s an inn up ahead. Father, William and I stopped there for a meal, when we went to see John Robinson that time—my, that’s seems like a lifetime ago.”

It wasn’t long before we were ensconced in a small, but nicely furnished room. John went downstairs for food, while I got the children calmed down. Later, after a rather pleasant meal, John tried to get some sleep, while I endeavored to keep the children quiet—which was not an easy task. Their rest in the back of the wagon had restored their vigor. Fortunately, John was a heavy sleeper. When I managed to get them down for naps in the afternoon, I climbed into bed beside my husband for a well-deserved nap. It was decided that John would sleep during the day and drive at night. I would keep to the children’s regular schedule and sleep with them in the wagon bed while we were on the road.

Well after dark, we were on our way again. The children settled down well and were soon fast asleep within a couple of hours, all except for Henry, who insisted upon riding up front with us for a while. We had crossed the marsh to Long Sutton the night before, and tonight, within an hour we were deep in the middle of the Fens. This part of Lincolnshire was farming country. The land was flat and undulating, with homesteads scattered along the Great North Road. The Pennines, great mountains that split England nearly in two, lay far to our west. We would not reach them before arriving in Scrooby. We stopped for about an hour at Holbeach. John checked the traces connecting Goliath to the wagon, while I laid a now-sleeping Henry in beside Alexander, and nursed Arthur and Mary. Arthur went to sleep quickly, but Mary was a little more difficult. We had stopped in the shadow of All Saint’s Church, built in the 1300’s. John sat down beside me on the grass. The village was quiet and peaceful. It must have been near midnight.

“This seems like a nice town,” he said, looking around him. “It’s fairly tranquil here, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it is,” I answered him, shifting Mary over to the other side. “Were you thinking of staying here, instead of going on to Scrooby?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “I was just making an observation.”

Both of us were still for a time. Mary had finally gone nodded off and I rose to place her beside the other children, who were sleeping peacefully. John had gotten up on the seat and helped me up beside him.

“Do you want to sleep, yet?” he asked.

“No, it’s early. I’ll ride up here with you for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

We’d gone about five or six miles, when John suddenly halted the wagon. Standing up, he seemed to be listening for something.

“What are...?” I began, but was quickly shushed.

“Listen.”

Now that everything was quiet, I could definitely hear the jangling of harness and the hoof beats of many horsemen coming up the road behind us.

“Quickly!” John said, leaping to the ground and grabbing Goliath by the reins. “We have to get off the road. That many horses could only belong to the King’s guard!”

Frantically, John guided Goliath off the road and into a nearby grove of trees—and just in time, too. Within a few minutes, a rather large troop of men galloped right past us, each one wearing the uniform of the Crown. We had nearly been caught. I hated to think what would have become of my children, had we been discovered. Since we were nearly to Sutterton, we decided to rest the horse a bit and allow the riders to gain some ground on us. I persuaded John to lie down for about a half an hour, while I stood watch in case the guards decided to backtrack. While John dozed, I spent the time surveying my surroundings. The fields were blooming with many wildflowers: rock roses, bell-flowers, primroses and butterworts. In the distance, I could just make out a small herd of red harts grazing on the sweet, spring grass. There was a stark white buck with a many-branched rack standing among them—a rare sight—that gleamed in the moonlight. I knew that the area teemed with all kinds of wild animals—wolf, badger and wild boar—but felt relatively safe so near to town.

Soon, we were back on the road and within a couple of hours, had reached Boston. It had started to rain and John decided to remain there for a while. Coming into town, we passed the Friary and Guildhall-turned-Town Hall. John said that William Brewster and his group were held and tried there in 1607. Boston was a Puritan stronghold, so we knew we would find shelter here. John and William had become acquainted with the vicar, John Cotton, when they traveled to Scrooby to hear John Robinson speak. Just beyond Hussey Tower, the home of Lord John Hussey (who had been executed for treason by Henry VIII in 1537), we came upon the King’s Arms Inn.

“Father, William and I stayed here. It’s a nice, clean place. I think we should sojourn here for the day and let the guards get far, far ahead of us.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” I agreed, hopping down from the wagon. Henry and Alexander were already awake and I could hear the twins whimpering. John helped me get the children upstairs, while the stable boy unhitched Goliath from the wagon; then my husband returned downstairs to bring up our only meal of the day.

So far, I was enduring the journey well, but I realized that I needed more than one meal a day in order to provide enough milk for my babies, and I was surprised that Henry and Alexander weren’t complaining. When John returned, I spoke with him about this, and we both agreed that from now on, we would buy some provisions, so that we all could have a meal on the road, even if it meant waking the children in the middle of the night to do so.

Our room was large and spacious, which afforded the children some space to play. But, it was still difficult to keep them entertained, while John slept. I knew that he wasn’t getting the rest he needed. I was thankful that our journey was not to be a long one. My own sleep was sporadic, and I knew that soon I’d be feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. I could already detect a smidgeon of irritation rising up at the smallest infraction.

Again, when night descended, we packed up our little family, hitched Goliath to the wagon and resumed our flight. Within two hours, we had crossed the flat exposed landscape to Heckington, and stopped for a rest in the yard of the Nag’s Head Public House. John unhitched the big, old Belgium and hobbled him in a field across the road to crop at the grass. We rested there for about an hour and a half, the drizzle stopped and we continued on. John was hoping to reach Newark and the White Hart Inn before stopping for the day. Between Nottingham and Newark ran the Trent Vale that cut across the area like a trench some two miles wide. It was a barren stretch of land and afforded no sheltering trees to hide us from sight. I was thankful we were traveling after dark and prayed that we’d make it across without meeting anyone on the road. Eventually exhaustion overwhelmed me and I retired to sleep in the wagon beside the children and woke to bright sunshine, when the wagon stopped moving. The inn was a quaintly thatched-roofed building set back from the cobble-stoned marketplace, which was already crowded with patrons. John hurriedly hustled us upstairs, lest any of the King’s Guard should be taking their meals inside.

After a supper of boiled pigeon in white sauce, peas and cabbage, John and I sat down to talk for a few minutes before he laid down for sleep.

“I remember coming here to Newark as a lad with Father,” he said, as he cuddled Mary in his arms. Arthur was lying on the blanket next to us, busily kicking his feet and absently playing with one ear. Henry and Alexander were quietly playing with toy soldiers on a rug by the hearth.

“Mother’s people founded the town in the twelfth century. Her ancestor, Alexander was a Norman and by birth, a nephew of Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, who rose from the position of parish priest to be Chancellor—the most powerful man in the realm.”

“Now I know where you got the name, when our own Alexander was born,” I said, thoughtfully. “I remember you saying it was a ‘family name.’

“He was a great military man and never appeared at Court without his vast band of followers. He was also a great builder and erected castles not only here in Newark, but also in Sleaford and Banbury.” John went on to tell me the tale of Alexander’s greatest trial and the history of Newark Castle. The tale had it that a rumor reached King Stephen’s ears that the bishops of Lincoln and Salisbury were carrying on a treasonable correspondence with the Queen, and he quickly summoned them to appear at Court. At midsummer 1139, the bishops and the King met at Oxford. Seizing the bishops, Stephen threw them into prison at Devizes and kept them there, until they surrendered their fortresses to the Crown. In 1215, the Howard family lost Newark Castle, when it was seized and held by the Barons under Gilbert de Gaunt. A few years passed and Newark was visited by King John, who breathed his last within the walls of the castle. The monarch was on his way to meet the Barons when while traveling from Swineshead, he was seized with dysentery at Sleaford, and carried on a litter to Newark. After suffering two or three days, he passed away on October 18, 1216.

In Henry III’s reign the castle passed into the hands of Robert de Gaugy. Ordered to surrender it in 1218 to the Bishop of Lincoln and refusing, an eight-day siege was ordered by the King and the stronghold sustained heavy damage, which necessitated its reconstruction. Eventually, De Gaugy was allowed to retain possession by paying the bishop a hundred pounds.

“Did you know that Alexander also founded a hospital, which he dedicated to St. Leonard?” John said.

“No, is it still standing?”

“Frankly, I don’t know,” John said, laughing. “But I do know that another ancestor was also involved here in Newark.”

“And who might that have been?”

“Thomas Magnus.”

“You are related to Thomas Magnus?” I said “That’s incredible. How?”

“Mother’s mother was his niece. He actually established the grammar school here. Mother came here as a girl to study singing.”

“Well, wonders will never cease,” I remarked. “I remember learning about the great Thomas Magnus in grade school as a child. He was a friend of Cardinal Wolsey, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was.”

John laid the now-sleeping Mary beside Arthur on the pallet. Henry and Alexander had also fallen asleep near the hearth and we decided to leave them there undisturbed.

“I think I’ll try to get some rest, now, Sarah,” John said, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. “My back aches abominably.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I said. My own body was as stiff as a two-by-four.

“Are you coming to bed now?”

“No, I think I’ll stay up for a while. I’m not really sleepy. It’s difficult to sleep when the sun is shining so brightly.”

Day three saw our little family back on the road to Scrooby. Within the first three hours of our trip, we had passed through Carlton and Sutton-on-Trent and were approaching Tuxford. I was thankful that we had not had to pull off the road to hide anymore. Keeping children quiet in such a suspenseful situation was very difficult. One peep and the King’s Guard would be down upon us like flies on dung. We rested for an hour in Tuxford and continued on towards East

Markham. Once we reached this small village with its large church dedicated to St. John the Baptist, we would be within two hours of our destination. John did not want to stop in East Markham, so we pushed on.

I had just laid myself down in the wagon bed for some sleep, when John suddenly halted the wagon. Goliath grunted loudly at the unexpected hauling on the reins. Quickly, John guided the horse and wagon off the road into another copse of trees, and it was evident what was happening.

I heard the approach of a large group horsemen coming from the direction of Scrooby. Henry and Alexander had awakened, and Arthur and Mary were whimpering in their sleep. I tried desperately to quiet the babies, while shushing to the boys. This time, however, the group of men did not pass quickly by. John, seeing that the group was going to stop, swiftly jumped from the wagon to wrap his big hand around the muzzle of Goliath to prevent him nickering at the approach of the other horses. From my vantage point in the wagon bed, I could hear the leader’s words plainly.

“I could have sworn I saw a wagon approaching us,” he said to the guard on his right. “Could I have been mistaken?”

“Evidently, sir,” said his companion. “I certainly don’t see anyone. Should we perhaps have a look-see before continuing on?”

“That might be a good idea, Creasy. The spy said that Keeney was definitely going to Scrooby. I’m surprised that we did not find him there yesterday. You take Godfried and Jones and check the trees over there. I’ll take Tussey and look in this grove here.”

Quickly, whispering to the boys to be extremely quiet. I rapidly grabbed the canvas cover and threw it over myself and the children. I quickly put both of the twins to my breasts and they quieted down and returned to sleep, which I took as a blessing from Heaven. I could feel my body shaking with fear and dread. Oh, please, sweet Jesus, I prayed desperately. We’re nearly there. Please make us invisible to these men.

Suddenly, I heard the man identified as Creasy shout.

“Sir, over here! I think I’ve found something.”

The group, who had been coming right towards our hiding place, turned around and proceeded back the way they had come. I let loose a sigh of relief. It was difficult to hear the balance of the conversation, or discover exactly what the guards had found, but evidently it was enough to convince them that they’d not located what they sought and were giving up the search. Within a few minutes, the company of men thundered off toward Boston, and John and I quickly resumed our journey, albeit visibly shaken at our close call. Both of us were silent as we continued on. Even the children seemed unusually sober and refrained. After such a harrowing experience, sleep was the farthest thing from my mind, so I climbed up beside my husband and we rode along in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts and worries. Within two hours, we had passed through Retford, which had been utterly destroyed by fire in 1528 and subsequently rebuilt, and arrived in Scrooby, bedraggled and bone-tired. Our traumatic flight to safety was over.

My first sight of Scrooby was a small, rural community. A little cluster of cottages surrounded by a few larger residences ran along the tiny river Ryton. It was hard to believe that this wee village was once the seat of the Archbishops of York, and that William Brewster and his group of believers had met in its old archiepiscopal mansion. Henry VIII on his way into Yorkshire sojourned a night there and the magnificent Cardinal Wolsey made several visits in the heyday of his prosperity. The mansion was secluded in a beautiful forest and surrounded by a moat. John surprised me by turning down the drive leading to the great stone structure.

“Why are we going there?” I asked, placing a hand on his arm.

“Certainly, we don’t know anyone here, do we?”

“Not exactly,” my husband replied, patting my hand. “However, this is where we heard John Robinson speak and I hoped to be able to get some direction as to where we might lodge. There was a man who lived here then, and I want to see whether he still resides here.”

Pulling the wagon up to the manor, John set the brake and jumped down.

“Stay here, Sarah, with the children. I’ll see if anyone’s at home.”

I was always amazed at my husband’s resourcefulness. If he needed something, he just asked. I, on the other hand, could never have been accused of being forward. At John’s knock, a stout, husky man with white hair and a massive beard answered the door. John spoke with him for a few minutes and then with a wave to me, disappeared inside. He was gone quite a considerable length of time, and I had just began to worry, when the front door reopened and John and the gentleman stepped out and proceeded to approach the wagon.

“So this is your little family, John,” the gentleman said, smiling up at me where I sat perched on the wagon seat.

“Yes, sir, this is my wife, Sarah, and under the canvas covering are my children, Henry, Alexander, Arthur, and Mary.”

“Well, well, you have definitely been busy since I last saw you,” the great man replied, chuckling and pounding John on the back. “Go on ahead and pull the wagon back to the cottage. You can stay there as long as you need to. No one lives there now. I have sold the land surrounding the manor and it is to be divided up into small farms.”

“Is this going to affect our staying here?” John said, suddenly looking pale.

“Oh, no, son,” our benefactor assured him. “The cottage will remain. In fact, if you’d like to sharecrop the land, it can be arranged with the new owner.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sandys, we would appreciate that immensely. I don’t know how long we will be staying, so I wouldn’t be interested in buying. But sharecropping would appeal to me nicely.”

“Then it’s settled,” Mr. Sandys said, tipping his hat to me. “Nice to meet you, my lady.”

I inclined my head as he turned away and re-entered the manor. John hopped up beside me and proceeded around the back to a small cottage.

“That was Sir Samuel Sandys,” John said. “His father was the Archbishop and William Brewster was a tenant of his. I met him several years ago and he said if I ever needed anything, I was to contact him. Thank God for small miracles, uh, Sarah?”

“Yes, indeed,” I replied, smiling. “God is good.”

“All the time,” replied my husband.