South London

Juxon, who found the Palace a 'heap of ruins,' spent his three years of occupancy and 15,000l. of his own money in restoring the place for the honour and splendour of the Church. As for what has been done since that time, especially by Archbishop Howley, it all belongs to the detailed history of the Palace. It is sufficient here to note that the Palace is a worthy House to-day, as it was five hundred years ago, for the residence of the Primate. He belongs still, as his Roman Catholic predecessors, to a Church whose members love some splendour in their ecclesiastical Princes, just as they love splendour in their churches and stateliness in their ritual. They do not desire to make a Bishop rich: they do desire that a Bishop should not be hampered by narrow circumstances: they desire that he should be able to take the lead in all good works. In ancient times, the Bishop rode or sat in splendid state: he sat every day at a table loaded with costly and luxurious food: outwardly he was clothed with silken robes. But he touched nothing that was set before him: he lived hardly and abstemiously: and he wore next his skin a hair shirt: and for greater self-denial he suffered his hair shirt to be full of vermin. That was the ideal Bishop of mediæval times. Our own is much the same: a simple life: a splendid house: modest wants: a large income: for himself no luxuries: and an open hand. Such a house: such an income: we have always given to an Archbishop, whether of the old or of the Reformed Faith.

The Chapel has at least one memory which will always cling to it. Within its dark and gloomy crypt Anne Boleyn, brought from the Tower, stood to hear her sentence. She was to be burned to death as an adulteress. I am not qualified by study of the case or by education in the weighing of evidence to pronounce an opinion as to her innocence. I believe that those who have examined into the case are of opinion that Anne Boleyn fell a victim to the King's jealousy: to his change of mind towards her: and to her own foolish frivolity. However, in the crypt she was persuaded into making some sort of avowal of a previous betrothal, in return for which she was spared the agonies of the stake. I have sometimes thought that the King must have thought her guilty, otherwise he would have divorced her on a charge of adultery, and suffered her to live. If he did not believe her guilty, how could he, being, above all things, a man of human passions, have sentenced the woman whom he had once loved to so horrible a death?

Let us note, however, that our ancestors did not regard death by burning with quite the same horror as is now common. There is a story of Rogers—or Bradford—the martyr. Some one once begged his intercession to save a woman from burning. 'It is a gentle mode of death,' he replied. 'Then,' said the other, 'I hope that you yourself will some day have your hands full of this gentle death.' Punishment was meant to be painful: the least painful form of death was that accorded to the noble—to be beheaded. If a man died by the executioner, it was expected that he should suffer. Death, in all forms, meant suffering. In disease and in old age men suffered torture as bad as any inflicted by the executioner.

I am not excusing Henry. I am only pleading that he must have believed in Anne's guilt or he could not possibly have allowed such a sentence; and that cruel as it seems to us, it did not seem so cruel at that time. There is, however, no more sorrowful story in the whole long History of England, which is, alas! so full of sorrow and of tragedy, than that of Anne Boleyn.

Lambeth Palace, the only palace in the whole of South London, is a monument of English History from the twelfth century downwards. Kennington appears at intervals; Eltham is a holiday house; Greenwich practically begins with the Tudors. Lambeth, like Westminster or St. Paul's, belongs to the long history of the English people. It is a place little known: of the millions now, in the circle of the Greater London, how many, I should like to ask, have ever seen the interior? Of the vast population of Lambeth, Battersea, and Kennington, of which it is the centre, how many, I wonder, know anything at all about its history or its buildings?

Of those who daily go up and down the river, who come and go across the Bridge, and suffer their careless and unobservant eyes to rest for a moment on the grey walls and Tower of the Palace, how many are there who know, or inquire, or care for the wealth of history that clings to every stone?

CHAPTER V

PAGEANTS AND RIDINGS

Since, however, Southwark did witness that part, I have drawn up a short series of notes on the sights of which the Borough took a share.

Thus, when Richard the Second restored the City privileges in 1392, he was met by four hundred of the citizens, all mounted and clad in the same livery: they invited him to ride to Westminster through London.

'The request having been granted, he pursued his journey to Southwark, where, at St. George's Church, he was met by a procession of the Bishop of London and all the religious of every degree and both sexes, and about five hundred boys in surplices. At London Bridge a beautiful white steed and a milk-white palfrey, both saddled, bridled, and caparisoned in cloth of gold, were presented to the King and Queen. The citizens received them, standing in their liveries on each side the street, crying, "King Richard, King Richard!"'

The rest of the pageant belongs to the City and to North London. Again, on the return of the victorious Henry the Fifth from France there was a splendid Pageant, of which the South got some part, namely, the following:

'On the King's return after the glorious field of Agincourt, the Mayor of London and the Aldermen, apparelled in orient grained scarlet, and four hundred commoners clad in beautiful murrey, well mounted and trimly horsed, with rich collars and great chains, met the King at Blackheath; and the clergy of London in solemn procession, with rich crosses, sumptuous copes, and massy censers, received him at St. Thomas of Waterings. The King, like a grave and sober personage, and as one who remembered from Whom all victories are sent, seemed little to regard the vain pomp and shows, insomuch that he would not suffer his helmet to be carried with him, whereby the blows and dents upon it might have been seen by the people, nor would he suffer any ditties to be made and sung by minstrels of his glorious victory, because he would the praise and thanks should be altogether given to God.

'At the entrance of London Bridge, on the top of the tower, stood a gigantic figure, bearing in his right hand an axe, and in his left the keys of the City hanging to a staff, as if he had been the porter. By his side stood a female of scarcely less stature, intended for his wife. Around them were a band of trumpets and other wind instruments. The towers were adorned with banners of the royal arms, and in the front of them was inscribed CIVITAS REGIS JUSTICIE (the City of the King of Righteousness).

'At the drawbridge on each side was erected a lofty column like a little tower, built of wood and covered with linen; one painted like white marble, and the other like green jasper. They were surmounted by figures of the King's beasts—an antelope, having a shield of the royal arms suspended from his neck, and a sceptre in his right foot; and a lion, bearing in his right claw the royal standard unfurled.

'At the foot of the bridge next the city was raised a tower, formed and painted like the columns before mentioned, in the middle of which, under a splendid pavilion, stood a most beautiful image of St. George, armed, excepting his head, which was adorned with a laurel crown studded with gems and precious stones. Behind him was a crimson tapestry, with his arms (a red cross) glittering on a multitude of shields. On his right hung his triumphal helmet, and on his left a shield of his arms of suitable size. In his right hand he held the hilt of the sword with which he was girt, and in his left a scroll, which, extending along the turrets, contained these words, SOLI DEO HONOR ET GLORIA. In a contiguous house were innumerable boys representing the angelic host, arrayed in white, with glittering wings, and their hair set with sprigs of laurel; who, on the King's approach, sang, accompanied by organs, an anthem, supposed to be that beginning "Our King went forth to Normandy;" and whose burthen is "Deo gratias, Anglia, redde pro victoria."'

When Henry VI. returned after his coronation in 1432—

'On returning from his Coronation in France King Henry the Sixth was met at Blackheath by the Mayor and citizens of London, on Feb. 21, 1431-2; the latter being dressed in white, with the cognizances of their mysteries or crafts embroidered on their sleeves; and the Mayor and his brethren in scarlet.

'When the King came to London Bridge, there was devised a mighty giant, standing with a sword drawn, and having this poetical speech inscribed by his side:

'When the King had passed the first gate, and was arrived at the drawbridge, he found a goodly tower hung with silk and cloth of arras, out of which suddenly appeared three ladies, clad in gold and silk, with coronets upon their heads; of which the first was dame Nature, the second dame Grace, and the third dame Fortune. They each addressed the King in verses similar to those already quoted, and which, together with those which followed, the curious will find in their place. On each side of them were ranged seven virgins, all clothed in white; those on the right hand had baudricks of sapphire colour or blue, and the others had their garments powdered with golden stars. The first seven presented the King with the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost—sapience, intelligence, good counsel, strength, cunning, pity, and dread of God: and the others with the seven gifts of grace, in these verses:

'After which they sang a roundel, the burthen of which was "Welcome out of France."'

The Pageant which welcomed Queen Margaret of Anjou on her Coronation presented, first, at the Bridge Foot at Southwark, 'Peace and plenty,' with the motto 'Ingredimini et replete terram,'—Enter ye and replenish the earth—and the following verses were recited:

Upon the Bridge itself appeared Noah's Ark, with the words, 'Jam non ultra irascar super terram' (Genesis viii. 21), and the following verses were addressed to the Queen:

On the marriage of Katharine of Aragon with Prince Arthur there was a great Pageant. The part at the south entrance of the Bridge is thus described:

'It consisted of a tabernacle of two floors, resembling two roodlofts; in the lower of which sat a fair young lady with a wheel in her hand, in likeness of Saint Katherine, with many virgins on every side of her; and in the higher story was another lady, in likeness of Saint Ursula, also with a great multitude of virgins right goodly dressed and arrayed. Above all was a representation of the Trinity. On each side of both stories was one small square tabernacle, with proper vanes, and in every square was a garter with this poesy in French, Onye soit que male pens, inclosing a red rose. On the tops of these tabernacles were six angels, casting incense on the Trinity, and the two Saints. The outer walls were painted with hanging curtains of cloth of tissue, blue and red; and at some distance before the pageant were set two great posts, painted with the three ostrich feathers, red roses, and portcullisses, and surmounted by a lion rampant, holding a vane painted with the arms of England. The whole work was carved with timber, and was gilt and painted with biss and azure.'

The next Pageant that passed through Southwark was that of Charles the Second at his Restoration:

'On the 29th of May, 1660, the Lord Mayor and Aldermen met the King at St. George's Fields in Southwark, and the former, having delivered the City sword to his Majesty, had the same returned with the honour of knighthood. A very magnificent tent was erected in the Fields, provided with a sumptuous collation, of which the King participated. He then proceeded towards London, which was pompously adorned with the richest silks and tapestry, and the streets lined with the City Corporations and trained bands; while the conduits flowed with a variety of delicious wines, and the windows, balconies, and scaffolds were crowded with such an infinite number of spectators, as if the whole collective body of the people had been assembled to grace the Royal Entry.

'The procession was chiefly composed of the military. First marched a gallant troop of gentlemen in cloth of silver, brandishing their swords, and led by Major-General Brown; then another troop of two hundred in velvet coats, with footmen and liveries attending them, in purple; a third led by Alderman Robinson, in buff coats with cloth of silver sleeves and very rich green scarfs; a troop of about two hundred, with blue liveries laid with silver, with six trumpeters, and several footmen, in sea-green and silver; another of two hundred and twenty, with thirty footmen in grey and silver liveries, and four trumpeters richly habited; another of an hundred and five, with grey liveries, and six trumpets; and another of seventy, with five trumpets; and then three troops more, two of three hundred and one of one hundred, all gloriously habited, and gallantly mounted. After these came two trumpets with his Majesty's arms; the Sheriffs' men, in number fourscore, in red cloaks, richly laced with silver, with half-pikes in their hands. Then followed six hundred of the several Companies of London on horseback, in black velvet coats, with gold chains, each Company having footmen in different liveries, with streamers, &c.; after whom came kettle-drums and trumpets, with streamers, and after them twelve ministers (clergymen) at the head of his Majesty's life-guard of horse, commanded by Lord Gerrard. Next the City Marshal, with eight footmen in various colours, with the City Waits and Officers in order; then the two Sheriffs with all the Aldermen in their scarlet gowns and rich trappings, with footmen in liveries, red coats laid with silver, and cloth of gold; the heralds and maces in rich coats; the Lord Mayor bare-headed, carrying the sword, with his Excellency the General (Monk) and the Duke of Buckingham, also uncovered; and then, as the lustre to all this splendid triumph, rode the King himself between his Royal brothers the Dukes of York and Gloucester. Then followed a troop of horse with white colours; the General's life-guard, led by Sir Philip Howard, and another troop of gentry; and, last of all, five regiments of horse belonging to the army, with back, breast, and head-pieces: which, it is remarked, "diversified the show with delight and terror."'

On November 26, 1697, after the Peace of Ryswick, William the Third made a triumphant entry into London:

'He came from Greenwich about ten o'clock, in his coach, with Prince George and the Earl of Scarbrough, attended by four score other coaches, each drawn by six horses. The Archbishop of Canterbury came next to the King, the Lord Chancellor after him, then the Dukes of Norfolk, Devon, Southampton, Grafton, Shrewsbury, and all the principal noblemen. Some companies of Foot Grenadiers went before, the Horse Grenadiers followed, as did the Horse Life-Guards and some of the Earl of Oxford's Horse; the Gentlemen of the Band of Pensioners were in Southwark, but did not march on foot; the Yeomen of the Guard were about the King's coach.

'On St. Margaret's Hill in Southwark the Lord Mayor met his Majesty, where, on his knees, he delivered the sword, which his Majesty returned, ordering him to carry it before him. Then Mr. Recorder made a speech suitable to the occasion, after which the cavalcade commenced.

'A detachment of about one hundred of the City Trained Bands, in buff coats and red feathers in their hats, preceded; then followed two of the King's coaches, and one of Prince George's; then two City Marshals on horseback, with their six men on foot in new liveries; the six City Trumpets on horseback; the Sheriff's Officers on foot with their halberds and javelins in their hands; the Lord Mayor's Officers in black gowns; the City Officers on horseback, each attended by a servant on foot, viz.: the four Attorneys, the Solicitor and Remembrancer, the two Secondaries, the Comptroller, the Common Pleaders, the two Judges, the Town Clerk, the Common Serjeant, and the Chamberlain. Then came the Water Bailiff on horseback, carrying the City banner; the Common Crier and the Sword-bearer, the last in his gown of black damask and gold chain; each with a servant; then those who had fined for Sheriffs or Aldermen, or had served as such, according to their seniority, in scarlet, two and two, on horseback; the two Sheriffs on horseback, with their gold chains and white staffs, with two servants apiece; the Aldermen below the chair on horseback, in scarlet, each attended by his Beadle and two servants; the Recorder, in scarlet, on horseback, with two servants; and the Aldermen above the chair, in scarlet, on horseback, wearing their gold chains, each attended by his Beadle and four servants. Then followed the State all on horseback, uncovered, viz.: the Knight Marshall with a footman on each side; then the kettle-drums, the Drum-Major, the King's Trumpets, the Serjeant Trumpet with his mace; after followed the Pursuivants at Arms, Heralds of Arms, Kings of Arms, with the Serjeants at Arms on each side, bearing their maces, all bare-headed, and each attended with a servant. Then the Lord Mayor of London on horseback, in a crimson velvet gown, with a collar and jewel, bearing the City sword by his Majesty's permission, with four footmen in liveries; Clarenceux King at Arms supplying the place of Garter King at Arms on his right hand, and one of the Gentleman Ushers supplying the place of the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod on his left hand, each with two servants. Then came his Majesty in a rich coach, followed by a strong party of Horseguards; and the Nobility, Judges, &c., according to their ranks and qualities, there being between two and three hundred coaches, each with six horses.'

On September 20, 1714, George the First was received by the Mayor and Corporation at St. Margaret's Hill, Southwark, with much the same state as that of William III. seventeen years before.

The Lord Mayor's Pageants, of which there were so many, had nothing to do with Southwark at all, except when they were water processions, in which case they could be seen as well from the South as from the North. But, in fact, Southwark was wholly disregarded in all these Pageants. The sovereign rode through the City, not through Southwark. Why should the place be regarded at all? Practically, as has been shown over and over again, it consisted of nothing at all but a causeway and an embankment, and what was once a broad Marsh drained and divided into fields and gardens and woods.

I have set down what royal processions Southwark was permitted to see, but I do not suppose that among the four hundred citizens who went out in one livery to meet King Richard there was one man from Southwark, nor do I suppose that when nine hundred and sixty citizens, each man carrying a silver cup, rode through London with the Coronation procession, there was a single man from the quarter south of London Bridge. In other words, although in course of time there was appointed—never elected—an Alderman of the Bridge Without, at no time in these Pageants or in these functions was Southwark ever regarded as part of the City, nor were her wishes consulted or her interests considered.

One Pageant alone—that of our own time—the splendid Pageant of 1897, reversed this position. As is well known, the Procession which celebrated the Sixty Years' Reign passed through the Borough as well as the City.

CHAPTER VI

A FORGOTTEN WORTHY

Captain. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in haste?

Fast. Whither away? To save myself by flight.
We are like to have the overthrow again.

Captain. What? Will you fly and leave Lord Talbot?

Fast. Ay,
All Talbots in the world to save my life.

And again in Act IV. Talbot denounces Fastolf:

This dastard, at the Battle of Patay,
When but in all I was six thousand strong,
And that the French were almost ten to one,
Before we met, or that a stroke was given,
Like to a trusty knight, did run away.

And he tears off the Garter which Sir John was wearing.

Sir John Fastolf came of a Norfolk family; his people held the manors of Caister and Rudham. He was born in the year 1378, and became, after the fashion of the times, first a page to the Duke of Norfolk and next to Thomas of Lancaster, Henry the Fourth's second son.

Caxton says that he 'exercised the wars in the royaume of France and other countries by forty yeares enduring.' If so he must have been fighting in France or elsewhere across the seas as early as 1400. Perhaps he went over earlier. He was, at least, successful in getting promotion, and promotion in a time of continuous war cannot be bestowed on a soldier incapable or cowardly. He became Governor of Veires in Germany and of Harfleur. He fought with distinction at Agincourt: at the taking of Caen and at the siege of Rouen: he was Governor of Condé-sur-Noireau and of other places, as they were taken. We find him, for instance, the Governor of the Bastille in Paris. When Henry V. died, in 1422, he became Master of the Household to the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France. He was Lieutenant-Governor of Normandy and Governor of Anjou and Maine. It is remarkable to observe that in spite of his great services he was not knighted until 1417, when he was already forty years of age. In 1426, he was made a Knight of the Garter. In 1429, he won the day at the 'Battle of the Herrings,' when with a small company of archers he put to flight an army.

His record does not lead one to expect a charge of cowardice. Yet the charge was brought. It was after the Battle of Patay, in which Talbot was taken prisoner and the English totally defeated. The reverse was attributed by Talbot to the cowardly defection of Fastolf, rather than to his own incompetence. Fastolf demanded an investigation, which was made, with the result of his acquittal. Probably Lord Talbot persisted in his explanation of defeat. The age, it must be confessed, was not exactly chivalrous. The Wars of the Roses, which were about to begin, brought to light gallant knights without truth or fidelity: perjured princes as well as perjured barons: accusations and recriminations: shameless desertions and changes of front. An evil time. If Lord Talbot simply tried to shift the blame of his own defeat upon Fastolf, it would be what other noble lords were perfectly ready to do in their anxiety to escape responsibility in the loss of France: a disaster, as it was then thought, which brought the greatest humiliation on the people. As for Fastolf, he continued to receive posts of honour and distinction. Yet the common people heard the reports brought home by the soldiers: nothing is more easy than a charge of treachery and cowardice: they knew nothing of the acquittal. To them Fastolf became in common talk the coward who single-handed lost France by always running away.

After the Battle of Patay, Fastolfe became Governor of Caen: he raised the siege of Vaudmont: took prisoner the Duc de Bar: he was twice appointed ambassador: he fought in the army of the Duc de Bretagne against the Duc d'Alençon: and he was ordered to draw up a report of the war. All this does not show much confidence in Lord Talbot's accusation.

In 1440, then sixty-two years of age, he sheathed his sword, put off his armour and returned to England. Few men could show a longer, or a finer, record of war. In 1441 he received from the Duke of York an annuity of £20 a year, 'pro notabili et laudabili servicio ac bono consilio.' He spent the rest of his life partly in his house at Southwark and partly in his castle of Caister, which he built himself: we may very well understand that he was a man of great wealth when we read that the castle covered five acres of land.

It was not a time when dependents spent their time as they pleased. In a well-ordered household every man had his post and his work. An old Knight who had fought for forty years and commanded armies was not at all likely to be a master of a soft and indulgent kind. There is no greater disciplinarian than the old soldier: no household is more sternly ruled than his. This man had not only commanded armies, he had governed provinces, cities, castles: he had wielded despotic authority: he had found it necessary to master every branch of human activity, including the law and the chicanery of lawyers: as the general in command or the Governor of the Province considered the interests of his master the King before everything, so Fastolf expected his dependents to consider his interests as before everything else. The stern old Captain, I can very well believe, looked to every one of his dependents for his share of work, and I can also very well believe that they feared him as the masterful man is always feared.

One of these dependents calls him 'cruel and vengeful.' But he gives no reasons.

One does not carry on war for forty years in the midst of spies, traitors, robbers, and all the villainy of a camp without becoming stern and hard. As a soldier he had to harden himself: as a governor he had to observe justice rather than pity: as a judge it was his duty to punish criminals. I picture a stern, determined man, grey and worn, with hard eyes and strong mouth, one who looked for a thing to be done as soon as he commanded it, at the coming of whom his servants became instantly absorbed in work, at whose footstep his secretaries dared not lift their heads.

Next we are told that he was a 'testy neighbour.' The letters are full of complaints about trespass, invasion of his rights, and attempts to over-reach him. How could a man choose but prove a 'testy neighbour' at a time when the law was powerless and every man was trying to enlarge his boundaries at the expense of his next neighbour? The land robber was everywhere moving landmarks and claiming what was not his own. Private persons, simple esquires, had to fortify their houses against their neighbours and to prepare for a siege. 'I pray you,' says Margaret Paston, 'to get some crossebows and wyndace to bind them with, and quarrel'—i.e. bolts—'for your house is so low that ther may no man shoot with no long bow though he had never so much mind.' And she goes on to enumerate the warlike preparations made by her neighbour.

Sir John Fastolf himself orders five dozen long bows, and quarrels for his own house in Norfolk. John Paston complains how Robert Hungerford, Knight, and Lord Moleyne and Alianor his wife, entered forcibly upon his house and manor of Gresham with a thousand people at their heels, and robbed and pillaged, turning his wife and servants into the road.

These are things which do sometimes make neighbours testy.

But he is a 'grasping man of business.'

Hear, then, this story. The Duke of Suffolk seizes upon property belonging to Fastolf. The judges are bribed and justice cannot be had. Sir John and his friend, Mr. Justice Yelverton, resolve to address the Duke of Norfolk, and to let him know that the counties of Norfolk and Suffolk 'do stand right wildly. Without a mun may be that justice be hadde.' Is it a surprising thing that an old soldier should resolve to get justice if possible? Is it right to call a man 'grasping' because he stands up in his own defence? Read again the following. 'I pray you sende me worde who darre be so hardy to kick agen you in my ryght. And sey hem on my half that they shall be givyt as ferre as law and reson wolle. And yff they wolle not dredde, ne obey that, then they shall be quyt by Blackberd or Whiteberd: that ys to say by God or the Devyll. And therefor I charge you, send me word whethyr such as hafe be myne adversaries before thys tyme, contynew still yn their wylfullnesse.' I see nothing unworthy or grasping in this letter: only a plain soldier's resolve to get justice or he would know the reason why.

It is further objected that he had long-standing claims against the Crown, and was always setting them forth and pressing them. If his claims were just, why should he not press them? If a man makes a claim and does not press it, what does it mean except that he is afraid of pressing it or that it is an unjust claim?

The estates which he owned, apart from the claims which were never settled, amounted altogether to a very considerable property well worth defending. He had no fewer than ninety-four manors: there were four residences—Caister: Southwark: Castle Scrope, and another: there was a sum of money in the treasure chest of 2,643l. 10s., equivalent to about 50,000l. of our money. There were no banks in those days and no investments: a gentleman bought lands and plate and armour and weapons: he spent, as a rule, the greater part of his income, showing his wealth and his rank by the splendid manner of living. Sir John Fastolf, for instance, had 3,400 oz. of silver plate; and besides, a wardrobe full of costly robes.

His house stood on the banks of the river in Stoney Lane, which now leads from Tooley Street to Pickleherring Street. The Knight had good neighbours. On the east of St. Olave's Church was the ancient house built in the 12th century for the Earl of Warren and Surrey, and given by his successor to the Abbot of St. Augustine's, Canterbury. Next to the Abbot's Inn came, with the Bridge House between, the Abbot of Battle's Inn, a great building on the river bank, with gardens lying on the other side of what is now Tooley Street. The site was long marked by 'The Maze' and 'Maze Pond.' Then came Fastolf's House. There are no means of ascertaining the appearance or the size of the place. It was certainly a building round a quadrangle capable of housing many followers, because he proposed to fill it with a garrison and so to meet Cade's insurgents. Moreover, a man of such great authority and wealth would not be contented with a small house. On the south side of St. Olave's Church, nearly opposite Fastolf's house, was the Inn or House of the Abbot of Lewes. And half a mile across the fields and gardens rose the towers and walls of St. Saviour's Abbey, Bermondsey. Perhaps there were other great houses east of Sir John Fastolf's, but I think not, because as late as 1720 fields begin a little to the east of Stoney Lane. Now, though fields precede houses, houses seldom precede fields. A house often degenerates, but is rarely converted into a meadow. This, however, did happen with Kennington Palace. We know, for example, that the house called Augustin's Inn came to the Sellinger family, and being deserted by them was presently let out in tenements till it was pulled down and replaced by other buildings. According to these indications, then, Fastolf's house was the last of the great houses on the east side of London Bridge. There is another proof that it was a large house. Fastolf kept a fleet of coasting vessels which continually sailed from Caister or Yarmouth to London bringing provisions and supplies of all kinds for his house at Southwark. This fact not only proves that his household was very large, but it illustrates one way in which the great houses, the ecclesiastical houses and the nobles' houses were victualled. If those whose manors lay within easy reach of a port kept ships for the conveyance of provisions from the country to London it is certain that those who lived inland sent up caravans of pack-horses laden with the produce of their estates and sent up to town flocks of cattle and sheep and droves of pigs.

I have spoken of Sir John's intention to make a stand at Southwark against the rebels under Cade. Fortunately for himself and for everybody with him, he was persuaded to retire across the river to the Tower before the rebels reached the gates. The story is one of the most interesting in the whole of the 'Paston Letters,' which, to tell the truth, unless one looks into them for persons we already know, are somewhat dull in the reading.

When the Commons of Kent were reported to be approaching London in the year 1450, Sir John Fastolf filled his house in Southwark with old soldiers from Normandy and 'abyllyments' of war. This rumour reached the rebels and naturally caused them considerable anxiety. So when they caught a spy among them in the shape of one John Payn, a servant of Sir John, they were disposed to make an example of him. And now you shall hear what happened to John Payn in his own words, the spelling being only partly modernised.

'Pleasyth it your gode and gracios maistershipp tendyrly to consedir the grate losses and hurts that your por peticioner haeth, and haeth had evyr seth the comons of Kent come to the Blakheth,[1] and that is at XV. yer passed whereas my maister Syr John Fastolf, Knyght, that is youre testator,[2] commandyt your besecher to take a man, and ij. of the beste orsse that wer in his stabyll, with hym to ryde to the comens of Kent, to gete the articles that they come for. And so I dyd: and al so sone as I come to the Blakheth, the capteyn[3] made the comens to take me. And for the savacion of my maisters horse, I made my fellowe to ryde a way with the ij. horses; and I was brought forth with befor the Capteyn of Kent. And the capteyn demaundit me what was my cause of comyng thedyr, and why that I made my fellowe to stele a wey with the horse. And I seyd that I come thedyr to chere with my wyves brethren, and other that were my alys and gossipps of myn that were present there. And than was there oone there, and seid to the capteyn that I was one of Syr John Fastolfes men, and the ij. horse were Syr John Fastolfes; and then the capteyn lete cry treson upon me thorough all the felde, and brought me at iiij. partes of the feld with a harrawd of the Duke of Exeter[4] before me in the dukes cote of armes, makyng iiij. Oyes at iiij. partes of the feld; proclaymyng opynly by the seid harrawd that I was sent thedyr for to espy theyre pusaunce, and theyre abyllyments of werr, fro the grettyst traytor that was in Yngelond or in Fraunce, as the seyd capteyn made proclaymacion at that tyme, fro oone Syr John Fastolf, Knyght, the whech mynnysshed all the garrisons of Normaundy, and Manns, and Mayn, the whech was the cause of the lesyng of all the Kyngs tytyll and ryght of an herytaunce that he had by yonde see. And morovyr he seid that the seid Sir John Fastolf had furnysshyd his plase with the olde sawdyors of Normaundy and abyllyments of werr, to destroy the comens of Kent whan that they come to Southwerk; and therfor he seyd playnly that I shulde lese my hede.

'And so furthewith I was taken, and led to the capteyns tent, and j. ax and j. blok was brought forth to have smetyn of myn hede; and than my maister Ponyngs, your brodyr,[5] with other of my frendes, come and lettyd the capteyn, and seyd pleynly that there shulde dye a C. or ij. (a hundred or two), that in case be that I dyed; and so by that meane my lyf was savyd at that tyme. And than I was sworen to the capteyn, and to the comens, that I shulde go to Southwerk, and aray me in the best wyse that I coude, and come ageyn to hem to helpe hem; and so I gote th' articles, and brought hem to my maister, and that cost me more emongs the comens that day than xxvijs.

'Wherupon I come to my maister Fastolf, and brought hym th' articles, and enformed hym of all the mater, and counseyled hym to put a wey all his abyllyments of werr and the olde sawdiors; and so he dyd, and went hymself to the Tour, and all his meyny with hym but betts and j. (i.e. one) Mathew Brayn; and had not I ben, the comens wolde have brennyd his plase and all his tennuryes, wher thorough it coste me of my noune propr godes at that tyme more than vj. merks in mate and drynke; and nought withstondyng the capteyn that same tyme lete take me atte Whyte Harte in Suthewerk, and there comandyt Lovelase to dispoyle me oute of myn aray, and so he dyd. And there he toke a fyn gowne of muster dewyllers[6] furryd with fyn bevers, and j. peyr of Bregandyrns[7] kevert with blew fellewet (velvet) and gylt naile, with leg-harneyse, the vallew of the gown and the bregardyns viijli.

'Item, the capteyn sent certeyn of his meyny to my chamber in your rents, and there breke up my chest, and toke awey j. obligacion of myn that was due unto me of xxxvjli. by a prest of Poules, and j. nother obligacion of j. knyght of xli., and my purse with v. ryngs of golde, and xvijs. vjd. of golde and sylver; and j. herneyse (harness) complete of the touche of Milleyn;[8] and j. gowne of fyn perse[9] blewe furryd with martens; and ij. gounes, one furreyd with bogey,[10] and j. nother lyned with fryse;[11] and ther wolde have smetyn of myn hede, whan that they had dyspoyled me atte White Hart. And there my Maister Ponyngs and my frends savyd me, and so I was put up tyll at nyght that the batayle was at London Brygge;[12] and than atte nyght the captyn put me oute into the batayle atte Brygge, and there I was woundyt, and hurt nere hand to deth; and there I was vj. oures in the batayle, and myght nevyr come oute therof; and iiij. tymes before that tyme I was caryd abought thorough Kent and Sousex, and ther they wolde have smetyn of my hede.

'And in Kent there as my wyfe dwellyd, they toke awey all oure godes movabyll that we had, and there wolde have hongyd my wyfe and v. of my chyldren, and lefte her no more gode but her kyrtyll and her smook. And a none aftye that hurlyng, the Bysshop Roffe,[13] apechyd me to the Quene, and so I was arestyd by the Quenes commaundment in to the Marchalsy, and there was in rygt grete durasse, and fere of myn lyf, and was thretenyd to have ben hongyd, drawen, and quarteryd; and so wold have made me to have pechyd my Maister Fastolf of treson. And by cause that I wolde not, they had me up to Westminster, and there wolde have sent me to the gole house at Wyndsor; but my wyves and j. coseyn of myn noune that were yomen of the Croune, they went to the Kyng, and got grase and j. chartyr of pardon.'

Here we see the popular opinion of Fastolf 'the greatest traitor in England or in France:' he who 'mynnyshed all the garrisons of Normandy, and Manns, and Mayn:' he who was the cause of the 'lesyng of all the Kyng's tytyll and rights of an heritaunce that he had by yonde see.'

The whole story is in the highest degree dramatic. Sir John wants to know what the rebellion means. Let one of his men go and find out. Let him take two horses in case of having to run for it: the rebels will most probably kill him if they catch him. Well: it is all in the day's work: what can a man expect? Would the fellow live for ever? What can he look for except to be killed some time or other? So John Payn takes two horses and sets off. As we expected, he does get caught: he is brought before Mortimer as a spy. At this point we are reminded of the false herald in 'Quentin Durward,' but in this case it is a real herald pressed into the service of Mortimer, alias Jack Cade. Now the Captain is by way of being a gentleman: very likely he was: the story about him, that he had been a common soldier, is improbable and supported by no kind of evidence. However, he conducts the affair in a courteous fashion. No moblike running to the nearest tree: no beating along the prisoner to be hanged upon a branch: not at all: the prisoner is conducted with much ceremony to the four quarters of the camp and at each is proclaimed by the herald a spy. Then the axe and the block are brought out. The prisoner feels already the bitterness of death. But his friends interfere: he must be spared or a hundred heads shall fall. He is spared: on condition that he goes back, arrays himself in his best harness and returns to fight on the side of the rebels.

Observe that this faithful person gets the 'articles' that his master wants: he also reports on the strength of the rebellion in-so-much that Sir John breaks up his garrison and retreats across the river to the Tower. But before going he tells the man that he must keep his parole and go back to the rebels to be killed by them or among them. So the poor man puts on his best harness and goes back.

They spoil him of every thing: and then, they put him in the crowd of those who fight on London Bridge.

It was a very fine battle. Jack Cade had already entered London when he murdered Lord Saye, and Sir James Cromer, Sheriff of Kent, and plundered and fined certain merchants. He kept up, however, the appearance of a friend of the people and permitted no plundering of the lower sort. So that one is led to believe that in the fight the merchants, themselves, and the better class held the bridge.

The following account comes from Holinshed. It must be remembered that the battle was fought on the night of Sunday the 5th of July, in midsummer, when there is no night, but a clear soft twilight, and when the sun rises by four in the morning. It was a wild sight that the sun rose upon that morning. The Londoners and the Kentish men, with shouts and cries, alternately beat each other back upon the narrow bridge, attack and defence growing feebler as the night wore on. And all night long the bells rang to call the citizens to arms in readiness to take their place on the bridge. And all night the old and the young and the women lay trembling in their beds lest the men of London should be beaten back by the men of Kent, and these should come in with fire and sword to pillage and destroy. All night long without stopping: the dead were thrown over the bridge: the wounded fell and were trampled upon until they were dead: and beneath their feet the quiet tide ebbed and flowed through the arches.