The story so far.
Set in 14th Century England, a group of Reformer John Wycliffe's followers, known as his Poor Preachers, were being trained to go out and preach the Gospel. Young master Abingdon befriends a talented farmer's son, Thomas Plowman, who feels called to preach together with Father William Shephard, who has the same calling. Abingdon makes the introduction.
Chapter
6: Yokefellows
‘And when they ministered to the Lord, and
fasted,
The Holy Ghost said to them, Separate ye to me
Saul and Barnabus
[part ye to me Saul and Barnabus],
into the work to which I have taken them.’
(Deeds of Apostles Chapter 13:2 Wycliffe-Purvey
Translation/Revision.)
‘Thou’rt a Dorsetshire
man -- even as I.’ observed William, hearing the stranger’s accent. ‘Doubly
welcome art thou, Master Thomas Plowman.’
He invited the two of them to dine at Hereford’s quarters to hear his
story. Such was the trust and esteem that his master had for him, William had
earned the privilege of entertaining whomever he wished when Hereford was away.
Excitement grew in them all as first Tom, then William, shared their
stories. Even without the naming of himself in Tom’s visitation, William knew
in his heart that they were destined to minister together in a powerful way.
Tom, with his budding intuition, could see that William was not only his
chosen mentor, but a yokefellow in the Lord’s work -- a mighty work, such as
had not been seen for centuries.
When asked of his immediate plans, Tom explained that he had nothing
fixed beyond his meeting with William and his aspirations to become a preacher
of the gospel. He was willing to sleep in the hay-barn of a local farmer he had
worked for until he found something more comfortable.
‘Holy Saints! In a hay-barn? God forbid!’ protested Benjamin. ‘Is there
not a free bed in our dortoir at Merton, now Holloway hath departed? I shall
speak with the Ward of Residence thither.’
He cut short Tom’s expression of
thanks.
The next day, his friend brought him to Hereford’s quarters again, where
William awaited them. Abyngdon was in high fettle, very pleased with his find. This
was the second stranger he had befriended who showed great promise.
‘A right good fisher of men am I.’ he boasted laughingly. ‘Is he not an
evangel sent of God, as Doctor Evangelicum hath so prayed for, Father William?’
‘So I think, and so saith mine heart.’ William agreed. ‘It hath been in the heart of Doctor Hereford
to begin classes for the training of these “poor preachers” that Doctor
Evangelicus would raise up. Alas, we have not many students that art both
graduate and willing to go forth among the poor folk. But need we a-many years
of study for this task? Nay! Methinks that laymen will be needful, of especial
them that be gifted and called for such a strange work.’
He looked speculatively at Tom and quoted a verse from Hereford’s
translation of the Book of Esther: ‘Who knows but that thou art called into the
Kingdom for such a time as this?’
‘But withal respect to Master Plowman, sickerly he is not so goodly
countenanced to look upon as were the fair Queen Esther!’ objected
Benjamin.
Tom laughed and riposted, ‘Nay! Rather be I like to them that would have
devoured the good prophet Daniel, or so ‘tis said.’
William was too obsessed with Wycliffe’s vision and their latest find to
enter into the spirit of this. Smiling absently at the camaraderie of the other
two men, he said, ‘Doctor Hereford hath pledged monies and more for this
vision, and Doctor Evangelicus himself also. They live frugally that they may
give oft to the poor; hence do they gather wealth for the kingdom of God. But
what of thine own wealth, Master Plowman? Wherewithal shalt thou sup and faire
if thou wouldst join us?’
‘Heed it not, Father, for labour I with mine hands for my needs,’ Tom
answered eagerly. ‘Two farms hath I inherited and may be sold, if it be deemed
needful to raise the wherewithal. But I be thy servant or disciple, yea,
whatsoever thou would wish in all else, for so hath it been ordained, I trow.’
‘Good man! Gladly would I disciple thee,’ approved William, sensing once
again the bond between them. ‘Thou’rt lettered?’
‘Father James of Gillingham hath so taught thy servant, and I read much
when I may.’
A mischievous grin emerged.
‘But, alas, he hath not driven forth
the demon of inquisitiveness that possesseth me.’
‘Ha!’ commented Benjamin. ‘I perceive that thou’rt a born scholar. Thou
hast need to be so inquisitive, yea, and a little wood¹ also, et abnormis
sapiens.’
As Tom looked mystified at this, Benjamin took on an air of superiority,
in mimicry of the august Doctor Wadeford. ‘To be interpreted: A Natural
Philosopher, my son.’
‘And I perceive that my friend shall instruct thee in thy Latin, God aid
thee, e’er all is done,’ observed William. ‘Come thou to these quarters on the
morrow, if thou wilt, and I shall observe thy cunning with the quill. Thou
shalt copy some of Doctor Hereford’s tracts with me. There be many a student
that hath so repaid the Masters for their sponsorship, and thus have read the
scriptures in the mother tongue. So shalt thou earn thy faire also.’
‘Gladly will I do so, Father William,’ said Tom gratefully, dizzy at the
thought of reading the Holy Scriptures himself, in his own tongue. ‘And I thank
thee of thy kindness.’
‘Yea! But ‘ware the scourge of the dreaded chorea scriptorum²,
Master Plowman,’ added the irrepressible
Benjamin in a voice of grave admonition. ‘‘Tis a grievous affliction that
plagues us all in this task.’
Tom looked a little apprehensively toward William, as though he would be
struck down by a demonic attack or horrible debilitating disease. William
chuckled.
‘Fear not the doomsome words of yon jobbardly Jeremiah, Master Plowman.
He maketh merry with us all oft and anon, and ‘twill be to his own undoing. But
heed thou his warning that thine hand may have its Sabbath rest each day, that
thy copying may not overburden it.’
Nicolas Hereford had been delighted to meet Tom when William explained
his circumstances and his calling.
Like all of the leading Wycliffeite teachers, Hereford sponsored some of
the more promising, but indigent, students through their studies at Oxford. These
were mainly young men whom he had met on his travels, while preaching in
churches throughout Leicestershire and Gloucestershire. Fired with a call to
preach the gospel, they would often approach him, or William Shephard, at the
end of his addresses. Hence, many students automatically adhered to Wycliffe’s
movement at Oxford.
There were also a growing number of lay students, like Thomas Plowman,
who had begun attending Hereford’s special classes for lay preachers.
By contrast, Doctor William Wadeford and his followers only accepted the
sons of gentlemen or wealthy merchants for enrolment in his courses; only those
who could pay their own way. He sneered at the ‘peasant-priests’, as he called
them, in Wycliffe’s train, shaking his head disgustedly at how ‘basely the
clerical vocation hath descended’.
‘How hath the mighty fallen!’ he quoted derisively, referring to
Wycliffe, his rival.
Thomas Plowman would never have been considered fit for one of Doctor
Wadeford’s classes, but with Hereford, it had been a different matter
altogether. Based on his obvious intelligence, together with a recommendation
from William, Hereford had willingly offered the young man a sponsorship.
‘Mine exceeding and grateful thanks, good Doctor.’ replied Tom with a
kind of bucolic dignity. “Natheless, a proud son of the soil I be. I have vowed
me that neither meat I shall take, nor bed shall I slumber in except that I
have toiled for’t. Forgive me if churlishness this may seem.’
‘Thou’rt a man of honour, I deem, Master Plowman.’ replied Hereford
approvingly. ‘Thy zeal doth commend itself to thy calling. But mark me well,
there is a grave yoke that thou must also bear as an Oxenford cleric, and in
especial one that be of Doctor Wycliffe’s party.’
He went on to enumerate the study disciplines and responsibilities that
would be expected of him.
‘So this I would ask thee: Canst thou truly make provision for all thy
need and yet attend unto all thine office?’
Tom opened his mouth to protest his capacity for an even greater load,
but he looked up at William, standing behind Hereford’s chair, and caught the
quizzical gleam in his eye. He bowed his head and smiled.
‘Good Doctor, mine own father once saith unto me: Not even the strongest
oxen can plough two furrows. I will accept thine offer with thanks.’
‘So be it! Thou’st spoken as a true Wycliffeite preacher, my son.’
‘Amen!’ agreed William, his smile broadening. ‘An honest man is he. The
labourer be worthy of his hire, and fear not, verily thou shalt labour for it indeed,
Master Thomas.’
When lectures were in recess, Tom joined William in going among the
village folk, working and talking with them. This was as the breath of life to
him. His sunny temperament, hard work and enthusiasm soon won over many hearts,
and he became just as popular as William.
In the beginning, he observed and listened to William’s style as he
preached and prayed. Within a year, Tom’s confidence had grown to the extent
that his own voice rang out in the streets of local towns and villages.
William noticed that when Tom discovered some new revelation from the
scriptures, he would share it fervently and skilfully with his street
congregations, with powerful effect. Tom had a natural gift of words and a
boldness that gave William a slight twinge of envy.
‘Ah, well!’ he said philosophically to Benjamin as they drank their ale
at the Bull and Book. ‘He is an evangel preacher, a reaper of souls. I am but a
shepherd.’
‘Aye, but one that feedeth those selfsame souls, Father William.’ said
Benjamin firmly, with one of his occasional bursts of profundity. ‘Ye are
destined to labour together, both. Have I not seen it oft? What will it profit
the soul if it be born, but to perish through want of succour?’
‘‘Tis soothly said, my sage, and I thank thee of thy kind rebuke!’
The only serious fault William could find in Tom was a certain
impetuosity that characterized him, and sometimes got him into trouble. When
injustice was being done, Tom could not stand by and watch without intervening.
On one occasion, William witnessed two of the more unruly students, whom Tom
had found harassing an elderly woman, having their heads banged together.
Tom also found it hard not to confront the hecklers and gainsayers in
the street crowds that came to hear them. More than one student or cleric that
was hostile to his message, and said so, found himself semi-baptized, face
down, in the miller’s pond or horse-trough nearby. It was not really a violent
temper that prompted him to react in such a way, but rather, in Tom’s youth at
Gillingham, it was often considered the normal way of disposing of one’s opponent
to end a debate, whether verbal or physical. He sometimes did it before he
realized what he had done.
William was usually able to smooth over the situation with diplomacy,
and found it hard to castigate his erring disciple when he came to him later in
genuine repentance.
One such incident occurred after one of Doctor Wadeford’s followers was
left with his feet sticking out of a thornbush, kicking wildly. Muffled noises
could be heard emanating from within the bush. Although William was present at
the time, it had all happened too quickly for him to prevent.
Tom immediately realized the enormity of what he had done. Not only
would he receive a raking down from his mentor, he knew a complaint was sure to
be made to the masters -- even Doctor Wycliffe himself. With a rueful lowering
of his head, Tom turned to William, awaiting condemnation and an imposition of
penance.
‘Eheu, Padre. Peccavi.’ he said soberly.
‘So though sayest!’ William snapped, rather annoyed. ‘But “Primum non
nocere!”³ quoth I, thou jobbardly shakebuckler! Avoid him anon!’
But then exasperation slowly gave way to a smile on William’s face as
Tom hastily obeyed. Then an irrepressible chuckle arose from deep inside, which
gave way to helpless laughter as Tom, doing his best to conceal his relief,
apologised to the shaken victim. William walked away, shaking his head and
still chuckling -- a bubble of mirth that lasted well into the evening.
Tom largely grew out of such behaviour -- once William convinced him
that it did more harm than good.
‘Hark ye, Thomas!’ his mentor would say earnestly. ‘Wilt thou impart
wood justice? And wilt thou debate with the sword or strong arm of the flesh? If
thou wouldst make enemies unto thyself, beware lest it be to thy gainbite! Stint
thou this witaldry! Mark thou the words of Holy Writ that sayeth: “Whatsoever
ye mete shall be meted unto you.” Wilt thou reap that which thou sowest?’
Tom was silenced, remembering the words of his father and mother.
‘Well, be not
discouraged, my son,’ added William, relenting. ‘Thou hast strange gifts for a
strange task that is before thee, even more than I. Thou’st a great heart
within thy breast, moreover. Thou’rt a shakebuckling rogue, Master Thomas
Plowman, but I perceive we shall become boon comrades. And
mark thou this: Ab ove maiori discit arare minor.’
Tom wrestled with the quotation for a
moment, for his latin was still only half learnt. Then it dawned on him.. “From
the older ox the younger learns to plow.” he laughed. “But what if the younger be a froward beast,
Father Ox, and drag thee onward beyond thy measured ploddings?”
“Then shall I avoid me the yoke, and ride
upon the plough to look upon thee as thou toilest alone, Master Plowman. And
wield I the goad also.’
In spite of William’s half-hearted attempts
at disciplining him, the imp of
mischief never really left Tom -- even to the end of his days.
1 "Wood". An old English expression meaning "Crazed"
2 "Corea scriptorum". Latin for "Writer's Cramp"
3 "Primum non nocere". Latin saying meaning "First of all, avoid all harm."
Also "Gainbite" is "Regret."
"Stint thou this witaldry!" is "Stop this buffoonery!"
