John Brent's 'The Battle Cross' 1845

 

T.C. Newby first edition - 1845

John Brent (1808-1882) is one of those 19th century authors I had never heard of until I purchased this book about the late 14th century on the English-Scottish borders. He was born in Rotherhithe, the eldest son of a shipbuilder. Around 1821, the family moved to Canterbury, where the father became Mayor three times and Deputy Lieutenant of the county. Brent first practised as a miller, later being elected as an alderman in the City, resigning that position to become city treasurer. He became a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries and was also a member of the British Archaeological Association and of the Kent Archaeological Society. He contributed regularly to antiquarian literature. His work 'Canterbury in the Olden Times', from its research and originality, bears testimony to his unwearied industry and his ability as an antiquarian topographer. Brent wrote books of poetry as well as at least two other novels: The Sea Wolf, a Romance (1834) and Ellie Forestere, a novel (1850). The Battle Cross is probably his best known.

It's in the style of the G.P.R. James school, but doesn't really match up to the better standard of others of the genre. Brent dedicated his novel to Lord Albert D. Conyngham, K.C.H., F.S.A. - and my copy has the latter's bookplate in all three volumes. The author explains, in his Preface, the framework of the novel: In the year 1385, the celebrated Hotspur was governor of Berwick and warden of the East Marshes. Two years afterwards, James, Earl Douglas invaded Northumberland at the head of a considerable body of his countrymen, while the Earls of Strathern and Fife, sons of the Scottish kings, ravaged the western borders. Douglas penetrated as far as Newcastle and Percy's lance, with a pennon attached to it, was taken by Douglas in a personal encounter between the two. The Earl shook his trophy aloft, and swore he would bear it to Scotland, and plant it on the walls of Dalkeith. "That", answered Percy, "shalt thou never". The Scots retreated from Newcastle, and entrenched themselves at night on the Fawdoun hill at Otterbourne. Percy followed with what forces he could collect and a battle ensued by moonlight...Percy was taken prisoner. Douglas fell, mortally wounded - a memorial was erected on the spot - and the field retains to the present day [1845] the name of the "Battle Cross". 

Percy Cross at Otterbourne

The minor nobles, Sir Lovel Radcliffe - never sure (or brave?) enough to commit to Lollardy and fancying two women and the good life (he dies as the result of wounds received at Otterbourne); the arch typical 'baddie', Sir John of Agerstone (who meets a deservedly frightening death); and Rollo, the Master of Lauder, who finally succeeds in gaining his wished for bride; are all given enough 'flesh' to remain interesting enough to the reader. However, the strange character of the old seer, Evan Dhoul, doesn't quite ring true.

The story of the meetings and rivalry between Douglas and Percy makes up one of the two major themes of the novel. The other theme, the author refers to at the end of his Preface: This period of English history was also most interesting from the great moral and intellectual struggle which had commenced between the followers of John Wycliffe and the ecclesiastical hierarchy of the day. It feels as if the author gives more of his true feelings and commitment to this aspect of the Tale.

Brent is firmly on the side of the Lollards, even if he is critical of the extreme views of Francis Bernard (later unmasked as the famous early Lollard, William Thorp) - so long as Bernard spoke of the corruptions of the Romish church - pilgrimages, fastings, transubstantiation, and the usurpation by the clergy of the temporal authority of king and princes - Percy lent a willing ear. But when the Lollard talked of religious liberty, he lost Hotspur: the rights of kings, the privileges of nobles, must be respected - the people are too base, too much of serfs and churls, to choose a religion for themselves - dogs! so we throw them a bone or two at ale motes and merrymakings - so we keep the black monks and mitred priests from riding over them - let them be content! Well, at least he was honest!

The family unit in Carlisle of old Simon Mercer, the smith and armourer; Herman Mercer, his son - a stout fellow, full of life and spirit, and ever the leader at a frolic or a merry-making, and who is in love with his foster-sister, Rosamond Mercer. The latter, whom we first meet employed in transcribing some extracts from the writings of John Wycliffe, is the undoubted heroine of the story, and her incarceration in the castle's dungeon, trial for heresy with the others, and terrified journey towards the stake in the Market place elicits some of the best and deeply felt writing by the author.. 

His animus is directed chiefly at the Bishop of Carlisle, who typifies all that the Reformers are against: he had spoken of the power delegated to the church upon earth, the authority of her spiritual rulers, the permission to wield the arm of secular vengeance, to curse and to absolve, to punish here, and eternally hereafter. He had spoken of, had assumed a power, uncontrolled, unlimited - the attributes of a God; and surrounded with gorgeous pageantry, appealing to the hearts, the fears, the superstitions of men, they trembled and acknowledged it. Supporting him is the monk of St John's - strenuous were his exertions to induce Rosamond to recant her opinions...beneath the fanaticism of the priest lurked the passions of the man...he was one who could derive a certain joy from the degradation of a pure and gentle spirit... Lady Sybille, the Bishop's niece, attempts to save Rosamond from the stake: But the maiden knew not how deep, and treacherous, and cruel are the passions of party - of party inflamed by religious fanaticism spurred on by superstitious bigotry, and patronized by princes.

The author occasionally loses 'control' of the narrative, going down scarcely relevant by ways (padding for a three decker?), but there are some nice touches to the Tale. The roly-poly, gourmand Friar Arnold dismisses the ancient retainer Hathbrand's desire to fish: "Fishing!" said the friar with contempt, " 'tis a sport cold and comfortless; your anglers are a set of miserable solitaries, haunting the banks of rivers and lonely places - a sort of intermediate race between poets and suicides, without the enthusiasm of the one, or self-determination of the other..."