Whilst the discussion was proceeding, the hall in which the Council sat was shaken by an earthquake. It may well be supposed that Wyclif's friends—if there were any present, which seems doubtful—would claim this portent as a sign from Heaven in his favour; and even the most orthodox of the clergy must have been startled and perturbed. One cannot but admire the splendid courage of Courtenay, who instantly turned the shock to good account; for, he said, as the earth expelled its ill humours with so much vehemence and convulsion, they ought to take it as a happy omen for the expulsion of ill humours from the Church of Christ.
The Synod was then adjourned until the 12th of June, at the same time and place; and in the meantime the Primate took measures to make an impression on the obstinate spirits at Oxford, who under Chancellor Rygge still remained loyal to their friend. On the 28th of May Courtenay sent his missive to Peter Stokys, a friar of the Carmelite Order, and a "professor of the sacred page." The prelates of the Church, he said, owed it to the lambs to warn them against wolves in sheep's clothing. There were certain "sons of eternal damnation" who, "under a cloak of great sanctity," claimed authority to preach in spite of prohibition a number of heretical, erroneous, and false conclusions, already condemned by the Church, and contrary to decisions of the ecclesiastical authorities, "which threaten to overturn the Church and the peace of the nation." These men are not afraid to assert and publicly teach the errors in question, "not only in the churches but also in
