Two years later a wretched pedlar was convicted of selling “the damnable writings of Calvin,” and his execution ordered to take place on one of the chief festivals of the Church--that of Corpus Christi. It was a bright morning in summer. The walls of the houses were hung with drapery and the windows filled with spectators, while the procession moved along more like a Roman triumph than a Christian celebration. Music led the way, the guilds followed with their insignia, next came the religious brotherhood with their banners, while troops of boys and girls, all dressed in white, scattered roses and burned incense. The clergy in their costliest robes followed next, escorting the Holy Sacrament, which the bishop held up to be seen and worshiped by all. Again came white-robed youths and maidens, and last of all the poor pedlar in a shirt of sacking. He was barefoot, carried a lighted taper in his hand, and the rope was round his neck. Every time the procession halted, the wretched man fell on his knees and made the _amende honorable_, according to the terms of his sentence. This long agony lasted five hours, until at length the martyr was committed to the fire. After this the heretics of Velay, where this mournful tragedy had been enacted, grew bolder and began to assemble “in open day in fields, gardens, barns, no matter where.... Their preachers were butchers, brick-layers, publicans, and other venerable doctors of that sort,” says a contemporary manuscript. The populace jeered and hooted at them as they went to their meetings, and the Reformers retaliated by fastening rosaries to their dogs’ necks, and breaking the images of Our Lady, calling them “useless logs.” Sometimes the persons who thus insulted the established religion were discovered and punished, but heresy flourished nevertheless. The heretics banded together and entered into a covenant of mutual aid. They established a sort of benefit club, elected leaders, collectors, and treasurers, bought arms and ammunition, and kept themselves ready for all eventualities. The society numbered about four hundred--all resolute men, and strong enough to ensure freedom of worship--at least for a time.