Honor in the Dust (17 page)

Claiborn stared at her. “I've had a few shocks in my life. Do you think this one is going to be good or bad?”

“I'll let you decide.”

“All right. Let's have it then, Wife.”

She took her hand from his and reached up to cup his cheek. “You're a wonderful father. I've never seen a better. You're making a fine young man out of our son.”

“Well, he makes easy work of it.”

“Yes, he does, but you have something to do with how he's turned out.”

“And?”

“You're going to need all that practice.”

Claiborn stared at her, puzzled. There was something like a smile playing around her lips, and finally she said, “You're not very quick today, Claiborn.”

“Truly, I never am. What's the secret?”

“You're going to be a father again.”

For a moment Claiborn could not understand her. Then he did. He blinked with surprise, swallowed hard, and grabbed her hand. “Is it possible?”

“Oh, you've made it very possible. I thought I was past the age of childbearing, but apparently the good Lord doesn't think so.”

“How long have you known?”

“Not too long.”

“Maybe it will be a girl this time, just like you. Wouldn't I love that!”

“I'd like that too, but it's as the Lord wills.”

“Have you told anybody else?”

“Of course not. Who would I tell before I told my husband?” She laughed and said, “You're not thinking very clearly.”

“Well, you've given me much joy. Truly.” He drew her to him and kissed her. “An old man like me.”

“You're not old.”

“Beaten, battered, weary. How am I going to handle a baby again?”

“The same way you handled Stuart. You're the same man.”

When Stuart came in and saw them sitting close together, holding each other, he was surprised. They were smiling. He said, “What has happened?”

“We have a surprise for you,” Claiborn said.

“Is it a good one?”

“It is a fine surprise. You tell him, Wife.”

Grace smiled a beautiful smile and said, “You're going to have a baby brother or a baby sister, Stuart.”

For a moment Stuart could not fully comprehend what she was saying. He thought idiotically,
Maybe they've found a baby
. “Good. I hope it's a boy or a girl,” he said, with a smile. A baby!

“A boy or a girl? Why, it'd have to be, wouldn't it?” Claiborn laughed.

Well, we're in for it now.”

Stuart looked up at his father in surprise. “What do you mean, Father?”

“I've heard that the king's progress is about to descend upon us.”

“What is a progress?”

“The king's court becomes a sort of traveling banquet. He has the idea that people want to see him, so he chooses this way to show himself to his people—along with half his court. They visit the estates of wealthy lords and stay there until the poor fellow is eaten out of house and home. Then they move on to the next victim.”

“And they're coming here, to Stoneybrook.”

“Here,” Claiborn said, with one eyebrow cocked.

Stuart smiled. “Uncle Edmund must be so pleased.”

“And unhappy. It'll cost him a thousand pounds a day. He'll be forced to take a loan simply to feed them. I hear tell Sir Edwin Backon purchased sixty sheep and nearly thirty pigs, as well as calves, oxen, and birds!”

“Could he refuse to house the progress?”

Claiborn cast him a rueful grin. “There is no choice in the matter. Even the neighboring villages will be forced to gather
gravel and strew it across the road, simply so that the king will not be stuck in any mud en route to Stoneybrook.”

Stuart rubbed his hands together. “It will be grand. Fireworks?”

“Most likely.”

“Orators? Actors?”

“Most certainly.”

“Musicians? Dancers?”

“I do so hope. I'd like to twirl your mother across the dance square, given half a chance.”

Stuart grinned at his father. “Uncle Edmund's pain is our gain, as I see it. This is fortunate, indeed.”

“Now, Stuart …”

The king's progress reached Stoneybrook at midsummer. Every servant was on needles and pins, and Edmund and Edith had been preparing nervously for weeks.

Finally the servant who had been sent out to reconnoiter came galloping up, his eyes wide. “They're coming! The king is coming!” He slid off his horse and gasped, “Lord Winslow, it looks like there are hundreds of them!”

“Lord help us,” Edmund moaned. “This is worse than an invasion by the French!”

When the king arrived at the head of his entourage, however, the lord, his lady, and Ives were there bowing and scraping, and when the king dismounted he cried out, “No ceremony! No ceremony, Lord Winslow!”

“We are glad to welcome you to our house, Your Majesty.”

The king was arrayed gorgeously. He had traveled under a heavily embroidered canopy of gold cloth. He wore hose and a striped doublet in tones of scarlet and crimson, and around his shoulders he wore a purple velvet mantle. This was tied on with a thick rope of gold and ended in a train four yards long. He carried
a dagger with an enormous gem in the hilt and wore a gold collar bearing a round-cut diamond the size of a large walnut.

Henry clapped his hand on Edmund's shoulder as if they were equals. “We're imposing on you, Lord Winslow,” he boomed. “I trust we'll be no trouble.”

Edmund managed a smile and said with all the sincerity that he could muster, “It's an honor, Your Majesty, and my family is delighted that you have chosen to grace us with your presence.” He hoped his face did not betray him; within, he thought the king and his company had descended upon poor Stoneybrook like the voracious swarm of locusts that descended upon Egypt.

The king's visit began that night with a royal banquet. Stuart was pressed into service to carry food into the great hall from the kitchen, and what a feast it was! He shouldered what seemed like mountains of food upon heavy trenchers and platters. The air was full of sounds: people talking and laughing, loud music from dozens of instruments, and singers lifting their voices. The great hall also hosted many dogs, so the room was filled with the sounds of barking and snarling when they fought over the bones that were thrown to them.

Each course consisted of at least a dozen dishes, and as best as Stuart and his father could count, entire carcasses had been consumed of cattle, sheep, hogs, and hundreds of chickens, to say nothing of the swans, geese, ducks, and conger eels. Piles of pears and apples went to flavor the meat and the fowl, and bread-making never stopped.

Finally Stuart stopped for breath and simply watched the nobility of England with King Henry VIII in all his glory. Between the courses came pageantry in foods: confections sculpted in sugar and wax in the shape of figures. Some of them were biblical, such as an angel announcing Jesus' birth to three shepherds
riding in from the East. Wine, of course, came in an endless stream, washing down every dish.

Finally the banquet ceased, and the king was shown to the chamber of Lord and Lady Winslow, who had vacated it. Every room was filled with the nobility of England.

Stuart moved over to where Edmund was standing, his face pale. “Rather expensive entertainment, Uncle, isn't it?”

“He'll bankrupt me!” he said in a hoarse whisper. “As sure as the world, he'll bankrupt me! Why does he have to do this?”

“Hopefully he won't stay too long.”

“I wish he'd go bless somebody else with his presence,” Edmund muttered, misery in his eyes. He looked over the remnants of the food and shook his head. “They ate more food than we could eat in six months. Oh, that he would leave and all the rest of them too!”

When the king was looking at the mews the next day, Edmund was pleased when he said, “Why, these are as fine birds as I have seen! I wouldn't mind having some of them in my own mews.”

“Well, take your pick, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, no. I can't take on any more birds right now. I had a good fellow, an old man, who took care of them. But he's stiffened up and died on me.”

Sir Ralph Parrish was standing close by. He was Edmund's closest friend. He said at once, “Well, that's a shame, Your Majesty. These are the finest birds in the county.”

“Who keeps them for you, Lord Winslow?”

Edmund said, “Oh, I do a great deal of it myself. But my brother does some of it.”

“Where is he? I'd like to talk to him.”

Claiborn was fetched, and the king carefully looked him over. “I'll be needing a man to help me with my birds. I'd like it to be you. You've done a fine job here.”

“Your Majesty, that is such an honor, but as you see, I'm crippled. I was wounded in one of the Irish wars. I've never been able to get my strength back.”

“Well, Your Majesty,” Sir Ralph piped up, “his son is his equal.”

Quickly Claiborn said, “He would be too young for the post. He's but seventeen, Your Majesty.”

“Bah, old enough to take on a man's work, I say.”

When Claiborn did not acquiesce, the king called for a contest at the butts—shooting the longbow.

All of the visitors came to watch, as did all the servants—in fact, Lord Winslow's whole household. Targets were set up, and soon bows were twanging and arrows were whizzing through the air and striking targets with loud thumps.

The king said, “Well, Kyd, you'll have to show these fellows how it's done.”

Bartrum Kyd was the king's champion with the longbow. He was a boastful fellow, a large man with muscular arms and deepset gray eyes.

“I'd like to win a prize for Your Majesty if we could have a contest, but I think this day I could beat any man in England.”

“I believe you have the truth of it, Kyd.”

Parrish had listened to Kyd boasting and could stand it no longer. “Why, there is a lad here not come to full growth I'd put against you, Mr. Kyd.”