Honor in the Dust (21 page)

Stuart's two days at home passed quickly. During much of that time Grace, who was growing stronger, talked to him about his walk with God. She said once, “I don't see how anyone can grow in the grace of God, living in the middle of Satan's court.”

“It's not all bad.”

“That means there's a little good and more bad. Are the people there very immoral? The women, I mean.”

Stuart could not find a way to answer that and finally said, “Some of them are rather wild.”

“That's what the court does to a person. They were probably innocent young girls when they went, and now they have fallen.”

“That won't happen to me, Mother. I'm on my guard.”

Grace looked at Stuart directly. “Have you kept your word about gambling?”

Stuart had been expecting such a question, and he had told himself that he would stop—when he had gotten enough money. “I don't need to gamble,” he said, and managed to keep guilt from showing on his face. “Don't fret over me, Mother.”

Grace reached her hand out for his, and he took it. “I'm going to pray for you, Stuart.”

“I'd like that, Mother.”

Grace prayed simply, as she always did. To Stuart it was no different from her conversation with him or his father, and he wondered if he would ever be able to approach God as she did. “Father, be with this son of ours. Build a wall of fire about him so that the evil one cannot come into his heart. Give him wisdom so that he will not make unholy alliances of any kind. Let him grow to love you more each day.”

Stuart said, “Thank you, Mother.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I must get back to court now.”

“Come back if you can. And if God moves you to do so, leave that place, Stuart.”

Stuart could not think of a proper answer. “Thank you for my beautiful baby brother.” He kissed the baby's auburn hair, the same hue as his own, and then he kissed his mother's cheek.

Stuart rode Tyrone at an easy gait, but he did not go straight back to court. He went to Sir John Walsh's house.

As soon as he crested the hill, he saw Heather in front of the house. She was working in a garden of flowers and did not see him at first. He gave a shrill whistle. Heather looked up, she came to her feet, and he saw a glad smile on her face. He kicked Tyrone into a run then pulled him up short in the yard and came off in one smooth motion.

Heather came to him, her eyes shining. “It's so good to see you, Stuart. How is your mother?”

“On the mend. And you should see my baby brother, Quentin. He's as good-looking as me.”

“Well, you haven't found your humility.”

As they went into the house, Stuart remarked, “I remember the first time I came here. You gave me cider.”

“Yes, you thought it was what they would drink in heaven.”

“I still think so. I would like—”

There was a knock at the door. Heather opened the door, and a compact young man with direct brown eyes and crisp brown hair stood facing Stuart.

“This is Miles Howard. Miles, I'd like you to meet my good friend Stuart Winslow.”

“I'm happy to know you,” Howard said. His grip was firm.

“We're just having a cup of cider. Will you have some?”

The two men sat down and talked about what made the Evans cider special.

Stuart was puzzled. He did not know why the young man had come. Perhaps to see Sir John, but he did not appear to be eager to leave. Stubborn as Stuart, he kept his seat. Finally, after an hour, Howard rose and said, “I'll see you tomorrow night then, Heather.”

“Tomorrow night. Yes.”

“Good to have met you, Master Winslow.”

“And you, Master Howard.”

As soon as the man was gone, Stuart asked, “Who was that? Did he come to see your uncle?”

A smile appeared on Heather's lips, and she said, “No, he came to see me.”

“To see you? About what?”

Heather was disgusted. “Is it impossible for you to believe that a young man would come calling on me?”

“Well, no—”

“Well, that's what he's doing, and for your information two other young men are calling from time to time.”

“Do you like this fellow, Howard?”

“I like him very much.”

Stuart thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip and tried to think of a way to ask what he wanted to know. “Does he come from a good family?”

“Very good family. They have money and considerable property.”

They were interrupted when William Tyndale walked into the room.

He and Stuart talked mostly about the work Tyndale was doing. He had started translating the Latin Bible into English, and he spoke of it eagerly. “Of course, I haven't got far, Stuart, but by the grace of God I will.”

“I wish you success, Master Tyndale. It will be a great achievement.”

Shortly after this, Tyndale began to question Stuart about his spiritual life. Stuart knew it was coming, because it always did.

“Have you ever considered pledging your life to God?”

“Why, I thought I had done that when I was baptized.”

“Nonsense! You didn't do anything when you were baptized except get a little water sprinkled on you. That doesn't give a man a new heart. I'm surprised at you. You need to offer your life to Christ and ask God to bless it. Can you ask God every day to bless your activities now?”

Stuart thought of some of the things that he had seen and even done, especially the gambling and the drinking that went with it. He also thought of Nell Fenton and his lustful thoughts of her. “No, sir, I really cannot.”

“You know the Bible tells us that whatever we do, whether we're eating or drinking, we should do everything to God's glory.”

“That would be difficult. How could peeling a potato be for God's glory?”

“All work is sacred if it's done with the Savior and the good God Almighty in mind. I think Jesus probably worshipped when he was making furniture at Joseph's carpenter shop.”

Stuart felt highly uncomfortable. Tyndale always had that effect on him. It was as if the older man was asking him for something, and Stuart wasn't quite sure what it was. He believed in God. He went to church. He read the Bible. He tried to do the right thing. But he knew that his dedication to God himself was nothing compared to William Tyndale's. Tyndale, Stuart was sure, would gladly go to his death if it would please God. He was not so sure that he would do the same.

Stuart stayed for nearly another hour and then took his leave of them both. Heather walked with him to his horse. “I'm glad you came, Stuart.”

“So am I.” He hesitated. “This fellow, Howard. I'd like to know more about him.”

“He's not courting you, Stuart. He's courting me.”

“I know, but I have to look out for you. You're my sister, aren't you?”

“No, I'm not your sister!”

“Well, I mean you're somewhat like a sister. I always pictured you as such.”

“You can picture me as that, but it doesn't give you any right to know more about my suitors.”

“Are you serious about this man?”

“Good-bye, Stuart.”

He saw that she did not mean to answer concerning Howard, so he mounted his horse and tried to summon a smile. “I'll come again as soon as I can.” He hesitated and then said, “Don't marry this man until you talk to me first.”

“Shall I have him come and ask your permission to marry?”

“Don't be silly. I'm not your father.”

“No, you're
not
my father
nor
my brother! Good-bye, Stuart.”

Somehow he had offended her; he did not know how. But as he rode back to the court, his thoughts were mostly on Tyndale and his question.
“You need to offer your life to Christ and ask God to bless it.”
He thought he had found blessings in King Henry's court, but now he wasn't so sure. He was quiet all the way back, thinking of the life that lay behind him and wondering what was ahead.

Henry found Catherine and Mary reading together. “Well, well, what are we reading? Come here, Princess.” He put out his arms, and Mary ran to him. He took her, held her up high, and then sat down and held her on his lap. He knew this pleased Catherine, for she longed to have Henry accept her daughter as a possible heir to the throne of England.

They talked for some time, and she said, “I heard that young Winslow almost had a duel.”

“He could have killed Vining, and I would have had to hang him. He's a firebrand and yet as innocent as a new-born kitten. Probably the last innocent twenty-year-old in England.”

“I wish he would stay that way.”

Henry ran his hand down Mary's shiny hair, and then, after a time, he put her down and rose to his feet. “I need to speak to you alone, Catherine.”

“Of course. Mary, go to your room and look at your books. I'll be there soon.”

“Yes, Mother.”

As soon as she was gone, Henry said, “Catherine, I need a son.”

“You have a daughter.”

“That's not good enough, and you know it.”

“England could be ruled by a queen.”

“It's unnatural.”

“Well, what more can I do? I didn't kill those babies. God took them, and we'll never know why.”

Henry tried to think of a reply. He could speak to Bible scholars, politicians, even the court jester, but this woman baffled him. He was sure she loved him, and he had loved her at one time, but this matter of a son and heir rose between them like a dividing wall.

He left shortly after that and went right to Wolsey, who handled all his affairs. Cardinal Wolsey was the most powerful man in the kingdom other than Henry himself.

He rose to greet the king, but his greeting was still in his mouth when Henry said, “Wolsey, I'll have to divorce Catherine.”

Wolsey seemed to gasp for air. He knew his politics. A divorce would break all relationship with Rome, and that was where his connections were.

“Sire, you can't do that!”

“Then get the marriage annulled. I must have a son. England has to have one of my sons as an heir.”

“But Mary—”

“Mary is a girl. She'll be a woman, but she won't be the queen.” He glared at Wolsey, and there was a threat in his cold eyes. “I'll have an annulment, Wolsey. See to it.”

March 1524

Stuart leaned back against a wall, only vaguely aware of the music and many babbling voices that filled the great hall. He was looking for Nell Fenton and paid little heed to the crowd of guests who had come for the masque dressed in fantastic costumes. A wry thought came to him.
Before I came to the court six years ago, I didn't even know what a masque was. Now here I am taking part in one.
A sour smile touched his broad lips, as he thought of the education his years at court had given him. An education that shamed him every time he thought of how he had been seduced by money and lust.

He grieved over what he had lost—his innocence, his youth, and the solid trust in God that his parents and his grandmother had sought to instill in him.

He had attempted to tear himself away from the sensual life of the court with thoughts of returning home and assuming the life he'd given up for what he now had. But he could not, for the court was like the magnet that one of the scholars who came to court had demonstrated. What force could pull him away from the life he now led?

Theodore, the keeper of the king's hawks, had died before he arrived, and with years of service in the mews, there was clearly
no one better at training the raptors than Stuart. The king had given him the office, which carried a handsome salary that he could never match back at Stoneybrook. Simon had made an expert gambler out of him, so he won large sums of money. With a large income and the ability to draw the women, Stuart fell prey to two temptations: sex and liquor.

His fondness for wine and ale began with a quest to avoid tainted water, but his weakness for drink startled him. He made determined efforts to curtail his drinking—and he never drank to excess on his visits to his family—but the freedom, the relief of drinking to drunkenness continually called to him.