Honor in the Dust (29 page)

“No, madam.”

“Are you innocent of this crime you are accused of?”

“With God as my witness, I am.”

Catherine studied him. “I believe you,” she whispered. “Have you obtained paid counsel?”

“No. I doubt if my family could afford it.”

“I will go to the king. It has been some time since he has received me. This is as good a reason as any to approach him. Do not fret, my friend. I have a plan.”

“Well, that's more than I have,” Stuart said wryly, “but for any help you can give me, I will be most deeply grateful.”

“You have been a good man. I've seen good men and bad men all my life, and now I want to help you, so I will go to my husband. Something will be done.”

“I didn't bring you anything to eat, but I will next time,” Mary said.

“Oh, Princess, that's so kind of you.”

“But please take a bath. You smell so bad.”

“Come, Mary. Don't give up hope, Master Winslow. I've never given up hope that God will do something in my life. You must hope for the same.”

The queen had lost her early beauty, but at that moment, Stuart didn't think he'd ever seen a more beautiful person. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am so grateful to you.”

Catherine left, but she stopped outside, where Stuart could
hear her. “I want Stuart Winslow to be given water to bathe in, and soap, then put in a dry cell. I want it to have a window. I want him to have good bedding. I want him to have something to read and some paper to write on. I want him to get better food than the average prisoner.”

The chief guard hesitated. Stuart held his breath. If he had Queen Catherine's command, surely that was all he needed.

“I will see to it, Your Majesty,” the guard said at last. “You may depend on it.”

The change came immediately. The chief guard took Stuart to a room that seemed to him like a palace. It was much larger than his cell. Yellow sunlight streamed through a barred window. It contained a bed, and a table and chair occupied one corner. There were several books on a shelf, and as he looked through them, two guards brought in a tub and filled it with eight pails of steaming water. One of them tossed some fresh clothing to Stuart, grinning.

“Last fellow wore these clothes was hanged, but they beat what you're wearing.”

Stuart laughed, and stripping off his filthy clothes, soaked and soaked and washed his hair and reveled in the warm, soapy water. He finally got out, dried off, then put on the clothing the guard had left.

One of the two guards who came to remove the tub said, “That feels better, does it?”

“A thousand times.”

“Well, I don't know how you did it, Mr. Winslow, but the queen's never come to talk about any other prisoner.”

“Maybe I've just led a good life.”

The guard grinned broadly. “Not likely. I'll bring your food. I've got some special supper for you.”

The special supper was a delicious stew, some fried fish, and
fresh bread. When Stuart had eaten the last crumb, he sat back and remembered every bite. Even considering all the marvelous banquets he had enjoyed as part of the court, no meal, ever, could top that one.

“Heather, I'm so glad to see you.”

“I've tried to get in many times, but they would never let me. Something has changed.”

“I expect Queen Catherine had something to do with that.”

“How is that, Stuart?” She came closer and looked up into his face.

“She's always liked me, Heather. I paid a lot of attention to Princess Mary, played with her often. That won her heart.”

“It's fortunate you're good with children. You'll be a good father some day.”

An awkward silence followed, and Stuart almost said something about not living long enough to have children, but he saw that she was looking up at him with innocence and eagerness, and he smiled. “I'll be terribly indulgent, treating my children as if they were princes or princesses. Now tell me of news of home. How are your brothers? And Mr. Tyndale—have you heard from him?”

“He's still in hiding.”

Stuart nodded. “That's a good idea. It is said that the king is growing more and more against the idea of an English Bible.”

“Yes, it's bad news for Mr. Tyndale indeed! It won't stop him, though. He hides and translates a little bit of the Bible from Greek to English, and then he finds a printing press and persuades a printer to print some copies. He has it in bits and pieces, but one day, Stuart, it'll all come out the whole Bible.”

“That'll be a good day for England. Now tell me about yourself.”

“There's nothing new to tell. We're all praying every day for God to do a work and get you free from this place.”

“That's what it will take,” Stuart said quietly. “I've thought about that a lot since I've been here.”

“All things are possible with God. The Bible says that. That's the way Mr. Tyndale has translated one of the verses.”

“It's a good translation. I wish I—”
believed it,
he finished silently.

Heather's eyes fell, as if he had spoken aloud. She said quietly, “Aren't you afraid that if you die you'll suffer the pangs of hell?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don't you do something about it?”

Stuart ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes. “I don't know,” he whispered finally. “Something in me is stubborn and willful. I don't know what it is. I don't know why I'm like I am.”

“I'm going to pray for you, and I'm going to ask God to tell you what he wants with you.”

Stuart held his hands out, and she took them, and she prayed a sweet but brief prayer. It was a prayer of innocence and hope. Stuart held her hands tightly until finally she ended her prayer. “Thank you, Heather. You're a good woman.”

“Don't forget that God is going to use you in a mighty way. Mr. Tyndale always said that.”

“He'll have to do something about this rotten heart of mine.”

“We all have rotten hearts, but God can change us.”

“Well, I can tell you want something, Catherine. What is it?”

Catherine had come into the room where Henry played billiards. He played usually with men who knew very well to lose, but there was no one with him now, and he was simply pushing the balls around aimlessly.

“What is it you want? I know it's something. Everybody wants something.”

“That's the penalty of being king. You are the one who can give them something.”

He stared at her and saw for an instant the beautiful girl she had been when he had first met her. It was at her marriage to his brother, and he remembered it as clearly as if it were yesterday. Her hair had been shining, and her face had a luster and a glow, and her eyes were alive. That was all gone now, he saw, and he remembered his lack of interest in her as a woman.

“I have a favor to ask. I'm concerned about Stuart Winslow.”

“Now, Catherine, you know I can't interfere in legal matters.”

Catherine stifled a laugh. “You interfere constantly in legal matters, Henry. You always liked the young man, and I do too. He's been very kind to Mary. His father's a good man. The whole family is.”

“But he killed one of our royal messengers.”

“He says he didn't.”

Henry laughed and threw the cue down on the table. “What murderer doesn't say that?”

“I believe him, Henry. He doesn't have guilt written in his face. Just go look into his eyes. You'll see honesty there and truth.”

“Honesty and truth,” he said, pondering the words. “Honesty and truth,” he repeated slowly. “We need more of both in England. But I can't interfere.”

“Well, you can do one thing.”

“What is that?”

“You can ask Sir Thomas More to defend him.”

Henry's eyes opened and he stroked his chin. “Why, I hadn't thought of that. I can certainly do that. More will do it for me. He's the best lawyer in England and anywhere else for that
matter. But tell me, Catherine. Why are you really interested in this young man?”

She ignored his tone of innuendo. “He has a kind spirit, Henry. I think there's something good in him that needs to be saved.”

Henry lifted his chin. “I'll have it done. Now, you see I'm gracious to you when I can be.”

“Thank you, Henry,” she said, and exited gracefully.

“Why, Your Majesty!”

“No ceremony, Thomas! No ceremony!” The king had sent for Thomas More, and now stood before him with a slight smile. “You're wondering why I sent for you.”

More, probably the most able man in England in the courtroom or out, smiled. “Yes, Your Majesty, I certainly am. I hope it's not to get me to write another book.”

“No, write all the books you want or as few. I want you to defend a man for me.”

Surprise washed across More's face. “What man is that?”

“Oh, you heard about it. A royal messenger was murdered. A young man named Stuart Winslow has been accused. He's been a member of the court here, keeper of the birds. The queen believes him innocent.”

“And you believe …”

“It's neither here nor there. Get him off, if you can, Thomas. Make Catherine happy. As a matter of fact, it'd make me happy too to have him back. He's awfully good with the birds. We can't afford to lose a man that can fly a hawk as he can.”

“That seems like a trivial reason to save a man's life,” More said.

“Thomas, Thomas! You never cease to amuse me. I would think if you ask Winslow, he would tell you he will grab at any excuse to escape the noose.”

“I didn't know you had such compassion. I'm glad to see it in you.”

For a moment Henry was offended. He never liked any criticism of any kind. But his admiration for Sir Thomas More was boundless. He laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Go on, now. See that you get the boy off.”