Honor in the Dust

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Yourself? How did you learn to read? Surely you didn’t go to school.”

  “My father taught me. He taught me Latin too.”

  “You read Latin? What do you read?”

  “We only have one book in Latin back at Stoneybrook. The Bible.”

  The king shook his head.

  “I keep finding out strange things about you. You’re an inventor. You’re an expert with the sword, if your father was not boasting. And now I find that you’re a Latin scholar. I have a book in Latin you might like to peruse.”

  “Oh, yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Sir Stuart Winslow.” He laughed when he saw Stuart’s face. “It sounds good to you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. But it’s more than I could hope for.”

  “You keep your humility, son. It’s especially becoming in court.” He turned away, but then wheeled and fastened his eyes on Stuart. “I hear you’re getting a reputation as a gambler. Better be cautious. Many a man is ruined by that vice!” With that, he turned again and walked away. Stuart watched him go. He was filled with admiration for the king. He said the words over again. “Sir Stuart Winslow.”

  13

  Stuart had haunted the palace for a week, but Nell was always busy with someone else. Finally he lay in wait for her, hiding himself behind a tall pillar, and when she had crossed to the pavilion he came up quickly, before she could escape into the queen’s quarters. “For weeks, now, we’ve kept company, but now you avoid me. Don’t you love me at all, Nell?”

  “You’re such a sweet boy,” Nell cooed, taking his arm and pulling him away to a quiet corner. She patted his cheek, “You’re so very young.”

  “You’re only one year older than I. Does that make you an aged woman?”

  Nell smiled and paused, as if conflicted.

  “Come with me tonight, Nell. We’ll go down to the lake. You love it there.”

  “I cannot. Queen Catherine wants us with her tonight.”

  “You can sneak away.”

  “And if I got caught, what then? They’d send me back home again for disobeying the queen. I couldn’t bear that!”

  Stuart pleaded, but nothing would change her mind. But she looked left and right, pulled his head down, and kissed him. So sweet, she tasted! At first he was surprised, but then he pulled her close, hungry for more.

  She turned her head aside and shoved at his chest. “Now, that’s enough for now. Maybe tomorrow we’ll be able to meet for a little while.”

  “Come to the old oak tree at the beginning of the forest.”

  “The last time I went there with you, you were very impudent.” She saw his face redden, and she laughed with delight. “You are the most innocent young man I’ve ever seen! You’re just a baby really.”

  “I’m not a baby!”

  “Well, you’re young and pure and innocent, probably the only man that fits that description in all Henry’s court.”

  “Meet me there. Say you will.”

  “All right. I’ll meet you there at seven o’clock.”

  He reached for her, but she laughed and pulled herself away. “That’s enough for now. Go on now. Take care of your birds.”

  “Until then,” he said, lingering beside her, wishing he could grab her and kiss her again. But she was already turning away. He hated the hold she had on him and loved it. Never before had he been so taken with a woman, not even when he had first fallen for Heather Evans. That was a boy’s love. This was a man’s passion.

  He knew Nell was here to land a nobleman for a husband, and misery seized his heart as he walked to the mews. There was only one way in which he could make her his own—by persuading the king to knight him and adding to his gaming winnings. Perhaps with those two things in hand—a title and some wealth—Nell would cease toying with him and allow herself to fall in love.

  A horseman covered in dust met Stuart at the mews.

  “Whom do you seek?”

  “I need to find Stuart Winslow.”

  “You’ve found him. Who are you?”

  “Just a messenger. Here, this be for you.”

  “Do I pay for it?”

  “You can give me a coin if you’d like. I wouldn’t say no.” The rider was a small man, thin and emaciated but with lively dark eyes. He took the coin that Stuart offered him, tossed it in the air, caught it, and put it in his pocket. “God be with you, Stuart Winslow.”

  “And with you.”

  As soon as the rider was gone, Stuart examined the slip of paper. It had been sealed with a tallow candle, but there was no personal seal in the wax.

  “It has to be from Father,” he murmured, and opened it.

  Stuart,

  You must come home at once. Your mother is having great difficulty. The doctor thinks there is danger for her and for the baby. Come as quickly as you can. And pray, Son, pray with me. I fear we’re about to lose them both.

  Your loving father,

  Claiborn Winslow

  Instantly Stuart folded the paper up and stuck it in his pocket. He ran quickly to the master of horse, a tall individual with gray eyes and a thick neck.

  “Felin, I must borrow a horse. My mother’s very ill. The king is gone, but he said I could use that gelding, Tyrone, at my leisure.”

  “Aye, he gave me that word as well. But it’s poor weather for a run. Can it wait until the morrow?”

  “Afraid not. I must get home immediately.”

  Felin stared at him for a moment. “Want me to saddle ’im for you?”

  “No, I can do it.” Tyrone was the horse that Stuart used when he went on the hunt with the king. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said, “but I’ll take care of Tyrone. See that someone takes care of the mews, will you?”

  “All right. But see that you return before the king. I do not care to be here if he discovers that both his mews keeper and his horse are gone.”

  Stuart urged the gelding into a lope, one that would cover ground without tiring the horse out. He wanted to run him at full speed but knew that would break the horse’s wind. And with the winter weather upon them, he dared not risk the horse’s health. He held to the same lope for four hours, praying all the way, and finally pulled up in front of his home. His father came out to greet him and help him unsaddle Tyrone and put the horse out in the pasture.

  “You made good time, Son.”

  “How’s Mother?”

  “She’s having a very hard time. Much harder than she did with you.”

  “But she’s going to be all right, isn’t she?”

  “God knows. Come. Let me make you something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You must eat, Son. I’m not hungry either, but we must keep up our strength.”

  Claiborn prepared a simple meal, and the two sat down to eat. But it was as tasteless as weeds to Stuart, and he saw that his father was staring out the window rather than eating.

  “I wish I could help, Father. I want to do something.”

  “The good Lord can help. If you want to do something, pray. That’s what I’ve been doing day and night.”

  “I’m not sure my prayers are worth a lot.”

  His father glanced at him in surprise. “We’ve spoken of this before. I thought you understood just how worthy your prayers truly are.”

  “I’m not like you and Mother. You’re so close to God.”

  “You’re younger. It will come.”

  The two men alternately sat in the parlor and walked to and fro outside. Once Father Simon, a local priest, came by and inquired to how Grace was doing, but there was no word from the midwife.

  It was almost midnight when the midwife came out to them. “You have a fine son, Master Winslow. Look, he’s got red hair just like you.” She glanced up at Stuart. “And you.”

  “And my wife? How is Grace?”

  “She’s had a rough go of it, but she’s strong. I have hope.”

  “God be praised! Here, now, let me see him.” Claiborn too
k the small morsel of humanity from her and looked down into his face. “Another Winslow.”

  “What will you call him, Father?”

  “Your mother was favoring Quentin, after her uncle. I’ve always liked that name myself.” He looked down at his new son, cradled in his arms. “Quentin Winslow,” he said softly, “born in 1519. I wonder what the world will be like when he’s your age—or mine.”

  “You can go in and see your lady now, Master Winslow,” called the midwife.

  “Yes. Let me see her first, Stuart, and then you can go in.”

  Claiborn’s heart sank when he saw how pale and wan Grace looked. She looked dead for a moment, and his heart almost stopped, but then her eyes opened, and she smiled. “That’s a fine boy, we have.”

  “Yes, he is. You did fine, Grace—just fine.”

  “Quentin.” She reached out and touched the baby’s hair. “Let me hold him. Put him here.” He put the baby into the crook of her arm, and for a while the two were silent. Then she said, “I heard you talking to someone.”

  “Yes, Stuart came home. It’s a wonder he didn’t kill that horse.”

  “Tell him to come in.”

  Stuart looked shaken by his mother’s pale appearance and evident weakness.

  “You’ve given me a beautiful baby brother.” He knelt down and took her hand. He held it in both of his, and Claiborn remembered how once, Stuart’s hand was as small as Quentin’s. His boy, now a grown man—and a new son, just beginning!

  “I’m glad you came home,” Grace said.

  “So am I, Mother.”

  “Will you stay a few days?”

  “One or two.” He reached out to touch her face. “I am so relieved you are well. I feared …”

  “The worst,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “Forgive me,” Claiborn said, “but I wanted him home if you were …”

  “Going to die,” she said.

  “Yes.” What would he have done had he lost her? He couldn’t imagine life without Grace.

  “Well, cease your morbid thoughts, you two,” Grace chided them with a smile. “I have plenty of life to live yet and three men who are depending on me.”

  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 sho
uld 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.