Honor in the Dust

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Yes, he is,” Stuart answered, instead of waiting for his father. “But what good is it?”

  “Well, for one thing,” Lady Leah said, “you can read the Word of God. The Bible. If there were no other reward, that would be enough. Learn all you can, Stuart. Do you know that the king speaks six languages?”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly. He’s quite a scholar. That ought to encourage you.”

  “I want to be a soldier, and I want to be rich.”

  “The two don’t often go together, Stuart. Ask your father about that.” Lady Leah put her hand on Stuart’s shoulder and added softly, “Be as good a man as your father, Grandson, and that will bring you far more joy than either soldiering or wealth.”

  Stuart looked up into his grandmother’s face and felt a love for her that he longed to express. He said, “I’m glad we’re here. With you.”

  “I’m glad too, Stuart. You make life cheerful for this old woman.”

  “Whoa there, Shannon!” Stuart cried. Ives, Lady Edith’s son, had asked him to exercise his prize mare by walking her about the yard; she was always easier to ride if she’d had a brief jaunt. Stuart was leading the gray mare when the horse, a spirited animal, reared up, pulled the reins from Stuart’s hands, and trotted off.

  Stuart ran after her, but, of course, he could not catch her.

  He knew he’d have to follow her until she let herself be caught—but he had no opportunity for that. A rough hand grabbed him. It was Ives, his eyes filled with fury.

  “You bumpkin! You idiot, you let my horse get away!”

  “I’m sorry, Ives, she jerked the reins—”

  Ives suddenly slapped his face with an open palm and then brought his hand back and hit him on the other cheek. “I’ll teach you to mistreat my horse!” He dragged the boy over to one side, and taking a pocket knife out from his belt, he cut a switch. “Bend over, boy, I’m going to teach you a lesson!”

  There was no help for it, so gritting his teeth, Stuart bent over. He heard the whistling of the cane, and pain shot through him as Ives struck him across the buttocks. Again—and again—

  Suddenly Ives fell away from him, jerked away by Claiborn Winslow. Never had Stuart seen his father look so fearsome.

  “You will not thrash my son, Ives.”

  “You are giving me orders? You might have once been second son on this land, but now Mother is certain that I will be named heir.”

  “That hasn’t happened yet, has it?” Claiborn said.

  “No, but for now, you are servant and I, master. And you, Claiborn,” he sneered, “have crossed the line.”

  “You crossed the line when you dared to strike my son. You will not do it again.”

  His words plainly infuriated Ives, who went to draw his sword. At once Claiborn pulled a knife from his belt. He did not threaten Ives with it. He simply held it in his hands.

  Ives stared at him; everyone at Stoneybrook knew Claiborn Winslow was an expert with every sort of blade. He swallowed hard, rammed the sword home, and glared at Claiborn.

  “Second thoughts are usually best,” Claiborn said mildly.

  Ives’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll hear from Lord Edmund about this!”

  “I’m sure I will, but mark my words, if you ever touch my son again, know that it will be most unpleasant for you. Regardless of what Edmund thinks.”

  Ives walked away, his back stiff.

  The entire incident frightened Stuart. “What—what will happen when Uncle Edmund hears about it? Lady Edith?”

  “I don’t know, but it wasn’t your fault, Son. I saw the whole thing. Pay it no mind.”

  “I can get the horse now. She’ll settle eventually if you don’t chase after her.”

  “Good idea.”

  He watched as Stuart moved after the horse, quietly approaching her. When he was ten feet away, Stuart stood still, and after a moment the mare came over to sniff his hand. He took the reins, patted her on the cheekbone, and whispered to her.

  Claiborn knew that Edmund’s reaction would be severe. He was well aware that it was only his mother who stood between himself and his brother. If it were not for Lady Leah, he would not even be here. He would not have a home to offer Grace and Stuart. But would she be enough to keep Edmund at bay for long?

  Edmund was not a fool. Claiborn was valuable to Stoneybrook, even though he was not the man he once was. He cost nothing, for Lady Leah paid all his expenses, and his expertise in falconry might one day bring Stoneybrook glory—and financial gain.

  “The boy could be useful too,” Edmund muttered, staring at the empty doorway through which Ives had just passed. He knew the man tended to embellish things.

  Rising, he left the castle and sought Orrick, who had seen the whole thing. Regardless of how it had unfolded, Claiborn had no right to threaten one of his men. He charged down to the mews, where he found his brother.

  “You drew your knife on Ives! What were you thinking, sir?”

  “I took it in my hand, yes. He was pulling his sword out, and I had to defend myself.”

  Edmund glared at Claiborn and felt once again that which he had often felt, envy of his younger brother. Envy had always been there, for Claiborn had the romance, the daring, the ability that he himself lacked. He only had the fact that he was the elder brother. He made a lot of noisy threats, but when he turned away, he felt defeated.

  Father Gibbons, the parish priest, came to visit Edmund, Edith, and Leah. A fat man, he never refused any of the food Stoney-brook’s fine cooks set before him. He listened carefully as Edmund talked about his brother.

  “He’s not the man he used to be. He limps, and he hasn’t gained his strength back, but I will say this for him—he knows hawks. My, how that man knows hawks! Mark my words, Father, one of these days we’ll have birds that even the king himself will envy.”

  “I remember your brother. He was very literate, if I remember.”

  “Oh, yes, he can read Latin.”

  This surprised Father Gibbons. “Read Latin? Who tutored him?”

  “Oh, all the tutors we brought in schooled him in the subject. He proved more adept at it than I. Somewhere, amid his travels as a soldier, he even obtained a Bible. He reads out of it to his family.”

  “That’s unseemly!” Edith said. She, Ives, and Lady Leah were sitting across the table from the two men. “It should be stopped.”

  Father Gibbons nodded his agreement. “I’ll have a word with him.”

  “Oh, that would be useless,” Ives grunted. “He’s a violent man and a rebel. Would you believe he pulled his knife on me the other day?”

  Lady Leah shifted in her seat. “I believe that’s a gross exaggeration.”

  But the priest leaned forward. “I am shocked. I’m sure he was properly chastised.”

  “No, my husband doesn’t believe in such things,” Edith said. “He let him off with just a warning. As if that will do any good!”

  Sir Edmund said, “I told him that if he ever made a move like that again with a knife or anything else, he would wind up in the stocks!”

  Father Gibbons did not comment again, but the next day he went to visit Claiborn and his family. Invited in for a glass of ale, he said almost in passing, “I understand you read Latin.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s a fascinating language, isn’t it, Father?”

  “How does it happen that you read it?”

  “As a child, I had one tutor in particular who was a Latin scholar. I was interested in some of the Latin poets, so he taught me to read Latin.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve read the Bible?”

  “Oh, yes. I have a Latin Bible.”

  “I trust that you don’t use it for the wrong purpose.”

  “I don’t understand you, Father. What sort of wrong purpose?”

  “Well, you are aware of the church’s position, that the Holy Father believes that only a priest can understand the Bible.”

  “I respectfully disagree. I believe I understa
nd it.”

  As soon as Gibbons left, Grace said, “What a pompous man! Probably ignorant himself of everything that’s not spoonfed by the pope!”

  “Be careful how you speak of the pope, Grace. People have been put in stocks for less than that.”

  “I know, but I’m glad you’re teaching Stuart Latin. Now he can read the Word of God for himself.”

  “I wish every believer could read the scripture for himself, but that day will be long coming. I understand the king has changed his mind.”

  “About what, Claiborn?”

  “He was interested at one time in having the Bible translated into English, but the talk is now that he’s decided that would be dangerous.” He laughed suddenly. “Think of it, Grace! The Bible, dangerous! What a foolish thing to believe. Everyone should have the right to read the Word of God!”

  9

  Claiborn ran the plane along the length of clear maple and watched as a tiny curl of the wood rose up and fell to the ground. “This is a fine tool. I think my grandfather must have made it. It’s been in the family as long as I can remember.”

  “Was he a carpenter too?” Stuart asked.

  “A very accomplished craftsman. People came from miles around to persuade him to make things for them, but he only made new things that challenged him. He said he grew tired of making the same thing twice.”

  The two were in the shed that Claiborn had converted into a shop. Along with Latin lessons and instruction on falconry and weaponry, he was teaching Stuart how to use tools.

  Claiborn watched as Stuart took the plane and moved it carefully. He thought how quickly the two years had passed. Stuart was now eighteen, no longer the thin boy who had come to Stoneybrook. And he was only a shade shorter than Claiborn himself. The shoulders had broadened, the muscles in the arms had grown not bulky but sleek and sinewy, giving the boy speed and grace in his movement.

  “I’ve got something I want to show you, Father.”

  “You’ve been keeping secrets.”

  Stuart grinned. His skin was tanned from the outdoor air, and there was a healthy look to his face, a glow. His eyes were the same blue as Claiborn’s, but there was something almost magical about Stuart’s eyes. They sometimes seemed to sparkle when he was excited or angry.

  “What is this thing you’ve got now?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  The young man moved aside a piece of canvas and brought out a bow. “Here it is.”

  Claiborn took the bow and examined it. It was as smooth as anything he had ever seen. “You put a fine finish on this.” He looked at it more closely. “What are these lines? I don’t understand what you’ve done here.”

  “Well, you know when you take a piece of yew and make a bow out of it, that’s the best bow that any man could make, the best wood, wouldn’t you say, Father?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Well, this is yew, but these darker streaks, what’s that?”

  “Ironwood. You see what I’ve done? What I thought was this. Bows made out of yew are flexible, but they’re not as strong as some other woods. But woods that are strong are so stiff that they would shatter when crafted into a bow.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I sawed thin strips of different kinds of wood—mostly ironwood and yew but some maple too—and I glued them together.”

  “How did you learn to do that?”

  “I went down to the cabinetmaker. He does it all the time. There are tiny pins that go all the way through. You see this? That’s an ironwood peg. I drilled the hole and I put the glue on it that the carpenter showed me how to make and I let it set.”

  “Well, what’s the advantage of it?”

  Stuart grinned. “I’ll show you. Here, string it up, Father.”

  Taking the linen string that Stuart handed him, Claiborn looped it over the notch at one end of the bow, turned the bow the other way, and put his foot beside it. He began to push the bow down. A look of amazement came over his face. “Why, this is impressively strong!”

  “Very strong. It takes a good man just to string it.”

  Claiborn pushed down the upper part of the bow and managed to slip the loop on the free end of the string into the upper notch. The bow was strung.

  “Now let’s go outside. Here’s an arrow.”

  Stuart said, “Shoot it as far as you can.”

  “All right.” Claiborn tilted the bow at a forty-five-degree angle. When he pulled back he had to strain. He released the string and watched the arrow. It climbed and arced, and Claiborn was amazed to see how far it had gone.

  “Have you ever shot an arrow that far, Father?”

  “Never, nor has anyone else. Not with a yew bow.” He looked at the bow as if there was some magic in it. He ran his hands over the smooth curve of it and studied it in wonder.

  “Well done, Son! Well done. The king would be interested in a bow like this.”

  Stuart’s eyes lit up. “Do you really think so?”

  “I certainly do.”

  “I’m going to make an even better one, now that I’ve become accustomed to gluing, and then perhaps one day we can show it to the king.”

  Claiborn smiled. “Come on. Let’s go and see if this arrow does as well shooting hares as it does on distance.”

  “You there, boy. I want you to go pick up a load of hay from Sir John Walsh. You know where he lives?” Edmund frowned.

  “No, sir.”

  “You don’t know Old Sodbury manor?”

  “I know where that is,” Claiborn said.

  “Well, I don’t want you to go. Tell him how to get there. Stuart, pick up the hay and tell him I’ll send the money over tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be glad to go for it, Edmund,” Claiborn said.

  “I wouldn’t trust you. You’d drink it all up.”

  “I’ll go get the hay and bring it back,” Stuart said, swallowing the words he wished to say. It was no use arguing with Uncle Edmund. Best to do what was necessary and be done with him as soon as possible.

  “And be sure you don’t stop at a tavern on the way and chase after some wench!”

  Stuart ignored him and went to hitch up the wagon.

  Edmund told Claiborn, “You’re wasting your time teaching that boy to read Latin. He’ll never be anything but a hostler or something like that.”

  “Perhaps something more than that, Brother. And he’ll be able to read our Bible. That’s worth something to even a hostler.”

  “You,” Edmund sneered. “You call yourself a Christian.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You know what you did to me. You ruined my life.”

  “I’ve apologized over and over, Edmund. You know I’ve always regretted bringing pain to you.”

  “You don’t truly regret it.” Edmund cursed and shook his head.

  Claiborn said, “It’s true. I don’t regret marrying for love. But I will tell you again, Brother, that I’m very sorry for hurting you. And I’m grateful for your permission to stay at Stoneybrook. It’s your kindness that gives my family a home and a place to work.”

  Edmund stared at Claiborn for a long moment. “Get to work,” he grunted, then turned around and walked away.

  Stuart got lost on the way to Old Sodbury manor, but after asking three different people for directions, finally found the proper road.

  Seeing nobody in the yard, he walked up to the door and knocked sharply.

  A young girl stood there. She had the lightest hair he had ever seen, yellow as gold, and a pair of eyes almost as blue as his own.

  “I-I’ve come to pick up a load of hay,” he stammered, “for Lord Edmund Winslow.”

  “Oh, begging your pardon, but my uncle isn’t here. He’ll be back shortly, I’m sure.”

  “I’ll wait out here, then.”

  “You’ve driven all the way from Stoneybrook?”

  “Yes, miss, I have.”

  “Well, you must be hot and hungry. Come in. I’ve been baking today. How would some fresh brea
d and a bit of mutton sound to you?”

  Stuart smiled suddenly. “That sounds like a bit of heaven.”

  “Well, then, come in. What’s your name?”

  “Stuart Winslow.”

  “I’m Heather Evans. Come along.”

  Stuart smiled when they entered the kitchen. “That smells better than anything I can think of. Fresh-baked bread!”

  “Sit down there, and I’ll cut you some of this mutton.” She sliced him a healthy portion and then took a loaf from a cooling pan and sliced off the end of it. “Here’s some fresh butter, if you’d like it.”

  “Who wouldn’t like fresh butter on fresh bread? Aren’t you going to eat, Miss Evans?”

  “No, I’ve already eaten. I’ll just have something to drink here while you eat. Can you drink cider?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had any.”

  She stared at him. “You’ve never had cider?”

  “No, miss. What is it?”

  “It’s made from apples.”

  “I love apples.”

  “Well, you’ll like cider then. I’ll have to go down to the cellar to get it. It stays cool down there. You go ahead and eat.”

  As she left, he noticed her trim figure and wondered how old she was. Not as old as himself.

  Probably about twelve, I guess. Going to be pretty when she grows up. He took his knife, sliced off bites of the mutton, and spread butter on the fresh bread.

  Heather came back with a pitcher, poured him a mugful, and said, “Try your first taste of cider.”

  Stuart tasted it, and his eyes opened wide. “That’s the best thing I ever had to drink in my life!”

  Heather laughed. “I’m glad you think so. I helped make it.”

  “You’re the young lady of the house?”

  “Not really. I’m the niece of Sir John. I live here with him and his family.”

  Stuart held back from asking about her own family, but she supplied the information anyway. “My mother died some time ago, and my father travels. He’s Sir John’s brother. So he leaves me here, and Mr. Tyndale educates me along with my uncle’s two sons.”