Stuart thought it unfair of God to conceal things and make men look for them.
Sleep edged in, pulled him under.
18
Stuart had been in his cell now for three weeks, and except for several visits from his parents, the only faces he ever saw were those of the guards. There was no word from the king’s court, nor from the king himself. Hope drained from him. He was filled with fear. A certain amount of terror came from recognizing the immensity of eternity. To be cut off from all that was good, all that was lovely, and all that was worthy forever! More than once he fought the desire to run at the wall and beat his head against it until the morbid thoughts left him. But something kept him from doing it.
He felt a great, barren sadness in him as he recognized what he would lose when the headsman chopped his head off or the hangman dropped the trap from beneath his feet. All the things he had planned—to prove his love to his parents, the excitement of new things, the face of a woman who loved him.
He spent hours thinking of what he would lose if he died. Foremost, of course, he dreaded to lose the company of his parents. The shame he had always felt because he had turned away from their simple faith burned in him, and he wept over the loss. He thought often of losing Heather and spent hours thinking of the pleasure he had always taken in her company. And the simple things, such as the dew on the grass in the morning or pulling a fish out of a stream gleaming silver in the morning sunlight, feeling the weight on the line. He thought of the birds, the falcons and hawks that delighted him with their sweeps through the air and their plummeting drop onto the prey below. All this would be taken from him in a breath.
Then, his musings were broken off and he was surprised to see a priest come in. He got to his feet. The priest, a large man with a swollen belly and fleshy cheeks, stared at him with pale eyes. “Shut the door, guard,” he said in a French accent. “I’ll call you when I want out.”
“Yes, Father.”
The priest studied Stuart for a time. “I am Father Lafavor,” he said. “I have come to give you instructions on what you must do as you face death.”
“You’re a little early, aren’t you? I haven’t even had a trial yet.”
Lafavor smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. His lips were thin though his face was fleshy; his neck was so fat that it rolled over his collar. “You certainly don’t entertain any hope of being found innocent, do you, my son?”
His use of the words my son irritated Stuart. He almost said, I’m not your son, but didn’t want to send away his only companion in days. “Thank you for coming,” he said stiffly.
“Very well. Now, then, we must talk. I am glad to promise you that although it is not usual for prisoners to be executed to receive extreme unction, I am going to offer it to you.”
“Why bother? What does it mean? Extreme unction?”
Lafavor glared at Stuart. “You do not know the elements of your faith?”
“Please. Indulge me.”
“It is a ceremony, of course, and if it is performed a few moments before death, your soul will be safe although the body will be dead.”
This seemed like foolishness to him. He could not believe that a man’s character could be changed, saved, by another man mumbling a few words.
Lafavor went on with his explanation, his tone very dispassionate and learned. The explanation was studded with Latin phrases, and there was no comfort in him. He was a cold man. Obviously he doesn’t care about me, Stuart thought.
Finally Stuart said, “I am sorry. I don’t care whether I have this ceremony or not.”
The priest’s little eyes narrowed. “You will go to hell if you do not have it. A man who has done what you have done.”
“You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“I certainly do. I read the charges.”
A hot reply rose to Stuart’s lips, but he shook off the temptation. There would be nothing gained by engaging in a debate with Lafavor. “I would like you to tell me where in the Bible we have this matter of extreme unction.”
For the first time Lafavor looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and spat on the floor. “This is not a matter for laymen. It is a matter for men of the church. The pope. The cardinals. The bishops. They all have decided that this is true.”
“Suppose they decided that it would save a man’s soul if you poured tar all over his head just before he died. Would that make it so?”
“You are a heretic, sir, a heretic!”
“Just give me a scripture, and I will gladly do what you say. Just where in the Bible does it say that?”
“It does not say that, but it is a matter of doctrine. The church adopted it years ago, and it will stand forever.”
“So you say, Father, that a man must receive this ceremony just before he dies or he will perish forever in the flames of hell.”
“That is exactly what will happen.”
“Did you never read the story of the crucifixion of Jesus?”
Lafavor’s eyes widened. “Of course I have—many times.”
“So have I.”
“You lie! It’s in Latin.”
Stuart made his reply in Latin. “Religentem esse oporet: Relegio sum nefas.” This quotation, taught to Stuart by William Tyndale, in English would be “It is reasonable to be religious, abominable to be superstitious.”
Stuart’s use of Latin brought Lafavor to a halt. He started to speak, changed his mind, and then said, “Where did you learn Latin?”
“My father taught it to me.”
“Well, he undoubtedly instilled false doctrine in your mind as well.”
“As I recall,” Stuart said, and he smiled at the priest, “Jesus was crucified between two thieves. One of them was unrepentant, but the other told him to shut his mouth. He said, if I remember correctly, ‘We’re guilty. We deserve what we’re getting. But this man had done nothing.’ Then he said to Jesus, ‘Remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Do you remember what Jesus said?”
“I—it matters not.”
“It does. He said, ‘This day you shall be with me in paradise.’ We have the history of that thief dying, and we have no record of any priest or bishop or pope administering any ceremony.”
Lafavor’s face grew red. “Heresy! Undoubtedly the result of a Bible in the hands of laymen, who misinterpret it.”
“Thank you for coming. I will forego the ceremony if you don’t mind.”
Lafavor glared at Stuart and then banged on the door. “Guard! Guard, let me out of here!” He said, “You will perish in the flames of hell forever.”
“Good day to you, Father Lafavor.”
The priest passed through, his back stiff, the door clanged shut, and for the first time since he had been in the place, Stuart laughed. It was not a healthy or a hearty laugh, but at least it was a laugh, and he said to the walls, “Come back any time, Father, for another lesson in doctrine!”
The keeper of the Tower guards straightened, and his jaw dropped in amazement. Not once before had the queen visited the prison, and her appearance struck the guard dumb for a moment. “Your Majesty,” he whispered. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”
Queen Catherine held Mary’s hand. She said, “Put me in a private room, then bring the prisoner Stuart Winslow to me.”
“But that would take an order from the king!”
“No, it would take an order from your queen. If you want to debate this further, sir, I will see to it that others come with more direct methods than mine.”
“N-no, Your Majesty, not necessary! Please come this way.” His face had turned pale. Opening the door to an adequate room, he said, “If you will wait here, Majesty, I will have the prisoner brought, but perhaps it would be best if we—if we gave him a brief bath.”
“No, bring him just as he is, Guard.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The guard shut the door quietly and hurried to the others. “Let Winslow out.”
“Is it time for him to
hang?” the corridor guard asked.
“Shut your mouth, fool! Just do what I tell you.”
The guard shrugged and opened the door.
The chief guard, whose name was Gatlin, said, “Winslow, you have a visitor.”
Stuart was on the cot with his back against the wall. He looked past the guard. “Where is he?”
“You’re to meet this visitor in a private room. Follow me. Make no attempt to escape. It would be futile.”
Stuart rose and followed the guard, wondering if he could manage to get to this private room, being so weak. But he was curious, and so he kept moving. He stared in wonder at the nickering torches; they were so much brighter than his feeble candles that it took a moment for his eyes to get used to the light. Finally the guard opened a door and stepped back, saying, “Your Majesty, when you are finished, please call me.”
“I will do so.”
Majesty!
Stuart stepped into the room, astonished to see Queen Catherine and Princess Mary. He bowed to them and said, “I’m grateful for your visit, Your Majesty. Hello, Princess.”
“They’ve treated you badly, Master Winslow.”
“Prisoners usually get bad treatment.”
Mary had come closer. “You smell foul, and you’re dirty! Why don’t you take a bath?”
“I would love to, but they don’t furnish such luxuries here in the Tower.”
“What did you do to get put here?”
Stuart raised his eyes at the girl’s question and met Catherine’s. She was waiting expectantly for him to answer.
“I’m accused of having killed a man.”
Mary’s eyes flew open. “Did you do it?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then don’t stay in this place.”
Stuart laughed. “There is nothing I would like better, Princess, but I’m not permitted to leave.”
“I am sorry you have had such ill treatment,” Catherine said. “I will see to it that it improves. What would you like?”
“A bath, Your Majesty. I didn’t realize how important bathing was until it was taken away from me.”
“That will be easy enough. Your cell is uncomfortable?”
“There’s no light except for little bits of candles. Nothing to read. Nothing to do. A man finds out who he is when he’s locked up in a cage like that, and I don’t like most of the things I’ve found.”
“Tell me the truth, Master Winslow. It will never go past us. Just the three of us. Mary would never tell, would you, Mary?”
“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.”
Honor in the Dust Page 18