“It’s usually not a good idea for a beautiful woman to put her trust in a man.”
Lupa studied Brandon in his new clothes. “You really mean that?”
“Do I mean what?”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“Never was a question about it, Lupa.”
Fabin laughed. “You lose my money, and I’ll mess up your own pretty face, Winslow. Then you won’t be so pretty anymore.”
“I won’t lose.”
Both Lupa and Fabin were impressed by the calm confidence that Brandon Winslow exhibited. His confidence was like an iron bar, both of them saw. He laughed at their expressions. “I won’t lose,” he repeated
Lupa said, “All right. We’ll be waiting for you.”
He left, and the two of them watched him go with uncertainty
“He can win,” Rez muttered, “but if he wins, he could leave us here.”
“You think he’d do that?”
“I don’t know. He’s not like anyone I ever met, but I don’t know many lords.” He stared at her, then turned his head to one side. “He doesn’t try to bed you. Why is that? Every man I ever saw wanted you.”
The same thought had troubled Lupa, despite Brandon’s explanation. “Maybe I’m losing my looks.”
“No. It’s not that.”
Lupa shrugged. “Anyway, I swore I’d never trust any man other than you, and here I’ve done it.” The two stared at each other. Each was troubled
Fabin shrugged, “Well, he’s got us, Lupa.”
Lupa did not answer. She paced back and forth, reflecting that it would be hours before Brandon Winslow returned—if he ever did
Fabin had drunk too much wine and was depressed. “He’s not coming back. Not this late,” he mumbled
“He’ll be back.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I just know,” she repeated. But deep down Lupa was disgusted with herself, fearing the worst. She had subjected herself to another man, something she swore she’d never do again
Lupa resumed her pacing and Fabin his drinking. Finally they heard steps, then the door opened, and Brandon entered. Seeing the expression on their faces he laughed. “You thought I’d forsaken you?”
“Yes,” Fabin mumbled numbly, obviously shocked by Brandon’s return
“You came back,” Lupa said, and found gladness that a man in her life had kept his word
“Well, you gave up on me. I’m disappointed. I told you, Lupa, I won’t hurt you. I pay my debts.” He pulled out a heavy leather bag and dropped it on the table. Fabin pounced on it and poured out coins and goods on the table
Lupa picked up one of the rings and looked at it, then at Brandon. “You won all this and you came back?”
Fabin began counting the loot. His eyes were gleaming, and the gold earrings in his ears glittered as he swung his head from side to side. “We’ll go to London where the big games are. That’s what. We’ll get rich!”
Lupa saw that Brandon was amused. “Tell me about how you won it.”
“I’d rather learn Spanish.”
“Then tell me in Spanish.”
He began speaking, and Lupa leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Brandon’s face. A faint hope that she had thought long dead stirred in her, and her lips parted as she listened to him tell in halting Spanish how he had succeeded
8
Heather had seen the rider coming down the road and watched as he stopped in front of Stoneybrook, evidently asking directions. He nodded and then came riding up to the front door of the castle. She saw Stuart come out to meet him. The rider gave Stuart a paper. Stuart gave the rider a coin. The rider turned and rode away
Heather watched as Stuart opened the sealed paper. She could see his face clearly. Something’s troubling him. The thought saddened her
She waited. She heard his steps, and then the bedroom door opened, and he came in with a sheet of paper in his hand
“Well, I have news, Heather.”
“Good news?”
“I am uncertain.” Stuart had a rather puzzled expression on his face. “It’s an invitation for me to come to the royal palace.”
“For what purpose?”
“An audience with Queen Mary next Monday.”
Heather blinked in surprise. “Why would she send for you, I wonder?”
“I have no idea.” Stuart looked up at her, and his expression softened to one of concern. He came over and put his arm around her. “You look tired.”
“I’m alright.”
She knew Stuart was trying to think of some way to comfort her, but they were both sick with fear and disappointment over Brandon’s disappearance. He hugged her tightly and said, “Perhaps she simply needs some advice.”
Heather reveled in his embrace. She loved to feel the lean strength of his body. He was fifty-two now, but he had the body of a man much younger. “It’s been a troubling time since King Edward died, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has. People don’t know what to expect from a woman as ruler.”
She looked up into his eyes, clear as they had been the first day she had seen him. “You told me once that she’s a strong Catholic.”
“Oh, yes. She got that from her mother, Queen Catherine.” Stuart bit his lower lip and added, “She wants me to bring Quentin with me. Now that I don’t understand. He’s never met her that I know of, and I’m sure I would have known it if he had.”
“What could she possibly want with Quentin?”
“Not sure, but he’ll have to go, of course.”
Heather frowned. “Would it have anything to do with the fact that he’s become quite a popular preacher?”
“I don’t believe his Protestant faith—or his popularity—will endanger him,” Stuart said slowly. “But it is puzzling.”
“Will you be gone long?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Probably only for a day or two.” She rested against him and he sighed, “Heather, try not to grieve over Brandon. We must try to remain hopeful.”
“I’m sure you grieve as much as I do, Stuart.”
“I’m not sure about that. A mother’s love is somehow stronger than a father’s.”
Heather put her hand on Stuart’s cheek. “I love you,” she said, “and we’ve agreed in prayer that God is going to bring our son back to us, and I believe that he will.”
Stuart had been sitting in Christ Church for some time. He and Heather attended as often as possible for they both loved to hear Quentin preach, but today he was troubled by the queen’s command to bring Quentin to the palace. And that is what it was, a command. Mary had always said she wanted England to return to the Catholic Church, but over and over she had expressed her desire to do so by invitation and encouragement rather than violence. But then why demand Quentin accompany him? There were rumors . .
The service began. As always, Stuart drew himself into an attitude of prayer and worship. The splendid music was his brother’s doing. Quentin himself was a fine musician, an accomplished singer, and able to play several instruments. The voices seemed to rise to the top of the church and fill the building, and the congregation felt their power
Finally the worship was over, and a cleric stood up and read from Scripture. Quentin glanced around the building, an old church going back to Roman times. He noted also that the church was full and that many of the worshippers were poor men and women worn by toil but with faces alight as they took in the singing and now the reading of the Scripture
Quentin entered the pulpit and greeted the congregation. Stuart had always loved the simplicity of his brother’s preaching. Many preachers read from a manuscript, but Quentin seemed to have the Bible memorized and gazed out over the congregation with eyes alight. He had one of William Tyndale’s bibles in his study, Stuart knew. Stuart’s heart warmed as he thought of the part that he himself had played in smuggling bibles from Europe to England at the behest of the great translator. He remembered Tyndale’s death with a pang, and knew that the man woul
d ever be a part of his life
Quentin began to speak and Stuart leaned forward to catch every nuance of his brother’s voice. “Christ views the sinner not as he is in himself but as he is in the purpose of redemption.” Everyone’s attention was riveted on Quentin, captured by his abrupt beginning. “His whole head is sick, sayeth Christ, but I can cure him. His whole heart is faint, but I can restore him, and I will do it. His feet have gone astray, his mouth as an open sepulchre, his eyes are windows of lust, his hands are stained with blood; but I will amend all that and make him a new creature meant to be a partaker of the inheritance of the saints in like.”
Total silence, almost palpable, lay on the congregation as Quentin continued, “Jesus looks, you see, not so much to what the sinner is in himself, but to what he can make of him. He sees in every sinner the possibility of making a glorified saint who shall dwell with him forever and ever. He chose you, poor sinner, before all worlds were made and bought you with his blood. He sees you not as you are now but as you shall be when he has perfected you.”
The words flowed from Quentin. Stuart again marveled at the breadth of his brother’s knowledge of scripture. And even more he marveled at how simple the sermon was. Quentin’s sermons always centered on Christ. Jesus was in almost every sentence, and Quentin’s eyes glowed and his whole face lit up as he spoke of the glory of Jesus
“Sinner,” Quentin continued, “thou art so ashamed of thy sin that thou darest not approach a minister, but you can approach Christ. There is no pride in him and no cautious reserve such as we might rightly expect in dealing with him. Though you could not tell your own father about yourself, you can tell it all to Jesus. You could not tell the story of your sin to the wife of your bosom, but you can tell it to Jesus. There’s no music that he loves so much as the voice of a sinner confessing his sin. There are no pearls that he prizes so highly as those pearly tears that repentance forms in the eye of the soul that trembles at his word. Do not imagine that he is hard to please, for he loves sinners. Don’t think it’s difficult to obtain access to him. Like the father in the parable, he can see a sinner when he’s a great way off, and he will run to meet you and give you a hearty reception and a loving welcome.”
Stuart marveled at the passion, the genuine emotion that posessed Quentin as he spoke. Many preachers spoke dryly with no sign of emotion, but not Quentin Winslow! There were actually tears in his eyes as he spoke of what Christ can do with a heart of a sinner who had come to him
As the sermon came to an end, Quentin’s voice quivered slightly. “‘Oh, but he would never receive such a sinner as I am!’ You might say that, but how do you know? Have you ever tried him? There is not even in hell itself a sinner who will ever dare to say that when he came to Jesus, Jesus refused to receive him. There is not a lost soul in the pit who could look up to God and truthfully say to him, ‘Great God I asked for mercy through the precious blood of Jesus,’ but you said, ‘I will not give it to you.’ No! That can never be. Neither on earth nor in hell shall there ever be one soul that trusted in Christ and then perished. I beg you, no matter what your sin is, no matter what your life has been, the Lord Jesus Christ is able to make you a new creature. May the Lord bless you and enable you to find your way to his cross and be washed forever in his blood.”
A choruses of amens swept through the congregation. Stuart rose as the final prayers were said. As soon as they were done, Stuart stood back, observing the people trying to get close to Quentin. He saw one very old woman who could barely walk reaching out to him. He saw Quentin take her hand, hold it firmly, and smile down at her as he gave her his blessing. As the old woman turned away, her face alight, Stuart thought, If I could only bless people the way Quentin does, I’d call myself a real believer.
Quentin slowly threaded his way though the crowd and put out his hand. Stuart took it and said, “A fitting sermon, Quentin. How are you?”
“I am well, Brother.” Quentin hesitated and then asked, “No word of Brandon?”
“No.”
“He’ll find his way,” Quentin said. “God will not let him fall to the ground.”
As the two men left the church, Stuart told Quentin about the “invitation” from Mary. “She wants both of us to come to Whitehall.”
“Well, you know her, Stuart, far better than I. Why would she send for me?”
“I don’t know, Quentin,” Stuart said, “But I do know it’s a dangerous time here in England. Mary’s in a position to do a great deal toward healing old wounds.”
Quentin sighed deeply. “Well, there has been much bad blood between Catholic and Protestants. What do you think she will do?”
“I don’t know. Mary is . . . different of late,” Stuart answered, troubled. “The last few times we visited, I found it hard to read her intention clearly. And, of course, it’s been some time since our last visit.”
Quentin said, “Don’t worry, Brother. At any rate, I’ll be happy to meet her.”
Stuart and Quentin knelt to Mary, who greeted them with a smile. They had entered the apartment where she and her ladies spent the afternoons. Mary was dictating something to a scribe, but she brushed him aside, and he scurried away quickly. “Rise, Stuart, and you, Reverend Winslow.”
“We are honored to be here, Majesty.”
“I’ve heard so much about you, Reverend Winslow.” She extended her hand, and Quentin kissed it
“I’m gratified to meet you, Your Majesty. My brother has told me so much about you.”
“Has he told you that he was my playmate for years?” She smiled
Stuart was glad to see her smile. “I think so often about those early days with you.”
“As have I, Stuart. How is your family?”
“My wife is very well.”
“And Brandon? He’s a favorite of mine, you know.”
“I’m afraid the news isn’t good. I am in your debt, Majesty,” he said with a nod, “for sparing his life. I understand that if it hadn’t been for your intervention, he would’ve served a far greater sentence.”
“It was the least I could do,” Mary said sadly. “He came to my aid when I called for him. But his failures grieve me. He has many talents.”
“Yes, but he’s had his . . . Moral problems have proven to be his downfall.”
“Well, surely he has grown out of that, after losing so much. You must bring him to see me. Together we can steer him to a proper role in society,” Mary said almost playfully
“I appreciate your interest, Majesty.”
She turned her head to Quentin and began to question him about what people were saying about all sorts of matters—“I must know what my people are thinking and feeling”—but she carefully avoided the subject of faith
“Surely you’ve heard their cries as you’ve passed through the streets. Cries of joy,” Quentin said carefully. “The people are very glad to have you as their monarch.”
Mary said tentatively, “You know my mother raised me in the true faith.” The words were innocent enough, but Stuart saw that Quentin reacted strongly to them
“People wonder, Your Majesty, what you will do as far as religion is concerned,” Quentin said. “Much has transpired since your father’s days on the throne.”
Mary answered “I am not my father. I don’t intend to force my faith on anyone. People will be free to choose between the new learning and the old faith. My father executed those who disagreed with him on religion, even his dear friend Thomas More. How I wept over that man’s death! I will never do such a thing as that! I want the love of my people, and you must help me. Quentin Winslow, may I have your loyalty?”
“Always, Your Majesty. I pray that you will be given wisdom to lead this country along the pathway that will please God.”
It was the correct thing to say. Mary smiled graciously. “That was well said. I’ve always had the friendship of your brother, and I will treasure yours as I treasure your brother’s.” She turned to Stuart and said gently, “And I will pray for Bran
don. Where is he now?”
“We are uncertain, Your Majesty. We have not gained word of him in some time.”
Mary was clearly grieved at this. “I will try and learn his whereabouts, Stuart.”
“I would be most grateful, Your Majesty. But I fear that Brandon will not be found until he wishes it.”
Finally she dismissed them
As they left, Quentin said, “I didn’t expect her to seem so kind. I don’t know why.”
“She’s under pressure to bring back the Catholic faith. Pray that she will not listen to those who are not so kind-hearted.”
“Stuart! Stuart Winslow!”
Both men turned, and Stuart smiled. “It’s the Princess Elizabeth.”
The two men advanced to where Elizabeth had detached herself from a group of young women. They both bowed and Stuart introduced Quentin. Elizabeth said, “You must come with me. The queen told me you were coming. I’ve prepared some refreshments.”
“We would be delighted,” Stuart said
“I always gave your brother a hard time, Reverend Winslow,” she said to Quentin. “Since you’re a minister, I’ll have to be very careful to be good.”
Quentin studied Princess Elizabeth. She was an attractive young woman, slender, with the red hair of her father and a clear, translucent complexion. There was a liveliness about her that was lacking in her sister Mary. “Are you always good when ministers are around, Princess?”
“Oh, certainly!”
“Then perhaps you should hire a minister to stay in your presence always.”
“Oh, that would cut down my enjoyment considerably, begging your pardon, Reverend. Come along with me.”
She took them to an inner room and soon the three of them were seated at a table, eating delicious cakes and drinking ale. “You’re a minister, Reverend Winslow. What will you do under the new rule?” All sense of play was gone. Stuart tensed, awaiting his brother’s answer
“The same as I have done under the old rule, Princess. Serve Jesus with all my heart.”
Elizabeth seemed to feel a rebuke, and she lowered her head for a moment, then said more soberly, “That is sometimes difficult.”
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