"AUDREY, I have had a letter from my brother Miles."
"And he is coming home to us from Oxford, as your father wishes!—You see I can guess the news," added the young lady. She was little more than a girl, although she was dressed in the sombre cap and wimple of a widow. She spoke quite eagerly, not waiting for her sister-in-law to finish what she was saying.
"I am afraid the messenger must have lost my father's letter, or reached Oxford too late, for this letter—that a pedlar has just brought—comes from London, although the man received it at Oxford. It has come right speedily too, for it is little more than a week since it was written, and now it is in my hands."
"But what does he say?" asked Lady Audrey Paton, stamping her foot impatiently. She had come on a visit to her husband's old home, but she found it very dull, and so Sir Thomas, after a good deal of persuasion from his wife and daughter, had consented that Miles should come home for a few weeks, and had written a coldly worded invitation to that effect, and they were expecting the answer to this invitation when Miles' letter from London reached them, which again upset all the plans of the old man.
Whether the young widow surmised it or not, Sir Thomas Paton had decided that the best thing he could do for Miles was to marry him to his brother's widow; thus following the august example of the king.
Whether she knew what the ultimate intent was or not, she had looked forward to the coming of Miles, for the death of their elder son had greatly aged Sir Thomas and Lady Paton; while Margery scarce ever left her own wing of the house, so that the young widow found that the old homestead, which was full of life and jollity before she was married, was now even more dull than her own home. So that she had begun to look forward to the coming of Miles with some eagerness, and she was greatly disappointed when she heard the news received by Margery.
While she was telling Lady Audrey what her brother said, the door opened and her father walked in. "Eh, Margery what is this that I hear? Betty says the pedlar has brought you a letter from Oxford. What does that knave mean by not coming home as I commanded him?"
"Miles is in London, father; he has taken service with the great Cardinal."
"What—what?" thundered the old man, trembling with excitement as he leaned upon his stick. "A son of mine take service with any man, except it be the king himself, to chastise his enemies and uphold the honour of England! That is the only service a Paton ever knows."
"But you forget father that you have not sent Miles any money for some months, so that he has been obliged to write the Greek New Testament into English to earn his bread of late."
"How now, child—am I to be defied by son and daughter too?"
"Father, I am not defying you," said Margery calmly; "I am only telling you what I know is the truth. Miles has had a very hard time at Oxford this last winter, and if he had not been able to—"
"I will hear no more about that story," interrupted the gentleman angrily, "tell me what he says now."
For answer Margery handed her father the letter she had just been reading. He looked at it long enough to glean an estimate of its contents, and then flung it from him angrily, exclaiming, "He has thwarted me again—the mean souled rebel. What does he mean by it?"
Margery could only look at her father in dumb amazement. For why should he be so put out because Miles could not come home and amuse Audrey?
When he had flung out of the room in a storm of anger, she turned to her sister-in-law and said, "I cannot understand my father. Why should he be angry because Miles has gone to London? He would not let him come to Woodstock at Christmas, or even send him a silver crown for a Christmas box."
"Is it true that he is translating the New Testament into English?"
"Yes, he has sent me a copy of the Gospel of Matthew done into English."
"Oh Margery! I am so glad: will you let me see it?" asked Lady Audrey.
Margery looked surprised at her sister-in-law's eagerness. "I would have shown it to you before," she said; "but my confessor told me it was against the law of the Church to read such a book, and that I had better send it back to Miles, and tell him not to do such a thing again, or grave trouble would befall him and us too."
Audrey laughed. She had very little respect for priests or monks. So their threats made small impression upon her; and it was only out of curiosity that she wanted to see Margery's copy of St. Matthew.
But having got possession of it, she would not part with it until she had read it through; and when she had read it once she began to read it again, and then to compare it with the Latin Vulgate.
It had such a fascination for her that she could talk of nothing else, and she often made Lady Paton very uncomfortable by her remark; for what would happen next if fashionable ladies took upon themselves to set the clergy right upon such a thing as the translation of the Testament?
Audrey protested against this view of the matter, declaring she only wanted to know what was the truth—to know the mind of God and the Lord Jesus Christ—and no one could blame her for this.
Lady Paton did more than blame her. She was very angry about the whole matter. But fortunately Lady Audrey was summoned to go with her mother to visit an aunt at Little Sodbury, in Gloucestershire; and so her visit to Woodstock was abruptly terminated, to the great relief of Lady Paton, who feared that the holy fathers at the monastery would hear of her talk about the New Testament and be offended about it. She was angry even with her own darling Margery, and bade her lock up the book in the oak-chest, and by no means allow anyone else to see it.
But before she went, Lady Audrey had copied several chapters, and these she took with her, and made no secret of what she had done when she joined her mother.
The Countess was amused that her daughter should appear as a learned lady; for the King's daughter, the Lady Mary, was being well educated, and his sister was accounted a learned lady, and many of the noble dames she had met were having their daughters educated, to share in this new learning people were talking about, and as a young widow Audrey would have a right to talk and express an opinion, which she could not as an unmarried girl.
At the manor house, at Little Sodbury, they met the tutor of the family, who had known Erasmus, and had been both at Oxford and Cambridge, and at dinner frequently the talk turned upon the difference between the translation of Erasmus and the Latin Vulgate; and from Master William Tyndale, Audrey learned a good deal more of the gospel truth—expounded both in conversation and in preaching.
To him she showed her precious sheets of St. Matthew's Gospel in English, and he seemed very much struck with the idea.
"Why, if we could only get the Testament properly translated and printed in the new printing presses, it would be better than all the preaching," said the young man, who could think of nothing but how the new doctrine that he had learned from God's word should be made known to others.
In spite of his duties all the week, he went out preaching in the surrounding villages on Sunday, without fee or reward; nay, he was thankful if any parish priest would let him use his pulpit to speak out boldly and plainly, and tell the people that the whole law of God was contained in the Scripture, which if they could read for themselves they would be able to judge whether the doctrines of the Church were true or not.
Sometimes Lady Audrey and another friend would join the children and their tutor in a ramble through the fields, or climbing the Cotswold Hills; but wherever it might be, the talk of these two would come round to the discussion of translating the Scriptures into English; and Tyndale listened with the greatest interest to the account she gave of Miles Paton translating the Gospel for his sister, and afterwards making other copies for friends, to maintain himself at the university.
"But that is slow, slow," said Tyndale, shaking his head. "It is too costly, too," he added, "for when once the translation is made copies should be made quickly; and this could only be done by the printing press, an invention that would give the Scriptures to serving men and maidens, as well as people of quality, who could afford to pay large sums of money to the scrivener who wrote them. That is how it must be at last, Lady Audrey, if ever the Bible is to have any power in this our England; for it is the only way it can get into the hands of the people."
Lady Audrey soon found that this was the dream of Master Tyndale's life,—to bring the new learning, that had wrought such changes at the universities, down to the comprehension of the common people. But she was not sure that she liked this idea.
It was, of course, quite the right and proper thing for people like herself and the Patons to know all about what was said of the difference between the Latin Vulgate and the new translation, but she thought the doctrine of penances and Masses for the dead, and the other doctrines of the Church taught by the priests, were much better suited to the common people than this new learning; for if they were taught to think for themselves as the New Testament taught, might they not be even more troublesome than they were now to the landlords? She had heard something of this from her late husband and his father, and so she thought it would be a great mistake to get the Scriptures put into the hands of such common people as yeomen and ploughmen,—and she said so.
"But, my lady, have you thought that these same yeomen and ploughmen have souls for whom the Lord Christ died, as well as for the rich and great?" said Master Tyndale, in a tone of rebuke.
The lady tossed her head. "What will become of the rich and great if the poor are taught that they have a right to share in all their possessions? I quite agree with the priest who came to dinner yesterday. My mother said he was a wise, foreseeing man, and if this new learning is to be of any use to us we must keep it to ourselves, and not make it common by translating books into English."
"But what would you have known of this New Testament of Erasmus if your friend had not translated it into English?" said the tutor, slyly.
"Oh! I spoke not so much against the book being done into English, but it being made common through the printing of it, such as you wish. Of course, if the book is written out fairly by a good scrivener, he must be paid for his work, and the books will cost a large sum, and—"
"And the rich only can become possessed of them," interrupted Tyndale, hotly; for the selfish ignorance of the young widow made him angry, the more so perhaps that he had hoped great things of her during the first part of her stay in his master's house.
Like many others, Lady Audrey was content to take up the new notion that reading the Testament had given her, but when she heard the dinner-table talk about the poor rising and throwing off the duty they owed to their masters as well as the priests, she drew back, and began to think that Miles Paton must be as mad as his father said, for, if the Gospel was to be followed out to its logical conclusion, as one of the gentlemen said, we should have the ignorant poor pulling out their eyes and cutting off their right hands, and the number of beggars would be increased tenfold. She brought forward this second-hand argument now, but Master Tyndale only laughed at her for thinking sensible men would be so foolish as to believe that this command was to be taken literally.
"See you now, Lady Audrey, we have a picture at Sodbury Hall of a fox preaching in a friar's hood and gown, but whoever believes that a fox ever mounted a pulpit steps? Yet we say the picture is a true one, because we know that many of the friars and monks are as cunning and hypocritical as a fox. So with this command to pluck out the eye and cut off the hand; it but teaches that if some sin is as dear to us, and as close to us, aye, and as useful to us as a right hand or a right eye, still they must be given up if we are to enter the kingdom of heaven."
Audrey looked serious for a minute or two. She had learned to venerate this tutor, for she had heard on all sides since she had been here that he was one of the most learned men in England; and learning was the passport everywhere now, so that although he might be only a tutor to Master Walsh's children at present, he might, by-and-bye, be received at Court, and rise to the highest dignity in Church and State, and so be able to help forward her interests and those of her family.
So Lady Audrey was careful how she answered him, for he was of good birth like herself, and she could not tell him that in championing the cause of the poor he was speaking for those to whom he himself belonged, as she would have liked to do. So she set about it in a more gentle manner, conceding all that he said about the cunning and hypocrisy of the monks and friars.
"Then why should we not warn the poor against falling victims to their guile?" asked Tyndale, quickly. "The rich can protect themselves better against the extortion of these foxes than the poor and ignorant can. Why should they not be told that God is ready and willing to pardon all sin, if we on our part will earnestly strive and endeavour to overcome it, or give it up? Why should the poor be left to believe that penances and masses are necessary to gain the release of the soul from Purgatory, and starve themselves almost—as they sometimes do—to secure the prayers of a priest to mitigate the pain of some dear one who has passed away?"
"But the rich have to pay for masses as well," said Audrey, thinking of the quarrelling that had gone on between her own and her husband's family as to who should pay for the requisite number of masses to be said for the release of his soul from Purgatory. She did not tell Master William Tyndale about this, for she had wit enough to see that it did not redound to the credit of either side, and she thought she might be asked why, if she believed that masses for the dead were necessary, she did not deny herself some luxury in dress or appointments, and send the money so saved to the monastery, that the time of poor Jack's stay in Purgatory might be lessened.
Altogether, she found herself on the horns of a dilemma, and was not sorry when the children, who had been sitting at their feet listening, suddenly asked some question on a totally different subject, which she eagerly took up as an escape from the present discussion.
She had been some months now at Sodbury Hall, and Master Tyndale began to hope that she too might be one who would help to make known the glorious news of the Gospel of the love of God. But after this talk the two mutually avoided further conversation on the subject, for Lady Audrey did not want to be made uncomfortable by such home truths as Master Tyndale was apt to apply in his arguments; while he, on his side, thought that the less he saw of the fascinating little lady the better it would be for his future work, which was gradually forming itself in his mind, and from which, he prayed God, he might never be turned aside,—to become a translator of the New Testament into English, and get it printed, either in London or at one of the great printing presses on the continent.
She had some precious fragments of the Word of God which she could read, and which the Holy Spirit could enforce in His own good time; but for the mass of the English people there was no such provision, and their souls were starving for lack of the Bread of Life. So in the midst of his teaching, preaching, and the opportunities society gave him of making known the truth to his master's friends, he made some sort of a beginning to translate the New Testament, using not only the Greek, but also the Latin translation of Erasmus, that the English version should be as perfect as possible.
But it was slow work, and he began to see before the summer of this year—1522—was over, that he should have to make some change in his life if ever it was to be completed, and the haunting dream of his life fulfilled, by the Testament being not only translated and written, but printed in English!
Some thought of this had doubtless entered his mind before the visit of Lady Audrey, but since he had seen the fragments of the Gospel she possessed, and heard the story of Miles Paton, it had become almost a passion that possessed him, to do this work himself for his country, so that what now seemed the wildest dream might be actual fact, and the Bible be the possession of ploughmen and shopkeepers, as well as of the students at the universities.
THE sun was shining brightly one May morning on scattered groups of people gathered in the neighbourhood of York House to see the splendid cavalcade that would presently issue from its gates, for the great, but hated Cardinal, never went out but in almost royal state, and it might fairly be expected that to-day he would flaunt in the eyes of the people all those insignia of power which he knew so well how to use.
Whether the gaping crowds knew it or not, this was a notable day in the history of the English people. We are proud of our Cressy and Agincourt, but we have much more reason to be proud and thankful for the battle of this May-day. For eight years no parliament had been assembled; Wolsey hated parliaments, and saw in them the one real danger to the despotism which he and the King had settled should be fastened on the necks of the people. To secure this, Wolsey had done all he could to foster a policy of peace with other nations, but his own scheming had, against his will and wish, driven the King into war with France, and now money was wanted to carry it on.
He had tried another expedient the previous year to supply the deficiency, and, when Miles first took up the duties of his office, he found his work consisted for the most part in writing letters and answering protests from the different Commissioners, who had been sent into the different counties to assess the value of estates for the purpose of levying a forced loan to pay the cost of the French War.
Miles thought of his own home, and the deserted village and scattered tenants, and wondered how it would be possible to raise such a sum as the Cardinal demanded, in the present condition of the country.
Twenty thousand pounds had been exacted from London and its wealthier citizens, but the forced tax on the land had been a failure; and the Parliament had been summoned, not for the redress of grievances, but to supply the King with money for his costly little war.
In his capacity of Chancellor, Wolsey was going to meet the Commons, whom he so heartily despised, and it might be expected that he would go with a princely retinue; and so the villagers of Charing, a few citizens from London, and some from Westminster had come out to see the show.
In gorgeous robes of scarlet velvet and silk embroidery, emblazoned with jewels of priceless value, the Chancellor rode on a milk-white horse, whose trappings were as costly as his master's dress.
Two grooms in elegant livery led the horse; and the Chancellor was followed by half-a-dozen secretaries to write down whatever passed at the meeting; and these were followed by several hundred Knights and Noblemen, that these common people might see how he was supported by the Nobles of the land.
But whatever impression this display may have made on the assembled crowd was not evident, for they gazed in stolid silence on the splendour displayed before them—or they may have thought that a man possessed of such boundless wealth as Wolsey, could surely help the King out of his own fat revenue, without asking more taxes to be levied on poor people.
They, however, followed the Chancellor down to Westminster Hall, wondering what was passing within the walls of the House of Parliament.
Miles was one of the secretaries chosen to attend the Chancellor, he having proved himself a rapid and correct writer, and Wolsey, who was a diligent and clever man of business himself, was not slow to appreciate the skill of the young scrivener, whom he had commanded to take down every word spoken in reply to the demand he would make in his speech to the House of Commons.
Wolsey made his demand, and Miles and his fellow secretaries sat, with pen in hand, waiting to record the reply. But he and his master waited in vain. No member in the House rose to speak, and this dead silence made Wolsey more angry than the most violent opposition would have done. In vain he called upon member after member to speak; each and all sat dumb.
At last he turned to Sir Thomas More, the writer of "Utopia," who had been chosen Speaker of their Parliament, and demanded some word from him. But More fell on his knees (as he would have done to the King in person), and declared that he could not reply until he had received the instructions of the House, which still sat mute.
Finding he could do nothing, the proud Chancellor was obliged to withdraw to his own private room, and when he had gone tongues were loosened, and an angry debate began over the unconstitutional attempt to influence their decision.
The secretaries had been left at their table, and it was with keen delight that Miles recorded the brave words spoken in defence of English liberty, of which the House of Commons, with its power to grant or refuse subsidies, was the bulwark.
Nice reading this would be for the Cardinal, he thought, and he hoped this might teach him a salutary lesson before it was too late; for, in spite of his pride, ambition, and self-seeking, Wolsey possessed many admirable qualities which Miles could appreciate, and which he wished others could know of too, but which the man's pride would not let him show to any but those who were brought into immediate contact with him.
The reports of some of the speeches having been taken to Wolsey, he returned to the House to answer the objections that had been raised, but this was an infringement of the Constitution, for he was not an elected member, and so he was again met with blank silence. And when at last the assembly broke up for that day, for the first time Wolsey must have felt that he was beaten by the common people whom he so heartily despised. For a fortnight this struggle went on, and then the Commons voted a sum of money that was about a fourth of what Wolsey had demanded. He had asked for a property tax of twenty per cent; the Commons authorised one of five per cent for two years, and beyond this they would not be moved either by King or Cardinal.
Miles was so rejoiced over this burst of sturdy independence, that he wrote home and told his father all he had seen and heard in this notable struggle for the rights of the people to the control of taxation.
This letter so pleased Sir Thomas that he wrote to his son once more, inviting him to pay them a visit whenever he could be spared from his duties.
This, however, was not likely at present, for although there were days now and then when Miles was free to do as he pleased, because his master was staying at Greenwich, or some other of the royal palaces, with the King, still there was no telling but he might be summoned to follow by special messenger, and so he seldom left his rooms in York House for more than a few hours, in case he should be wanted. Still, he was very pleased with his father's cordial letter, and sent to say that he would gladly visit them once more, but his duty and his fortune lay in London with the Cardinal now, yet whenever he should visit Oxford—which, it was expected, he would do—then Miles would certainly journey to Woodstock to visit his mother and sister once more.
He sent this letter by special messenger, who also carried presents to mother, father, and sister; and he sent a letter to Margery, asking her to tell him all the home news, and whether any further changes had been made in the estate.
Miles would have been pleased to pay a visit to his old home, but he was very happy in London now. He had made friends, both in the Cardinal's household and also among some of the wealthy citizens of London, and some of the King's household also, for, in his attendance on the Cardinal, he often went to one or other of the royal palaces, and so the Controller of the Royal Household, Sir Harry Guildford, often had to provide him with a lodging.
This was not always easy, especially when they had extra guests; for the Cardinal's retainers had many of them caught some of their master's pride, and would by no means be satisfied with anything short of the best.
But Miles had learned to carry out his New Testament lessons in the small details of every-day life, and so, seeing how troubled Sir Harry was sometimes to lodge all his guests suitably, he had come to the rescue one day by suggesting that a lodging should be found for him in some other wing of the palace than that claimed by the Cardinal and his attendants.
The gentleman looked at him as if scarcely able to credit his ears, and said, "Well if you will be content to lodge in mine own house to-night, I will see that all is made comfortable for you, and it will spare me some trouble and much grumbling, for I know not how to find suitable lodging for all here."
So Miles went and spent the evening with the Controller's family, and a very pleasant friendship was then commenced; and now, whenever he could spare the time, he was warmly welcomed at Greenwich. For he was specially drawn to Mistress Cicely Guildford as being like his sister Margery.
One day in the summer of this year—1523—he had gone down the river by barge with the Cardinal and a few of his gentlemen; but as he was not required to be in immediate attendance upon the Cardinal, he was going to spend the day with Sir Harry Guildford.
The Controller met him with more than his usual cordiality, as they met near the landing stairs of the Palace Garden. "You are very welcome to-day, Master Miles Paton," he said, "For I have a grave gentleman come to stay with me, recommended to my notice by my friend Sir John Walsh of Little Sodbury in Gloucestershire. Now he is said to be a great scholar in Greek, and I would have you see some of these productions of Master William Tyndale's, before I speak for him to the Bishop of London when he comes hither."
"Does he come from Oxford?" asked Miles eagerly, thinking he should hear some news of his beloved University.
"Nay, he hath been tutor to Sir John's family; but he hath some project in his mind in which he seeks the help of the Bishop, and my friend hath sent him to me to secure him a proper introduction, and I should like to know somewhat of his work, for my Greek and Latin are somewhat rusty, even if I had the time to read that which he hath brought with him."
So Miles promised to make the acquaintance of the stranger while he stayed with the Controller: and Sir Harry walked with him to his house and they made their way to the summer parlour, that opened into a cool garden walk, which they could reach through a wicket gate from the Royal garden.
Here Miles was introduced to a grave earnest-looking man, apparently between thirty and forty years of age, whose face lighted with a very pleasant smile as he took Miles' hand rather eagerly, and said: "Have I the pleasure of speaking to Master Miles Paton, who translated several of the Gospels into English for the use of friends?"
"Yes, I did that for my sister and others who could read English and could not read Greek."
"And your family live at Woodstock, or near Woodstock," he added.
"And you have come from Paton Hall, my father's home," said Miles, jumping to the conclusion that his sister had told him this.
"No!" said Master Tyndale, with a smile at the young fellow's eagerness, "I have never seen Paton Hall that I am aware of; but I made the acquaintance of Lady Audrey Paton when she was staying at Little Sodbury Hall last summer; and she had some portions of the Gospel of St. Matthew, which she said had been done into English by Master Miles Paton for his sister, and which she had copied for her own use while on a visit there."
"Ah! Lady Audrey is my brother's widow," said Miles. He could not help feeling disappointed that his hopes of hearing news from home had been so speedily dashed; and, for the first few minutes of the talk, he paid but small attention to what Tyndale said about Lady Audrey and her mother; but presently his ear caught a few words that made him look at the grave face eagerly and earnestly.
"I have come to London to translate the New Testament into English, and get it printed," he said.
"To translate the New Testament into English!" repeated Miles. "Do you mean the Greek New Testament of Erasmus?" he said.
"Yes; I mean to use that and the Latin translation as well—not the Vulgate, of course, for that has corrupted the Water of Life by man's inventions and doctrines."
"God bless you! and further your task with His favour," exclaimed Miles, eagerly, grasping the hand of his new friend, and shaking it again most vigorously, as he awoke from the disappointment that had seized him when he first heard that there was no news from home for him; for this that the stranger told was better even than tidings of Margery and his mother.
They had been left to themselves in the summer parlour, and now they sat down and talked over the project that had brought Master Tyndale to London; and Miles learned that it was his own efforts at translating the Word of God that had given the definite direction to what had now become the purpose of his life.
"The Bishop of London, Dr. Tunstall, is a learned man, I hear. My friend Sir John Walsh knew him and Dean Colet years ago, and he thinks it likely that the Bishop will give me a lodging in his house, and such help from books in his library as I may find needful for my task; and so he has commended me to Sir Harry Guildford to introduce me to the Bishop. What do you think of this plan?" he asked, seeing Miles looked serious.
"I would not tell all men what project you have in mind; my lord of London may be able to help a little, but he is cautious, and I think he would be afraid to help in anything that would put the Bible into the hands of the people."
"But he has helped forward the new learning—he was a great friend of Erasmus—he is not an ignorant bigot like some of the monks and preaching friars," said Tyndale, eagerly; for, from what he had heard from Sir John Walsh, he made sure that the Bishop would be quite as willing to help him as he had been to help Erasmus, if only he could be introduced to his notice by a duly accredited person.
Miles had seen and known a good deal about Dr. Tunstall, as well as other friends of the new learning, since he had been in the service of the Cardinal; and the conclusion he had arrived at was this: that in almost every instance these men were afraid of what the consequences would be if the Word of God was put into the hands of the people to be read in English, and the teaching of the Church compared with what they read there.
He had heard all sorts of discussions in his master's household upon this topic of making the new sources of learning available for the people themselves, and not merely for the rich and learned. In general the opinion was that it would be most dangerous to do this, and he gave William Tyndale the benefit of his experience, but at the same time said he would do all he could to further his plans, for he too desired to see the New Testament in the hands of the people, which, he held, would—if anything could—bring into existence More's "Utopia," which at present could only be a daydream, but could be made a reality if men would only learn to live and practice the Divine law,—to do to others as they could justly wish others should do to them if their places were reversed.
"I am afraid we cannot hope for that yet," said Tyndale, with a grave smile.
"Of course not. The first step towards it is not gained yet, for the people are in ignorance of this royal law, but when once they learn it—learn to live by it—all things will be changed."
"There will be no need of cardinals and priests to come between the soul and God," said Tyndale, "and I begin to perceive that this view of the matter may make Dr. Tunstall afraid to give his help to what might prove the lessening of his power over the bodies and souls of men; but, now that I have come hither, I will carry through what Sir John thought would be the best plan for attaining my end."
"And if it fails, some other door will open, and I will give you what poor help I can, though that may be little enough," said Miles.
The two spent a very pleasant evening with Sir Harry's family, and Lady Guildford was specially gracious to Master Tyndale, because she saw how cordially Miles had taken to him, and Miles was a great favourite of hers by this time.
THE refusal of the Commons to grant more than a five per cent income-tax, and that for only two years, had been a great blow to the Cardinal, and the King too, for money must be had from somewhere to carry on the war against France; and so there was a meeting of all the principal ecclesiastics at the Palace of Placentia just now to devise plans for getting an additional tax out of the people.
It was not the most propitious moment perhaps to propose to the Bishop of London that he should help forward a plan to put the Bible into the hands of the people, when they had just refused to tax themselves at the bidding of the Cardinal, for it would inevitably compel the clergy to dip their hands into their own pockets to supply the King's need.
While King, cardinals, and bishops were debating how they should levy a new benevolence upon the nation, Miles Paton and William Tyndale were walking in the shady avenues of Greenwich Park, talking over the dream that had come to each of them, and devising plans for making it a blessed reality through the art of printing.
Miles did not think his friend would get much help from the English bishops,—he even feared that his master might oppose the plan if he heard of it,—and so he advised that if it could be done in no other way that Tyndale should take it to some of the foreign printing presses and get it done there; and he promised to make cautious enquiries from some of the Cardinal's agents, for these were often coming and going between London and the principal cities of Flanders, and from some of these men he would be able to learn where the best printers could be found.
But Tyndale did not think he should need to take all this trouble. Sir John Walsh knew Dr. Tunstall, and would not have recommended him to seek his help if he had not felt sure that he would give it; and Sir Harry Guildford thought it was certainly worth a trial, and took the first favourable opportunity of speaking to the Bishop about his guest, telling him that he was an ordained priest, and had received a licence to preach, and, being a man of vast learning, he would be of great service to the Church if the Bishop would kindly give him a helping hand in the project he had at heart.
Sometimes, as the two students were walking in some lonely glade in the park, or passing through its gates, they would see the stately procession of the Cardinal and Bishop of London; for not even in the semi-retirement of Greenwich Park would Wolsey walk without a princely retinue of gentlemen being in attendance upon him.
"He is the most pompous and vainest man I ever heard of," said Tyndale one day, as he watched this gorgeous procession of clerics, as they gravely stalked up the broad avenue; the keepers of the park meanwhile hustling everybody else out of the way, for Wolsey could not endure the sight of a common person. But at the first sound of the ecclesiastical trumpet that was blown to let the keepers know the Cardinal was approaching, our friends got out of sight, though they were by no means in a hurry to do this when one of the King's hunting or hawking parties crossed their path.
Henry was at this time a good-tempered, merry-hearted man, who, so long as he could have his own way, and was not troubled about anything beyond the pleasure of the hour, did not trouble himself to keep the people of Greenwich out of the park. In fact he rather liked to see them, and the pleasant smile with which they bowed before him; and he used to think if all his subjects were like these men of Greenwich he would not have much trouble in persuading them to give him a "benevolence," which his Chancellor had proposed should now be levied on the laity. The King had agreed to this, but at the same time had insisted that the clergy should also give of their wealth, and, after a good deal of discussion, the Cardinal and Bishop had consented to tax themselves to the extent of four per cent.
When this agreement had been arrived at the conclave broke up, and the Bishop of London returned home before Master William Tyndale had an opportunity of speaking to him, but Sir Harry Guildford having spoken on his behalf to Dr. Tunstall they all thought it would be best for Master Tyndale to follow him to London and seek an audience with him at his palace.
From what he knew of the prelate Miles was not very sanguine about help being obtained from him, and so, before he returned to Westminster with the Cardinal, he wrote a letter to the curate of All Hallows Church at the corner of Honey Lane.
In his letter Miles asked Master Garrett to let his friend share his lodging if it was necessary, and he would defray all the cost of his entertainment, for he knew that the curate was poor and had many calls upon his slender purse from the poor of the neighbourhood.
He was, however, very thankful that he could make this provision for his new friend in case he should need it, and he also knew it would cheer the heart of Master Garrett to have such a man us Master Tyndale to stay with him.
For himself he expected to be very busy when they got back to York House.
It was arranged between them, during their walks in Greenwich Park, that Miles should look over and correct the sheets as they were translated, and if there was any word or sentence that seemed less clear in the English than he thought it might be made, the friends should meet and talk the matter over, and compare the difficulty with the best Greek and Latin books he could borrow from the Cardinal's library.
As the son of Sir Thomas Paton—a student of Oxford and a good Greek scholar, Miles was not one of the common people in the Cardinal's eyes, and so he was welcome to the use of any book his extensive library contained; and it was one of the advantages of residence at York House that this library was always at his disposal.
That he could make use of it now, to help Tyndale with his New Testament translation, had a peculiar piquancy to Miles, who nevertheless knew he would have to be very cautious how he went to work.
So the friends parted, Tyndale to take his letter to the Bishop, and Miles to return to York House and write letters to the Commissioners and Sheriffs of the various counties of England, about the forced loan or "benevolence" that had to be levied in addition to the tax agreed to by Parliament.
It was hoped that the House of Commons, having vindicated their right to impose taxation, the benevolence would pass without much demur. But opposition came from a most unexpected quarter. Wolsey had done what he could to protect the shepherds while shearing the sheep almost to the skin, but the shepherds did not see why they should contribute anything to the king's demand, and for once they incited the sheep to resist being shorn.
They preached from every pulpit that this benevolence demanded in the name of the king was contrary to the liberties of the nation, and that the king could take no man's goods but by regular process of law. The keen instinct of the people had been sufficiently aroused now to understand that in the question of self-taxation was involved that of the very existence of freedom, and these pulpit orations drove it home still further, and made the people determine to resist the chancellor's demand, though they might be able to pay it ten times over.
Messengers rode to York House in hot haste to acquaint the chancellor of the storm that had been raised in all the country districts, and how the clergy themselves were leading the revolt against this illegal taxation, and Miles was soon busy enough receiving and answering the numerous letters. At first these were peremptory in their command to carry out the Royal warrant at all costs; and not until news came that Kent had driven the commissioners out of its bounds, and Suffolk preparing for an armed resistance, were these commands withdrawn.
As long as it was possible to hold out, Wolsey would not yield; and not until he had exhausted every political expedient, would he yield to the popular demand and withdraw the royal warrant.
Then, and not till then, was Miles free to seek his friend William Tyndale. They had caught, now and then, hasty glimpses of each other, for Master Tyndale had called to see Miles; but when he understood how closely he was engaged upon the Cardinal's business just now, he resolved not to call again until the popular ferment had somewhat subsided. But as soon as Miles was free to take an hour's rest in the open air, he went in search of his friend's lodging in Honey Lane, to learn how he fared, for he knew his plan to lodge with the Bishop had failed.
"My Lord Bishop could not entertain me at his house," said Tyndale; "but he has granted me leave to preach in the London pulpits, and assures me that I shall not long lack a service; and Master Garrett hath been my good friend, and I am to preach next Sunday at St. Dunstan's in the West."
"It is not far from the village of Charing, and I shall be able to come and hear you," said Miles eagerly; "and I shall bring a friend, who is a wealthy citizen of London, with whom I have had many talks concerning my own writing of the New Testament. He may be able and willing to help us in our difficulty." And then he told Tyndale what a storm had been raised throughout the country over the King's illegal demand, and how busy it had kept him.
The two friends walked to Paul's Stairs, where they took boat to Westminster, and went back to York House that way. Tyndale carried with him all the sheets he had translated, that Miles and he might read them over together, and any words that wanted further consideration might be copied and compared; for now Miles was free for a few days,—the Cardinal having gone to his house at Hampton.
But Miles had been left at home for a much-needed rest; and so he invited Master Tyndale to share his lodging for a day or two, which he gladly accepted, for his means were small, and the curate of All Hallows was poor, and could ill afford the shelter he had so kindly given him, even for a few days.
So it was arranged that Master Tyndale should go back to Honey Lane for that night, and tell his friend that he was going to spend the next few days with Miles, after preaching at St. Dunstan's on Sunday.
After he was gone, Miles turned to consider the words that had been taken down as needing further consideration, and for which special facilities for elucidation existed in the Cardinal's splendid library. He was up at six o'clock the next morning, for Church service began at eight, and many citizens who loved a country walk on Sunday went to St. Dunstan's. It lay between Temple Bar and the village of Charing, near the town houses of many of the nobility, so that William Tyndale had been appointed to preach in one of the most fashionable of the London churches.
In those days the most wealthy of London merchants lived over their shops, and so city churches were well-filled, and this was a favourite one to those who loved a walk, and could boast of rather an eclectic congregation.
Miles had often been there in preference to attending mass in the Cardinal's private chapel; and he went out about seven o'clock that Sunday morning feeling more than usually elated, for he longed to hear his friend preach, feeling sure he should hear the same doctrine as that taught by Master Clark at Oxford, whose teaching and preaching he had sorely missed.
As he came within sight of the church, he saw his friend Master Monmouth, a wealthy citizen for whom he had learned to have a deep regard. For Master Monmouth had invited him to his house when he first came to London, and had given him much fatherly advice as to the company and places in and around London, to enable him to live purely, and not fall a victim to some rogue or gamester, who would tempt him to ruin, if possible.
"Well met, Master Monmouth! You are right heartily welcome this morning," said Miles, as he walked up to his friend and greeted him.
"And why this morning more than any other, Master Miles?" asked the merchant warmly.
"Because I am glad you have come to St. Dunstan's, to hear my friend Master Tyndale's sermon. After church I will tell you more concerning him, and introduce him to you—but we must go into church now."
"Yes, indeed we must, if we wish to get a seat," said the merchant; for while they had been speaking, people from beyond Temple Bar, as well as from the great houses along the Strand, facing the river, had been hurrying into church. And now the two friends followed, and were glad to find vacant places near the door.
The sermon preached that day by Master William Tyndale was not speedily forgotten; for the preacher, instead of insisting upon penance, masses for the dead, and other Romish doctrines, begged his hearers to make themselves acquainted with the Word of God Himself, which would teach them in simple truths the unsearchable riches of Christ.
Monmouth listened with his heart and soul, as well as his ears; and when the clock struck nine, and the sermon was drawing to a close, he whispered to Miles, "I could listen for another hour to that priest, though he has been speaking nigh upon an hour now!"
"Aye, he speaks like Master Clark of Oxford, of whom I have told you."
"Do you think he would come to 'The Golden Fleece,' and have some discourse with my dame? Can you come with him and spend the rest of the day?" said Monmouth eagerly.
"I must ask my friend's leave first, for he has promised to spend a day or two with me while the Cardinal is at Hampton Court, where he has gone to spend a few days."
Monmouth smiled. "Ah! after the storm he raised about our ears he would fain hide his head for a while," he said in a pleasant tone, though he too was one who had denounced the benevolence as illegal. They sat and chatted quietly together while the people were going out of church, and when William Tyndale appeared Miles went forward to meet him, and told him of Master Monmouth's proposal.
But Master Tyndale was a gentleman who came of good family, although he might not be able to boast of much of this world's goods; and so he looked a little surprised that Miles should propose to spend the day in such familiar intercourse with a London merchant, even though he might be rich.
The learned thinker was not altogether free of the pride and prejudice of birth, that placed the land owners above those who earned their bread by trade and the sweat of their own faces, and so he bowed with a little stiffness to Monmouth's proposal, that they should walk with him through Fleet Street, and take their dinner with him and his dame.
But fortunately the decision was left to Miles; and he had been to Monmouth's house before, and made the acquaintance of his family; and so he soon decided that they would go home with him, and that Master Tyndale should return with him to York House before sunset.
London shops in those days, with their beetle-browed, overhanging upper stories, were not the most inviting of places, especially on Sunday when the outer flap which formed the window shutter was closed, and the whole place was in darkness. Then, too, there was the close, fusty, musty smell of the goods stored away in the cellar, and on the shelves, and in every available corner, so that it was difficult to leave a clear passage-way for the family use through all the combined litter of the shop. Now, as the merchant led the way between boxes, bales and sacks, he had to turn round and grasp the priest's hand, lest he should stumble over some of the lumber, or down the cellar stairs of "The Golden Fleece."
But when once these dangers were passed, and the upper rooms gained, Master Tyndale found that they were as conveniently and elegantly furnished as little Sodbury Hall itself. Indeed, all the new inventions, such as stamped leather tapestry on the walls, and a rug of some foreign make on the floor, in the best room, instead of the rushes that needed constantly replacing, if the room was to be kept sweet and clean, were in use here.
Before the day was over, Master Tyndale had learned not to despise a London merchant; for Monmouth showed as great an appreciation of the truth of the Gospel as even he could desire, and begged him to come and stay with him while he translated the New Testament.
MASTER TYNDALE went to spend a day or two with Miles at York House, before taking up his quarters with the generous London merchant, Monmouth, at "The Sign of the Golden Fleece." Every shop—no matter what its trade might be—had its distinctive sign in those days—the picture, if possible, as well as the words, being painted on a board and hung out beyond the doorway. Prentice lads called out the wares that were sold, trying to outbawl each other in their shouts of "What d'ye lack? What d'ye lack? Here's fine Flemish cloth for hose and doublet!" "Here's spices and peppers from beyond the sea!" called another. "Hats! Hats! Hats!" screamed a third. This was the din that greeted the two friends as they walked up Fleet Street together from York House.
It was not too quiet there for a studious man, with its constant coming and going; but here, in the midst of this London chaffering, what hope would there be of ever getting a quiet hour? And Miles said something of this as they were pushed and jostled and shouted at by these eager lads, who were anxious to secure them as customers.
But on their arrival at "The Golden Fleece" they found that Dame Monmouth had anticipated her guest's desire to be quiet, for she had prepared a room for him at the back, as far away from the noise of the street as possible; and, being at the very top of the house, it was light, although the casement was small. But the room itself was not much larger than a monk's cell, and almost as plainly furnished.
A table, a stool, a little pallet bed in one corner, and two deal shelves to hold his books! But Tyndale was delighted with his little room, and deeply grateful to the lady who had taken care that all the deal furniture should be carefully scrubbed before it was brought up here.
Miles was inclined to view it with a little disfavour, for he would fain have honoured his friend by providing him with a more luxurious lodging, he having begun to get used to "purple and fine linen" from living in the Cardinal's household—although his own room at Oxford had been little, if any, better.
"This will be as the portal of heaven to me, I hope," said Tyndale, looking round the room with a smile of supreme satisfaction. "Here I trust I shall be taught of the Spirit how to write and what to say, for the harvest truly is plenteous but the labourers are few."
Yet the two friends had not been idle amid the splendours of York House; for Miles, the Cardinal, having given him leave to use his library, had obtained leave from the Controller of the household to take the country priest there also; and he, nothing loth to exalt his master's fame for splendour, riches, and learning, had readily agreed to let the two spend a good deal of their time there.
Books that they could scarcely hope to find anywhere else in England were stored here—treasures of Greek and Hebrew—valuable tomes that had been brought from Italy, as presents or bribes to Wolsey, were here ranged on the shelves; and the friends were not slow to make use of these for reference in the work they both had so much at heart. It was for the sake of having such a library to refer to in any difficulty that Tyndale had so much desired the patronage and help of the Bishop of London; but, as he turned the pages of these invaluable treasures of learning, he doubted whether Dr. Tunstall's library would afford him such help as this of the Cardinal's; and when the Controller graciously extended his invitation to a seat at the household table, Tyndale was careful to accept it gratefully, although he would rather have had a frugal meal served to him at the neighbouring tavern, as he and Miles had arranged for.
And the Controller was not so pleased after all, for Master Tyndale had lived sparingly and frugally all the years he had been at Cambridge, and evidently had believed in plain living and high thinking, for he persistently declined one dainty after the other, and sat munching a piece of coarse rye-bread, although there was a loaf made from the finest wheat meal standing close to him.
Miles was vexed, for he thought his friend might for once have conformed to the usages of the Cardinal's household, for his sake, if for nothing else. But all Tyndale would consent to eat was a piece of coarse boiled beef, such as was served at the tables of the servants about the kitchen.
It was a small matter, perhaps—this question of eating and drinking—but Tyndale's sturdy adherence to what he conceived the best manner of living, was characteristic of the man and the times in which he lived.
Perhaps the Reformers, of whom Tyndale was one of the earliest, might have yielded a little more in the question of non-essentials; but if they had done this, would they have been fitted for the strenuous work that was needed just then? Would they have made their protest against the corruptions of the Church as effectual, if they had not held pertinaciously to their principles in little things as well as in greater matters?
Be this as it may, Tyndale declined all the delicacies served to the gentlemen at the Cardinal's table, and thereby offended the Controller, who regarded him as a vain-glorious priest—as he told Miles afterwards—and one who set himself up as being better than the Lord's anointed, the Cardinal himself! For he never refused good meat and wine; but, like a wise man, would have nothing but the best of everything brought to his own private table.
The same difficulty cropped up at the family table at "The Golden Fleece." Tyndale did not care for the rich food that was placed on the board of the London merchant; and to Dame Dorothy's great regret would eat nothing but the plainest and coarsest food, such as was served to the 'prentice lads and serving women of the household.
The coming of the priest, Master William Tyndale—or "Sir" William, as most priests were called—did not add much to Dame Dorothy's household work, or household expenditure: for Tyndale made his own bed, and insisted upon cleaning his own room, lest through the carelessness of some awkward or inquisitive maid, his work of translation should be spoiled or hindered; for the more he saw and heard of the great Cardinal, who had the ruling of England in his hands, the more he desired that the Word of God should be placed in the hands of the people, that they might see and judge for themselves how far this proud prelate, and the church he represented, had strayed from the example of the Master they professed to serve.
To perfect his work, it was necessary sometimes that he should walk down to York House and consult with his friend, or examine some book in the Cardinal's library, for the proper elucidation of some word, that he might, by tracing it through several languages, at last select the best English word that would express its meaning.
No labour was too great to make his translation as nearly perfect as it could be; and he thanked God now for the scholarship that made this possible to him; for without it he could hardly have undertaken such a task.
But he did not give up preaching occasionally, especially at St. Dunstan's, beyond the gate of the city. Here a fashionable congregation would be gathered to hear him, and he did not fail to prepare their minds for the reception of God's Word in its purest translation, although he did not venture to speak openly of such a work being done. For he knew enough now to feel convinced that Dr. Tunstall, and the Cardinal too, would oppose, and not help forward, such a work. How far their opposition might go, there was no telling; and while Wolsey held supreme power, neither rank nor learning would avail to save any man who ventured to oppose his policy in the slightest degree; and his policy at present was to keep the people in ignorance, whatever he might do to help forward learning among the upper classes.
Miles and Master Tyndale did not see eye to eye in this matter. Perhaps Miles was dazzled; or perhaps he had formed a truer estimate of the man than his public policy warranted. At any rate, they agreed to differ as to their estimate of his character, and Miles was content to serve him faithfully, and even affectionately, for he could see some lovable traits of character where others saw only haughty disdain.
Yet even if they had quarrelled, neither would have let that interfere with the self-imposed task they had undertaken. This was to both a sacred task, to which they had been divinely called, and for which mere private feelings,—their own convenience or pleasure,—must instantly give way; for Miles was only a trifle less possessed by this desire to see the Scripture translated into English than William Tyndale himself; and he had written home more than once to tell his sister that such a work was likely to be accomplished at last, and that in his leisure time he was able to give some help to the translator.
Things were in this condition, and summer was waning in the year 1523, when one day Sir Thomas Paton himself arrived at York House to his son's great surprise.
"My father, this is a great joy," said Miles, grasping the old man's hand, and looking tenderly into his face. He was almost afraid to ask for his mother and sister, lest his father should have come to tell him that something had befallen them.
The old man seemed to read his thoughts, for he said, "You need not be afraid—Margery and our dear dame are well."
"Thank you, father; I was afraid."
"Yes, yes, you always were a coward," said Sir Thomas, impatiently. "But I have come to see His Eminence the Chancellor, for I cannot pay these taxes on the land as things are now, and I have come to see what is to be done about it; and as my son, you ought to make things plain and easy for me with the Chancellor."
Miles looked puzzled. Was it the old trouble cropping up again, or had his father simply come on the bootless errand of trying to get the new tax remitted, under the impression that because he was in the service of the Cardinal, this favour ought to be extended to them? If this was the view his father took, he thought perhaps he might solve the difficulty by paying the tax himself; though he had no wish to spend his money in this way, for he was saving what he could to help to pay the cost of printing the New Testament.
From enquiries he had made through various agents employed by the Cardinal, he had come to the conclusion that it would be better to get the printing done at one of the printing presses on the continent. To do this it would be necessary for Master Tyndale to go himself, and this would make it more expensive than if they had got it done in London; but his friend wished it to be this way, and he must help him; and so he did not offer to take upon himself the burden of paying his father's taxes, but let the old man pour out all the trouble and vexation that had brought him to London before he said a word.
But presently Sir Thomas said, "I want you to bring me privately to His Eminence, for I want to ask him a question that he only, as Cardinal legate, and the Pope himself, can answer,—so far as England is concerned."
"Cannot you tell me first what this question is, father? for I may be able to answer it from what I have heard of other cases—other examples."
"There is but one example of what I want to know; but seeing it's good for the king, I don't see why it shouldn't be good for his people."
"But there are many things the king may do that are neither fitting nor convenient for other men," said Miles.
He thought that his father must have lived in the country so long, and brooded over the same difficulties so much, that his wits had gone astray a little; and certainly the baronet's next words did not help to remove this impression.
"Well, lad, did you ever hear of another man beside the king marry his brother's wife?"
Miles stared as if he did not comprehend the question.
"Hast never heard that our king married his brother Arthur's wife?" demanded the old man ironically. Now Miles, if he had heard it, had well-nigh forgotten it, for no one talked of the matter just now. "What I want to know is this—could you legally marry the Lady Audrey?"
"Father! father! What are you saying?" he interrupted, as he started to his feet.
"I am just telling you the question I want to lay before His Eminence. If you can, it will solve a good many difficulties at Paton Hall; and I shall go back."
"But I cannot," broke in Miles. "I was speaking to a priest the other day, and he said that the marriage of a man to his deceased brother's wife was contrary to the law of God, and could by no means be a legal—"
"Master Paton, I require you in my private chamber."
Miles started, and turned crimson, as he bowed before the speaker. It was the Cardinal himself. He must have opened the door and heard all that was said, for they were so intent upon what they were saying that they had not heard a sound.
Miles bowed his assent to the command, and, with a whispered word to his father to await his return, he silently followed Wolsey to his own private room.
"Who is that old man?" asked his master, when he had bidden him close the door of the room.
"My father, may it please your Eminence, and he has but now come from Woodstock."
"But he is prating of the king's matters."
"Nay, he told me he wished me to marry my brother's widow."
"And why not do it if it would be convenient?" said the Cardinal, as if he was counselling the purchase of a suit of clothes.
"It is against the law of God and the Church," said Miles.
"But such a thing could be granted by the Pope."
"But could the Pope be quite sure it is agreeable to the law of God? When the King's last baby died, I heard a whisper among those who were at Greenwich, saying that God would not bless such a marriage with children."
"Ah! you heard that, did you?" said the Cardinal, looking up sharply. "But there is the lady Mary," he added the next minute.
"Yes, but the King bath had several other children, but none to live."
For a minute the Cardinal sat looking with unseeing eyes at the hem of his richly embroidered robe, but he spoke no word; and, after that pause, he bade Miles take his pen, and copy such directions as he should give him; they, however, being on a totally different matter; and Miles thought that what he had said was forgotten by his master, as the subject was never referred to again.
But the seed had been sown. Wolsey was a man who never forgot. He could wait. 'He was a man who knew how to wait; and the Queen's nephew, Charles the Fifth, had outwitted him and baulked his ambition.
After promising to give him all his influence to obtain the honour and glory of being Pope, he had set his own tutor in the chair of St. Peter, and crowned him with the triple crown, and somebody would have to pay for that affront, and pay dearly too; and he would strike at the Emperor Charles through Queen Catherine.
DURING this year, 1523, the hopes of Wolsey were again raised, that he might become Pope by the help of the Emperor Charles; and so he paid assiduous court to Queen Catherine, as well as the King himself: and, great as he was in his business capacity, this wonderful man was no less remarkable as a courtier; for, to humour the King, he could throw off the cares of state, and enter with as much seeming zest into the roystering fun of the Court, as even the King himself could desire, so that in his great Chancellor Henry the Eighth found a boon companion, as well as a wise counsellor!
It was during this time, too, that Miles Paton began to understand how boundless was his master's ambition, and how eager he was to attain the highest honour earth could afford, by mounting the papal throne, which would make him the master of his present master the King.
Confidential letters were written by Miles to one and the other about the Court of the Emperor, all having the same end in view—the putting forward the claim of Wolsey to the tiara that had once more been laid aside.
He was therefore in somewhat close attendance upon his master for some weeks, and could give but small attention to his father and the business that had brought him to London. Sir Thomas fumed, and fretted, and grumbled about this, for he was by no means content in the lodging he had taken; and, though he managed to find out some old friends who had served with him in the wars, he still pined for his home, and the company of his wife and daughter, and was only half-reconciled to his son serving under Wolsey, although he received a good salary for his services, and was handsomely provided for among other gentlemen of his own rank in life.
Moreover, he had set his heart upon repeating the royal experiment, in marrying Miles to the Lady Audrey; and that Miles should not be willing to follow his advice in the matter fretted him sorely.
The young man sheltered himself behind the argument that they could not afford to purchase a special dispensation from the Pope, to enable them to contract such a marriage legally. And again, the cost of this would be so heavy as to outweigh all the advantages likely to accrue, by holding the lady and her dowry still in the family. But Sir Thomas was not easy to be convinced when he had set his heart upon a certain thing, and so Master William Tyndale and his translation had but scanty attention for a time, although Miles had by no means forgotten his friend, or what would have to be the next step when the whole of the books of the New Testament were done into English.
So, with this next further step in view, he took his father one day to see the printing presses of William Caxton, that were still at work in Westminster, and being rapidly improved by the introduction of new type and skilled workmen from some of the best printers abroad.
There was also a second printing press now, close to Temple Bar, which they also visited, and where Miles made cautious enquiries to discover if possible whether it would be wise to try and get their book printed in London when it was ready.
The Cardinal took a good deal of interest in these printing works and their improvement, and regarded printing as a most wonderful and beneficent gift to the world of learning, but he did not want this to spread too far—not to become common, as the gift of sunshine and rain; and therefore it was not clear to Miles yet whether Wolsey would approve or oppose the printing of the New Testament in English.
But, as one of the private secretaries of the man who was king all but in name, Miles was everywhere received with the greatest courtesy, and his questions answered fully, for they did not know but that the Cardinal had sent him on this mission; and so Miles gathered a good deal of useful information as to the cost of printing, and the time it was likely to take, and picked up many hints as to the size of the sheets to be printed, which he was careful to give his friend the next time he saw him, and had an opportunity for a little private talk to themselves.
The net result of his enquiries were that they both concluded it would be safer to get the book printed at one of the continental printing presses, for Miles learned quite accidentally that the Cardinal had a private emissary of his own among these workmen, and everything that went on at the works was reported to His Eminence, so that if the Testament was sent there to be printed he would hear of it in a few hours from this spy. There was little doubt that there was one also at the Temple Bar printer's, so that altogether it seemed inevitable that their treasure should be printed on the continent.
When there was a little leisure from his attendance upon the Cardinal, Miles with his father went by barge from Westminster to Greenwich to see Sir Harry Guildford and his family.
As he anticipated, Sir Harry Guildford was found in his room at the palace, and welcomed Sir Thomas, and spoke in warm commendation of Miles. But Sir Thomas was not so pleased about this; Miles was his son, and he had done all he could to make his father's visit to London pleasant, and also had used all the influence he possessed to further his business; but this was of small account to the old man, as he still refused to think of Lady Audrey as his future wife, and there was still the old grievance about the farms outstanding still, so that to Sir Harry's commendation Sir Thomas gave little more than a dissatisfied grunt.
When they reached the family mansion in the town, and the old man saw how warmly his offending son was welcomed by the girls and boys, as well as by Lady Guildford herself, he grew silent and grim once more. Of course he was elaborately polite to his hostess, and civil towards the young people, but Miles could see that it cost an effort, and he was not much surprised when, an hour later, his father declared that he must go back to Westminster at once.
"But, father, the rowers have scarce had time to rest after their long pull—and we must wait until the tide turns," said Miles, in a tone of expostulation.