He reached over and tenderly wiped the tears from my cheek. “There is nothing and no one who could ever compel me to hold an ill opinion of you, Meg,” he said. His voice was rough and he took a care to keep a distance between us. “And now, there is something I’d like to speak of to you.”
I nodded and sipped my wine.
“As you well know, I’ve been serving the merchants in Antwerp as chaplain. But I’ve also done some translating, and have been of late helping to get Tyndale’s copy of the New Testament printed in England, to save shipping fees and the danger of import, so it might be more widely distributed.”
I nodded. “’Tis noble work.”
He hung his head. “I am afraid I am not so noble. Because of my father’s rank and title I felt that I was well able to prevail upon those who are better funded to provide money for the presses here in London. I also felt myself to be a fine judge of good character. Only I was mistaken. Lord Abney had indicated an interest in our work and, blinded by pride, I invited him to a meeting. I wanted to show all that I had powerful connections as well as bring good to the cause.”
“I thought Abney was a strong conservative,” I said. “He has no use for English Bibles.”
“’Tis true,” Will said. “Only he professed otherwise and I was so eager to get his goodwill and fortune that I disclosed too much to him. He arrived at the meeting, took note of all who were there, and reported back to Cromwell.”
“Oh,” I said, horrified. “But surely Cromwell, as a reformer, took their case.”
“Cromwell may be a reformer, but he is also the holder of the king’s purse strings and a lawyer, a man building his own fortunes. ’Tis illegal to run the presses for Scripture in English. ’Tis illegal to print without paying tax, but how can one pay tax on that which is illegal?”
I nodded and sipped my wine. “What happened?”
He let his head drop into his hands. “Cromwell savagely enforced the law. All lost their positions, and Chelsey’s presses were confiscated, as were all of his materials and receipts, leaving his family penniless and without means to support themselves.” His voice broke at the end.
“’Tis not your fault,” I said, reaching over to take hold of his arm. “We are all righteous and yet still sinners.” I quoted Luther’s famous saying, heard often at reformist meetings.
Will took his head from his hands and looked at me. “I suspect I am more sinner than righteous. A good man has lost his means because of me. His family is broken. As I have taken vows of poverty and have little means, I have asked my father to reimburse Chelsey. My father has refused.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “What can I do?”
He looked me in the eye. “You can advise me if I should leave the priesthood or not. I fear that I am more man than priest, more proud than humble”—he looked away and finished—“more flesh than spirit, sometimes. I tire with the struggle and yet know not what to do. I trust you. I value your opinion. I need your counsel. I have no one else to ask who considers both my needs and our Lord’s. My other friends will invariably favor one side or the other. Not you.”
My head and heart throbbed. Was he really asking me to tell him whether or not to leave the priesthood? Sitting here, alone, in his chambers? I, unmarried and in favor with the king, and Anne ripe with the son who would not only deliver the kingdom but my dowry in just a few months?
“That’s not a decision I can make,” I said. Though I’d like to.
“I ask you not to make the decision. I ask you to offer counsel,” he said. “Will you pray about it and meet me tomorrow night and share your thoughts?”
I nodded. He leaned over and rested his head heavily on my shoulder. I looked wistfully at the beckoning thick brown locks but obediently kept my hands at my sides. It put me in mind of Saint Paul’s letter to the Galatians wherein he exhorts Christians to bear one another’s burdens. I would gladly do so if ’twere Will’s burdens I could carry.
Shortly after, I slipped back to my room and the next morn I thought through my dilemma. Anne’s coronation was too public of an event for me to miss anything at all, and she was always surrounded by ladies, or His Majesty, so there was no way for me to even talk with her about my situation. I loved my sister, Alice, but she would not be a help here because, I knew, she would always take our Lord’s part, but I had to consider both. Afore dinner I rested in my room and took out the New Testament. I opened it up and it fell open to Romans 8 because of the wreath. I glanced down at the verse I’d looked at so many times, lately with fulfillment and joy; my eye was drawn directly to it. This time, though, the verse brought me not comfort but pain. I sat there till I was certain I had an answer that did right by our Lord and Will. ’Twas just as well he hadn’t asked me to consider my own needs along with theirs or my answer might have been quite different. Once certain, I gathered the dried wreath of daisies into a small silken pouch and went to meet Will.
I passed the Duchess of Norfolk in the hallway. “My lady Duchess,” I said politely. She grunted at me, chewed out a command to her lady servant, and swished away. Not yet dinnertime and she smelt of soured wine.
When I was certain the hallway was empty I knocked quietly on Will’s door. He opened it up and let me in. He was casually dressed in a dark brown riding outfit and never, ever looked finer to mine eyes. The injustice of it all screamed inside me and I held my inner tongue lest I lash out at God and undo what years of tight weaving of faith and circumstance had accomplished to close the breach between us.
“Meg.” He took one look at my face and knew. “You cannot advise me to leave the priesthood,” he said, closing the door behind him.
We sat, side by side, nearly leg by leg, in front of the fire. “I must rather ask you questions,” I said. “Not advise.”
“Go on,” he replied.
“What will you do if you return to Antwerp?”
“Miles Coverdale is completing a copy of the entire Bible in English. Not just the New Testament! He draws from Tyndale, of course, who drew from Wycliffe, but also from the Latin Vulgate, and, well, he has asked me to be of assistance to him. De Keyser will publish it,” Will said. “Another bit of information is that de Keyser’s young sister-in-law, Adriana, is keen for your nephew, John Rogers.”
“No!” I said. I had heard nothing of it. “Poor girl.” I understood.
Will shook his head. “I don’t know. Mayhap John will leave the priesthood for her.”
I was tempted to ask what further complication could arise to make this conversation more difficult for me but, lest I entice some eavesdropping demon to creative action, I did not.
We remained quiet for a moment longer, our breathing in rhythm. I finally asked the question I knew I must. “When you chose this course of action so many years ago and told me, in the garden at Hever, you said you were called. Are you still? Or have you been released from that call?”
He closed his eyes and I waited, hoping with everything within me that he would say that he had run his race and was now released.
“I am not released,” he said.
I nodded. “I knew it as I said it.” I looked in his eyes, aching not only for himself but also for me.
“’Tis not always so beguiling to serve, is it?” I echoed Margery’s comment to me.
He smiled at the girlish phrasing. “No, ’tis not.” He looked at me for a moment longer. “And yet God is worthy of service we may deem as unlovely. As Christ demonstrated Himself.”
I nodded my agreement and let my tears fill my eyes afore blinking them away.
“Your eyes are deeper green when you cry.” He took my hand.
I smiled and then stood and kissed him on one cheek, and then on the other. “I’d best take my leave.” I handed him the silk bag with the daisy chain in it. “To remember me by,” I said.