Chapter XI: Sir Thomas Paton

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.