Betrayal in the Tudor Court Read Free Page B

desire to take vows herself one day. “The golden rosaries and pretty statues.”
    “You hush up!” Mirabella cried.
    Father Alec laughed. “If Lady Mirabella is called to join the Church, I am certain it would be for reasons more pure,” he told the boy, resting fond eyes on Mirabella.
    Mirabella rose from the bench in the library where their lessons were held and strolled toward the window, resting her long-fingered hand on the glass. “I would join because it is so peaceful there,” she said. “There is nothing to do but talk to God. …”
    “
All
the time?” Brey asked, his tone incredulous. “I would run out of things to say,” he confessed.
    “Don’t you want to get married and have babies?” Cecily asked her.
    Mirabella shrugged. “Anyone can do that; only special people are called to do God’s work. Besides, He needs everyone he can get for the fight against the New Learning.”
    At this Father Alec arched an inquisitive brow. “What do you mean, dear child?” he asked her slowly.
    Mirabella fixed him with an earnest gaze. “Well, to keep the Church strong. The book of Mark tells us a house divided cannot stand, isn’t that right? God needs soldiers to combat evil people like Martin Luther and William Tyndale. That’s what the abbess says.”
    Father Alec lowered his eyes, his face paling. “Yet we must remember that everyone, no matter how … misguided you believe their faith to be, deserves to be treated with compassion. Remember, Lady Mirabella, God is our only judge. You—know that, don’t you, my child?”
    Mirabella offered a fervent nod.
    Father Alec drew in a breath, running a hand through the chestnut waves that grazed his shoulders. “Well, I think that is enough for today. It is beautiful outside—perhaps you should all take some exercise.”
    As the children filed out of the room Cecily lingered. She was not like Mirabella; she did not want to talk to God all the time and could not imagine life cloistered away from the world. Yet religion concerned her. She remembered Mistress Fitzgerald’s claim that Henry VIII had invoked the wrath of God for loving the heretical Anne Boleyn. She recalled bits of conversations at Burkhart Manor, her parents discussing something called the New Learning. They spoke of it in hushed voices, sustained with excitement. They did not speak of it with malice, as though it were a plague to fight. They spoke of it with hope lighting their eyes.
    But to Mirabella the New Learning encompassed all that was evil. It was an enemy with which to do battle and God was mustering His soldiers.
    “Father,” Cecily asked after the other children had left, “is the New Learning evil?”
    “There are those of authority who think so,” Father Alec replied in gentle tones as he knelt before her. He studied the child’s face, a face wrought with sincerity and kindness. A face that he enjoyed greeting, a face that could be tear streaked from tragedy but instead chose to meet each day with sparkling eyes and a bright smile.
    “But what is it?” Cecily persisted.
    Father Alec searched for a simplified explanation. “It means different things to different people, but the central theme is the belief that the Church should be reformed. That the wealth in the monasteries and churches should be dispersed among the people, that sin should not be expiated by paying indulgences—that is, paying the clergy for forgiveness—that church officials in power should not give offices to family members even if they are undeserving … There are many things, complicated things—”
    “But they all make sense!” Cecily cried with a smile. “Why would people think that is evil when they just want to make things fair?”
    “That, too, is complicated, little one,” he told her, touched by her innocent summation of the situation. “Many people do not like their authority questioned, even if the suggestions seem reasonable. People fear change and those benefiting from the way