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The anguish I didn't know I could feel; TMore
Topic Started: Jan 1 2012, 11:05 PM (232 Views)
William Spencer
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
Feb 1513

The days since his arrest had been long and difficult on William Spencer. Never would he have imagined this, fathomed it even. He had always feared false accusations, but he had never thought that someone would bear false evidence against him. The twenty-four year old was not fully aware what said evidence was, but it was rather intuitive that it could not be very compelling. If it were, well, William well knew that once attainted by an act of parliament they could well do whatever they wished to him to get him to name co-conspirators, and that had not yet been done. He'd been questioned about personal correspondence and letters and conversations, and somebody had surely told those responsible for asking him where his most excruciating weakness was--a mere grip of the shoulder could do more torture to him than any device.

It was nothing, however, not a blink of an eye, to the fear he now held for his family. After seeing his wife, he felt like he was being cleaved in two for being so helpless to do anything about his own fate. So much rested on it now. The anguish from those fears of the future was almost too much for him to bear. His wife would be nothing. Her worth ruined by him, her future taken just as well as his would be but she would have to live through it. That caused him pain. He had never been afraid to die. He simply could not fathom being a stain on his family. William had known such pain, and now could only wonder why God would make everyone else suffer for something he had not even done.

Perhaps the point had come where he was breaking. The burdens and sacrifices were becoming too much, because they were burdens he would leave behind on those he loved.

More of his things were going to be brought tomorrow, but it mattered little to William. It would never be accommodating to any standard, even if there was nary a rat or piece of straw or filth in sight, and he simply spent most of his time at prayer anyway. He could only do that, read, or talk to Thomas, who was very morose indeed. He could not fault the boy who had to help carry his cousin's burdens, for feeling them like William felt them. The boy was sleeping on the large bed while William was on his knees saying the prayers that distracted his own mind from the morbid or morose and from the throbbing pain in his shoulder. He had been quite vocal about not being prevented from praying in the proper fashion he was used to, and his furnishings for such holy endeavors had been allowed to his satisfaction. That was all he could think to need right now. He was tired of answering questions, and he was tired of feeling spat on by the English.
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Thomas More
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King's Subject, God's First
"My God." That was all he could think , when he heard that his young friend, the Earl of Wilmington, had been arrested on charges of treason and conspiracy. He wondered if this was yet another test, another trial, in a series of hardships and pain he, no doubt, had to endure in his short life. "Lord, I know that you do, indeed, send trials for us to overcome. This is his. If You are to use me as your instrument, please, show me." This he prayed, ever since the day the man was incarcerated.

The main strike against the man was his half-French blood. Even with the tentative peace between England and France, this was always going to be a burden, a splotch on an otherwise decent and noble man. And much like William spent his time in prayer in the Tower, Thomas spent his days in prayer, asking the Lord if He meant to use him as his instrument. And after days of prayer, his answer finally came.

If it meant distancing himself from the king, it would have to be done.

He strode to the Tower, with purpose, and a plan in mind. None could distract him. He was on God's business, as well as business of the law. When you put the two together, it made for a rather dangerous and lethal combination. The guards nearly protested, but the stern look on the lawyer's face changed their minds. One led him to the more "noble" accomodations of the damp, dank, and disgusting prison. Noble. Hmph. It barely warranted the term.

The guard led him to Wilmington's cell, and unlocked the door. "You have a visitor," he muttered, and stepped aside to allow Thomas into the room. "Thank you. You will allow me the time I need." He nodded, and clanged the door shut behind him, leaving the king's advisor with a lonely, and seemingly broken, man.

"William," he said, once the door closed. "God has given you the strength to perservere." He glanced around the cell, and scoffed. "These are usually the accomodations afforded to treasoners soon acquitted in the eyes of the king. No rats, or so I've heard." He strode over to his friend and held a hand out. "He has heard your prayers, as He has heard mine. Come, let us talk." He made it seem like they were taking a stroll, or at the earl's home...not in a prison cell in the Tower of London. "I have heard the sides of all the men who are salivating like dogs to see you a head shorter. I wish to hear your side, my friend."
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Sir Thomas More, KG
We may not look at our pleasures to go to heaven in featherbeds.
Sir Thomas is in 2 threads and he is amenable to more!.
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William Spencer
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
Prayer had taken William Spencer through many difficult times and a lot of pain. If God heard him or not it made him feel as peaceful as he could be. It was Lent now, he knew, and he certainly no longer had priorities which superseded his faith. He would endure his solitude and the endless wait. It was not the first time he thought to be going to his own death, so he held no selfishness, really, just fear for his family.

He still held strongly to his grace and dignity despite his circumstances. It was so very difficult, but it was his burden. He was no little man who should appear frightened; at least not to the multitudes. He reminded himself that his French grandfather had endured this same thing twice and that he should have strength. Once that door was closed was quite different.

When he heard the door, he expected to perhaps see more people who would like to torment him with more of the same questions. Instead, he saw the austere face of his friend, Sir Thomas More.

He stood, his lips quirking at the man's particular sort of humour.

"I have, indeed, been most fortunate," he replied, with a hint of a chuckle. "It at least seems the evidence not so compelling that they can dispense with everything." The fact that he had his right arm held up was probably telling enough to the man who had seen him right when he had come back from France.

Thoughts of his family had penetrated his entire being, and he was not certain where his trust should lie. Sir Thomas was so good of a man that William did not think him capable of any evil. He would trust this man over most men of the cloth. His presence was a Godsend. Perhaps the man would be able to identify how he could be exonerated. Surely, he had been allowed to see this evidence against him? He was so close to the king and he was in law, it would only make sense. Perhaps William was optimistic and too trusting.

"I am happy to see you, my friend," he said, pressing the man's hand with his left.

A soft snort escaped his lips. "I do not even fully know all the things that are alleged, sir, and I doubt I have the fantasy of mind to fabricate them with a guess...much less commit them." His soft blue eyes looked down, a sense of defeat gnawing at him. "I have done no harm to His Majesty nor plotted any. You know what it is that I did in France, as I confessed it in my delirium. What sense would this make given those sacrifices? Would I simply kill my own uncle to raise myself so that I could then do this? You know I cannot write, Sir Thomas, as you were here with your friend the doctor. We have long now been friends, and I have not once written you in my own hand since the war. I cannot physically do what I am accused of, nor do I have any reason to do so. It would not even truly be in my advantage to do so, but whomever planned this is far too dimwitted to realize that."

He shook his head. He needed to keep the anger from himself and banish the hate. Whomever had done this would get theirs, and it was wrong for him to fantasize about their misery or what he would wish done to them. If this went badly, if he could not be helped, if the king was determined to see him as a threat, he did not want to have spent his last days with thoughts poisonous to his soul. He took a deep breath to steady himself and schooled his expression, letting out a sign in near silent apology.

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Isabel Leigh
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Virtue alone is invincible.
This thread has been archived either due to forwarding of board timeline or because of a month of inactivity. If you would like to continue, please PM an Admin!
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Isabel is in 8 threads and can has more!
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