Harry Phillips

Patrick and William Tyndale worked in the study. Patrick was reading a Hebrew scroll while William checked his translation of Genesis 6.

Someone knocked on the door.

Patrick looked at the brass clock on the desk. It was almost one thirty.

“Enter,” William called.

Harry Phillips came into the room. His brown eyes were bright with excitement. His cheeks were flushed a pale pink. “I’ve arrived to take you to midday meal, William. And your loyal assistant, Patrick, is welcome too.”

William looked up from his task. “We have no time to spare at the present,” he said, pointing a quill at Harry. “I am at a point of discovery. I have translation ideas about the giants in Noah’s time.”

Harry ignored his excuse. “Methinks we should go to the Hof van Holland,” Harry said. “Here is your coat.” The young man plucked the patched, hooded coat off a coat stand.

Patrick’s throat tightened with worry. Didn’t the bishop hire Englishmen as spies? Harry was English. And Mr. Poyntz didn’t trust Harry.

“Isn’t it dangerous to take Mr. Tyndale out of the house?” Patrick asked. “Mert didn’t even want him going to the print shop. I think we should stay here.”

Harry patted Patrick on the head. “We do want to take care of William,” he said. “But the Hof van Holland pub is less than half a mile from here. We can take the alleys. ’Tis safe enough.”

Patrick shifted his head and backed up. He didn’t want Harry to pat his head again. He considered the alleys he’d walked from the print shop. They were indeed hidden.

Harry added, “And William agreed yesterday to meet the new merchant.”

William slowly stood up from behind the desk. He carefully cleaned his quill and set it on the desk. “I did agree to go. A man must keep his engagements.” He moved away from the desk and took the coat from Harry.

“Do you have to keep a promise even if it’s dangerous?” Patrick asked. “Wouldn’t the grain merchant understand you could be arrested?”

William smiled and nodded at Patrick. “I do go out from time to time,” he said. “The merchants know who I am. Yet they have not revealed to the bishop where I reside. They be a goodly and loyal lot. I shall be safe.”

Patrick sighed and followed Harry and William out the back door. He didn’t see any signs of the Poyntz children. And he was glad. He didn’t want to see their jealous faces when he left for lunch. And he especially didn’t want to hear Margaret’s wail.

Patrick stepped into the alley. Even though the sun was out, the tall buildings blocked its warmth. The route was chilly and cheerless. People had dumped their trash in the alley, and it stank.

William kept his cloak hood over his face. He looked at the ground as they walked. Patrick knew he looked down to hide his face. But it was also so he wouldn’t trip on the cobblestones or step in the filth.

“I’m glad I could help you translate Genesis,” Patrick said. “I learned a lot. And I think what you do is important. It will make people in England better Christians.”

William tilted his head sideways. A lopsided smile curved his mouth. “The Holy Spirit will make folk more godly, not I.”

At that moment, Patrick heard a door open. Is someone coming out? he wondered. Will that person see William?

Patrick turned toward the sound. But it was only a woman putting a black cat out. The cat hissed at him and ran the opposite way.

Patrick knew black cats weren’t really bad luck. But the cat spooked him anyway.

After that, Patrick felt like someone was following them. He thought he heard light footsteps. But every time he looked over his shoulder, no one was there.

They came to a sharp corner. Patrick thought he heard a giggle behind him. Chills went up the back of his neck. But when he looked, the alley was empty.

Patrick relaxed when he saw sunlight ahead.

“Go ahead of me now, old friend,” Harry said.

William nodded and moved toward the sunlight.

Harry pivoted toward Patrick. “You, too,” he said, pointing to the wider road. “Move right along with Mr. Tyndale.”

Suddenly a voice from deep in the alley called out, “Stop, Mr. Tyndale, stop!”