Courage at the castle, p.1
Courage at the Castle, page 1
Courage at the Castle
Copyright © 2024 by Focus on the Family. All rights reserved.
A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188
The Imagination Station, Adventures in Odyssey, and Focus on the Family, and the accompanying logos and designs, are federally registered trademarks of Focus on the Family, 8605 Explorer Drive, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.
Tyndale and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Ministries.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of Focus on the Family.
Cover design by Michael Heath
Cover and main interior illustrations by Sergio Cariello. Additional spot illustrations are from Shutterstock and Adobe Stock.
Scripture quotations are adapted from the Holy Bible, New International Reader’s Version,® NIrV®. Copyright © 1995, 1996, 1998, 2014 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. Some additional Scripture verses included in this story have been adapted from the Holy Bible, King James Version, and from William Tyndale’s 1534 translation of the New Testament.
With the exception of known historical characters, this story and its characters are the products of the author’s imagination.
For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call 1-855-277-9400.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Tyndale House Publishers at csresponse@tyndale.com, or call 1-855-277-9400.
ISBN 978-1-64607-123-4
ISBN 978-1-68428-590-7 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-68428-591-4 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-68428-589-1 (Apple)
Build: 2024-03-07 11:44:33 EPUB 3.0
To Haley Nolan, who believed in Anne Boleyn
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: The Cave . . . Again
Chapter 2: William Tyndale
Chapter 3: The Whittaker Family
Chapter 4: The King’s Guard
Chapter 5: Illegal Bibles
Chapter 6: Stephen
Chapter 7: The Hunt
Chapter 8: Harry Phillips
Chapter 9: King Henry VIII
Chapter 10: The Maze
Chapter 11: To Sudeley Castle
Chapter 12: Molly
Chapter 13: Not a Good King
Chapter 14: The Plan
Chapter 15: The Letter
Chapter 16: A Message from James
Chapter 17: Queen Anne Boleyn
Chapter 18: Whit’s End
Secret Word Puzzle
Author and Illustrator
Prologue
In their last adventure, cousins Patrick and Beth visited the Soviet Union in 1961. There they helped a kind pastor named Lars Spens on his mission to deliver Bibles to Christians in Russia. The cousins also encountered Amelia Darling again. Amelia is a modern-day scientist who has been using one of the Imagination Stations for her own purposes. This time she wanted to visit Moscow and convince the leaders of the Soviet space program to allow her to travel to space. In exchange, Amelia was going to give the Soviets US government secrets. The Imagination Station’s inventor, John Whittaker (Whit for short), arrived in the adventure to help the cousins stop Amelia from going through with her plan.
With government agents in hot pursuit, the two cousins, along with Whit and Amelia, needed to leave the Soviet Union in a hurry. Beth and Amelia left in one of the Imagination Stations—but they didn’t return to Whit’s workshop in Odyssey. Instead, they arrived in a dark cave in England—the same cave that the Imagination Station had brought them to in the fourth Imagination Station book: Revenge of the Red Knight.
Beth opened her eyes. It was dark, but she could still see. The Imagination Station had brought them back to the portal cave. The air was moist and smelled of wet soil and decaying leaves. A cool breeze rustled the
vines covering the opening.
Somehow the cave seemed even older this time. Beth thought the vine branches were thicker, the leaves larger.
Amelia got out and said, “Give me the remote! I want to be a cosmonaut!” She looked around the cave. “Where are we?” She looked back at Beth “And what are you wearing?”
“Oh, no!” Beth said, looking down at her clothes. “We’re going to be . . . aristocrats!”
Their clothes were very different. Old. European. Fancy.
Amelia wore a dress that reached the floor. It had beautiful beads and pearls decorating the fabric. She wore a headdress with cones sticking out from the sides of her head. Long strips of fabric hung from the cones.
Beth looked down. She had on a dress made of thick fabric with gold threads.
“It looks like we really are in England,” Beth said. “This looks like how people dressed during the time of King Henry the Eighth.”
“Well, we’re here,” Amelia said. “But where is Whit? And the boy . . . we need his pin.”
Beth stepped toward the back of the cave. She shouted, “Hello?”
There was no answer except the echo of her own voice.
The Cave . . . Again
Beth raised a finger and tapped her chin with it. She remembered something from a previous adventure: There was a secret room. “I’m going to see what’s in the back of this cave,” she said.
She started walking and passed a familiar stalagmite.
“Yuck,” Amelia said. “I’m not going with you. There are bat droppings back there. And I don’t want to ruin this gorgeous dress. It’s fit for a queen.”
The scientist smoothed her hands along the front of her dress. Then she flipped back the lace hanging from the cones on her headdress.
“Just wait a couple of minutes,” Beth said.
“What else would I do?” Amelia asked and shrugged.
Beth turned a corner and moved down a narrow passage. She was careful to lift the hem of her dress.
Beth smiled when she came to a solid wall. She reached a hand between two large stones and felt a lever. She pushed it and heard a soft click. Suddenly the wall moved inward.
Torchlight slipped out of the secret room and into the cave.
Beth’s eyes widened in surprise. The room had changed since she’d last seen it. It had once held a straw bed, a jug, and a chest full of old clothes.
Now it was jammed with wooden crates.
Beth stepped inside the room and pulled a lever on the secret room’s wall. The door closed silently behind her. She went to a nearby crate and looked inside. A bunch of books. No, she thought, many copies of the same book.
The yellowish-tan cover had odd lettering and odd spelling.
“Newe Testament,” she read aloud.
Beth picked up one of the bound copies and thumbed through the pages. The little Bible had pictures scattered across yellow pages.
She stepped farther into the room. The next three crates she inspected had the same New Testaments. Bibles were stacked high above the edges of the crates.
A loud thud sounded from behind the crates.
Beth turned quickly. Her elbow knocked off two Bibles. They landed with a thump.
“Who goes there?” a voice called.
The voice’s owner was a medium-sized man. His mop of gray hair curled around his ears.
His green eyes locked with Beth’s.
“Are you friend or foe?” he asked. His right hand slid to the hilt of a dagger.
Beth gulped. Her voice turned high-pitched. “Do you really need a knife? I don’t even weigh eighty pounds.”
The man let go of the hilt and smiled. “I’ll regard you as . . . a small friend.” His smile faded. “Until I learn otherwise.” He patted the knife.
Beth cocked her head to one side. “Your voice is familiar. I’ve heard it before.” But this man wasn’t Hugh or Albert or Sir Andrew. She had met those men during her first adventure in England.
The man studied Beth. “The last time I saw you,” he said, “you weren’t dressed so nicely. You wore a white dress with a red pinafore that you’d borrowed.”
Beth was still confused.
“Who are you?” she asked. “How did you know I borrowed those clothes?”
“My sister had outgrown them,” the man said. “They were stored here, in a trunk.”
“J–James?” Beth couldn’t believe it. He had been a teen when she’d first met him. She remembered that he had learned about the strange comings and goings of the Imagination Station.
The man nodded. “We helped save Albert more than fifty years ago!”
So that would mean this adventure is taking place around 1535, she thought. Hugh, Albert, and the other adults are dead by now. I wonder if James thinks I should be much older.
“What happened to the brave knight?” she asked, still remembering her previous adventure in England.
“Sir Andrew fell in battle during the Wars of the Roses,” James said softly.
Beth felt sadness cover her like drizzle. Sir Andrew had saved her life more than once.
James went on. “He was fighting alongside King Henry Tudor. The war ended at Bosworth Field on August 22, 1485.”
“Which side was Henry Tudor on? Red rose for Lancaster or white rose for York?” Beth asked.
James laughed. “Red for Lancaster. But he married Elizabeth of York. That way Henry Tudor joined both sides. The Tudor rose he wore had a white center with re
Suddenly James raised an eyebrow. “Where’s your cousin . . . Patrick?”
Beth gulped. “Good question.”
William Tyndale
The Imagination Station stopped moving.
Patrick sat in the Model T and looked around. He was alone. A small white envelope lay on the other seat. He picked it up and climbed out of the machine.
The Imagination Station vanished. Patrick stood in a narrow alley. Brick buildings with tall, slanted roofs blocked the sun.
He looked at his clothes. He had on a white, long-sleeved shirt with buttons down the front. The sleeves were full.
Patrick felt his collar. It had ruffles around the neck. A tan leather vest covered the body of the shirt. The rest of his clothes were black: black breeches, black socks, and sturdy black leather shoes.
He wondered if he still had the Soviet space pin from the last adventure in Russia. That pin worked as a remote controller for the Imagination Station. He patted his pockets. No pin, but he did feel something small and flat. He would inspect it later.
He opened the envelope. One of Mr. Whittaker’s translation earbuds was inside. There was also a note from the inventor.
Patrick slipped the translation device into his ear. Then he read the note:
Patrick, you’re in sixteenth-century Belgium. The people there speak Flemish and other European languages. You’ll need the earbud to translate. If anyone asks for help, give it freely. I’ll meet you later, when you need me most.
Whit
Suddenly a door opened. A man in a charcoal-colored cloak stepped into the alley. He held a thick stack of papers in his arms.
“A silver coin for you if you lend me aid,” the man said to Patrick. The earbud buzzed. That meant the man wasn’t really speaking English, but the earbud translated his words for Patrick. And it was definitely an older style of English.
I wasn’t expecting to give help so soon, Patrick thought. “Sure. What do you need me to do?”
The man nodded toward the open door. “Enter and secure a stack of papers. Then follow me.”
“Wait, is this stealing?” Patrick asked. He didn’t think Whit meant he had to become a thief.
“Verily, nay,” the man said. “I doth own this print shop. ’Tis urgent I clear it out with haste.”
Patrick felt better. He shoved the envelope into his pocket. He entered a large room. Light flooded in through the tall, narrow windows.
Nine wooden printing presses filled the room. Stacks of yellow paper lay on tables next to the presses. Patrick moved toward the nearest table.
He studied the pages. The papers each had eight panels printed on them. Patrick noticed a picture of a man with a lion on one panel. “The Gofpell of St. Marke” was printed above the picture. Are these pages for a Bible? he wondered.
He grabbed the stack by wrapping his arms around it so that his hands held the loose papers on the bottom. It was so tall he could barely see above it.
Patrick stepped carefully outside.
The man pulled the door closed behind him. “This way,” he said and walked away quickly.
Patrick followed. The paper felt heavier and heavier with each step. Patrick wished he’d taken a smaller stack. He worried that an uneven cobblestone would trip him.
But Patrick kept a careful eye on the man’s dark hood. He lifted each foot high so he wouldn’t catch a toe on an uneven stone. He followed the man through the twisty alleys.
After walking for about fifteen minutes, the man turned and entered a house.
Patrick stepped inside. He stood in the doorway and looked around. Four men had gathered in the house. Three of them looked older and wealthy. Their clothes were new and of good material. But one man was different. He looked a little younger, although his beard and mustache were gray like the others’. His clothes were different from those of the others. His wool cloak was patched. His boots had polish on them, but it wasn’t enough to cover the many scuffs.
“Mert, who is this newcomer?” the man with the patched cloak asked. A frown curved his lips like an upside-down u. “I do not wish strangers to enter this home.”
Mert set the papers down on a nearby chair. “I know nothing about him, William. But he is a safe companion. He is from Belgium and speaks Flemish well. Our foe hires only those who speak English.”
Patrick had no idea he’d been speaking Flemish. And he wondered who this enemy was.
The man named William grabbed a sheet of paper off Patrick’s stack. He looked it over and frowned again. “We need pages from Jude and Revelation. I already have the Gospel of Mark.”
“We will secure them,” Mert said. “’Tis no fault of the boy’s. He carried what he was able to.”
William rubbed his beard and said, “There be but little time before the bishop comes to raid the print shop. I would make sure we get pages for a full New Testament.” He pulled his cloak over his head. “Verily, I shall go to the print shop myself.”
Mert raised a hand to stop him. “Forsooth! You shall not,” he said. Then he lowered his voice and said in English, “The Bishop Wakeman of London hath spies everywhere. They search all of Europe for you. This house be the only place you have safety.”
William’s frown relaxed, and he lowered the cloak’s hood. He sighed and turned to Patrick.
“You will need to find the pages of Revelation,” William said. “Can you read?”
“Yes, English.” Then Patrick thought of the earbud translator. A little brag slipped from his lips. “Well, any language, really.”
“Any language?” William laughed. “You are a great scholar then. Where did you attend school?”
Patrick wished Beth were with him. She knew how to answer these types of questions. He did the best he could do without lying. “I was just in Moscow,” Patrick said, thinking of the last Imagination Station adventure.
“Ahh,” William said. “You’ve traveled far. You mean you can speak the languages of modern Europe.”
Patrick smiled. He was eager to help. “I can read them too. And just about any language that Mr. Whittaker—”
Suddenly the room fell so silent Patrick stopped talking. He looked around him. All the men inched closer. Their bodies pressed in on him from all sides. He smelled wool and beer and sweat.
Patrick clutched the papers even closer to his chest. He ducked behind them as if they formed a shield.
“You know Mr. Whittaker? What news do you have?” Mert asked.
The Whittaker Family
“It doesn’t seem as if Patrick and Mr. Whittaker made it here. At least not to this cave,” Beth told James with a sigh.
Her old friend’s eyebrow rose even higher. “You mean John of Whittaker, of course. Do you remember Albert? He adopted the family name Whittaker. He had seven sons and even more daughters. And their children each had at least ten children.”
“That means many Mr. Whittakers live in these parts,” Beth said.
“A good thing, verily,” James said. “The Whittaker family gave a man named William Tyndale much gold. He was able to pay for these Bibles therewith.”
Beth smoothed her hand across the leather cover. “They’re nice.”
“And they are illegal in England.” He picked up one of the crates. “Would you help me deliver them?”
Beth nodded.
James looked her square in the eyes. “Forsooth! ’Tis a perilous thing. You could be taken to a dungeon and tortured if you are caught with one.”
Beth thought for a moment. If the Whittakers and James are helping, it must be important.
“I’m in,” she said.
“Certainly, then,” he said. “It will be a pleasure to have you. I do remember that you and your cousin be wise children.”
Beth blushed at the compliment. She tried to pick up the nearest crate, but it was too heavy. So she took four New Testaments out of it and headed to the door. She pulled the lever on the wall. The door slid open.
James shifted the crate to squeeze through the narrow opening.
Beth then lifted a metal pole with a cone on the end. She used it to snuff out the torch with the metal snuffer cone.
