The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [119]
He who dares to despise our decision, let him be damned at the coming of the Lord, may he have his place with Judas Iscariot, he and his companions. Amen.
The words were baleful, ugly, designed to strike terror into the victim. But I knew them to be powerless. I knew. I did not feel cut off from God. Quite the contrary. Instead, I felt closer than ever to the Divine Presence, the Divine approbation.
Clement was a fool. A political fool. That was all.
The ride back from Crowley seemed drearier than the ride out. Carrying the Papal scroll felt a bit like clasping a dead thing to myself. It was harmless-why, then, did it feel so eerily evil?
I had forgotten about Anne’s “entertainment,” and so was puzzled for a moment when I heard all the voices and merriment coming from her apartments. I had no desire to go in and dissemble before guests; what I really most wanted was to go alone to my Privy Chamber. I was exhausted, and not from the ride to and from Crowley. But in only three days Anne would be sealed away, and I would not see her until I held our son in my arms. I owed it to her to join her party. Wearily I walked in.
People had reached that stage at the end of a gathering where they were relaxed and, having fulfilled protocol, could do as they liked. And what they liked, evidently, was to cluster around Anne.
She reclined back in a padded chair, a courtier on each side of her, one in back, one at her feet, and Mark Smeaton a respectful ten feet away, paying homage on his lute. All I could think of was Mount Olympus, surrounded by cherubs and sighing mortals.
She smiled languidly as she saw me come in, but did not move or wave any of her admirers away. Perhaps she felt naked without them; in any case, they seemed a natural part of her.
“I trust your business went well,” she said. “Pray join us. You appear tired.”
Tired? Yes, to receive one’s excommunication, to read about one’s present and future damnation in explicit terms, was draining. I grunted and took a seat nearby. But I had no heart for the merriment, and soon excused myself.
When Anne eventually sent them away and came to see me, I was deeply asleep, in a blank, starless world.
LIII
Only two days before the chang. As always when great events were scheduled, I attempted to honour them in advance.
As always, I failed. The truth was that both Anne and I were on edge with the waiting, and had little to say to one another. So it came as a relief when, on August fifteenth, the prescribed ceremony began, and Anne was conducted to the Chapel Royal for Mass, then served her traditional cup, then, her Chamberlain having prayed fervently for God to send her a good hour, her brother George and her uncle the Duke of Norfolk escorted her to her Privy Chamber door. In she went, followed by her women, and the doors slowly closed behind her, sealing her in.
“We are only lacking a great stone to roll across the door,” observed Norfolk.
“So that the saviour—the heir, that is-can roll it away?” asked Nicholas Carew.
In spite of myself, I was shocked at their blasphemy. How dared they speak this flippantly of Christ in front of me, the Defender of the Faith? Remembering the damning Papal parchment, I felt a spot of darkness spreading out over myself, my court, my kingdom....