The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [124]
“How far to Thaningsford?” I called, signalling for my men to halt. I kept my voice cheerful.
“Two hours’ ride,” answered Brereton. “I know; my father had tenants—”
“Due north there’s a hamlet, called something ‘Grange,’ ” said Carew. “I think it may be closer.”
“Are you sure of its location?” I shouted. No time now for his bumblings. He had always been slipshod about details.
“Yes—no—” The wind whipped his cap off, and he snatched it back in midair. “I think—”
Obviously he did not know. I looked round at the others. Ct size="3">Only now did I look about. The forest was deep and dark, and the terrain rough with fallen logs and rocks. Dangerous ground for horses. Should we lead them but a little way into the gloom, then stop and make our shelter, or take a chance of riding farther in hopes of finding better protection or even, possibly, an abandoned shelter? As soon as the choices had presented themselves, I knew the answer: the one with the greatest risk, but the greatest possible reward. We would ride deeper in.
When I announced this, the men protested. I silenced them, and they had to obey.
With the snow still a distance away from the line of trees, I turned my back on it and urged my horse forward into the unknown terrain. Within five minutes the overcast sky and high trees made a murkiness so oppressive it seemed almost to be a living thing. The thick branches overhead moved over us, a writhing roof over an evil, still chamber strewn with traps.
And all the while there was this otherworldly cold, a cold that seemed a creature in its own right. I looked about. There was plenty of wood, but it would be so cold it would be difficult to light. Brittle old oak leaves carpeted the ground; these would serve as tinder, but now they effectively concealed treacherous holes where a horse could easily break his leg. There was no sign of a ridge or protection of any sort.
“Your Grace! We must stop!” shouted Will—the only one who would have dared to tell me what to do. “It is about to catch up to us, and we will have no time to construct anything. We must stop now and hold our ground!”
“No, Will! Farther in! Farther in!” My voice, loud and sure, hung in the air between us. The others were all of Will’s mind, and we were all reduced to animals seeking our own survival.
Then tradition and habit took command, made them disobey their own animal promptings to obey their crowned and anointed King; and that King, secure in the belief that he obeyed his King, led them on.
WILL:
We thought he was quite mad at this point. It was clearly folly to continue into the forest. But he seemed so absolutely certain of himself. Is that the secret of commanding unquestioning obedience?
HENRY VIII:
Now the storm caught up to us, hitting us from behind. The trees caught a great deal of it, but there was still enough blinding, swirling snow filtering through to disorient us. There was no north, no south, no east or west, almost no up or down or sideways. We were lost in an enormous cloud of white butterflies, their millions of wings beating frantically, soundlessly, icily. I could almost have stood still amidst their swirling, frigid whiteness, and let them blanket me until death. The temptation was there, the lure of a beautiful, still death....
Shuddering violently, I dismounted and began to lead my horse. Keep moving, keep the blood warm, do not let the ice-death goddess take hold. ... I could not see more than ten paces before me, and could only hope my men had not become separated. “Stay close! Each man right behind the next!” I cried.
A ridge ahead: jagg just a glimmer—a slit, a dim opening, a crevice in the cliffilde. Perhaps we could squeeze in there, huddle together? One hand out in front of me, I stumbled toward it, feeling my way along. The rough rocks tore at my hands, which were so numb I felt nothing and was surprised to see bloodstains on the stones. Suddenly my arm plunged into darkness. I thrust the other one