The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [126]
“Warm yourself,” I said. I detected an edgy defensiveness in his words.
After allowing them enough time to lose the deepest part of their chill, I asked, “What provisions do we have? Let each man check his saddle-pouch.”
As it turned out, there were nine flasks of wine, two of the fiery uisgebeatha, twelve loaves of bread, five large cheeses, and several portions of dried, smoked meat. “Enough for a meagre meal for one night,” I said.
The bats rustled overhead. “We will postpone the inevitable bat stew as long as possible,” I promised. “For now, let us share the bread and cheese.”
We fell on it like robbers. It helped but little. I have often found it so, and wonder why. When one is greatly hungry, eating only provokes the appetite further.
.Bellies teased and quickened rather than quieted, we began to stretch ourselves out before the fire. As I leaned back on my elbow and extended my legs, I felt the revoltingly familiar trickle of liquid from my sore. So the thing was festering. When the men settled down, I would attend to it. Later, when we would drift away in the darkness to relieve ourselves, I could have access to my saddle-pouch with the necessary things. I held up my flask of uisgebeatha. In the meantime, this would kill the pain and miraculously make time pass. I took a deep draught, feeling its extraordinary warmth attack the inside of my mouth and then run its hot course to my stomach. Soon it would spread its mysterious balm through all my veins, bringing peace, delight . . . and the hint of special care hovering over me. I took a second draught to keep the first company.
“Here.” I passed it to Will. “You know what it is, and what it can do.”
WILL:
Indeed I did. Ever since Anne’s wild Irish cousin-kinsman, the Earl of Ormonde, had sent Henry three barrels of the stuff, he had been sampling it. I did not like what it did to him; but I must confess that night in the cave I liked very much how it felt inside me. And I could not see how it made me behave.
HENRY VIII:
“This is a magic potion, to be sure. Sent to me by the Queen’s Irish cousinage.” I passed it on to the others, and they all took it. Before Brereton, the last of the nine, had finished, the transformation within me had already begun. I felt the delicious, creeping lightness, the divine peace....
Suddenly I loved all the faces around the fire. Save Chapuys. And that was because he had a Spanish face. I hated Spanish faces—ugly yellow things. Thanks to God, Mary did not have such colouring. Lady Mary ... no longer Princess Mary ...
“Have another draught, all!” I said, taking a third myself. The men followed suit, and when Brereton handed it back this time I was floating. “Tincture of ecstasy,” I said.
No more now. I replaced the cap with exaggerated care, as my fingers were hard to manage. “The fire chases the cold from without, and this from within.”
Outside the wind screamed, but it was no longer frightening; instead it seemed purposeful and part of a greater whole. And these men gathered around the fire with me, my preordained companions. Except Chapuys ...
Chapuys’s face glowed so yellow it seemed bathed with sulphurous hell-flames.
“Will you see for yourself how foolish Spanish pride is?” I said. “And how hopeless the Papal cause is in England?” I hectored him.
“He is an intriguer,” said Cromwell bluntly. “He has a web of would-be rebels ready to betray you. The plan is simple: Mary is to be spirited away from her country-house at Beaulieu and taken to the Continent, whilst the discontented people here overthrow you. Is that not so, Chapuys?”
“You know no names, Master Cromwell.”
He laughed. “Indeed I do. In the West, you believe you have Lord Abergavenny, Sir Thomas Arundel, Sir Henry Parker, Sir George Carewe, certain members of the Pole family, and dear old Sir James Griffith ap Howell. In the North, the discontented Lord Hussey and Lord Darcy, Lord Dacre of the North, and the Earl of Derby. In the South—ah!—there’s Lord Edmund Bray, Sir Thomas Burgoyne, Sir Thomas Elyot, and the Earl