The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [135]
“Of what will the Oath consist?”
That question again.
“That the swearer believes the Princess Elizabeth to be the only legitimate heir to the throne. That the swearer will support her claims against all others” —I paused—“should I suddenly die.” How remote that seemed, standing out on the brave little moon-platform.
“That is all?”
“Yes. I believe so. Perhaps a few words to the effect that my marriage to Anne is a true one, the one to Katherine null and void—”
“‘A few words’?” He dashed his hands against the railing of the platform. “Always ‘a few words’! Oh, would that they were many—then it would be so much easier. A few words. God, why are You so cruel?”
His voice was sharp in the still air, rising like a rapier, rattling itself against God.
“Yet it is all the same.” His voice quieted at once, before he turned back to me.
“I hope you will not refuse the Oath,” I said. “For it will be law that those who do not subscribe to it are guilty of treason.”
His expression—of course, I could not see it well in the starlight—seemed not to alter.
“I thought it best to warn you, so when you are called to swear, you will know,” I continued. “You will swear first, and then your household. It will only take a few moments. Commissioners will come to your household, at crown expense. You will not be disrupted.” I sounded apologetic, and that would never do. “See that you take it,” I said.
“And if, in my conscience, I cannot?”
“Then you must die a traitor’s death. For you will have acknowledged yourself a traitor, according to law.”
“Then surely the Princesses Katherine and Mary must die as well. For they, above all others, would damn themselves in so swearing.”
“You must not consider others when taking the Oath. That is no concern of yours. Consider only yourself, and your immortal soul.”
“I shall remember that, Your Grace.”
“You can hide no longer!” I said. “The Oath will hunt you out, even here. Know thathat is not good enough! There are all sorts of silences. Few of them are good. They range from the hateful, through the mocking, to the indifferent. St is nidth="1em">“I have none. I know the answers. Once one knows the answers, however much one dislikes them, then there are no more questions to ask.”
“But do you know the answers?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I knew them before you came here. But I thank you for coming.”
“As long as you understand.”
“I understand,” he insisted. “I understand.”
The eclipse having ended, we made our way slowly down the slope to his house, dark now. Off to the right I saw a small building, and I asked, out of a sort of politeness, what it was.
“I call it the New Building,” he said.
“But what is it used for?”
“All the things the Old Building had not room for,” he answered.
“Private things?” I understood—or thought I did.
“Yes.” He actually stopped, and framed his words carefully. “Private things.”
I was to sleep in the upper chamber in the rear of the house. The bed had been fitted out with a feather mattress, and laid over with furs. I must confess that by the time I reached the chamber I was groggy and ready for sleep. I would have slept on a stone altar.
“I thank you, Thomas,” I murmured. As soon as the door was shut, I staggered toward the bed, and fell upon it, neglecting to remove my clothes. I flung myself full length and passed into a deep sleep. I had meant to think upon Thomas and his obvious disregard of my warnings, but I thought of nothing at all.
Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke, as wide awake as if I had slept a fortnight. The little candle across the room jumped and danced. It had burned halfway down from where I had lighted it. Hours before? Moments? I had no sense of time.
I knew only that I could not sleep. A peculiar sort of energy flowed through me, and I knew I must be up. I swung my feet over the side