The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [207]
I would dance, despite it. The ensemble reached the entrance point again, and I leapt out on the floor. As I landed, a nail of pain ran up my thigh and into my groin. People backed off to make room for me, to watch the King dance.
And dance he would. And did. I spun and leapt as athletically as a stag, executed all the steps of the galliard perfectly, with a precision usually reserved for clockworks and sword-masters. This particular dance demanded the grace and dexterity of a hummingbird. In this I did not fail.
After the first few beats, I took a mad, savage pleasure in the pain that fought back at me. It was a gladiatorial contest, and I, armed with net and trident, had ensnared and humiliated pain.
The moment the music ended, I was encircled by men and women extolling my skill. They were surprised, oh, yes, they were. The last time anyone had beheld me dance athletically was a decade ago, and many of those faces were gone. robe—‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do’—He did not say, ‘and thou also, Pilate, and Caiaphas,’ although surely in His heart He included them....”
Was this her holiday talk? What, then, was her serious talk?
“Madam Latimer, you are far too joyless,” I chided her. “Surely at Our Lord’s birth, when He came as a babe, as God’s gift to mankind, it is morbid to dwell on His coming betrayal and death.”
Her dark eyes danced with excitement. Theology, then, was what inflamed her passion. “Ah, Your Majesty! But it is all one, that is its perfection, its mystery. The Kings brought frankincense and myrrh—shadows of His future death and burial. ‘Mary took all these things, and pondered them in her heart.’ She ‘pondered’ them, she did not rejoice, or sing; no, it was a heavy thing. I have often wondered,” she said dreamily, like Culpepper stroking a particularly fine piece of velvet, “what Mary did with the gold, frankincense, and myrrh.” I noted that she did not say “Our Lady” or “the Blessed Virgin.” “Did she store it in a cupboard, somewhere amidst the linen, and look at it once in a long while, or by accident after she had finished her ordinary tasks after an ordinary day, waiting for Joseph to stop work and return? Did she touch it then, and feel the miracle all over again, have an epiphany of her own?” The widow Latimer was the most unabashed romantic I had ever encountered, but only for things unknown, unseen.
“She doubtless sold the gold and spices to pay for the trip to Egypt.” It was Elizabeth who spoke, in her practical way. But why was Elizabeth amongst these intellectual matrons? What would attract a child here? Did she long for a mother that much? “After all, the gold would have been heavy to transport, and the exotic spices would have attracted too much attention. However, selling them in Bethlehem might have alerted Herod. Probably they waited until they were in Egypt. The Egyptians would have been more blase about those items.”
The women looked at her, then nodded. “The child speaks true,” said Lady Herbert.
Elizabeth laughed. “The Holy Family were people, with all the considerations of any other people.” She turned a guileless, smiling face to the widow. “Would you sometime be so kind as to check my translation of Proverbs? I am attempting to translate it into Greek.”
The flattered widow nodded.
Charles’s wife, the Duchess, produced a small book of devotions. “This I have found so helpful.” The others all bent their heads over it, like chickens in a henyard when fresh grain has been heaped on the ground. I cursed my leg, to have confined me in this clucking flock of secular nuns.
“Ach! Zere you are, my child!” A fluster and rustle of material, along with a fine spray of saliva, announced the arrival of Anne, Princess of Cleves. “Und Henry!” Her voice rose with genuine gladness. Standing before our group was the great dray-horse herself, all shimmering in yellow satin, spreading her particular brand of good cheer. And I was delighted