The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [238]
“His alleged Master’s?”
“He claims Christ for his master. Yet do we see Christ in him?”
“No man can see into another’s soul, Your Majesty.”
I had meant a smart retort. But he spoke true. I could not see into Pope Paul’s soul; he could not see into mine. “Only God can see,” I finally said. “And we must leave it at that.”
“Aye.” He bowed, then crossed himself. When he stood erect again, we faced each other in silence, as if the interview had just begun.
“The excommunication still stands?” I finally asked. Someone had to speak.
“He cannot retract it!” The voice of the little man was astonishingly deep, and rich. “There has been too much. The dissolution of the monasteries; the harassment of Princess Mary; the execution of Cardinal Fisher; the burnings of the Carthusians.”
I caressed the carved knobs at the end of the throne-arms. Yes, too much to let pass. I would not let it pass. Nor would any man who called himself such. “I understand.”
“There is to be a General Council.”
“Nine years late. I begged the Pope for one in 1533. My plea was ignored.”
“There is to be one now. In Mantua, outside the Emperor’s reach. It was an inspired idea to hold one, and surely the Holy Father will recognize your farsightedness. There is so much to be deliberated upon....”
“Yes, how to halt the slide of Europe into Protestantism! But it is too late.”
“You will be in a position to name your terms.” His voice was crisp and unemotional. “You are not rebellious in doctrine, only in title. A reconciliation between you and the Holy Father would be worth a great deal to him. He needs allies.”
“He has Francis, and Charles.” I deflected the thrust of this offer for offer it was.
And, oh! I was tempted by it. To be recognized by Rome, to wear my hard-won titles by consent....
“Inconstant, fluctuating fools,” he sneered. “They are not the men you were, to stand firm amidst temptations from all sides. No, they are men of the hour, of the day....”
“Not men of the Light? I fear none of us can claim that title. Nay, nay ... if Rome and I embrace again, your master and I must agree on several things, none of which has been solved by need or the moment. I will not tolerate meddling, and your master will not tolerate insubordination, and therein we disagree, and disagree mightily. Tell him I’ll serve him, if he recognizes my sovereignty over all aspects of England.”
That he would never allow. Less I would never agree to. There it lay. The envoy bowed and took his leave.
Was it true that the two countries would never be united? I had always assumed that someday they would be. It seemed natural. In the back of my mind I had already married one of my children to one of James’s. But my father had followed the same scheme, and it had come to naught.
What constituted a country, then? That its inhabitants were of like natures? But the Normans and the Saxons were not of like natures. By that criterion they should have never melded to form England. The Celts—were they as unabsorbable as their spokesman made out? Would Wales never become truly a part of England? And what of the Irish? I meant eventually to absorb that island as well.
If ever I felt decent ... if this cursed leg would ever heal....
But did one wait to do things until one felt “decent”? Did one order one’s life upon a leg? Or did one go ahead anyway, regardless of his personal feelings?
My head-throbbing had returned, and along with it, confusion....
I hated the confusion, hated it worse than any pain I might endure. The confusion was my enemy, the real enemy. It unhorsed me like a challenger in a tournament....
But I would fight it. Or, at the very least, disguise it. None must know.
Now I would take myself to bed. I would call no groom, no servitor. They might sniff out my weakness, hear me call for a candle when I meant for a fur.
CXV
Throughout the spring my remorse decreased and my confusion increased. The ghosts died away. No more did I hear the shrieking outside