The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [239]
But I thought of her often. In some way I longed for her—for what she was, had been, to me. And hated myself for it.
All that was human, controllable. But the confusion, the transposing of events and order—I knew now it was not madness. Madness meant not knowing the real from the unreal. Was Wolsey dead, or was he not? No, that was not my affliction. Rather it lay in remembering whether I had put my hand on his shoulder at Grafton, the last time we had met? I hoped I had. But hoping was not the same as knowing.
It continued thus, all the months following the executions. I remember it as a time of continually fighting the adversary, my confusion. Boredom, loneliness, remorse—all these took second place to the urgent need to reestablish some control over my mind, although (pray God!) it was not readily apparent.
WILL:
I received word from Audley that the beast, in its cage, strapped to my best transport wagon, was due to arrive at the Tower on Thursday next. Along with the beast was a special sealed cylinder, from the Turk himself, for which he wished “all dignitaries” to be present for the opening and reading. The crocodile business was to be state business, then.
In the meantime, Master Quigley had been alerted. Consequently I received a request from him to have access to certain monastic manuscripts which the Crown had retained, so that he might peruse them to ascertain the crocodile’s feeding habits. I granted it, very impressed with him ... and pleased that I had retained as many monastic manuscripts as I had done. They would prove of great benefit to future Quigleys.
The beast awaited us. There, in its monstrous crate in the shadow of the Tower’s outer walls, it stood. I myself, and the Privy Council, were curious and eager to behold it, altnough they pretended to be merely performing their duty. I had invited Elizabeth and Edward along to see the spectacle; Mary proclaimed herself above “trips to the zoo.”
This was foolish of her. In faith, a trip to the zoo was a coveted experience, and one I rarely granted, upon Master Quigley’s advice that human visitors were unhealthful to the beasts.
As I have said, Father had had a zoo, a menagerie. He was attracted to beasts of all sorts, but only in a symbolic sense. A beast was not a creature in its own right, but only insofar as it stood for an abstract trait—honour, kingliness, or some such. He received presents from noblemen and rulers conforming to this fancy. When he died, the poor beasts almost all died with him, having outlived their dynastic symbolism.
Over the years, newcomers had joined the Royal Menagerie, out of happenstance and ill luck: a wounded wolf, a three-legged turtle, a blind snake. Thus the Royal Menagerie had gradually turned into an Animal Hospital, run by Rufus Quigley, where sick creatures recovered and became friends of man. Suleiman’s crocodile was the only ferocious, whole beast we had received in years.
Gathered round the ornate crate, we looked respectfully at Master Quigley. He had several muscular men grouped about him, all clad in leather suits (to withstand the crocodile’s teeth, so it was thought), holding nets and great prodding spears. From the crate there was only silence.
Standing close by me were those most eager to hear the words of Suleiman—my Privy Councillors, and others concerned with matters abroad. To put it neatly and quickly: there were those who thought action abroad was necessary sport, good for the character and morale; others believed that England should