The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [82]
WILL:
That is how I came into King Henry’s employ. It was all happenstance, as the greatest events in our lives are. I can assure you I had no portent that the King himself was hearing my words as I passed the time with some rather dull companions during that audience, nor could I remember my words.
But I do remember seeing the King that day. He seemed burdened, distracted, not at all the young creature I had seen many years ago on his way to Dover, nor even the godlike one I had glimpsed from afar in Calais. This was an older man, one with many cares and envies. I agreed to enter his service for reasons which eluded me at the time. Certainly I had no desire to wear a costume and entertain thick-headed court people. But the King drew me. And needed me, so I sensed. (Vanity?)
He would not permit me to return to Calais with my master, insisting that all my possessions could be sent. In truth, they were not many. I was to become part of court from that moment on.
I quickly perceived that a man could never be free at court. Like a compost heap, this mass of festering humanity was always hot, full of bad humours, and in the midst of colourful decay.
At the top of it all was the King himself, trying to oversee this seething mass. His “household” was also his government, which must be always near at hand. I was surprised at his memory and almost supernatural recall of details. He did not forget me, even amongst the throng, or amid his ever-pressing duties.
HENRY VIII:
Will never learned that expediency, which is why he eventually became my private jester. He and the court were simply not suitable partners, as consequent events proved. Yet his wit and observations were invaluable to me; I liked to keep him about me.
XXXV
Wolsey was to have a great banquet and feast for upwards of one hundred guests, to celebrate something or other; I cannot remember what. He surreptitiously circulated the guest list to my chamber. I added several names to it, including Mistress Anne’s, then smuggled it back to him, as I was supposed to be ignorant of the proceedings.
Would she be there? Would Wolsey issue the correct invitation? If he did, would she accept? I had at last ascertained that she had come to court. But perhaps she might be too retiring ... or wonder why she was included amongst the hated Cardinal’s celebrations. God’s blood! Was there no place on earth where I might see her without being dependent on others to bring it about?
Etiquette demanded that I don a disguise for the occasion (as I was ostensibly not among the guests), and I decided upon that of a shepherd. But I could not arrive unaccompanied, I must have fellow shepherds. Thus I chose them: dear Brandon, my cousin Courtenay, William Compton, Edward Neville, and Anne’s father, Thomas.
It was late October, but still mild. A slight row upstream on the Thames would be enjoyable, especially as a fatted moon would soon be rising. My companions and I would row to York Place and wait until the fête was well under way to make our entrance.
The oars dipping in the moon-coated water made reassuring sounds. Water had a soothing effect upon me. Shepec him. “But now I perceive that there is one greater than I present in the company, one who rightly may claim the chair. I beg you, if you know him, to identify him, so that I may do him honour.”
What a silly game this was! I was weary of such. I was weary of much, truth be told.
“Sir,” said Henry Courtenay—ever the eager courtier—“we confess that among us there is such a noble personage; and if you can pick him out, he will be pleased to reveal himself and accept your place.”
Now the clever eyes of Wolsey flicked back and forth. He could immediately eliminate the shorter men in their shepherd’s costumes. That still left me, Edward Neville, and Charles Brandon. Brandon was broader and thicker than I, so Wolsey could make a distinction there.