The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [90]
“I see I am deceived.” I turned and began walking back toward the palace. I should not have shown my hurt so nakedly, but I was stunned.
Wyatt continued his walk, his back to me, unaware of my anger. The rest of the gathered ladies and courtiers merely stared, or so I am told. But Katherine heaved herself from her chair and followed me across the newly clipped grass.
“My Lord,” she said.
I turned, surprised to find I had a follower. She stood there in the fresh May sunshine, heavily clad in her preferred costume and old-style headdress—a wooden one that encased her head and was overlaid with decorative material. It was so heavy it had made her sweat from the exertion of running only a dozen yards.
“Yes?”
“Stop it! Stop it now!” She was shaking. I said nothing. I could see the beads of sweat on her forehead. “I cannot bear to see you so shamed before all. And for ...” Her voice trailed off, but with a jerk of her head she indicated Anne, who had not even turned to see me go. “In front of all men. And I must watch.”
Suddenly I lashed out at her, as if she were the cause of it, merely for making the wounds deeper. “Then cease to watch, Madam! Cease following me about!”
She looked stricken and stood mournfully rooted as I stalked away, seeking refuge in my privy chamber.
It was cool there, at least. And empty. All attendants had been dismissed, let out into the warm May sun. At last I could pour my own wine without having to request it of some bumbling fool. Must never hurt a server’s feelings. No, never. So one must wait a good half hour for a service one could perform for oneself in a half-minute.
The wine was good. I poured another cup, then leaned down to pull off my boots. I flung each one forcefully against the farthest wall. One hit a tapestry and raised a great deal of dust. Of what use were the chamber scourers, then? Filth. Negligence. All was disgusting.
“Your Majesty, Margaret of Savoy would be displeased to see her gift treated so.”
I whirled round to face Wolsey’s bulk. He had evidently taken the first opportunity to retreat into the shade. From the way he eyed my wine flagon, I knew he was waiting to be invited to help himself. Inst size="3">“Still—” He sidled up to the wine. Suddenly he disgusted me, too.
“Take what you like. Drink it all.”
He needed no further invitation. Soon the flagon was empty. He belched —discreetly, he thought. In fact it was not. Then he turned and looked at me with the same mournful expression Katherine had worn.
“Your Grace,” he began dolourously, “it grieves me to see you so unhappy.”
“Then mend it! End my unhappiness!” I had not meant to scream, but I did. “It lies within your power!”
He knitted his brow in such fashion as to suggest that he was thinking deeply. It impressed those on councils, but I was used to it and knew it was merely a time-serving device.
“You are Cardinal! You are Papal legate! You represent the Pope in England! Do something!”
Still he stood with furrowed brow.
“Or, by God, I shall end it myself! With whatever means I must use! I care not what they are!” As I said it, I knew I meant it.
Later that evening, I waited within my chambers. Would Anne send word to me? Would she make amends, assure me that Wyatt meant nothing to her?
No. She did not.
XXXIX
But things changed from that day forward. Wolsey was at last able to badger His Holiness into granting permission for a trial to be held in England, provided another Papal legate sat alongside him. That legate was to be Cardinal Campeggio, who must travel all the way from Rome. This would take months, especially since he was old and troubled with gout, but at last I had within my grasp that which I desired above all else. My case was so clear that judgment was pre-assured, and I would be released from the bonds that grew daily more irksome.
Katherine had become ever more hovering and solicitous, acting more like a mother than a wife. Anne had continued her wayward ways, always assuring me that they were necessary dissimulations.
“If the Cardinal knew we were betrothed, he