The Autobiography of Henry VIII: With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers (9 page)
Read The Autobiography of Henry VIII: With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers Online
Authors: Margaret George
BOOK: The Autobiography of Henry VIII: With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers
6.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
WILL:
When Henry became King, he tried to outdo his father in everything, and particularly in this area. He had a truly celestial “privy stool” (as he named it) constructed for his own use. It was so decorated, so studded with gems and padded with goose-down, that using it must have been a dazzling experience. How Harry restricted himself to retiring to it only once a day (unless he had some digestive upset, of course) is just one of the many puzzles about him.
I
would have arranged to spend half my day upon it.
I
would have arranged to spend half my day upon it.
In spite of this—now that I think of it—Harry was abnormally fastidious about this subject. He never allowed me to make any references to those functions (a crippling injunction for a jester), nor even to use the good old words “piss” or “fart,” or—as he used to say—“the word that rhymes with hit.”
HENRY VIII:
“I did not summon you here to talk about crow-nets or mad Henry VI, but about marriage,” the King said. I could hardly hear him above the furious sound of his body function.
He turned and I stepped back, making sure my eyes were turned respectfully away. “Marriage!” he repeated, rearranging his robes. “It is much on my mind these days.”
He smiled that thin-lipped, smug smile he affected when he thought himself clever. “Margaret will do for me what armies cannot.”
He had just arranged the marriage of my sister Margaret to King James IV of Scotland. She would wed the middle-aged but lusty Stuart, and go to live in that barbarous, cold country, whether or not she fancied it (or him). A union of sorts between England and Scotland would result.
He went to his dee, their daughter.”
I try now to remember my first honest thought. And it was horror, a shrinking. Then, quickly—pleasure. “Arthur’s widow?”
“Is there any other Katherine, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella? The same.”
“But she is—she was—”
“The Pope can give a dispensation.
That
is no obstacle. Would it please you? Would it please you, boy?”
That
is no obstacle. Would it please you? Would it please you, boy?”
“Yes,” I breathed. I did not dare to think how much.
“It pleases me as well. To keep the alliance with Spain. To keep the dowry.” He shot a look at me. “A woman warms your bed, but money eases your mind. And can buy the woman for the bed to boot.”
He disgusted me. And dishonoured my mother, whom he had certainly never bought. “Perhaps,” was all I could trust myself to say.
“I will arrange the betrothal, then. And now you had best leave me to the plaintive cries of other crow-net men.” He turned back to his work table in exasperation, and indicated to his guard that he was ready to receive the next plaintiff.
I was glad to be gone. I was hungry and knew Father never ate until late afternoon. Once I was back in my own chamber, I asked for some bread and cheese and ale to be brought. While I waited, I walked about restlessly, thinking about Father’s proposal. I picked up my lute, but could bring no good music from it. I looked out the window, onto the snowy palace orchard. The trees were writhing black lines against the flat white snow.
A soft sound turned me round to see a server with a tray laden with food. I took it and sat at my small work table and ate. The cheese was exceptionally good, golden and mellow, and not hard as the cheese had been recently. The ale was dark and cold. I finished it all. No matter how much I ate, I never seemed to grow wider, only taller. I was hungry all the time, and at night sometimes my bones seemed to hurt. Linacre, one of the King’s physicians, said it was caused by my rapid growth. He said the bones were aching from being stretched. In the past year I had grown almost five inches. I was now taller than the King; I lacked only a little of the six-foot mark.
My favourite time of day approached: the late afternoon, when the boys and young men at court gathered in the enclosed exercise area (yet another innovation) or in the Great Hall for martial exercises. Since it was not dangerous, the King grudgingly allowed me to participate.
From November until March the boys at court were confined indoors. Their only release came during these exercises, which were rowdy, loud, and undisciplined. I was the youngest; most of the others were between fourteen and nineteen. Because of my size and natural ability I was by no means at a disadvantage by age, but because of who I was. At first they had been wary of me, inhibited, but, as always among young people, that wore off as we came to know one another. I was their future King; but I think that was overlooked as we (I can think of no better word) played. I certainly never felt anything except the usual striving the youngest feels to prove himself to his older companions.
WILL:
HENRY VIII:
There were a dozen or so of us. The oldest was Charles Brandon, the youth I had first met at Sheen. He was nineteen, but our age difference did not loom so large now. Unlike the others, he had not come to court with his father. His father was dead—killed in the same battle on Bosworth Field where Father had won his crown, singled out by Richard himself because he had held the Tudor dragon standard. Because he could not reward the dead man, the new King honoured his son instead, and brought him to live at court. Thus we were bound to one another by family ties as well as personal affinity.
Nicholas Carew was sixteen. He was very handsome and took a great interest in fashion, saying it was very important to be
au courant
in the French
mode.
He was betrothed to the sister of Francis Bryan, his best friend and companion, an equally avid follower of French fashions. They were always discussing their wardrobes and what sort of feathers might eventually replace fur on caps. Their hearts were more in the banquet hall than on the playing field, and perhaps that is why Francis Bryan was later to lose an eye in a joust. He simply ran right into a lance. Afterwards he commissioned a jewelled eye patch to be made.
au courant
in the French
mode.
He was betrothed to the sister of Francis Bryan, his best friend and companion, an equally avid follower of French fashions. They were always discussing their wardrobes and what sort of feathers might eventually replace fur on caps. Their hearts were more in the banquet hall than on the playing field, and perhaps that is why Francis Bryan was later to lose an eye in a joust. He simply ran right into a lance. Afterwards he commissioned a jewelled eye patch to be made.
Edward Neville, also sixteen, was a member of one of the most powerful families of the north country and had a more robust appetite for the outdoors than Bryan or Carew. There was an extraordinary physical resemblance between Neville and myself, so that from a middling distance it was difficult to tell us apart. This gave rise, in later years, to an absurd rumour that he was my illegitimate son. Quite an interesting thought, considering that he was about five years older than I.
Henry Guildford, William Compton—they were fifteen, and cared for nothing but reading battle stories and dreaming of invading France. And Thomas Wyatt, son of one of the King’s councillors, was even younger than I, and was there only to watch. He was from Kent and, like me, had spent his earliest years in the country. Even at that age he liked to write poetry, although he never showed any of it to me.
WILL:
For which you should have been thankful. One of Wyatt’s later pastoral pursuits in Kent was being his neighbour Anne Boleyn’s lover ... perhaps the first? A signal honour, that. Later he wrote a number of indiscreet poems about her, which he wisely refrained from showing to Harry.
HENRY VIII:
When I descended the steps into the Hall that afternoon, most of my friends were already there and trying on their padded doublets. So they intended to use the swords this afternoon, and perhaps do a bit of hand-to-hand combat as well.
Bryan and Carew came in behind me, carrying a large black object, which 7;s the new Italian armour!”
Quickly everyone rushed over to see it. Everyone except Brandon. He just stood, his large arms crossed. “Where did you get this?” he asked.
“We stole it,” said Carew.
“No,” amended Bryan. “We
borrowed
it. From a knight who came to petition the King. He left it in the guard room when he went in for his audience.”
borrowed
it. From a knight who came to petition the King. He left it in the guard room when he went in for his audience.”
Other books
Marry Me by Heidi Wessman Kneale
Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara by Astrid Amara, Nicole Kimberling, Ginn Hale, Josh Lanyon
Tara Road by Maeve Binchy
A Baby for Easter by Noelle Adams
All That Glows by Ryan Graudin
Virtue Falls by Christina Dodd
Fall Into Me (Heart of Stone) by Scott, K.M.
Time Shall Reap by Doris Davidson
Immortally Embraced by Fox, Angie
