The Autobiography of Henry VIII: With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers

Author:Margaret George
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Great Britain - Kings and rulers - Fiction, Fools and jesters, Historical fiction, Biographical, Henry - Fiction, Biographical fiction, Fiction, Great Britain, Historical, Fools and jesters - Fiction
ISBN: 9780312194390
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 1998-09-28T08:14:21.793510+00:00

I was to sleep in the upper chamber in the rear of the house. The bed had been fitted out with a feather mattress, and laid over with furs. I must confess that by the time I reached the chamber I was groggy and ready for sleep. I would have slept on a stone altar.

“I thank you, Thomas,” I murmured. As soon as the door was shut, I staggered toward the bed, and fell upon it, neglecting to remove my clothes. I flung myself full length and passed into a deep sleep. I had meant to think upon Thomas and his obvious disregard of my warnings, but I thought of nothing at all.

Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke, as wide awake as if I had slept a fortnight. The little candle across the room jumped and danced. It had burned halfway down from where I had lighted it. Hours before? Moments? I had no sense of time.

I knew only that I could not sleep. A peculiar sort of energy flowed through me, and I knew I must be up. I swung my feet over the side of the bed, fished for my shoes. They were there, cold and hard, the left transposed with the right, so sleepy had I been upon retiring.

I padded across the room to take hold of the candle, use it to find a praying place. For I knew that was what I needed to do: to pray. I had not prayed in days. My soul was starved for it. I grasped the candle, held it aloft. Of course there was a devotional niche, complete with kneeler and pictures of the saints: the one essential in a Thomas More room.

But in passing over to it I saw a deep yellow light shining from outside the window. It came from somewhere on the grounds. Was it the cooks, lighting the day’s fires? Yet it seemed too early. Then I remembered that More had let most of the servants go.

It was in the New Building. Could there be thieves? More had refused to tell me what purpose the New Building served. Had he secreted his jewels there? Perhaps he had kept more than he admitted.

No matter; thieves were there. I would not wake More; I would rather confound them myself.

I attired myself fully, then drew on my cloak. I crept down the darkened stairs and made my way to the great up so much, and yet men sought to rob him. Anyone associated with court, no matter how remotely, was always assumed to have hidden riches.

The building was close now. I pressed at the door and was relieved to find that it swung open easily. I came inside and shut it.

Now. I was obviously within range of the robbers. The thought that I could confront them, frighten them away, somehow relieved my conscience. I had brought More to lowered circumstances (or had he brought himself?), and yet I could personally prevent their being lowered further. One somehow ransomed and redeemed the other.

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