The Autobiography of Henry VIII: With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers by Margaret George Page A
Authors: Margaret George
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expenses.
Yet money was important, I realized that. What I did not realize was the extent of the fortune I had inherited, because the Councilmen tried to obscure this information and did everything to keep it from “the youngling,” lest he squander it. In the end it was Wolsey who secured the exact figures and presented them to me, totted up in his neat writing.
As I read them, I tried to keep my expression blank. It was a Herculean task—for the figures were so large they were, simply, unbelievable.
“Are these correct?” I questioned Wolsey, evenly.
“Indeed,” he replied. “I got them from three separate sources, each one entirely trustworthy. And I have checked them myself four times.”
“I see.” I put down the small, dangerous paper. It sany King of England had ever been—richer, most likely, than any king in the world. (Except the Infidel Sultan, about whose finances even Wolsey was ignorant.) I was numb. “Thank you,” I said, finally.
I hardly noticed Wolsey as he turned and exited.
Rich; I was rich. Correction: the Crown was rich. Whatever the King desired, he could have. An army? Done, and outfitted with the latest weapons. New palaces? As many as I liked. And people ... I could buy them, use them to adorn my court, just as I would select jewels.
So whenever I think back upon those first, halcyon days of my reign, I see but a single colour: gold. Shining gold, dull gold, burnished gold, glittering gold. Cloth-of-gold and golden rings and golden trumpets.
I struck Father’s treasure chests like Moses striking the rock in the wilderness, and a dazzling river of gold poured forth. The Crown was staggeringly wealthy, as Wolsey had indicated. Wealthy enough that I could invite any subject with a contested debt, an unredressed grievance, or merely a complaint against the Crown to come forward.
We were overwhelmed by the response; hundreds of people came, and I had to appoint extra lawyers just to attend to their claims, most stemming from the cruel extractions made by Empson and Dudley.
The majority of the claims were decided in favor of the plaintiffs, and the Crown paidoldhind. She, who had vowed that she would die in England rather than return to Spain unmarried, was about to break her vow.
If she stood ready to break her vow, I did not. She was pledged to me, and I was bound to her. I summoned her to come to the Privy Chamber next day.
She arrived exactly on time. I felt a flicker of disappointment as I saw her, small and poorly dressed, coming toward me across the great floor. She looked much older, and less pretty, than I had remembered. But I had not seen her in full light for almost six years, while I had gone from boy to man. Still, this was my betrothed....
“Katherine,” I said, coming to her and holding out my hands. I towered over her. She was ... squat. No, petite, I corrected myself. “My wife.”
She looked confused. “No. You are to marry a Habsburg. De Puebla has begun transferring my dowry to Bruges.”
“To hell with the dowry!” I said. “I have been left a fortune, the like of which no English King has ever been bequeathed. I do not need your dowry; I do not want it. It stinks of negotiations, subterfuge, lies, bargains. I want you, Katherine, not your dowry.”
She merely stared at me. I had a sudden dread: perhaps she still knew little English? I started toward her, and she drew away.
“Please, ne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, or Catherine Howard took place remains a mystery to most people.
HENRY VIII:
It was the third time I had stood beside Katherine to recite marriage vows in one form or another. The first time I was ten, the second time twelve, and now I was seventeen.
I try hard to remember that day, as what we later became blots it out. I was proud, and insisted that Katherine wear my wedding gift to her: a necklace of gigantic pearls, each one as big as a marble. I did not know then that pearls are the symbols of tears, and that the common
Yet money was important, I realized that. What I did not realize was the extent of the fortune I had inherited, because the Councilmen tried to obscure this information and did everything to keep it from “the youngling,” lest he squander it. In the end it was Wolsey who secured the exact figures and presented them to me, totted up in his neat writing.
As I read them, I tried to keep my expression blank. It was a Herculean task—for the figures were so large they were, simply, unbelievable.
“Are these correct?” I questioned Wolsey, evenly.
“Indeed,” he replied. “I got them from three separate sources, each one entirely trustworthy. And I have checked them myself four times.”
“I see.” I put down the small, dangerous paper. It sany King of England had ever been—richer, most likely, than any king in the world. (Except the Infidel Sultan, about whose finances even Wolsey was ignorant.) I was numb. “Thank you,” I said, finally.
I hardly noticed Wolsey as he turned and exited.
Rich; I was rich. Correction: the Crown was rich. Whatever the King desired, he could have. An army? Done, and outfitted with the latest weapons. New palaces? As many as I liked. And people ... I could buy them, use them to adorn my court, just as I would select jewels.
So whenever I think back upon those first, halcyon days of my reign, I see but a single colour: gold. Shining gold, dull gold, burnished gold, glittering gold. Cloth-of-gold and golden rings and golden trumpets.
I struck Father’s treasure chests like Moses striking the rock in the wilderness, and a dazzling river of gold poured forth. The Crown was staggeringly wealthy, as Wolsey had indicated. Wealthy enough that I could invite any subject with a contested debt, an unredressed grievance, or merely a complaint against the Crown to come forward.
We were overwhelmed by the response; hundreds of people came, and I had to appoint extra lawyers just to attend to their claims, most stemming from the cruel extractions made by Empson and Dudley.
The majority of the claims were decided in favor of the plaintiffs, and the Crown paidoldhind. She, who had vowed that she would die in England rather than return to Spain unmarried, was about to break her vow.
If she stood ready to break her vow, I did not. She was pledged to me, and I was bound to her. I summoned her to come to the Privy Chamber next day.
She arrived exactly on time. I felt a flicker of disappointment as I saw her, small and poorly dressed, coming toward me across the great floor. She looked much older, and less pretty, than I had remembered. But I had not seen her in full light for almost six years, while I had gone from boy to man. Still, this was my betrothed....
“Katherine,” I said, coming to her and holding out my hands. I towered over her. She was ... squat. No, petite, I corrected myself. “My wife.”
She looked confused. “No. You are to marry a Habsburg. De Puebla has begun transferring my dowry to Bruges.”
“To hell with the dowry!” I said. “I have been left a fortune, the like of which no English King has ever been bequeathed. I do not need your dowry; I do not want it. It stinks of negotiations, subterfuge, lies, bargains. I want you, Katherine, not your dowry.”
She merely stared at me. I had a sudden dread: perhaps she still knew little English? I started toward her, and she drew away.
“Please, ne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, or Catherine Howard took place remains a mystery to most people.
HENRY VIII:
It was the third time I had stood beside Katherine to recite marriage vows in one form or another. The first time I was ten, the second time twelve, and now I was seventeen.
I try hard to remember that day, as what we later became blots it out. I was proud, and insisted that Katherine wear my wedding gift to her: a necklace of gigantic pearls, each one as big as a marble. I did not know then that pearls are the symbols of tears, and that the common
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