off, seeking her approval for everything he did. She, eyes lowered, would laugh soft and deep in her throat. I envied Henry. I really did. One other thing I noticed: Anne kept the cuffs of her dress well over her hands to cover her extra finger. Years later when I was closeted with her she allowed me to examine this closely. It was nothing much - a slight malformation of her right hand - but her enemies said it was the devil's teat on which she suckled her familiars. Anne didn't need such witchcraft. One kiss was enough!
Anyway, back to the Great Beast's banquet. Cardinal Wolsey was present but he was quiet, rather withdrawn. He was the only man apparently unimpressed by Boleyn and he was intent on showing it. We ate well, roast pheasant, swan, duck, lampreys, eels, the tenderest beef and the most succulent capon, all served in tangy sauces. The wine cups were deep bowled and were constantly replenished. We ate and drank while, in a far comer, boy choristers entertained us with a song composed by Abelard. Henry, like the pig he was, drank deeply until his fat cheeks glowed, his eyes glittered and, in his malice, he turned on old Shallot.
'Tell us now, Roger,' he bawled. 'Tell us the solution to the riddle!'
'What riddle?' Norreys cried, as if the lying bastard didn't know.
'A man has to take a fox, a chicken and a bowl of grain across the Thames,' the great pig bellowed. 'His rowing boat can take only the man and the fox, or the man and the chicken or the man and the grain at any one time.' Henry sighed at the knowing looks of his cabal. 'If he takes the grain, the fox will eat the chicken. If he takes the fox, the chicken will eat the grain. So, Roger, how does he get the three across?' The fat turd licked his fingers. 'If you can't solve it, you must pay the forfeit: the sun has dried our carp pond to a muddy mess and tomorrow, if you fail, you'll have to stand in the centre and play "Mummer's Boy"!'
I quietly groaned and shut my eyes. 'Mummer's Boy' was an old village game: some unfortunate was made to stand in the middle of a mud pack on a three-legged stool whilst others flung clods of mud at him. The one who knocked him off three times was the winner. A stupid, cruel game. Henry would love it! My master stiffened and was about to protest but I tapped him on the knee. I also caught Wolsey's anxious gaze and winked quickly. He smiled back. Anne Boleyn, God bless her, lifted her head and - perhaps it was my fevered brain or the light wasn't so good -1 am sure she blew me a kiss. Despite the cruelty she later inflicted on poor Queen Catherine, from that moment my heart was hers!
'Come on, Shallot!' the Hell-King roared. 'Give us an answer!'
'Answer! Answer!' His cronies began to bang their cups on the tables chanting like naughty schoolboys.
'Quite easy,' I replied, pushing back my chair and standing up. 'It can be done in four crossings. First, the man takes the chicken to the other bank and returns to collect the grain. Secondly, the man takes the grain to the other bank and returns with the chicken. Thirdly, the man leaves the chicken and takes the fox to the other bank where he leaves the fox with the grain. Fourthly, the man then returns to collect the chicken. At no time,' I concluded triumphantly, 'is the fox left alone with the chicken or the chicken left alone with the grain.'
My master clapped his hands. The rest, slightly befuddled, scratched their heads as they tried to work it out for themselves. Henry glared at me from under lowering brows.
'Correct, Roger,' he purred. 'So there will be no "Mummer's Boy" for you. Let me show you your prize!'
He clicked his fingers at a servant who went to the far doors and flung them open. I heard a baying like the tolling of a bell, the sound of paws scraping the tiled floor, before the shaggiest, largest hunting dog I have ever clapped eyes on lurched into the room, two grooms hanging on to its leather leash for their very lives. The dog chased straight as an arrow
Anyway, back to the Great Beast's banquet. Cardinal Wolsey was present but he was quiet, rather withdrawn. He was the only man apparently unimpressed by Boleyn and he was intent on showing it. We ate well, roast pheasant, swan, duck, lampreys, eels, the tenderest beef and the most succulent capon, all served in tangy sauces. The wine cups were deep bowled and were constantly replenished. We ate and drank while, in a far comer, boy choristers entertained us with a song composed by Abelard. Henry, like the pig he was, drank deeply until his fat cheeks glowed, his eyes glittered and, in his malice, he turned on old Shallot.
'Tell us now, Roger,' he bawled. 'Tell us the solution to the riddle!'
'What riddle?' Norreys cried, as if the lying bastard didn't know.
'A man has to take a fox, a chicken and a bowl of grain across the Thames,' the great pig bellowed. 'His rowing boat can take only the man and the fox, or the man and the chicken or the man and the grain at any one time.' Henry sighed at the knowing looks of his cabal. 'If he takes the grain, the fox will eat the chicken. If he takes the fox, the chicken will eat the grain. So, Roger, how does he get the three across?' The fat turd licked his fingers. 'If you can't solve it, you must pay the forfeit: the sun has dried our carp pond to a muddy mess and tomorrow, if you fail, you'll have to stand in the centre and play "Mummer's Boy"!'
I quietly groaned and shut my eyes. 'Mummer's Boy' was an old village game: some unfortunate was made to stand in the middle of a mud pack on a three-legged stool whilst others flung clods of mud at him. The one who knocked him off three times was the winner. A stupid, cruel game. Henry would love it! My master stiffened and was about to protest but I tapped him on the knee. I also caught Wolsey's anxious gaze and winked quickly. He smiled back. Anne Boleyn, God bless her, lifted her head and - perhaps it was my fevered brain or the light wasn't so good -1 am sure she blew me a kiss. Despite the cruelty she later inflicted on poor Queen Catherine, from that moment my heart was hers!
'Come on, Shallot!' the Hell-King roared. 'Give us an answer!'
'Answer! Answer!' His cronies began to bang their cups on the tables chanting like naughty schoolboys.
'Quite easy,' I replied, pushing back my chair and standing up. 'It can be done in four crossings. First, the man takes the chicken to the other bank and returns to collect the grain. Secondly, the man takes the grain to the other bank and returns with the chicken. Thirdly, the man leaves the chicken and takes the fox to the other bank where he leaves the fox with the grain. Fourthly, the man then returns to collect the chicken. At no time,' I concluded triumphantly, 'is the fox left alone with the chicken or the chicken left alone with the grain.'
My master clapped his hands. The rest, slightly befuddled, scratched their heads as they tried to work it out for themselves. Henry glared at me from under lowering brows.
'Correct, Roger,' he purred. 'So there will be no "Mummer's Boy" for you. Let me show you your prize!'
He clicked his fingers at a servant who went to the far doors and flung them open. I heard a baying like the tolling of a bell, the sound of paws scraping the tiled floor, before the shaggiest, largest hunting dog I have ever clapped eyes on lurched into the room, two grooms hanging on to its leather leash for their very lives. The dog chased straight as an arrow
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