The princess nodded, taking in her friend’s suggestion, realising that it was not so wild as it seemed.
“And think how much easier riding would be without our skirts. We would no longer have to travel everywhere side saddle!”
“Come now,” said Lady Salisbury, “it is the season of misrule, when roles are reversed, but we will not go so far as to turn girls into men!”
At that moment, a second colourful figure ran in, shaking a stick that was wrapped about with tiny silver bells. A little scruffy terrier followed, jumping up as if to nip the man on his rear end.
“Mischief!” he cried. “Mischief! Down boy, down, I tell you!”
Thomasin had previously seen the king’s jester, Will Somers, on a couple of occasions at court, but he was usually to be found in Henry’s chambers. Now, she saw that his charm started in his odd smile, his comical face, and the way he held himself, almost as if he was both indignant and boneless at the same time, and might at any moment leap into the air.
“Jack!” he called to the tumbler. “Jack, will you rid me of this wretched creature?”
Jack cartwheeled back. “This dog?”
At once the beast sat up and begged most fetchingly.
“Yes! This cur! He followed me in the street and I took pity on him, brought him home and fed him, and gave him the name of Mischief.”
At the sound of his name, the creature barked.
“But now,” continued Somers, “he takes his name as an instruction, and has given me so many nips and bruises that I am at a loss to know what to do with him.”
“Here, Mischief!” called Jack, throwing a coloured ball into the air. The little dog, thoroughly enjoying the performance, leapt up high and caught it in his mouth, to the applause of the crowd.
Princess Mary clapped her hands and laughed aloud. “A dog! I must have a dog like Mischief!”
“Then he is yours,” said Somers, making an elaborate curtsey, holding out imaginary skirts.
“Goodness, child,” said Lady Salisbury, “you can’t take the poor man’s dog; it is part of his act. How will he amuse us without it?”
“In many varied and wonderful ways!” laughed Somers, leaping forward to stand on his hands. “Up, Mischief!”
And the smart little dog copied him, balancing on his forepaws.
“Well met, my friends,” said Thomas More, approaching the Marwoods through the crowd. “What a splendid place to find you all.”
“More, my old friend!” laughed Sir Richard, turning to clasp him by the hand. “How good to see you again, looking so well and full of cheer.”
“Christmas is my favourite time of year,” the philosopher replied, “and I am delighted to spend it here. Thomasin, myMargaret and her Will are hereabouts somewhere. I am sure they will make their way to you soon enough.”
“I am content,” said Thomasin, “knowing them to be here, that I may anticipate enjoying their good company.”
Henry laughed again from behind them, and they turned to see him holding up a waffle, for which little Mischief was jumping in the air.
“Christmas doesn’t feel like Christmas without a dog doing tricks,” someone called out, and the crowd rippled with laughter.
Thomasin turned back to check upon the queen. Catherine was still seated on the dais, watching over everything, with Maria Willoughby at her side, but her look was cautious, as if she dared not enter the fun, in case something occurred to spoil it.
“Come,” said More, “let us go and eat before these hungry people have swallowed all this gold!”
Approaching the banqueting table, Thomasin suddenly remembered Ellen, banished to the queen’s chamber for the heinous crime of sneezing. Henry appeared to have forgotten all about it, laughing away with Cardinal Wolsey and Charles Brandon at his side. She wondered if she might dare take a piece of the marzipan and a spiced cake to sneak up to her poor cousin; surely no one would notice her absence?
Catherine moved to sit on a carved chair by the fire, served with comfits and spices, while Princess Mary danced about happily, playing with Mischief the dog, laughing at the jesters and darting back to the table, to inspect the spread again. She had eaten little, though, Thomasin had noted, which she thought unusual for a girl of her age, faced with a sugary spread such as this. She knew the princess had been plagued with toothache lately, for which she took remedies, so perhaps that was the reason.
Henry was deep in conversation with Cromwell, whilst Wolsey sat opposite, listening to Cardinal Campeggio’s tales of woe. All the important heads were turned away from Thomasin. Now was the time to escape, if she was ever going to do it.
“I will be back soon,” she whispered to her father. “I have a mission to fulfil.” She snatched up a few treasures from the table and hurried towards the door.
