John Heywood no longer laughed and no longer chatted. He watched.
For the first time in a long while the king did not need to-day the
exciting jest and the stinging wit of his fool in order to be
cheerful and in good humor.
So the fool had time and leisure to be a reasonable and observant
man; and he improved the time.
He saw the looks of mutual understanding and secure triumph that
Earl Douglas exchanged with Gardiner, and it made him mistrustful to
notice that the favorites of the king, at other times so jealous,
did not seem to be at all disturbed by the extraordinary marks of
favor which the Howards were enjoying this evening.
Once he heard how Gardiner asked Wriothesley, as he passed by, "And
the soldiers of the Tower?" and how he replied just as laconically,
"They stand near the coach, and wait."
It was, therefore, perfectly clear that somebody would be committed
to prison this very day. There was, therefore, among the laughing,
richly-attired, and jesting guests of this court, one who this very
night, when he left these halls radiant with splendor and pleasure,
was to behold the dark and gloomy chambers of the Tower.
The only question was, who that one was for whom the brilliant
comedy of this evening was to be changed to so sad a drama.
John Heywood felt his heart oppressed with an unaccountable
apprehension, and the king's extraordinary tenderness toward the
queen terrified him.
As now he smiled on Catharine, as he now stroked her cheeks, so had
the king smiled on Anne Boleyn in the same hour that he ordered her
arrest; so had he stroked Buckingham's cheek on the same day that he
signed his death-warrant.
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