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Summer 1546, Bone Hall.
He had been a very naughty boy that night.
In spite of the nursery’s best efforts to tire the four year old out, the excitement had proved too much, and Humphrey took to bouncing on his bed in the hopes of tuckering himself out. It hadn’t worked.
In spite of daddy’s scolding and mummy’s warning; he flung his little body out of bed, tiny feet pattering on the wooden floorboards – too quickly to feel the cold – and he hurried over to the window. Drawing back the heavy velvet curtains (being a big boy now meant he could wrestle the golden threads around the holder-thingy all by himself, almost) and the big grin coated his beaming face.
The grounds to Bone Manor were buzzing with life. Many wagons, new people; maids and cooks alike. The finest Surrey had to offer were all here, all here to serve him and his parents.
He felt special today, the centre of the royal world.
“Is big day. Must behave.”
The Little Lord jumped back down off the window ledge and shot right out of his wing, waving to the weird creature, the furry friend that liked to watch over him as he rested. Or bounced on the bed. Or read, struggling to sound out the complicated French (it was a nasty language). Or lean in a little close when he ate; now he could use his utensils correctly.
“My Lord, I do wish you would hold still!”
With a nag, a maid managed to snag him by the arm on the way, failing at managing to dress him. Therefore his oversized undershirt had him tripping all over himself, but it was never enough of an obstacle that he had to stop, just hunched it up and ran. The Little Lord giggled all the way down the stairs; one of their many kitchens in sight.
He bound his way in, there were lots of busy bodies there - women in plain, big skirts he could hide under and men in even bigger hose. Ducking behind the long wooden table; his bright eyes lit up immensely, running over the endless sugary treats. Humphrey snuck a sugar cube off the table, ignoring the servant’s cry, and ducked out of there again, giggling to himself all the way down the next corridor.
The adults kept on hurrying, carrying big trays of even bigger meals, plates and decorations. He dove in and out of skirts, wrapping his tiny body around their legs, drawn to the extravagance of their great hall. The one daddy had told him not to go into at all costs this weekend so, of course, he had to now. The big brown doors were wide open: that wasn’t his fault. How could he not?
So inside he ran. Ran right into mummy, flustered, running around with her gauntlet of ‘secret drink’, ordering the chefs and maids to do all sorts. She had many of her ladies surrounding her, curtsying funnily by rucking up their skirts, and staggering away with a nod. He furrowed his brows deeply as he fought hard to concentrate, pulling out a large, wooden chair at the end of the table. Grasping for a golden spoon, (he liked that he could see himself in the shine) and only when the four year old starting whacking it into a cup did mummy notice, did she snap out of her yelling. Did her face break. Did Humphrey tug nervously on his collar.
Mummy exploded. Sent for his nursery maid. Had him whisked away from the grand room. Had him sent back to his bedchamber.
“Why can’t I be a grown up today?!”
With a grumble, he flung himself face down onto his now made bed, furry gold trimmings on the bed sheets now tickling his nose.
“You kid.” He was answered. “You do… kid things, yeah?”
Palms resting flat at the sides of his face, Humphrey felt a prod at his bed. A funny feeling, one that left the Little Lord feeling cold. Scared. When he craned his neck to one side, he winced as he heard a crack. That special, furry friend was watching him again, brows furrowed and wearing a small smile. He spoke softly, coming to a crouch beside Humphrey on his bed, not quite touching him. He listened to the creature, nodding, ignoring the weird look of the maid, Moody Margaret, as he gestured into thin air.
The Little Lord slumped his way back off the bed then, allowing her to wash him. Get him dressed in his finest of fine clothes: the ones daddy only let him wear when he had his special, big king-friends around. When he wanted them to all marvel over his son, and comment on how big he had gotten, how he had mummy’s eyes and daddy’s smile. How much smarterer he was, how he couldn’t wait to get on the pony mummy had promised.
“You have to be on your best behaviour today, My Lord,” He was warned, “It is your father’s wish to impress and serve.”
“Listen to moody lady,” Sounded from behind Humphrey.
“Dinner is set for five,” Margaret continued. “You will take your feast in the kitchen today, with the servants. Understood?”
He cast a glance back to the furry friend, and shrugged.
“Who is it?” He asked inquisitively, shucking on his velvet ruby doublet that weighed nearly as much as himself.
The maid helped him to do the buttons. (He may be a big boy now but he hated buttons. All buttons and fastenings. They were fidgety and made his head hurt.)
Shining every one as she spoke wistfully, the maid tried to bluntly explain. “…The King, my Lord.”
“God save the King!” He enforced with a bright grin, and her stern face cracked into a smile.
“And with such support; you shall not burn in the fiery depths of Hell.”
A snort rang out from behind. “Good luck gettin’ there.”
“Perhaps a betrothal is in store…” With a sigh, the maid continued.
He pulled a face.
All these exciting thoughts had Humphrey’s head in a spin, and he was itching to get back out there. Although he was instructed to stay inside, and keep his best clothes clean and orderly, he wanted nothing more than to run out into their freshly trimmed grounds, and wait patiently like the big boy he was. Kicking his feet up behind him, chin resting in his tiny hands as he watched on in awe. As patiently as the four year old could muster, for the court’s horses and wagons, for a sight of his daddy’s famous friend.
He was left alone moments later, settling instead on curling up with the book Moody Margaret instructed.
“B-bon- joor, je-jemma- pe—” Legs outstretched before him, he slumped back into his many grand pillows and pulled a face. “French sucks.”
“—m’appelle Humphrey… idiot.”
“My goodness!” A lighter voice broke through. “Leave him be, he’s just a boy. He is doing what is asked of him: the best that he can.”
“Speak better?” His furry friend countered, “Want some?!”
There was a frustrated groan from behind him that the Little Lord pretended not to hear. He cocked his head and pouted at the pretty green lady, with the big dress and even bigger dangly sleeves, who looked just like the one on the wall in the banqueting hall that daddy had always liked.
Shaking his head, the Little Lord collapsed back into his pillows. All these duelling voices and images, it was all imaginary anyways… right?
***
From what he understood of the chefs, the servants, all in their fancy gear: the feast was going well. There were lots of courses, such as peacock and swan; Humphrey had never seen so many flightless birds before. He did obey mummy that day, staying close to the kitchens, just out of the way. Now sat slumped over the dinner table, hand tugging at his ruffled collar, his eyes widened at the next thing the chef bought to the table.
“SUGAR!”
The sugar sculpture was that of a ship. A big ship. One he wished he would ride someday, maybe to France. Maybe to Spain. To meet his future bride, or raise himself an army.
“But, but… mummy said I—”
He reached a tiny hand forward but was slapped away at the last second; he cried out and turned his head upwards.
“Now, Monsieur Humphrey…”
The head chef had raised a brow and grumbled something he didn’t understand, and the dish was snatched from him. Humphrey grumbled.
Instead, the sugar high was induced by eating that of the plate. Dessert for dinner: what more could he want?!
Smatterings of white crumbs all over his doublet, his grubby paws tried to wipe them away. To no such use, that is. The sugary mess was only made bigger that one of mummy’s ladies had to come and clean him up, which had him sputtering and shirking away from her handkerchiefs.
“Can I-I see the King?” He asked giddily, once the assault with the deadly rag was over.
“Of course not,” She snapped, and he shrunk back into his chair. Then added, “My Lord.”
“Why?”
Sucking in a breath, the maid turned back to him. She knew better than to engage with the child; they could be here a while.
He held back a laugh, asking again, “But why?”
The maid muttered something – something naughty daddy would say in his private office – where Humphrey had been barred from since birth — that no child should understand. He didn’t question, just looked back at her weirdly. She apologised to him, and the Little Lord jumped back off the chair.
He shuffled out of the kitchen, dodging all hurrying servants and trays. There was so much meat, meat and more meat.
“Why are there no veg-vege-veg-tab—” He huffed in defeat. That was a big word.
“Because vegetables are for peasants, my Lord.” One of the scullery maids – the pretty one with the blonde hair and shining eyes that made him feel all gooey inside – replied. “Far beneath you and your family. They also carry disease…”
***
Skipping merrily through Bone Manor, he couldn’t help but sing to himself. He hadn’t been lucky enough to see the King yet as there were too many of his men in the way. Lots of scary swords and even scarier faces, they didn’t want Humphrey near them. He felt unwanted again; all he wanted was a hug.
He sighed heavily and left the grown ups to it, and that was how the child found himself here. In the more adult parts of the Manor, nearing daddy’s wing (how very naughty of him!) He was alone somehow, nobody would miss him if he had gone. Mummy would be mad, but he didn’t think of that now.
“Divorced, beheaded and died! Divorced, beheaded—” The four year old halted mid skip and frowned. “Err…”
Stopping in his tracks, right outside the privy, his shadow was dwarfed by that of a much bigger, much rounder, one, and another trailing behind. Intrigued, the Little Lord looked so far upwards that his neck cracked. He stumbled backwards. Towering over him, looking ready to eat him alive, stood…
“Survived,” Humphrey squeaked.
“…Nonsense, Thomas,” Marching his way, the voice boomed, “He is our host’s idiot son, isn’t he?”
“That’s right, Sire.”
“Least we can do is humour him,” Drawing a hand up to his thick beard, he didn’t really whisper, “The child can lead us right to the kitchen, I’m feeling rather peckish! That sugar sculpture simply didn’t cut it.” A hearty laugh.
“Certainly, Sire.”
Still staring aimlessly up at the super big, super scary man, Humphrey gulped thickly and tugged at his collar.
He was coming closer, bending down, beckoning him to his – very wide – thigh. He wore the fanciest of garters, white stockings and a very large, very gold cloak. The collar around his neck would weigh as much as Humphrey – and he was a big boy now.
Legs trembling, the Little Lord stepped closer, almost holding a hand out.
“Don’t you know the proper way to address the King, young man?!” He was prompted with a firm grin, shaking Humphrey to the core.
“Err…”
He gaped at the man with fancy curls, Thomas who, a pace or two behind, mimed a bow. He did just that.
“What do you do?” He posed innocently.
Instead of letting Thomas answer, a hand was put to his chest. “I’ll get this one, Tommy,” A grand clearing of the throat, “He tends to…the royal undercarriage.”
Humphrey blinked. “He…wipes your bum?”
That earned him a wicked grin. Humphrey pulled a face.
“Eww!” He turned to the other man, who beamed despite it all. “I-I like your, your, err, shiny thing…”
“Earring,” Thomas finished with a flourish. “It’s a real pearl, thank you very much.”
Humphrey nodded in understanding, pointing to the dangly thing Thomas wore. “I’d like one someday, if mummy says OK.”
Humphrey staggered back to his full height, standing that much taller on the balls of his feet. Eyes wide and mouth hanging open, the child realised he wasn’t supposed to talk to the adults, never mind him!
“Y-You won’t cut off my daddy’s head, will you? Or my mummy’s?” The Little Lord was quick to add, “She’s-she’s not a witch! She’s a good mum-woman, a-and daddy, he serves you good and—”
Thomas repeatedly motioned for him to stop talking. He couldn’t stop talking.
“How about yours, little man? Is your head safe upon your neck?”
Tugging at his ruff, “…yes. If I had two!”
That earned the four year old the heartiest of laughter. And perhaps a momentary pardon from the trusted executioner.
Then shrinking back even more, starstruck, he came even closer. He rubbed at his nose, eyes smirking.
“I make no promises, laddie. Now, how did that song of yours go?”
Humphrey gasped, then broke out into a nervy giggle.
The other man, the one who wiped his bum, tapped him on the shoulder then, and forced him back to standing. The full eclipse broke on Humphrey, bringing him back into the light. He couldn’t wait to tell mummy; she would be so proud. Or would curse at him in French and he would pretend it was praise.
Bright blue eyes glancing back towards the privy the men had just left, a mischievous look crossed that very big, rosy face. The Little Lord stepped in closer, tiny lips dropping open.
“I’d give it five minutes if I were you, sonny!” He bellowed, “Come on, Thomas, there’s a roast swan with my name on it. And boar.”
“Coming, Sire. My Lord,” Thomas nodded curtly to Humphrey, and scurried off behind him. Unlike him, Thomas’s footsteps didn’t shake the ground.
Bursting with lots to say, he couldn’t wait to tell daddy.
“Wait, what?” Calling after him, Humphrey turned back towards the open privy and sniffed. “Oh, that stinks!”
“Father do worse,” The furry friend was back, laughing at the slightly rocking Humphrey.
“I don’t… d-don’t feel so…”
The four year old fainted moments later.