On the same day there was a great banquet in the castle, and, as usual, Wolsey took his station on the right of the sovereign, while the papal legate occupied a place on the left. Watching a favourable opportunity, Wolsey observed to Henry that he had been riding that morning in the forest, and had seen the loveliest damsel that eyes ever fell upon.
“Ah! by our Lady! and who may she be?” asked the king curiously.
“She can boast little in regard to birth, being grandchild to an old forester,” replied Wolsey; “but your majesty saw her at the hunting party the other day.”
“Ah, now I bethink me of her,” said Henry. “A comely damsel, in good sooth.”
“I know not where her match is to be found,” cried the cardinal. “Would your majesty had seen her skim over the lake in a fairy boat managed by herself, as I beheld her this morning. You would have taken her for a water-sprite, except that no water-sprite was half so beautiful.”
“You speak in raptures, cardinal,” cried Henry. “I must see this damsel again. Where does she dwell? I have heard, but it has slipped my memory.”
“In a hut near the great lake,” replied Wolsey. “There is some mystery attached to her birth, which I have not yet fathomed.”
“Leave me to unriddle it,” replied the king laughingly.
And he turned to talk on other subjects to Campeggio, but Wolsey felt satisfied that the device was successful. Nor was he mistaken. As Henry retired from the banquet, he motioned the Duke of Suffolk towards him, and said, in an undertone—“I shall go forth at dusk to-morrow even in disguise, and shall require your attendance.”
“On a love affair?” asked the duke, in the same tone.