This time the machine lived up to its expectations, and Aaron got away from the lions in the Roman Forum. Why in the world did he ever wear his confirmation cross when he was being transported to the Roman Empire in the fourth century?
But now he found himself in a place where the cross might help – or hurt. King Henry VIII laughed on his throne. God, he hated that laugh. He’d visited the syphilitic king once before, just when he’d put his cap after Anne Boleyn, and it had sickened him then. Now the despot had his Church of England, his Princess Elizabeth, and Anne Boleyn (Aaron would not refer to the pretender as queen) expecting a second child – a boy, he was certain to say.
But Bishop Fisher and Thomas More quivered in the tower, awaiting their executions. All while the king laughed his way through another birthday party. How long had he been on the throne, thirty years? He’d started out so well and now, look at him – fat, pockmarked, barely able to walk, but laughing like a hyena. But where was the much-vaunted Anne? Not here at the birthday party. And the king seemed to be paying a lot of attention to Lady Jane Seymour …
Aaron decided to make a quick getaway, but not before making his mark. Socrates had given him some hemlock on a recent visit to Ancient Greece, so Aaron poured a little of it in the king’s chalice. But he didn’t drink it – he gave it to the court jester. And the court jester died. Aaron would have that on his head. Off to the next adventure.
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