'Master, surely!' I exclaimed.
'Oh, I tell the truth,' Benjamin continued serenely. 'The young prince, either with Throckle's connivance or his active co-operation, gave his old father, who was not in the best of health, certain noxious potions. The old king died and our Henry was crowned. Throckle took honourable retirement in the countryside of Essex. Now, I am not too sure about my uncle's role in all this, but I think he found out. Do you remember the story about the old king keeping a diary which a pet monkey tore up and ate?' Benjamin smiled. 'There was a monkey in that painting. Do you remember?' I nodded.
'Well, perhaps dear uncle found it and carefully pieced it together. Whatever, I am sure the old king, lonely and frightened, wrote how he was fearful of his son. Maybe he even suspected he was being poisoned?'
'Is that why Throckle committed suicide?' I asked.
'Oh, yes, do you remember that letter of invitation? The good Sir Edward was invited to visit the court and bring with him certain herbs.' Benjamin smiled thinly. 'It took me some time to realize that these weren't ordinary herbs or flowers, but poisons such as belladonna and foxglove. The flower Henry was holding in that picture is a highly poisonous flower, the false helleborine. It can often be mistaken for the lily.' Benjamin touched me on the hand. 'That's why I sent you and poor Maria to the wise woman in the village near the Albrizzi villa. Most of the poison-flowers and herbs depicted in that painting are known in both England and Italy.'
'So Throckle,' I interrupted, 'read between the lines of that invitation?'
'Yes, he did. He thought he was being summoned to court to answer for certain secret crimes. So, he took the Roman way. He destroyed whatever evidence he possessed, filled a bath with hot water and opened his veins.'
'But why would your uncle threaten Throckle?' Agrippa asked, head slightly cocked to one side.
'Oh, he wasn't threatening Throckle,' Benjamin replied.
'He was, in fact, threatening the king. Henry must have seen a copy of that letter, heard about his old physician's death and realized his chief minister, somehow or other, was also party to the secret.'
'I don't believe that,' I interrupted. 'I think that Wolsey was from the beginning in the plot to kill the old king. After he died the three plotters never mention poison. Throckle takes an early retirement. Wolsey is rapidly promoted and Henry is master in his own house. Now the story lies dormant until Throckle intimates that he would like to leave the country and Wolsey sends him an invitation to court.'
'You believe dear uncle was party to the conspiracy from the start?' Benjamin asked.
'Yes, I do,' I snarled. 'Throckle was safe until he asked to go abroad. He may have thought he was safe even then, that your dear uncle had forgotten what happened sixteen years ago. Dear uncle's invitation, with its secret message, literally terrified Throckle to death.'
'But the painting?' Agrippa asked. 'What has that got to do with it?'
'Ah!' Benjamin pushed away his platter. 'All three of us know,' he said quietly, 'that the king is tiring of his present wife, Catherine of Aragon. We know there are rumours that, with his tender conscience, the king now has an attack of scruples that he should not have married his brother's widow.'
'But Catherine,' I said, 'was a virgin when she married Henry. Her marriage with his elder brother, Arthur, was never consummated.'
'Henry doesn't give a fig for that. Catherine is old and dumpy, God bless her! More importantly, she hasn't borne a living male heir and Henry is getting older. I suspect he began to blame Wolsey, seeking a way out, and my uncle's star began to dip.' Benjamin leaned over and refilled all our cups. 'How can Henry get rid of Catherine?' he asked.
'Poison,' I suggested. 'I wouldn't put anything past that evil bastard!'
'Catherine has her own physician,' Agrippa spoke up. 'She's a Spanish princess as well as Queen of England. Her uncle the emperor would not be pleased.'
'So, what do you do,' Benjamin asked, 'if you have an attack of scruples like our noble king?'
'Seek an annulment,' I replied. 'From the pope. Get the royal lawyers to argue that there was no marriage in the first place.'
'Ah,' Benjamin said, 'but the present Holy Father, Adrian VI, is a man of integrity and great sanctity. He would reject such a plea.'
'But a corrupt pope wouldn't,' I put in.
'Precisely,' Benjamin continued. 'Last autumn my dear uncle took part in a secret diplomatic meeting at Boulogne, ostensibly about England, the Italian republics and the emperor creating an alliance against their inveterate enemy, the King of France. Now,' Benjamin sipped from his cup, 'at that meeting were both dear uncle and Cardinal Giulio de Medici. They would talk, take long walks in the cool of the evening. Lord Giulio would talk about his own problems, the enmity of powerful families like the Albrizzis of Florence and, above all, his great desire to become pope. And what would Wolsey talk about, eh, Roger? His fear of losing control over the king and fat Henry's desire for an annulment?''Of course!' I breathed. 'And that's when plans were laid.' 'Oh, yes, Cardinal Giulio plots to murder the present Holy Father. Secretly, mysteriously, Adrian will die. There will be a conclave of cardinals. England will back Giulio de Medici's elevation to the papacy but,' Benjamin ran his finger round the rim of his cup, 'our good cardinal in Florence does not want to leave for Rome knowing the likes of Albrizzis might make their bid for power. So the Albrizzis are sent to England.' Benjamin sipped from his cup. 'Now, before they leave, Giulio tells Enrico that the Albrizzis were responsible for the murder of his father and uncle and that the emerald Lord Francesco will give to King Henry is proof of this. He persuaded Enrico to begin his bloody vendetta far away from Florentine soil so he would bear no blame.'