'I am Your Grace's most faithful servant,' I stammered.
Henry crouched down so he could stare into my eyes. 'Faithful Shallot, what were you doing in the cart on the way to Tyburn?' 'A misunderstanding. Your Grace.' 'A misunderstanding!'
Henry got to his feet, smacking me playfully on the cheek. He turned to where Wolsey was sitting in a box chair next to the throne. Wolsey looked haggard, dressed in purple silk from head to toe: his black hair oiled and pulled to the back of his head. His face was lined with care, and there were deep pouches under those gleaming black eyes.
The Cardinal lifted one gloved hand and quickly pressed a finger against his lips, a sign that I should be careful. You see, things had changed at court. Wolsey no longer regarded me as a fool. Indeed, in the last few months, the seeds of a deep friendship had been sown and I would stand by the great Cardinal when, like Lucifer, he fell from grace, never to rise again. The King, however, had forgotten me and had turned to Benjamin. This time his voice was free of sarcasm. He asked a series of short barbed questions about Venice: when my master gave him assurances that the Venetians would put galleys at his disposal, Henry smacked his hands and returned to sit on his throne.
I stared across to where Agrippa stood in the shadows but the good doctor had his face turned away. I glanced round the chamber, which was fashioned in the Italian style: black and white tiles on the floor, light-coloured wainscoting against the wall. Above hung tapestries, and cloths of the same colour had been wound around the rafters. My knees were beginning to ache. I prayed the bastard would let us sit on the bench provided behind us. The Beast, however, was in one of his great statesmanlike moods, pondering strategy and subtle schemes. My gaze was caught by a spider which scuttled across the floor. I caught the Cardinal's faint smile and recalled the tale that, where he went, spiders followed.
(I don't joke - at Hampton Court, at least when it was owned by Wolsey, the place crawled with them.)
'You may sit,' Henry murmured.
Benjamin and I sighed with pleasure, got off the hard floor and sat like two schoolboys facing their master. Henry watched me, eyes screwed up as he scratched at his chin.
'You've seen the Orb, Shallot?'
'Yes, your Grace.'
'Charles V wants it back,' the King snapped petulantly.
'What the Emperor wants,' I replied emboldened, 'and what he gets, are two different things, your Grace.'
The Beast, flattered, wagged a finger at me.
'Good boy, Roger. It's a pity -' all good humour drained from his face, '- that you and Berkeley were not able to place the replica in the chest.'
'Your Grace, Your Grace!' Wolsey soothingly intervened. 'You cannot blame Sir Hubert. Lord Theodosius moved quickly whilst poor Shallot here was facing false allegations.'
Henry made a rude sound with his lips.
‘I want that Orb,' he declared. 'It's mine, it's been in the line of England since the days of Alfred. Let the Emperor keep the replica and, one day when I no longer need him, I'll tell him the truth. I want that Orb. I want to bequeath it to my ...' The King paused. 'To my ..
'To your son?'
Oh Lord save us, I don't know why I intervened. Benjamin nearly fell off the bench. Wolsey's hand went to cover his face. Agrippa sunk deeper into the shadows. Even the spider headed for the wainscoting. This was one thing you never mentioned at Henry's court. Big-boned Henry, with no son to follow him and already sixteen years on the throne: his mind was constantly turning to what would come after. This time, however, instead of losing his temper, Henry smiled beatifically at me, the tears rolling down his cheeks.
'Yes, Shallot, a son.' He was almost sobbing. 'A little Henry to follow Daddy. Why, Shallot? Why doesn't God give me a son? Have I not served him well?'
I nodded wisely. Now was not the time to mention his drinking and his lechery.
'If you hold the Orb of Charlemagne,' I volunteered rashly, 'perhaps God will grant your request.'
The Beast's mood changed abruptly. He wiped the tears from his face, got up and strode towards me. He grasped me by the hair, pulling back my head, his face only a few inches from mine, so that I could smell the rottenness of his blackening teeth.
Henry always drenched himself in perfume. If his mouth didn't smell, that suppurating ulcer on his leg invariably did.
'The Orb of Charlemagne!' Henry hissed. 'The Orb of Charlemagne! You'll get it back for me, won't you, Roger boy?' He breathed in deeply. 'You've received a pardon but that's not the end of the matter,' he hissed. 'In a few weeks' time Captain Buncel is taking my ship the Peppercorn down the west coast of Africa. He's looking for officers. If you don't re-take the Orb, it's the Peppercorn for you, my lad!'
Henry returned to his chair and sat there moodily.