shoulder. 'And even if the good nuns did seduce them, they would have to break the seal on the pouch as well as my lord cardinal's special seal on each letter, decode the cipher and re-seal them again.' He shook his head. 'No, no, that's impossible.'
Later in the day we received instructions that Sir Robert and his party would be leaving the following morning. The lord cardinal wished us to attend one more of his interminable banquets – and this is where I made a bad situation worse. The banquet began with the usual mumbo-jumbo, except the cardinal dined alone at the high table under a rich cloth of state, his fat body almost hidden by platters of heaped delicacies, whilst all around him stood serving men to refill his goblet, replenish napkins or offer a fresh knife. There was no sign of the king nor, regrettably, Lady Clinton. Suddenly we were disturbed by the roar of many small cannons being fired all at once outside the palace. The gunfire sounded like a burst of thunder. Everyone sprang to their feet but the cardinal's heralds called for silence and he sent his revels master, Henry Guildford, to see what was going on. (Oh, by the way, I never saw Agrippa at these banquets. Indeed, I never saw him eat. Strange, isn't it?) Well, the revels master returned, saying that some masked noble figures had arrived at the water stairs. Wolsey sent the fellow down to escort these strange guests up and we just sat watching the door. Guildford returned leading a large company of masked figures who marched into the hall to the raucous clamour of tambour and fife.
Now these visitors were dressed in simple shepherds' tunics though they were fashioned in stripes of crimson satin and cloth of gold. Visors and artificial beards hid their faces whilst false hair of fine gold wire and black silk covered the rest of their heads. These masquers filed solemnly, two-by-two, down to the high table. Their leader had quiet words with the cardinal, who smiled, clapped his hands, and a green baize-covered table and two chairs were brought in and set down in the middle of the hall. The leading masquer then stood on the dais, whilst a herald challenged anyone in the hall to play this strange man at dice.
Of course, it was a load of mummery, Fat Henry playing at masques and mystery. Oh, we all knew it was him with his stout legs and big arse, but everyone became involved in the pantomime. In theory, no one was supposed to challenge the mysterious figure and, if they did, they were supposed to lose. On that particular occasion matters went wrong. To cut a long story short, drunk as a bishop, I sprang to my feet.
'I accept the challenge!' I yelled, ignoring Benjamin's frantic tugging at my cloak.
The din in the hall stilled. The masked figure stepped ponderously off the dais, sat down at the baize-covered table and indicated with a gloved hand that I should join him. I staggered across. I don't know why. Perhaps it was pure mischief in me. Or was it something else? Perhaps the thought of dice had stirred memories of that terrible evening in the Golden Turk when the Luciferi had trapped me. Anyway, the very devil was in me. The masked figure clapped his hands, a cup of dice was produced. My opponent (of course it was the Great Killer) emptied his purse on the table, so did I, and the game began. I played as if my very life depended upon it. The rest of the hall left their places and gathered around us. I saw Benjamin's anxious eyes but ignored his warning look. I played to win and I did. I won the first purse of gold, then a second, then a third. The joy and gaiety seeped from that hall as the masked player's irritation became obvious. A courtier leaned over and whispered in my ear. 'For God's sake, man, lose!'
But not old Shallot! I threw the dice and almost my every throw beat his until Wolsey, standing behind the king's chair, gave a sign for the trumpeters to blow and the game ended. My opponent drew off his mask and I gazed into the red, sweaty face of the king. Now old Henry was a born actor. Indeed, I wonder if we ever saw the true Henry. (Do you know, I was in the council chamber with Thomas Cromwell when, years later, the northern rebels sent their demands and asked for his removal. Old Henry took his hat off and publicly beat Cromwell, telling him he was a caitiff and a knave and would be sent to the Tower. Of course, Henry was playing games. He wanted more time and the rebels gave him it. Time enough to collect troops and send them north to hang, burn and pillage. By the time they were finished there were ten men hanging from every scaffold north of the Trent.)
So it was that night at Hampton Court. Henry smiled, playing the chivalrous loser. He clapped me on the shoulder, proclaiming I was a great fellow, before sweeping away to join the dancers. I just took my napkin, filled it with all the coins I had won and tied the corners into a knot. Of course, Benjamin hustled me away to a corner by ourselves and that wasn't hard, everyone now distanced themselves from us. The mischief in my veins cooled as I saw the fear in his eyes.
'Roger,' he hissed, 'for the love of God! If you play against the king you always lose!'
'I won,' I quipped. 'By fair means not foul!'
Benjamin pushed his white, anxious face closer. 'No, Roger, the game is not yet over. You will still lose.'
Now, my natural caution exerted itself as I stared round the banqueting hall. Oh, there was dancing, masques and reels, gaily clad courtiers talking in groups, but I caught the fear-filled glances and realised what might happen. The Great Killer hated to be beaten. No one ever challenged Henry and won. The fat bastard's motto was: 'When I play, either I win or you lose!' The napkin now weighed heavy as death in my hands. My mind raced on how the game might proceed. I knew that royal turd. It could be anything from a charge of treason to a nasty accident. Wolsey swept across the room, his purple silk robes billowing round him.
'Master Daunbey, Master Shallot. The king wishes to see you now!'
I caught the stench of fear from the cardinal. A fine sheen of sweat glazed his heavy, quivering jowls. The dark eyes were as hard as slate. He glared at me. I knew why he was fearful. I was a member of his party, one of his retinue, and when the great Henry lashed out it was dangerous even to be in the same room as the king's enemy. We followed the cardinal across the floor. Benjamin nudged me furiously.
'For God's sake, Roger,' he hissed, 'stop this foolishness!'
I had already decided to do that as soon as I entered the darkened chamber where the royal beast sat slouched on a chair. (You had to watch the Great Killer's eyes.
They always reminded me of an angry boar's, small, red-rimmed and vicious – and that's when he was in a good mood! When he lost his temper, and that was often, his cheeks puffed up and his eyes shrank to two small, bottomless black pits. They had that same expression when we entered the room.) Wolsey scuttled to sit down behind him. Benjamin and I needed no second bidding. We fell to our knees, the gold coins clinking ominously in the napkin I clutched.
'Master Shallot, you played well.' The voice was sugar sweet.
'Yes, Your Majesty,' I mumbled, hoping I would not lose control of my bowels or vomit in sheer terror. (I always wore brown breeches.)
'You played against your king and won!'
My mind raced as nimble as a flea in air. 'Of course, Your Majesty,' I stuttered. 'As the wild woman prophesied.'
'What's that?'
I gazed up under my eyebrows. The king was now leaning forward. Wolsey just quivered in terror, shaking like one of the jellies his chefs had so recently served us. Benjamin knelt as if carved from stone.
'What do you mean?' the king repeated ominously.
'Your Majesty,' I stammered, 'when I was young at school in Ipswich, I helped an old lady cross a bridge.' I looked sideways at Benjamin. 'Master, you were with me, you will remember it?'
Benjamin nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground.
'The old woman was a seer,' I continued recklessly. 'She thanked me for my courtesy and prophesied that one day I would play against Europe's greatest prince in a game of hazard, and win. That, she said, would be my moment of glory, to tell my grandchildren,' I added hopefully.
(Oh, what a glorious lie! Shallot at his best, the born story-teller! The only old woman I helped in Ipswich was Bridget the Ancient. I did assist her to cross the river. I pushed the bloody bitch into it after she had cursed me for not handing over every penny in my pockets! But, on reflection, it was a good tale. I liked the bit about grandchildren, a pious hope that the Shallot line did not end there and then!) Well, you could have felt the atmosphere in the room relax as if someone had opened a window, letting in the cool summer breeze. Wolsey's mouth twitched, he once more became the most important person after God. Benjamin's shoulders shook as he controlled the bubble of laughter, but Henry sat back, clapping his hands and grinning from ear to ear like some bloody cat.
'You must tell that to the court!' he roared.
And, without further ado, I was marched back into the hall, placed on the dais, the heralds braying on their trumpets. I repeated my declaration to an admiring court, listening to the plaudits of praise. All the time the Great Killer stood beside me, his hand on my shoulder. When I had finished I turned and, sinking to one knee, dramatically
