CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A Lot Can Happen in a Day
I do not want to leave the Tower - but there is no choice. We have done what we set out to do - Lamashtu is not only dead, but so destroyed that there is nothing left to even show that she ever lived at all other than the memory of the cruelty she inflicted upon two Queens of England.
Even as we depart, the warrant securing our exit as much as it secured our entry, I cannot speak. We have left Cromwell behind - at his insistence, perhaps, but still we have left him behind. He has one day left to live: tomorrow he shall be obliged to walk from the Tower to the public scaffold, where he shall die. My own life appears to be in equal tatters - for if I am found now, then I too shall face such opprobrium; though my hopes for a merciful end appear to be pointless. My escape has embarrassed the King, and he shall have no hesitation in condemning me to the death of a traitor in all its bloody glory, regardless of my previously high standing - for I am no more a Noble than Cromwell. Thus tomorrow my Silver Sword shall die, and, once I have handed the jewels back to the Queen, I must flee the palace - and probably England - and never return. If I am obliged to return Cromwell's swords and gauntlets to the Order's Factor in Padua, then I might as well take them myself. God knows what would happen to my family - that I cannot even begin to bear to think about.
There are a few Wherrymen about, as dawn is close and the tide is racing. One agrees to return us to the Privy Steps at Whitehall, and we seat ourselves in the stern. My sword is strapped to me again - for the broken strap repaired as everything else did when the Gemfire restored all - not that I care if it is seen. Wyatt sits beside me and engages the Wherryman in conversation, his sword, and the Raven swords, bundled up in the folds of a cloak. I, on the other hand, sit and stew - trying with all I have not to think about what lies ahead, and unable to think of anything else.
As we disembark at the Privy Stairs, Wyatt pays off the Wherryman generously, and then turns to me, "Give me your sword, Richard. You can't be seen with it here."
I look at him almost dumbly for a moment, before complying. Now that we are back, my thoughts are racing again, and I have little concentration to spare. I have one day - one day to save my Silver Sword from an ignominious death on the scaffold, and I have no idea how I can do it. If I enter the Palace, and my disguise fails me, then I shall lose even that opportunity.
There is someone waiting at the top of the stairs, concealed in a voluminous cloak and leaning close to one of the buttresses of the walls of the buildings that close about the alley. Frowning, Wyatt moves slowly, and I remain behind him, for fear of discovery. As we approach, however, the figure moves forth to reveal that a woman awaits us; and, as she removes her hood, we can see a most welcome face.
"Mr Wyatt," Lady Rochford whispers, "Come quickly, the Queen asked me to wait in hopes of your return. Is all done?"
"I shall tell all once we are safe within the Queen's chambers, my Lady." Wyatt whispers back, "Now is not the place."
"Of course, follow me."
She leads us through a carefully chosen route - a labyrinth of servant's corridors and passages that are far from the routes that would lead to our being recognised; or, rather, would lead to my being recognised. Despite being dressed as a servant, and without my beard, I am dreadfully afraid of being seen - and if I am, who on earth will dispatch Cromwell's swords and gauntlets back to Padua? Oh God - I cannot think that…I must not think that…
Her Majesty is waiting for us as we enter her apartments, and only Jonathan is present. So heavily pent up is my anguish that I cannot hold it back any longer, and I burst into tears at the sight of her. We have succeeded, but the cost is so high - so dreadfully high. After all that we did - must we pay such a price?
The Queen's eyes widen, but her expression is filled with sympathy, and she does the unthinkable, crossing to me and holding out her arms like a mother. I don't care that it is embarrassing, or that I should not be seen so close to her Majesty's person - instead I slump on her shoulder and weep like a wounded child.
"What happened, Mr Wyatt?" Queen Jane asks, her expression deeply concerned as - surely if we had won a victory against Lamashtu, I would not be so distraught, "Is Lamashtu not defeated?"
"She is, Majesty." Wyatt confirms, "Destroyed utterly and gone from this earth as though she was never a stain upon it. I would explain more - but I do not understand how it happened. I think the only person who could tell us is Mr Cromwell, but he is still within his cell, and so - if his execution proceeds as planned - we shall never know."
And now she understands.
"He would not leave," I groan, tearfully, "He could have gone - he could have found a ship in the Pool and been away from here - but he will not go. He has saved us all, and now he must die for it."
She guides me towards a chair, and bids me to sit before indicating that Wyatt should do likewise. He sets the swords down on the table, and sits beside me, "I refuse to believe that all is lost, Gentlemen, for we have another ally that we did not suspect, or consider: Suffolk."
We look at one another, bemused; why Suffolk? He does not like me, nor does he like Cromwell. Why would he help us?
"Regardless of his opinion of you, Sir Richard, or Mr Cromwell, Charles Brandon is a fair-minded man who views treachery to be the greatest of sins a courtier can commit against his King. He is, however, certain that the treachery committed is through the action of factional manoeuvring, and attempting to deceitfully manipulate the King's will for the benefit of one other than his Majesty; for the speed at which all came together, and the remarkable convenience of the evidence found, and where it was found, rankled greatly with him. He says little, but sees much."
"Has he spoken to the King?" I ask, at once.
"He has - albeit obliquely - for even his Majesty, now that his temper has cooled sufficiently, is of the opinion that there is something odd about all that has happened. He has not, however, acted to stay the execution - for, above all, he is a proud man who does not like to be found to be wrong."
That is true - for all of us are well aware of the risks we run at our high level of Government. He is a dangerous man: capricious, hot-tempered and increasingly suspicious of his Councillors as the years pass. These hazards are countered by his education and natural intelligence, of course, but also accented by his fearsome pride and the conviction that he answers only to God. That he can be won over through flattery and the giving of fine gifts is perhaps a blind spot - either that or he allows himself to appear so in order to benefit from the largesse of those who aim to win his favour. I had not thought of it in such a light before, and I wonder if it is so.
I am roused from my speculation by a light tap at the door, and Jonathan hastily opens it but a crack, then opens it entirely to admit Hertford, whose expression is one of enquiry.
"We won." Wyatt supplies.
"But we might still lose." Queen Jane adds, quietly, "Have you news?"
Hertford shakes his head, "Alas, no. Suffolk has spoken to me of his conversations with his Majesty - for he considers it most peculiar that a man known to be as intelligent as Cromwell would choose to hide such incriminating documents in the first place that anyone would be likely to look for them, and even more strange that he would equally hide a brooch so unique, so much likely to be missed. Now that his Majesty has had time to consider those comments, he is coming to much the same conclusion."
"Another stole them." I say, firmly, "The brooch, too - and hid them in Thomas's apartments so that they could be found. There is no other explanation - but who? Even Gardiner is not so lacking in subtlety."
Hertford shakes his head, "It was he who suggested we order the search of Cromwell's apartments when we did. He seemed remarkably keen for us to do so."
"But surely he would not have ordered the theft of the King's brooch?" Wyatt argues.
"If not he, then who?" Hertford counters.
I have a solid suspicion - but who would believe it? They do not know of any reason why…
"Might I say something, your Majesty?" Lady Rochford says, suddenly, a slight frown upon her face.
Queen Jane nods, and the Lady continues, "I was on an errand a while ago, taking a message from Dr Butts to leave with Mr Culpepper, for it was he who was present that day. When I approached the King's apartments, I saw two men leaving - but they were in the livery of servants, so I did not pay it any mind."
"What was their livery, Lady Rochford?" Hertford asks, keenly.
"It was not the palace livery, your Grace," She admits, "they were wearing Piedra de Ijada velvet slashed with Malachite silk."
This means nothing to me, and the other men in the apartment are equally baffled, so the Queen translates for us, "A dark green velvet with paler green silk slashes."
Hertford's eyes widen, "Campofregoso."
"Are you sure?" Queen Jane asks.
He nods, "They have been everywhere about the Palace since that blasted Genoese found his way to the King's favour. None question them - so it is no surprise to me that you did not, Lady Rochford. Can you be certain of how long ago this was?"
"I can tell you exactly," She says, "It was the seventeenth - I had taken particular care to remember that date, for it was Lisbet's birthday two days after and I wished to purchase her a pair of perfumed gloves from a lady who visits but rarely and had promised to come by on that day; but those two days later, the loss of the brooch was noted."
God help us - can we truly be so lucky as this? A witness who can place Campofregoso's servants in the King's apartments on the day that the brooch was thought to be stolen? Even with the favour shown to the Genoese Ambassador, his servants would have no valid reason to be present without their master, surely?
Hertford is pacing back and forth, "While I cannot deny that I was rather too keen to accept the possibility that Cromwell was involved, my suspicions were first aroused by Gardiner, and by Campofregoso - for it was he who mentioned Cromwell's apparent keen interest in the jewel. He was subtle - and my animosity carried me the rest of the way."
"He would have been right about the interest - but not the reason for it." Wyatt observes, "The one obstacle we faced was securing a legitimate reason to obtain the ruby - but we would never have been so unutterably stupid as to try to steal it."
I might have been, had it come to it - but I decide it best not to say so.
"But why would Signor Campofregoso attempt to implicate the Lord Chancellor in a petty theft?" Queen Jane asks.
"Because they have clashed before, Majesty." I say, "I suspect that, when he first arrived, Campofregoso did not recall Thomas Cromwell, for they had not seen each other in many years - but Thomas recognised him in an instant - for there was bad blood between them. I think that it was his alliance with Lamashtu - though how he entered into such a partnership I do not know - that alerted him to the presence of a Silver Sword in the English Court. Thomas thought that he did not know of the presence of Silver Swords amongst princes - for he was expelled from the order, having failed the final Trial of the House. It is only those who gain Swords who know of such appointments - for that is the greatest secret of all. Except here." I add, a touch ruefully.
"Then he has an axe to grind." Hertford murmurs, thoughtfully, "A truly strong motive for treachery - if he is seeking vengeance."
"And if we are not quick to act," I remind everyone, "He shall gain it."
I can hardly believe it - we have a suspect now instead of Cromwell, and the evidence to support our suspicions; but that is not enough - we must now try to convince the King.
Our discussions are silenced by another knock at the door. Hastily, Wyatt flees into the bedchamber with the swords, while I get up and stand in the spot in which I was placed when the King came to sup. Jonathan goes to open the door, and admits the Duke of Suffolk, who approaches the Queen and bows, "Your Majesty, forgive my intrusion. The King wishes to speak to some of the Privy Councillors as a matter of urgency. Your Grace," he turns to Hertford, "He has asked for you; and for Thomas Wyatt - though I am yet to find him. He has not spoken of a reason, but I suspect it may involve recent events."
Hertford nods, but does not reveal that Wyatt is hiding nearby, instead he turns to me, "You - go and find Thomas Wyatt, and bring him to the King's Privy Chamber." He turns back to Suffolk, who nods to indicate that he has guessed the location correctly. Not daring to speak, I nod and hurry out of the Apartments, before finding a convenient spot to hide and wait for the Earl and the Duke to depart. Thank God Suffolk did not recognise me.
I do not have to wait long for Wyatt to emerge. He has left the swords behind, "Lady Rochford will arrange to get them back to my quarters while we are with the King." He advises, quietly, as we go, "I shall see if you can stay in the room - I suspect it would not be fair to leave you outside."
As we approach the Privy Chamber, it is clear that the King is in full flow, "…how Cromwell, as wily as he is, could be so foolish as to…"
Culpepper leads us in, "Mr Thomas Wyatt, your Majesty."
Henry nods, and waves Culpepper and - by extension - me, to stand to the side and keep out of discussions. The King's Groom looks at me oddly now and again, for he has not seen me before, but does not comment as my livery suggests I am a servant of the Queen's.
"I have acted in haste, Gentlemen - if my Lord Suffolk is to be believed." The King resumes, though he does not look pleased to have been deceived - or, at least to have been seen to have been deceived.
"In all honesty, Majesty," Hertford looks contrite, "I fear that I, too, was led rather by the nose, and my own prejudice caused me to act rashly and in too much haste. I was too quick to believe that which I suspect I was meant to believe." He is speaking with absolute honesty - and, more importantly, accepting his own culpability, which is likely to achieve more than trying to drop the blame elsewhere.
"And what of the murder of the Manservant? Was he not found with the corpse?"
"I am given to understand, Majesty," Suffolk adds, "when I questioned those in the Offices, that Mr Cromwell was present throughout the morning - during which time his manservant was known to have been seen alive - and only returned to his apartments because he had spilled ink upon his clothing. Thus, it would seem entirely impossible that he could have committed the act."
"It has since come to my attention - for the witness did not realise until today the significance of that which she had seen - that two of the Genoese Ambassador's retinue were seen leaving your private apartments on the very day that has been identified as that upon which the brooch was taken." Hertford says, quietly.
"Campofregoso?" the King stares at him, incredulous, "Campofregoso?" His voice rises not only in volume, but also in pitch, "If he has acted against me, then I shall…I shall…"
He clearly has no idea what he shall do that would be sufficient to assuage his anger, but before he can suggest anything, Gardiner comes hastily in - and catches both the name and the King's newfound view.
"We cannot be certain that Campofregoso was directly involved in what would equally appear to be the planting of incriminating papers in Mr Cromwell's Chambers." Hertford continues, "If we cannot be certain that he was not involved in the theft - for the presence of his servants in your private apartments seems at the very least, most strange - for what reason would they have to be there?"
"None!" the King snaps, furiously, "Not even Campofregoso himself had such access, so his creatures would not!"
Gardiner has no more recognised me than any of the other Lords who do not know that I am present, but it is quite extraordinary to watch his expression change as he sees the direction of the conversation into which he has walked all unprepared. I have no doubt that he intended to do all he could to redirect the King back onto his course of having Cromwell executed - but now that it is clear that the scheme to which he must have tied himself is coming apart at the seams, he must free himself from it, or be dragged down with the sinking ship.
"Why are you here, Gardiner?" The King demands, angrily, "I did not summon you!"
"Forgive me, your Majesty," the Bishop stammers, "I have made a discovery that - under the circumstances - could not wait."
I feel a horrible sense of cold fear - has he managed to manufacture stronger evidence to overturn that which Hertford and Suffolk have presented?
"In his diligence to uncover the absolute truth of this affair, Secretary Wriothesley made a remarkable discovery - for he has access to information from a number of spies, and I find this most useful in serving your Majesty's interests."
I want to rush at the pinch-faced old man, and strike him - how dare he claim that any of his work is for the benefit of the King's interests? Even the Councillors are glaring at him with distaste - for they know that his most diligent work of late has been to remove the Lord Chancellor. Please, God - do not let it be falsified evidence…
"I…er…I fear that Signor Campofregoso has indeed been acting with duplicity, Majesty," the Bishop says, nervously, "It would appear that he has been in communication with the King of France - intending to create a state of war between the Holy Roman Empire and England, with a view to snatching what territories he can while we are otherwise engaged in hostilities. He has been promised great riches if he can succeed in this endeavour."
Everyone is staring at him - as am I.
"It seems that the threat to Genoa was entirely false - a ruse established by Campofregoso's spies to convince all at the English court that the Emperor was threatening a small state for his own gain. Thus when Campofregoso arrived to beg for assistance, he would be welcomed with warmth. From that moment on, he was determined to ensure that no sensible discussion could be entered into with any representative of the Emperor."
That explains the extraordinarily contrary reports that Campofregoso was providing, and that Cromwell was receiving from the Spies, then...
"This evidence seems remarkably well timed, your Grace." Suffolk says, dryly.
"I have had my suspicions for quite some time, your Grace," Gardiner says, still rather nervously, "but Mr Wriothesley's discovery of the papers served to assure me of the false trail that the Ambassador has laid."
As I look at the Bishop, every move he makes, every syllable he speaks, suggests that he is making up his argument upon the spot. He had never intended to reveal anything that might help Cromwell - only to try to absolutely ensure his downfall. It is only thanks to the evidence that has so captured the King's attention that he has lost his nerve and thrown in his lot with those who would act to save the Chancellor.
All know that Cromwell is to die tomorrow - and I cannot be certain that the King would be willing to make such an abrupt about-turn upon his own decision. To do so would show that he has allowed himself to be deceived by false counsel - and nothing hurts his pride more than to appear deceived. If he cannot swallow that pride and withdraw the warrant, then all of this will have been for nothing. Pardoned or not, a head cannot be restored to a body once it has been struck off.
Of the men in the room, only Suffolk and Wyatt can safely claim to have been free from the conspiracy that seems to have surrounded the Lord Chancellor - though Wyatt does have his abandonment of friendship with me to count against him in the eyes of those present. They are not to know that I expected it of him.
The King is silent, but only a fool could miss that gradual reddening of his features as his temper begins to build - like a storm in the making. The Lords that stand around him wait, equally silently, for the storm to break.
The tempest, when it comes, is savage. The King's anger is directed almost entirely at one man and one alone: Gardiner, who cowers from his rage as his words grow more and more violent, "You are a liar and a deceiver! Can you dare to call yourself a Christian when you have conspired against the most faithful of all my servants? You spite-weaving, double dealing toad! You are a disgrace to your vestments! You do not deserve to wear purple - for you would have stained it with the blood of my Lord Chancellor for your own gain! Do not think I am not aware of your greed for my favour, damn you! At least Hertford had the courage to admit to his own failings! But you - you! You would lay all blame at the door of another to save your own, worthless, cringing bloody skin! Get you from my presence! Return to your damned Bishopric and never darken the doors of my Court again - and be bloody grateful that it is not the Tower!"
Gardiner stands there for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like that of a landed fish - but he does not wish to invite an even greater outburst, and hastens out of the room with as much dignity as he can muster. I fancy it is not much.
"Hertford!" The King turns to the Earl, who visibly flinches, "Get word to Kingston at the Tower immediately! I want Cromwell released at once - and back in the bloody Palace before the day is out, do you hear me? And get that Act of Attainder quashed! If it can't be done now, a Pardon instead until it can be!"
"Yes Majesty." He bows, relieved not to have received a similar brow-beating from the King, but as he rises, he nervously asks a question, "And what of the Solicitor General? Sir Richard Rich is facing arrest as an accomplice of the Lord Chancellor - but if one is innocent, would not the other be? The only evidence that was ever held against him was his association with Cromwell."
For a moment, I think that the King might explode - for his face is now cherry-red. Hertford seems to unbalance slightly, as though he wishes to take a step back, but dare not, "Damn you, Hertford! Do I not need him to overturn the Act of Attainder? I rescind the order to arrest him - find him, for God's sake!"
I am so overcome with surprise at the speed at which the entire disaster has turned about and been averted that, for a moment, I do not hear the King's words and do not realise that I am also now safe from arrest should I reveal my presence.
"I do not need to find him, your Majesty." Hertford advises, gravely, "He has been here all along."
"What? Where?" Henry is looking about wildly, but still he does not seem to see that there are two servants present where there should be one. I doubt that it is my face that is the issue - it is the livery. He sees the livery and sees only a servant, not a man. Marvelling at how well I have been concealed by something so simple, I step forth, and bow, "I am here, Majesty."
For a moment, I think the King might refuse to believe me, for he stares at me as though I have been dropped there by the gods in some Greek play - the very soul of deus ex machina. Perhaps he cannot believe it possible that a man of my standing, such as it is, would deign to wear the garb of a servant. God help me, I should have worn the garb of a vagabond if it could have brought me to this outcome.
If we thought the King to be the keenest example of absolute monarchy, then this can only prove it - for in the space of minutes, he has overturned Cromwell's fate, rescinded the order of arrest against me, and demanded that we be welcomed back to the palace. The Act of Attainder can easily be overturned - and I am eager to flee to the offices to set to work upon it, except for the fact that I have not slept for more than a day, I am drained from all that I have experienced, and I think I might be about to fall down from sheer exhaustion.
"I think it best, Majesty, if the legal work wait until tomorrow." Suffolk says, quietly, "I do not think Mr Rich is in the best frame of mind to compose the relevant paragraphs. I shall speak to Mr Wriothesley to arrange the interim pardon for the time being."
The King nods, "Make sure Cromwell's apartments are worthy - and ensure that all property is restored to both Mr Cromwell and Mr Rich."
Suffolk bows and withdraws, indicating that I should follow. As I do so, despite the fact that I am now trembling with tiredness, I turn to him, "But what of the Genoese Ambassador? Does the King not have anything to say about him?"
"I know his Majesty far better than you do, Mr Rich." He answers, "He shall act against Signor Campofregoso - but he greatly dislikes to be duped, and so his action is likely to be violent, and public."
Within half an hour, I find myself installed in a suite of rooms vastly superior to those I occupied before Cromwell's arrest. By the Palace clock, which I can see from my window, it is barely ten o'clock. So quickly has all happened, that only three hours have passed - and yet it feels like a lifetime.
John has been restored to me, as have the coffers which contain my confiscated property. Shedding the livery, I am glad to be back in my own clothing again, but I cannot stay awake any longer, and all but flop onto the large tester bed to fall almost at once into a deep sleep.
By the time I wake, it is late afternoon, and Dickon is in the main chamber when I emerge. I rush to him to shake his hand, "Thanks be to God that you are well, Dickon - but for you, we should have foundered and all should have been lost. You were my window upon this place in my absence."
"All is well, Sir Richard," He smiles, happily, "And I am come to take you to Mr Cromwell's new quarters."
"He is returned?" I ask, rather stupidly, for why would Dickon have come here if he had not?
"Returned, bathed and back in his best garb, Sir Richard." Dickon grins, "He is awaiting you."
I draw bemused stares as I go, for though I am dressed in the clothes of a courtier, the lack of my beard confuses all about me and few recognise me. I am not sure whether I am amused or disturbed by this - but more than that, I am most confused as to what to say to Cromwell when I arrive at his apartments. I wish it could be something witty, urbane or smart - but I suspect I shall be lucky to get any words out at all.
If my new apartments were well appointed, Cromwell's are magnificent: rooms which would befit someone of far grander status than a commoner such as he. And there he is - in one of his finer brocaded doublets, rising from his chair with a look of great relief upon his face, "Thanks be to the Lord that you are well, Richie - my God, you look most strange without your beard!"
It is as though I have no control over myself. I suddenly stride forward, and lash out, striking Cromwell hard across the face with the flat of my hand - and it is truly a violent slap, with all my strength behind it, "Don't you ever do that to me again!" I shout at him wildly, "I thought you were going to die - and I couldn't stop it! God help me, if you do, I'll do what Wolsey said he'd do and set about you with a horse whip!" and then, to my utter embarrassment, I am in tears yet again.
His hands are upon my shoulders, and he watches me quietly as I sob. He does not have to wait long for me to regain my composure, for I have shed quite enough tears since last night, and before long, I am scrubbing the teary mess with a kerchief and feeling very foolish.
"Forgive me, Richie." He says, contritely, "I never meant for you to be so put upon - but with no warning of my arrest, I did not know what to do, and could do nothing to help you. Though, I think, I would not have needed to, for you did remarkably well on your own."
"I did not." I admit, "But for the Queen, you would not be in these chambers, and I think it most likely that I would have been imprisoned with you, for I was frozen in my chair in the Council Chamber and could think of no one to whom I could turn for help. It was her actions that brought us to your rescue - for she aided my escape from the Palace, and, when I returned, convinced Hertford to join with us, and secured Red Fire for us from the King. It was she who laid all the plans - not I."
He sighs, "You are ever one to dismiss your own actions, Richie. Do not so - for all hinged upon you to secure the Jewels and bring them to me. But for you, I could not have acted to destroy Lamashtu. All that was done, was done to aid you - and you alone. Do not forget that."
I do not have time to reply, for the door opens, and Wyatt comes hurtling into the room, "Thank God!" He cries, happily, "You are returned, and all is made well again!" and then he is all tears as well. Lord above, could we look less like heroes?
We remain together in Cromwell's apartments, seated by a cheerful fire, until Dickon advises us that we are required to attend the King's feast tonight - for we are celebrating Prince Edward's second birthday. With all the upheaval, there has not been sufficient time to arrange something akin to the wildly over-done show that accompanied his first - but instead the court shall feast magnificently. As Privy Councillors, we are expected to be present - so I must change into something entirely finer than that which I am wearing now.
"I shall see you in the Hall." Cromwell advises, as we depart.
When I rejoin Wyatt, we have both changed into far finer garments, and we are the same as all about us - richly clothed and bedecked with ridiculous amounts of jewels. It seems to me that some of the men are wearing more than the ladies; though I have restricted myself to a gold chain.
We seat ourselves with the other Privy Councillors, who largely ignore us, for what could they say? Other than Suffolk or Hertford, none spoke for us, and even if they did not speak against us, they were quite content to let events play out, and I have no doubt that all of them cried out that Cromwell was a traitor when they debated the Bill of Attainder. As I look about the hall for Cromwell, I cannot see him - though I note that Campofregoso is still in a place of high favour, seated in his customary place at the King's table. As I am still lacking my beard - though my chin is now becoming rather rough with stubble - the Ambassador does not see me, so he is clearly not aware that something is amiss.
We all stand and bow for the King and Queen as they enter with the Ladies Mary and Elizabeth, accompanied by brazen trumpets, and they take their seats at the table. Rising to his feet, the King holds out his hands for silence, and all quickly settle.
"My Lords!" he declares, loudly, "I thank you for your presence at our celebration for the second birthday of our well beloved Prince Edward - before we eat, I wish to welcome an honoured guest to our proceedings!" and he looks across to the Garter King of Arms, who bashes the foot of his staff to the floor and proclaims words that leave everyone shocked.
"The Lord Chancellor, Mr Thomas Cromwell!"
Everyone is staring at the door as Cromwell enters the Hall. He is dressed in black, as always, though his doublet is brocaded and he is wearing the finest of his simarres - the one with the wide sleeves. His chain of office, which Hertford so cruelly wrenched from him, is back about his shoulders again, and he wears it with astonishing solemnity for one who is being paraded before all as the most highly favoured man in the entire place.
I cannot help but steal a glance at the high table, where Campofregoso is staring, thunderstruck, at the man he thought he had destroyed. Cromwell should be in a cell, perhaps receiving a confessor to make his last peace with God before his death on the morrow - but instead he is here, in the hall, bowing with that smart neatness that always puts the more ostentatious homage of the Lords to shame.
"Forgive me, Mr Cromwell," The King says suddenly, "There is nowhere at this table for you to sit. Allow me to correct that oversight."
Even Cromwell is clearly not expecting this - I imagine he had assumed he would join the other Privy Councillors - but I realise then what Suffolk told me this morning. The King said nothing of his plans for the Genoese Ambassador - and it is now that he intends to act: both violently, and publicly.
Moving with astonishing speed for a man in his condition, the King suddenly grasps the shoulders of Campofregoso's simarre, wrenches him out of his chair and forcibly drags him out from behind the table and into the hall to throw him to the floor at Cromwell's feet.
"You lying, duplicitous knave!" he screams at the cowering Ambassador, "I know all your plans - there was no invasion of Genoa, you bastard! Your master was the King of France! God help me, I shall make him pay for his act against us - but not as high a price as I shall exact from you! Thief! Traitor! You have betrayed not only England, but Genoa! And the Empire! I do not stand to be so rudely used, damn you! Get you gone from my Court! And do not think to find favour with any Prince in Europe after this! You double dealing, duplicitous, treacherous serpent! God help me, if I had a whip to hand, I should flog you! Get you gone!"
Campofregoso is stunned, cowering upon the floor under the King's verbal onslaught - but, as quickly as it blew up, the King's anger is gone, and he turns, quite calmly, to Cromwell, and warmly invites him to take the vacant chair at the high table.
He has never seated himself there before, and almost certainly never shall again - but for one night, Cromwell is in a position of the highest favour, and the man who tried to rob him of it is grovelling upon the floor.
As the King returns to his own seat, he notices that Campofregoso has not moved, "What is that Genoese bastard doing cluttering up my floor?" He declares loudly, "Guards - throw this piece of shit out of my presence! And if you are still to be found in my palace by morning, Campofregoso, I shall have you fed to the dogs like the worthless pile of rotted meat that you are!"
I feel a sense of almost spiteful satisfaction as two burly guards bodily wrench the fallen Ambassador from the floor and drag him, backwards, out of the hall, screaming wildly at the King - though he is speaking in his own tongue now and none can make out what he says. I am sure that Cromwell enjoys it even more than I - but he does not show it, his expression inscrutable as the King seats himself, and the trumpets bray again to welcome the first remove.
I exchange a glance with Wyatt, who shrugs. Such is life in the Court of a King with absolute power, I suppose. Shrugging myself, I reach for a leg of capon, and try as hard as I can not to madly devour it like a starving dog, for I have not eaten since I left Grant's Place yesterday.
"And that is that." Wyatt says, helping himself to some bread.
"Until tomorrow." I add, trying not to speak with my mouth full, "I imagine it shall all be most strange."
Wyatt smiles a slightly lopsided smile, "I imagine that it shall not."
I shrug again, and reach for another handful of food. Tonight, I am starving. Tomorrow can take care of itself.