A Brood of Vipers

soil, against an envoy to the English court. In this, His Majesty is most insistent.' Henry slammed his wine cup down on the table. He beckoned me forward. I got to my feet. 'Come! Closer!'
    I did so and he grasped my jerkin and emitted a loud, wine-laden belch in my face, those mad piggy eyes glaring at me,
    'Only come home,' the beast hissed, 'only dare to come home when your task is done!'

Chapter 5
    I was frightened by Fat Henry. However, I just stood there with my face set like flint, though my bowels threatened to turn to water. Wolsey tapped Henry gently on the arm.
    'Your Majesty,' he purred, 'Master Shallot will succeed. Aided, of course, by my illustrious nephew.'
    'They didn't bring Throckle,' the fat bugger mumbled, glaring at me with those piggy eyes.

    (Strange, isn't it? Years later, when Fat Henry was a rotting bag of syphilis, he would not let me out of his sight. I used to remind him of his dislike of me in earlier years. He would turn with those blubbering, red lips, tears welling in his eyes, and grasp my wrist in his paw.
    'We are too close, Roger,' he'd murmur. 'Too close. Too alike in heart and soul.'
    That's the worst insult I've ever received! If I really thought that was true, I'd put weights round my neck and go for a swim in the duck pond.)

    Beside me in that opulent chamber Benjamin stirred, clearing his throat.
    'Your G-grace,' he said, stammering deliberately so as to give an impression of nervousness.
    (At times a fine actor, old Benjamin. He could give Burbage a few lessons.) 'Your Grace,' Benjamin repeated haltingly, 'Master Throckle committed suicide.' 'Silly old fart!' the king rasped.
    'Why should he do that?' my master continued, glaring at his uncle.
    Wolsey shrugged and did something very suspicious. He sifted amongst the manuscripts on his table and proffered a copy of the letter from Wolsey that Agrippa had taken to Throckle.
    Benjamin and I studied it carefully. It invited Master Throckle to court and asked him to bring certain herbs to ease the king's discomfort. Benjamin handed it back and shook his head. 'Why should he kill himself, eh, Uncle?' Wolsey pulled a face. I watched those devilish eyes. 'More importantly,' I interrupted, 'why invite him to court?' Wolsey pulled back the silken sleeves of his gown.
    'Master Throckle had applied for a licence to go abroad to study at the Sorbonne. I, of course, granted it.' Wolsey passed other documents across, copies of writs from the Chancery permitting Throckle 'free and safe passage through Dover'. 'But,' Wolsey continued, ‘I wanted him to visit here.'
    'He was a good physician,' the king growled. 'Better than some of the silly noddles we have here.'
    (Do you know, that's the only thing the great killer and I agreed on – doctors! Most of them can't tell their head from their arse, and they include some of the biggest liars I have ever met. Remember old Shallot's advice – if you want to stay healthy, keep as far away from doctors as possible! When the silly old bastard who calls himself my physician tries to call on me I always take pot shots at him from my bedroom window. He just ducks, saying he means well. I loose my dogs on him and bawl, 'So do they!' You should see the bastard run!)
    Ah well, back to Fat Henry. He squatted in that opulent room, his red-rimmed eyes never leaving my face. I felt like farting again, but felt that that would be pushing my luck too far, so I just smiled back. "Throckle's dead,' Benjamin murmured.
    'Yes, yes, he is, dear nephew. Now you are off to Florence. You have our message for Cardinal de Medici?' 'What does it mean?' Benjamin asked. 'That does not concern you.' 'Does His Excellency know we are coming?'
    Wolsey smiled unctuously, clasped his hands and leaned across the table. 'Last autumn, dearest nephew, as you may remember, I travelled with His Majesty the King to Boulogne. I met Cardinal Giulio de Medici there. We were working on a fresh alliance which would unite England, the Empire, Spain, the Italian states and the Papacy against the French.' Wolsey pursed his lips. 'We discussed this and that. The Albrizzis came here as envoys to, how shall I say, confirm the bonds of friendship formed between the cardinal and ourselves at Boulogne. Now, you will go back with our secret message and, if possible, discover Lord Francesco's assassin.'
    'What happens if he's English?' I protested. 'What is the use of going to Florence?'
    Wolsey gazed at me bleakly. 'Don't be stupid! Who in