The poisoned chalice

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,