The poisoned chalice

the two slats, was a small, leather-bound book. Benjamin seized it, stuffed it down his doublet and replaced the screen as best he could. We collected our horses and galloped back to Maubisson as if the devil himself was pursuing us.
    We found everyone at the chateau still recovering from the rigours of the previous evening. Only after we had unlocked the door of our own chamber did Benjamin bring the book out and carefully examine it. At last he closed it and cradled it in his lap.
    'I did promise you, Roger, that when we found this book I would explain why it is so important and what secret instructions my uncle gave me at Hampton Court. This,' Benjamin paused and drew a deep breath, 'is St Augustine's work On Chastity. Inside it are annotations by our king; one of these is most significant.' Benjamin opened the book and pointed to where the royal hand had scrawled in the margin: 'Quando Katerina devenit uxor mea, virgo intacta est.'
    'When Queen Catherine became my wife,' I translated, 'she was a virgin.' I shrugged. 'So?'
    Benjamin looked down at the book. 'My uncle has advised me that our royal master wishes to divorce his wife, Catherine of Aragon.'
    I just stared dumbstruck as I recalled the sad, dark face of Henry's Spanish wife. 'On what grounds?' I stuttered.
    Benjamin made a face. 'You may recall, Roger, that Catherine was formally betrothed and married to Henry's elder brother Arthur in December 1501. Five months later he died at the Palace of Ludlow. Arthur was always a sickly boy and our royal master became heir-apparent. Now the old King Henry VII did not wish to give up either the alliance with Spain or Catherine's very generous dowry.'
    (By the way, I knew my master wasn't lying. The old king was a proper, tight-fisted, pinch-pursed man who counted every penny and never paid a bill. I have seen his household books in the Tower muniment room. He used to check and sign every page. He could tell to the last farthing how much the royal exchequer held and how much it was owed. I can confidently assure you that it was the only time in the history of our kingdom that the royal exchequer had more going in than going out. The great Elizabeth, when she visits me, tells me in hushed tones how she still finds caches of gold hidden away by her miserly grandfather in secret compartments in palaces all over the country.
    Anyway, in that dusty chamber at Maubisson the seeds of such greed began to germinate. The opening of a wound which sent hundreds to a bloody death, provoked the northern shires to rebellion and led to the suppression of every convent, monastery and abbey in England. It snatched old Thomas More from his Chelsea home, his walks by the river with his tame fox, ferret and weasel, and sent him to the headsman's block. I had a premonition of all this and shivered as I remembered Doctor Agrippa's famous prophecy of how Henry would become the Mouldwarp, or Dark One, who would plunge his realm into a sea of blood.)
    'How could he divorce Catherine?' I spluttered. 'She has borne him children!'
    'Yes, but only the girl Mary has survived,' Benjamin replied. 'Our king wants a male heir and every one of Catherine's boys has died within a week of birth.'
    (Oh, by the way, that's correct. On one occasion when Venetian assassins were pursuing me through the streets of London I hid in the crypt of Westminster Abbey. I crawled through some fallen masonry and entered a dark, mysterious tomb where little coffins lay on slabs like ghastly presents in some grisly shop. I later discovered these were the still-born children of Catherine of Aragon, God give them rest. I must have counted at least six.)
    'Anyway,' Benjamin continued, 'Henry now believes that the deaths of his sons are God's judgement on him for marrying his brother's widow in contradiction of Leviticus Chapter 20, Verse 21: "Thou shalt not marry thy brother's widow".'
    (The Great Beast loved quoting this verse. For those who are interested in such matters there's another verse in the same book which says that you should marry your brother's widow. It just goes to prove the old saying that even the devil can quote scripture. I hope my chaplain takes note of that. He is fond of garnishing his sermons with verses from the Bible.)
    'Yes, but was Catherine a virgin when she married Henry?'
    'Of course she was,' Benjamin replied. 'Arthur was a sickly boy, constantly suffering from a flux in the bowels and bringing up yellow sputum. On the morning after his