VIII

♦  XXI   ♦  ♦  ♦
     
     
    It is wet and red and weeping fluid. It is on the side of my left leg – a three-inch gash where I fell from my horse in the hunting park here at Windsor yesterday and ripped my flesh open on a piece of splintered wood. The leg is bound now and propped up on a stool; but I have been watching a spreading stain seep through the bandages while the ambassador talks.
    Now I interrupt him, “Commander, with all due respect…” which, if he looks into my eyes, he will see is very little, “what the hell are you talking about?”
    Commander Peñalosa clears his throat and starts again. “His Imperial Majesty requests that you send the Princess Mary to Spain without delay, along with her dowry.”
    “You’ve said that already. What I’m asking for is an explanation.” Peñalosa blinks at me. I am clicking the underside of my rings on the chair-arm. “Look. We have an agreement. A treaty. Remember? Which states that I am to send my daughter to Spain in three years’ time at the very earliest. Not now. She is only nine, for Christ’s sake. The Emperor cannot take her to his bed…”
    “He would not think of such a thing of course, Your Grace.”
    “I’m glad to hear that, at least. So. I send her in three years, with her dowry, yes, but minus the loans I have already given to your master. Not the full amount. Let alone the full amount plus another six hundred thousand ducats. It is… well, many different words spring to mind but, shall we say, astonishing that the Emperor should demand this. And I am under no obligation to pay.”
    Peñalosa, an experienced military man, keeps twitching his fingers to the place where his sword-hilt should be. I get the feeling he would rather be on a battlefield at this moment, engaged in the straightforward business of killing – or being killed. He says, “Your Grace, the money is not demanded as an obligation, but as the kind of help a father gives to a son.”
    “I have given your master a great deal of fatherly help already. Without it, he would not still have control of Spain.”
    “His Imperial Majesty is constantly aware of all you have done for him and is full of gratitude. He sees this request now as a very moderate sum…” At this Wolsey, who is leaning on the fireplace, yelps, but the Spaniard ploughs on, raising his voice a little, “considering that every penny of it will be spent on a war which will benefit England… and, moreover, that when Your Grace has claimed the crown of France, your wealth will be greatly increased.”
    “Yes, it will. When I am king of France. But now, I am not king of France. Now, I cannot pay. It is hard enough to raise money to put my own troops in the field.” I take a deep breath; I attempt pleasantness. “Commander. I understand – the Emperor would like to try and squeeze me for more money. Perhaps he thinks I am a soft touch. Please tell him, it was a nice try.”
    “That is not his view—”
    “Whatever. The answer is no. Let us move on.” I smile, and Peñalosa winces. I say, “The Emperor and I have a solemn, binding agreement to invade France together. An agreement sworn in the chapel here at this very castle. This man,” I point to Wolsey, “saw us do it. At the altar. It would not only be against God to break that agreement. It would be – frankly – madness, considering that your master now holds the King of France prisoner.” I regard Peñalosa narrowly. “Unless, of course, there is something you are not telling me.”
    “I am being entirely open with you, sir. But the request for money cannot, I’m afraid, be put to one side.”
    “So you are saying that if I do not pay, the Emperor will not invade France? Is that it?”
    “The war in Italy has been ruinously expensive, sir. He simply lacks the funds. If you refuse to help, sir, his only course of action would be to make another marriage immediately, with another princess who would bring him a large dowry.”
    Oh God.
    “I cannot believe your master would…”
    I stop, remembering the huge jaw, the slow look. Did I misjudge him? Did that simple mask conceal – Christ! – cunning ? All at once I feel exhausted. I rub my eyes. “Is he thinking of anyone in particular?”
    “The Princess of Portugal, sir, would bring with her a good sum of money. And she is of childbearing age.”
    “And if he marries her, we invade France straight away, do we?”
    “Well, sir, in point of fact…” Colour mounts to