VIII

Peñalosa’s face; he rearranges himself, tugging his cuffs, shifting his stance, and then launches in, talking fast. “In point of fact, the Emperor, my master, in order to satisfy his own conscience and the wish of his subjects, has sent certain worthy personages to the French king to enquire whether he is willing to return – of his own free will, and without compulsion – those lands which he holds unjustly and by usurpation from my master and from… from you, sir. Until he has an answer on this point, my master cannot say how and where the war is to commence – that being the reason why he has not yet written to Your Grace announcing his intentions. However, I have no doubt that, a definite answer being obtained, the Emperor will not fail to acquaint both Your Grace and the Cardinal with his plans.”
    The man finishes triumphantly, and looks sick.
    There is a moment of silence.
    I say, “How kind of him.”
    The room is full of shadows. My leg wound is throbbing.
    “Leave us now.”
    “Sir, what shall I report as your answer?”
    I look at him. “Leave. Us.”
    Commander Peñalosa cannot retreat fast enough. The door shuts behind him; Wolsey and I are alone.
    Outside, it is a dismal summer day, grey and squally. A tendril of creeper scratches the window with each gust of wind – a high-pitched, grating sound.
    Still leaning on the fireplace, Wolsey says, “The Emperor knows, of course, that his demands are preposterous. They are designed to be refused. This is his way of pulling out of the treaty.”
    “There will be no invasion, then.”
    He doesn’t need to answer.
    “And no marriage.”
    I am sitting perfectly still, but something moves. It feels as if I am inhabited by things that shift and crawl inside me. I say, “I don’t understand.”
    Wolsey stares into the fire. “The Emperor finds himself in a position of strength,” he says. “He has routed the French. He has their king as his prisoner. He calculates that he no longer needs us. Why should he, now, help you become king of France? Or wait to take a wife until Princess Mary comes of age? As the man said, his parliament is urging him to marry now and produce an heir—”
    “No. I don’t understand,” I say, “how you could have got it so wrong.”
    He turns to look at me. “Your Grace—”
    “You told me: this makes sense of what has happened. You told me: God gives me what I want. Not in the way I expect, perhaps, but he gives it to me nonetheless. So. What is God giving me now? Another ally who has betrayed me. And
    a minister who has failed me. Not another minister – the same one. Who, it seems, fails me again… and again… and again.” I get up, with some difficulty, and walk away from Wolsey, to the window. The courtyard below looks grim and unlovely, the water-spewing creatures on the fountain grotesque. I lean my forehead against the cold glass.
    “Your Grace,” says Wolsey again, but I don’t turn. “Sir, to deal with foreign rulers is to deal with lies and deceits. All the time. A French king, a Spanish emperor – any one of them – will swear he is your friend, while in truth he has his own agenda that he is pursuing, mercilessly, behind your back. It is,” he sighs deeply, “the way the world works. The key is to recognise that, accept it, and keep moving. Keep stepping lightly as the squares on the chequerboard shift beneath your feet.”
    He’s at the window now, looking down at the courtyard too. I roll my forehead on the glass, so I can look at him. “What is your agenda?”
    “Sir?”
    I straighten up. “Well, as you say, a man will swear he is your friend, while in truth…” I slap the sill, with some violence. “It’s the way the world works.”
    “I was talking of foreign rulers.”
    “Really? You see, I am asking myself why you were so keen to sell this alliance to me. Were you working with the Emperor? What was it for ? So that he would deliver you the papacy and you would deliver him your king, on a platter…”
    “No, sir – as you see, I am not Pope…”
    “—to be humiliated, to be laughed at, to be used, when the need arose, and then cast off, like so much baggage.”
    Wolsey is very still, looking at me. He says, “Your success is my success. Everything I have, I have from you.”
    Silence.
    “Your Grace, we need only a new strategy. Listen. We can make a league with the French. Not with the King, I mean with the government left behind in Paris. If Princess Mary