Paul Doherty: A Brood of Vipers

Agrippa scratched his chin. 'But why was the painting sent to Henry?'

'Oh, firstly, Wolsey was subtly reminding the king about the plot. Secondly, Lord Giulio was intimating that he knew about the king's dark secret.' 'Why should he do that?'

'Oh, as a guarantee. Wolsey, Henry and Giulio are now all bound by a chain of sinister, murderous secrets. These will hold them hostage to their promises for the future.' 'What will happen now?' I asked.

'Ah!' Benjamin got to his feet and stretched. 'I suspect that within twelve months we will have a new pope in Rome, Henry will have his marriage annulled and Cardinal Wolsey will still be his most trusted and faithful servant.'

Agrippa got to his feet. He ran his fingers round the brim of his dark hat. His face had gone pale and his eyes had changed to the colour of flint. 'I told you,' he said softly. 'Henry is the Mouldwarp, the Dark Prince of Merlin's prophecy. The king will be most pleased with you. You will receive his grateful thanks because he thinks his plans are set.'

'I still can't understand,' I said, 'why Cardinal Giulio and Cardinal Wolsey are so close?'

Agrippa was moving towards the door. 'Years ago,' he said, 'Wolsey made over the revenue of the bishopric of Worcester to Giulio de Medici.' He smiled at the astonishment on my face.

'Yes, Giulio de Medici has been Bishop of Worcester for some time.' He shrugged. 'He's never been anywhere near the place but he enjoys the revenues of one of England's richest sees. The meeting at Boulogne only capped his friendship with Wolsey.' 'There's another reason, isn't there?' Benjamin asked, staring at Agrippa. 'And, I think, good Doctor, you know more than you are telling us.'

'The king's mind is slipping into madness,' Benjamin continued, 'and my dear uncle fears him. Arranging for that picture to be sent was a great gamble. Wolsey was reminding the king of a dark secret from his past as well as binding the Florentine cardinal in their exchange of sinister secrets. Each is bound to the other now.' Benjamin played with his cup. 'But Wolsey had another objective. He has taken out surety against Henry. He has told the king's secret to a foreign power. I am sure that Cardinal Giulio has secret instructions to use that information on dear uncle's behalf if he should fall from grace.'

Agrippa smirked. 'We shall see. We shall see.' And, bowing mockingly towards us, he opened the door and slipped away – before I realized the cunning fox hadn't paid the bill!

Benjamin and I returned to the manor house outside Ipswich. Of course, 'dear uncle' sent letters of congratulations and purses of silver after us, but Benjamin remained strangely quiet. He immersed himself in good works on behalf of his tenants. Never again did he go to that ancient hill fort which overlooked the mill near the river. Perhaps it brought back sad memories. Now and again I climbed it. I'd sit down and stare at the diggings we had made. It was there that our great Florentine adventure had begun. I would close my eyes and summon up the spirit of Maria, gently mocking, full of life. I would stare around to make sure I was alone and I'd grieve like only old Shallot can, and ever will. I still take out the little glove I took from Maria as a token so many, many years ago in that beautiful warm garden in the Villa Albrizzi. I hold it against my cheek and smell the fragrant perfume. Poor Maria! Poor Shallot! Who shall grieve for the both of us? Oh, I went to see old Vicar Doggerell. I emptied my silver box and arranged for a specially cut stone to be laid in the chancel before the altar. It bore the following inscription:

Nevertheless, I take some comfort. Maria's ghost and those of the Albrizzi household must have cried to God for vengeance. Oh, Wolsey, Henry and Cardinal Giulio had their way. Within a year Pope Adrian VI was dead, suddenly and mysteriously. A conclave was held and Giulio de' Medici was elected, assuming the name and title of Pope Clement VII. How they must have laughed. Yet, though the mills of God grind exceedingly slowly they do grind exceedingly small. In 1527, four years after his election, Rome was stormed and sacked by the German troops of Emperor Charles V, Catherine of Aragon's kinsman. Pope Clement became his. prisoner and Henry's divorce from Catherine of Aragon was cut to tatters. Oh, the king's rage! Wolsey's fury! Pope Clement's complete helplessness! The king, like the viper he was, struck swiftly and fatally. Wolsey fell from power and Henry broke from the Church of Rome. Now all are gone! All are only shadows in old Shallot's mind. But still, when summer comes and I feel the sun strong on my face, I think of Florence, of Benjamin and Maria and all those poor victims of bloody-handed murder.

Readers often ask how accurate are the journals of Roger Shallot? What can I say? By his own confession he is a born liar, a story-teller. Nevertheless, this tale has more than a thread of truth of it. Henry VII died in mysterious circumstances, estranged from both his son and the ambitious young clerk Thomas Wolsey, and is said to have kept a diary which was torn up and eaten by a pet monkey. Giulio de Medici and Cardinal Wolsey were firm friends and looked to each other for support. Henry really did believe that Pope Clement would deliver a quick divorce from Catherine of Aragon. Clement's fall from power at the hands of Charles V is an established fact, as is Henry's terrible rage against both Wolsey and the papacy. Finally, in an old church outside Ipswich is a memorial stone bearing the inscription: TO MARIA THE BELOVED FROM THE ONION-EATER. Perhaps Shallot is not the liar he constantly makes himself out to be!