'The killing,' Agrippa replied. 'The Mouldwarp's emerged.' He held out his hand and splayed his fingers. 'Each man has a choice of different paths. King Henry is no different. He could have been the greatest monarch England has seen, but has chosen instead to be The Mouldwarp, The Dark Prince who will drench his kingdom in blood.' 'Doctor Agrippa,' I retorted, 'be more precise.'

'I shall be. In two days' time, Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, will lose his head on Tower Hill.'

Benjamin just stared aghast and even I, with my ignorance of court politics, could only gape in amazement. Stafford was the direct descendant of Edward III, one of the greatest landowners in England, the son of the Duke of Buckingham who had plotted against Richard III and lost his head just before Henry Tudor landed to kill the usurper at Bosworth. 'What happened?' Benjamin asked.

Agrippa shrugged. 'Stafford was always a thorn in the side of your uncle.' He smiled apologetically at Benjamin. 'He was for ever calling him an upstart jackanapes from Ipswich, a common mountebank hiding behind the robes of a Cardinal.' He pulled a face. 'Well, a few weeks ago Stafford was at court. He was standing near Henry and, as is customary, offered the King a silver basin to wash his hands in. When the King had finished, Wolsey dipped his own fingers into the water basin. Stafford, enraged, threw the water over the Cardinal's robes.'

Agrippa stopped talking, brushing flecks of dust from his black hose.

(Isn't it strange how great men can lose their heads over a drop of water?)

'Your uncle was furious,' the doctor continued, 'and, shouting that he would sit on Stafford's robes, strode off, sloshing water, making himself look an even greater fool.'

I just lowered my head and thanked God I hadn't been there. The sight of Cardinal Tom walking like some little boy who had pissed his breeches would have had me roaring with laughter. 'The rest of the court laughed?' Benjamin asked.