
'Oh, yes, they roared. The palace rocked with their merriment. Stafford only made matters worse. The next day he turned up wearing a common jerkin and hose and when the King asked him why, replied it was to prevent the Cardinal from sitting on his robes.' Agrippa spread his hands. "The mockery grew even louder.'
'But if a man is to lose his head for mocking a cardinal,' I replied, 'then Henry would lose all his subjects.'
Benjamin smiled wryly for, although he had great affection for his powerful uncle, he had no illusions about this commoner with a brilliant brain who had managed to rise to be Cardinal and Lord Chancellor of England.
'Ah!' Agrippa leaned forward as if he suspected there were spy-holes behind the panelling. 'You know your uncle, Master Daunbey. No man insults him, and Stafford he has always hated. My Lord Cardinal has always believed that revenge is a dish best served cold.
'Despite my advice, he began to play upon Henry's secret nightmares.' Agrippa studied his finger nails for a while. 'It's the same story,' he murmured, 'the same words, the same tune. Henry may be the son of Elizabeth of York but his father was Henry Tudor, nothing more than a Welsh farmer. The German reformer, Martin Luther, publicly derides him as Squire Harry. He has always feared that others such as Stafford have a better claim than he to the throne.
'Now,' Agrippa continued, 'the Tudors have a craving for a dynasty. The present King's father called his eldest son Arthur, trying to use his Welshness to build up legends linking his family to Arthur of the Round Table. Do you know these legends?' I shook my head. 'Of course not. I'm no scholar.'
'Well', he stroked his chin, 'there is a legend that, after the great Arthur died, prophecies grew up in the West Country that one day he would return, come riding out of the setting sun to right all wrongs. The Great Miser wanted to depict his family as Arthur's line come again but his eldest son died and now Fat Henry is king. Nonetheless, the Tudor dream or nightmare continues.'
