‘Do you want Audley’s post?’ Henry asks him. ‘It’s yours if yousay so.’The summer is over. The Emperor has not come. PopeClement is dead, and his judgments with him; the game is to playagain, and he has left the door open, just a chink, for the nextBishop of Rome to hold a conversation with England. Personally, he would slam it shut; but these are not personal matters.Now he thinks carefully: would it suit him to be Chancellor?It would be good to have a post in the legal hierarchy, so why notat the top? ‘I have no wish to disturb Audley. If Your Majesty issatisfied with him, I am too.’He remembers how the post tied Wolsey to London, when theking was elsewhere. The cardinal was active in the law courts; butwe have lawyers enough.Henry says, only tell me what you deem best. Abased, like alover, he cannot think of the best presents. He says, Cranmerbids me, listen to Cromwell, and if he needs a post, a tax, animpost, a measure in Parliament or a royal proclamation, give itto him.The post of Master of the Rolls is vacant. It is an ancient judicialoffice, it commands one of the kingdom’s great secretariats. Hispredecessors will be those men, bishops for the most part, eminent in learning: those who lie down on their tombs, with their virtuesin Latin engraved beneath. He is never more alive than when hetwists the stem of this ripe fruit and snaps it from the tree.‘You were also right about Cardinal Farnese,’ Henry says.‘Now we have a new Pope – Bishop of Rome, I should say – Ihave collected on my bets.’‘You see,’ he says, smiling. ‘Cranmer is right. Be advised by me.’The court is amused to hear how the Romans have celebratedPope Clement’s death. They have broken into his tomb, anddragged his naked body through the streets.The Master’s house in Chancery Lane is the most curious househe has ever entered. It smells of must, mould and tallow, andbehind its crooked facade it meanders back, a warren of littlespaces with low doorways; were our forebears all dwarves, orwere they not perfectly certain how to prop up a ceiling?This house was founded three hundred years ago, by theHenry that was then; he built it as a refuge for Jews who wishedto convert. If they took this step – advisable if they wished to bepreserved from violence – they would forfeit all their possessionsto the Crown. This being so, it was just that the Crown shouldhouse and feed them for their natural lives.Christophe runs ahead of him, into the depths of the house.‘Look!’ He trails his finger through a vast spider’s web.‘You’ve broken up her home, you heartless boy.’ He examinesAriane’s crumbling prey: a leg, a wing. ‘Let’s be gone, before shecomes back.’Some fifty years after Henry had endowed the house, all Jewswere expelled from the realm. Yet the refuge was never quiteempty; even today two women live here. I shall call on them, hesays.Christophe is tapping the walls and beams, for all the world asif he knew what he was looking for. ‘Wouldn’t you run,’ he sayswith relish, ‘if someone tapped back? ‘Oh, Jesus!’ Christophe crosses himself. ‘I expect a hundredmen have died here, Jews and Christians both.’Behind this wainscot, it is true, he can sense the tiny bones ofmice: a hundred generations, their articulated forefeet folded ineternal rest. Their descendants, thriving, he can smell in the air.This is a job for Marlinspike, he says, if we can catch him. Thecardinal’s cat is feral now, ranging at will through Londongardens, lured by the scent of carp from the ponds of city monasteries, tempted – for all he knows – across the river, to be snuggled to the bosoms of whores, slack breasts rubbed with rosepetals and ambergris; he imagines Marlinspike lolling, purring,declining to come home again. He says to Christophe, ‘I wonderhow I can be Master of the Rolls, if I am not master of a cat.’‘The Rolls have not paws to go walking.’ Christophe iskicking a skirting. ‘My foot go through it,’ he says, demonstrating.Will he leave the comforts of Austin Friars, for the tinywindows with their warped panes, the creaking passages, theancient draughts? ‘It will be a shorter journey to Westminster,’he says. His aim is bent there – Whitehall, Westminster and theriver, Master Secretary’s barge down to Greenwich or up toHampton Court. I shall be back at Austin Friars often, he says tohimself, almost every day. He is building a treasure room, arepository secure for any gold plate the king entrusts to him;whatever he deposits can quickly be turned into ready money.His treasure comes through the street on ordinary carts, toattract no attention, though there are vigilant outriders. Thechalices are fitted into soft leather cases made for them. Thebowls and dishes travel in canvas bags, interleaved with whitewoollen cloth at seven pence the yard. The jewels are swaddledin silk and packed into chests with new and shiny locks: and hehas the keys. There are great pearls which gleam wet from theocean, sapphires hot as India. There are jewels like the fruit youpick on a country afternoon: garnets like sloes, pink diamonds like rosehips. Alice says, ‘For a handful of these I would, myself,overthrow any queen in Christendom.’‘What a good thing the king hasn’t met you, Alice.’Jo says, ‘I would as soon have it in export licences. Or armycontracts. Someone will make a fortune in the Irish wars. Beans,flour, malt, horseflesh …’‘I shall see what I can do for you,’ he says.At Austin Friars he holds the lease for ninety-nine years. Hisgreat-grandchildren will have it: some unknown Londoners.When they look at the documents his name will be there. Hisarms will be carved over the doorways. He rests his hand on thebanister of the great staircase, looks up into the dust-mote glitterfrom a high window. When did I do this? At Hatfield, early inthe year: looking up, listening for the sounds of Morton’s household, long ago. If he himself went to Hatfield, must not ThomasMore have gone up too? Perhaps it was his light footstep heexpected, overhead?He starts to think again, about that fist that came out ofnowhere.His first idea had been, move clerks and papers to the Rolls,then Austin Friars will become a home again. But for whom? Hehas taken out Liz’s book of hours, and on the page where shekept the family listed he has made alterations, additions. Rafewill be moving out soon, to his new house in Hackney; andRichard is building in the same neighbourhood, with his wifeFrances. Alice is marrying his ward Thomas Rotherham. Herbrother Christopher is ordained and beneficed. Jo’s weddingclothes are ordered; she is snapped up by his friend John ap Rice,a lawyer, a scholar, a man he admires and on whose loyalty hecounts. I have done well for my folk, he thinks: not one of thempoor, or unhappy, or uncertain of their place in this uncertainworld. He hesitates, looking up into the light: now gold, nowblue as a cloud passes. Whoever will come downstairs and claimhim, must do it now. His daughter Anne with her thundering feet: Anne, he would say to her, couldn’t we have felt mufflersover those hooves of yours? Grace skimming down like dust,drawn into a spiral, a lively swirl … going nowhere, dispersing,gone.Liz, come down.But Liz keeps her silence; she neither stays nor goes. She isalways with him and not with him. He turns away. So this housewill become a place of business. As all his houses will becomeplaces of business. My home will be where my clerks and filesare; otherwise, my home will be with the king, where he is.Christophe says, ‘Now we are removed to the Rolls House, Ican tell you, cher maître, how I am happy that you did not leaveme behind. For in your absence they would call me snail brainand turnip head.’‘Alors …’ he takes a view of Christophe, ‘your head is indeedlike a turnip. Thank you for attracting my attention to it.’Installed at the Rolls, he takes a view of his situation: satisfactory. He has sold off his two Kent manors, but the king has givenhim one in Monmouthshire and he is buying another in Essex.He has his eye on plots in Hackney and Shoreditch, and is takingin leases on the properties around Austin Friars, which heintends to enfold in his building plans; and then, build a big wallaround the lot. He has surveys to hand of a manor in Bedfordshire, one in Lincolnshire, and two Essex properties he intendsto put in trust for Gregory. All this is small stuff. It’s nothing towhat he intends to have, or to what Henry will owe him.Meanwhile, his outgoings would frighten a lesser man. If theking wants something done, you have to be able to staff theenterprise and fund it. It is hard to keep up with the spending ofhis noble councillors, and yet there are a crew of them who liveat the pawn-shop and come to him month by month to patch theholes in their accounts. He knows when to let these debts run;there is more than one kind of currency in England. What hesenses is a great net is spreading about him, a web of favours done and favours received. Those who want access to the kingexpect to pay for it, and no one has better access than he. And atthe same time, the word is out: help Cromwell and he will helpyou. Be loyal, be diligent, be intelligent on his behalf; you willcome into a reward. Those who commit their service to him willbe promoted and protected. He is a good friend and master; thisis said of him everywhere. Otherwise, it is the usual abuse. Hisfather was a blacksmith, a crooked brewer, he was an Irishman,he was a criminal, he was a Jew, and he himself was just a wooltrader, he was a shearsman, and now he is a sorcerer: how else butby being a sorcerer would he get the reins of power in his hand?Chapuys writes to the Emperor about him; his early life remainsa mystery, but he is excellent company, and he keeps his household and retainers in magnificent style. He is a master oflanguage, Chapuys writes, a man of most eloquent address;though his French, he adds, is only assez bien.He thinks, it’s good enough for you. A nod and a wink will dofor you.These last months, the council has never been out of harness.A hard summer of negotiating has brought a treaty with theScots. But Ireland is in revolt. Only Dublin Castle itself and thetown of Waterford hold out for the king, while the rebel lords areoffering their services and their harbours to the Emperor’stroops. Among these isles it is the most wretched of territories,which does not pay the king what it costs him to garrison it; buthe cannot turn his back on it, for fear of who else might come in.Law is barely respected there, for the Irish think you can buy offmurder with money, and like the Welsh they cost out a man’s lifein cattle. The people are kept poor by imposts and seizures, byforfeitures and plain daylight robbery; the pious English abstainfrom meat on Wednesdays and Fridays, but the joke runs that theIrish are so godly they abstain every other day as well. Theirgreat lords are brutal and imperious men, treacherous and fickle,inveterate feuders, extortionists and hostage takers, and their allegiance to England they hold cheap, for they are loyal tonothing and prefer force of arms to law. As for the native chiefs,they recognise no natural limit to their claims. They say that ontheir land they own every ferny slope and lake, they own theheather, the meadow grass and the winds that riffle it; they ownevery beast and every man, and in times of scarcity they take thebread to feed their hunting dogs.No wonder they don’t want to be English. It would interrupttheir status as slave-owners. The Duke of Norfolk still has serfson his land, and even if the law courts move to free them the dukeexpects a fee from it. The king proposes to send Norfolk toIreland, but he says he’s spent enough futile months over thereand the only way he’ll go back is if they build a bridge so he canget home at the end of the week without getting his feet wet.He and Norfolk fight in the council chamber. The duke rants,and he sits back and folds his arms and watches him ranting. Youshould have sent young Fitzroy to Dublin, he tells the council.An apprentice king – make a show, stage a spectacle, throw somemoney about.Richard says to him, ‘Perhaps we should go to Ireland, sir.’‘I think my campaigning days are over.’‘I would like to be in arms. Every man should be a soldieronce in his life.’‘That is your grandfather speaking through you. Ap Evans thearcher. Concentrate for now on making a show in the tournaments.’Richard has proved a formidable man in the lists. It is more orless as Christophe says: biff, and they are flat. You would thinkthe sport was in his nephew’s blood, as it is in the blood of thelords who compete. He carries the Cromwell colours, and theking loves him for it, as he loves any man with flair and courageand physical strength. Increasingly, his bad leg forces him to sitwith the spectators. When he is in pain he is panicked, you cansee it in his eyes, and when he is recovering he is restless. Uncer tainty about his own state of health makes him less inclined forthe expense and trouble of organising a large tournament. Whenhe does run a course, with his experience, his weight and height,his superb horses and the steel of his temperament, he is likely towin. But to avoid accidents, he prefers to run against opponentshe knows.Henry says, ‘The Emperor, two or three years back when hewas in Germany, did he not have an evil humour in his thigh?They say the weather didn’t suit him. But then his dominionsoffer a change of climate. Whereas from one part of my kingdomto the next there is no change to be found.’‘Oh, I expect it’s worse in Dublin.’Henry looks out, hopeless, at the teeming rain. ‘And when Iride out the people shout at me. They rise up out of ditches, andshout about Katherine, how I should take her back. How wouldthey like it if I told them how to order their houses and wives andchildren?’Even when the weather clears the king’s fears do not diminish.‘She will escape and raise an army against me,’ he says. ‘Katherine. You do not know what she would do.’‘She told me she would not run.’‘And you think she never lies? I know she lies. I have proof ofit. She lied about her own virginity.’Oh, that, he thinks tiredly.It seems Henry doesn’t believe in the power of armed guards,in locks and keys. He thinks an angel recruited by the EmperorCharles will make them fall away. When he travels, he takes withhim a great iron lock, which is affixed to his chamber door by aservant who goes with him for the purpose. His food is tasted forpoison and his bed examined, last thing at night, for concealedweapons, such as needles; but even so, he is afraid he will bemurdered as he sleeps. Autumn: Thomas More is losing weight, a wiry little man emerging from what was never a superfluity of flesh. He lets AntonioBonvisi send him food in. ‘Not that you Lucchese know how toeat. I’d send it myself, but if he took ill, you know what peoplewould say. He likes dishes of eggs. I don’t know if he likes muchelse.’A sigh. ‘Milk puddings.’He smiles. These are carnivorous days. ‘No wonder he doesn’tthrive.’‘I’ve known him for forty years,’ Bonvisi says. ‘A lifetime,Tommaso. You wouldn’t hurt him, would you? Please assure me,if you can, that no one will hurt him.’‘Why do you think I’m no better than he is? Look, I have noneed to put him under pressure. His family and friends will do it.Won’t they?’‘Can’t you just leave him there? Forget him?’‘Of course. If the king allows.’He arranges for Meg Roper to visit. Father and daughter walkin the gardens, arm in arm. Sometimes he watches them from awindow in the Lord Lieutenant’s lodgings.By November, this policy has failed. Turned back, really, andbitten his hand, like a dog that out of kindness you pick up in thestreet. Meg says, ‘He has told me, and he has asked me to tell hisfriends, that he will have no more to do with oaths of any kind,and that if we hear he has sworn, we are to take it that he has beenforced, by ill-usage and rough handling. And if a paper is shownto the council, with his signature on it, we are to understand it isnot his hand.’More is now required to swear to the Act of Supremacy, an actwhich draws together all the powers and dignities assumed bythe king in the last two years. It doesn’t, as some say, make theking head of the church. It states that he is head of the church,and always has been. If people don’t like new ideas, let them haveold ones. If they want precedents, he has precedents. A second enactment, which will come into force in the new year, definesthe scope of treason.