SIMPKIN. I think… just take the book.

SLOOP. Oh, I’ll take the book to His Grace. And you. Come!

ROCHFORD. Make me!

SLOOP. Do you really want me to do that, My Lady?

A moment.

ROCHFORD (to JANE, quickly). Go. Tell Lady Anne what has happened.

JANE turns to leave.

SLOOP. Stop!

JANE stops.

And where is she going?

ROCHFORD. Errr… Shirts. We have to deliver shirts to His Majesty. Sewn by Lady Anne.

SLOOP. Touching.

SIMPKIN. Doesn’t the Queen sew the King’s shirts?

ROCHFORD. They both do.

SLOOP. Competitive shirt-making?

SIMPKIN. That’s what happens when sex ’n’ politics get mixed up.

SLOOP. Loads of shirts for the man.

SIMPKIN and SLOOP laugh.

(To JANE.) Go on then! Take His Majesty his linen. You two, come!

Exit JANE.

Scene Thirteen

WOLSEY and CROMWELL enter to join LADY ROCHFORD and CELIA – who is in tears – and SLOOP and SIMPKIN.

SLOOP hands the book to WOLSEY, who opens it, flicks through a few pages, then quietly closes it and hands it to CROMWELL, who glances at it and sighs. WOLSEY takes it from him.

WOLSEY. All right. All right. All will be well. All, well. (A moment.) Where did you get it?

ROCHFORD. I am not at liberty to say.

WOLSEY. Oh, you are not at liberty in anything, My Lady, no no. How dare you presume you are! Only one has liberty, and that is His Majesty, we are all utterly disposable to him, are we not! As he is disposable to Almighty God!

ROCHFORD. Yes, Your Grace.

WOLSEY. So who gave you the book?

ROCHFORD. I found it.

WOLSEY. Really? Where? Was it lying around in some privy, for light reading?

ROCHFORD. It was on a settle.

WOLSEY. Oh, on a settle! Just… there for all to see. To pick up. The most notorious, reviled, condemned, banned and damned book in Christendom!

CROMWELL. It was perhaps simply discarded, Your Grace. By someone in fear of being found with it.

ROCHFORD. Yes, Your Grace, it was on a window seat, I picked it up, I thought it was, perhaps, a romance. Arthur. Round Table. Knights. In armour. With strong arms. Maidens. With white arms.

CROMWELL. You see, what would a woman of the Court have to do with theology?

WOLSEY. Ah. Ah. (A moment.) But you said you found it on a settle.

ROCHFORD. Did I?

WOLSEY. Well, which was it, settle or window seat?

ROCHFORD. I…

WOLSEY. No, there’s conspiracy here. I try to purge this Court of filthy heretical writing, but still it bubbles up! Like sewage from the Devil’s drains. Is there a cabal of you? Passing around filthy materials? To read in secret corners, up against the Palace walls, in night-time orchards, fornicating with heresy like Martin Luther’s whores?

ROCHFORD. No no…