JAMES. Do not count on it. We all know religion can kill. (Now in underwear.) It is so so so so so so… cold. My balls are hard as peas.

SERVANTS rush forward with clothes for the KING and help him into them.

Master Parrot. Is the Thames still frozen this morning?

PARROT. Yes, Your Majesty. They say the ice is more than a foot thick.

JAMES. And are there puppet shows, and bulls being baited and interludes, and food cooking and lewd tippling, is it all a carnival, a Bacchanalian triumph…?

PARROT. Yes, Your Majesty. There is a fair on the ice.

JAMES. Then, Robert, I will hold the meeting there. Let fat bishops skate about, falling on their behinds, arguing the meanwhile about the nature of baptism. To the ice with religious dispute!

CECIL. I do not think that practical, Your Majesty.

JAMES. Robert, you have the most literal mind. Have you no sense of the fantastical?

CECIL. None at all, Sire. That is why I am so effective in this fantastical world.

JAMES. Ah. Ah. Ah. Was that wit, Robert?

CECIL. No, Sire.

PARROT. There are…

CECIL. Be quiet.

JAMES. No, Master Parrot, what? Speak, Parrot. Ha ha!

CECIL. Droll, Your Majesty. (Gestures to PARROT: ‘Speak’.)

PARROT. Nothing, Sire.

JAMES. What, not a squawk?

JAMES finishing his dressing.

PARROT (aside). They don’t know what it’s like out there. Thieves like flies on the ice all year round.

JAMES. I am thinking of putting new laws through Parliament against thieves on the ice all year round. What do you think, Master Parrot?

PARROT (mouth open). I…

JAMES. Worth a squawk?

PARROT. Yes, Sire! Excellent, Sire! (Aside.) Do they read your very thoughts in Scotland?

Enter the two SERVANTS with the velvet chair. They set it down.

JAMES. A little further here.

They move the chair.

At a meeting with fractious men, always sit with your back to the light of a window. They can’t see your eyes, but you can see theirs. Now for bishops and bigots! Dean Lancelot Andrewes I know. Who leads the Puritans?

CECIL. Doctor John Reynolds. I have intelligence on him here… (Offering papers.)

JAMES (waving the papers away). Dean of Lincoln, scholar of Queen’s College, Oxford. Admonished once by Her late Majesty: Elizabeth accused him of devious fracticiousness. See, I have done my study. Is he wild?

CECIL. There are wilder.

JAMES. Amongst his party?

CECIL. There is a man called Henry Barrow.

JAMES. Huh. A lunatic at a meeting can be an advantage. Everyone unites against him. (Sits.) Bring in Andrewes and his Anglicans first. I will soften them a little. Or soften up. Ha!

CECIL (to a SERVANT). Now.

The SERVANT exits.

A black look from CECIL.

JAMES. Have no dark thoughts towards George Villiers, Robert. He is my sweet child and wife.

CECIL. Yes, Your Majesty. (Sighs.)

Enter DEAN LANCELOT ANDREWES of Westminster Abbey, with DIVINES. They kneel.