HENRY. You really are worried, Cromwell. It makes you… smaller. (Produces a gold cloth embroidered with the King’s arms.) Give this to Her Majesty. It was to be the gift to her from my Champion, after his victory. Which was, of course, certain. (Laughs and is leaving.) Give it to her with my love.

CROMWELL (taking the cloth). Your Majesty.

Exit HENRY.

Enter SIMPKIN, with JANE.

His Majesty is leaving. Go with him. Now!

JANE. I…

CROMWELL (shouts). Attend His Majesty. Now!

JANE exits, running.

SIMPKIN. Lady Jane is a little Catholic.

CROMWELL. Lady Jane Seymour has the arse, tits and hips for the job. That is all His Majesty will bother with. I think he’s had enough of politicking women. (Closes his eyes for a moment, exhausted. Then, to LADY ROCHFORD.) Get her.

ROCHFORD. I can’t do this.

CROMWELL (turns on her). This morning you swore an affidavit, that your mistress is a whore, has slept even with a no doubt pox-ridden musician of the Court, along with five other men.

ROCHFORD. Maybe I was mistaken.

CROMWELL. Mistaken? You told me and other witnesses you saw her humping on a bed with your own husband! Were you mistaken in that?

ROCHFORD. I can’t, she’s… been so kind.

CROMWELL. Oh, ‘kind’! Good, then let kindness rule. Let’s be kind to the King of Spain, the King of France, the Pope, the thieving, child-raping monks in the monasteries, let’s do nothing about the broken, dangerous world, and die, cut to pieces, but kind.

ROCHFORD. I hate politics.

CROMWELL. Really? I love ’em. You want to unswear this affidavit, fine, fine, but then, My Lady Rochford, as you are the bawd who pimped the Boleyn whore men, your husband and for all I know your own body, you know what I will do to you?

SIMPKIN (worried). My Lord…

CROMWELL. I will have a rope put about your head, with knots at your eyes, and tighten that rope until you swear again! Do I make myself clear? Now get your whore of a mistress.

LADY ROCHFORD exits, in tears and running.

(Turns on SIMPKIN.) And what is the matter with you?

SIMPKIN. Nothing, My Lord.

CROMWELL. Not feeling something, are you, Simpkin?

SIMPKIN. No, My Lord.

CROMWELL. Good man.

ANNE and LADY ROCHFORD enter. LADY ROCHFORD steps away from her.

Madam, you are under arrest for treason.

Enter GUARDS.

Say nothing!

ANNE. Where is His Majesty?

CROMWELL. I told you…

ANNE. What is this, Thomas?

CROMWELL. You have been found to be what you have always been, a treasonous whore.

She stares at him.

ANNE. Where is His Majesty?

CROMWELL. Don’t you dare say his name. Your only hope for decent treatment is in silence.

Talking over each other.

ANNE. This is because of the money, isn’t it –

CROMWELL. I cannot advise you more strongly to –

ANNE. – The money from the dissolving of the monasteries that you have stolen –