CECIL. You come, Sire, a King of Scotland and rightful heir to the English throne. For the Kingdom was cast into darkness, the sun of Eliza set, her people were cast into darkness and cold. But now from the north a new sun has arisen, Your Majesty from Scotland ascends the throne, light floods the rejoicing towns and villages, warmth returns, a new glory and light shines upon us.

JAMES (makes a farting noise). Oh, I do believe I ripped a fart.

CECIL. Your Majesty?

JAMES. No, not a fart, it was a flash of light from my arse illuminating England.

CECIL. Your Majesty, I…

JAMES. No no no, tum tum tum, you spoke smoothly, My Lord Cecil. Smoothly, smotherly.

CECIL. I assure Your Majesty that…

JAMES. You see, I come from a more primitive world. I was brought up amongst the terrorism of great lords. In Edinburgh I looked for courtiers with knives in their sleeves. Here, I think, the danger is from words in their mouths.

CECIL. But I must protest my sincerity…

JAMES. Yum tum! Where are they?

CECIL. Your Majesty?

JAMES. The dresses! That woman’s dresses!

CECIL. I have picked the best. (Claps his hands.) Come!

CECIL peels away.

PARROT (low, to CECIL). The dresses, My Lord? I was going to sell them.

CECIL. Don’t tell me.

PARROT. The servants in the hall expect something on the side.

CECIL. Enough.

PARROT. It’s a once-in-a-generation opportunity, My Lord. A change of monarch. Get your hands on a few souvenirs.

CECIL. I let you have the pewter plate.

PARROT. None of the silver, though.

CECIL. What?

PARROT. Nothing, My Lord.

Enter SERVANTS, their arms full of dazzling dresses. They pile them in front of JAMES. CECIL fusses about, displaying them. One SERVANT also pulls a chest onto the stage.

JAMES speaks aside as this happens.

JAMES (aside). For three years this Englishman wrote to me in secret, with Elizabeth slowly dying. Who would I keep in my Privy Chamber? Why, all of you, My Lords, no need for jostling, assassination. I’ve seen enough jostles and killings. Did the old woman name me her successor to the throne? Cecil says yes. But I doubt that. And for a month I came down from Edinburgh, staying in the great English houses, hunting, feasting. I hanged a man in Newark, perhaps a mistake. But let the Sassenach see a gesture, a move of the new royal hand. And when I came to London: thousands in the streets, cries of joy and welcome. And here I stand, suddenly… rich.

JAMES pauses, still, staring at nothing. CECIL coughs.

JAMES comes back to life. He fingers a dress.

Government by a show of glory. Elizabeth understood that very well. But glory is not enough, is it, to govern. There must also be… one mind. And fear. Tum tum.

CECIL. Er… There is another garment. We found it in Her late Majesty’s private closet, locked away.