JAMES. Oh, no doubt he was a highly agitational, burnable pain in the bum. See, he had the Testament printed octavo size, small in the hand. To be smuggled into the country. (To the title page again.) ‘Anne B. by the mercy of Christ…’ Woman, what were you doing with this? (Raises the book to his face and sniffs it.)

CECIL. Many do hold it to be an heretical translation, Your Majesty.

JAMES. Oh, it is. He translates ‘king’ as ‘tyrant’ a little too often. (Holds it up by a corner, the pages open.) Grey paper between slabs of rough leather. But out of it, peace, the Word of God? No no no. Because of little books like this: minds turned molten with heresy, rebellion, cities on fire, the death of kings. What is the most dangerous threat to a kingdom? War, plague, poverty, ambitious men? No no no. Nothing can tear a country apart like religion. I know. I was brought up amongst Presbyterians.

He laughs. Then bad-temperedly throws the book back into the chest.

Tum tum tum tum. We must settle religion in England.

CECIL (aside). Perhaps not a fool. Or: the wisest fool in Christendom.

JAMES opens the second book. He is dead still.

JAMES. Bring me some wine.

CECIL. Sire, may I ask what…

JAMES. No. This is reading for a king. Go.

He wanders away, intent on the unidentified book. CECIL gestures to the SERVANTS, who clear the dresses and the chest.

CECIL (to PARROT). Master Parrot!

PARROT. My Lord.

CECIL. There was a book in the chest.

PARROT. We went over the chest very thoroughly, there was only the dress and a locket…

CECIL. There was a hidden compartment.

PARROT. We didn’t find it.

CECIL. Obviously not! But His Majesty did! I showed him the chest as a novelty, something to amuse, to… prevent Scottish gloom descending. And what does he do? Tear it apart and find a Bible and a book!

PARROT. My Lord…

CECIL. A book he is now reading! It’s dangerous when monarchs read books. They should stick with hunting and horses.

PARROT. My Lord, if I’d have found the book I’d have stolen it, wouldn’t I, and there’d be no problem…

CECIL. Oh, go go! Give someone a whipping for not searching the chest. And thank your star it’s not you.

PARROT (aside). That’s how it works. Punishment flows downward, from the Lord to the likes of me to the likes of you. But we all know our place. The mighty and the mice…

PARROT quickly exits.

JAMES is reading, a glass of wine in his hand.

JAMES (without looking up). George! George! Come, boy, come, come! Slip out of the shadows or wherever you’re lurking.

GEORGE VILLIERS comes from behind a pillar. A very fit young man, fashionably dressed.

GEORGE. Very graciously Your Majesty told me to be in attendance.