My clerk and I wait for the door to close behind them, and I turn to him. He is a thoughtful man, monastery trained and with a great love for the old ways. He must have regarded half of the books in my closet with pious horror; he has no admiration for the new learning. I employ him because he is a great scholar, he can translate beautifully, and he has a fine hand in writing. When I want to send out a letter in Latin, he can translate and transcribe in one draft with a beautiful flowing copperplate script. He has never disagreed with anything the preachers have said in my rooms, but I have once or twice seen him bend his head and whisper a silent prayer, like a shocked monk in a worldly school.

“There! No one to hear but me and the birds, and they say nothing—except the parrot, who is a terrible blasphemer, but only in Spanish. What is it, William?”

“I have to warn you, Your Majesty,” he says gravely. “I fear that your enemies are speaking against you.”

“I know that,” I say shortly. “Thank you for your concern, William, but this, I know already.”

“Bishop Gardiner’s man came to me and asked me to search your closet for papers,” he says in a whispered rush. “He said I would be rewarded if I would secretly copy anything and bring it to him. Your Majesty, I think he is assembling a case against you.”

The little bird tickles my palm as it shifts its feet and pecks at the crumbs. I did not expect this warning from William. I did not think that they would dare to go this far. I see my shocked expression is mirrored in his troubled face.

“Are you sure it was the bishop’s man?”

“Yes. He told me it was to take to the bishop. I could not be mistaken.”

I turn away from him and go to the window, the yellow-winged canary clinging to my outstretched finger. It is a beautiful summer day, the sun just dipping below the high red-brick chimneys, the swifts and swallows swirling around. If Bishop Gardiner is prepared to take such a risk in approaching one of my servants to steal my papers, then he must be very confident that he can make a case against me to the king. He must be very sure that a complaint from me to the king will not bring down a storm on his head. He must be certain that he will find something to prove my guilt. Or, even worse, perhaps he has already made a case against me and this is the last stage of a secret inquiry, finding the paperwork to back up the lies.

“It was to take to the bishop? You are sure of that? Not to the king?”