At the Tudor court, ruling England and remaining in the monarch’s favour were effectively the same profession. Courtiers competed for access, traded rumours about rivals and studied every shift in royal mood. A seat near the king could launch a career; exclusion from his company could end one.
Welcome to the increasingly disorderly court of King Albo. Mind your bow—and keep an eye over your shoulder.
After a week in which our prime minister pursued the company of an actual king at the Commonwealth heads of government meeting in the Caribbean, a courtly metaphor seems an appropriate way to examine Australia’s political theatre.
The costumes may be better and cabinet reshuffles have replaced executions, thankfully without the beheadings. Yet the central questions remain strikingly familiar: who has the sovereign’s ear, who poses a threat to the succession and who is being retained mainly to frustrate someone else?
As Parliament heads towards its final sitting period of the year, speculation about a ministerial reshuffle has given the courtiers a fresh reason to worry. Who will rise? Who will lose their chamber? And who will discover that years of loyal service have earned them little more than a polite escort to the exit?
Anthony Albanese presides over these competing ambitions with the instincts of a man who spent decades studying the seating plan before finally reaching the throne. He is 63 and has spent more than 30 years in Parliament.
He knows influential colleagues are easiest to manage when they depend on his protection, distrust one another—or believe their advancement rests on his goodwill.
Ideally, all three conditions apply.
Take Treasurer Jim Chalmers, charged with managing the kingdom’s finances while explaining why its subjects continue to feel poorer.
Treasurer Jim Chalmers is responsible for the nation’s finances, but his position remains precarious because Prime Minister Anthony Albanese can overrule him. At the same time, Mark Butler’s name is appearing more often in conversations about the succession
As Anthony Albanese considers a cabinet reshuffle, Daily Mail politics and economics editor Peter van Onselen (pictured) draws on decades of Labor contacts and insider knowledge to assess who is advancing, who is exposed and who is already preparing for the next stage of their political careers
Chalmers occupies the perilous territory reserved for a senior minister whose ability makes him valuable and whose ambition makes him worth monitoring. He needs enough authority to sell the government’s economic record, while the Prime Minister must retain the option of overruling him.
The Treasurer may officially control the books, but His Majesty can disregard them whenever he wishes. Because Chalmers holds no formal leadership post, Albanese could strip him of his commission and send him to a lesser role at short notice. Such a move, however, would cause a major disturbance at court—one the Prime Minister would consider carefully.
Then there is Richard Marles, the great Victorian baron. He commands his own territory, factional allies and political retainers. His position as deputy prime minister is an office in its own right, chosen by his colleagues rather than bestowed by the king. He also selects the Defence portfolio.
Marles nevertheless has a strong incentive to see the current reign continue. A new leader would mean fresh negotiations over the deputyship, factional balance and the influence of Victoria. His Victorian base offers protection, but it does not make his position hereditary.
If Albanese were to fall, Marles would have every reason to wonder whether the removalists were coming for both men’s offices.
His faction showed its reach after the last election, when Mark Dreyfus and Ed Husic lost their ministerial positions during the scramble for places. Sam Rae and Daniel Mulino advanced, in what appeared to be a calculated move by Marles to protect his own position.
Penny Wong belongs to an entirely different class.
She is the trusted counsellor with access to the private rooms. When Albanese won the 2022 election, Wong was at his Marrickville home as the results came in. Others waited for the victory speech; she was already inside—and was even asked to introduce the new leader on stage.
Penny Wong enjoys a level of access to Albanese that other ministers can only envy
Communications Minister Anika Wells has proved remarkably resilient. An expenses controversy led to scrutiny, an audit and repayments, yet the Prime Minister continues to support her as the custodian of a policy he privately regards as part of his legacy: limiting the harm social media can cause children
Wong carries her closeness to power with the gravity of someone who believes she has personally supplied the Crown with its dignity. The Tudor court had a Lord Privy Seal; Albo’s has a Lady Privy Sneer.
Her relationship with Albanese began long before he wore the crown. While others request an audience, Wong knows exactly which door to enter.
Tanya Plibersek offers a different lesson: seniority alone guarantees very little.
Once an obvious name in conversations about Labor’s future leadership, she remains in cabinet but appears politically isolated. Her shift from environment to social services left her with major responsibilities but far less prominence.
In Tudor language, she still has a title and an estate. The invitation to the private royal supper, however, seems to have been lost in the post. Fortunately for Tanya, modern politics no longer permits beheadings.
Murray Watt inherited the environment portfolio. One courtier’s disappointing reshuffle is another’s promotion to better quarters. Watt understands how to bow before the ring.
Tony Burke has featured in leadership speculation for years, encouraged by one obvious source. Whether he can attract support beyond his New South Wales base is a different question
Andrew Charlton is the gifted young newcomer whose rise prompts older courtiers to check the furniture for hidden knives.
An economist with talent and ambition, Charlton holds the Cabinet Secretary’s position by personal appointment from Albanese. He sits close to the machinery of royal decision-making, helping determine what reaches the table without yet holding a cabinet portfolio of his own.
That makes him particularly intriguing as reshuffle rumours gather pace. He is already inside the palace; a promotion would give him an estate to govern himself.
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For Chalmers, there is obvious appeal in having an accomplished economist close to the Prime Minister. What Treasurer would not want a first-rate economic mind just down the corridor, ready for a private consultation?
But ambitious courts rarely function so neatly. As Erasmus is said to have observed, in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Better, perhaps, to be surrounded by fools.
For now, Charlton organises the king’s papers. He can presumably imagine a day when someone is organising his.
Mark Butler is the trusted nobleman whose name is increasingly linked to the succession.
His factional credentials are sound—which in this court means belonging to the Left—and his closeness to Albanese gives him a claim that extends beyond his ministerial record.
The heir apparent has mastered the art of appearing prepared without appearing impatient.
An orderly succession would preserve the governing faction’s dominance. The problem is that an heir becomes politically interesting the moment people begin imagining life without the king.
Tony Burke needs no explanation of that possibility. The Home Affairs Minister and Leader of the House has parliamentary skill, appetite and confidence enough for higher office—or so he tells anyone prepared to listen. The challenge is finding enough courtiers who agree.
Burke has featured in leadership speculation for years, encouraged by one particularly obvious source. But winning support beyond his New South Wales base is another matter. A politician can spend only so long standing beside the throne and looking available. Eventually, looking too available becomes a weakness.
Chris Bowen is the veteran grandee for whom reshuffle rumours must sound like footsteps approaching the bedchamber.
The climate and energy portfolio gives him a vast policy brief—and a generous supply of political liabilities. His survival depends partly on whether Albanese still sees him as the person best placed to deliver the transition, or begins to see value in making him carry the blame for it.
For now, the title remains his. So do his fingernails.
Husic has already been sent beyond the chamber doors. His removal stripped cabinet of an experienced minister who was also the first Muslim elected to federal Parliament. It left the government facing a former insider with time, grievances and an intimate understanding of the seating plan. He is now free to speak—and his criticisms are finding an audience in the provinces, creating the sort of unrest His Majesty would prefer to avoid.
Tim Ayres, a close Albanese ally, inherited Husic’s industry responsibilities. The court scarcely has to replace the nameplate before another grateful occupant takes the seat.
Anika Wells demonstrates what royal protection is worth. Her expenses controversy triggered scrutiny, an audit and repayments. It was embarrassing for both her and the government. Some heavily criticised travel was cleared, while four breaches were identified. Albanese continued to support her.
For a minister once associated with Chalmers, that protection carries an added political message. A royal pardon can sharpen a courtier’s sense of where her loyalties now belong.
Katy Gallagher is the trusted keeper of the accounts alongside Chalmers and also belongs to Albanese’s inner political circle. A Treasurer negotiating with the palace would value having a Finance Minister already familiar with its occupant.
Don Farrell is the baron whose influence cannot be measured by his television appearances. He has little need to wave from the balcony when he knows who helped construct it. A powerbroker possesses independent authority—and that authority must be respected.
Andrew Leigh remains an instructive case: a highly qualified economist still serving as an assistant minister. In this kingdom, academic distinction is admirable. A faction is a career strategy.
A reshuffle brings all these calculations into view, no matter how insistently everyone claims to be thinking only about serving the Australian people.
A promotion can signal royal confidence, create a new power base or remind an established minister that alternatives are available. A demotion can settle an old score. Leaving someone exactly where they are can be an exquisitely calculated insult.
Expect plenty of solemn talk about renewal from people whose main concern is renewing their own appointments.
For the moment, Albanese holds this collection of loyalties, rivalries and thwarted ambitions together with a familiar mixture of carrots and sticks.
Yet he is beginning to resemble an ageing monarch whose command of the rituals of office has outlasted much of the public’s enthusiasm for the reign.
That is when court politics becomes most dangerous.
While a king appears secure, courtiers compete for his favour. Once he begins to look vulnerable, they start calculating who might replace him—and political movement can become sudden and decisive.
The loyal deputy, Marles, becomes part of a succession bargain. The protected favourite, Butler, wonders whether the next ruler will honour the protection he enjoys now. The discarded minister, Husic, discovers that yesterday’s enemies are suddenly returning his calls.
Charlton could become indispensable to a new administration. Butler could find the inheritance contested. Chalmers could decide that patience has a use-by date.
Those whose influence depends most heavily on personal access to His Majesty have the most to lose in a palace coup.
Albanese can balance his courtiers against one another, but he cannot make their interests permanently identical to his own. That becomes especially clear when preserving the government starts to look different from preserving its leader. A fish rots from the head down. Judging by the opinion polls, Albo is beginning to smell.
The king should enjoy the ring-kissing while it lasts. Some of those bowing before him are quietly checking whether the crown might sit more comfortably on their own heads.
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