Author's Note: Welcome back for the final part of the 'Silver Swords' Trilogy! Huge thanks to those who have been reading – and for those who have reviewed the previous instalments, The Man with the Silver Swords and The Phoenix and the Raven. I really appreciate it. Thanks, too, for your patience, Princess007 - your lovely review made very happy reading while I was stuck on a coach in a traffic jam trying to get back home from a holiday in Belgium!

The story so far…

The treacherous, perjuring weasel Sir Richard Rich, having fallen asleep over papers while working late one night in the offices at Hampton Court has discovered that his colleague, the Lord Chancellor, Thomas Cromwell is more than just a machiavellian politician from the gutter – but is actually a highly trained fighter for a secretive Order named after the swords they carry, which are made of a remarkable amalgamation of high quality steel and silver. His primary role in the Court of England is to protect it from the predations of demonic forces and other evil nasties.

In order to do this, he is usually aided by a 'Second', a researcher and support who was – until he fell – Cardinal Wolsey. For reasons he can't figure out, Sir Richard rather impulsively agrees to take Wolsey's place, and embarks on a strange and often dangerous journey to keep the Kingdom safe – somehow managing to pick up the assistance of the cheerfully laconic Thomas Wyatt on the way.

In doing so, he is becoming an altogether less weaselly little monster, and the three of them are busily frustrating the plans of a super powerful demoness called Lamashtu – saving Prince Edward, and Queen Jane, from death, and becoming a formidable force against darkness while they search for the two items that will defeat Lamashtu once and for all – the Sapphire 'Blue Fire' and the Ruby 'Red Fire'.

Blue Fire has been found, but Red Fire is still AWOL. With all to play for, they must find the missing ruby – and face the Demoness for the final showdown…

As always, I own nothing of what follows other than the contents of my own imagination. Similarly, for the avoidance of doubt – history (and show canon) have long since left the building. And possibly the country…

Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE

A Royal Birthday

The sound of drunken voices echoes down the passageway, and we wait in silence for the owners of the voices to continue on their way. We have no expectations of finding anything on our hunt, but - with so many people abroad, and in various stages of drunkenness - it pays to be cautious.

Such hunts are fruitless most of the time these days, which is something for which we are grateful, but by no means always so. The demons that we are chasing, despite being the most commonplace of their kind, are not gregarious, and defend their territories with such vigour that there are occasions when they destroy each other without any assistance from us.

None of us are wearing our finest clothing - the fine suits we would wear in the presence of the King; partly to avoid damaging such expensive garments, but mostly to conceal who we are. It would serve us ill for people to witness the Lord Chancellor, the Solicitor General and a recently elevated Privy Councillor lurking in servants' corridors. We are engaged in the government of England in daylight hours, but after nightfall, our duties are her protection.

The festivities have been going on for some hours now, as tonight is the first of two long weeks of celebration to welcome the first birthday of young Prince Edward: the first - and only - legitimate son of Henry of England - eighth of that name. Few are aware that his birth was hard-fought, and hard won, and fewer still of the battle that took place to save him, and his mother. All that matters to most is that the babe lived, and so did the Queen. We, who were present to battle for his life, continue to protect him from the shadows.

Perhaps because there are so many people about, and so much light, we have no success tonight - though, to us, a fruitless hunt is always preferable, as the creatures we hunt are hunters themselves, and people are their prey. In the two and a half years that have passed since I first found myself in this strange new world of darkness and demons, I have learned a great deal, and I think now that I can reasonably call myself competent at the role that I chose for myself when I found Thomas Cromwell supposedly dying on the floor of our offices at Hampton Court.

As we often do, we adjourn to Cromwell's apartments to see out the last of the evening with a cup or so of hippocras. The halls and passages of Placentia are growing quiet now, and the watch are about, so it is never wise to be seen with our weapons; not when the King is in residence.

It has been strangely quiet in the year that has passed since Edward was born, and Jane was crowned Queen. That which came against her, the demoness Lamashtu, has not shown her face since she was driven from the Presence Chamber - forced out by the sign of the Cross. Even though we have been at Whitehall for some of the year, and Placentia for the rest, she has not moved against us. Perhaps the sting was sharper than we thought.

"It is strange." Cromwell muses, turning his cup in his hands, "I have not seen the court so peaceful since the days when Katherine was Queen; but then, I did not know at that time of the presence of Lamashtu. To me, the court was simply quiet - there have been no revenants, and few raveners; and that is, to me, a most peculiar state of affairs."

"I do not dare to complain." Thomas Wyatt, our other companion, smiles, "If I did, I should make it quite certain that another monster of ghastly proportions might fall upon us. I have no desire to tempt providence."

Cromwell returns the smile, "If that were so, then we would have no fear at first, for it would certainly attack Lamashtu before us. She is one of the most powerful of her kind, and even if she is dormant, she would not permit any other to attack us in her stead."

"I am just grateful that she is still dormant." I admit, "I have still not found any reference to the jewel Red Fire - even though Blue Fire sits on Jane's Diadem." I do not have to say much more to either Cromwell or Wyatt - they know that it is my deepest frustration. I cannot find it, neither can the spies retained by the Order of the Silver Swords. It must exist, for Blue Fire is in the court as we speak; but without it, we cannot destroy Lamashtu - not that I have even managed to find any means to explain how we use the two jewels once we manage to find them. A sapphire, and a ruby, each containing a twisting column of flame within their faceted depths: together, they are promised to be the undoing of Lamashtu, but we know not where the ruby lies, nor how they are to be used, assuming I ever manage to locate the blasted thing.

The following morning is a lazy, restful affair for some, though for those of us who have work to do, there is still the need to be in the offices for at least some of the day - and, for the first time in my life, I feel rather guilty that we are granted at least some free time, while the servants have none. As our hunts oblige me to traverse corridors that, when I was not the Second to a Silver Sword, I knew not at all, I have seen much more of the drudgery that supports our far easier lives. It makes me less resentful of being obliged to spend even a few short hours at my desk to ensure that all does not go to hell while the court is at play.

The weather is being most kind to us, with warm sunshine that seems most odd for the middle of autumn. This morning there is to be a tourney, which I am happy to miss, while this afternoon there shall be a masque in the great hall. As Cromwell and I are expected to be present at at least some of these fripperies, being Privy Councillors, both he and I have elected to work in the mornings only, while he has arranged with Wriothesley to organise the clerks into shifts so that everyone has the opportunity to participate in the celebrations to some degree.

As the largesse extends to lavish arrays of victuals both in the middle of the day, and at the end, we are more than happy to end our work in time to visit the hall. As Privy Councillors, we are able to secure seats at a table set for us, while all about, servants are busy and musicians are tuning their instruments amidst the hubbub of noise of hundreds of people talking together. All of the Queen's ladies are to dance this afternoon, and Lady Rochford, who is our window on that hidden world, will be chief amongst them.

The high table is empty at present, as the King and Queen are yet to arrive. They shall have the Ladies Mary and Elizabeth with them, as Jane has been quite determined to keep the family together as much as she can. Both of Henry's elder daughters have held, and lost, his affection thanks to the fates of their mothers; a situation that their stepmother has been most keen to resolve; particularly as Mary has been obliged to swallow a great deal of her pride to remain at court - even to the point of publicly declaring against the faith in which she was raised. That she loves her stepmother as much as she does is testament both to Jane's kindness, and her willingness to compromise.

At the bray of trumpets, we all rise to greet the Royal family. The King and Queen lead the way, and I note that Queen Jane is wearing her magnificent jewelled diadem again - which is intended, with its worked ears of wheat and sprigs of mistletoe, to signify fertility and long life. It also holds the resplendent sapphire Blue Fire, which I am still amazed that I failed to notice when I first saw the jewels upon her head. I do not have much time to take this in, however, as we all bow at their approach.

As soon as all are seated, the King makes a short speech proclaiming his love for his wife, and the son that she has granted him, before inviting everyone to set to with the victuals - and for an hour everyone feasts while musicians play for us. It will be another hour before the masque begins.

Most of the other Privy Councillors tend to avoid talking to Cromwell or I, as they despise him, and distrust me. This is, I think, partly owing to my previous untrustworthiness - but mostly to my association with Cromwell. Instead, they talk amongst themselves of matters that would be of little interest to either of us even if we were included in the conversation. Thus we find ourselves engaged in conversation with the Imperial Ambassador, Eustace Chapuys, whose rank allows him to sit with us.

Were it not for the politics between us, I think we would be far greater friends than his station permits us to be. I have not forgotten last Christmastide, when I overheard him call Cromwell a 'scorpion', but - when politics is put aside - he is urbane and charming, and very pleasant to talk to. Certainly his conversations with Cromwell are always very interesting - as they seem able to talk on matters that mean nothing to anyone else, for both men are remarkably well read, learned and irritatingly clever. That said, the unexpected improvement in Cromwell's relations with the Lady Mary have probably also helped, now that she has forgiven him for his involvement in the ending of her Mother's marriage.

Wyatt does not arrive until quite late on, having been socialising with friends at the Tiltyard. He is, naturally, very keen to enjoy the ladies dancing, so he is quick to find a seat on the bench beside me, and I leave Cromwell and Chapuys to their conversation, as it has moved on to matters of philosophy that are of no interest, or understanding, to me.

"When is the masque to begin?" Wyatt asks, keenly, "I am told it shall be quite a spectacle!"

"In what way?" I answer, "It is merely the Queen's ladies - do you expect a Volta? Or perhaps some spectacle akin to the debauchery of ancient Rome?"

"Now that would be a sight to behold!" he grins, cheerfully, "Perhaps based upon the more salacious works of Catullus?"

God, I hope not.

Those who were not fortunate to be seated are already moving to the sides of the hall to open the space where the ladies are to dance, and the musicians are tuning again. There is a singer with them now, a youth with plump cheeks and rheumy eyes who looks remarkably out of place in the glittering splendour of the Court. It is then that Will Somers, the King's Fool, suddenly lets out the most astonishingly loud whistle, silencing the entire hall in an instant.

"Bring forth the Cloud maidens!" He announces, and the musicians strike up.

The song, while new, contains words of antiquity. Being acquainted with Greek, I listen to the Song of the Clouds by Aristophanes, while the Queen's ladies, clad in white, dance with modesty and precision. Not all of them are present, however, and as soon as they finish their dance, they move to the side and hold poses as the music becomes altogether more lively - and three more, including Lady Rochford, enter, dressed in red, to dance to a song whose words are taken from the Song of the Furies by Aeschylus. Even for those who have no understanding of the Greek, the dance is swift and sharp enough to convey the famous myth of Alecto, Megaera and Tisiphone without the need for the words.

The Masque ends with another singer, a woman dressed in white, who banishes the Furies, and sings a gentle air set to the words of Children in the House by Euripides - celebrating the joy of a child to a couple who has longed for a babe, while the ladies in white dance about her. They end with a deep curtsey towards the King and Queen, and Henry rewards their efforts with enthusiastic applause, rising to his feet - thereby causing everyone else to be obliged to do the same. The women blush at the ovation, but it is a good start to the celebrations to come.

I am amazed that it is possible - but it seems to be so. Everyone is bored of tourneys, masques and ballets, and is very keen to get back to the politicking, backstabbing and gossip that prevails when there is nothing else to keep one occupied at Court.

I have, where I can, spent time at my Library at Grant's Place, supervising the work that Molly, my apprentice Second, has been doing, and undertaking work of my own. I have had little success in finding more information about Red Fire, or the use of the jewels to destroy Lamashtu - but I am pleased to note that the Grand Master of the Order - who is referred to as 'The High' - has acknowledged and recognised my position as Second to the Raven, and his spies are delivering reports and papers to Grant's Place now and again, which Molly is keeping careful notes of, in order to keep me apprised of what is being delivered.

This has been interspersed with the occasional Privy Council meeting, though these are perfunctory and short as most of the greater Lords wish to be elsewhere - as does the King, and the events at which I must be present; primarily the enormous river Pageant that the King demanded to ferry himself, his Queen and his Children to Westminster Abbey, along with half the Court, for a service of thanksgiving. The wily Bishop of Winchester, Stephen Gardiner, had hoped to lead that service; but even he could not stand in the way of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and so Thomas Cranmer came back to court for a brief time, which is always a pleasure for Cromwell, as the pair are great friends. Despite being less committed to reform than either of them, I find Cranmer to be humorous, friendly and enjoyable company, so our evening suppers dwelt upon matters other than demons and darkness - and instead on general gossip and matters academically theological.

He returned to Canterbury two days ago to continue to deal with a long-running dispute involving the Dean that has kept him there far longer than he would normally be present, and we resumed our normal activities again. The noise and hubbub of the festival has kept the raveners at bay - but we were obliged to dispatch one at the end of the first week, and so we shall hunt again tonight, as the celebrations will end this evening with a magnificent display of fireworks. The combination of people out late, and the distraction of the display, is something that is likely to attract a ravener, and keep our activities out of sight.

As expected, most of the court are lining the banks of the river, as most of the fireworks are to be launched from boats, and from the northern bank. This leaves the passageways empty but for the servants - an ideal hunting ground both for a ravener, and for a Raven. We are, as always, clad in black, and each of us carry a sword of silver, though mine, and Wyatt's, were gifts from Cromwell, and are not officially sanctioned by the Order.

There is no longer a need for the three of us to hunt together, as a ravener is usually solitary - and it was only the compulsion of Lamashtu that forced them to band together against us last year. It has, however, become something of a habit and, as Cromwell was obliged to hunt alone for some years after Thomas Wolsey - his previous Second - died, he welcomes the company.

The display begins with a mighty explosion, and then the sky lights up in an array of colours that sets all about in the weirdest casts of light. Even though they cannot enjoy the display itself, the lights and sounds of the fireworks captures the interest and attention of the servants, which places them in far greater danger as they would not expect to be ambushed by a creature that delights in torments before death.

Despite the strange colours that flash into the courts and passages as we hunt, Cromwell remains absolutely singleminded. He always is when he hunts; and he is soon rewarded for his patience as he looks around a corner, and indicates with his hand that he has seen a ravener. As there is only one - for usually there would be only one - we opt to allow him to deal with it, as watching him fight one of these creatures is always fascinating. They are fast, and extremely agile - but so is he.

Drawing the swords that are set at his waist, he advances into the court, where the ravener appears to be watching something - doubtless a servant or guard. I have found that Raveners have remarkably keen hearing, and this one is no exception. Despite being almost silent, Cromwell's approach is overheard, and the thin, gangling creature turns, and hisses at the sight of him. As he has not expected to be unnoticed, he is not fazed by this at all, and merely stands ready, as the light about him turns red from an explosion high in the sky above.

The ravener launches itself at Cromwell, who merely rolls beneath it and comes back to his feet again without effort. I recall the first time I saw him fight one of these creatures, and it is as though that fight is happening all over again. All that is different now is that I am armed - whereas before I was not. As always, he is intent on the creature he fights, his eyes alive and his expression exhilarated. This is where he is at his most content - battling darkness, rather than politics.

Now the light is green, as he leaps over the skittering creature, and lands easily as it scrabbles on the cobbles to turn and come back at him. Another slash with his sword, and it is over - the ravener falling to dust at his feet, as the light turns red again. Like blood.

Needless to say, now that we are free to enjoy it, the display is at an end.

There is a small heap of papers awaiting me on my desk as I return to work the next morning. Today shall be a long day, as not only do I have to work through the accumulation of papers, but also work with Lady Rochford to get into the Queen's apartments without being noticed - always rather difficult and something of a performance. Ever since Cromwell pledged himself, and us, to her service last year, she has expected to meet with us regularly. At first, it seemed a mad thing to do - as we are meant to operate in secrecy - but it has proved to be highly useful, as the Queen has access to information that we could not hope to touch. She has retained a largely Catholic outlook despite conforming outwardly to the Church of England, which is one of the reasons why Mary adores her, as she turns a blind eye to Mary's private masses. She also has the confidence of Stephen Gardiner - which is even more useful for us, as we know that he has no liking for Cromwell, whom he considers to be a closeted heretic.

The Queen knows all, for she herself has been menaced by Lamashtu; and, but for her kindness to us, we could not have saved her. Thus she tells us all she hears from her ladies, and we, in return, tell her all that we do; she also does all she can to keep our activities protected - and the assistance of her Page, Jonathan, and the intensely loyal Lady Rochford, ensures that we know more now about the Court than we ever did before.

The problem we face with such meetings is that the court is full of prying eyes - and none miss the opportunity to gossip. The Lord Chancellor to be spending time in the Queen's presence chamber is an event that could hardly go unremarked, and even more so if I were in attendance. People still do not know quite what to make of me, for I still retain the reputation for being a scoundrel, liar and unprincipled coward - and that I spend so much time in the company of one so disliked as Thomas Cromwell has rather foxed those who observe, and comment upon, the people about them at Court.

Thus we vary the times and days of our meetings, and even the locations where we hold them - as it is sometimes easier for the Queen to disguise herself and come to us, than the other way about. In the warmer months, we were able to meet quite coincidentally in the gardens, and few noticed; but now it is too cold and dark to do so. Generally, we use the servants' corridors - which seems to aid us well.

Tonight, we have met in the Queen's Privy Chamber. She has dismissed all but Jonathan and Lady Rochford, both of whom are so known for their loyalty to her that none remark when she dismisses all but they. As they are the only two people in her retinue who know of our work, she trusts no one else to be present when we are.

"So," she says, as I finish our report to her, "the number of raveners is no greater than it has been all year - and there is no indication that Lamashtu has emerged from her place of hiding."

"That would appear to be the case, Majesty." I confirm, "I have not heard from Cardinal Wolsey in some time, though he comes to me now and again - perhaps to remind me that he is still present - but he has offered no warnings to me."

She knows that Wolsey and I have some sort of connection. I do not understand how it works - but now that I have committed to being Cromwell's Second; Wolsey, who is in Purgatory, is permitted to communicate with me. He can only do this in the Library, and in my Quarters where I keep a fine wooden coffer from the Library, as he requires something with which he was once bonded as a Second to be able to reach me. His presence was once deeply upsetting to me, as it seemed to be the greatest demonstration of my unfitness to be a Second; but no longer. He insults me regularly, but as I insult him back, we now work together surprisingly well.

"But there is no progress upon the location of Red Fire?" she asks.

I cannot help but look downcast as I shake my head, "None, Majesty," I admit, "My researches have failed to elicit any additional information."

She smiles kindly, something she seems to do a great deal to many people, "We do, at least know where Blue Fire is located, Mr Rich. It is held upon my diadem, ready to be granted to its true purpose."

That is, I think, why people love her so much.

Jane does not need to tell us that her brother, formerly the Viscount Beauchamp, has been elevated again, this time to the Earldom of Hertford. His younger brother, the hot-headed Thomas, has joined us on the Privy Council, and neither are particularly well disposed to us. I inadvertently insulted Hertford only a year ago, and it took a remarkable time for him to let the hurt pass; while Thomas generally follows where his brother leads - albeit with mild resentment, as he has not received honours akin to Hertford's. She does report, however, that Henry is altogether more serious now about securing a husband for Mary. She is now at an age when most Royal women would have been long wedded, and had at least two, or even three, babes - but is still a maid.

"She longs for marriage," Jane sighs, "for it is her duty as a woman of Royal blood; but her age, her legitimacy, and her place in the succession all tell against her. His Majesty is also still most unclear about to whom she is meant to be betrothed. I do," she adds, "hold hopes for the prince of Portugal and the Asturias, however, for he is of an age that would match her, and seems to be a kindly, honest young man."

"Then we must hope that all shall be concluded, and that she shall be happy." Cromwell agrees. Now that her enmity to him has been resolved, he has no wish to reignite it, and we all hold out hopes that she might find happiness that shall not be snatched away from her on little more than a royal whim.

Then Jane looks more serious, "You should be aware, my Lords," she advises, "I have noticed my brother seems to be spending rather more time with Bishop Gardiner than I should have expected, given their opposing religious views. From what I can gather, his Grace seems to be quite intent upon you, Mr Cromwell, for he knows of your own inclinations, and considers them to be dangerous to his own intentions. You have the ear, and favour, of the King, and he wishes to take that from you for himself."

Cromwell nods, "Thank you, Majesty, while I was not unaware of his Grace's enmity towards me, it is useful to have it confirmed. I shall take care about him - for I have no wish for him to undermine my work."

"As shall I." Wyatt agrees, "I think I shall keep an ear out for any news about him - for if his spite is matched by his honesty, then I am truly the Archbishop of York."

"You consider him corrupt?" I ask, surprised.

"Of course. He is a personification of a whited sepulchre. He preaches love to all men, and beats his servants. He calls for charity, yet embezzles whatever he can. There are but two differences between him and Wolsey - he wears only purple, and he has no mistress - though he is such a wizened creature, who would have him? Oh, and Wolsey never struck his servants, to my knowledge."

"He struck me." Cromwell tells him.

"You were not a servant of his, so you are different." Wyatt grins back at him.

Jane watches us all, amused at our light talk between one another, "I plead with you to be careful," she advises, "I can protect you from many things - but I fear that I could not save you if the Bishop took steps to bring about your undoing."

Wyatt bows to her floridly, "I shall make it my business to ensure he does not."

Now that we are aware that Stephen Gardiner is watching us - Cromwell in particular; it is almost comical to see him in his plotting. For that is what it is. He is surreptitious, almost ostentatiously so, and his behaviour would be amusing were it not for the danger in which we are placed by it. I cannot fight Lamashtu - only Cromwell can; and, while I am safe from his conspiring, I would be helpless against a demoness if his plans were to come to fruition. He seeks the removal of the Lord Chancellor - perhaps with a view to gaining the power he holds, not to mention the favour of the King.

Hertford, on the other hand, is infinitely more subtle. Were it not for our prior knowledge of his involvement, I should never have guessed it - and I suspect that Cromwell would have missed it, too. He is careful never to be seen openly talking to the Bishop - for that would draw suspicion given their opposing views on religion - but they share the same goal, and a desire to topple an enemy leads to the strangest of bedfellows.

Wyatt keeps a close eye upon their activities, using his network of friends to assist him - and I think he is the only one of us who would ever have noticed that Hertford is involved in the plots against Cromwell. While he is now known to be an associate of ours, Wyatt's friendly, cheerful personality serves to ensure that no one holds this against him. He is, after all, now on the Privy Council, so he has every reason to be seen to be talking with either Cromwell, or with me. Given that absolutely no one other than Wyatt and Cromwell trusts me at all, everyone assumes that he talks to me out of pity - for I have no others that I could call a friend.

While the plotting is irritating, it remains only a background problem as long as Cromwell retains the King's favour - which he achieves through the simple medium of being utterly indispensable. His presence removes the burden of administration from Henry's shoulders - and, as no one else seems likely to be as capable, the King considers him with far more regard than his behaviour would suggest. Henry might slap Cromwell from time to time - but he knows better than to dispense with him. As long as we can keep things that way, then we are safe.

Gardiner's main concern this morning, however, as we assemble for the Privy Council meeting, is the loss of one of his pages. Being a man who does not regard his servants highly - indeed, if Wyatt is to be believed, he treats them very poorly - it is not unknown for him to lose them now and again. Judging by the expression upon Suffolk's face, he considers this to be another such occasion, as he mutters to one of his closer colleagues, "He might find it easier to keep staff if he thanked them now and again rather than berated them endlessly for faults both minor and imagined."

The King's arrival puts an end to the complaining, and we take our seats. The meeting is not expected to take long, as there is little to discuss today. Parliament has risen for the approaching Christmastide holiday, to ensure that the Commons can return to their homes before the roads turn to mud. While they have approved the proposed programme of road-building, this is yet to begin, as finding the money to pay for it is proving to be rather difficult.

Cromwell reports to the Council on the progress of the King's reforms to the religious houses, which has - it must be said - brought extensive revenues back to the Crown. While he is keen to funnel as much of this into suitable causes as he can, Cromwell is well aware that the King is equally keen to funnel it into an ambitious programme of palace building, arms collecting and general frittering away that seems to have been the hallmark of his reign from the beginning. He is hopeful, however, that the Council will today approve the institution and funding of schools for poor children, to be established in the name of the Prince Edward. The plan seems, to most present, to be a very fine idea that can only be of benefit; but for reasons of his own, Gardiner seems quite determined to oppose the suggestion that people of little or no means should receive at least a simple education.

"Are you suggesting that Children should be required to read the Gospels?" he demands, for the reading of the Gospels is - to him, at least - the prerogative of the priests, who then preach upon them to the people in their congregations. To read the texts themselves is - it appears - a dangerous pursuit that can lead only to heresy and damnation.

Rather than engage in an argument, Cromwell shakes his head, "I consider it worthwhile that the people of this nation be able to read the law, to understand the taxes they pay, the wages they receive and to learn all that they wish to know. It is not for me to lay bear men's souls - that is a matter for their own consciences." As he holds the rather odd post of Vice-Regent of Spiritual Matters, he has at least some authority to speak so to Gardiner, though the Bishop looks at him with venom when he does so.

The rest of the table is silent, as they await Gardiner's response. Most of us know that Cromwell has used a significant portion of his own money to pay for the printing and production of an English Bible, thus giving people the opportunity to read the Gospels if they so choose. I have not, and I know that Suffolk has not, for he retains most elements of his Catholic faith - albeit tempered with the requirements of the Church of England. While he does not say so publicly, Cromwell considers God's word to not be exclusive only to the Priests - and their jealous guardianship of it offends him.

Unfortunately, his offence at this seems also to offend Gardiner in his turn, and the conversation continues to be punctuated with tiresome loaded comments about heresy and the destruction of a great Nation in chaos and disorder, as people aspire to positions beyond their appropriate state. He clearly means Cromwell, whose education and ability has raised him far above his position in the order of things. I cannot help but shudder at this, as he is becoming almost openly accusatory, and the King has said nothing to stop him. Opposite, I notice that Suffolk rolls his eyes; we have heard this sort of thing many times, and he clearly finds it tiresome.

Finally, the Bishop runs out of complaints, and the King brusquely asks Cromwell for the next order of business. He has not stopped Gardiner, but then he has not answered him either, so it seems likely that there shall be no further comment upon the matter.

The meeting soon breaks up, as there is little else to discuss. Gardiner bustles off, complaining about his missing servant again, while Hertford and Seymour leave together a few paces behind him. Suffolk is in conversation with the King, while the other lords disperse, leaving Cromwell and I to gather papers. Wriothesley attends the meetings these days as he is now the King's Secretary, and he takes them from us without comment before leaving for the offices.

Wyatt casts a glance in our direction before heading out in search of the Seymour brothers and their likely meeting with Gardiner - as they left in close order - and we follow Wriothesley back to the offices. Wyatt shall meet us to sup tonight, and advise of anything he has uncovered.

"What do you think of the missing servant?" I ask Cromwell, as we make our way through the corridors.

"At this point, I would not wish to speculate." He admits, "His Grace is known for driving servants away, and it is quite possible that he has done so again. I shall ask William to make enquiries, if he has not done so already."

"He is remarkably perceptive." I observe.

"He is indeed." Cromwell agrees, "I should be lost without him, I think."

As we sit down to sup, Wyatt is able to report that Hertford and Seymour did not meet with Gardiner after the Privy Council meeting. While they may be conspiring together, they do not like one another, so they must confine their meetings to necessity only.

"Are you aware that one of Bishop Gardiner's servants has gone?" Cromwell asks William as he pours out claret.

"I am, Mr Cromwell. I was planning to report to you after you had eaten." William advises, soberly, "None can offer a reason for his disappearance - he has served his Grace the Bishop for a number of years, and was not known to have mentioned any abusive act that might give him cause to leave so precipitately."

Cromwell sighs, and I do not have to guess what he shall say next.

"Then it is likely that he has not acted willingly."

"It would appear not, Sir. Nor would it appear that he is the first."

"There have been others?" I ask, startled.

"Just one - one of the scullery girls. She was presumed to have fled last week, as she had been here but a few days, and was known to be unhappy."

"Have we missed a ravener, then?" Wyatt asks Cromwell, worriedly.

He shakes his head, "If that were the case, we would already have found their bodies. Raveners do not hide their work. It would appear that something more threatening has arrived at Court."

He says nothing more, and we sit and stare at victuals that have suddenly lost their appeal. It seems our holiday period is over.