A/N: Happy Friday, friends! As always, thank you for your reviews. Having resolved the matter of Becket's bones, it's time to move on again, and our next stop is five years on...

PART FIVE

Teacher

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

A Golden Prize

Lady Day, 1543

The girl with red-gold hair stands upon the dais, a table loaded with victuals before her, while all present watch with wrapt eyes, "I thank you for coming, my good Subjects. As we feast to celebrate the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and to begin a new year, I give you my word as your Queen that I shall be your servant as much as your Prince. Etenim, iudices, cum omnibus virtutibus me adfectum esse cupio, tum nihil est quod malim quam me et esse gratum et videri. haec enim est una virtus non solum maxima sed etiam mater virtutum omnium reliquarum."

She seats herself to the sound of delighted applause, not merely for her pronunciation of the latin, but for the choice of words, a quotation from Cicero upon the virtue of gratitude as a wellspring for all other virtues. Beside her, Anne smiles; her child is learning well, for it was not her choice to speak the words of Cicero, but Elizabeth's.

Life has not been as easy for her Subjects over the last five years - the fine harvests that opened her daughter's reign have faltered several times, and it is only the work to establish the charitable institutions in place of religious houses that has secured many from a cruel death from lack of sufficient victuals. The last of those moribund Houses was closed only last year, and the buildings now hold a grammar school, petty school, almshouses and even a small infirmary.

She looks across to the trestle where the Privy Councillors sit. Her Lord Treasurer is seated at the end of one of the benches, deep in conversation with Southampton. The two have led much effort to shore up the tottering financial foundations of the Realm; a task that even now is not yet complete. The monies raised from the closures of the religious houses have been quite scandalous, but such was her late husband's profligacy that even a substantial proportion of that extensive wealth has failed to do more than slightly mitigate their obligations to his creditors. Thus Mr Cromwell, along with George, Southampton and a small cadre of clerks, have worked determinedly to find ways of improving England's wealth and fortunes through investment of what funds that they do have. Thanks to that work, the Treasurer anticipates that England shall be financially solvent again within the next three years. As long as they are not obliged to go to war, of course.

At Elizabeth's invitation, everyone is reaching for the victuals set before them, the elaborate nature of the dishes decreasing the further along the hall one sits. Even the platters upon the Queen's table are not as magnificent as they would once have been when Henry lived - the quantities are smaller, the degree of decoration less extensive. There are no pies dressed with gold leaf, no dishes of sauce-drenched meats that shall not even be touched as the diners shall be too overindulged to contemplate them. No - the selection is sufficient for all at the table to dine well, but not to the degree that the waste shall be obscene in its quantity. They are, however, all favourites of the young queen: well roasted mutton with glistening spices in a sweet wine gravy, enriched breads dripping with herb-butter, stewed venison in a thick pastry coffin decorated with sugared violets, flower-jewelled sallets and small ale sweetened with wildflower honey. The second remove shall contain the finest works of the pastry-cooks, but that is still to come, and Elizabeth is happily conversing with the French Ambassador in his native tongue, seated beside her in an honoured position, as Anne has never lost her affinity towards France. Chapuys is also seated at the high table - but at the furthest end, a placement that is reflected in his failure to completely conceal his disgruntlement at being so far from the presence of the Queen, while his French rival is at her side.

Watching from his position on the Councillor's table, Cromwell is quite relieved to have matters under consideration other than the financial position of the Realm. Keeping Chapuys disgruntled is helpful to their interests, as that perceived sense of insult makes him resentful, and more keen than ever to plot quietly in the background. He remains entirely unaware that his quiet plotting with Rich is known to the Queen Regent and her most prominent advisers - and thanks to that ruse, Cromwell knows far more than the Ambassador would ever wish to reveal about the efforts of the former Duke of Suffolk and Earl of Wiltshire to promote the interests of Queen Mary of Sweden amongst the foreign courts of Europe.

His mind turns to the exiled first child of Henry. She is, at last, a mother - her last pregnancy resulting in a healthy male child. The English Ambassador speaks of warm, loving relations between the King and Queen that are further warmed by her achievement in presenting him with an additional heir. It seems, then, that she is happy. He hopes that to be so - after all, if she is contented with her life in Sweden, she shall be less inclined to look towards the Crown of England with covetous eyes.

Returning his attention to his meal, he breaks off a piece of bread to dip into the thick sauce that surrounds his portion of beef. Vaguely, above the noise of more than a hundred people talking at once, he can hear the strains of a newly composed tordion courtesy of Mr Sacks, and wonders idly what has become of the tiresomely enamoured Mark Smeaton. The last he knew, the youth was in the employ of the de Veres of Oxford, and they were more than delighted to have the services of a musician that once performed for a King. Hopefully he has finally abandoned that dreadful calf-love for a Queen - but whether he has or not, there is no circumstance under which they would re-admit him to Court.

Another letter arrived yesterday, this one from the King of Bohemia, seeking Elizabeth's hand for his son and heir. That must be the sixth in the last two months. Now that she is approaching marriageable age - at least the age expected of royal women - and is showing signs of becoming quite the beauty, half of Christendom is keen to seek her hand for royal youths, though the other half would do so only if she were to abjure heresy and accept Popery in its place.

They all want to have England, of course - and the great challenge of ensuring that Elizabeth's Realm is not swallowed up by a foreign power has become more pressing than it was when she was but five years of age. As much as she wishes she could continue to ignore it, her Majesty the Queen Regent has begun to accept that the time is coming: Elizabeth must marry, and the time available to procrastinate is dwindling fast.

But tonight is not a night to think of such things. Elizabeth is shortly to begin her first true steps towards learning how to rule her realm: she shall attend Council meetings as soon as they resume in five days' time. Her presence shall be in an observational capacity only at this time - but nonetheless her days of childish pleasures are at an end. Queenly dignity is all, and even her leisure now must be undertaken with decorum.

They rise to sample the banquet course, leaving the stewards to void the meal before the evening's dancing can begin. Elizabeth is seated in a finely upholstered chair alongside her mother, receiving the guests of honour while Rochford stands alongside, acting as a formal steward to introduce those who are presented to her. Jane has retrieved a small plate of the Queen's favourite amusements, which she holds ready for Elizabeth to sample, should she wish to. Elsewhere in the side hall, people are mingling and chattering, impatient for the tables to be cleared so that they can engage in the childish rituals of Courtly Love on the dance floor.

"How strange it is." Rich observes, as Cromwell crosses to join him, "A mere seven years back, I was standing in a hall, wondering whether the Queen could continue to thrive in the face of the Seymour threat; and now she is Regent, the Seymour girl is ensconced in some manor in the country, married to a man of little note, while her dour brother is dead and his younger sibling holds Wulfhall."

"Indeed." Cromwell agrees, declining a cup of sweet wine from a passing steward, "Her Majesty has proved to have a pragmatic character that her late Lord lacked. I think we would not be where we are had she lacked it as he did. Have you news of our rebellious pair in Flanders?"

Rich smiles, "Not as yet - though I imagine that they are still seeking sufficient largesse to afford to appear a suitable retinue for a Queen who is not presently looking for one. It amazes me that they have made any progress at all." He adds, "They despised one another while they were at Court, so God knows how they deal with one another now that they are trapped in exile. What I wouldn't give to see them sniping at one another."

"My concern is that they seem resolutely unwilling to appreciate that England has become accustomed to their Queen and her mother." Cromwell sighs, "'Mother of the Realm' might have been spoken in jest, but it has proved to be the ideal means of persuading Englishmen to accept Queen Anne. I think they do not understand that the subjects of a Realm do not particularly care who wears the crown, as long as they have sufficient coin in their scrips to pay for their rent and victuals."

Rich nods, sagely. Being from the landed class of Gentry, he has never known true poverty, having been obliged to witness it only during the Regent's progresses. Given her concerns over the welfare of her daughter's subjects, it has been a distinctly distasteful education, but at least it is one that he has - albeit reluctantly - embraced.

At length, the hall is ready to reoccupy, and two rows of dancers form. It is no surprise to those gathered that Elizabeth has already begun to enjoy such entertainments, and there are many who wish to seek a turn about the floor with her, if nothing else to report back to their masters overseas her abilities at dance and conversation. Remarkably, she accepts their attention with aplomb, even though some of her partners are so near to their three score years and ten that they are obliged to shuffle rather than perform the steps.

Seated upon the dais, Anne watches her daughter, and wonders what thoughts are passing through the minds of those who dance with her. No - it is still far too soon to demand that she be wedded - but not to enter into a betrothal. Such is the way of things in royal circles. Marriages are made for political advantage, after all. Except for hers, of course.

Look at her - smiling, conversing, dancing with men old enough to be her great grandsire; already Elizabeth knows who she must charm, and thus she does so in spite of her still tender years. There is indeed a great promise of beauty in that candle-shadowed face, a golden prize that many Kings hope to win for their Princes.

But not tonight: that can wait for another day. Sipping at her glass of sweet wine, Anne sits back and smiles. The old year is soon to pass, and thus her daughter's first steps to majesty shall begin.

Brandon surveys the chamber with something akin to satisfaction. While it is not of the standard that he knew in England, the house is a vast improvement upon the ghastly hovel that he has been obliged to share for far too long with Boleyn. His loathing for the duplicitous bastard continues to grow even now, achieving such grandiose proportions that to have remained in that confined space for much longer would certainly have led to the unsheathing of a poniard, though its application would be first to unmentionable body parts before the relative mercy of burying the blade in his throat.

Perhaps he died at Barnet, and this grotesque existence is now his purgatory - trapped with a man that he despises, and required to remain so for the rest of time. Only the knowledge that the enterprise upon which they are engaged shall correct a dire injustice prevents him from taking a step further than merely imagining the slow, bloody murder of Thomas Boleyn. God be thanked that he now has a chamber of decent size, and with walls sufficiently thick that he no longer has to endure the pig-like snuffling at night when the blasted man snores.

At least the woman he views as the true Queen of England has fulfilled her duty to Sweden and given them the security of a second male heir - a feat that the Usurper failed to achieve in spite of her endless promises. He is pleased for her - despite the knowledge that her success has made their task infinitely more difficult. Why should any Court in Europe demand that she be sent back to rule England now that she is married to the King of Sweden? He had assumed that the Pope's edict of excommunication would provoke That Woman to act against her Catholic subjects - but it has not. Equally, it has not prompted them to act against her. Why should it? In spite of a sequence of poor harvests, careful management by the Government has ensured that grain prices have not risen out of the reach of poorer Englishmen, and even those with nothing have been able to seek out aid from state-funded poor-houses. No wonder they have not risen - the realm is at peace, trade is flourishing and even the meanest of peasants find that they have not been forgotten. England has not prospered to the same degree since the first Tudor sat upon the throne.

He refuses to accept that all is lost. Mary was the first born child to survive infancy, and she was born of a valid marriage as the child Elizabeth was not. By all rights, she should be upon the English throne - and his loyalty to the Lady, as well as her sainted mother and noble father, screams at him to correct that aberration.

The sound of heavy footsteps gives him cause to shudder. While they have now employed two servants and a cook, there is only one man in the house that walks so, and he refuses to look up as Boleyn enters the chamber without the courtesy of knocking.

"I have another letter from Norfolk." He says, brusquely, "What little he knows of matters at Court are set down therein - it seems that Elizabeth is being keenly courted by proxy through the auspices of most of the ambassadors. England is quite the prize, these days."

Brandon scowls to himself - the man is talking about his own granddaughter, for God's sake - as though she were naught but a bauble to be plucked for personal gain. The fact that she is considered in such terms by those who negotiate for her hand is inevitable - but for Boleyn to do so seems contemptible.

"What of the views of her Subjects?" He asks, not turning around.

"He knows nothing of that." Boleyn snorts, "Even when we were seated around the same table, it was my work that kept us informed, not his." The tone changes to scorn, "Do you hope that your fellow Papists have risen to throw out the heretics?"

Brandon's hands clench into fists. He has never believed that Boleyn's conversion was sincere; but, shorn of the need to be overt, the blasted man gives every sense of having no faith at all. Oh, to be able to denounce him for a heretic…

But he cannot. Boleyn has diplomatic contacts that Brandon lacks, and thus he has no alternative other than to endure this ongoing purgatory.

"The last thing that he offers is an additional sum of one hundred pounds, which shall be transferred to my Jewish banker in the next two months, as soon as he can arrange secure passage."

For the first time, Brandon does not shudder. Being beholden to Norfolk financially is hardly the best position, but it is that financial support that has enabled them to emerge from that vile hovel into marginally better quarters, and spared him the need to report to the docks for work each day. The callouses on his hands shall remain for years to come - but he can conceal them under leather gauntlets if need be.

"I shall set some of it aside to pay for an observer at the Swedish court." Boleyn continues, "Our overtures to foreign courts shall be dismissed forthwith if we cannot guarantee that the girl wishes to reclaim England for herself." Brandon hears a rustling of fabric as the man shrugs, "Now that she has a child to coo upon, perhaps she has decided that her life is complete and thus she no longer demands the unseating of another to claim a crown."

And the scowl is back again. No - Mary has always been loyal to England. Loyal to her late mother, and to her late father. It is her duty as the firstborn to rule England, and he shall not abandon her - just as she could never abandon that loyalty to her realm or her parents. As soon as she knows that there are men who shall speak for her, she shall certainly welcome the opportunity to reclaim England, and they shall find a way to make it happen.

The atmosphere in the Council Chamber is unusually benign, with everyone upon their best behaviour. Anne regards all present with rather narrowed eyes, expecting everyone to maintain a suitable level of decorum and courtesy, as she is not the only Queen in the chamber this morning.

Elizabeth eyes her Council with a nervousness that all present find rather appealing, if not outright endearing. She is a girl of but ten years, intelligent, graceful and well educated; in deference to her new position in the Government - albeit as an observer at this time - she is dressed most regally, though her hair is now encased in a fine French hood decorated with seed pearls and gold wire filigree: a gift from her mother.

All present bow to both the woman and the girl, and wait until they are seated before doing likewise. Then, at Anne's surreptitious nod, Sussex rises to his feet: as Lord Chancellor, it is his right to speak first.

"Your Majesty, allow me to welcome you to the deliberations of your Council for the first time. We are most pleased that you are at the head of our table, and I speak for us all when I pledge to you that we shall ensure that you are ever furnished with good advice, honest counsel and loyal service."

He bows again, and seats himself.

"I thank you, my Lord of Sussex," Elizabeth answers, a woman's words spoken with a child's voice, "I am pleased to be seated with my Council at last, and I pledge to you that I shall consider your advice, heed your counsel and accept your service."

Anne smiles to herself as her daughter speaks. She has not needed to prompt Elizabeth, or to provide her with the words of her short speech. Her only concern is that the matters under discussion are a careful balance between the interesting, and the dull. It would not do to tire her daughter with discussions that are of little interest to her - but it would serve her equally ill to grant her a false impression that all matters considered by the Council are enjoyable to hear.

Cromwell rises to his feet, "Majesties, I have received a request from a number of the livery companies to institute the construction of a system of paved roads between the larger towns of England. While our ports are now well prepared for the exercise of trade, goods that are brought ashore are then required to be transported along rough tracks, which are dusty and rough in summer, and quagmires in winter. The matter has been one of our intentions for some years - but we have fought to find the time to implement it. Thus - quite understandably - they wish to petition her Majesty the Queen to consider their concerns."

Anne turns to her daughter, who looks back at her briefly, before realising that it is she who is being consulted, "Thank you, my Lord, I should be pleased to do so."

Smiling at her, Cromwell nods, "Yes, Majesty." He takes his seat again, clearly opening the matter for discussion, and Russell rises to his feet, "In my capacity of Lord High Admiral, Majesty, I would agree with the Lord Treasurer that England shall be well served to construct proper roads. Forgive me for raising a spectre such as this - but we are a small Kingdom, and thus must be ever ready to defend ourselves from those who would look upon us with covetous eyes. I think that to have well paved roads would be beneficial not only to trade, but also to our defence should we be obliged to move arms and troops with haste from one part of England to another. Matters are, however, most settled at this time, so it seems that to do so now would be sensible."

Anne listens as the councillors discuss the idea - albeit extensions of discussions undertaken previously following the plans to recommence the dissolution of the Monasteries. There was a time when the highest nobles would have scoffed at such a thought - partly because their wealth insulated them from the difficulties encountered by most when attempting to travel, but mostly because the idea had been mooted by trades-folk. Even her own father - a man from trade stock - would have done so. Certainly, Norfolk was contrary enough to have opposed it upon principle alone.

Whether or not the councillors are being particularly courteous to one another because of Elizabeth, the discussion is useful and interesting, and she can hear the scratching of a nib as Sadleir, seated behind her, carefully notes all that is discussed in order to produce a written report that Cromwell can use to establish a proposal to put to the Liverymen. Was it like this for Henry? She wonders, yet again, as they move on to discuss a number of bills under consideration by Parliament in relation to tax reforms, and is not surprised that Elizabeth's attention begins to wander. She is pleased, however, to note that it takes nearly twenty minutes before her interest begins to wane.

Cromwell has, however, been mindful of the young girl's forbearance, and turns to Rich to present the last item: the summer Progress.

"As your Majesty shall be aware," He begins, "your progresses to date have not travelled far from London, so it is our intention that we depart slightly earlier this year, in order that you are able to visit the city of York."

Anne conceals a smile at the indulgent expressions upon her Councillors' faces as Elizabeth's face lights up at the prospect of such an expedition. For all her Majesty, she is still a child, and it seems to her that all of the men at the table regard her almost as much a favoured niece as their Queen. While she is pleased, she makes a mental note to keep watch upon it - it would not do for them to fail to move from indulgence to respect as her daughter comes of age.

Discussion now centres upon where they might stay, who they might meet and what towns they shall visit. It is all - perforce - speculative at this time, but all at the table see it as a reward for Elizabeth's patience with the altogether drier subjects that have been discussed prior; and, by the time the Councillors rise, Sadleir has an impressively long list of suggestions to work through for his eventual report.

Once Elizabeth has departed to meet with her tutor, however, Anne's face falls, "I cannot ask her to stay for the last matter we must discuss."

Cromwell sighs, and the group of men resume their seats again. They, too, look rather guilty at the deception; but as Elizabeth is not yet of suitable age to do so, it seems momentously unfair to expect her to listen as they discuss a matter that shall impact upon her more heavily than any other: her marriage.

Rochford rises to his feet, having accepted the task of assembling the list of youths whose suits had been presented to Anne by their Kingdoms' ambassadors. As the Queen's uncle, Anne wishes for a matter so sensitive to remain within what is left of her family as much as possible. With all the other matters pressing upon her time, she has also asked Mary to aid her brother with the matter, to ensure the inclusion of a woman's perspective as much as can be achieved.

"As you asked, Majesty, I have restricted my list to youths who are not set to inherit the Crowns of their realms." He begins, "Thus they shall be free to travel to England, and the realms from which they have come shall not swallow England up through the children of their union. Furthermore, Mr Rich and I have considered the strictures that shall be set in place to ensure that a Consort of the Queen shall not become a King over her, while those with whom we ally shall not require us to enter into wars that are not of our concern."

"And that shall be the stumbling-block, shall it not?" Anne admits, "What man would willingly submit to his wife in any matter of authority? How, then, shall we persuade a prince to be a husband, but not a master?"

"Madame Stafford suggested that the best means would thus be to engineer a love match." Rochford answers, "Though I fear that even that shall be tempered by the discovery that the prince concerned shall have no power of command over his wife."

In spite of herself, Anne cannot conceal a smile. How like Mary to make such a suggestion - she has always followed her heart over her head, even to the point of angering her family and losing her place at Court. It is only now that they are all - effectively - orphaned that she has been permitted to return. In the face of so much loss, Anne has no wish to be separated from her siblings, and thus both Mary and her family are installed in apartments once again.

"It shall be hard to find such a youth, that I shall admit," Rich adds, "but perhaps not impossible. Thanks to the wars that were ended with your late grandfather-in-law, we have found ourselves an obscure realm upon the edge of larger, wealthier nations who have noted us only when convenient to do so. The peace and stability that has followed her Majesty's reign to date has begun to improve our fortunes considerably, and we are looked upon with less scorn than once we were. Thus our bargaining position is stronger than it was when her Majesty was a princess whose birth was not considered to be legitimate in some quarters. It may be that for their son to be in a lesser position to hers in exchange for a political alliance might be politically expedient - but I would advise that we find some means to grant at least a degree of autonomy and responsibility to any consort of her Majesty to forestall bitterness or disputes."

Anne nods, "Thank you, Mr Rich - and also you, my Lord. I am grateful that you have given the matter such careful thought. I shall consider the list, and advise you of my thoughts at our next meeting. My Lord Treasurer, I should be grateful if you could present a report upon the proposals made at this meeting concerning her Majesty's proposed summer progress before the end of this week. If there is no other business to be discussed, then this meeting is at an end."

There is a short silence, before the Councillors rise with her, then bow and depart.

The small group seated around the table have supped well, and share plates of sweetmeats and glasses of a fine madeira wine as they talk quietly in candlelight. Sipping at her wine, Anne smiles as her brother makes a foolish joke, and reaches for his wife's hand with genuine affection. So much has changed since those tense days in her former Privy Chamber, and certainly those with whom she now associates are not those who shared her time when she was Henry's wife.

She is particularly pleased to have Mary at the table, though her husband is not currently at Court despite an invitation to reside there, and the two have spent much of the evening continuing to reacquaint themselves, while her two most trusted advisers have been talking extensively of their plans for their primary residences outside the palaces. Surrounded by family, she feels able to host Mr Cromwell and Mr Rich without fear of foolish comments and innuendo.

"Could you play for us, Jane?" she asks, suddenly, "I am keen to hear the ballades that you have been practising."

"Of course, Majesty." It is no chore to Lady Rochford, and she rises from the table to cross to the nearby virginals as Rochford watches her with surprising pride. It seems as though his wish to put her away and seek another wife belongs to another world entirely; and the worst excesses of his behaviour were inspired by their father: that rank, naked ambition to rise as high as he could capturing his son and teaching him to be just as bad. As Anne regards her brother, she can see that something is not usual, "George - what is it?"

He turns, slightly surprised, "Majesty?"

"You are keeping something from me. What is it?"

"Er…" he pauses, then looks across at this wife, who pauses briefly, then nods, "We had not thought to speak of it so soon - for we wanted to be sure."

Anne's eyes widen, as she begins to guess their news, "Jane?"

Her expression joyful, Lady Rochford crosses back to the table, "Forgive me, Majesty - we had intended to wait before we advised you, but it seems my husband's joy is such that to do so is quite impossible. I am with child."

Mary claps her hands excitedly, "That is wonderful news! My heartiest blessings upon you both!"

Her eyes glistening, Anne reaches out to clasp Jane's hand in both of hers, "And mine, Jane. I am delighted for you both - if you wish to retire from Court, then I shall not stop you; but I hope very much that you shall remain, for I should be most pleased to offer you the care of her Majesty's doctors, and the best midwives. Moreover, it would please me even more greatly to share this wondrous experience with you - for there is no greater joy than to know that there is life growing beneath your heart."

"Thank you, your Majesty." Jane blushes, "I should be pleased to remain at your side."

"Good." Anne beams, "Thus I am not obliged to find another player to entertain me upon the virginals."

Chuckling, Jane returns to the keyboard, as Anne turns her attention to Cromwell and Rich, who are both looking slightly embarrassed to have intruded upon such a family occasion, "Primero, gentlemen?"

"Perhaps we should hold our council meetings out here, Mr Cromwell."

The air is warm, and scented with roses as Anne strolls through the privy garden, her Lord Treasurer at her side. As always, they are not alone together; Rochford and Rich are two paces behind, while Nan and Margery bring up the rear. To be seen in each others' company would serve neither of them well, despite the disparity in their ages: the work of years could be undone in a single moment of unguarded and false gossip.

"If your Majesty wishes it, I shall arrange for the council table to be dismantled and brought outside for your pleasure." He smiles at her, "Though I fear that it would bring business almost to a halt, so distracted would we be by the wonders of nature."

She chuckles, "I can imagine - Mr Cranmer in the midst of a treatise upon matters of an ecclesiastical nature, only to stop and ask, is that a robin, perchance?"

His smile widens at the thought, before he returns to the matter in hand, "You have received correspondence from his Grace the Duke of Florence, who has appointed a new Ambassador to England in hopes of forging an alliance with England, as it seems that the Emperor is looking upon the northern states of Lombardy and Tuscany with covetous eyes."

"If he thinks that we shall go to war upon his behalf, then I think it wise to disabuse him of such a notion at the first opportunity. When is this Ambassador expected to arrive?"

Cromwell looks a little sheepish, "I fear that he has assumed we would welcome his representative, and he is already present in England."

"And you knew it not." She finishes, smiling at his discomfiture.

"His name is Francesco Conti, Majesty," Cromwell continues, "He has apparently rented a house upon the Strand along with his wife and two daughters. There is a son, but he has remained in Florence as he is well placed with a Banking house, and his wife has recently given him their second child."

Anne nods, "Send him an invitation to attend Court upon the feast of Pentecost this Sunday, where we shall accept his credentials."

"Yes, Majesty."

"What of Elizabeth's progress?" she asks, prompting him to turn to the two men behind, who have been working on an itinerary. Knowing his limitations in terms of remembering details, Rochford allows Rich to step forth, and Cromwell steps back to join him.

"We are looking to visit a number of towns upon the journey north, Majesty." Rich consults a paper that he has pulled from a wallet, "At this time, we propose that her Majesty visit Cambridge, Peterborough, Leicester, Nottingham, Doncaster, Pomfret and then York. We have identified a number of Manors that would be capable of hosting her Majesty and the Court, and there are various residences now held by the Crown that shall also serve to accommodate the retinue."

"Are the prospective hosts aware of the honour heaped upon them?" Anne asks, slightly sardonically; she has learned from her Lord Treasurer the costs incurred by those who accommodate a royal retinue - and also the years required for some of them to recover from it.

"At this time, no." Rich admits, "Our concern at present is to identify those who shall travel with us, which shall thus determine which manors are to be approached." He pauses, "It is our thought that perhaps it might be appropriate to mitigate the cost of our visit with a grant of monies to lessen the financial burden."

"I consider that to be sensible." Anne approves, "My husband would have rejected the prospect outright, and I fear that - in my enamoured state - I would have done likewise. I am wiser now, I think. I have worked hard to earn the love of my daughter's subjects, and I would not wish to squander it by imposing a ravening horde upon them that filled their eyes with glittering jewels, but robbed their bellies of every scrap of victuals in the county."

Rich nods, sagely; he has worked with Cromwell long enough to know that the Lord Treasurer has at least in part inspired such a change of heart. Only one who has come from the gutter can truly understand the tribulations of those who are not bejewelled and clad in satin. Indeed, it is a lesson that he has also been obliged to learn as he has amended his regard of the man who now walks behind him.

Anne considers his words, "Thank you, Mr Rich - and you, also, George. I am content with the proposals as they stand. Please continue to enquire with those who might host her Majesty, and establish a route for the progress to take."

"I shall have it ready for you as soon as possible, Majesty."

She smiles again, and they continue their walk. In the hands of such capable men, it shall not be long before they can escape the Palace, and Elizabeth can meet her subjects once more.

First, however, she must welcome yet another new ambassador.