A/N: Hello again! A bit of escapism from the boundaries of lockdown. Keep well. 3
CHAPTER EIGHT
Continental Rumblings
In setting aside a room for the Council, it had not occurred to Anne that she would find herself required to be seated in it. That she, as much as her husband, has been invited to join the Councillors is something of a surprise to her. While she certainly sat at the head of the table during her regency, the idea of bringing noblewomen into the Council chamber had never entered her head. It was her status as an anointed Queen that had permitted her entry, and she had not seen herself as a mere woman under those circumstances.
Even now, no woman has been permitted to sit amongst the men of the royal Council. Women lack the intelligence and political acumen to formulate good advice, and certainly no man would accept advice from a lesser being. That is how it has always been - only a woman upon whom God has granted His Touch to make them that otherworldly being that is an anointed Monarch might hope to gain entry, and even then only if invited by her royal master. She would not be permitted to speak…
Now, however, the senior Lords of the Council, who remember those days when she ruled in her daughter's stead, are all unconcerned at her presence. To them, it is merely a resumption of those past days when she led their deliberations. The younger, of course, are a little more bemused at the sight of her - but they, too, are used to the presence of the Queen. She suspects, however, that they may become less impressed should she attempt to express her views.
Beside her, William's leg presses against her own, as it would not do to hold her hand in so public a forum - they are, of course, a temporary part of the Queen's council - but she smiles inwardly at his unspoken support. It is unlikely that she shall require it, but he offers it nonetheless.
The assembly rise as the Queen enters, Philip at her side. He, too, would not regularly join her in the Council chamber; but their reduced numbers, and the ongoing religious strife on the continent, require all who are available to consider the impact that such issues might have upon the stability of religion in England.
"Thank you all," Elizabeth says, "I am most grateful for the attendance of their Graces of Pembroke and Kent, for the matter of religion amongst our neighbours continues to rumble most ominously, and a bid to overturn the reforms of the Church in the northern realms is growing in popularity amongst those who see no need for it."
She turns and smiles at her mother, who curtseys in response.
Elizabeth acknowledges Northumberland, who rises, paper in hand, "I wish that I had better news, Majesty; but it is becoming clear that the young men who are attending the English Seminary in Douai are being urged to return to England and overturn heresy in all its forms."
Seated beside the Duke, Richmond shakes his head despondently. After all that they had done to try to win some degree of stability in matters of religion, to see that state threatened by those who have not lived in England for some considerable time clearly saddens him.
"We have no means to prevent their return to England, should they wish to do so." Northumberland continues, "Though I think it likely that they shall not commence their activities in London - for London is too heavily for reform for them to make any headway. No, they shall go to the North, where they think that their message shall fall upon more fertile ground."
"In which case, I may undertake a progress to York to meet with the Council of the North." Philip says, "It would be most discomfiting for them to attend mass only to find the Prince Consort amongst the celebrants."
Elizabeth smiles at him, "Ah, my Lord, I wish it could be so easy as that. I fear they would only be discomfited should they find me in such circumstances. You are known to be of the old faith. Their argument with you is the land in which you were born, not the faith that you practice."
She turns and, almost instinctively, looks towards her mother. It is as though the years have fallen away, and suddenly Anne almost looks across to the right of the Queen to assess Mr Cromwell's expression and ask him…
She pauses, swallows down a sudden lump in her throat and turns to her daughter, "Majesty, in circumstances of religious argument, our favoured approach was to turn to the priesthood and seek them to preach of the brotherhood of all men under God. It would be best, I think, to do the same - ensuring that homilies emphasise that we all place our trust in the Father, and thus there is no enmity between us."
Somewhere down the table, there is a somewhat scornful grunting sound; someone is clearly unimpressed with such advice.
Elizabeth's eyes come up sharply, and she searches the faces of her councillors for the source of the noise. From her expression, it is clear that whoever was responsible shall be in for quite the tongue-lashing; it is no surprise that all at the table now bear countenances as sober as any judge.
Anne's eyes, however, are on the face of Richmond, whose eyes are narrowed. It is clear that he knows who was responsible, but decorum forbids him from being a blab. At this table, it is the role of the guilty party to admit to their error.
The silence becomes ever more awkward as the one who grunted refuses to admit to it. Her expression disgusted, Elizabeth dismisses the incident and turns back to Northumberland, "I shall write to Mr Parker today and ensure that he instructs the parishes to emphasise the freedom of all to seek God through the auspices of the old faith and the new. England has been an example of religious brotherhood for the length of my reign. As with all brothers, there are quarrels, even fights, but nonetheless there is friendship amongst all. I have no wish to see that overturned by foolish young men who have forgotten what it is to be a brother."
"I would suggest, Majesty," Richmond adds, his seniority permitting him to speak without first being recognised, "that a watch be kept upon the ports and harbours of the south coast to see who is coming ashore. While I would strongly advise against arresting those who can be seen to have come from Douai: to know that they are coming is helpful, for we can then take steps to counsel parishes against their message."
"You would not have them conveyed to the tower?" Everyone looks up, startled at the voice that comes from the end of the table. Junior councillors are not expected to speak so out of turn.
"Indeed I would not, Mr Dudley." Richmond answers, coldly, "I am well aware of the bind in which they place us; for to arrest them would set them upon a road to martyrdom in their eyes - and the eyes of those who send them - but to leave them free grants them a sense that they can speak as they will without restraint. If we are to continue to show an example of how a realm that is mature in its religious nature behaves, then it is the only choice."
Frowning slightly, Anne looks down the table to see the young man at the end. His face is somewhat flushed, from anger perhaps, and his eyes are most unpleasant. It could not be clearer that the Lord Chancellor is offering the sternest rebuke that can be offered at the table other than that of the Queen, and Dudley is not pleased.
"Sir Robert." Elizabeth interrupts, "You are new to this table and thus perhaps are not best prepared for the proprieties of attendance. His Grace of Richmond is the Lord High Chancellor, and has advised me from the first days of my reign. I value his counsel greatly, and thus he is permitted to speak without prior recognition. You, however, are not."
To Anne's eyes, it appears as though Dudley seems to shrink a little; instantly chastened by the words of the Queen. No, more than that; he is - could it be possible - reddening even further, with a degree of embarrassment that seems entirely greater than one would expect even if being publicly reprimanded. No…it is as though…
She pulls up the thought at once. No - surely not. Then she remembers the look on Richmond's face. Does he think as she does?
As soon as the meeting is done, I shall ask him.
The meeting concluded, the council rise and bow as Elizabeth departs. While Dudley has clearly recovered a degree of equilibrium, and the matter was not mentioned again after the Queen rebuked him, he departs with a degree of embarrassed haste.
She has said nothing to William, but their closeness is such that he can almost read her intentions, and he smiles and squeezes her hand before departing, leaving her to assist Richmond as he rises from his seat, "Come, Richard. Shall we sit in the south parlour awhile? The wind is strong today, though the sun is bright."
"More reminiscences my Lady Anne?" He smiles at her.
"In a way."
She helps him as he sinks into a comfortable chair, sets his sticks to the side and draws up a chair of her own, "Forgive me - I suspect you would not wish to speak of this; but I could see your expressions, and you have never been able to guard your thoughts from those who know you."
He knows what she means, and reddens a little, "I should remember that."
"What do you know of Mr Dudley and my daughter?" her voice is low.
Richmond sighs, "Little, I fear. It is naught but supposition."
"In the case of a woman upon the throne, supposition is as good as known fact. You know that." Her tone is gentle, but there is steel behind those words.
"I think it to be naught but a childish infatuation. Even in a man as grown as he - for he is married, as is her Majesty. It is hardly unknown that he is dissatisfied with his wife, for no reason other than his foolish insistence upon marrying her in haste, but…" his voice trails off.
"But?" Anne prompts. She can guess, but she is not the one with suspicions.
"I saw it first when Dudley came to the Council for the first time." He admits, "When he was in her presence in so small a company, his eyes did not leave her face. Not for a moment. I think she did not see it, for why should she? But from that moment, I kept a close eye upon his behaviour."
"And?" Her stomach sinks a little, there must be more. Richmond would not be so concerned were there not.
"Since that time, he remains fixed upon her when he is in her presence, and his position as Master of the Horse has led him to act in a manner that is inappropriate. When we were at Ightham, he aided her Majesty from her horse - which he was permitted to do - but did not withdraw from her until one of his brothers called him away." Richmond pauses, then plunges on, "And worse - when she played the virginals in the long gallery not two weeks ago, I saw him look upon her with such ardour that I feared he might embarrass himself and all around him. Instead, he excused himself and left."
Anne's eyes widen in horror. She has no fear that Elizabeth might reciprocate such ardour, her love for Philip is clear and widely known after all, but the suggestion alone could be greatly damaging, "Does any other know of this?"
"Not to my knowledge, my Lady Anne; I was the only one who noticed his behaviour at that first council meeting, and resolved to watch him afterwards. Unless any other was doing likewise, the other incidents would have been missed. I only noticed his reaction to her Majesty in the Long Gallery because I watched him: he was well to the rear of the gathering and thus none saw him."
"And you have not spoken to him of it." It is not a question.
"I cannot find a means to do so that would not inspire furious denial. I have naught but my own observations to offer as evidence, and that is of little use, I think. The only thing that the gossips talk of is his increasing disdain for Lady Dudley, as she has become one of the Queen's ladies."
"And he is jealous of her?"
Richmond nods, "I fear so. Quite why, I cannot say - for her ascendancy could never match his. No matter how favoured she might become, she shall never be one of the Queen's Council."
"But she has what he lacks. Close access to the Queen."
Richmond shakes his head, "I do not believe for a moment that he would harm her Majesty. In spite of his sudden stroke of ardour in the Long Gallery, I think it is more that he worships her from afar as we all did when we were captivated by a fine beauty in our youth. Should he get past it, his value as a councillor shall increase and he shall be an asset to the Council. He possesses an impulsiveness and ambition that is greater than that of his brothers."
"Hence his reaction to my suggestion to her Majesty."
He nods again, then frowns, "Though I did not, until this moment, think that he might be a coward. He has never given me cause to think so before."
Anne shakes her head, "Nay, if he is enamoured of the Queen, then it is dread of her censure that would have stilled his tongue, not rank cowardice. I do not think it likely that he shall be such a fool again."
"I shall continue to watch him, Anne." Richmond promises, "I know, as you do, that the chastity of the Queen in the eyes of her subjects is fragile in the face of unwarranted rumour."
"For we are of the devil, and all tainted by sin." Anne adds venomously. Even now, after all these years, her reputation still hovers over her child like a shade.
He smiles at her, "Even though she is a woman grown, still we protect her as we did when she was a child."
Anne takes his hand and squeezes it gently, "Indeed we do."
The weather remains fair, and all of the visiting Court are engaged in sunlit activities. Those who can hunt are far out in the parkland in search of game, while those who cannot are once more at the bowling green beside the lake, or firing arrows at the butts that have been set at the furthest end of that wide open space.
Astride her fastest horse, Anne laughs joyfully at the freedom of the chase. While she has previously forgone the opportunity to hunt in order to entertain those of her council who are no longer able to join her; today she is racing along in pursuit of the pack, a young stag bounding off ahead of the hounds.
They shall not capture this one - it is too fast at so young an age - not unless it becomes trapped or is injured; but the pleasure is in the ride, not the kill, and to share that excitement with her daughter is a rare treat.
Her discussion with Richmond a few days ago has given her cause to watch the Master of the Horse far more closely than she did when the Court first arrived, and she is not surprised to see Dudley not that far behind. Enamoured or not, however, he is at least sufficiently sensible to keep his gelding a few paces behind the Queen, as she races ahead with her husband matching her stride for stride.
Now that she is more aware of the matter, Anne has heard rumours that Dudley struck his wife a few days ago after the Queen denied his demand that Lady Dudley attend him. Such is his right as her master of course; but even in the midst of his worst rages, Henry never did such a thing to her - and William has never done so either. For a moment she sighs inwardly: she has been fortunate in her husbands in a way that Lady Dudley seems not to be.
It is his impulsiveness, perhaps; he acts without thinking, and only afterwards realises that he has acted wrongly. Did she not see that in the council chamber?
Her attention is captured by the approach of a high hedge, and she abandons thoughts of foolish Courtiers to concentrate instead upon the jump ahead. It is no surprise to her that Elizabeth urges her horse onward, and that the beast trusts her enough to attempt it. Behind, others are already reining in, though most seem likely to try it. For the riders, that is the point of the hunt: to test one's skill at the ride.
The Queen and her Consort between them have more than sufficient skill in the saddle to clear the jump, and even as her own horse bunches to make the leap, they are safely over. For a moment, Anne is in the air - as though she was flying - and laughs delightedly as she returns to earth. What better joy is there than to ride so free?
As she suspected, the stag is too fast for the hounds and bounds safely away as the hounds become bogged down in a thicket. It is of no moment - they do not need the meat from this hunt - and the riders bring their horses to a halt. Behind them, those who did not risk the jump have found another way round and are catching up. She wonders if they are as hungry as she is: riding always gives her an appetite.
One of the gamekeepers approaches, "My Lady, the awning for your dinner is a half mile to the west." He points off to his right, "The cook is eager for your arrival, I think."
She smiles at his slightly bruised expression; for all his talent, her cook is a temperamental man, and apt to show that temper without warning. Even she has borne the brunt of it on occasion - though he is quick to pull his head in should he do so. One does not insult one's employer after all.
The riders make their way across the parkland to an arrangement of canvas pavilions where tables and chairs are set. As promised, the fare is magnificent, and all set to with knives and fingers almost as soon as they have washed their hands and set the drying cloths aside.
Halfway through a slice of tender hogget, Anne looks up to see a grubby man astride a sweat slathered horse. Surprising though this arrival might be, his companion is more surprising, as Richmond has clambered aboard a horse to ride with him. At once, her heart sinks.
Elizabeth frowns from her seat, but waits for the messenger to dismount, while one of the beaters helps Richmond down. The pair bow, "Forgive me, Majesty," Richmond says, "I know not what the messenger has brought - but I was ever an over-curious man, and I am keen to know what he has in his satchel."
The Queen smiles at him, "I would ask that you continue to be so, my Lord Richmond; I should far rather have your advice than manage without it."
She takes the message and breaks the seal. Watching from her seat, Anne does what she can to read her daughter's face as she reads the missive. A slightly worried frown, which eases, but then returns…no, she cannot guess what lies upon that page.
"My Lords, I would ask that you grant my Council and I some privacy." She asks, "Forgive us for the intrusion of policy into our pleasure."
Anne smiles to herself: it is quite likely that Henry would have struck the messenger and sent him back to wherever they were staying, and wait for the party to return. Not Elizabeth, it seems.
Those who are already present bring their chairs across, while Philip fetches a chair for Richmond. Consort he may be, but he is solicitous to his Lord Chancellor's needs nonetheless.
"It is not an invasion, my Lords." Elizabeth says, immediately, "Instead it seems that the desire for counter-reformation in England continues apace. A number of young men have put ashore from ships at lesser ports upon the south coast, and have been seen distributing pamphlets and preaching against the new faith. There have been some ugly scenes in a few places - but mostly the parts of the realm they have visited remain at peace."
Sitting beside Richmond, Dudley moves as though to speak, but then subsides. He is not one to make the same mistake twice.
"I lack the ability of our late Lord of Essex to set watchers upon those who are a risk to the realm, Majesty," Richmond advises, a little sheepishly, "but I am sure that there are aldermen in the parishes of the south of England who would willingly keep a watch upon your behalf and send warning if these youths become troublesome."
Elizabeth nods, "Thank you, my Lord." She looks across to Northumberland, "I think it wise to alert the Council of the North. The old ways are stronger there, and I cannot believe that those who are being induced to inspire mischief in my realm have sought only to come ashore upon the south coast."
"I shall see to it, Majesty. I think it likely that they shall not waste resources seeking to convert those who already share their faith; but there is no accounting for religious fervour."
He looks across at Richmond, who nods in agreement. Beside him, Dudley is almost trembling with the desire to speak, and Elizabeth acknowledges him.
"Is it not wise to round them up and get them off the streets? A spell in a lock up might persuade them that their rabble-rousing is not wanted."
Richmond shakes his head, "Nay, Sir Robert. That is likely to be very much what they desire. I freely confess that I am no religious ascetic, and look not to win martyrdom: but I have seen many who do, and they would willingly set themselves upon a pyre if it were to be an example for those who they believe to labour in the midst of persecution. That none do so is of little import to them, I fear."
"So we would just permit them to continue unhindered?" Dudley demands.
"At this time, yes." Richmond answers, easily, "We watch them, and keep note of the reaction they receive from those who hear them. In the meantime, we continue to prevail upon the Bishops to guide their parishes to preach upon the virtue of brotherhood in Christ, and remind all that the manner in which one offers supplication to the Almighty is of less importance to this Realm than the fact that they are doing so - for that is a matter between the individual soul and the Father."
Anne smiles at him. He is right about his lack of religious fervour, after all. While she always sought to retain aspects of the old faith that appealed to her sensibilities, Elizabeth has always advocated for her subjects to be free to approach God upon the terms of their faith, whatever that faith might be. Even those ridiculous puritans.
She looks up to realise that Elizabeth is looking at her, and guesses - rightly - that her daughter seeks her views, "I agree that these young men are, at this time, little more than an irritant. My concern is more towards the thoughts of those upon the Continent and the intentions of France, Spain and the Empire. As long as they continue to adhere to the principles of political expediency, we have little to fear from a rabble of men afire with foolish notions of sainthood. They have not lived in England for some years and have lost that inherent distrust of foreigners that seems almost to run in the blood of Englishmen. It is unlikely that they shall make much impact upon the realm at this time. Only if our neighbours across the Channel seek to support them shall it be necessary to revise that view."
She looks up to see that Richmond is smiling at her, "What?"
"It is as though his Grace of Essex has come back to us and speaks through you." Richmond says, a little wistfully, "He would have said no less than that."
Elizabeth sets the note down, "In which case, my Lords, I think we shall continue with our plans for today. My Lord Richmond, I should be obliged if you could accompany the messenger back to the main House and place him in the care of a steward with a requirement for him to be given ale and bread."
"I shall send Colin back with them," Anne says, then beckons one of the beaters over, and addresses the youth, "Take the messenger's horse to the stables to be given a rub-down and water. Ask Mr Cobham to give him one of ours at his discretion to return to a suitable inn at Maidstone once he is ready to depart."
Returning to her mount, Elizabeth sighs, "It is tiresome, is it not, Mama, that such matters impose upon us even in our times of leisure?"
"Such is the burden of royalty, my darling Majesty."
Robert Rich of Leighs gazes sourly out of the window of his quarters at a small flotilla of mallard swimming lazily across the lake. The view is magnificent, of course - nothing but the best for the heir of the Lord Chancellor - but nonetheless his resentment simmers as though that privilege is, in itself, an insult. To make matters worse, he has strained a muscle in his groin, making riding painful; and thus is denied the opportunity to win approval of his horsemanship while at the hunt.
As if that were not bad enough, his wife is expected in the next few days, so he shall have to rein in his pursuit of Miss Millsome. Her delightfully pert little arse shall have to remain concealed beneath layers of petticoat and brocade, and his efforts to slip her away from the scrutiny of her elderly chaperone despite her indifference - feigned, he has no doubt - shall come to naught.
With little of importance to do, he has found himself somewhat overshadowed by others of his rank - and lower - and chafes against that, too. Not that he is fool enough to show it openly, of course; few would sympathise with his discontent. He has made that mistake before, and been scorned over it: once was quite enough.
Ah well - the advantage of having Elizabeth present shall spare him the trouble of fawning over his father to keep his inheritance. She won his regard from the moment their nuptials were arranged, and has always kept it. Then he smirks to himself, at least there is no danger of her being incorporated into the Royal household - not with two children. Once a wife becomes a mother, there is no place for her at Court.
He is roused from his musings by a knock upon the door, and he waits for his manservant to open it, "My Lord, Sir Robert Dudley is without."
Finally, Leighs smiles; at least there is one in this benighted place who shall grant him a sympathetic ear. Nodding curtly, he heads for the door, "I shall return after dinner. Summon the chambermaids to see to the apartment."
"Yes, my Lord."
Dudley is equally put out, his expression dark. All know that the Queen rebuked him in council a few days back; and he carries his embarrassment like a bruise from a scorned lover. His wife has been in her Majesty's company for the last two days, seeing to the tuition of the princes, and thus the Master of Horse has spent a great deal of time reviewing thoroughbreds brought to the estate from nearby stables. It could not be clearer that he is aiming to smooth over his gaffe at the council table by securing a new mount for his Queen.
"Have you found a suitable beast in your searching?" Leighs asks, casually. In spite of his reason for doing so, Dudley is a fine judge of horseflesh - and always finds pleasure in such hunts.
The cold expression thaws slightly into a brittle smile, "I have indeed, Robert. A mettlesome bay gelding with pitch black mane and tail that her Majesty shall delight in tempering. He is too hot for her at this time, but I shall see to that."
"Do not let her hear you say so, my friend. She shall be most offended to be told that she is lacking in the management of a horse."
"That is true - she has never fallen from the saddle, but there is always a first time, and I should not wish for it to be from a horse that I have secured for her."
They emerge out onto the green in front of the great house, and continue their stroll towards the gatehouse, talking of light matters. To speak of greater matters would be foolish in such surroundings, as others are within earshot. Once, however, they are outside in the parkland, they can be more honest.
"What is it, Robin?" Leighs asks, as that sour expression returns.
"England is in danger, my friend; grave danger - and yet the Council does nothing. Nothing! Even now traitors are landing at our ports, but her Majesty is hidebound by cowards who advise naught but complacency, and shall do nothing to protect the realm."
"Danger?" Leighs turns, surprised. Lacking even the first interest in politics, he is unaware of efforts to counter the reformation in Europe - or the consequences that might afflict England.
"Catholic conspirators, my Lord, Englishmen who have fled to the Continent to learn treachery - they come back to spread their poison, and to overturn all that England has achieved in freeing herself from the toils of Rome. Men who would consign all they can find to the fire, and subjugate the rest to a foreign potentate. It is not to be countenanced!"
"I think that they are fools to believe that any in England would allow such a thing." Leighs observes, "Unless they come with an army at their backs."
"I have no doubt that that would follow." Dudley spits, viciously, "That creature who rules France in her son's name would see all of us under her heel and prostrated before Rome if she could."
Leighs squirms inwardly; his father brought him up in the old faith, and he has never really thought much about the reformed church in any fashion other than academic. Like many young men of his station, he attends mass each day, but conversation with the Almighty remains firmly within the bounds of that mass. In time, he shall use his inheritance to endow a few almshouses, a petty school or two, or even rebuild a church as his father is doing, and all shall be mended after what went before. Actual faith seems not to come into the equation all that much.
"I would not countenance such a thing." He admits, however, "We are Englishmen, and none shall come against us - for we shall send them back into the sea."
"Aye indeed, my friend. That we shall. They came once and were scattered - when they come again, we shall do so again; but those who have come first are fevered Papists afire with a desire to see God - and I am convinced that we should grant them that wish."
For a moment, Leighs is tempted to advise Dudley that he, too, is Catholic; but decides not to.
"They are traitors." Dudley goes on, coldly, "And those upon the Council who would indulge them are no better."
"They are in their dotage, Sir Robert; time shall resolve that problem." Leighs jokes.
"Not quickly enough." Dudley snaps, then pauses: remembering whose company he is keeping, "England needs experienced hands, my Lord; perhaps, in time, those hands shall come to see the truth and align with the need to protect the realm from such treachery."
Anne's fingers pluck gently at the strings of her lute, a trickling accompaniment to her song,
"In illo tempore: accesserunt ad Jesum Pharisei
tenentes eum, et dicentes: Si licet homini
dimittere uxorem suam quacumque ex causa?
Qui respondens, ait eis: Non ligistis quia qui
fecit hominem ab initio masculum et feminam
fecit eos? Et dixit, fecit eos, et dixit:
Propter hoc dimittet homo patrem et matrem et
adherebit uxori sue et erunt duo in carne una.
Itaque iam non sunt duo sed una caro. Quod
ergo Deus coniunxit, homo non separet."
She has accumulated many more songs in her old songbook since she first left France, of course; but her favourites have always remained the same. How ironic that she should still sing this chanson, taken from that chapter of the gospel of Matthew used in the wedding mass. She had sung it once when first married to Henry, in those first, heady days when all was new and filled with love. Those days when she thought herself Queen of the world and that her sons and their progeny would rule England until Christ returned.
The chanson lost its resonance to her once she had failed in that duty - or, at least, failed in Henry's eyes - and his growing loathing of her had given her cause to turn that page hastily whenever looking for a song to sing in her privy chamber. It was only after she came here, at her William's side, that she found it in herself to return to it.
Across the chamber, Philip is resting in a high-backed chair and smiling with pleasure at the sound of the song, while Elizabeth divides her time between an embroidery hoop and looking across at him with a loving expression that reflects the sentiments of the words. It is just the four of them this evening: William is also seated nearby, watching his wife with pleasure. To all intents and purposes, they are a happy family enjoying an evening after a good supper.
Anne finishes the chanson and smiles, a little embarrassed, as they applaud, "I am not the singer I once was, I fear."
"You sing most well, Madame." Philip answers, "I cannot sing, so I find any who can to be a joy."
She sets aside the lute and crosses to Elizabeth, "I am at a loss as to why you stitch, my dear one; embroidery has never been a pastime that you have favoured."
Elizabeth smiles, "If I were to be translating, Mama, then I should not have been able to devote attention to your song. I should rather do that, even if it requires me to wield a needle."
Anne knows her daughter well, even after years apart, "What is it, my daughter? I see there is a shadow in your eyes."
She sighs, and sets the hoop aside, "I am concerned, Mama; even as I seek leisure, the world will not permit me to rest. Of all things that might hurl my Realm into confusion, it remains the matter of religion. It seems madness to me that there are those who would throw all to hell in order to impose their will upon others in the matter of faith. I cannot command a man's soul - that is the property of God, not me."
"It has ever been thus, my darling." Anne says, fetching a small footstool over and perching upon it alongside her daughter, "I, too, found that to be so. In all that I did when I was Regent, I sought only to find peace between Englishmen; for my greatest fear was to create a disaster that you would be obliged to remedy. Men, however, seem less keen to seek such a balance."
"That strife is even here, Mama; between the men of my council. Those who seek to maintain our two faiths equally seem to be only those who are the old-guard. Those who have come in their footsteps are less willing to accommodate such an agreement."
"Young Dudley." William observes. It is not a question.
"I think it is his impulsiveness that drives him, your Grace." Elizabeth admits, "But should he be more determined, he might well look to build a faction at Court when we are returned. To balance them against one another is a hard challenge that I have often enjoyed; but with those who come from Douai afire with passion to overturn the new faith also emerging in our realm, I begin to wonder if all that work shall be ruined."
"He is one voice amongst a chorus to the contrary at this time, Elizabeth," Anne muses, "If we are to counter him, then it is here that we shall be most likely to succeed. I suspect that much of his fire is fuelled by a desire to make his mark at the council table - for he is young and eager. That his eagerness is misdirected is unfortunate, but its course can be diverted if there are none to whom he can turn to create factions."
"In which case, I shall suspend the council for a few days and permit my councillors a period of leisure without the concerns of the Kingdom upon their shoulders. Once this sabbath is past, we can return to work - but for now, we shall set it aside."
Anne smiles at her, "That sounds wise, my Queen." Perhaps, if those who look for mischief are denied the forum in which to do so, they might set their foolishness aside.
As she rises to return to her seat, however, her smile falters briefly. Is it likely that they shall do so?
She is not at all sure.