Sorry, had to update this chapter because I called Cromwell a Mr instead of Master.

My update schedule is a squirrel crossing the street and I apologise. Thank you all for your kind reviews. They make my day, honestly, and everytime I get a notification, I return to my 300 page google doc (subtle hint: See how much I have written already. Working on the ending at the moment. I will finish this story and I'm so proud of myself already).

As always, reviews are very much appreciated!


Chapter 30

Greenwich Palace, Autumn 1533

~o~

Charles

~o~

"More will do as his king decrees," Henry shouted and spittle flew from his mouth.

Cromwell remained rigid as a beating stick as he was sprayed with royal saliva but Charles couldn't help but notice a certain look of triumph in his dark eyes. Finally, he had beaten More. He was Chancellor now, and other favours would follow.

"He assures Your Majesty that he will not speak against you and your actions publicly," the lawyer said in his usual quiet, almost monotonous voice.

"Oh, and I ought to be grateful for that, should I?" Henry was pacing up and down now, his fur-lined overcoat trailing behind him.

"I want him arrested. He cannot refuse his king. None of them can. I want them all arrested. I am the Supreme Head of the Church, whether they sign the Oath of Supremacy or not. It is God's will."

There were probably very few people who had not heard the king's tantrum in Greenwich. Charles wondered what Cat made of this. She was usually a step ahead.

"Your Majesty," Thomas Howard cleared his throat. "If I may speak?"

Charles half hoped Henry'd snub him but he only looked at the duke cantankerously and nodded.

Most of them already knew what Norfolk would say. The Howards, with the exception of their younger, more progressive members, were true to the old faith and, rumour had it, still prayed for the health of the Pope. There was no way they'd sacrifice More to gratify Henry. There were other, more dispensable men in the government and they'd find a way to channel the king's anger.

"While no one denies the audacity of More's refusal to honour the Oath, it might be unwise to reprimand him for his actions quite so openly. He is very popular and is revered by peasants and nobles alike. His arrest would no doubt prejudice the people against the crown."

Charles wondered when Howard had grown a backbone. His words were dangerously close to open objection.

Henry seemed to think the same.

"So Your Grace seems to think that we should simply overlook his slight?" The king spoke in the pluralis majestatis only when he was positively livid.

"Not at all," Howard said hastily, with a poisonous look at Cromwell, as if it was his fault that the king was so short-tempered. "While Master Cromwell evidently thinks that an outright and undisguised strike is the most profitable approach, I must disagree."

Cromwell made to interrupt him, probably to clarify what kind of approach he deemed most profitable, but Henry raised his hand to silence him. Norfolk looked very pleased.

"Sir Thomas is a very wealthy man," the duke continued, "some people wonder how he accumulated all this wealth. Some people say that perhaps it was not only the Crown who paid him."

It seemed that the whole council inhaled sharply.

This was an outrageous accusation, and entirely fabricated. No one doubted that Thomas More, as moral as he was rigid, had not pocketed a penny more than he was due.

Charles was at least pleased to see that Norfolk had not changed. This council meeting was not as tedious as usual.

Cromwell seemed reluctant to comment on this idea before he had heard the king's opinion.

After a few moments, Henry turned towards him. "What do you think, Master Cromwell?"

It was obvious he wasn't asking him to give testimony on More's character. He knew full well the tale was a lie.

"Those who take bribes are usually despised," the scribe said slowly, as if he wanted to buy himself some time. "Yet, Sir Thomas is known as a generous man."

"And generous he can be, considering how wealthy he is," Audley chimed in. Now, it seemed, Cromwell had made up his mind.

"I will look into the matter," he said firmly, declaring Norfolk's idea his personal matter now. The duke looked as if Cromwell had snatched a very tasty candied plum from right under his nose. Which, in fact, he had.

Charles knew full well that Cromwell's way of looking into matters produced witnesses seemingly out of thin air. He had a gift, this lowborn caviller, that much he had to admit. He had reformed the King's Council, too, slimmed it down and renamed it and fitted it neatly into his growing system of councils and synods, that separated Henry's household from the king's political power, no doubt Cromwell's attempt at seizing as much power as possible while leaving the tedious management of a royal household to other, less gifted men.

"Audley," Henry looked at his new Lord Chancellor, "take care of those stubborn priests that still refuse to sign. Remove them from office, if you have to."

Audley nodded assiduously. Henry turned to his council.

"You are dismissed. All but you, Charles." He grinned. "Weston and Boleyn fancy being beaten on the tennis court."

Charles grinned back. "They must really like being humiliated."

"It never gets old, though," Henry said as they made their way down the corridors, courtiers and supplicants lining their path, calling out to him or the king.

"No."

And it felt a lot like the old days.

~o~

Catherine

~o~

"He's still with Eleanor Luke," Anne said grimly, jabbing the needle into the altar cloth as if it had personally wronged her. Then, she looked out of the window, suddenly rather interested in the passing clouds. "He hasn't come to my bed in a fortnight."

Cat wasn't surprised. She had noticed that the king still behaved rather coolly towards his wife in public. Henry spent much time with his newly made Chancellor of the Exchequer, that lawyer Cromwell, his new favourite, now, and fellow learned men, to draw up the Act of Succession that would declare Elizabeth his legitimate heir. And as the people of England had once risen for Katherine, declaring her their true queen, they now rose for her duty, declaring Mary their only princess. But Henry had declared her illegitimate already for her stubborn refusal to recognise her father's new wife and was ad interim without heir. The king was hard pressed to convince his people of Elizabeth's legitimate status, hard pressed to convince the people of his realm that their king had acted not out of lust but out of political interest. The three Thomases, as Cat liked to think of them, were Henry's most cunning, most shrewd henchmen. Cromwell, Audley and Wriothlesley were effectively in control of Parliament but even with all executive power on their side, they found it difficult to silence the very vocal opposition, which did not please the king (or Anne) at all. In truth, Cat was surprised that he had time for Elanor Luke with all the fires he had to put out. And it did not surprise her that his passion for Anne had cooled off, with all the fires he had to put out because of her. .

While Anne might have failed to bind the king to her bed, however, she had bound him to the new faith very firmly. Naturally, Henry was only such a fervent supporter because he very much liked the power that came with this new religion. Parliament had just passed the Submission of the Clergy Act that decreed that no Canons should be made or put in execution which are contrary to the Royal prerogative, making Henry the supreme head of the English church in all but name. Clergymen all over the kingdom had risen in protest but Cromwell was quicker than More in suppressing his religious opponents, though no less violent. Catherine didn't like the man much but it couldn't be denied that he was brilliant and more efficient than Henry's entire council combined. And he, like Anne, was very partial towards the German ideas.

"You are the queen, Anne," she said, after a short silence, "and you have achieved so much. Let Mistress Luke entice him for a month or two. You know how Henry is. You need to focus on more important matters than your bedchamber for now."

After all it was well known that pregnancy was impossible so shortly after childbirth, though why, the doctors were not quite certain. Some liked to say that the body required purification and the woman in question had to attend mass frequently and confess so that her body was worthy of God's gift. Others said that the mother's milk had to dry up first. Catherine knew which doctors she preferred. Anne needed to recover. She'd need her strength for what was to come. And Anne hadn't won Henry's heart in a few months, so Cat doubted very much that an Eleanor Luke could.

"There's nothing more important than the king's bedchamber, Cat, don't I know this best? At least he takes her to his bed. Ouch."

A drop of blood welled on her index finger. Cat handed her a handkerchief.

"Save some of that energy for Mistress Luke."

Anne raised her needle threateningly, then dabbed away the blood. But it welled up again, running down her long, thin finger, dropping onto the altar cloth they were embroidering.

Anne looked at the bright red spot thoughtfully.

"We can simply embroider over it," Cat suggested. "A fish, perhaps. Or a palm branch."

But Anne didn't seem to hear her.

"I need a son, Cat. I love my daughter fiercely. And he loves her, too, I think. But he will never love her as a son. He will never love me, not truly, if I don't give him his promised heir. Need I be a traitor to my sex and love Elizabeth less because she is a girl? Cat, how could I? After I have seen how enduring Katherine is, how determined you are, how persevering I am? How can I see all these strong women and believe that a son is worth more? How can he?"

Not for the first time since she had ascended to her throne, Anne sounded exasperated. Sometimes, Cat wondered whether deep down, in some hidden corner of her soul, Anne regretted her choice. Sometimes, she, too, wondered whether an Irish count would have made her happier. But there was no use in locking the stable door after the horse had bolted. Anne was queen and she had to keep her crown.

"Because that is what we need to show him. Them," Cat took her hand. "If they knew how strong we are, what we can achieve on our own, imagine how scared they would be. We would be locked away. Your daughter will thrive, Anne, I know it. Hide your fire. Be compliant, be bonny and buxom and obedient. If that is how you protect your daughter, if that is how you stay in the king's good graces, so be it."

Anne's expression changed to grim determination. "I will not be outshone by some dim-witted girl. I am the queen. And God knows, I fought hard for this crown. If the struggle never ends, so be it. I choose to fight for what is mine. I just don't know how."

"Charm him," Cat suggested.

But suddenly, Anne looked down at her hands again, the fight had gone out of her.

"I can't. Cat, I'm still bleeding. And everytime he tries, it –"

She didn't need to finish the sentence. Catherine, who was one of Anne's Great Ladies, had heard the rumours already. Her sheets were never clean. She had scolded Margery Horsman for not telling off the foolish maids of honour for repeating the vicious lie that this meant Anne was impure. But Margery had simply shrugged.

"She has attended mass for over a week. Why is she still bleeding then, Your Grace?"

It was a sign of Anne's dwindling influence that people dared to voice suspicions like this. Catherine had told Margery an elaborate tale of the rites of childbed and the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary in October and it had seemed as if the girl had eaten it up.

"You need time to heal." Even if withdrawing from court now would signal defeat, that didn't matter as much as keeping her strength. Because Anne was right. She had to conceive again soon. And she had to give birth to a living, healthy son.

"I can' longer I take, the more he'll be interested in other women, Cat, I –"

Catherine knew very well that Anne was right. It had been like that with Katherine of Aragon. But Henry had occasionally rediscovered his marital affection. All it took was...

"What His Majesty needs is a hunting trip," she said, with a sly smile. On horseback all day, only his closest friends, maybe a few nights at an abbey or a near deserted country estate. No hopeful young daughters, of course. And he would return home hungry for the sort of affection only a woman could give him. George Boleyn would n doubt take care of Mistress Luke then...Yes, it could work.

Anne returned her conspiratory smile. "Oh, indeed. He is much too energetic, too focussed on politics."

"I will tell Charles to arrange something."

~o~

Windsor, Autumn 1533

Charles

~o~

Henry had his eye on a formidable deer. A twelve-pointer, head raised high. The King of the Forest, no doubt, about to be slayed by the King of England.

The arrow zoomed through the chilly air and hit the stag right between the eyes. It let out a dying cry of agony as it toppled to the ground.

Henry's small hunting party clapped.

"An impressive shot, Your Majesty" Henry Norris said in his usual calm voice but Francis Bryan slapped the king's shoulder.

"You have a good eye," he grinned. "But then again, you have proven as much before."

Why did everything Bryan said sound like a lewd promise?

Charles didn't like him, nor did he like the way Bryan talked to the king, as if he was his closest companion. Henry enjoyed his company, occasionally, but the Vicar of Hell annoyed him as often as he entertained him.

"I know a very fine house near here, Your Majesty, where your eye is put to the test once again."

Charles was ready to intervene, not only because Cat had asked him to but Henry brushed off Bryan's arm.

"No women, Francis. Pick up the stag. We need something to feast on tonight, now, don't we? Charles, ride with me."

And Charles spurred his courser with a smug smile. Bryan could talk well, perhaps, but Henry always tired of his hymns.

"Isn't it peaceful?" Henry asked as they galloped through the forest, trees passing them, scrub scratching their boots.

"No one who asks another favour, no one who nags me, no one who tells me what to do. Shouldn't a king have absolute power, Charles? Then why, I wonder, do I have to endure this? Ask parliament to pass an act, ask – " he sighed. "Enough of that matter."

Charles was certain he wanted to complain about Cromwell which was very welcome to him.

"It is a heavy burden," he agreed, "But you have proven you can bear it."

"Can I? Is this not the best life, Charles? Freedom? No one but us?"

"I fear I'd miss my wife," he said cautiously and Henry slowed down his horse.

"Yes. Your wife has given you a son, hasn't she? MIne, however…" His face contorted. "She promised me, Charles. She promised."

He sounded like a petulant child.

"It is not her fault," Charles replied, reluctantly. He knew it wasn't but he didn't mind at all that Mistress Boleyn's influence had waned. There was fresh air at court and it reeked of possibility. The usual climbing had begun and Cromwell seemed to have set his mind on succeeding the Queen as Henry's closest advisor. Word had it that Cromwell visited Henry's bedchamber more often than the Queen.

"My doctors say – "

"Your doctors are bought, Your Majesty. They also told you Her Majesty expected a son."

Again, Henry grimaced. "Liars and flatterers everywhere, Charles. Even in my bed."

It seemed Mistress Luke's star was sinking.

"If you want a son, it is quite clear what you must do."

The king sighed as if the prospect of lying with his wife was another burden.

"Do you think she loves me? They say she doesn't. They say she loathes me. They say she wanted the crown and now she only gives me a daughter to spurn me."

Henry had always been much too easy to influence. And ever since Charles had married Cat, ever since he visited Penshurst regularly, and for weeks at a time to be with their growing family, he had not been as close with the king as before. He knew that Henry envied him his familiar bliss. His son, most of all, but also his happy marriage.

Henry was growing more and more wistful, longing for things he felt he couldn't have. A happy marriage, of course, although in his eyes, it had been the Boleyn woman who had disrupted their bliss by giving birth to a girl, and not him with his affair and cold demeanour.

"I think the Queen is devoted to you," Charles said, "and I think your dalliance with Mistress Luke has hurt her."

"She should learn to accept it as her predecessor has," Henry said heatedly. "I am her king."

"And yet," Charles said, feeling that he spoke too soon, that perhaps he should think about his words carefully, "you long for a blissful marriage, do you not? I might want to ask with whom."

Henry stared at him for a few moments and Charles was convinced he'd gone too far, then Henry's laughter echoed off the trees.

"Your wife has henpecked you, I see."

"It's carrot and stick," Charles grinned, "But believe me, the carrot's worth it."

"You are happy," It was not a question, so Charles only inclined his head.

"I want to feel the same," said the King of England, the man who called palaces his own, was wedded to his second wife, had two healthy daughters and was set to preside over the English Church. "Do you think Anne can give me what Catherine gives you?"

"If you love her." Charles knew that this time, Henry did not mean a boy but once again, he was taken aback by his words. As if happiness was something that could be given, as if it was Anne Boleyn's duty to present it to Henry on a silver platter. "And if you give her the same."

They rode on silently for a while and when Henry spoke again, the queen seemed forgotten.

"Cromwell tells me the people no longer reject the Act of Succession as they used to. Some of the clerics, naturally, but they will be dealt with."

Charles knew quite well that Cromwell was lying but for the first time, he felt sympathetic. He, too, didn't want to tell Henry that his only legitimate offspring was called a bastard in the peasants' farmhouses.

"They got used to Her Majesty then."

"She's giving out more alms than even Katherine did," Henry said, almost fondly. "And with the churches as frugal as they are...they are hoarding treasures, Charles. The abbeys, too, not only the churches and bishops. Unbelievable riches. Cromwell has shown me the calculations. They are holy institutions, they shouldn't enrich themselves."

Charles knew that this was more about Henry's wish to enrich himself. He also knew that this was not the sort of conversation he was skilled at.

"The abbeys tutor the elder sons, they take care of the sick and feed the poor," he said, knowing that this was not what Henry wanted to hear.

"And they feed them from golden plates?" Henry asked and then turned his horse.

"I get an appetite for venison," he said, though not unfriendly. "We should ride back. Mayhaps the monks will feed us morsels from their fine table?"

It was mockery for now, Charles thought, but one day in the not so distant future, he would have to make a choice between his conscience and the truth on the one hand, and his friend and king on the other. He knew how he would decide, of course. But he wondered, perhaps for the first time, whether that was truly as much in Henry's interest as Henry thought.

"We ride back to Greenwich on the morrow," Henry said, as they reached the hunting lodge. Francis Bryan objected half-heartedly but apparently, the memory of Henry pushing away his arm was fresh enough to keep him modest for now.

~o~

Greenwich Palace

~o~

When the King entered the Queen's chamber, intending to be at least civil, The Queen was dancing a roundel with her ladies, side by side with Eleanor Luke. Charles had to admit that Mistress Luke was a star next to the moon at her queen's side. Anne Boleyn wore sensual red from head to toe, the French hood pushed back so far that she might have well foregone it completely, the lavish gown cut low to reveal what Henry had once found so enticing. She was no fool.

She was not wearing the golden B-necklace that she frequently donned even as queen, proudly displaying the initial of her birth name rather than the T that she should be wearing with pride. Today, the Queen had chosen a brooch, worn on a necklace around her slender neck. The golden ship made for a striking pendant, Charles had to admit and it seemed it had caught the king's attention, too.

Catherine, who was dancing opposite her queen, arm in arm with the Countesses of Oxford and Worcester, saw at once that Anne had managed to catch the king's eye once more after seven long years and severe disappointments. She danced like a water nymph, every movement fluent, natural. She was feeling well again, healthy and strong, and it showed. No lady present could hold a candle to their Queen in all her glory.

Anne, clever as she was, had pretended not to notice the king's entrance and spun around once again, skirts twirling around her like an exotic flower. Then she let out a small gasp, delicate, intimate, and sank into a low curtsy right in front of the king. Obviously, Mistress Luke was forgotten.

"My love," Henry held out his hand to help her up and pulled her towards him as she rose.

"It has been too long."

"Long I do, my lord," she said, looking up at her long absent husband from beneath dark lashes.
Henry stood no chance.

"For what, my dearest?"

Anne looked around, then she bent over and whispered something into his ear. Henry's eyes widened for the fracture of a moment, then he took Anne by the arm.

"You will excuse us," he said with the boyish smile Anne had fallen in love with, "important matters await us."

And the court was left behind as the king and queen retreated to her bedchamber in broad daylight.


The Our Lady of The Rosary Feast was only introduced in 1571 but it just sounded much better than All Saints Day. My apologies.

Also, you might have noticed that I had to fit in a lot here. The 1530s is just crazy Anne Boleyn/ Henry VIII wise because it all happens at once. Founding a new religion really looks exhausting. I haven't even gotten started on foreign politics. Sigh. I hope it's not too confusing/ all over the place. Next chapter will cover Christmas 1533 and early 1534 and those months were packed, so the update might take a while because of the research that will have to go into the chapter.

~o~

I have also decided to reply to your reviews again because I used to really like that part. No pressure replies:

I thank everyone of you for leaving a review. Everything from a "Let Anne live" to a one page essay lecturing me on Tudor history (I'm still waiting on that one, though) is appreciated and I love seeing familiar names pop up in my notifications.

Dear Guest, all I'm saying is that I love Anne as much as you do. Make of that what you will ;). I also agree that there aren't enough Charles fics out there, that's why I had to write this one myself.

LaughingBlueEyes: I totally agree. I'm such a softie and I love writing their family moments and their children and I'm looking forward to the Christmas chapters for that reason. Charles is the kind of dad that can only be distinguished from his children by his height when they're playing in the yard. We also have their adopted children and Charles's daughters and they are almost of age, so that's going to be interesting.

Thank you. As I said above, I love Anne and hope I do her justice. She must have been really clever and cunning and witty, but I like to think she had a much more fragile side, too.

ShinyRedPenny: A review from you usually means you've updated your stories so they're always very welcome! Yes, Cat's pregnancy really stressed me out because I didn't want it to feel like a walk on the beach. I'm glad you liked that part. And yes, that is really what it boils down to, huh? Can Cat (and her influence on Charles) change the course of history?