A/N: Thank you to Anne for the kind review, I'm so glad you enjoy these stories. In honour of your hopes for more, here is another chapter!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Advent Manoeuvrings
Rich stares at the papers pinned to the walls of their investigation room. He is not sure whether he is revisiting the evidence in hope of finding something that they have missed, or he is hiding. The Council have received a letter from Norfolk enclosing the demands of the Yorkshire 'Pilgrims', and they are now being considered by the King.
He looks up as the door opens to admit Cromwell, who nods in greeting and joins him at the table, "I think that what we do not know is unlikely to resolve into that which we do by the mere act of staring, Richard."
"I do not think that I have even seen the words upon the papers." He admits, quietly.
Cromwell nods, sympathetically. Norfolk has agreed with the Rebels that, if they disband, the King shall receive their demands, a freely elected parliament shall be called in York to discuss them, and all those who call themselves 'Pilgrims' shall be pardoned for their actions. The demands arrived this morning - 24 articles, of which the eighth makes a particularly uncomfortable demand.
Lord Cromwell and Sir Richard Rich to have condign punishment, as subverters of the good laws of the realm and maintainers and inventors of heretics.
"They demand that we receive punishment commensurate to our crimes, Thomas." Rich sounds fearful, "Given the crimes of which they accuse us, that can only mean the block - or worse."
Cromwell shakes his head, "Almost none of the articles shall be treated with seriousness, Richard. Besides, those who submitted this document have not remotely considered the welfare or wellbeing of the commons - and the articles bear that out. As I hear it, none of base-blood were permitted to attend the discussions that formulated them." He pauses, "That said, I think it would be worth reconsidering the Statute of Uses - for there are too many holes in it for it to freely prevent fraud."
"And if his Majesty decides that it would be sensible to offer scapegoats to calm the ire of the commons?"
"Those who shall die at his demand shall be those who rose against him, not those who stood at his side to withstand the onslaught, Richard. Even now, Aske believes he has won a great victory against us - for the King has invited him to London over Christmastide in order to apprise him of the true feelings of the commons, to ensure that his Majesty's future policies shall not inconvenience them overmuch."
"Aske is coming here?" Rich is shocked, "And you imply that he has not won a great victory?"
Cromwell shakes his head, "Far from it - for his Majesty has no interest in obtaining anything other than more names of those who stood with Aske, and followed his lead. If he can gull Aske into believing that he has the King's favour, then it is his hope that the poor man shall give him all, and thus carry all his Pilgrims into a great punishment." Despite all, he does not sound proud of such an outcome, "How strange it is that all the King's great matters seem to end in the lavish spilling of blood."
"As long as it is not mine." Rich grumbles, and resumes his perusal of the dusty, curling sheets of paper on the walls.
Aske's arrival at Court is a surprisingly sumptuous affair, with the giving of fine gifts, a warm welcome and a large feast to celebrate his arrival. His expression is one of fascination, excitement and joy - for he truly believes that he has won the King's heart without the shedding of blood, and now all shall be mended. That he is being played falsely does not enter his honest head.
Sitting nearby as Aske is feted, Cromwell sighs inwardly. He has no direct argument with the man receiving such a hearty welcome from his King; his only interest is in carrying out the King's demands as swiftly and efficiently as possible, after all. Instead, he keeps his sadness hidden, and stands with the aloof dignity that would be expected from him as a supposedly defeated opponent. He has no doubt that Aske expects his dismissal before the end of the year. He also has no doubt that Aske shall be entirely incorrect in his expectation. Despite all, he has trodden most carefully, and thus has retained the favour of the King rather more fully than even he anticipated.
"Be seated, Mr Aske!" Henry declaims with much jollity, "Join with us as we celebrate our Advent feasting, and know that you are most welcome to my Court!" he begins to clap, prompting the entire Court to break into rather halting applause. Remarkably, this does not faze Aske who - rather charmingly - is taking all at face value.
"Tomorrow, you shall meet my son," He burbles on, all sweetness and joy, "Henry Fitzroy, for he is to return for the Christmastide feast. I have also," He adds, not entirely confidentially, "invited the Lady Mary to return to Court to celebrate with us."
Cromwell sighs inwardly: nothing could be more calculated to cheer Aske than that, for she is the subject of the third of the twenty four articles - they require her to be re-legitimised. What better way to win Aske's trust than though her? In the midst of Henry's fearful rages and misbehaviour, Cromwell has almost forgotten how wily the King can be when the situation demands - and he is receiving as much of a show of it as the rest of the Court. Unlike the rest of the Court, however, he shall mark it, and beware it.
Besides, with the impending return of Fitzroy, that same old problem is about to rear its head; for, with all that has been going on, Cromwell has not had the time to even consider the ongoing issue of legitimising the Prince. It must be done, that is true; but with another Queen in the King's bed, and the ever present hope that she shall conceive, the promises that Henry makes to his bastard son could well prove to be hollow if she bears a boy. He has no doubt at all that, should Queen Jane indeed bring a son into the succession, the King shall probably forget his bastard child, and devote all his attention to his legitimate one - even if Fitzroy's legitimacy is established.
With that dilemma suddenly back on the table again, Cromwell now has a third problem to tax his efficiency and skill. Not only the demands of Aske and his 'Pilgrims', but also the death of Anne Hamme, and now the legal requirement to legitimise a bastard son while there is still the possibility of a son of the blood being born. Once again, Cromwell wishes that he had not put such extensive effort into proving himself indispensable.
The King invites Aske through to the Privy Chamber, leaving all outside in the Presence Chamber to their own devices. No longer required, Cromwell hastens back to the offices to burrow through his files in search of his drafts of the bill for Fitzroy's status. I do not have time for this…
"Are you overly busy, Mr Rich?" He asks, as Rich returns as well, "I should most appreciate some additional expertise in this dilemma of Fitzroy's legitimacy."
Rich snorts with mild amusement, "I take it you are endeavouring to ensure that Fitzroy's rights do not supersede those of a son of Queen Jane?"
"Truly - for his Majesty's promises far outstrip the sensible course of law. He seems not to see that England would never accept Fitzroy over a son of the Queen, for he was born out of wedlock far more truly than either of his half-sisters. Their mothers had rings upon their fingers, and Crowns upon their heads."
"Fitzroy is his first son," Rich reminds him, "Both you and I are fortunate to have been blessed with sons, even though ours are legitimate. Would you not do all that you could do - even to the sacrifice of your life - for the aid and benefit of your son?"
Cromwell looks up, startled, for he cannot imagine such an emotion from Rich - but he knows that his colleague cannot hide strong feelings, and sees only sincerity from Rich's eyes. He is, however, right. There is not one single thing that Cromwell would not do if he needed to for the sake of Gregory - as Rich would for Hugh, his firstborn.
To the surprise of the Clerks, who are still unused to the thaw in their working relations, the two sit down together at Cromwell's desk and start to work their way through the clauses that he has drafted. Rich's knowledge of the law outstrips Cromwell's, which is already extensive. Between them, they spend an interesting - and occasionally argumentative - afternoon revising the first draft to ensure that, no matter what happens, Fitzroy shall receive his legitimacy and a place in the succession, but not at the expense of a full-blood son from Queen Jane, or any sons who might follow. No matter how much Henry might wish it, Fitzroy must not receive the Principality of Wales. That is the sole prerogative of the King's firstborn son - which, in terms of legitimacy, Fitzroy is not. Nor can he receive the Dukedom of York, for that is the sole prerogative of the King's second born son - which, in terms of legitimacy, Fitzroy is not. Instead, he shall be named Duke of Gloucester - claiming back the dukedom from its previous links to the dead Richard Crookback, and it shall be considered a Royal Dukedom, for it shall be held by a Prince of the Blood. Thus, Cromwell hopes, they shall avoid the awkwardness that might arise if the Queen should bear a boy, or even two. There is, after all, always that hope - and Henry would be mightily vexed if he heard it sounded about that he is not capable of bearing more than one son.
"Do you think he shall like this?" Rich asks, as Cromwell sets the paper down.
"No." Cromwell admits, "But if we are to ensure the rights of a legitimate son, then he shall have to. I should very much rather his Majesty waited until after Queen Jane has borne him a son, but we both know that the King's Grace is hardly known for his patience."
Rich sits back with a sigh. Cromwell is, of course, right. Both of them know that it is not unusual for a King in extremis to legitimise a bastard or, failing that, adopt a son to carry on the line - but where would that leave a son of Queen Jane? It is a risk they must take - and hope that they do not cause too much of a tantrum when they present it.
Robert Aske's eyes are wide and astounded as he sits at a table thronged by the most powerful men in the land. From his station a few seats to the left and opposite, Cromwell watches him - careful to avoid Aske seeing him do so. Honest men are doomed in this place, he thinks to himself, for it is clear to him that Aske is nothing less than a decent man who wants only the best for those he represents, and perhaps even dreams that he shall save his King from what he believes to be errors into which his Majesty has been guided by unscrupulous advisers. He has learned from long experience that honour has no place at the Court of Henry of England - it does nothing to aid, and nothing to protect, those who hold their principles above all - as Fisher and More discovered to their cost. He imagines that he was once an honourable man - with principles and a willingness to uphold them; but they were crushed long ago in the never-ending game of political survival at which he has become so adept. Liz would probably despise the man he has become - for he accepts bribes, creates false evidence to destroy those whom the King wishes destroyed, and is even now watching silently as an innocent, principled man walks faithfully into a deadly trap that shall end his hopes, and probably also his life.
No. It does not do to be principled. Not at this table.
Aske is seated at the right hand of the King's chair - a singular honour, and as all present rise to greet his Majesty, his bow is deeper even than the bows of those who surround him. There is no pride in Aske's actions - he knows his right to be here is a remarkable gift - and he clearly does not see the true reality of a poisoned chalice. Even as he bows too, Cromwell finds himself pitying the poor idiot who thinks that trust still lives in England.
"My Lords," The King commences, "I bid welcome to Mr Robert Aske, who has come to us to aid us in our endeavours to ensure that the good people of my realm are not importuned by our future actions for the benefit of England. Thus, I expect you all to consider him well, and ensure that we are able to entreat with all who share his concerns in order to spread our knowledge as widely as it can be spread."
Does he not see the double meaning in those words? Cromwell thinks, as Aske beams joyfully - thinking that he has won the King's favour, he is being asked to betray all who share his protests - and he thinks himself to be benefiting the people of England by his words. How can a lawyer be so utterly naïve?
Gradually, the King draws out more and more names, assigning them to the various Lords at the table as though he intends them to take responsibility for interviewing them for their grievances. He is not, however, fool enough to push too hard, and ends the meeting rather earlier than he needs to - on the grounds that he feels it right that both he and Aske should attend to their devotions together. Delighted, and still all unaware, Aske smiles politely at the assembled Lords, and the two depart together.
"He has not the first idea, has he?" Rich murmurs as he and Cromwell gather their papers.
"None." Cromwell does not look happy, "Am I alone in thinking that, in spite of all, we are making cruel use of a man's honesty and trust?"
"You are not." Rich admits, "Even though it be a truly remarkable object lesson by the King, I still feel that we are dishonest and cynical in the face of Aske's faith and belief in his Majesty's love. If it were not essential to end the insurrection, I would wish to have no part of it."
Cromwell looks up to see that Suffolk, back at the table now that Norfolk and Shrewsbury are in the North, is looking at them quizzically. Brandon has no liking for either of them - Cromwell knows that full well - but he can see that neither of them are revelling in Aske's willing saunter into the King's trap, something that he would have expected from them. Rather than speak, or show acknowledgement of his confusion, instead Cromwell turns to depart for the offices, Rich in tow, and leaves the Duke sitting at the council table.
As evening draws in, the news has spread all about the Court: Fitzroy has returned, and shall be greeted in grand style at a large feast tonight. For the Councillors, attendance is expected, which irks Rich, as he had intended to sup with Kat. Furthermore, not only is Fitzroy returning, but so is the Lady Mary. None but Cromwell are aware that she has already met with Queen Jane, and her father - or that the initial meeting was a remarkable success. Mary is still young enough - just - to need the presence of a mother, and has taken to Jane a great deal. That Jane has few reformist leanings has probably assisted in the thawing of relations, but nonetheless it is a major coup for her, and has certainly secured her popularity outside the Palace.
It has not, however, smoothed over one considerable ruffling of feathers. Upon returning to Whitehall, Mary has discovered, to her disgust, that her bastard half-brother has been granted the rooms that have always been reserved for the Prince of Wales. Being, until the end of her mother's marriage, treated - albeit in name only - as the Princess of Wales in her own right, the discovery that these rooms are to be occupied by Fitzroy has caused her much offence. Having been involved in neither the assignment of the rooms, nor the soothing of a truly royal outburst, Cromwell is grateful to have been relieved of any blame for the situation - not that she didn't try to set it at his door. Mary has certainly inherited her father's imperious temper, and there are few things for which she is not prepared to attempt to hold him responsible - for she no longer has Queen Anne to blame.
Rather than inspire yet more bile on Mary's part, Cromwell has opted to remain in the Offices, or their investigation room, as much as possible to avoid her. As with Aske, he has no particular reason to dislike her, and he has never bothered with the holding of grudges - something else for which he simply does not have time - so instead he opts to stabilise her equilibrium through the simple expedient of not provoking her anger though his mere presence.
The papers on the wall are curling up even more now, and one or two have parted company with it as the tacks have slipped from the plaster. He hates to fail - and each day that passes leaves him ever less able to track down the one who killed Anne Hamme. Their one suspect is hardly a real suspect at all, for he has no motive to act with such surgical brutality - not when he is more adept at using his fists. There is nothing to build upon. Nothing at all.
At least he has been somewhat more successful with the drafting of the bill to legitimise Fitzroy. With Rich's invaluable help, he has created a document that solves the problem of what to do with the youth once he is legitimate - for he must have some Royal presence, and thus shall be created a Prince - but the difficulties surrounding his status in the peerage had seemed so insurmountable given the continued uncertainty as to whether or not the Queen shall conceive.
"Gloucester?" Henry said, when he presented the bill yesterday, "An excellent choice - for what else of Crookback's should we take but that? As he took the throne, so we take his Royal Dukedom. And, if it comes down to it, once my boy is legitimate, should it become necessary to do so, I can still invest him as Prince of Wales."
Cromwell groans inwardly at the memory. Despite his determination to prevent any risk of the King accidentally setting a precedent with Fitzroy that he might not later be able to undo, Henry seems keen to dash headlong into such a situation - blinded by the presence of a living son to carry on his name. That his mother's name was Blount, not Tudor, seems immaterial. His Majesty's inability to be patient once again placing his Lord Privy Seal in the awkward position of trying to rein him in without showing it.
The darkness outside the room, coupled with the growling of his stomach persuades him that he has spent enough time perusing pointlessly. Pinching out the candle, he locks the door behind him and departs in search of something to eat.
"Don't you believe it, Richie. The Lady Mary is, despite outward appearances, quite put out by Fitzroy's appropriation of the rooms she considers to be hers." Kat advises as she shares supper with Rich, who has, until now, assumed that the former Princess is quite happy to be back at Court, "She has her father's temper, but her mother's wisdom not to show it too much."
"It must be hard for her." Rich admits, reaching for a cup of claret.
"Utterly." Kat agrees, "Her father's love seems to be dependent upon her bowing to his will, crushing her own pride and swearing to beliefs that she does not share. It seems cruel to me that a father should demand a price from his child in order to receive his love."
Rich cannot help but cringe inside, for his own children see little of him - though he writes to them frequently even if he does not maintain extensive contact with this wife. Regardless of his failing regard for Lisbet, his children are of the highest importance to him, and he takes the greatest care to ensure that he is kept informed of their exploits, "I would never, ever demand a price from my children for my love." He sighs, "Though I am a hypocrite to say so - for when do I see them?"
"At least they know that you love them. Mary cannot be certain of that - for the King's love for her seems to come and go, based upon the woman to whom he is married. It was, regardless of what others say, Anne who took steps to set her aside along with her mother, and Anne who ensured that she was all but forced into servitude to the then Princess Elizabeth. Regardless of her better qualities, she had the capacity to be remarkably vindictive when protecting her own child. I suppose that must be the mark of a fiercely loving mother."
She sighs, for the damage to her prospects as a wife have done much to kill her hopes of motherhood. The destruction of her face has left her with nothing but a succession of lovers, all of whom abandoned her once they saw under her veil; even now - in the arms of the one man who has not - she has not been blessed to conceive in over a year. Given that his wife has managed to bear a child during that time - from one of the occasions upon which he has felt obliged to return to her to undertake his conjugal duties as a husband - she knows that it is not Rich who is at fault. Perhaps the pox has left her barren, too.
He reaches across to take her hand, and she squeezes his in return, "Perhaps it is for the best." She adds, "For it is rumoured amongst the women that the Lady Mary despises Fitzroy's elevation over her - for in her mind she is a true-born Princess of the Blood, while he is the bastard of one of her father's many mistresses. That he sees it too, and revels in it, does nothing to ease the situation."
"He does?" Rich asks.
"Naturally. He is seventeen, spoiled and treated as a favoured firstborn son despite his bastardy. How could his head not have been puffed up with his own importance? The King worships him - even he knows that. To Mary, he is the Golden Child even as Elizabeth was not - for in the King's eyes, he does no wrong and is not required to make any concessions in the hopes of winning back his father's love, nor does he need to fear that it might one day be withdrawn again."
Rich shudders at the thought. Despite that vague air of disappointment that he always sensed from his father, and the strictness of his upbringing, he had never, ever thought that he was not loved. To be so adrift…God, who would want to be so beholden to the whims of a royal father?
His grip tightens upon Kat's hand, and he looks at her, his eyes laden with meaning. If only he could just say it…but he cannot. Instead, she lingers in his gaze, taking in the words he still cannot speak, then smiles as he rises to lead her through to the bedchamber.
Carefully dodging a rickety looking ladder, Cromwell makes his way through the preparations for Christmastide with remarkable aplomb given the appalling mess about him. Wreaths and boughs of fir are being carefully attached to sconces and arranged over the window arches, while garlands of dried fruits, holly and mistletoe are arranged across window ledges. Above, swags of gold and silver tinsel are arranged, and fresh candles are being set. Advent is drawing to its close, and all at Court wait with excitement for the festivities to come.
The list of names that the King has so carefully extracted from Robert Aske is astonishingly extensive, and already Cromwell has been tasked with securing information on their whereabouts so that, when the time comes to strike, Norfolk and Shrewsbury can be decisive. That said, the King is surprisingly uncertain about Norfolk's loyalties, for Aske seems utterly convinced that the Duke has absolute sympathy with their cause - so much so that even Henry is wondering. Knowing Howard's determination to bring him down, Cromwell has no intention of disabusing the King of such a thought - no matter whether or not it be true - and pretends that he knows nothing of Howard's loyalties at all.
While the bill to secure Fitzroy's future is prepared, and there is nothing to prevent the King granting his assent, Cromwell is still determined to try and persuade his Majesty to permit Parliament to debate it - for something as great as this should not merely be decided by the stroke of a pen. With the tiresome youth back at court, the King's mood is so merry that Cromwell is prepared to take the risk of stirring his Majesty's wrath in order to secure that tactic. While it would hold things up still further, it would also render the final assent absolutely unimpeachable. That, if nothing else, should hopefully secure the King's agreement.
As long, of course, as Henry does not give the game away.
The King is dining with Aske again, who is still quite convinced that he is the guest of the wisest, most gracious prince in Christendom. Being as capable an actor as the best of them, Cromwell does nothing to show that he pities the deceived rebel, or that he feels any antagonism towards his grievances, bowing politely to both men, "Forgive my intrusion, your Majesty, Mr Aske," he says politely, "I have brought the final draft of the bill to legitimise the Duke of Richmond."
At once, Aske rises, and bows, "Then, with your Majesty's permission, I shall withdraw."
Smiling, the King nods, and watches as Aske departs. As soon as he has gone, the smile drops: "Fool." Then he turns to Cromwell, "Show me."
Bowing again, Cromwell sets the vellum sheets down before the King, "I think, Majesty, to make all secure, we should set this before Parliament and obtain the votes of the Commons and Lords together. With that, none could possibly strike down your will in any form, for it has been agreed by all."
He pauses, hoping that he has not triggered an explosion.
"I think you are right, Mr Cromwell." The King says, after an unnervingly long wait, "While I am eager that my boy should come into his rightful inheritance as soon as he may; given the behaviour of foreign princes over the legitimacy of the Lady Mary, I think this should be absolutely secure. Set this before the next Parliament and ensure that it is given their fullest attention at the first opportunity."
"Yes, Majesty." Cromwell bows again, careful to hide his relief. With luck, the wrangling should keep matters in abeyance for at least another half year. Perhaps then, the Queen might conceive, and thus hold things back even further while all wait to see what she bears.
The King waves him away, and he withdraws.
"What did he say?" Rich asks, as he returns to the Offices. With the holiday so near, most of the Clerks have departed to spend the holiday with their families, and they are alone.
"He agreed, Richard. Thus we have some time. God, I hope that her Majesty conceives while the wrangling is going on. It would make life much easier for us if we no longer had to second-guess the fates."
"At least we have the Christmastide festival to hold things up." Rich adds, rather more cheerfully, "From tomorrow, there shall be no working for twelve days, and all we need do is spend hours in endless masses and then fill ourselves up with victuals until we are fit to burst."
"That might be your plan, Richard," Cromwell smiles, sitting at his desk to clear it of scattered papers, "I shall be at Austin Friars with my extended family. What of you?"
Rich looks a little embarrassed, "I have dispatched gifts and letters to Felsted, as Lisbet is currently residing there." He admits, "I intend to remain at Court."
Cromwell nods, but does not comment. He knows why, "I shall not, however, depart until the morrow." He says, instead, "I think that it seems most appropriate to commence the festivities early and do as you suggest - though I shall not eat until I am fit to burst."
They draw no stares now as they walk together to the Hall, for all have grown quite bored of making snide comments upon their apparent turnaround from enmity to friendship. Instead, they take their seats at the tables where the Privy Councillors are permitted to sit, and await the arrival of the Royal Family - which shall herald the first remove.
Despite her apparent failure to provide him with a son - yet again - Queen Jane is beside her husband as though she has produced a fulsome brood of boys, and is magnificently dressed in cloth of gold and radiant with jewels. Behind them, his expression haughty and proud at his elevated state, Fitzroy marches as though the Crown is already atop his head. Rich is suddenly reminded of Kat's words - yes, he is indeed spoiled, and certainly views the world as being his for the taking.
And then, behind Fitzroy, is the Lady Mary, her expression a strange mixture of pride and sour temper. All know that, really, if he were truly a Gentleman and a Prince, Fitzroy should be escorting her - but it seems that his pride is too great to allow him to accompany a despised girl whose bastardy, unlike his, was declared in her later childhood, rather than a known fact from the moment of her birth. Standing beside Rich, Cromwell sighs inwardly at her misfortune. Who knows what degree of anger and spite is being laid down in her, and how that shall one day perhaps emerge? In some ways he hopes that he shall not be around to see it. Maybe the King shall have allowed him to retire by then.
As soon as the Family are seated, Fitzroy to the King's right, Mary to the Queen's left, the King welcomes all to the feast, including Aske, who has been granted a place at the King's table - a singular mark of honour, "Welcome, my Lords, and Ladies! As the feast of Advent comes to its end, and the celebrations of Christ's birth are set to begin, let us give thanks for those who are dear to us, for is God not good to us all in his gifts? I swear to you all, that, by the New Year, you shall at last have your prince!"
A gasp goes about the room - how can this be possible? For Jane is clearly not pregnant, and, if she were, would she not be in confinement by now?
As bemused as everyone, Rich turns to see Cromwell slump a little, and realises what is coming.
"I intend, my friends, to make my fine boy Henry my true son, and heir!" He turns and bows to Fitzroy, who is equally upon his feet, bowing in return. As he sits again, however, few can fail to see the ghastly smugness on the spoilt youth's face, or the sour anger that Mary is fighting with all she has to keep from hers, "Now, let us feast!" the King finishes, indicating the rasp of trumpets that fanfare in the first remove, before sitting to await the victuals that shall be set before him.
Reaching for a leg of capon, Rich turns to Cromwell, who seems now to have lost his appetite, "What? We knew it was coming - he was going to find out sooner or later."
"And when is the next Parliament to sit?" Cromwell grumbles, crossly, "Until the bill is passed and assented, we shall not have a new prince - and if the Queen conceives, we shall not have one until after she has given birth. What on earth are we supposed to do now? There is no legal way to name Fitzroy a prince by the New Year."
Rich shrugs, chewing away at a mouthful of capon. It is, after all, not his problem. Besides, he intends to see Kat this evening, for she never attends such functions. She cannot eat without lifting her veil, and then all about her claim that they are put off their food, so she naturally avoids the humiliation.
Rinsing his hands, he bids Cromwell a good night, for he does not wish Kat to sup alone. John has - as he expects - set out victuals for them, but Kat is not present. As he is late - as usual - he is surprised. Is the Countess ill again?
After half an hour, he decides not to wait any longer, and leaves a note on the table in case she arrives while he is gone. Perhaps she is still in her quarters - though he hopes that she is not ill. That would be most unfortunate at this time of the year. Such is their familiarity, that he no more knocks upon her door before entering than she does upon his, and thus he is entirely unprepared for the sight that confronts him.
"Christ have mercy!"
Startled, Kat turns to look at him, her expression one of dismay, "God forbid, Richie - I did not want you to see me like this!"
"What on earth has happened to your hair? You look as though kittens have been fighting in a wool basket atop your head!"
She stands up a little, and he can see the cause of the problem, "It's this damned headdress," She complains, "I wanted to look exotic."
"As opposed to unexpected?" he asks, starting to laugh.
"It is not amusing, Richard!" she snaps back at him.
"I think it is." He disagrees, still laughing as he approaches her to help her remove the intricate web of gold chains from the tangled mess. By the time he has helped her to free herself from its almost determined refusal to let her go, she is laughing with him.
"Help me into a hood," she says, breathless from her mirth, "I am not ready yet to sleep - for I am eager for news from the Hall. Did the King do as we expected?"
He is not surprised at her knowledge, "If you mean Fitzroy, then yes. Thomas is most disgruntled, for he hopes to delay it as long as he can."
She carefully tucks the matted hair out of sight under her hood and attaches her veil, "Why?"
He does not answer her as they walk back to his quarters, for there are people about, and he has no wish to offer confidential opinions in their hearing. Instead, he seats her at the table, where the food has not got as cold as he expected, and pours her a cup of riesling, for she prefers it to claret, "He is fearful that the King may forget that a son of a Queen should be higher in the succession than the son of a Mistress." He admits, as he offers Kat frumenty, "For that reason, Thomas has taken great care to ensure that the bill is debated by Parliament. That shall not happen until the spring at the earliest, but tonight his Majesty declared to all that we shall have a prince by the New Year."
"I see." Kat nods, "That is indeed a dilemma. Fitzroy, I imagine, has had his opinion of himself greatly inflated by this?"
"He certainly looked rather pleased with himself."
"I do not think he shall make a good Prince, Richie." Kat murmurs, "He is too proud of himself, and he is too much of a stranger to censure."
"We are not given the grace to choose our Princes, Kat." Rich reminds her, "That is the prerogative of God, for they are His anointed rulers upon the Earth, are they not?"
"I do not think God has chosen him." Kat says, darkly, "If He had, why was he not born the son of Queen Katherine?"
He does not chide her for her opinion, for he has learned to value her words. Besides, deep down, he knows that, in some ways, she is right. If God chooses princes, then why did He not choose Fitzroy? He sighs, and sets his knife down. He has eaten well, and it is another hunger that is gnawing at him now. Smiling at him as she finishes the last of her riesling, Kat rises from her chair and allows him to claim her.