A/N: Thank you again for your review, Anne; I'm glad you're looking forward to updates. With that in mind, here's another one!
CHAPTER TEN
The Consequences of a Broken Promise
Cromwell sighs to himself as he locks the door of their investigation room. With matters as they are, he can only hope that Carew is their man, and that no others shall die. He has nothing else.
Three women…all disfigured, all eviscerated…but why Sarah Culver? Two are of low repute, but she is lauded amongst the higher-born as virtuous, even if those of lesser import considered her with scorn. What trait does she share with them other than the mere fact that she is a woman?
He is still turning the problem over in his mind as he returns to the office chambers. Wriothesley is hunched over papers, writing busily, while Clerks move to and fro. Over at his desk, Rich is also engaged, reading over accounts and ledgers while he makes notes in that odd speed-writing that Cromwell has found so invaluable. Despite the demands of the twenty-four articles, nothing has changed. The work to redistribute the lands and monies held by the great Monastic Houses continues apace, while taxes are still collected, and the Statute of Uses is still in force. Nothing gives a clearer signal to Cromwell that his King has no intention of being dictated to by his subjects, and he knows that he is safe.
"How do things progress, Mr Rich?" he asks, formal again, as they are in public.
"Apace, my Lord. Apace." Rich advises, not looking up, "The monies passing into his Majesty's exchequer are looking to reach into millions of pounds."
Cromwell is taken aback by this, "Millions?"
Rich nods, still scribbling. He has a great deal of work to make up, thanks to his transcribing of witness statements. Then he stops, and finally looks up, "How long, do you think, until Aske discovers we have played him false?"
Cromwell sighs, "My spies tell me that he is, even now, lauding his Majesty's goodness, grace and mercy to all and sundry. All those about him are overjoyed - for they believe a Parliament shall be summoned in York to debate the articles. He seems not to have noticed that the Commissioners are still about their work."
"Do you think it shall stay that way?"
"God, no. I should be astounded if it did. Sooner or later, the rebels shall see that things are not as they have been told - at which point the so-called pilgrimage shall founder into disarray. I assume that Norfolk shall then deem it meet to take steps. He must if he is to avoid the King's ongoing suspicions over his loyalties."
"Which you have done nothing to allay." Rich adds, sardonically. He is not unaware of the ongoing rivalry between the Brewer's son and the Duke.
"And how much of the…largesse…has routed itself into your coffers, Mr Rich?" Cromwell asks, softly, though with a slight smirk, for they are neither of them stupid enough to let such an opportunity by. The King does not question such behaviour from his Courtiers; after all, as long as the bulk of the funds go to him, why should those doing the work not claim a little for themselves?
"Sufficient to pay for a rather unique gift." Rich says, loftily, though he does not elaborate. The cost of the black pearl that he gave to Kat was astonishingly high - but given her importance to him, he does not begrudge the expenditure; besides, he has been able to recoup it without difficulty.
"Truly we are a pair of venal rogues." Cromwell murmurs, not entirely seriously, "Perhaps the King should indeed punish us for our crimes."
Within days, the pair find themselves right in their estimation, as a Courier brings news of another rising, "It appears that Mr Aske has not been able to quell dissent." Cromwell says, reading the letter to the King, "There has been another rising - this time in Cumberland under the leadership of Sir Francis Bigod of the village of Settrington in the North Riding of Yorkshire. It seems that he is not prepared to wait for the pardon that you have so graciously granted…"
Henry snorts with amusement, then indicates that Cromwell continue, "nor for the summoning of the Parliament to discuss the twenty four Articles…"
"He would be waiting until the crack of doom for that." The King interrupts again.
"Thus, despite the urgings of Aske to desist," Cromwell finds he cannot help but do his best to absolve the poor, foolishly faithful Aske, "He has summoned more men to his banner. The leaders of the so-called Pilgrimage are largely against him, though some - Lord Darcy, and Lord Hussey, have flocked with their men to his banner."
"And what of Norfolk?" Henry demands, "Where is he in all of this?"
Cromwell knows better than to lie, "His men are assembled and ready to face the rebels in the field if need be - for now that all is falling to disarray, he is finally in a position to meet them on more equal terms."
"I shall send my boy north to Collyweston. He shall gather men to my banner and join Norfolk to destroy these rebels!" Henry declares, suddenly, "He is young - and has not seen combat. That I shall amend, for what is a King who has not fought in battle?"
"Yes, Majesty." Cromwell sighs, inwardly. As though the youth were not lauded enough.
The royal apartments are an uproar of packing, arguing and general milling about as the royal children are being prepared to depart from Court. Elizabeth is being sent away for her own safety - as the Rebels shall assuredly come to London if they come south - while Mary is, for appearances sake, being sent to one of her manors in Norfolk for the same reasons. All know, however, that her departure is more to remove a potential figurehead for the rebels, for one as thoroughly Catholic as she could not be guaranteed to refuse them - not when they demand that she be restored to the Blood, and the succession.
"Does he really think she would act against him?" Rich asks, not entirely expecting an answer.
"With the King these days," Cromwell admits, "It is impossible to tell. He sees threats where there are none, so where they exist, they become monstrous demons of the deadliest order. That Mary has so utterly submitted to him seems not to matter. She is the daughter of his first Queen, she is loved in the North and they are demanding her restoration to legitimacy. I have no doubt that they would welcome her as Queen, even if her Majesty were to bear a son. Fitzroy would be of no interest to them compared to a full-blood, Catholic ruler."
While the departure of the daughters is hugger-mugger, the departure of the son is marked with trumpets and cheering, for the King's boy is to ride north to his Lincolnshire estates to raise a force of men to add to those already commanded by Norfolk. He rides a fine new charger, a gift from his father, and the King's banner flies from a pennant at his side, "I shall end all rebellion against you, Majesty!" he cries, raising his gauntleted hand in a rather wayward salute, "None shall stand against me!"
Standing amongst the Privy Councillors, also assembled to wave Fitzroy off, Cromwell takes care to ensure that his cynicism does not show upon his face. Every move the youth makes shouts of inexperience, bombast and overweening pride, for he has been brought to the belief that he is all but invincible.
"See my boy!" the King shouts, "None can destroy this fine youth - mark him well! For not even the witch Anne could stand against him!" he calls across to Fitzroy, above the clattering of hooves, "Remember that! She failed to poison you - you lived; thus God has granted you His favour!"
God help us. Cromwell shudders, inwardly, as though the boy does not already believe himself to be a Divine gift upon the earth.
The retinue departs with a thunderous clamour of iron-shod hooves, leaving all to watch them go amidst the still melting slush of the receding winter in the first days of March. Cromwell stays where he is, listening as the last echoes fade.
"Won't you come in, my Lord?" Rich asks, visibly shivering, "It's bloody cold out here."
"Do you think he shall raise the promised army?" Cromwell asks, quietly.
"Do you?"
"No."
Rich snorts with amusement, "I suspect that, should it come to it, he could not organise a carouse in a tavern. He seems to be all bluster, and no strength."
"And his Majesty sees him as the next King."
"If that is so, then I shall retire. Or run."
Before he can return to his desk, Cromwell is instead redirected by a Steward to the Privy Chamber, where the King is sitting at the council table alone.
"He is gone again, my Lord." He sighs.
"Yes, Majesty." Cromwell does not need to ask who, "But he has promised to grant you an army and ride to the aid of Norfolk for the restoration of security to the Kingdom."
"That he has." Henry smiles, suddenly, "God, I am proud to have that boy, for I begin to wonder if God shall grant me any other. Perhaps it is a sign of His favour that I have him and no other."
God grant us a Prince, then. Cromwell thinks, but says nothing.
"I have seen the latest figures from Mr Rich." The King continues, more briskly, "Even now, I am shocked at the degree of wealth they kept squirrelled away - they who preached poverty!"
"Yes, Majesty. The figures are indeed remarkable - though we have not yet closed more than a quarter to a third of the greater houses." He knows how to pique his King's interest.
"God above! How much more can they possibly have kept from my exchequer, damn them?"
"At this point, Majesty, it is impossible to say - but likely to continue to rank in millions of pounds, in terms of land holdings, goods, chattels and actual monies."
"Christ's wounds!" the King is furious, "Close them, Cromwell - close them all, for they are a sore upon the skin of the Kingdom! How dare they!"
"We shall endeavour to do so with all speed, Majesty." Cromwell assures Henry, "For the safety of the commissioners, however, I think it wise that his Grace the Duke of Norfolk act with equal speed to…end…these insurrections in the North." Give him enough rope to hang himself. He thinks, allowing himself a small moment of spite.
"Sit. Write." Henry points at the chair to his right, before rising himself. Hastily, Cromwell seats himself, fetches out a sheet of paper and charges a nearby quill - that is not quite sharp enough - with ink.
Norfolk,
It is my demand that you act to destroy these rebels by whatever means required. I expect you to end it wholly and utterly, and without mercy to any man, woman or child. If you do not, I shall be obliged to assume that you are in sympathy with this unnatural insurrection against my lawful reign. Thus I demand that you bring the bloodiest of slaughters upon them, for none shall rise against us again.
I send additional troops under the command of my son. You shall, therefore, submit to his command upon his arrival.
HR
Norfolk reads the letter, and glowers.
"What is it?" Shrewsbury asks, looking up from his ale tankard.
"His Majesty is sending that idiot boy of his north with troops. It seems that I am to submit to his command when he gets here." Norfolk grates, his teeth gritted.
"Fitzroy? God help us, he expects us to be commanded by an untried youth?"
"Not if we act first." Norfolk spits, "Summon the commanders - we shall march at first light on the morrow."
"Majesty, I have a letter from Norfolk." Cromwell advises, as the Council sit, the warm April sunlight drifting in through the windows and across the table. All eyes are upon him.
"Well?" Henry demands, "What has he done?"
"It is good news, Majesty. He has fielded his troops, and thus the rebels have finally fallen into absolute disarray, between those who do not wish to fight, and those who do. The remaining rebels were of insufficient strength to meet Norfolk's men in open combat, and thus have fled. Thanks to this rebellion, those who undertook the so-called pilgrimage find themselves compromised, for they promised to disband - and yet many of them joined with Bigod."
There is a murmuring around the table.
"And did my Son participate?"
Rather reluctantly, Suffolk interjects, "Majesty - it appears that your son did not leave Collyweston, nor did he summon troops. There is no suggestion that he did anything but remain at home."
There is a pause, as Henry's face begins to redden. All find themselves nervously awaiting the likely explosion. Surely he cannot countenance this? Fitzroy has deliberately ignored his father's demand - has gone back upon his promise…
"Damn them! Damn those cowards who would prevent my boy gaining his spurs! I'll warrant they kept him closeted at Collyweston to prevent him from leading men in my name!"
Even Cromwell fights to keep his astonishment from his face; Henry is blaming Fitzroy's retinue for this? Can he truly be so blind to his son's shortcomings that he would blame everyone except Fitzroy when he has acted so cravenly?
"His Grace is now seeking out those who banded with Aske," Cromwell continues, a little nervously, "who have, largely, gone to ground. He asks that you issue a direct order that they come to London to answer your questions, for he believes that Aske is still, even now after those about him have acted against you in vile rebellion, certain that you shall grant him a hearing."
"Draft something for my signature." Henry glowers, still enraged in his belief that his son has been ill-served.
"Yes Majesty." Cromwell makes a note to write the draft, and then moves on to other matters.
"Do you think this is the end of it now?" Rich asks him as they return to the offices.
"I hope to God that it is." Cromwell sighs, "There shall be a grand outpouring of blood - of that I am certain - and afterwards who shall doubt his Majesty's strength?"
"As long as it is not my blood." Rich says again, "And what of Fitzroy? Does his Majesty really believe that his son would have stood to be kept away from battle? He is not a child."
"He refuses to believe ill of the youth - even though we can see him as a puffed up creature full of little more than piss and wind. He seems to have no strength or will to act; instead he blusters and promises - secure in the knowledge that, whatever he does, the King shall always blame others in his stead. I think, once, that I pitied him - but no longer."
"Then does that not make him truly invincible?" Rich asks, quietly, "Is there anything he could do that would earn the King's dismay?"
Cromwell shrugs, "That, I fear, remains to be seen."
They return to their desks, and their work.
That evening, Rich is relieved to finally be able to sup with Kat, for he has been obliged to work long hours to clear the endless reports and papers that are coming in from the Commissioners. Rather than leave her without any communication, he has written to her several times - but that is no substitute for her company.
"Have you made any progress in your investigation?" she asks, as they sit by the fire, having eaten well.
"None." Rich sighs, "We have no suspect, except Nicholas Carew. In the time that he has been gone from Court, there have been no more killings, so we hope that - should that state continue - he was responsible, and we can breathe easily, for his apprehension shall be in the hands of the local justices."
"And what of the rebellion?"
"That is all but over, Kat." Rich says, "Norfolk has moved against the rebels - and they are no longer in any state to meet him in the field. Thus they have scattered, and now he awaits a direct order from his Majesty that the leaders present themselves in London. They are to come to Norfolk, and he shall bring them south."
"Did Fitzroy do as he promised?" she was not present when the youth departed, but all know what he said before he left.
Rich shakes his head, "No. He did not. Naturally, his Majesty has blamed those around him, not the boy himself."
"He is not a boy any more, Richie." Kat says, quietly, "Nor is he a man - but still he is not a child. But then, I do not think he was ever a child. Not really - what childhood did he have? He was part of the tribunal who oversaw the downfall of Cardinal Wolsey when he was but eleven years old. He was elevated to the peerage when he was but six. How is that a childhood?"
"Perhaps that is always the way for a child of a King."
"Then I pity him, for it has all but ruined him. Have I not already said that I do not think he shall make a good prince? In the light of this, I believe it to be so even more than I did before."
"Unless her Majesty bears us a son, Kat," Rich sighs, "We shall not be granted a choice in the matter. The bill to legitimise him is ready - and must only be debated by Parliament to make all sure. Thomas has told me that, should there be no true-born son, the King's Grace shall willingly invest Fitzroy as Prince of Wales."
"Then I shall pray nightly to God that she bears us a son; no, six sons."
"At least all things are quiet other than the work I have been formally tasked to do." Rich says, quietly, "I have not sufficient hours in the day to do it all, and to give you the time I wish to." He reaches to her, and she sits on his lap again, his arms tight about her.
As he caresses her hair, Kat looks a little guilty, "I should not have spoken ill of Sarah. It does not do to speak so of those who have passed."
"As I said then," Rich assures her, "I should always prefer it that you speak the truth to me - not tell me that which you think I wish to hear. Your words are important to me, and I would never want to hear anything but the truth."
She retrieves the black pearl drop, "Then you know that I speak the truth when I tell you that I love you."
He smiles at her, "Yes. I do."
As the year moves on into May, Norfolk returns with his retinue of prisoners; for that is what they are. This time, Aske is not brought to the palace. Instead, he is taken to the Tower.
"They are all locked up, Majesty." Norfolk says, rather proudly, "I have left Shrewsbury in the North to ensure that retribution is administered as you see fit."
Standing beside the rather pleased Duke, Cromwell bristles slightly. He wishes, almost fervently, that he could suggest that the King show magnanimity to the failed rebels - and perhaps offer the leaders fair, open trials. Such is Henry's thirst for blood, however, that he does not dare. Since the promised pardon has been cast to the winds, he knows that there shall be no mercy. None at all. They made their King look weak - and he has no intention of letting people continue to see him in such terms.
"Return to the North, your Grace." Henry says, "Know that I am well pleased with you - and take with you my expectation that those who rose against me shall know in the strongest possible fashion that I do not countenance treason. Spare none. None at all."
"Yes, your Majesty." Norfolk bows. If he shows any dismay at the appalling degree of blood he is being ordered to shed, he does not show it. Beside him, Cromwell shudders. No matter how much he disliked the rebels, no matter how much they caused him to sweat nervously that he might lose the only protection he has at Court, he would not have wanted it to end like this. They are people like me.
"We shall establish two juries in Yorkshire to decide where these vile traitors are to stand trial." Henry resumes as Norfolk leaves, "Let their own kind decide their fates. They can be tried either in Yorkshire, or in London - but make it known that I expect them to choose London."
"Yes, Majesty." Cromwell does not reveal his dismay. A London trial would be certain to result in all of the leaders being condemned to death - and who on those unfortunate juries would not know that? Again, Henry is making it clear that he shall punish all who rose against him, even to the point of using those who did not as part of their punishment - thus punishing those who stayed loyal, for the crime of not standing in the rebels' way, perhaps. Who could love a King that punishes even the most innocent? But then, he recalls, Englishmen seem to value ruthless strength above all in their Kings - and what action could be more likely to inspire it?
And so, instead of a Parliament being summoned in York, instead two juries are called. All of them are friends to some degree of those accused, and - equally - all know that they are effectively being required to send all fifteen men to their deaths. The King has not said so openly, but they know that they must choose London as the location for the Trials - where his Majesty is assured of a guilty verdict, and condemnation.
Your Majesty, the Juries have agreed to the trials being held in London. TH.
Smiling wolfishly, Henry crumples the small missive, and drops it into the fire, "It's London, my Lords." He advises the assembled Councillors, who are all to serve in the forthcoming trials, "And so we shall ensure that all know the fate of traitors."
Sitting in a chair that becomes more and more uncomfortable with each passing hour, Rich squirms slightly and wishes he was safely back at his desk. The men being tried are, in the main, educated and articulate, and all defend themselves with a determination that belies their helpless state. They have not been granted any defence counsel, and the prosecutors ranged against them know full well that the Laws of England serve the requirements of the State, not the requirements of justice. He knew that when he acted against Fisher and More, and against Anne Boleyn and the men who died with her. He still knows it now - even though those who stand before the tribunal appear to think otherwise.
He is glad that he is no longer the Solicitor General. That task belongs to Whorwood now, and he is the one who oversees all. Rich is merely one of the jurors.
They all look so afraid…
When he returns to Whitehall that evening, he is tired, sore and rather unaccountably miserable. While he has always felt guilty over his involvement in the destruction of Fisher and More, it seems worse these days. Back then, it was a necessity to act as he did - for it would ensure his future favour in the Court with those who could advance his career, and keep the King happy. Now, however, it seems craven and cruel. Much as the trial over which he and his fellow jurors are presiding.
Kat is waiting in his apartments when he returns, and he is more glad to see her than he could possibly express.
"You look tired, Richie." Her voice is kind, and suddenly, for reasons he cannot explain, his eyes are filling with tears.
"God help me, I am damned, Kat." He says, wretchedly, "They only wanted to have their 'old' England back, and now they face us in fear of their lives - for we must condemn them. The King demands nothing less."
She says nothing, instead holding him close as he clings to her. She is the only good thing in his world other than his children, a rock to which he anchors himself, for otherwise the maelstrom charybdis shall claim him, and take away the last vestiges of his conscience.
"Perhaps it is better not to care at all." He murmurs, later - much later - as she nestles against him in the warmth of his bed.
"No, my dearest," Kat whispers, softly, "If you did not care, then where would that leave me? I could not bear it if you did not care." She shifts slightly against him, and he feels the cold hardness of the black pearl on his chest. Even now, she still wears it.
"As long as you are with me, Kat," He says, his arms tightening about her again, "I shall always care."
Two days later, it is over. All fifteen defendants have been found guilty, and all are set to die. A few of the less involved, such as that foolish man Ralph Ellerker, have submitted to the King, claiming that they joined the insurrection only in fear of their lives, and have signed a written undertaking not only to never act against him again, but to inform upon any who does. Rich shudders, for he oversaw that procedure, watching silently as the tearful man scrawled his name upon the paper, overwhelmed with relief to be alive. Despite Kat's words, as she lay upon him two nights ago, he still wonders whether it is better not to care.
It is not only the survivors who are to return north, for Aske is to go with them. He, on the other hand, shall be hanged in chains from the walls of what remains of York's castle keep - that same Clifford's tower where the City's Jews were slaughtered two hundred or more years back. It is nothing more than a dilapidated prison now, and - thus - suitable for a criminal such as Aske is deemed to be.
The other condemned are set to die at Tyburn, but none of those who sent them there shall be present to watch the sentence carried out. Most would not wish to be seen in such low surroundings, while others are far too busy with work to be able to go.
Seated at his desk, Cromwell reads the latest letter from Norfolk, and feels a little sick - despite the necessity of a strong show of force, and the fact that the people involved supported an insurrection against their lawful King, the degree of bloodletting is truly shocking. Surely Norfolk does not feel pleased at this? Cromwell does not. But then - perhaps Norfolk indeed does not feel pleased, but thinks that he, Cromwell, does. Either way, the King shall certainly be pleased.
All in all, however, it is a relief to know that the insurrection is suppressed - for despite the King's assertion in public that it was nothing more than a minor rebellion in one of the backwaters of his Kingdom, Cromwell knows that it was certainly not. He dare not say so - none dare - but the threat against them was thwarted not by superior Royal might, but instead by Aske's desire not to fight, and a great deal of Royal chicanery. It is a stark lesson that he intends not to ignore - for he had almost forgotten his King's ability to dissemble if the need arises. But for that, he knows that he would not be alive now, for how could Henry have ignored the eighth of the twenty-four articles?
Crim, Cram and Rich
With three 'L' and the lich
As some men teach
God them amend!
He smiles, a little bitterly, at the half-verse, that he still remembers. It seems that God did amend - but not in the way that the Pilgrims wanted. He wonders if Aske remembered that as he was led to his death.
The array of victuals is enormous - sides of beef, herds of mutton, flocks of capon, bread in abundance and cauldrons of frumenty spiced with wine and nuts. There is more to celebrate than merely the end of a dangerous insurrection, for at last, at long last, Queen Jane is with child. She has known of her state since early April, but has kept the news to herself until recently, not wishing to risk the King's anger in the face of a miscarriage.
Although none says so, all know that the King has emerged from a dangerously weak position - but the failure of the rebellion, coupled with the announcement of Jane's pregnancy, has cemented his security to a degree that none have seen for many years, and his eagerness to celebrate could not be more strongly stated.
Cromwell watches the carousing with keen eyes. Of all those present, he had the most to lose - for without the King's favour he has no protection from those who wish him dead and gone. The deaths of all those who led the insurrection, coupled with his most careful management of his position has kept him secure and safe - and who would speak out against him now? With the King eager to continue the reforms that are in place, Cromwell quietly congratulates himself. He has survived.
Elsewhere, hidden away in a quiet corner, Rich is with Kat, who surreptitiously holds his hand. There are few people nearby to see them, but she is ever careful to hide outward signs of affection, even though their affair is hardly a secret.
"Thanks be to God." She says, quietly, behind her veil, "If He is truly kind to us, the child shall be a son."
"That would be helpful." Rich admits, "If we can shelve that wretched bill to legitimise his bastard, then perhaps he shall never see the throne."
"Those who are brave enough to make jokes about it are certainly saying much the same, Richie." She says, "They speak with careful amusement at his nose being put out of joint."
"Despite all, Kat, I doubt that his Majesty is fool enough to raise Fitzroy too high. There are too many tales of Kings being deposed by over-eager sons for him to risk such a thing. Now that he has proven to his people that he is so strong in the face of such enmity, I am sure he shall be most careful to protect his position above all. Besides, even though he has blamed the boy's retinue for it, he cannot ignore the fact that Fitzroy did not raise the troops he promised, nor did he depart from Collyweston to join with Norfolk."
"And when Fitzroy returns to Court?" Kat asks, "Is he not due to return to us today?"
"That remains to be seen." Rich looks up, as he sees the Privy Councillors congregating in the main body of the hall, "I must away, Kat." He turns to her, "Sup with me tonight."
"With pleasure, my Lord."
Cromwell does not comment as Rich appears at his side, he knows where his colleague has been, and does not begrudge him his pleasure. Instead, they join their fellow councillors, as the King rises to his feet. He does so rather slowly and stiffly, for his leg is troubling him again.
"In celebration of our great joy," he announces, "I welcome back my dear son, Henry."
All turn, and see Fitzroy, his expression proud, wrapped in velvets, silks and furs. Utterly assured in his every move, he marches briskly to the King's dais, where he bows deeply and floridly, "Your Majesty." He studiously ignores the rather hard stares that are coming from the King's councillors, as does the King.
"Welcome back, my boy!" Henry cries, delightedly, "In celebration of my great joy, for you are to have a brother, I have decreed that you shall be granted the lands of the former abbey of Easeby, and all holdings therein, along with the holdings of Bourne Abbey and Bradley Priory."
Cromwell turns to Rich, who stares, astonished, "That amounts to almost ten thousand acres of land, and hundreds of thousands of pounds - at my estimate," he whispers, "I would need to check to be certain, but they were the most recently listed as being available for onward disposal. It seems that I am no longer required to find buyers, then."
Still chattering ecstatically to his returned son, Henry waves to all to dismiss their attention, and guides Fitzroy back to the dais. As he does so, Cromwell pauses - for in all that he granted the youth, there is one thing missing. Fitzroy's legitimacy.
It seems, then, that Henry does intend to wait and see what will come from Jane's womb. Perhaps he shall not need to put the Bill to Parliament after all. Pleased that things are settling at last, Cromwell turns to join his fellow Courtiers as they dine.