A/N: And more thanks for your comments and support! Now the time has come for Anne's first throw of a deadly dice.

The proclamation that follows is mostly the actual proclamation for Elizabeth - with one or two amendments, and one very large detour...

CHAPTER NINE

A Proclamation to Remember

Norfolk sits beside the fire, a cup of good claret at his elbow, and a multitude of grandiose plans in his head. Richard Rich is at work, preparing the documents that shall grant him mastery of the Kingdom - all unaware that his act shall be the last he shall undertake before his destruction. And if Cromwell is still within the walls of the Palace? God help the low born bastard…

The noise of his chamber door being thrown opens startles him out of his reverie, and sends the cup to the floor to spill its contents across the expensive carpet. Furious, he turns, "What the hell are you doing?"

"She's gone!" Rochford pants, "The Princess is taken!"

His eyes widening, Norfolk rises to his feet, "Elizabeth?"

Rochford nods, "I arrived at Hatfield yesterday at two hours after noon, only to be told that the Princess Elizabeth had been summoned by her royal father to Hampton Court, and that she had departed two days prior with her ladies and baggage train. Only the Lady Mary remained."

There are heavy footsteps in the corridor outside, and soon Wiltshire is also present, having been summoned courtesy of a steward when Rochford dismounted in the Mews.

"And?" Norfolk prompts.

"I rode with all haste to Hampton Court, though I was obliged to change horses halfway. There, I found naught but drudges and stewards - and no knowledge of the whereabouts of the Princess."

At once, he is pacing back and forth, "How can this be? None knew of the King's death but Suffolk, and we heard of it only when he returned to…"

Slowly, the three men turn to one another. It is Suffolk - it has to be. He must have sent on ahead to secure the girl himself.

Wiltshire scowls, "What are we to do? He is equal in rank - he is a Duke, and he had the King's favour. What would prevent him from claiming that the King did not die immediately, but granted him the Protectorship before he passed?"

"No." Norfolk shakes his head, "He is devious, yes, but also impulsive. I have no doubt he would have claimed the Protectorship for himself upon the day that he brought the corpse back."

"I am not so sure." Rochford shakes his head, "If he is to secure his position, he must secure the Princess first - and thus perhaps he did not do as we would have expected. He is more cunning than most appreciate; particularly when looking to his own gain. Has he not married his own ward in order to keep her lands?"

"That is hardly cunning." Wiltshire scoffs.

"It is possible." Norfolk disagrees, "If he is to grasp the Protectorship for himself - he would be keen to do so in order to dislodge Anne. Whoever leads the Council in the Queen's minority shall be King in all but name - and the King's widow shall be irrelevant - what better way to his mind than this to wipe out the stain of the King's break with Rome? He would have us all kissing the foot of the Pope before Christmastide."

"While the Vicar's heel crushed our necks." Wiltshire spits, viciously, "Very well, your Grace; let us agree that our enemy is indeed Suffolk. What are we do to if he has the Princess in his clutches? He is a Duke, too."

"Then we let it be whispered abroad that he was the last to see the King alive - and perhaps conspired with those wretched Seymours to depose the King and grasp the crown for himself through the King's babe." Rochford says, quickly.

Norfolk rolls his eyes at such a foolish plan, "And thus shall we all become washerwomen, gossiping over the washboards. No; I shall call the council together on the morrow, and make the proclamation there and then. None can prevent it, for I have precedence over all of them. Not even the dowager Queen can do so." He looks up at the clock upon his mantel, "Where the hell is that rodent Rich? Surely even he does not need so long to draft a bloody proclamation? God - I shall not send him to Tyburn on a hurdle, I shall have him flogged behind a cart from the Tower to the scaffold."

"I shall seek him out." Rochford promises, and hastens away.

"Tomorrow," Norfolk snaps, "I shall proclaim myself Protector whether we have the brat in the Palace or not."

As Rich had hoped, Audley has long departed his office, assuming that the work of the proclamation is in safe hands. He is not a brave man - he never has been - and every step he makes is tentative, for fear of discovery. There are no guards nearby, for they patrol outside the Palace, not within, and the stewards have also long gone.

The office door is, to his surprise, unlocked, though he still enters nervously, already practising his excuse if the room turns out not to be empty. Not that there is much need for security for the Great Seal now - the King is dead, and so the only requirement is to ceremonially break it up; though not before it is used for one last document.

Stealth is no more his talent than bravery, and he stifles a sharp curse as his sleeve catches against a candlestick. Only a swift snatch prevents it dropping to the floor with a loud clatter, and he sets it back upon the table, his heart hammering violently. Over and over again, he reminds himself of the alternative to what he is doing - unaware that the punishment has been increased in his absence - and keeps his mind firmly upon the task in hand, fetching out his pen-knife to force the lock. While he is hardly an expert at the art, it was one of a few skills other than the law that he accumulated during his younger years in the Middle Temple, and not one that he thought he would be obliged to use again after he left those days behind. As he advised, the lock is stupidly easy to force, and he opens the doors of the closet carefully, hoping and praying that he shall find what he needs.

The Great Seal is double sided, created using a flat lower matrix, and an upper one set into a handle so that it can be pressed into a wax mould. The pair are kept in a velvet bag bound at the top with an elaborately braided cord. Hopefully it has not yet been removed…

Thank Christ…relieved beyond measure, Rich reaches in and grasps the bag, before pushing the doors to, and making a hasty escape.

Elsewhere, Lady Rochford is busy clearing a table of ornaments and the tablecloth, before setting down a thick wooden board atop the polished surface, while Anne has spent the time carefully reading through the draft bills, and noting, with approval, that the authorisation of her Regency sets out clear boundaries that shall transfer all royal power into her daughter's hands upon her coming of age. It shall be hard enough to convince men that she has no intention of stealing Elizabeth's crown for herself, but to have set that clear date down in law should serve as at least a fair assurance. Already, the Secretary has returned, concealing a number of sticks of sealing wax, and a mould into which it can be poured. All raise their heads as Rich enters with his prize carefully concealed under his long simarre, "I have it."

"Well done." Anne approves, though she, too, is tense. They are acting entirely illegally now - but to affix the Great Seal to a document is as good as the signature of the King. The debates that shall ensue over whether it is still valid should keep the Council busy for a while until Parliament have spoken - and silenced the councillors once and for all.

Both men have prepared wax discs before, and Cromwell drops four of the sticks into a pot that he sets to heat over a candle flame, while Rich fetches out the two matrices of the Seal and sets the reverse seal on the board, and holds the obverse ready.

"We shall need cords to create the pendants." Jane adds, "Or shall ribbons suffice?"

Wordlessly, Anne retreats to her bedchamber, and returns with a handful of silk ribbons, "Is the colour of the ribbon significant?"

"Not particularly, Majesty." Cromwell advises, swirling the pot gently as the wax within begins to soften, "Once we have created them, the seals must be affixed to the documents. As the medium is vellum, bone paste is the best adhesive."

"I have some." Anne looks across to Lady Rochford, who crosses to a coffer where the ladies keep paper cuttings to form into decorative papier mâché ornaments, and retrieves a rather sticky-looking pot.

"How is the wax coming?" Rich asks, as he sets the metal ring of the mould into the lower matrix to contain it when it is poured.

"A little longer." Cromwell says, "Is there a ribbon prepared?"

Anne steps forth with a length of red silk, "Here, Mr Secretary." She pauses, and wrinkles her nose, "That is a most noisome odour."

"My apologies, Majesty."

At length, the wax is liquid enough to pour, but not so liquid that it shall spill everywhere. Carefully, Cromwell tilts the pot and allows a small amount to pool over the reverse matrix, whereupon Rich carefully lays the red ribbon over the puddle, with long lengths draped over the rims. Before the wax can thicken too much, Cromwell tops up the remaining wax to the rim, "Now we must wait a moment, until the wax has hardened sufficiently to take an impression."

He turns then, "Majesty - perhaps you would like the honour of sealing your daughter's proclamation?"

Anne stands up more straight, and squares her shoulders, "Thank you, Mr Cromwell, I should like that very much."

Bowing, Rich hands over the obverse matrix, and steps aside. A foolish gesture, perhaps, but they are all bound together now in this enterprise, and if they fail, they die.

It is an annoyingly long wait for the wax to thicken to the point that she can apply the seal, but at last it is ready, "Press firmly, Majesty; you are impressing from above and below."

Taking Cromwell's advice, she sets the seal carefully onto the disc of wax, and then leans downwards. It is more than the sealing of a document: to her, it is as though she is grinding her heel into Norfolk's face. Overthrow me now, Uncle.

She rises, allowing Cromwell to disassemble the pieces and retrieve the seal - on one side, her late husband in armour astride a horse, on the other, seated upon the throne with orb and sceptre in his hands. A gesture, perhaps - but a powerful one.

Smiling, she turns to her colleagues, "One is done - there are three more. Shall we?"

The hall is full of subdued conversation, and the aromas of the evening meal; but there are few people of consequence present, and Suffolk wanders around the gathering slowly, remembering a time when there was a King seated upon the dais. Now, there is no one present - not the Queen, nor any of her kin. Even Norfolk is absent. It could not be clearer that they are planning their next move; but he has not yet been able to uncover whether they are together, or at odds.

The atmosphere is a strange mixture of forced cheer and nervous speculation. All know that their King is dead, but as yet, there is no news as to the succession. While he is hardly the most honest man at the Council table, he has always been known for his specific loyalty and friendship to the late King. Unfortunately, he seems now to be alone in that sentiment, as everyone around him is assuming that Norfolk shall declare himself Protector - and waits for him to do so.

The sequence of messengers that delivered his letter to Hatfield are yet to provide him with a reply from the Lady Mary, and he wonders whether it was possible to deliver it. Given that she is most certainly watched, and her correspondence spied upon, opportunities to deliver letters to her are few and far between unless one knows who to ask. Even then, the risk of being caught palming a missive is high - and he knows of at least three servants who have been whipped and dismissed after being found with a gift or a note.

If she does not hurry - then she shall be left in the wake of whichever great galleon ploughs its way through the rough waters ahead, dragging all of England behind it. Perhaps she is too afraid to answer him - or is too wise to take such a ghastly risk; but if she does not, then she shall be helpless against a great bastion of legal impediments that shall cast her as a traitor intending to destroy the realm in revenge for being shut out of the succession. He would not put it past Norfolk to paint her in so grievous a light.

He has no appetite, and does not linger at any of the tables, instead intending to retreat to his chambers to sample a good claret that his manservant has secured. As he approaches the door, however, a steward approaches him, "Your Grace, I have a letter for you."

Bemused he takes it, for it seems odd that Mary would respond so openly. Turning it over, however, he finds instead the crest of the Seymours - a pair of gull's wings - pressed into the wax. God, what does Seymour want now? Surely he must accept that his hopes of favour are dead?

Safely secure in his parlour, he breaks the seal and finds that the letter is not from Sir John - but instead from his elder Son, Edward.

Your Grace,

It grieves me to advise you that my noble father, Sir John Seymour passed away two nights past; and thus I am now the master of Wulfhall.

In light of this, I humbly place myself in your service, and that of the Crown. Wheresoever I may be of use to you, I shall serve you with loyalty, diligence and discretion.

Please advise me of your will.

Yours

E Seymour

So he is still determined to try for a place at court, then. Carefully discarding the letter in the fire, Suffolk considers the offer. If he is to prevail, and to bring the Lady Mary to her true inheritance, he shall need men for her retinue. He knows that Seymour is ambitious, determined and cunning - and he is not well known at Court, so none shall have the measure of him. Perhaps, then, there shall indeed be a use for him - assuming, of course, that Mary ever sends a reply. God, what is keeping the girl? Does she not understand the urgency? Norfolk shall hardly tarry when it comes to setting a crown upon the babe Elizabeth's head - and it shall then be far harder to unseat her. England might well prefer to have Mary - but would they dare to overturn the will of God? For if the babe is anointed, then that is precisely what she shall be - God's chosen.

If she does not move swiftly, then Mary shall find herself left behind. And so shall he.

The candles have burned low by the time Cromwell straightens up, having pressed the last seal that - dubiously, perhaps - grants assent to the bill that shall confirm Anne as Regent in place of a Protector. His left forefinger is scalded, while Rich has red blobs of wax stuck to the fur of his simarre, and Anne is grateful that they set a board upon the table, judging by the spillage that occurred when they attempted the third moulding while the wax was too soft.

Most of the pendants are now affixed to the vellum of what are now, at least cosmetically, Acts of Parliament. Whether they can force the Council to accept them is another matter entirely - but the shock of their act should at least give them a grace period to gather themselves while the councillors squabble over the validity of the papers they have prepared.

Seating herself, and brushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, Anne regards the two men who have aided her. Remarkably, while they have worked on the business of creating the seals, they have cooperated easily and with good humour, and it is clear to her that, should they truly put their differences aside, they shall prove to be a formidable force in her Government. Assuming, of course, that she can establish one.

"Is there anything left that we must do before the morrow?" she asks, stifling a yawn.

"One thing, I think." Cromwell muses, "While all are keen to see how matters shall play out, I think it likely that none have taken steps to secure themselves beyond spoken statements." He turns, "Madame, is there a steward without?"

"I shall see, Mr Secretary." Lady Rochford says, still pressing the last ribbon to the remaining sheet of vellum. Leaving the paste to dry, she looks outside the chamber, and returns with a youth who seems to have been roused from sleep.

Crossing to the Queen's writing table, Cromwell snatches a piece of rough paper, and loads a quill from the ink pot, "Take this letter to the Captain of the King's Guard. They are, as yet, uncertain of their future role - so I think we should give them one."

Nervous, the young man takes the folded note, and departs; attempting to ignore the dishevelled state of the Queen, the reek of bone-glue and the fact that Rich has removed his simarre and is attempting to pick flecks of hardened wax off the fur trim.

"My goodness," Anne observes, blandly, "We are truly a vision of Courtly dignity."

Still picking at the wax, Rich snorts with amusement, while Lady Rochford laughs and even Cromwell breaks a small smile as he returns his attention to the writing table, and starts scribbling again. Watching her small Court-to-be, Anne feels at ease for the first time in weeks - though she is not fool enough to think that all is secure. No - tomorrow shall be a far deadlier prospect, and there is no certainty that the two men who have spent the evening pouring wax shall not end tomorrow aboard a barge making for the Tower. Wily though her uncle might be, he does not share the sheer intelligence of Thomas Cromwell or Richard Rich. They can most assuredly match him in cunning, and deviousness; but she has no doubt that Norfolk has not even thought to summon the Guard and seek their assistance in his claim for the throne.

By the time the steward arrives with the Captain, who looks most drowsy, Rich has given up on the wax, while Anne has replaced her hood with the aid of Lady Rochford. Bemused, the man bows, "Majesty? Forgive me, I was abed."

"No, please forgive me, Captain. I am sorry that I have summoned you at such an hour. But I must ask a favour of you."

"Yes, Majesty." He does not question her authority - she is, after all, the King's wife, and he has sworn to upload the King's law.

"Tomorrow, her Majesty the Queen Elizabeth shall be proclaimed. Owing to her tender years, I shall make the proclamation upon her behalf - and I must ask you to ensure that I am able to do so without interruption. I must, therefore, ask you - here and now - to swear your loyalty to her Majesty, and to uphold her rights and inheritances."

"Of course, Majesty - I had assumed that we would do so upon her proclamation."

"Indeed, Sir. But before she is proclaimed, I must also ask you to swear that you shall uphold every command contained therein."

"We are duty bound to serve the Crown, whomsoever wears it, Majesty. Thus we shall obey the Queen's every command with loyalty and diligence."

Rising from her chair, she crosses to a small cupboard, opens it and indicates inside, "Within is the Scripture. Would you please rest your hand upon it and swear your loyalty to Queen Elizabeth."

Behind the Captain, Cromwell and Rich exchange a nervous glance - he could baulk at this…what if he claims that it is not appropriate to do so before the Queen is proclaimed?

"Her Majesty is Queen, by the King's law, proclamation or no. I shall swear it, Majesty." Without hesitation, the bluff man steps forth.

"What is your name, Captain?"

"Walter Palmer, Majesty." He bows again.

"Thank you, Captain Palmer." She looks across at Cromwell. He has said nothing of his further scrivenings, but already she has guessed what he has done, "If you please, could you pass the oath to the Captain?"

"Of course, Majesty." Fortunately, his writing is not too rushed - equally fortunately, Palmer is able to read.

"I, Captain of the Guard," He says, a little haltingly, "do solemnly swear that the Royal Guard shall loyally and faithfully serve her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, and abide by all her commands that shall serve and protect the Realms of England, France and Ireland. Upon pain of death, so help me God."

"I am grateful to you, Captain." Anne smiles at him as he steps back and bows again, "It is my intention to proclaim Elizabeth queen tomorrow at the hour ten of the clock, ante meridian. Thus I ask that you assemble your men as my escort in the Presence Chamber ten minutes prior, after which we shall process to the King's Presence Chamber, where the Council shall be waiting."

She does not add that Norfolk expects her to allow him to get on with the proclamation himself in that exact location.

As Palmer departs, she smiles to herself. Yes, he wishes to make a proclamation. If only he had a proclamation to make.

Early morning mist wreathes the parkland in drifting wisps of white as a party of horsemen make their way across the countryside, scattering game birds as they go.

At the head of the column, Cromwell has chosen to wear rather less dour garments - exchanging his usual black for a dark green instead, while his usual chain of office has been replaced with a magnificent gold collar of esses, something that the Queen has insisted he wear, given the task he is to undertake at her command.

All is done - the State papers are written and sealed, while those who have prepared them shall gather at the hour of nine to ensure that they have missed nothing. It is likely to be a shock for the Queen's ladies, of course, but they shall be escorting a woman into the presence of the council, and one who shall scandalise all of Christendom by proclaiming herself Regent of England over the heads of all her late husband's Lords.

Not that she is unused to such a circumstance, of course.

It does not take them long to reach their destination, a small, but well appointed manor house within the park of Eltham. No-one royal has ever lived here, and thus it is by far the safest place to hide one.

Such is the clamour of horses and men as they dismount at the front of the house, that Lady Bryan herself emerges to demand to know the cause of the hubbub, fortunately, she is an early riser - taking her role as the Governess of the Princess with all seriousness - and is appropriately gowned to meet them.

"What is the meaning of this noise?" she demands, angrily, "Her highness is still abed!"

Ah. She does not yet know, then. Cromwell is not surprised that Ralph could not find it in himself to tell them that Elizabeth's father is dead. Much less that his corpse is still ensconced in its ill-made coffin in a game cellar while the machinations of those who intend to command the Kingdom in his stead remain unresolved. Such is the way of life; the King is dead, long live the King. Or Queen, he amends inside his head.

"Forgive my intrusion, Madame." He bows, having dismounted while she was fussing, "I must speak to you with all urgency - it is a matter that concerns your royal charge, and we must act swiftly."

She frowns, and Cromwell recognises a mind as sharp as any that he has seen in a woman - she seems to have already guessed from the manner in which he has arrived, and the garments he is wearing. They are far too formal for a mere visit by the King's Chief Minister, after all.

"Come inside." She concedes, and leads him into the house, leaving the escort without.

Now that he is within the walls, Cromwell is pleased - for Ralph chose this place well. From the grounds, it seems to be a rather poor place - built with wealth now lost. But inside, it is most comfortable, with fine carpets upon the floors rather than rushes, elaborately carved wainscoting and fragrant applewood fires in the grates. Yes - an ideal place to conceal a child-Queen from those who would use her for their own ends. He shudders - but for the enmity of the Duke of Norfolk, he might well have been one of them. Indeed, he is not entirely sure he is not one of them now.

"Mr Cromwell?" Lady Bryan prompts, brusquely, "I am in the process of supervising her Highness's toilette and morning devotions. Please say what you must, then depart."

"I understand your concerns, my Lady." He answers, "But it is my sad duty to inform you that his Majesty the King passed away near-on a week ago. Thus today the Princess Elizabeth is to be proclaimed Queen."

She makes to protest, shocked, but he stops her, "Forgive me, but time is short. Her Majesty's tender years, and her sex, place her in a most difficult position, for there are various Lords who conspire against one another to rule over England as Lord Protector - and in doing so, it is her mother's great fear that her just rights and inheritances shall be stolen from her. Thus, her Majesty Queen Anne decreed that her daughter be housed here until the appropriate moment of her Proclamation, and that moment has now come. Therefore, I ask you to rouse the Queen from her slumbers, and ensure that she is appropriately gowned for her new life. She shall be in the care of her mother, and you shall be at her side to protect her wellbeing - that I can assure you. Her Majesty's life shall change irrevocably - but it is your duty to smooth that transition, while the Queen Anne, and her eventual council, shall protect her from those who would steal her authority, and teach her to rule this great Nation."

Lady Bryan looks at him with narrowed eyes, a hard, piercing stare that seems to bore into him to the very core of his soul. There is no duplicity for her to discover - for his words are sincere. Queen Anne has made her intentions clear, and he intends to stand beside her as her Chief Minister. Regardless of the corrupt behaviour that has gone before, now he must be as unimpeachably honest as is possible - for any other act would surely bring him down.

After a few moments, she begins to issue orders, "You, David," she stops a passing steward, "Go out to the stables and set the grooms to work on the Princess Elizabeth's travelling litter. Have them be ready to depart in a half hour - three quarters at most." She turns to Cromwell for confirmation, and he nods. That should be sufficient time to get her safely into the Queen's apartments before hostile eyes are too aware of what is going on outside their windows.

With little to do but wait, Cromwell leaves the new Queen's governess to organise her departure to Placentia and leafs through some papers on a small writing table near the window of a small chamber nearby. The writing upon the papers is ungoverned, but it is more-or-less legible, and he realises that he is reading a piece of writing by his new Queen. Dear Christ, she is not yet three years of age, and already a paper-wrapped stub of charcoal has been set between her fingers. At least it is not in latin - that would be far beyond the realms of possibility for one so young. The words are instead simple, repetitions of 'Cat' or 'Dog' or other such words - with the sole intention of teaching her the dexterity required to wield a pen. No - it is mere hobby at this time; but it suggests that she has inherited the intelligence of both of her parents, which can only be a good sign.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs brings him back into the entrance hall again, and he sees the new Queen being escorted by her women, and two stewards with staffs of office. As befits the requirement to be in mourning, she is dressed in black - a miniature rendition of the stiff gowns of those much older than she - and wears appropriate mourning jewellery. There is no suggestion of grief, however, for she has seen her father so rarely that he is too remote a figure to truly be missed. Perhaps that shall change once she is reunited with her mother - for Anne has endeavoured to spend as much time with her as was permitted.

As soon as she is in front of him, she stops, and he immediately bows deeply, "Majesty." Yes - she knows; there is no surprise at the manner in which she has been addressed, but she says nothing, instead waiting for him to rise, before Lady Bryan speaks for her, "Mr Secretary - please lead on."

They emerge into the Mews to find that the escort are forming up, while two horses, one harnessed to the fore, the other to the rear, now carry the new Queen's travelling litter. It is, to some extent rather more a bed than a chair, but it does have the virtue of curtains that can be closed - and therefore hide the identity of the occupant. Above all things today, they must retain the element of surprise; or they are all lost.

Rather than enter via the main gates, instead, they travel to a small, unregarded door set into the walls of the Queen's Privy Garden, where Lady Rochford is watching for them. From there, it is a simple matter to conduct the young girl from the warm concealment of her litter into the safety of her mother's apartments, and Anne's face at the sight of her child is a sight to behold.

Anne has never been regarded as beautiful in a Court where fair hair and blue eyes are worshipped as the blessed standard - her dark locks and darker eyes being unconventional and of little interest. Now, however, she is luminous, her eyes alight with joy at the sight of her child, who abandons formality and runs to her with equal happiness, "Mama!"

"My Elizabeth!" she laughs, delightedly scooping the girl up in her arms and whirling her around, "My dearest darling girl!"

Standing nearby Lady Rochford looks on with tearful eyes, while Rich has emerged from his own chambers to join them, and stands nearby looking far more benign than he ever does in the offices. Lady Bryan is dabbing at her eyes with a kerchief while, to his embarrassment, Cromwell realises that even he has a lump in his throat.

Regardless of the tenderness of the reunion, the years to come shall be hard for this little girl. She is now a Queen, with all that such rank demands. Anne might well do all that she can to shield her from the worst of it - but it shall still be a long, painful journey for her.

"Mr Cromwell," Anne has set her daughter down again, "the hour approaches. Thank you for ensuring my daughter's safe return to my side. Now we shall see whether our preparations shall bear fruit."

He bows again, "Thank you, Majesty. There is but one more thing that I wish to do before we depart from here to the Presence Chamber."

Anne frowns, bemused, but then understands his intentions has he goes down upon his knees before her, and her daughter, "Majesty, I give you my word that, from this day forth, I shall serve you, and your royal mother, loyally, absolutely and diligently. As God is my witness."

Elizabeth looks rather dumbfounded, but Anne acknowledges his oath with a smile, "Thank you, Mr Cromwell. Where once we held one another in enmity, now we shall stand together to defend our Queen's throne and inheritance."

Still on his knees, Cromwell notices a movement beside him, and is relieved to find that Rich has joined him on his knees, "Majesty," he says, with rather more conviction than Cromwell has ever heard him use before, "I, too, give you my word that I shall also serve you, and your royal mother, with loyalty and diligence. I am a poor excuse for a servant, but I shall stand with you as you claim your inheritance, and your Kingdom. So help me God."

Cromwell blinks, he had no idea that Rich could be so eloquent while being honest. He more usually speaks so when engaged in an act of deceit. If nothing else, the last two days have given him cause to view the man beside him with new eyes. Come to that, the woman behind them, and the woman to the fore, as well.

"Thank you, Mr Rich." Anne acknowledges his oath, "I give thanks to God that I am served by men of talent and loyalty. Now, I can only hope that our next steps shall not be our last. Come, let us see whether we can hold this Kingdom for her new Queen."

As the hour of ten approaches, the majority of the late King's council have assembled in his untenanted Presence Chamber. It has been agreed that the new Queen shall be proclaimed - but how, and by whom, seems as yet undetermined.

Norfolk, however, remains outside the door, and fumes. That blasted rodent Rich never arrived with his drafts of the statutes that shall set Elizabeth upon the throne with her great-uncle as Lord Protector - with all appropriate rights and privileges to rule in the name of a girl of less than three years. The intended punishment has widened even further now to include a thorough racking before being whipped to Tyburn and hanged. More fool him for trusting a low-ranking, unscrupulous gentry-born lawyer. If it be so, then he shall extemporise upon the spot, and track the duplicitous little weasel down afterwards. The fact that he does not even know where Queen Elizabeth is seems no longer to matter.

Wiltshire and Rochford are already in the Chamber, close to the front in expectation of high honours when he forms his new Council. Being kinsmen, that is only to be expected - though he is having second thoughts about Rochford after his failure to secure the child. Cursing under his breath, Norfolk gives up waiting for his documents, and enters the Chamber.

No one present seems to have the first idea what is happening, and the conversation is subdued - and uncomfortable. Suffolk is standing to the side, looking thoroughly discomfited. In spite of all his hopes, he has not yet received any answer from the Lady Mary, and can only assume that his letter to her was intercepted - or perhaps hers back to him. He cannot believe that she would not have agreed that he put forth her claim to the vacant throne - but it seems almost as though she has.

No - the letter must have miscarried. If Norfolk attempts to claim the Protectorship, it matters not - he shall try again…

He is roused from his musings by the footsteps of the Duke as he makes his way to the front of the chamber, but does not presume to mount the steps to the vacant throne. Even he is not brave enough to do such a thing - no matter how proud he is, or how privileged he feels.

Instead, he stands before the gathered Lords, opens his mouth to speak - and cannot find any words. A proclamation is a formal document, carefully constructed and rendered - and he has no idea how to begin. His mouth suddenly dry, he tries again, "Gentlemen, I come before you…"

Somewhere in the distance, a door opens, and they can hear a rhythmic thud of collective footsteps. Glances are exchanged: it sounds like a detachment of guards - what the hell is going on? Is Norfolk going to claim the Crown itself - and the soldiers are coming to arrest them all?

But it seems not. The Captain leads his men into the assembly, "Stand aside! Make way for her Majesty the Queen!"

There is no sound other than that of shuffling feet as the gathered Lords comply, wondering who the hell is going to enter by that door.

Moving with precision, the guards form up ranks upon either side of the door, forming a red-walled corridor through which a small child, dressed in mourning, makes her solemn way forth. Behind her comes an entirely unexpected party, as the Dowager Queen Anne enters the room, followed by the despised Cromwell, and the hitherto-missing Rich. Behind them follows Lady Bryan, and all of both Queens' ladies. It is a grand show, to be sure - but only such a show is likely to prevent the failure of what is to follow.

With the assistance of two of her own ladies, Elizabeth mounts the dais, and seats herself upon the high throne vacated by her late father. Flanked by two guards and her assembled women, she makes a remarkably impressive sight for one so small, and the gathering of those who have come with her serves to unnerve the men before her considerably - though Norfolk's expression is quite the picture as he finds himself blocked from his desire by a rank of soldiers armed with ceremonial halberds.

Standing to her daughter's right hand, Anne turns to Cromwell, who hands her the sealed proclamation, which sends a weird groaning sound through the assembled council. Of all outcomes, none were apparently expecting this.

Refusing to express the smugness that she is undoubtedly feeling, Anne unfurls the vellum and begins to recite the words upon it.

"Elizabeth, by the grace of God Queen of England, France, and Ireland, defender of the faith, and in the earth supreme head of the Church of England and Ireland: to all our most loving, faithful, and obedient subjects, greeting.

"Because it hath pleased Almighty God by calling to his mercy out of this mortal life, to our great grief, the most excellent high and mighty prince, King Henry VIII of most noble and famous memory, late King of England, France, and Ireland (whose soul God have), to dispose and bestow upon us as the only right heir by blood and lawful succession the crown of the foresaid kingdoms of England, France, and Ireland, with all manner titles and rights thereunto in anywise appertaining, we do publish and give knowledge by this our proclamation to all manner of people being natural subjects of every the said kingdoms, that from the beginning of the 17th day of this month of March, at which time our said Liege Lord and King departed from this mortal life, they be discharged of all bonds and duties of subjection towards our said King, and be from the same time in nature and law bound only to us as to their only sovereign lady and Queen: wherewith we do by this our proclamation straightly charge and ally them to us, promising on our part no less love and care towards their preservation than hath been in any of our progenitors, and not doubting on their part but they will observe the duty which belongeth to natural, good, and true loving subjects.

"In deference to our most tender years, we do publish and command that the rule of England shall be laid in the care of our gracious and noble mother, Queen Anne, until such time as we are - by God's Grace - of sufficient age to rule our subjects as their true and most sovereign prince.

"And further we straightly charge and command all manner our said subjects of every degree, to keep themselves in our peace, and not to attempt upon any pretence the breach, alteration, or change of any order or usage presently established within this our realm; upon pain of our indignation and the perils and punishment which thereto in anywise may belong."

Before anyone can protest, the Captain steps forth, "God save Queen Elizabeth!"

Any mumblings of the councillors are drowned out by the guards, who stand rigidly to attention, "God Save the Queen!"

"I shall advise you of her Majesty's wishes over the formation of her new Council." Anne says, very calmly, "Until then, Good day."

Perhaps, had there been no guards, it might have been different - but in the face of a rank of halberds that offer function as much as form, the assembled councillors accept the dismissal, and disperse.

"That was too easy." Rich mutters, looking distinctly nervous - he has not missed the vicious looks being directed at him by those he abandoned in favour of the Queen.

"This, Mr Rich?" Anne says, turning to him, "Yes - this was easy; but I expected nothing less, for the presence of the guards stilled their tongues and stayed their hands. The true battle is yet to begin: we must continue to move quickly to avoid being outflanked. I shall present the Acts to them all before the day is out, and, while they are squabbling over their validity, you and Mr Cromwell shall gain the support of Parliament from under their noses, and silence them once and for all."

She watches the door through which a large group of discomfited men have just passed, and sighs inwardly. She has set her daughter upon the throne of England. Now, she has to keep her there.