A/N: Thank you all again for your comments. Certainly, being a small group, Team Anne have to rely on cunning, connections and a degree of experience at political chicanery that one can't get by being a self-important nobleman with an innate sense of superiority. Being a woman, Anne has learned how to compromise - after all, being female in those days was one long sequence of enforced compromises to favour the interests of men, which is a good match for the political pragmatism of those who have pledged their service to her. That partnership is still rather in its infancy, but given the collective cleverness of everyone within it, and that only Audley is really aware of how good that partnership has the potential to be, Team Norfolk's seriously got its work cut out if it's going to be able to keep up.
Now, of course, Team Anne must pinch the Council out from under Norfolk's nose - but first, a short peaceful interlude...
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Confrontation
The privy chamber is warm with a large fire, and a large number of candles, while the soft conversation of a group of ladies comes through from one of the outer chambers. The remains of a meal shared by four people lie upon the table, and the conversation is quiet - but of great importance.
"What have I been required to offer in exchange for this?" Anne asks, looking carefully over the document that Wingfield has supplied. It sets out that the Acts have been debated, and voted upon, and that Parliament has endorsed the will of the Queen.
"Your late husband is well known to have disregarded the will of Parliament when the mood took him, Majesty." Cromwell advises, "There are men within those walls that are of excellent calibre - but lack the blood to warrant a presence within the Palace. They are representatives of your subjects, and offer a view of life in the shires that your Lords cannot hope to match - and we should not disregard them as King Henry did."
She nods, still reading, "So I am to give Parliament more rights and privileges?"
"Yes, Majesty."
"How much has been agreed of that?"
"Nothing as yet, Majesty." Rich says, "We have given assurances that an additional legal structure shall be established to set out those privileges, and yours. It shall be one of our first actions once we have settled matters over the succession and her Majesty's coronation."
"We must honour that commitment, Gentlemen." She says, firmly, looking up at them, "I am well aware that it was not beyond my late husband to ignore such commitments once they were made. I do not intend to repeat such behaviour."
"I think that it shall prove to be a worthwhile partnership for the nation, Majesty." Cromwell continues, "I appreciate that it challenges the principle of your divine right to rule - but it does not supersede it."
"See to it, Mr Cromwell. I appreciate the worth of my Commons, but I shall not diminish the rights and privileges of my daughter."
He nods. There is no surprise in that; pragmatic she may be - she must be if she is dealing with him - but there are still lines that cannot be crossed. The best approach shall be to increase Parliament's privileges slowly, so that they do not expect too much, and she does not demand too little. That shall be a true challenge, striking a balance between the Queen's expectations, and those of her Parliament. He rather relishes the thought of it.
At least they have the endorsement of St Stephen's - that, and the sealed Acts, are together a powerful armour that must withstand the darts and quarrels of jealous lords who wanted the Protectorship for themselves. He has no doubt that they are primarily keen upon that - for who amongst them truly cares about the welfare of the Kingdom or her poorer subjects? He knows from his own experiences that the lives of those who have neither land nor wealth means less than nothing to the privileged gentlemen who sit upon the King's council, and his attempts to alter that focus have never been entirely successful. Perhaps, if he can narrow that gulf between the two halves of society, Anne might see how things truly are, and the policies of the new Queen shall look beyond the petty privileges of a small group of jealous, self-interested lordlings. Even he has been infected by that snobbish contagion, and he knows he must eradicate it in himself as much as in the council.
From her seat, Anne regards Cromwell in the dubious light of the candles. He looks tired, and uncertain of his place. So far, he has done nothing to give her cause to regret accepting his aid, and even the scoundrel Rich appears to be exploring the outer boundaries of integrity. Of all the men at Court who might be of use to her reign, she is looking at two of the foremost, ahead even of her highest Lords. Thomas Cromwell in particular. He has proved himself to be a magnificent administrator throughout her husband's reign - and she needs his skill and wit to keep herself safe. Rich, on the other hand, is still too much of an unknown quantity. Brilliant he may be - but there is so much that he has done that leaves her uncertain of his honesty.
"Thank you Gentlemen - I think we have spoken enough of the future of the Realm. I am minded to play a game or two of chess, Mr Cromwell, would you care to join me?
He looks surprised - they have not done such a thing for more than a year - but he smiles, "I should like that very much, Majesty."
"Lady Rochford," Anne turns to her new favoured Lady in Waiting, "Perhaps you could entertain us upon the virginals?"
She looks most pleased, for she is a capable musician with few opportunities to play, and moves across to the wall, where a beautifully decorated muselar stands. A gift from one of the Electors of northern Europe, it received a great deal of attention during the King's lifetime, for he had been a gifted player. Anne has some ability, but not to the same degree, and she prefers to listen to the instrument's rich tones - deeper and throatier than conventional virginals.
The song she plays is ancient: Sumer is icumen in, but the tune is well known, and soothing as Anne sets out the pieces on the chessboard. After days of uncertainty, and worry, it is a pleasant end to the day, and she had forgotten the pleasure of the game in the midst attempting to keep her footing as all threatened to crumble beneath her. She has offered Cromwell the choice of left hand or right, and he has picked the black piece she was holding, thus she shall make the first move.
"Sumer is icumen in,
Llhude sing cuccu!
Groweth sed, and bloweth med,
And springth the wude nu -
Sing cuccu!
"Awe bleteth after lomb,
Louth after calve cu;
Bull sterteth, bucke verteth,
Murie sing cucu!
"Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu, cuccu:
Ne swike thu naver nu;
Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu,
Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, nu!"
Jane's voice is a sweet soprano, and her voice mingles well with the soft tones of the muselar as she sings the ancient words. Advancing her knight, Anne smiles to herself - tomorrow shall be a hard day, but for now, she is content. Damn - Cromwell has castled…
Behind her, Jane moves on to another ballad, but this time a different voice joins her accompaniment, as Rich finally finds some means to involve himself in the peace of the evening other than sitting dully in a chair and sipping claret,
"My beloved spake, and said unto me,
Rise up, my love, my fair one and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of singing of birds is come,
And the voice of the turtle is held in our land
The fig tree ripeneth her green figs,
And the vines are in blossom,
They give forth their fragrance,
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away."
No one has heard him sing before - as he has never been given the opportunity, but again his low tenor works well with the instrument, and it looks as though the pair of them shall be more than capable of providing a pleasant musical accompaniment to the game. Anne looks up to see that Cromwell is equally surprised, but not so startled that he has lost focus upon his strategy. Smiling a little smugly, he moves his queen into position, "Checkmate, Majesty."
She pulls a sulky face, "In that case, please advise the Solicitor General that he is not allowed to sing in future."
Cromwell's smile widens, "As you wish, Majesty - I shall draft a law to that effect in the morning."
Three games later, he looks up at her again, "You are not concentrating, Majesty. I am finding this far too easy."
"Forgive me, Mr Cromwell - I have much to think about."
"About tomorrow." It is not a question.
"About tomorrow." She confirms, needlessly, "Regardless of all that we have done - we are barely further forward than we were upon the day that the news of Henry's death was delivered to the Palace. His corpse lies within a mouldering bow-basket in a cellar, with no plans for his funeral, while those who served him squabble amongst themselves to determine who shall seize power during the years that his daughter and heir is too young to rule. Perhaps they may even steal her crown for themselves - and then what shall become of her?"
Cromwell sits back from the table, "We cannot see into the future, Majesty. All that we can do is prepare for it and do the best that we can to protect her Majesty's rights. None of the men of the council can refute the laws that we have made, for they bear not only the great seal, which is still extant, but also the endorsement of Parliament. That second assurance is not necessary - but it shall serve to convince those who are not yet decided which faction they shall support."
"Who can we look to?"
Her question brings Rich back to the table from his vantage point near the muselar, as he delights in political speculation as much as Cromwell does, "Sussex, I think. He has always had reformist intentions - and he would look to any who seek further reform."
Anne nods, as Cromwell continues, "Russell, Petre and Gage are likely to be less willing - but they are not close to Norfolk, and may look to you as a stronger party given the laws we have enacted."
"Cranmer is a certainty, and Southampton shall also bow to the requirements of the law." Rich agrees, "Though Baker, Brown and Lord Sandys may require additional persuasion."
"Thus we must be wary of Sir Anthony Wingfield and Bishop Tunstall - they are both likely to side against you, on the sole basis that…" Cromwell struggles to find an appropriate form of words to use.
"That I am me?" Anne finishes.
"Forgive me, Majesty." He looks a little embarrassed.
"What of Suffolk?" Rich asks, "He is hardly a friend to Norfolk, but then again, he is equally no friend to us."
"If we hold a majority upon the Council, gentlemen," Anne answers, "There shall be little that he can say or do."
Cromwell looks a little worried, "That depends very much upon whether we can convince Gage, Petre and Russell to side with us. If they are to look to Norfolk, then they shall hold a majority over us."
"I think it unlikely." Rich disagrees, "As you said, they respect the will of Parliament to a degree that Norfolk does not. Besides, they shall almost certainly think that you shall be easier to browbeat than the Duke."
"Then they shall be thoroughly incorrect in that assumption." Anne says, coldly, "My uncle has no wish to protect Elizabeth's rights - not when he can become the power behind her throne. Family or no, I have endured his attempts to use me for his own ends, and I will not - will not - permit him to do the same to my child."
Cromwell rises from his chair and bows deeply, "As I live and breathe, Majesty, I swear to you upon my very life that I shall stand at your side to ensure that shall not happen."
She smiles then, "For indeed, your very life depends upon it."
"That, too." He answers, a small smile of his own curling his lips.
A squeal of laughter awakens Anne from a restless sleep, and she turns over at the sound of Elizabeth's mirth as she flees hither and thither in her enormous bedchamber, while Lady Bryan struggles to persuade her to complete her ablutions and prepare to dress.
She smiles at the joy of her child, taking pleasure in that brief moment of chaotic disorder that is Elizabeth's only moment of freedom in the day. In the next hour, she shall be enclosed in stays, petticoats and a firm stomacher - and she shall be expected to conduct herself as a woman grown. Such is the way of things for a high-born girl; it was no different for her when she was of such an age. Oh, to be so carefree…
But she is not. Nor shall Elizabeth be if they prevail today. Not only must she secure her daughter's throne, but she must organise a coronation, bury her late husband before his remains become too foul to approach, appoint a council that shall not oust her…so much to be done…and the danger she faces so great…
As I live and breathe, Majesty, I swear to you upon my very life that I shall stand at your side…
No - she does not face this mountainous challenge alone: base-born he may be, but Thomas Cromwell has never lacked for talent, and his loyalty to those he serves is well known - did he not remain Wolsey's man to the last? Only after the Cardinal was dead did he look to other means to remain at court; and his loyalty to the King was unimpeachable.
Now she has that loyalty, as does Elizabeth - but can loyalty be sufficient to overcome the forces ranged against them? Even with the altogether more dubious support of Rich, they are but three - against a Council of sixteen. Oh God…can they really do this?
Margery Horsman enters her bedchamber, "Majesty, I have selected some gowns for your consideration, and hot water has been brought up for your toilette."
Anne sits up in bed, "Thank you, Madge, please bring them through, I shall make my choice."
She emerges into the larger privy chamber dressed in a heavy gown of rich crimson damask over a flower-patterned kirtle, her hair enclosed in a pearl-rimmed French hood. Elizabeth is already present, dressed in red-gold satin that beautifully complements the red-gold hair that proclaims her to be of the Tudor line, "Mama! Look at my dress, is it not wonderful?"
"It is most beautiful, my dear one, as are you." She smiles, accepting a kiss from her daughter, "What is set for you to break your fast?"
Elizabeth continues to chatter about how large her bed is, the view from the great windows, and how excited she is to be living with her mother at last, as she sips at her small ale and lifts a slice of the finest manchet bread onto her plate. The display of victuals is, to Anne, quite shocking in its sheer quantity - her own morning meal would have been less than half the amount. Two great loaves of the finest quality bread, slabs of cheese with quince paste and sugared fruits, hot mutton chops, cold cuts, a game pie, buttered eggs, honey…was this set before Henry every morning? God above, no wonder he was of such girth.
She smiles at her daughter as Elizabeth departs to a small chamber that she has already set aside as her personal schoolroom, where Lady Bryan shall continue her education until a tutor has been engaged for her. The mountains of victuals that still remain are shocking, and she turns to Margery, "Madge, could you advise the Kitchens that such a large meal is not required any longer in the mornings? Just the bread and honey, some cold cuts and cheese from tomorrow, I think. Perhaps it is nervousness - but the sight of such waste is rather nauseating."
"Yes, Majesty." Margery bobs a curtsey, "Matthew is without, he says that Mr Cromwell seeks an audience."
Anne sighs: business again, "Ask Matthew to show him in."
"Yes, Majesty."
Cromwell's eyes widen at the sheer quantity of victuals that have been left by the Queen and her daughter, "I can only assume that the kitchens served you as though you were the King."
Anne nods, "Please - if you have not eaten, there is plenty."
"Thank you, no; but rest assured that the victuals shall not be wasted - what is left shall be returned to the kitchens to be distributed to the poor."
Anne shudders at the thought - to be so destitute that one looks upon uneaten leavings for sustenance.
"Can we not do better than that?" she asks, "Surely it is better to grant people dignity than throw them crumbs from our own tables? I know that you have attempted to bring in such measures, have you not?"
"I have indeed, Majesty - but the council always seems to have more pressing matters of concern, and thus I have not achieved as much as I would have wished."
"Then, as soon as we are secure, I shall establish a commission to investigate how things lie in the shires." She muses, "Without that knowledge, we shall do little but flounder in the dark. I have seen so little of life that is not sweet and comfortable. You, however, have seen much of it - and I suspect that your intention shall be to improve the lot of the poor, shall it not?"
He nods, "I fear that I have become habituated to the life of ease and privilege, Majesty; consequently, I think that you are right - we must know the state of the country over which you shall rule as Regent."
Anne regards him, "Is that why you did not ensure that the monies generated by the closure of the smaller monastic houses were made available for charitable and educational purposes?"
Cromwell looks ashamed, "I was given little alternative, Majesty. The sheer degree of profligacy that left us obliged to find the funds to meet our debts rendered me unable to use them for anything else. If you wish to create those charitable institutions, and schools, then there must be a commensurate reduction in the expenses of the Court. I cannot release funds that are needed to pay for fans." He looks at her with mildly humorous accusation, and now she turns a fetching shade of red.
"We are not here to discuss such matters yet, Majesty." Cromwell says, in a more businesslike tone, "We must meet with the council this afternoon - and if we do not win them over, then such plans shall falter before they have even fledged."
"Then be seated, Mr Cromwell; let us set to work and ensure that we are ready for them."
"I have the remaining papers you requested, Mr Secretary." Sadleir hands Cromwell a thickly stuffed leather wallet, "I think that Mr Rich was accumulating the remainder."
"Thank you, Ralph." He looks up as Rich approaches, an equally crammed wallet under his arm, "Are you ready?"
"I think so." Rich says, "I have assembled some notes further to your discussions with her Majesty this morning; everything that I can think of in relation to the work we undertook to establish the Succession Act, and the oath in support of it." He looks a little uncomfortable, "I think I would be wise to say as little as possible this afternoon. My reputation shall not aid you, I fear."
Cromwell is relieved at his admission, as his own concerns about how Rich is regarded by the rest of the council have been present from the beginning, but he was has not been sure how to broach the matter. Even though Rich has sworn his loyalty to Queen Anne, and Cromwell knows well that he has always been loyal to the King, even if not to anyone else; nonetheless that dark shadow of perjury and betrayal still hangs over the Solicitor General's head, not to mention the small matter of his abandonment of Norfolk. Rather than provoke his colleague with an outright agreement, he compromises instead, "I do not think we should disregard your contribution completely, Mr Rich; if we are both facing the council, it shall serve you equally poorly if you are not permitted to speak. It would not surprise me if you are obliged to defend yourself from accusations by our fellow councillors."
"Thank you, Mr Secretary." Rich pauses, "Might it be better if we sit apart from one another - or would it be more suitable if we sit together?"
"I think there is little point in pretending that we are not allied with one another - for we were together when her Majesty proclaimed the Queen Elizabeth, were we not? No - her Majesty the Queen Regent has decided that she shall sit at the head of the table, I shall sit at her right, and you at her left - though it shall be emphasised at this time that we are present in an administrative capacity only: Legal advisers, if you will."
He notices a sudden flicker of interest, "Does she intend to appoint us to more prominent Court positions?"
Ah - not everything has changed, then.
"At this time, I cannot say - for she has not. For myself, I am content to serve as I do now - though I would be a liar if I said that I did not hope for advancement should her Majesty be so minded as to elevate me."
As they did when Anne entered to proclaim her daughter, they escort her alongside a pair of red-clad guards with sharp halberds at the ready. Walking a pair of paces in front, Anne is not surprised to find that the former council have gathered - or that Norfolk is quite determinedly standing at the head of the table.
Best to make matters clear from the first.
She stands calmly, and waits for him to move, knowing that he shall not do so willingly. Instead, he attempts as best he can to ignore her presence, while the assembled lords mutter nervously amongst themselves. Well - most of them: her father's expression is most unpleasant, while George regards her with that particularly sulky expression he used to use when he thought she had received preferential treatment to him in the doling out of sweetmeats at the supper table.
If Norfolk intends a stand-off, however, he is sorely mistaken; as Palmer steps forth and batters the butt of his halberd to the floorboards with a loud thud, "Stand aside for Her Majesty the Queen Regent!"
His is a voice that can be heard across wide courtyards, and brooks no disagreement. To his mind, he serves the Crown, and thus the wearer of it - and as Queen Anne has been both anointed and crowned, so he is obliged to guard her: it is God's will, and he has sworn an oath upon it.
Shocked, Norfolk flinches at the volume - and seems minded for a moment to ignore the order, but the presence of guards, and weapons, persuades him otherwise, and he grudgingly steps aside. Even as he does so, all know that he has given ground that he cannot afford to relinquish. It shall be harder now for him to browbeat his niece, as she has publicly humiliated him with a display of her own ascendancy.
"Thank you, your Grace." She smiles winningly as she moves to the head of the table, "Gentlemen, if you could kindly relinquish your chairs for my advisers." Her smile, now iron hard, turns upon her father and brother, who had assumed those high-ranking places either side of the head of the table with the same sense of misplaced entitlement as her uncle.
After Norfolk's capitulation, Wiltshire seems unwilling to risk equal embarrassment by arguing, but he feels it nonetheless, as he is obliged to usher everyone else downwards by two chairs - so that the upstart Cromwell can sit in the seat that he considers to be his, while Norfolk sits between him and the Secretary. Were the situation less tense, Anne would laugh at his sour expression, for he resembles a sulking child. Rochford is little better - and he only has to move down by one seat.
"Our first order of business," she begins, "is to consider, and endorse, the Acts of Parliament supporting the rights of Queen Elizabeth, and the Regency. As you can see, the Acts bear the Great Seal, which is as yet unbroken, and therefore still valid, even if his Majesty is no longer alive. Furthermore, the Acts have been debated and approved by Parliament, as you can see from the sealed document provided by the Speaker, Mr Wingfield."
If Norfolk intends to dispute her claim, he is prevented by the older, and highly respected William Fitzwilliam, Earl of Southampton, who rises to his feet, "Your Majesty, having seen these documents, and the seal upon them, it is clear to me that they are indeed valid - for, as you say, the Great Seal of the late King has not yet been broken, and thus remains a valid expression of Royal will until such time as it is indeed destroyed. Furthermore, the presence of this written endorsement by Parliament adds additional legitimacy to these documents. That her Majesty is Queen is not in doubt - for that was his late Majesty's will and set out in law. As an anointed and crowned Queen, I see no lawful or valid reason to deny your Majesty the Regency - supported, of course, by a suitably populated Council of learned men to advise you."
Anne looks at the older man, pleasantly surprised by his words. She can see from the look upon Cromwell's face that he is equally surprised, and has not spoken to Southampton beforehand. Surely it cannot be so easy as this?
Then Bishop Tunstall rises, and she knows that it shall not be.
"Gentlemen, I find it strange that we are even considering placing the rule of our Kingdom into the hands of a child, and a woman. No woman has ever ruled England - and I fear that it is a burden to which the fairer sex is unsuited. Surely it is better to appoint a Lord Protector, for the work of ruling a Kingdom belongs to men. The accession of a girl to the Throne is, as has already been said, set out in law - but nonetheless, a woman cannot rule this kingdom - a Protector must be appointed, while the Queen marries, and bears a son to rule in her stead."
And so the argument moves back and forth, like a slow, grumbling game of tennis that was once such a great pastime of her late husband. The strength of the laws they have prepared are not in doubt - all rests entirely upon the presumption that a woman cannot rule over men. It is an abomination against nature, it is against the will of God…and another ten stupid reasons that seem to rest solely upon one assumption: that only men can bear the weight of authority, and none shall submit to a woman.
To their credit, both Cromwell and Rich argue the point that there is no law in England that claims such a thing. There is no Salic law, and thus a woman is not barred from the throne - but still there is that one same stumbling block. Anne is female, and so is Elizabeth. She is naught but a mere woman.
"I am no 'mere' woman." She says, suddenly, stopping the argument in its tracks, "I am more than a 'mere' woman: for I have been anointed, and his late Majesty set St Edward's Crown upon my head with his own hands. That, Gentlemen, that, proves my fitness to rule. I do not answer to men. I answer to God, as his anointed servant and Queen. There is no requirement for a Lord Protector, and thus there shall be none. The law states that I shall act as Regent to her Majesty the Queen until she is of age, and then she shall rule as her father's heir. There is no other law that can gainsay that - and you all know it. Furthermore, it is against nature that any who is not anointed and crowned rule England without good reason for twenty years or more. Those who have tried have always found themselves at the mercy of others who seek to overthrow them - and thus send their kingdoms into the bloody mire of civil war. I will not have it. I will not, Sirs! Either you are with me, or you are against me. If you are against me, then there is no place for you at my Council table. Make your choice."
Cromwell stares at her in astonishment. If they did not believe her capable of rule, then that must surely serve as a warning that they are wrong. It would never have occurred to him to advise her to be so blunt - or to assert her royal privilege and authority so strongly; but she is right. The men of the council are no longer arguing over the validity of the acts, and seem to have accepted them. It all hinges upon the presumption that England cannot be ruled by a woman - and he has not failed to notice Norfolk's argument that a Lord Protector shall rule England until a male heir is born, regardless Elizabeth's coming of age. From the expressions upon the faces of Cranmer, Sussex and Southampton, that suggestion alone has driven them from his camp. None of them have any wish to see Thomas Howard rule England until a child is old enough to bear a child of her own - and that child is grown to maturity. Twenty years? More? How long would it be until a rival attempted to unseat him? And then what?
Her eyes hard as diamonds, Anne watches as the men before her take in her words. Even as she does so, she can see that her demand has hit home. Those who were uncertain are less so now, while those who seemed likely to support her, appear quite determined to do so now. Only Norfolk and those who argued in his favour look sour - but they are fewer in number. She has them. She has won.
Rising to his feet, Cromwell addresses them, "I ask the Council to agree to the confirmation of her Majesty the Dowager Queen Anne as Regent of England until her Majesty Queen Elizabeth's coming of age. In place of a Lord Protector, and guided by her Council and her Parliament. All those in favour, say 'aye'."
Wiltshire sits beside the window and scowls, while Rochford stamps back and forth in front of the fireplace, "Damn them! Has she bewitched them all?"
"Don't be such a fool." Norfolk snaps, seated at the table, glaring at the younger Boleyn, "She has promised much - and they have taken her at her word. It shall not be long before she discovers that she needs a firm hand at the head of the table. She shall be utterly unable to control the Council, for she is naught but a woman - and no woman can stand ahead of a man. It is against nature, and thus she shall fail."
"With that vile rook Cromwell whispering conspiracies in her ear?" Rochford demands.
"I presume that was your intention, Boleyn?"
The two men glare at one another.
"He is also an abomination against the natural order of England." Wiltshire says, disgustedly, "A base-born commoner holding the power behind the throne? No - that must not be. If we are to prevail, he must be destroyed."
"While your daughter controls the Council?" Norfolk demands, "No, we must be patient, and careful. Once it becomes clear that she is unable to deliver upon her promises, they shall look to us to resolve the chaos that shall ensue. Besides, there are other heirs to whom we can turn."
"You would look to the Lady Mary?" Wiltshire asks, "A bastard Catholic?" He seems utterly indifferent to the suggestion that they would overthrow and destroy his own daughter - and granddaughter for that matter. No, it is the fact that Mary is of the old faith, and not the new. But then, if she were to claim the crown, subservience to the Pope would follow, not to mention the confiscation of religious houses from their new, secular owners. Rochford would certainly not like that.
"I would look to the devil himself if it removed that blasted woman." Norfolk growls, "The Protectorship is mine, and I do not want to be obliged to clear up the damage left from her failure to rule England. If I cannot do so, then at least I can remain upon the Council, and ensure that neither she nor her two low-born advisers destroy our late Majesty's legacy."
"And thus endure the humiliation of capitulating to her ultimatum." Rochford finishes, sulkily.
Elizabeth is out in the privy garden, playing with her mother's two spaniels under the watchful eye of Lady Bryan and a group of Anne's ladies, while sunlight streams into the privy chamber, warming Anne's hands as she writes at a small desk.
She has Cranmer, Sussex, Southampton, Gage, Petre, Russell, Baker, Browne and Sandys, while Audley and Wingfield have accepted the inevitable. Suffolk has said nothing, but has also not demurred, so only her uncle, father, brother and Bishop Tunstall are truly against her. They, too, have voted to accept her - but she is not blind to the reality that they have done so purely to remain there.
No matter - as long as they are the only ones who are against her, then she is safe for the moment. Not that she is fool enough to believe that she has beaten them; no, they shall doubtless already be looking to plot against her. Norfolk is too convinced that her female state prevents her from being capable of ruling.
"Majesty," Matthew is at the door again, "Mr Cromwell, his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury and Mr Rich are without. They seek an audience with you."
Anne looks up from her list of names, "Thank you Matthew, show them in."
She rises and crosses to the larger meeting table as they enter. They are here to discuss the two most urgent matters facing her since the Council accepted her Regency: her daughter's coronation and, rather more pressing, her late husband's burial.
The funeral shall, of course, be heraldic, and sober - a procession entirely clad in black. The fabric must be paid for, the Pall embroidered, the canopy constructed, every black horse in the stables must be identified for size and temperament…and, God above, the effigy must be made…so much to organise…
The three bow before her, "Majesty," Cranmer says, for the three of them.
"Thank you for coming." She indicates three chairs set to her right, "While I should very much like to commence discussions for Elizabeth's coronation, I think the funeral of my poor late husband must take precedence, as his current state is most unbecoming to his dignity."
Cromwell nods, "Forgive me, Majesty. I was obliged to visit the cellar where his remains have been kept, and it is, to be frank, all but impossible to approach even the door. Thus I have commissioned a lead-lined coffin, which shall be ready by the end of the week."
She nods, "Thank you - did his Majesty leave instructions for his funeral?" She does not like to admit that he would not have mentioned it to her under any circumstances.
"Yes, Majesty." Rich says, burrowing into his papers, "I have his most recent Will here - dictated shortly after your marriage. No later draft has been found, so I consider this - in my legal opinion - to be valid. He decreed that his remains be interred in the Chapel of St George at Windsor. He has also left instructions as to the construction of a table tomb to stand over his final resting place."
"Then we shall abide by his requests as far as is possible, Mr Rich." Anne confirms, "Your Grace, I should be grateful if you could arrange for a service of remembrance and thanksgiving for the life of the King at the end of the week, while arrangements are being made for the procession and interment."
"I shall see to it, Majesty." Cranmer says, though it is clear to the three men at the table that she has not said 'mass'.
"I have calculated the approximate costs of black fabrics for the mourning cloaks and hoods, based upon the numbers of attendees at each expected rank," Rich continues, "As well as velvet for the bier, catafalque and horses. The pall was commissioned some years ago at the same time that the will was drafted, so it is largely completed. His late Majesty's canopy of estate shall serve as his canopy. Given the state of the remains, I fear that it shall not be possible to carve his Majesty's effigy from life, so Mr Holbein's sketches and paintings shall be provided to the artisans who shall cast and carve it." He looks up at her, "Once we have determined who shall be participating in the procession, I shall be able to provide you with a more accurate estimate of the cost."
Anne looks grateful - she can make a decision more quickly now that she has suitable information to base it upon, "Thank you, Mr Rich. I think it best, then, that we consider who shall be required to dress in mourning and walk in the procession."
Cromwell smiles, "That shall be a challenge in and of itself."
"Indeed." She agrees, rather wryly, "So many men who shall think themselves indispensable to the event, when in fact they are not."
"In addition," Cranmer adds, "There is the matter of whether there are too many, or too few. Too few, and it shall appear that we are showing disrespect to our King - too many, and we shall be accused of making a great show of false grief."
"That is ridiculous!" Anne scoffs, "The people of England love their King, and would demand that he be treated with such reverence!"
"Perhaps, Majesty." Cromwell says, carefully, "But, alas, they do not extend that love to you - for they do not appreciate the legitimacy of your marriage, or the illegality of that of the Dowager Princess of Wales."
She stares at him, shocked, "No - that cannot be so, his Majesty assured me that I was loved by our subjects! Katherine was not his true wife - all loyal Englishmen accepted it!"
He regards her, a little sadly. Perhaps she has convinced herself that it is so - for she has rarely travelled far outside the Palace, and never without the King at her side. There was, admittedly, that unpleasant incident when she was accosted by a group of women enraged by her presumption, and was obliged to flee to a barge to escape them; but that had happened before the marriage, so it would not have been difficult to convince herself that the solemnisation of their relationship had eradicated such anger.
To most people, she is a vile concubine, a wanton wench who ousted a Queen to steal her crown. Certainly the King would have insisted that she had the love of the people - at least in the early days of their marriage. God above, he has no wish to tell her that people in the streets and the shires refer to her as 'the paike' - and all that differentiates her from the common trulls who ply the brothels is her elevated state. They know nothing of her spotless reputation in France - only that the King removed the true Queen to make room for her, and that she must have captured him with carnal wiles. He cannot find it in himself to blame her - it is far easier to close one's eyes to opprobrium than to recognise it.
Anne's anger slowly diminishes as she notices his gaze, and she looks dismayed, "Henry lied to me?"
"Forgive me, Majesty. I think he did not specifically lie to you - it was more that he expected them to love you because he loved you, and convinced himself that they did."
"So I must win over more than a mere Council. I must win over a nation."
"Yes, Majesty."
Damn you, Henry, she thinks to herself in a sudden flash of temper. How could he do this? Did he truly believe that, because he wanted something to be so, it automatically was so? Perhaps he did - but always, all that mattered to him was his will - if he wanted it, he expected to receive it, and God help anyone who failed to provide. But what of her belief? How could she have allowed herself to be so wilfully blind? But then - she had truly believed that he would always love her...
That shall not be the case any longer - no, she must look further than the extent of her own comfort and demands. If she must win the love of the people, then she shall find a way to do it.
But first - she has a funeral to organise.