A/N: And it's Friday again - where does the week go? Thanks for the reviews - much appreciated as always! I have no doubt that misogyny was very thoroughly entrenched in those days - everyone kind of was expected to know their place, be it gender or class; we took a long time to dig our way out of the feudal system.
Now that Henry is buried, it's time to look to the future - and to get a crown on Elizabeth's head...
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Vivat Regina
The sun is warm as late spring moves on into early summer, and Mary is walking in the gardens of her personal residence, surrounded by her women, while her small skewbald spaniel, Pax, runs on ahead.
The news from London is disheartening in the extreme. While she has been permitted to select the women who attend her personally, the rest of the Household has been appointed by the Concubine's favourites, and thus she has no means to smuggle communications out of the house. Consequently, she is reliant upon rumour to tell her of what is happening, and she cannot ask any to intervene upon her behalf.
She cannot find it in her heart to despise the child Elizabeth - that has never been something that she has been able to do - but even so it galls her to the very core of her soul to know that the babe shall be carried to her coronation in a mere three days' time, where she shall be anointed and crowned, and there shall be an end to it. Worse, the Concubine shall be declared - and crowned - Regent of England, and then the throne that is rightfully hers shall be taken away, with no prospect of her being able to take it back.
Suffolk has not replied to her letter, and she wonders if he ever received it. What if he did - but ignored it? Has he, too, fallen for the wiles of the woman who shattered her life? Oh, Holy Father - please let that not be so. How much more misfortune must she be obliged to endure? Orphaned…banished from Court…robbed of her rightful inheritance…
God - such self-pity! What has happened to her pride? Angry with herself for her childish complaining, she draws herself up and quickens her pace. It is too late to avoid the coronation of her half-sister - but if that woman has shunned the requirement to appoint a Protector, then more fool her. Perhaps it shall be possible to reclaim her throne before England is destroyed by such misrule. With the assistance of a suitable Protector to advise her, she shall ensure that any damage is reversed.
Her attention is caught by the presence of a stranger at the far end of the garden, near the house, and she stops, "Mistress Clarencieux, is that man familiar to the household?"
Her favourite Lady, and close friend, Susan Clarencieux watches over the staff of the household with a close eye, and she shakes her head, "I do not know him, my Lady."
"Then we shall approach him together." Mary says, linking arms with her friend. The man has the air of a courtier - but not an established or experienced one. If he has been at court, it was only for a short time.
As they approach him, he bows deeply, "Forgive my intrusion, my Lady. I bring news from your friends at Court."
"I have friends?" Mary asks, though her tone is sardonic. If she ever had friends there, she has them no longer.
"This is my token." The man holds out a small brooch with a signet upon it in enamel, and she recognises the crowned lion rampant or on a field of gules and argent: Suffolk.
"And you are?" she asks, slightly less suspicious now.
"I am Edward Seymour of Wulfhall, son of Sir John Seymour." He says, gravely, "I am sent by his Grace to advise you of his loyalty to your cause, and hopes that the rightful rule of England can be restored to the true daughter of his late Majesty."
Mary's eyes narrow. Is this a trap? Does the Concubine look to create a case of treason against her? "Do not ask me to conspire, Mr Seymour."
"I ask nothing of the sort, I assure you. Even those who once supported your late Mother have abandoned her legacy in hopes of preferment, but his Grace of Suffolk remains your friend, and shall work to promote your interests at Court, so that you are not forgotten. When it becomes clear to all that Madame Boleyn has failed to deliver upon her promises as utterly as she failed to deliver a son, then England shall look to you - and we shall escort you to your Palace, and your throne."
She smiles then, "I shall await that with my prayers and most fervent hopes, Sir. You have my assurance that, when I come into my inheritance, I shall not forget those who were my friends when all others were not."
"The Council have dispatched me to escort my sister to serve in your Household." Seymour continues, "I have returned to court in the retinue of the Duke. Therefore we are trusted by those who rule, and none shall comment upon our presence, nor our communications with this house."
Mary fights with herself not to exult in her sudden change of fortunes; in a single instant, she has a friend upon the Council, and a means to communicate with him.
Perhaps, then, she shall be able to reclaim her mother's stolen rights, and she shall rule England after all.
Anne is achingly tired after a long, long day of meetings and plans for Elizabeth's coronation. Despite his furious reaction to his appointment, Norfolk's pride refuses to permit him to ruin the occasion, and thus he has ensured that the day shall be a great celebration of England's new Queen.
Mr Cromwell has organised the creation of a fine gold circlet for her daughter to wear once the crown of St Edward has been set over her head by Mr Cranmer, while her late husband's canopy of estate has been repurposed and set with the Arms that have been granted to Elizabeth as Queen. While the escutcheon shall contain the Arms of England, the supporters shall be a lion to dexter, and a dragon to sinister, to reflect her mother's former Marquessate of Pembroke. A new canopy has been commissioned, but the urgency of the need to crown Elizabeth has dictated their actions, and so they make do with what they have.
"Majesty, Mr Cromwell is without." Lady Rochford is the only companion currently present, the others are engaged in the inventory of her linens, as they are to move to Whitehall in two days' time, before Elizabeth takes up temporary residence in the Tower - as her mother did before her coronation.
"Thank you, Jane. Show him in."
She is setting up the chessboard as he enters, and he looks pleased, "Ah, more chess, Majesty?"
"Of course. I enjoy attempting to strategise while I have my mind upon other matters."
"All is set for the Coronation procession." He advises, as she holds out her hands for him to choose a piece and determine the colour he shall play. Black again. So she shall make the first move, "I am given to understand that the populace is showing rather more enthusiasm for her than expected; for much work has been expended in the churches to promote her as God's chosen Queen through homilies and teachings of the scriptures."
Anne remembers the reaction to her own coronation - which was hardly ecstatic - and is relieved that the risk has been anticipated and efforts made to counter them. Elizabeth is intelligent, but she is also very young, so she shall notice any antipathy, and wonder why it is directed at her. It seems, however, that her fears shall not be realised.
"We are presenting her Majesty as the daughter of King Henry first and foremost, Majesty. Consequently, she is looked upon with love as his child, and it is my hope that that glory shall reflect upon you."
She smiles, "Being frank with your advice, I see. And what of Mary?"
"As I expected, Edward Seymour arrived at Hunsdon yesterday, with his sister in tow. Neither they nor his Grace of Suffolk are aware of that knowledge - but it is my intention to leave their activities uninterrupted for the time being as it is highly likely that they intend to wait for some expected failure upon your part before they act. One of Miss Seymour's women is for us, and thus she has offered herself as a courier to transport their communications, as her mother is within the Countess of Suffolk's retinue. Should the status quo be disturbed at a later time, we shall know of it, and be prepared."
"So Mary intends to conspire against me." Anne says, her expression unnervingly vicious in the face of a threat to her daughter.
Cromwell shakes his head as he moves his bishop, "I think not, Majesty. Not at this time. We have no grounds to arrest her, and I think it better to ensure that she is aware of the love in which Elizabeth is held, thereby giving her cause to doubt that England shall rise in her favour. There is no danger of failure in your rule, Majesty - for I do not think you to be the weak woman that others see you to be. Consequently, Mary shall only be a threat to you if others give her cause to be."
"Such as Suffolk." Anne reaches for a knight, then changes her mind and pulls her hand back again, "He has never been for me - and I have my suspicions that he turned Henry against me."
"Suspicions are not evidence, Majesty."
"I know." She sighs, finally reaching for the knight and moving it, "And I am equally aware that his Grace of Suffolk is too self-interested to risk his neck in such fashion. He was undoubtedly loyal to my husband, and perhaps he believes that his approaches to Mary are for the good of the Kingdom. But then, he presumably thought that marrying his ward to keep her lands for himself would be good for his coffers."
Cromwell peruses the board, "I am still of the view that Norfolk and his cohorts are the most immediate threat, for they have a fully formed faction present at the council table, and they shall be most able to act quickly if they spy an opportunity to move against us. While it is clear that Suffolk and the Seymours have Mary's ear, they cannot respond with the same degree of rapidity. It shall be more likely that Norfolk shall move to oust us, and step forth as Protector for Elizabeth. That shall be a far easier prospect than courting Mary if another Faction has already done so."
"Unless she sees the opportunity to remove Elizabeth and rule in her place."
"I think that equally unlikely, Majesty. She shall need the aid of the council to do that - which she lacks at this time."
"I do not." She says, rather more firmly.
"Believe me, Majesty, I do not discount it - for the threat is present; but Mary has no legal basis upon which to stake her claim, as she has been declared the bastard offspring of an invalid marriage." He pauses, "Check."
Startled, Anne looks down and sees that her King is under threat - though there is a means of escaping Cromwell's encroaching chessmen. She knows from personal experience that she has no real hope of winning Mary's regard, much less her respect. As for love? Mary would burn in hell before she offered such a thing. Therefore, she must instead keep the young woman at arm's length, and hope that her compliance can be purchased through a generous pension. And that is a thin hope at best.
Spotting an opening, she takes one of Cromwell's knights with a pawn she can afford to sacrifice. If only it could be like this more often - simple games of chess with a trusted companion for whom she bears only friendship. Love proved to be a complicated, troublesome business - and the grief that it has caused her is a heavy burden to carry. Thomas Cromwell holds no interest to her of a carnal nature, but she finds his company refreshing for its lack of refinement. Oh, he can politic with the best of them, and his manners are always excellent when moving amongst the courtiers, but when he is not, there is an edge of roughness about him that stems from his low-born roots and the journey he has travelled to reach this place; a sense of having truly lived.
"What is it like, out there?" she asks, suddenly.
"Out where, Majesty?"
"In the world - outside these safe, protected walls." Anne clarifies, "I have known only wealth and comfort for the entirety of my life - the greatest hardships were spent taking ship from Calais back to England, for that was a roughness to which I was not accustomed. What is it like to not have such privileges?"
Cromwell eyes her, intrigued at her sudden interest in the wider world, "It is hard, Majesty. Life for most can be dirt-ridden, brutal and often short. I was fortunate in that my family could afford an education for me, but nonetheless I departed England at a tender age and sought my fortune upon the continent. I fought in wars, was taught commerce by the Patriarch of a Florentine Banking family, learned various languages and moved amongst merchants and thieves. At times I had almost nothing - indeed when I came to Florence, I was in little more than rags and my shoes were all but falling apart. I have known hunger, and poverty - but I have seen far worse misery than mine."
"And is that so in England?"
He nods, "For those who have much, there is plenty - but men are only willing to give to others if they fear their souls to be in peril. There are few who are truly and openly generous to those of lesser fortune than themselves. I have done what I can to bring succour to those of lesser state through the Law, but without the agreement of the Council, my abilities to do so have been limited. The ease with which one can fall from wealth into penury would shock you. Even one as wealthy as Norfolk could lose every penny from his coffers, and every acre of his land if he were to be attainted - and thus his family would also be left with nothing. For those of lesser means, the illness of the man of the household is sufficient to cast them all into starvation."
They have stopped playing, the pieces ignored upon the board as Anne takes in the realities of life for her subjects. Jesu - she has been sheltered, so utterly sheltered. Those poor beggars whose feet she washed upon Maundy Thursday, and to whom she granted alms - they were but a few, chosen to come to her for the sake of ceremony: how could she have been so blind?
Because she was content to be. Safely cosseted in her warm chambers, a carpet upon which to walk, fine leather shoes enclosing her dainty feet. Meals of such proportions that the waste of victuals was shocking - even though it was intended for show, and the leftovers handed out to the poor - now, it seems a scandal.
"When Elizabeth is crowned, Mr Cromwell, you and I shall begin our true work. There is much that is wrong in England. Let us make it right." She pauses, and moves a rook, "Checkmate."
The rooms have been hastily redecorated in the years since her own tenure here. There is no carpet, so instead sheepskins have been scattered across the wooden floors, while tapestries have hastily been extracted from the stores in the nearby Wardrobe Tower and hung across those parts of the walls where there is no wainscoting, and the plaster is cracked - and a little looser than most would like.
Elizabeth is leaning out of a window, looking out at the cobbled lane below that stretches the length of the Palace wing, leading from one of the outer gates up to the great Conqueror's Keep, invisible behind the building in which they are residing. These rooms, designated 'The Queen's House' after her residence prior to her coronation, stretch the length of the wing upon the first floor, from the great Wardrobe Tower to the north, to the Lanthorn to the south. Beyond the path is a stretch of lawn that spreads to the curtain wall, where a pair of magpies squabble over some matter or other.
Anne thinks back to those days when she occupied these rooms in just the same circumstances - a Queen awaiting her crown, and only a day from receiving it. It had not occurred to her, when she departed the Tower in a golden litter, her husband at her side, that she would be regarded with so little love by the people. Indeed, even though there was little expression of delight or joy as she passed, and few seemed to return her gentle waves from her seat, she had persuaded herself that it was merely that they were tired - that they were burdened by the weight of their working lives. Any reason other than that they despised her for supplanting their beloved Queen Katherine. Could they not see that her time was done? That she was not favoured by God? She was a widow who married her late husband's brother - in defiance of God's holy law, no matter how many dispensations were granted to make it happen. And thus there was no son from their union.
Perhaps some might say the same for her - as she only has Elizabeth; but there was always the chance for more babes from her womb, for she was younger than the dried up old mare Katherine. It was a cruel accident that robbed her of that opportunity - but also one that brought Elizabeth a crown.
Being forced to accept that her pretences were exactly that has been a harsh lesson, but she knows that all lessons have a purpose, and thus she must uncover that purpose to learn from it. Elizabeth is not the son that England desires, but she is instead a sun - a glowing hope crowned with the red and gold locks of her line, and her youth shall grant her many years to bring England from its old ways into a golden age.
There are few of her women present, but Margery Horsman and Jane Rochford have made the journey, granted the honour of escorting her. The rest of the ladies have been assigned to carry Elizabeth's enormous train, while two younger girls, Jane Radcliffe and Jane Fitzwilliam, shall walk ahead of her as flower bearers. Lady Bryan is, of course, overseeing the preparation of Elizabeth's magnificent coronation gown. It is the garment in which she shall be conveyed to the Abbey Church at Westminster, but then she shall be undressed to her shift to be anointed, before another gown of equal magnificence is set upon her, and she is lifted into the great Coronation Chair to be crowned.
The work of the seamstresses has been astonishing: twenty five women working in shifts for five straight days to produce the exquisite gowns that are not merely rich with cloth of gold, slashes of ivory and covered with lover's knots and seed pearls, but also perfectly stitched and constructed. The kirtles for each of the gowns were assembled from those that she herself wore at her own coronation, as they were thickly embroidered with colourful crewel work, and match the golden overgowns to perfection. Admittedly they have been constructed from some of Anne's own gowns, for there is no time to assemble one from scratch - but they are nonetheless of the finest fabrics, and more than appropriate for a Queen awaiting her crown.
She turns again to watch as Elizabeth laughs at the magpies, her own throat thick with unshed tears. God have mercy - she is so young…too young to carry such a burden as this. Her father is dead - and her mother is surrounded by enemies who do not wish to allow her to rule without their interference. Unless she can hold the Regency, then her daughter shall lose her future - and possibly even her life. Taken unexpectedly ill…such an easy thing to happen even to a child of wealth…
"Where is Mr Cromwell, Mama?" Elizabeth may be small, but she has already learned the identities of those who are of most importance to her reign.
"He is at his own house, my precious." Anne swallows down her tears and forces herself to smile, "He lives barely a mile from this very fortress. There is no requirement for him to be with us this evening."
"Shall he be in the procession?"
"Most assuredly, Elizabeth. He shall be your Lord High Treasurer, so he shall be foremost amongst your Council, and shall ride before your litter. You shall have four great lords to carry your canopy of estate, and all of your Guards shall escort you to the Church."
She knows all of this, of course, but it delights her to talk of it, and she has done little else for the last two days. But Anne is not blind to her daughter's moods, and she knows that at least some of Elizabeth's chatter is driven by fear. She is not yet three years of age - but nonetheless she has a fair understanding of what lies ahead, and that it shall constrain her for the rest of her natural life.
She holds out her arms to her child, who runs to her; and abandons her excitement, "Mama, I am frightened." Her voice is no longer bright, nor excited, and Anne sees the tears beginning to fall.
"I know, my dearest darling. I am, too. But we have each other, do we not?"
"Yes Mama." Elizabeth hugs into her gown tightly.
"I promise you that I shall give my all to protect you, Elizabeth. I shall be with you, and I shall teach you all that you need to learn to be a Queen. For you shall be a magnificent Queen: you are my daughter, and your father's daughter too. And - most importantly of all - you are my darling girl, and I love you. More than all the fish in the sea, and all the shells on the beach, and all the birds in the forest."
The child giggles through her tears, "I love you too, Mama."
"I know you do. Now, to bed with you, my precious Elizabeth. Tomorrow shall be long, long day."
Cromwell sits astride his calmest horse, a bright chestnut jennet who is not likely to be startled by the crowds: he has quite enough to think about without being obliged to control a nervous beast. Today, he has no task other than to ride in the procession, and to escort the Queen into the Church - and it is only thanks to his presence upon the Council that he is permitted to sit in the Quire to watch the coronation, as he has no noble rank. Beside him, Rich soothes his bay gelding with a gauntleted hand, and they watch as Norfolk rides back and forth, ensuring that all is prepared before they move off. As Earl Marshal, it is his responsibility to do so, but his intention is greater than that - he wishes for no mishaps that shall make him look incompetent.
Elizabeth's journey shall be undertaken seated upon a litter carried by four strong guards, while the lords of Suffolk, Sussex, Southampton and Arundel shall carry the canopy of estate over her. Anne shall ride immediately behind upon a white palfrey, while ranks of Gentlemen and Ushers shall follow on foot. To the fore, the men of the council - accompanied by ambassadors from England's allies upon the Continent of Europe - ride two abreast.
The journey they shall take shall travel through Eastcheap, past the great Cathedral of St Paul, down Ludgate Hill and Fleet Street to the Strand. At a walking pace, it would take but an hour - but they shall pause several times on the way for the Queen to view a sequence of allegorical tableaux that shall demonstrate that she is the daughter of the King, though her maternal line shall be carefully glossed over, partly for fear of how the crowd shall view her mother, but equally thanks to Norfolk's personal antipathy towards Queen Anne.
As he rides, Cromwell is relieved at the size of the crowds who have come out to see their new Queen. She is young, pretty, and wears her beautiful red-gold hair long and loose - and she has been magnificently calm throughout, which can only serve to show her in a good light. It has been a particular worry of his that she might be ignored - hence his careful instructions that the priests speak of her in glowing terms as God's chosen. It seems that the people of London have been convinced, for they have emerged from their homes to see her.
Better still, he can hear cheers, and shouts of encouragement,
"God save your Majesty!"
"God's blessings on King Harry's babe!"
There is no mention of Anne, fortunately, for that is hardly likely to be so welcoming. Instead, people look to their tiny Queen, and call out blessings to her.
"This is most excellent, is it not, Mr Cromwell?" He cannot remember the name of the man beside him - a new Ambassador only just arrived from Genoa who has had little opportunity to do much more than present his credentials.
"It is, Excellency." He agrees, "Her Majesty the Queen is young, and shall offer England many years of diligent service. It is our intention to prepare her to rule, and thus she shall be taught governance, foreign relations, common law and all that shall aid her in leading England away from the disasters of internecine war."
"That is a heavy burden for a child - and she is but a girl, is she not?"
Cromwell smiles, "She is the daughter of a King: a great king. She shall be guided by men of skill and talent, and supported by her Parliament. While the burden of rule shall indeed be hers to carry, she shall not be obliged to do so entirely alone."
The procession pauses again as Elizabeth watches another of the tableaux upon the route, and he looks up at the sky, where there are few clouds to interrupt the deep blue. Yes - God is smiling upon them; for even the weather is magnificent.
They pause at Whitehall Palace, where the horses are returned to the stables, and those who are entitled to wear ermine don their robes. As Cromwell has no noble rank, he is not obliged to do so, and instead rejoins Rich, who is relieved to have abandoned his Ambassadorial partner, "God have mercy, he was dull. Dull as ditchwater. When he spoke at all, it was merely to point out the painfully obvious. 'Look, zat horse is brown'. 'Look, zat is a wery big dog.' Had it not been likely to cause a diplomatic incident, I swear I would have run him through with my ornamental poniard in order to silence him."
Cromwell smiles, amused. In deference to their high offices of State, Norfolk has not been able to insult them by seating them in an inferior position, so they shall have an excellent view of proceedings. While they shall certainly look most out of place for their lack of robes, they are permitted to ignore the Sumptuary Laws that dictate the degree of fineness of their garments thanks to their Offices of State. Consequently, Cromwell is in a fine velvet doublet in a rich dark blue, over which is set a simarre in black taffeta, while Rich has opted for violet, slashed with sober silver-grey satin, and a black simarre trimmed with white fur. Each wears a chain of office, but carry no coronet, as neither is entitled to wear one.
Rich continues to complain cheerfully about his boring companion as they make their way downstairs. He is safe to imitate the man's thick accent, as the owner of it shall already be in the great Abbey Church of Westminster, seated in the nave with the other less privileged guests. Only those who shall pass through into the Quire and Crossing remain at the Palace, from whence they shall process on foot, leading their new Queen to be crowned. His impression is highly amusing as he has abandoned actual comments and is suggesting ever more ridiculous items that his companion observed, and Cromwell struggles to suppress laughter as they emerge into the Deal Yard where the procession is gathering to continue on its way.
Once inside the great Church, they are seated upon benches in the Quire, while little Elizabeth is escorted away to the Chapter House, where she is to be anointed by Cranmer in the presence of her mother. Anne herself is resplendent in Royal red, a gold and black French hood crusted with pearls enclosing her elaborately braided and styled hair, and she follows her daughter slowly, as Elizabeth's legs are too short to enable her to stride easily in her heavy, golden gown.
The only man awaiting her in the Chapter house is Cranmer, who is equally magnificent in an ivory silk cope thickly embroidered with gold thread, and decorated with appliqué in gold tinsel. The remaining people in the great space are the Elizabeth's women, who shall assist the Queen as she disrobes to her shift to allow the Archbishop to paint crosses in holy oil upon her forehead, upon her hands, and over her heart.
As Cranmer pours the oil from a blue-glass Ampulla into the ancient oil spoon, Anne feels a sense of pride, mixed with sadness, as her tiny daughter accepts the strange rituals without fear or complaint, before she is dressed again in another restrictive garment of heavy gold fabric and thread, though her head is left bare of adornment in readiness for her crown. She is far too small to wear the supertunica that was worn by her father, so they have eschewed that element of her regalia.
Lady Bryan and the two young Janes escort her into the Crossing, where a set of upholstered steps have been set before the enormous Coronation chair so that Elizabeth can seat herself unassisted. Her hands being far too small to support the Orb and Sceptres, they shall be given to her while she makes the promises that they signify, before being held beside her by her companions; Jane Fitzwilliam holding the Orb, and Jane Radcliffe the Sceptre.
Anne is seated in a grand chair upholstered in red-velvet with gold trim, and watches with pride as her child vows to serve her nation and rule according to God's will. They have truncated the ancient ceremony considerably, at her insistence, but the vital elements remain.
Cranmer's homily - which he has insisted upon delivering - is also short, and Anne realises why he is so intent upon it, for it is the tale of the boy King Josiah of Judah, who came to the throne a child, but restored the rightful worship of God in the face of idolatry. He is not only marking Elizabeth's right to rule, but also ensuring that her right to be the head of the Church of England is established despite her sex. After all, no woman may be a priest, so, for a woman to be set ahead of all the male priests and bishops of England verges upon the scandalous.
As the Archbishop lifts the great Crown of St Edward from the High Altar, Anne leans forward slightly, her hands gripping the arms of the chair very tightly. Across the crossing, in the seating of the Quire, she can see Cromwell watching with that benign calmness that is the very hallmark of his famed inscrutability, while Rich is craning his neck rather, as he shall not be able to see over the head of the peer in front once he dons his coronet. They have done all that they can to get to this moment - and, no matter what follows, once this is done, the opportunities to unseat her shall diminish considerably.
Cranmer approaches the chair, where Elizabeth is still sitting stock still, her little back ramrod stiff. Slowly, and with great ceremony, he raises the enormous crown high, before setting it down so that the ermine-girded base encircles her head - where he holds it for a few moments as the peers don their coronets, before exchanging it for the imperial crown, and finally setting the tiny delicate circlet of gold and pearls upon her head.
This done, Cranmer turns to Anne. This is, of course, a part of the ceremony for which there is no precedent, as there has never been a Queen Regnant in England before, and certainly not one so young. That there is a Regent that is also female has never been seen - and Cromwell was quite determined to include a second crowning in the ceremony to ensure that everyone is left in no doubt that Anne shall not retire quietly and leave her child in the hands of men.
"I, Anne the Queen, do most solemnly and truly swear that I shall protect the Realms of England, France and Ireland, and I shall uphold the laws of the Kingdoms there stated, as Regent in the stead of Queen Elizabeth in her years of minority. Also, I swear that I shall, upon the coming of age of said Queen Elizabeth, Queen of England, France and Ireland, defender of the faith and in the earth supreme head of the Church of England and Ireland, grant back to her the crown thereof, so help me God."
From his seat, Cromwell looks across at Norfolk, who has seated himself alongside Wiltshire. The faces of both men are stony and cold, as they watch their hopes of power faltering and dying in the face of the Queen's vow. It is very hard not to smirk.
In response to her vow, Cranmer fetches the formal Crown that was made for Anne after her coronation, and sets it upon her head.
It is done. Queen, and Queen Regent.
The new Queen Elizabeth sleeps peacefully in her bed at Whitehall, safe from the hideous boredom of being obliged to accept the fealty of her Lords. Her mother has instead taken on that burden, sitting for three hours while a succession of lords and gentlemen have stood in a long line, waiting to approach and kiss her hand.
How Norfolk hated that, Anne smiles to herself, enjoying his look of discomfiture as he was obliged to bow before her and kiss her hand. She has abandoned her heavy red robes, exchanging them for a soft, loose gown of crimson damask, her sore feet now in sheepskin slippers, and she sips at a glass of sweet wine, a plate of cherry comfits at her elbow.
"What is to be done now, Majesty?" Jane Rochford asks, emerging from the great closet where the gown has been re-hung, "If you would like I can play for you?" she looks at the virginals against the wall.
"I should like that, Jane; but I think that I require silence for a time. Today was rather riven with noise and trumpets. Tomorrow, perhaps? I have been given a set of interesting ballads for two voices, and I should like to try them."
"With pleasure, Majesty." Jane smiles, then turns as Matthew enters.
"Majesty, Mr Cromwell is without, with Mr Rich."
"Thank you Matthew, show them in. Jane, could you stay, please? I think I am somewhat underdressed to receive visitors, so a chaperone shall be required."
Both men have also changed, though in their cases, it is back into their more habitual garments. Each bows as Lady Rochford fetches chairs, and dispatches Matthew to bring more glasses.
"A long day, Gentlemen," Anne says, seating herself so that they can do likewise, "but a good one, I think. The next months shall be hard - believe me I have no illusions over that - but we have made a visible statement of Elizabeth's legitimacy, have we not?"
"Indeed we have, Majesty." Cromwell agrees, accepting a glass of the sweet wine, "I am pleased to advise you that the crowds that gathered were delighted with her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, and even now the people of the City are celebrating - even those who do not have access to the wine fountains and free victuals."
He has promised never to lie to her, and is grateful that he has not been required to do so, for the crowds have indeed been most joyful: far more so than they were for Anne's coronation. They were most assuredly right to portray Elizabeth primarily as her father's daughter.
"How long, do you think, before we shall have to begin repelling rival claims to Elizabeth's throne?" Anne asks, after a long pause, her expression rather distant. She is as aware as they that the coronation was the simple task. The true difficulties are yet to come.
"I suspect it shall not be more than a few days." Cromwell admits, "Norfolk has done what he has done with the sole intent of keeping his dignity intact - but that is all. Now that he has relinquished his obligation upon that front, he shall look to removing you and stepping into your place at the first opportunity. If he does not, then I consider it likely that others shall make the attempt, either to make themselves Protector, or to set another upon the throne in Elizabeth's place."
Anne looks at him, her expression vicious, "There is no other!"
"On the contrary, Majesty. There are two - and while one is without doubt a bastard, the other's illegitimacy is not recognised by all parties. His Late Majesty was intent upon securing the boy's legitimacy, and it was only his death that ended our work to achieve that aim. If others stand with him, he may gain sufficient support to circumvent that barrier to his rule - and perhaps even look to Rome for support on the promise of restoring England to subservience to the Pope."
"That shall never happen." She has not forgotten the vile names that she was called by the priests and legates of Rome.
Rich looks a little nervous, "Whether or not he succeeds, there is still the Lady Mary." He knows how that shall be received, "Not all parties have accepted the invalidity of her mother's marriage, and thus there are some who might well look to her, regardless of all that we have done."
For a moment, both men fear that she might lose her temper; but, with a visible effort, she calms herself, "Mary shall never rule this Kingdom, Mr Rich." She says, firmly, "It is against God's will, for she is a bastard, and thus her claim is not valid."
"Of that, we are aware." Cromwell answers, "But we cannot ignore the unfortunate reality that there are some who do not agree with that. Thus we must be ready to answer any who make a claim upon her behalf, whoever they might be."
Anne closes her eyes, "After such a day of triumph, I had hoped that we might have at least a short time of respite."
"Perhaps we might." Rich offers, "We have laid strong foundations, and our enemies must find some means of subverting laws that have been passed by Parliament, and sealed with the late King's Great Seal prior to its destruction. Such foundations cannot be overturned in a single night, so we have the advantage; and our work from this point must be to shore them up, so as not to squander that advantage."
"Then we shall meet upon the morrow, gentlemen, and consider how to ensure that we do exactly that." She smiles, a little more assured now, "I shall see you then."
They rise, and each steps forth to bow and kiss her hand. If she can trust no others, then at least she has these two. Or at least she hopes that she does.
"Thank you Lady Rochford, I think that I shall retire now, please call Madge and Nan to attend to me, you may retire."
"Yes Majesty." Jane curtseys and departs as bid, while Anne sits back in her chair to await the arrival of her requested ladies.
Yes, today was the easy time. Tomorrow, the true work shall begin.