A/N: And again, thank you all for your kind reviews. I've been very remiss in not responding to everyone's comments individually, so it's about time I did, I think!

Audriel: Yes indeed, it's been a long haul, and Elizabeth's been anointed and crowned. But the real challenge is keeping her there...

Appirinia: I'm so pleased that you're enjoying the tale - I hope I can keep it up!

Tricorvus: I'm gonna rock on!

Robin4: Mary's point of view is going to become more prominent from this point on, as she's faced with the discovery that her younger sister has been crowned in her stead, and she's not out of the starting blocks yet. That said, in answer to your Fitzroy question - I've abided by history, and (by coincidence - as I wrote this chapter some weeks ago) he is about to make his move.

Guest: Yes, Mary's got the stubbornness, intelligence and pride of both her parents - though she's also inherited her mother's awkward habit of assuming everyone's as religiously faithful as she is - and that could prove troublesome for her if she's not careful.

BoleynnR: Thank you so much for your constructive comments - though in some ways, it's a big thanks to AllegoriesInMediasRes, who set me the challenge in the first place. But for that challenge, I suspect I wouldn't be writing this; which would be a real shame because I'm having a blast doing it.

I'm sounding like a stuck record again - but thank you, everyone, for your support.

So - on we go! The people whose support they need have given it - but that doesn't mean that everyone's chipper over the concept of Anne's regency...and, to quote Shaun of the Dead, 'Player two has entered the game'.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Death at St James's

Cromwell looks over the papers that he has drafted, and nods with satisfaction. The most important foundation of good government is knowledge - a decision is not a good decision if it is made with only half the available evidence.

He looks up as Rich approaches, clearly nursing a headache, "I take it you celebrated most thoroughly last night."

Rich does not answer, but sits rather heavily. That in itself is answer enough.

"If your eyes are not too misted," he smiles, with absolutely no sympathy at all, "Perhaps you could consider the notes I have made. We must consider the Queen Regent's standing with the People of England - for the reflected glory of her daughter can only illuminate her to a certain extent. The late Dowager Princess is now gone, and thus memory of her shall fade from the popular consciousness - but her daughter lives, and thus we must show the Regent in a new light."

"Mother of the Realm." Rich grunts, a little sickly, then groans, "God's blood, I am never going to touch spirits again."

"If you feel the need to empty your stomach, do not even consider doing it here."

"It is more my head than my gut." Squinting slightly, Rich peruses the notes. For most people in England, life is a short period of drudgery in hopes of a kinder world in heaven. He was fortunate, in that he was born to the Gentry class, but Cromwell is base-born, as are most. His ascendancy was gained through the benefit of sufficient funds to pay for an education that supported the hard work that followed. Others lack such fortune, and the notes he holds list a number of remedial measures, including a revision of existing poor laws, a system of proper apprenticeships, free schools for young boys. There are even suggestions for infirmaries to replace those of the Religious Houses - as it seems that he is intent upon continuing the closure of such institutions.

"Are we truly to continue the closure of the religious houses?" He asks, a little tentatively.

"Given that such places preach poverty to those who have nothing, while they decorate their churches with marble and gold, and dress statues in silken cloaks, I think it would be a service to the nation." Cromwell says, firmly, "Such hypocrisy is a sin."

Rich shrugs, and continues to read. On paper, it seems that the entire intention is to fund these reforms through the sale of lands, goods and riches from the large religious houses. That, in itself, seems perfectly feasible; but Rich has not got to where he is by failing to consider every potential angle, and he knows that such a thing as the closure of the religious houses shall cause a great rumpus amongst those who live around them. Despite the claims that the great Abbeys contain corrupt men who ignore the misery of those in their vicinity with the same casual indifference they apply to their vows, most view the enormous institutions in their midst with great pride, even if they are not permitted to enter to worship - including with the lay brothers. God forbid that they pass through the pulpitum to stand alongside the cloistered monks.

Unlike Cromwell, he is more pragmatic about matters of religion, and - if pressed - he would be forced to admit that he cares no more for the lives of the poor than the cloistered brothers do. But then, he has never been poor; and his commitment to religion has always been firmly of a Catholic disposition. He is what he is - and he has never pretended to be anything else. He has never been required to.

Every word on that paper, however, speaks volumes to him of Cromwell's motivation. The knowledge that the Abbeys sit upon vast stores of wealth in land, money and plate, while the people who live outside their walls scratch the most meagre of livings from what little land is granted to them is clearly an affront to a man who has known equal impoverishment in his life. But it also shows Rich that his colleague has become blinkered to the need for care in implementing the reform upon which he is so intent. If the Regent is equally intent, then his fear that their work to present her as a positive force for good in England can only be undermined should their first act be to trample upon the long-held beliefs of her subjects.

Looking up again, he can see that the Lord Treasurer is gazing out of the window, apparently lost in thought. For one normally so pragmatic, it appears that - where religious reform is concerned - such pragmatism has been abandoned. How strange that he, Rich, shall now be required to be the voice of reason.

"Forgive me, my Lord - but I think it wise that we be careful. Should we not institute the commission to investigate the state of England before we precipitate such an upheaval as this?"

Cromwell glares at him, but then seems to pause, as though he sees the sincerity in his colleague's expression. Rich is not being contrary - deliberately or otherwise - but is clearly concerned, and such concerns should be addressed, "Do you think it would be foolish to do so, Mr Rich?"

"If we are to consider the wellbeing of the Regent's subjects, then it seems monumentally foolish to act so firmly without having investigated whether it shall have a deleterious effect upon them. I think our priorities are mixed up - we must first cement the Regent's popularity with her Subjects, both for her security and that of the Queen; then we must work with Parliament to agree their rights and privileges in the new reign, and establish the commission. Only then should we consider the continuing work to close the religious houses. If we know how things lie in the Kingdom, we can then decide how we do so."

Cromwell sighs, and sits back in his chair. In the upheaval of the last few weeks, he has not thought about the work of reformation in relation to the large religious houses - and thus has had no cause to question his motives. It is only now that he is here, after all that has occurred, and so much has changed, that Rich's comments have cut through his determination to act, and he is wondering whether his colleague might actually be right.

He holds out his hand for the paper, and Rich gives it to him. He regards it for a moment, and then tears it in half, "You are right, Mr Rich. I have allowed myself to become too intent upon a single matter, and at the expense of others that are now more important. Forgive me." He reaches for a fresh sheet of paper, "I think it best that we start again."

Anne reads the paper carefully. In time, she shall have Elizabeth with her to read such briefings - but at the moment, her daughter is busily engaged in an imaginary scenario involving Lady Mille-Fleurs out in the Privy Garden, for it would be utterly beyond her to hold her concentration upon matters of this nature for more than a few minutes.

"What of the ongoing reform of the Church?" she asks, after a while. It was, after all one of the interests that she shared with Cromwell, who stands before her with his hands clasped before him, while Rich stands alongside and looks hung over.

"That is a matter that we have considered, Majesty." Cromwell advises, gravely, "But Mr Rich feels, and I agree with his view, that our priority at this time must be to introduce you as a positive force for good in England, and to secure your relationship with Parliament. Then, once we have established how we shall work together, we shall establish a commission to investigate the life of the common man of England - as you have suggested - and consider our activities from there. Believe me, Majesty," He continues, earnestly, "It is not my intention to abandon the work of freeing England from the chains of Rome; but first we must ensure that we build upon a firm foundation."

Anne looks at him, intrigued. Not only has he set aside a matter of great interest to himself, but he has admitted that it was not his initial idea to do so. It seems that he is quite intent upon his promise to be absolutely honest with her at all times.

He is, however, right. She is quite convinced that Henry would not have been so content to change his plans to such a degree; but then he was always impulsive, and convinced that if he believed it to be right, it was. She, however, intends to be less impetuous, and far more careful. Now that she has been obliged to accept that, far from being loved, she is hated by the people of England, she knows that if she is to win against her Council, she must win over her subjects first.

"They are looking for me to fail, Gentlemen." She says, quietly, "I do not intend to give them the satisfaction; but that end requires care if it is to be achieved. My late Lord refused to allow me to speak upon any matter of State, and guarded his privileges jealously; I intend to be more pragmatic - for if I am not, then Elizabeth shall be the one to bear the consequences."

Cromwell nods. That is, and shall always be, her first priority - to protect Elizabeth and her Crown. That one interest would sink an entire fleet of other motivations; no matter how dear to her they had once been. Yes, she still wishes to reform the Church - as he does; particularly as it is now headed by her daughter. If there has not yet been a Bull issued upon the matter, then it shall not be long before one emerges. Thus, the sooner Englishmen are wooed away from the gold-crusted, whited sepulchre that is the Roman Church, the better - as that Bull shall undoubtedly exhort all good Catholics to turn upon their new Queen. It shall, doubtless, also absolve them of the mortal sin of murder if they do it. Another vile act of hypocrisy, as far as he is concerned.

"It shall be harder for your Subjects to accept any demand from the Vicar of Rome if they love you, Majesty." He advises, "Besides, even those who still cleave to the popish faith are suspicious of any man who is not English. I am widely travelled upon the continent, but most English folk have never left the realm, and thus are insulated from those who live abroad. If you win the people, then they shall disregard a thousand bulls from a foreigner, regardless of whether or not they call him 'Papa'."

Anne resumes her perusal of the paper, and its recommendations. Yes, the most important order of business is to secure Parliament, as it shall give a clear message to the people that their representatives matter, and that their voices are more likely to be heard. Then they shall look to improving the lot of the poor. She has been shielded from the misery of those who have nothing for too long - and saw only those who came to her upon the feast of the Last Supper. How can she present herself as a motherly figure if she does not know how her children live? She would earn nothing from them but scorn - and she would deserve it, too.

"How much shall we offer Parliament?" she asks, after a while, "I am in agreement with you that we must accept that the men who gather in St Stephen's are of more importance than a mere gaggle of men who gather to argue with one another; but I shall not permit them to undermine Elizabeth's royal privileges. That, I must make clear at the outset."

"The first concession should be that no Act shall be made law without their consultation and debate, Majesty." Cromwell answers, "His Late Majesty would, if so inclined, entirely disregard the men of the Commons, and grant his assent to statutes without reference to them in any fashion, for Parliaments were previously summoned largely to vote monies towards the making of wars, and dismissed as soon as those wars were done. Matters that are of importance to the realm, and to your Subjects, should be set before them, and we must allow them to debate frankly and openly. The law as it stands is no more than an instrument of State - and it exists purely to serve the interests of the State. Thus it is possible to perpetrate quite egregious acts of apparent injustice - and yet not break the law."

He is not surprised to see that Anne is quite scandalised by such a concept; but it is, nonetheless, true. He knows it - for he would have used that exact method to destroy her, had the King not died before he could begin the process of doing so. But he does not tell her that.

She frowns, and he realises that she is beginning to understand exactly how close she came to her own destruction, "And, I presume, my own removal from the King's presence would have been achieved in such fashion?"

His silence is all the answer that she needs.

"Summon the Speaker, Mr Cromwell." She says, "Ask him to present to us the requirements of Parliament in any formalised agreement. It must - must - be a position that can be negotiated. I will not be dictated to - my intent is to look to the men of St Stephen's as advisers, not as masters. If they demand more than the right to consider all laws of the realm, then there must be a worthy reason for it, and it must not be at the cost of Elizabeth's prerogatives."

"But equally, Majesty," he ventures, "It must not be a mere artifice. If the men of St Stephen's feel that their involvement is cosmetic only, then they shall refuse to comply."

Anne glares at him, annoyed at his suggestion - but, again, did he not promise to be absolutely frank with her as much as honest?

"They would not dare to do so to my late Lord," She admits, a little tiredly, "but I am not he, and thus I must work infinitely harder to achieve half as great an effect."

"Once it is done, however," Rich muses, "I think it likely that they shall appreciate that you are not a weak, foolish woman after all, and we shall have achieved at least the first degree of respect to which you are entitled as Queen Regent."

"Which I can be most certain shall not be forthcoming from my uncle." She adds, with a smile, "So be it. I shall await the first offer from Mr Speaker, and we shall see what we must give in order to gain."

My Lord Howard of Norfolk,

Forgive my presumption in approaching you, for it is of great concern to me that - as the only male heir of our late Lord Henry - my right of blood through the paternal line has not been recognised, nor has my more suitable age to rule been considered.

As a Royal Duke, I am qualified both by blood and by virtue of my sex to rule this Kingdom, and I can thus protect the realm from the inevitable disaster that shall follow the setting of the Crown upon the head of a mere babe. Thus, if you are willing, I would ask that you stand with me as I make my claim to my late father's throne. There is no need for a Regent when there is a man who can be King.

I would - of course - look to you as my first, and foremost adviser and Steward in recognition of our relationship through marriage. Thus we can restore the rightful rule of the realm to those who are fit to carry that burden.

I do not require you to set out your answer to me in writing - but, if you are mindful to offer your support to my claim, I ride in the Park of St James each day two hours before the noon. Thus it would be mere coincidence, would it not, if a man of your colours might be present by chance in my vicinity. Should such a man appear, I shall know your decision. I shall await your answer, though I appreciate that it may take some time to arrange. Thus my offer shall remain open to you until the end of the month.

Henry Richmond. Son of the Late King of England, France and Ireland.

The care with which the letter has been delivered to Whitehall assures Norfolk that such a possibility has not reached the sharp ears of the Corvid, and the offer it makes is tempting. With no legitimate male heir, and only women as an alternative, the prospect of England accepting a youth of sixteen years who was not born to a Queen, is perhaps not as unappealing as a loathed whore and her progeny. That the 'whore' is his own niece is meaningless in the face of the anticipated resumption of his former prominence. It would be a simple matter to dispatch her back to Blickling, brat in tow, and let England be ruled by those who are fit for the task.

He looks up as his steward enters, "Your Grace, the Earl of Wiltshire is without."

Returning his eyes to the letter, Norfolk nods, "Admit him."

As soon as they are alone, he looks up again, "I have an interesting communication here from the Duke of Richmond."

Intrigued, Wiltshire leans forward, "God above, he has taken a long time about it. Does he intend to claim the Crown?" In spite of himself, he sounds rather cynical - the youth does seem to have been rather indolent in staking his claim at such a late hour; but then he has not been back in London for more than a few weeks, so perhaps he has had no prior opportunity to do so.

Norfolk eyes the Earl with careful interest, preparing to gauge the response that his next words shall inspire, "That - and grant honours back to those who stand with him. Honours that were removed from them."

In an instant, a dark expression of pure greed washes across Wiltshire's face, "Say on."

"Assuming that he has the support of the council - and knows that he shall receive it - he shall look to Parliament for equal support, and stake his claim as the King's only male heir."

"And he assumes England shall accept him? There was no clamour for his presence when Elizabeth was paraded to the Abbey to have the Crown set upon her head."

"What does England know of him?" Norfolk retorts, "His father lauded him, that is true - but in what way were his honours paraded before the Subjects of the King? Regardless of his paternity, he was not the son of a Queen, and thus what was his worth when there was hope of a legitimate male heir? It would be no surprise to me if no one outside the Court knew much of his existence. Once it is known, however, I think it most likely that Englishmen would look to him to save them from rule by a woman."

Wiltshire smirks, "Do you think that our loathed Lord Treasurer might have considered such a possibility? Now that he has his hands upon the power he desires, and - I am willing to wager - the opportunity to advance his personal interests, would he notice or regard a hitherto forgotten youth?"

"We can lay the entire blame upon him - setting aside a male heir in favour of a child that can be controlled, and a woman whom he intends to make his lover. Thus Anne shall be obliged to condemn him, before withdrawing to the family estates with her child."

"She would never accept a man of such age as he, or of such base birth." Wiltshire snorts, "She has great pride, and that shall never permit her to give favour to him as you suggest it might."

"And is not a rumour sufficient?"

"To me, it is an affront."

Norfolk rolls his eyes; Wiltshire is keen to look to any means of gaining preferment - but not if it is at the expense of his own personal pride. Setting aside his own daughter for his personal gain is one thing; but suggesting his high-born progeny might share a bed with a base-born commoner? Absolutely not. They cannot even insinuate that she has offered such privileges to Rich, as he is married - and how much upheaval was caused by Anne's refusal to be any man's Mistress?

"In that case, in deference to your tender self-regard, we shall present it as naught but a power-play." He says, sarcastically.

"It matters not. I wish to regain control of the Privy Seal - and to witness the painful destruction of the men who took it from me."

"This is not a matter that I would trust to a servant; instead, I shall arrange to show myself in the Park at the appropriate time, though no words shall be exchanged. Once we have set out our agreement to stand with his Grace of Richmond, a means of communicating can be found, and thus we shall lay the ground for his reign." Norfolk smiles, unpleasantly, "It seems that we shall have our executions yet."

Seymour looks most pleased with himself, "Her Majesty, Queen Mary, is keen to know of matters at Court, your Grace. I have established a means for us to communicate thanks to the presence of my sister in her retinue, and I shall remain away from Court for the time being until such time as she has been crowned and returned to her Capital."

Suffolk reins in his horse, "Perhaps so, Mr Seymour. I had hoped that we would not be obliged to do such a thing as this - for the loss of the King was entirely unexpected. Madame Boleyn was losing her appeal to him, and we had come close to removing her baleful influence upon the Court - both her and her vile relations. With no legitimate male heir, her Majesty the Queen is the best hope of the Kingdom; assuming that the people would hear her call to them."

"Her bastardy was forced upon her after the fact, your Grace." Seymour says, blandly, "A false construct set upon her in the King's determination to remove her mother from his sight in order to accommodate the Boleyn whore. It is no more valid than that improper marriage - and the memory of her late Majesty Queen Katherine is still strong. Queen Mary is, above all, the only true heir to the throne. Were she to step forth from Hunsdon and raise her banner as Queen, the people would flock to her."

They are surrounded by trees far out in the Park of St James, but there is little in the way of undergrowth, so they cannot be seen from a distance - but, also, none can easily approach: consequently, Suffolk feels safe to comment, "If she is to do so, then she cannot afford to wait for too long. I have no doubt that Madame Boleyn shall take steps to buy the love of the people, for she already has the support of Parliament, and has won over a number of prominent lords of the Council. Regardless of his origins, the Lord High Treasurer is highly capable, and the Lord Privy Seal is hardly a fool either, while the Lord President has age and experience to look to. Between them, they are a powerful political force. Thus, I do not think that she shall be as ineffective a Regent as some of the men of the Council assume that she shall be. There shall be no ignominious failure, and thus the path for her Majesty the Queen shall be a steep one if she does not begin to move quickly - and introduce herself to her Subjects before Madame Boleyn has the opportunity to lay any foundations to purchase their loyalty."

"If you have advice for her, then set it down and I shall ensure it is delivered in safety. If time is of the essence, then we cannot afford to wait either."

Suffolk nods, "I shall set down a brief report of today's Council meeting. I have no doubt that we shall discuss the first steps of the new reign - once I know how the land lies, I shall be able to advise her of her own route through the new ground."

Seymour bows, "I shall await your word. As soon as the false Queen's plans are known, I shall deliver them to the true one, and we shall know where we stand."

It has been some time since Mark Smeaton entertained the Queen's inner circle, but he is tuning his lute in the corner of the Privy Chamber, while the Queen Regent is tucking her daughter into bed. Lady Rochford has settled herself at another rather fine muselar, its case more ornate and decorated than that of the instrument at Placentia, and a gentle coranto trickles from the instrument in response to her skilled fingers. The tune is familiar, and Rich is humming along quietly as he flicks through his papers. Cromwell would do likewise, but for his dignity, and the fact that he is hardly the finest singer at Court. While he appreciates the Arts, it is no longer his preference to perform.

The afternoon's meeting passed with little incident, or argument. Most of the councillors seemed willing to listen to the proposals for rule through good counsel and cooperation with Parliament, though Norfolk's expression said more than words ever could. They have not raised the matter of instituting charitable works for the poor at this point - it was enough of a concern that the council would reject the ideas for Parliament.

Several other of the Queen's ladies are also present, talking amongst themselves as they sip at small glasses of claret and graze from a light banquet of comfits and amusements. Margery watches the lutenist with a mildly scornful eye - for he is, once again, dressed far more richly than a man of his degree should expect to be, and the look upon his face is one of delight. Perhaps he is enamoured of one of the women in the room and wishes to impress her. She almost laughs aloud at the thought: no amount of satins and silks would change the reality that he is naught but a common musician, and a foreigner, to boot. What woman of gentle birth would have him?

Seated in a comfortable chair, Cromwell is also not blind to the behaviour of the musician, and his own view is very much the same. He has never chased any of the women at Court: his base birth and his age both tell against him, not to mention his quiet personal vow never to dishonour the memory of his long-dead wife. Such a foolish display - and for so little purpose. No woman would have him - no matter how much largesse he still receives from the privy purse thanks to the late King's favour.

Sighing, he returns to his own papers. While all seemed settled this afternoon, he is still concerned that they have heard nothing from either of the rival heirs to the throne. Richmond is an undisputed bastard and thus has no valid claim, as the intention to legitimise him came to nothing in his Majesty's determination to secure a son of the Blood from his new Queen - and any revival of that intention after Elizabeth's birth died with the King. That in itself, of course, does not preclude him from trying, so Cromwell has a man in the Duke's entourage to advise him should there be any attempt.

The news from Hunsdon is equally lacking. Certainly Seymour has worked hard to create a secure route for correspondence from the Lady Mary to any who would risk supporting her; and his sister Jane is the immediate contact. There is, doubtless, someone more prominent than a mere Seymour involved - and it is but a matter of time before his planted servant uncovers who that might be, and probably confirms his already present suspicions.

Emerging from her daughter's bedchamber, Anne smiles at the small gathering. There was a time when she was surrounded by adoring admirers; but the numbers present tonight consist solely of those that she is learning to feel that she can trust.

Lady Rochford finishes the coranto, and Smeaton immediately strikes up with a gaudy tourdion. He has not been present in the Queen Regent's company for many weeks, and seems embarrassingly eager to demonstrate to her that she has been most remiss in her neglect. Smiling to herself at his childishness, she approaches the table, and seats herself opposite the Lord Treasurer, "Madge, Mr Rich, I should like to play primero. Would you join us?"

They seat themselves at her request, while Smeaton moves on to a delicate pavane, "The stake shall be naught but a penny, with a threepence rest." She says, "I shall play for the pleasure of it tonight - not in hope of gain." Her expression is amused, for she is an excellent player. She has no idea how skilled her male opponents might be, but she does know that Margery is prone to losing, and thus it is better to offer as little opportunity for extensive financial loss as possible.

They talk of trifles as they play, concentrating instead upon the game. As she suspected, Cromwell's highly strategic mind makes him very capable, while Rich's devious nature and long practice at gaming has made him equally skilled. Poor Margery is being utterly trounced.

Eventually, the unfortunate lady in waiting pleads for release from her endless losses, and they end the game. Smeaton pauses for a moment, as a string is worn upon his lute and he must replace it, so Lady Rochford returns to the muselar, and accompanies herself as she sings a French ballade; one that is most familiar to Anne from her days at the Chateau of Blois. She recalls singing the counterpoint, and, as Jane starts the ballad again, she crosses to the instrument, and lifts her own voice in song.

It has been a long time since she felt so free of care, and for a brief moment her voice wavers slightly with emotion, but she completes the song and smiles at her accompanist, unaware of two sets of eyes trained upon her in admiration.

Cromwell's opinion of the Regent has changed more times than he can count over the last few years; but now he looks upon her with pleasure at her achievements. There had been a time when he had had two daughters, until contagion stole them from him. Oh, if only this magnificent woman were of his progeny - he would be proud to call her 'daughter'. Alas, however, she is not, but nonetheless he views her with a true paternal pride.

Struck by regret, he looks around the room at the others who are permitted into her personal circle, and pauses. There - he should be fitting a new string to his lute, but instead Smeaton watches Anne. There is a surreptitious nature to his scrutiny that suggests he views her with some form of love - though whether it be calf-love, lust or a deeper admiration, he cannot say with any certainty. It shall, however, bear watching; with the battles ahead, the one thing the Regent does not need at this time is any suggestion of carnality or scandal.

He is distracted briefly by the arrival of a steward with a message for him. Sealed with candlewax pressed by a thumbprint, he knows that has been dispatched with urgency, and he breaks the seal hastily.

"Majesty, might I speak to you in private a moment?" his voice betrays nothing.

She nods, "Of course, my Lord." She smiles at the gathering, "If you will excuse us a moment?"

Rich looks up enquiringly, then rises at Cromwell's nod, following them into the more private chamber beyond, "What is it?"

"It seems that our Duke of Richmond is intending to claim the crown after all." Cromwell says, quietly, "He shall base his claim upon his paternity, and his sex."

"He cannot do so!" Anne hisses, savagely, "He is a bastard - and nothing can overcome that!"

"You forget, Majesty," he answers, "the very Tudor line is based upon overcoming bastardy. Your late Lord's father came from illegitimate stock upon both sides of his line - and thus claimed his crown by right of conquest, for his blood would not serve that end. Richmond is a son of Henry; moreover, he is almost of age, and he is male. All that he lacks is the support of the law and Parliament - for he is not named in the succession, nor did his father's plans to legitimise him come to fruition."

"I will not have him take my daughter's crown, Mr Cromwell!" Anne's voice is dangerous, "If he thinks even for a moment to try, I shall bring him down!"

Cromwell eyes her, gravely, "I was under the impression, Majesty, that this reign would be different from the last."

"God's blood, if I must do that which I swore not to in order to protect my child, then I shall do it!"

Rich looks nervous, "I have destroyed lives, Majesty, destroyed them through perfidious behaviour. Do not take such a course - or you, as I do, shall find yourself frequently awakened by the shades of those who were condemned as a result of your actions."

His eyes are a little wide, and both Anne and Cromwell look at him in surprise. It seems, then, that he does not view his act of perjury against Sir Thomas More without regret, "I implore you, Majesty - for I found myself threatened by such determination, and turned to you in fear for my life. In finding myself endangered by that very perfidy that I deployed against another, better man than I, it caused me to think upon what I had done - and I cannot, will not, do such things again."

"I had not thought you to be a man of conscience, Mr Rich." Anne says, rather more quietly.

He looks uncomfortable, "Until I overheard Norfolk, Wiltshire and Rochford casually discussing my brutal death as though it were naught but a trifling matter of little consequence, I had none. It is remarkable how one can be shaken into a more Christian frame of mind by such a betrayal."

"Then how do we see off this threat?"

"We have the foundation of law upon which our construction is built, Majesty." Cromwell advises, "Regardless of his age and sex, Richmond is the son of a liaison undertaken outside the bounds of wedlock, and that has always been the primary barrier to inheritance in England. If we must look to validity of birth, then the Lady Mary is a far greater threat than the son of Lady Tallboys - and she has been left in our wake. Mr Rich is right to object to an overt act upon our part against Richmond. It shall almost certainly cause more harm than good - as it did for the last of the Plantagenet line. Besides," He adds, "I am given to understand that Richmond's personal health is becoming precarious - he has developed a severe cough and has been observed spitting blood into kerchiefs for some time; though care has been taken to attempt to conceal it."

Anne looks up, "You think him to have contracted consumption?"

"It is impossible to say - for I am no physician - but if that is the case, it is unlikely that he shall live long enough to offer much challenge to her Majesty the Queen. Thus I counsel you to let the matter lie - it may be that nature shall solve the problem for us."

He sounds dreadfully clinical.

"Very well. That I shall do." Anne agrees, reluctantly, "We shall take no steps against Richmond, and shall meet any claim he makes, or that is made upon his part, with the power of the law. We have Henry's will and the Succession Act upon our side, for neither Richmond nor the daughter of the Dowager Princess are named by either document. Thus they have no valid claim in law."

Both men bow, and step back as she returns to the gathering.

"Is that true?" Rich asks, quietly, "Fitzroy has consumption?"

Cromwell nods, "It seems very likely; though, as I said to her Majesty, I am no physician and can speak only of that which has been observed. If that is the case, however, why risk our reputations by destroying him when nature shall do it for us?"

A single chestnut gelding thunders across the open grassland of the park of St James, its rider seemingly enjoying the pleasure of the ride. To any casual observer, it is naught but a delightful gallop to stir the constitution prior to the midday meal.

Norfolk, however, has other matters of concern. Not trusting any of his servants to undertake such a task, he had hoped to come here sooner than this - but it has been hard to manufacture a reason to do so alone, so it has been near-on two weeks since he received the letter. At some point in the next few minutes, the Duke of Richmond shall emerge from the half-repaired halls of the Palace of St James, and shall see that his claim to the throne shall receive support. He hopes he does not have to wait for too long - the July sun is high, and already he is uncomfortable in his doublet and cloak. Such is the requirements of formality.

He hears the Palace clock, distantly chiming the tenth hour, and waits, expectantly, for the youth to appear. His horse fidgets at the wait, and he reaches forth to pat the animal's neck. Then he frowns. Where is the boy? Did he not promise that he would ride out each day at the tenth hour? Has he come out without being seen? Annoyed, Norfolk looks all about, but sees no one.

He continues to do so until the clock chimes the quarter, before cursing the inconstancy of young men and turning his horse to depart. So much for the son of the King - perhaps he has forgotten. In which case, that does not bode well for any attempted rule upon his part.

There is a man in the Queen's livery awaiting him when he arrives in the Mews, and he dismounts to find himself face to face with Matthew, one of the Regent's senior Ushers, "What is it?"

"Her Majesty the Queen Regent asks that you attend her urgently, your Grace."

Norfolk rolls his eyes in exasperation, what does the wretched woman want now? To offer him another meaningless court post as a sop for the removal of his most valued one? Annoyed, he follows the young man up to the Queen's apartments.

Once he has entered the Presence Chamber, however, the atmosphere captures his attention at once. The Queen Regent is present, as are her senior advisers - the Corvid and the Rat. All look most grim, and he wonders if he is to be arrested. Hell - have they found the letter from Richmond?

"Your Grace." Anne's expression is softening a little, "Forgive our interruption of your morning - but I fear I must impart some grievous news."

A strange way to announce his arrest.

"We received word this morning from the stewards at the Palace of St James. I fear that his Grace, the Duke of Richmond, passed away in the night. We do not yet know the cause - for his physicians are yet to report to us. In the absence of his late Liege Lord, I, as his stepmother, have been passed these sad tidings. Therefore, I ask that you, as the father of his poor wife - now widow, kindly accept his mortal remains into the embrace of your family, and undertake the arrangement of a suitable burial. If you are content, his remains shall be released to you as soon as the physicians have prepared that awaited report, and he has been embalmed." She pauses, then continues with surprising sincerity, "Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss."

Norfolk bows, "Yes, your Majesty. I shall do as you ask." There is nothing else he can say.

Departing from the Presence Chamber, however, his temper is far less well governed, and he storms back to his own apartments in a fearful rage. Damnation! God's wounds! He cares nothing for the loss of the boy - a youth of little mark other than the burden of honours set upon him by an adoring father - but instead for a loss far greater. Without Richmond, there is just the Lady Mary left - and he had sworn he would not humiliate himself by attempting to govern her. It could not be clearer that the blasted Queen Regent has no fear of accusation of complicity - otherwise why else would she release the bloody corpse to him?

He had placed so much hope in that youth. Now, however, it appears that he shall have to start all over again.

A/N: And the reciprocal Shaun quote: 'Player two has left the game'. Poor Fitzroy - condemned to be one of history's flashes in the pan. Sadly, history is panning out as it really did - and Norfolk will behave no better this time around, either.