A/N: And here we have the last update of 2017. I don't want to give the impression that I'm a lean, mean, speed-writing machine - because I assure you I'm not! On the contrary, I started writing this story eight months ago, so I have a solid cushion of chapters to put up while I bumble along with later stages of the tale.
So - Mary has made her move, and has made her claim known. All the work that Anne and her Council have put into presenting Elizabeth as the rightful Queen of England is going to face its toughest test. I think I've seriously over-egged Cromwell's spy network, as his was nowhere near as comprehensive as the one operated by the Cecils in the conventional historical universe; but, hey, he's got support from the Regent that he never had from the King, so who knows what he might have achieved had he had more security in his position?
Anne has Parliament. She has the lesser nobility. She has the superstition safety net of a good harvest and no major epidemics. But is it enough?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Pilgrims
The expressions of the council are grim, and the mood equally poor. As always, Cromwell's expression is a study in blandness - but nonetheless, he is fully aware of matters at St Albans, courtesy of the one spy that is still present in the retinue. He had never thought that his decision to insert that maid amongst Mary's women would pay such dividends - but had he not done so, then he would truly be blind. And he does not like to be blind.
"I have received pledges of aid and men-at-arms from my Lords of Bedford, Derby, Dorset, Essex, Huntingdon, Oxford, Southampton and Shrewsbury." Sussex advises, "Added to my own men, and those pledged by lesser nobles and gentrymen, we shall be able to place an army of ten thousand in the field. Additional to that, there shall be sufficient ordnance and artillery to repel a force twice that size. The Northern nobility have, not surprisingly, kept their own counsel."
"And who have not declared for Elizabeth?" Anne asks, firmly.
"Norfolk - though that is no surprise, for he has not allied with any since his banishment from court, Lincoln, Northumberland and Cumberland, Majesty." Rich supplies, "They have not declared for Mary, either, so at this time their involvement remains a moot point."
"Mr Cromwell?" Anne turns to the man who is most likely to have information relevant to Mary's actual plans.
"The Lady is currently accommodated in the finest guest lodgings at the Abbey of St Albans, where her council of pretenders claim that the countryside is moving in her favour. It has not, however, gone unnoticed that only the poorest of subjects look upon her as their salvation, and they were not permitted into her presence when she proclaimed herself. I suspect that, had she been aware of it, she might have objected to their rejection - but she did not see it, and already it is noised amongst those of the poorest stock that she looks only to those of higher state: those who presently see no benefit in supporting her attempt to overthrow the Government that has brought them prosperity. If she is not warned of it, then she shall find that she has lost what little momentum she had secured."
Anne looks satisfied, "She is not likely to be - for she has no men amongst her who have come from the very poorest stock, and thus are less likely to notice such people. I am more fortunate in that regard."
He inclines his head respectfully, "I wish it could be so simple as that, Majesty - but we must be prepared that she departs from St Albans with an army at her back - even if it be no more than a rabble of peasants and townsfolk with whatever weapon they can hold. Certainly Wiltshire and Suffolk shall provide men-at-arms, and thus those who follow shall be emboldened by their presence. If this is presented to them as a religious enterprise, then they might well be harder to disperse."
"Given the tenor of her proclamation," Rochford muses, "I suspect that she does indeed present it as such. If she is to be believed, then she is intent first and foremost upon eradicating the reformed faith from England - and all else shall follow only when that is done."
"That is madness," Southampton says, shaking his head, "How can she ensure settled government if her only interest is in undoing religious reforms?"
Anne shakes her head, "She is no fool - it is the act of youthful impetuosity. She does not have the experience of age to guide her as I have been guided, and thus she believes that all shall be set right in the realm purely by demanding that Englishmen bow their heads to the Pope. She has dreamed of this - but reality has not yet revealed its claws to her."
"Why has she not emerged from St Albans yet?" Audley asks, tentatively. Unlike Wingfield and Tunstall, both of whom are conspicuous by their absence, he has been too nervous of the risks in doing so to abandon the Council, and thus has thrown in his lot with the Regent instead, "Surely she must make her move soon - autumn is upon us, and the weather shall surely break."
"I suspect she is waiting for rumours to accumulate followers, Mr Audley." Petre muses, "Until she has sufficient numbers of folk to follow her, there is little worth in emerging from her new accommodation."
"Is she likely to have such numbers, Mr Petre?" Gage says, sounding most worried.
All eyes turn, inevitably, back to Cromwell, though he does not look startled - he is used to such expectations.
"In terms of overall numbers, she may gather a goodly number - though that is likely to consist of folk who are tempted by her religious statements, rather than the genuinely discontented. Men who are able to fight, however, shall be fewer in number than those that we can command."
"Gentlemen," Anne interrupts, "This is all speculation - and that helps no one. How quickly can we place men in the field, should the need arise?"
"I have ordered that the men that have been pledged be dispatched to London. They are gathering at Richmond Palace, for it is in a quieter location, and has extensive parklands that shall accommodate a large number of troops."
"How shall they be paid?"
Sussex smiles, "When we have sent Mary and her rabble packing, they shall be paid with the proceeds from the closure of the Abbey in St Albans."
She laughs, "I think that shall be some way off, my Lord. I assume, therefore, that we shall meet their expenses from the exchequer, and replenish the funds from the closure?"
Cromwell nods, "Though, at this time, the exchequer has benefited from our less profligate expenditure, and thus can bear the cost."
"It is essential that they are paid, sirs - for if they are not, then we shall overturn all the good that we have done in freeing England from the old ways. I will not be seen as a woman who makes promises that she shall not keep." She pauses, and sighs, "Not at this stage of the reign, at least."
"If it please your Majesty," Southampton says, "I shall remove to Richmond on the morrow to oversee the marshalling of the men as they arrive."
"Thank you, my Lord." Anne smiles at him, "my Lord Rochford, I should like it if you assist the Lord President in his task - I expect to be kept apprised of all developments."
"Yes, Majesty." Since his return to the Council, Rochford has worked hard to build bridges with his fellow Councillors, and has been particularly successful in that regard with the Lord President and Lord High Admiral. Southampton certainly does not look discontented at the prospect.
"It is my hope that we shall not be obliged to march, Gentlemen," Anne says, "But should it come to pass, we must be ready."
She rises, bringing them all to their feet in response, and accepts their bows as she departs.
The wretched girl is in front of that damned shrine again, forever on her knees in front of the ornate case that holds a pile of mouldering bones in the convinced belief that doing so shall give her England upon a plate. Cursing under his breath, Wiltshire looks out of the window of his accommodation - one of the few that affords a view out of the confinement within the walls of the Abbey. How strange that Mary has exchanged one form of incarceration for another. Does she prefer to be confined within religious walls, for God's sake?
Perhaps it is as well, for Suffolk's urgings of caution have proved to be prophetic over the last two weeks. Most of the townsfolk seem rather uncomfortable with the knowledge that the King's first daughter resides within their town's walls, though others - the ones who have made less profit this year - seem more willing to accept her. If she had been hoping for multitudes to be presenting themselves at the Abbey gatehouse, then the rather smaller numbers are less than encouraging. Perhaps that is why she prostrates herself before those bones.
His contribution of two thousand men-at-arms arrived yesterday, and are now housed out in the grounds close to the Abbey fishpond - though they are downstream of it so that they do not befoul the pond when they piss in the leat. Suffolk has assembled a similar number of men, and they are due on the morrow. Four thousand soldiers and perhaps half that amount of excitable peasants with barely sharpened farm implements. Perhaps he, too, should be prostrating himself before that bloody shrine: they shall need all the help that they can get.
Suffolk is poring over a large parchment map that has been set upon the table in the chamber that they have set aside for the Council - such as it is. He, too, is concerned that they do not have enough men - not when it is likely that most of the southern Nobility shall have declared for the Queen by now. Those in the north have so far not given any suggestion of their decisions - though their adherence to the old Faith is strong. Perhaps they are waiting to see if the Queen's rising shall be successful - though it would be better if they could aid that success. The additional numbers could well be the deciding factor in the battle to come - for battle there shall be.
Unlike Wiltshire, he his more tolerant of his young Queen's frequent sorties to the shrine. Until she has spent some time upon the Throne, she shall struggle to learn the truth of being a Queen: that faith and politics rarely run in harness together. At least she shall not have to learn that lesson alone - for he shall be at her side to guide her as she takes those first steps. Hopefully he can dissuade her from her immediate commitment to stamp out heresy - for the reformed faith has taken a strong hold, and there are many who would be as keen to retain the new ways as there are those who wish to return to the old. She shall inherit a divided kingdom - and thus shall be obliged to tread most carefully if she is to navigate that tangled web.
He looks up as she returns, and nods his head respectfully, "Majesty."
"How goes the planning, my Lord?" she is keen to join him at the edge of the map, "Are you seeking routes into London?"
"Yes, Majesty. My men-at-arms shall arrive upon the morrow, and - with those who have declared for you, we shall muster a force of near on six thousand men."
She nods approvingly, "More shall follow as we move out into the countryside, my Lord - for we shall follow the Host, carried by Abbot Catton, while his prior carries a great cross. This is a pilgrimage: a pilgrimage of people who seek to restore the right rule of the realm."
"Yes, Majesty." Suffolk does not object - she has made that demand clear from the beginning, and he has long since abandoned any argument to the contrary. Instead, he points at the map, "I suggest a southeasterly route - for, while it is the most likely route that would be taken, it is also the only route that is easily traversable by an army. Besides, it is a populated route, and thus we may well inspire more men to join your cause as we go."
He looks up as one of Mary's maids pours a light, sweet wine into glasses, and crosses to offer them with a curtsey, before busying herself with gathering Mary's gloves and cloak - abandoned earlier after a walk outside to greet her troops.
"We shall make for Cathale Priory, Majesty, there we shall rest and celebrate Mass prior to your Majesty's entry into London. While it is doubtless known now that you have proclaimed yourself Queen, they shall not know whither you are bound, nor how many shall follow you from St Albans. It shall, however, take them some time to accumulate a force to oppose you - so I suggest that we allow my men one day's rest before we depart."
"So, the day after tomorrow?" Mary sounds most pleased.
He nods. As long as the Concubine knows nothing of their plans, there shall be none to oppose them in their journey to London.
Mary crosses herself, "God be praised - we shall reclaim England for his holy Church, and shall celebrate Christmastide at Placentia - as my father once did."
She sips at her wine, and does not notice as her maid departs with her garments.
Elizabeth has been working through verbs again, her facility with languages a skill that shall stand her in good stead to deal with her European neighbours when she rules for herself. Now, however, she is playing with the two spaniels that she was gifted while on progress, running through the formal gardens and laughing delightedly as the two pups tumble along in her wake.
Thank God she knows nothing of matters in St Albans, where Katherine's brat has been gathering a rabble of peasants and mercenaries to steal her crown. She still regards that misbegotten creature as a loving sister, who is pleased for her, and thus has no fear of the clouds that are gathering upon the northwestern horizon.
She turns as Lady Rochford opens the door to her Privy Chamber to admit her Lord Treasurer and Lord Privy Seal. Where once they were careful to avoid one another as much as they could, now they seem to be more unusual if they are not together. Given their joint political skill, however, it has been a great benefit to her rule that they are now allies.
"We have news from St Albans, Majesty." Cromwell advises, hastily, "Suffolk's troops were expected to arrive today, and thus they shall depart upon the morrow, with the intention of travelling to a small priory to the east. If we are to stop them, then our forces should depart from Richmond today. It shall require a forced march - but I am advised that Southampton has spent the last two weeks ensuring that the men are fit to undertake such a march, and thus we can do so with short notice. I have already dispatched a messenger by fast horse requiring that he and Rochford bring the army to the town of Barnet. A night march shall ensure that we are prepared for them, and we can then travel north to intercept them as they move east."
"We?" Anne looks interested, "You would not object to my presence?"
"On the contrary, I think it would be essential, Majesty. It would not do for men to go into battle while the one who sent them hides in the Palace. You have worked hard to win the regard of your subjects - and, while love is still to follow - a show of strength upon your part would serve you most well in the eyes of Englishmen."
"And Elizabeth?"
"She shall be well cared for: as her mother, it would be incumbent upon you to act for her protection. A small force of armed men shall remain here, with my Lord of Southampton to stand in your stead while you are in the field."
"And you, Mr Cromwell?"
"I shall accompany you, your Majesty." He replies, gravely, "Though I have fought in no wars since my youth, so I shall leave command to more capable men than I."
"Thank you, Mr Cromwell." To her surprise, Anne is most relieved that he has consented to travel with her. At such a time, she would be grateful for her father's company - but in its absence, she is grateful that he has stepped into that unwelcome breach, "I shall speak to Elizabeth. I should rather not shatter her innocent belief in her sister's love - but it would seem there is little choice. She shall demand to know why I am leaving her - and I can think of no explanation other than the truth."
"I think it best that she be aware of Mary's act against her, Majesty." Cromwell sighs, "Once we have seen off the threat, we shall have to deal with her, and Elizabeth shall wonder why her sister is facing arrest."
"Let us speak to her together." Anne says, suddenly, "She regards you with affection, and views you as something of an uncle - I should like her to continue to trust your counsel as I do."
"I shall set to work upon preparations at the Palace, Majesty." Rich advises, then bows and departs.
"I see that you treat him with more trust than formerly, Mr Cromwell." Anne observes, as they make their way downstairs to the gardens, "Do you think that he can truly be trusted?"
"Yes - I think so." Cromwell agrees, "He has discovered that it is a great gift to be trusted - and thus seeks to be as he never did before."
Anne smiles, "I fear, however, that I shall never trust him to the degree that I trust you."
"Those are dangerous words, Majesty." Cromwell replies, impishly, "I am hardly fit to be trusted myself."
"Until my late Lord died, I would most certainly have agreed with you."
"Mama!" Elizabeth is rushing towards her, two pudgy puppies in tow, and laughs delightedly as Anne embraces her, then she sees that the Lord Treasurer is with her mother, and immediately disengages, "Good afternoon, Mr Cromwell."
"Good Afternoon, your Majesty." Cromwell bows to her, "I see that you have made two most admirable friends."
"I have indeed," She turns and points to one of the animals, "That is Castor, and the other is Pollux." Then she pauses, and thinks a moment or two, "Or is that Pollux and the other Castor?"
"I fear I cannot tell, Majesty." He says gravely, "I have not seen them since they were gifted to you."
"No matter, have you come to talk to Mama?"
"Yes, Majesty - and also to you."
"To me?" She looks intrigued, "Why - is it because I am Queen?"
"Yes, Majesty."
Anne holds out her hand to her daughter, and leads her to a shady pergola, where she sits alongside her child upon a bench. Cromwell stands alongside, while Lady Rochford stands a short distance away - a chaperone against unwanted gossip.
"Elizabeth, I must go away for a few days - possibly a little longer."
"Why, Mama?" the girl is confused, though not dismayed. She is used to living apart from her parents, though it has been a long time since she did so.
"I wish that I did not have to tell you this, my sweetheart - but Mary has proclaimed herself Queen."
The girl frowns, "How is that so, Mama? Am I not Queen?"
"Yes, my dear heart, you are Queen - as was your late Papa's will, and as the Law says. But Mary has decided that she wishes to be Queen instead of you, and seeks to take your crown away."
"She would not do that, Mama - she would not! She is my sister and she loves me!" Elizabeth's shock is almost palpable, "She was so kind to me at Hatfield…"
"She was indeed, Elizabeth - and I think that she still holds you in her heart. I am afraid that it is her anger with me that has led her to do this, for she blames me for her not being a princess anymore."
"There must be a mistake, Mama - is it not a mistake?"
Anne shakes her head, "No, my beloved."
Cromwell remains silent. He is surprised, and relieved, that Anne has assured Elizabeth that Mary does not blame her for all that has occurred. The opportunity to claim that Mary has never loved her younger sister, and thereby build enmity between the two girls, would have been most tempting - but Elizabeth is still very young, and it is a burden that her mother does not wish to place upon her.
Elizabeth remains silent for a few moments, but then turns to look up at Anne, "I am the Queen, Mama - not Mary."
"Yes, my dear one. And that is why I must go, for Mary's false claim to your crown must be set aside; and I shall do it. For you, and for England."
Elizabeth sits up a little straighter, her alabaster face set and calm, "For England."
Smiling at her gently, Anne holds her close.
The column winds along the wide track, lit by flaming torches. At its head, the senior Lords and Officials of England surround the Queen Regent as they make their way north.
They do not have to go particularly far, as they intend to assemble all the Queen's forces at Barnet, before heading north to intercept the forces of the false Queen Mary. A messenger upon a fast horse has already come south to meet them, with a letter from Sussex to announce that he has assembled eight thousand men, and they have mustered just to the east of the town. An additional two thousand men are behind her, while the armaments and artillery are expected to be delivered to the Camp in the morning.
Riding to the rear of the group, Rich feels nervous, as he has never seen battle, and has never wished to. Alongside him, Cromwell is as impassive as ever, and he knows that his colleague has fought in wars. Whether that shall translate into participation in any ensuing combat, he cannot say with any certainty - but nonetheless, if battle is joined, he intends to be as far from it as possible. He might well have become more trustworthy - but that has not yet been followed by a commensurate increase in bravery.
"Do you think that she shall fight us?" he asks, eventually.
"I cannot say." Cromwell admits, "Though I hope not - for it is not men of our standing who are likely to die if she does."
Rich shudders at the thought, and falls silent again.
Dawn is breaking as the column finally reaches the fields where Sussex has assembled the Queen's army. Anne has no experience of war, but the expression upon the faces of those councillors who have suggests to her that the men before them are well prepared, and shall be well equipped. There are banners aplenty, fluttering in the brisk autumnal breeze, while clouds that are pendulous and pregnant with rain drift slowly overhead. In the distance, the armaments train is also approaching, while a large cadre of cooks are at work preparing oaten gruel thick with bacon and split peas upon which the soldiers shall break their fast.
"Do we know where Mary's forces are?" Anne asks, as she is served warmed cider and fine manchet bread in a small pavilion.
Sussex nods, "She has assembled some five thousand men-at-arms, and perhaps two thousand or so burghers and peasants." He advises, "They were seen to depart from St Albans at first light, and we expect them to pass to the north of us in some three hours from now. The road shall bring them south of the large Wrotham wood, and there we shall be able to engage them." His expression is odd, and Anne looks bemused.
"What concerns you, my Lord?"
"We shall engage Mary's contingent upon the same spot where the fourth Edward defeated the Kingmaker."
"I have not studied battles, my Lord."
Cromwell, on the other hand, has appreciated the significance, "It was a decisive battle in the Plantagenets' war, Majesty. Where the forces of the King defeated the Earl of Warwick, as he attempted to take the crown for the Sixth Henry. There was but one more battle between the houses of Lancaster and York - at Tewkesbury - but it was at Barnet that the fortunes of the house of York turned for the better."
"Then I shall take that as a good sign, Mr Cromwell."
"Yes, Majesty. I would, however, advise that you remain here when the Army departs."
She sighs, "I should prefer to see the defeat for myself."
"That, I understand, Majesty; but it would serve no one if there were a bowman amongst them who made a fortuitous shot."
Anne sags a little, but concedes the point, "In that case, I ask that you observe the battle. As soon as the outcome is known, you must return to me to advise me. Whatever happens, I must know as soon as it is over."
"I promise you that I shall do so, Majesty."
Anne turns to Rich, who has gone quite white at the thought of being obliged to attend, "Forgive me, my Lord, but I must have at least one of my immediate advisers at my side. Therefore I must ask you to remain here."
For a moment, she wonders if he might faint, but instead, he pulls himself together and bows, "As you demand, Majesty."
He does not see Cromwell offer Anne the faintest ghost of a wink. There may be another time when the Lord Privy Seal shall find it in himself to be brave - but this is not that time. It is better that he remain behind the lines - but Anne has granted him a reason to remain away from the field that shall not proclaim him a coward to all and sundry.
Bowing again, Cromwell smiles more broadly, then turns to find his horse.
The journey takes them a mile or so north of the town of Barnet, into a vale that offers cover upon the hillsides, and in the great woodlands that stretch far enough north to impede the eastward journey of an advancing column of soldiers. Mary's commanders shall have no alternative route to take - and thus they shall find themselves surrounded on all sides, and utterly unprepared for the assault that awaits them.
Sussex proves to be a most able commander, dispatching his men to various vantage points, while men with matchlocks are sent to the thicker cover, where their fuses shall not be seen so easily. Bowmen have been dispatched to lesser cover, and the infantry wait behind hastily constructed wattles thick with foliage. Not the most subtle of hides, perhaps - but sufficient to conceal them from a force that does not expect to be accosted.
"Do not fire unless the signal is given!" Sussex demands, riding back and forth along the lines, "The Lady Mary must not be harmed under any circumstances, nor the lords Suffolk or Wiltshire! Remember, they must be taken alive - should they die, then the one who killed them shall die also! Is that understood!"
There is a low rumbling murmur of assent, and Sussex withdraws to the cover of the woods. It is inevitable that Mary's army shall come through this way - so now all they can do is wait.
Despite the objections of both Wiltshire and Suffolk, Mary rides at the head of her army, a fine bonnet upon her head, with her hair coifed in red velvet, and a steel cuirass over her bodice. While the men at her back are doubtless fewer in number than those that shall be summoned by the Usurper, she is convinced that her cause is just, and thus God is upon her side.
In her time of imprisonment - luxurious though it was - she imagined this moment, dreamed it, played it over in her mind endlessly. She is the true Queen of England, and now she shall claim her crown. She has her Lord Chancellor at her side, and her Lord President, and her Lord Privy Seal. Sir Anthony Wingfield rides alongside Seymour, while Bishop Tunstall said Mass this morning, and called upon God to bless their enterprise. In time, she shall appoint the rest of the council, and England shall welcome her to her Capital.
She has few banners, or pennants, and thus the people in the fields seem to hang back, uncertain of whether or not to approach. No matter - they are fearful, and do not know that she is riding forth to liberate them from the unjust rule of a heretic. Behind her, the soldiers are bolstered by a large number of men who have abandoned their homes to fight for her, and she loves them for it. No one in London has even the first idea that she has departed St Albans - and thus the column moves at a leisurely pace - there seems little requirement to hurry and leave her men too tired to fight should they be obliged to do so.
Their way is obstructed by the great expanse of Wrotham wood - as Suffolk had warned her. Thus the column turns south towards Barnet, though they shall move northwards again to resume their easterly passage. Contented, Mary smiles, and offers up her thanks to God that her plans have begun to come to fruition.
Riding behind her, Suffolk is less convinced of their safety. While he has no reason to suspect that their plans are known, it is hard to be as assured as his Queen appears to be. She is convinced that God has blessed her intentions, he knows full well that it shall not be so easy as that. Whether they have God's blessings or not, the usurper shall not give up her daughter's crown without a fight - and where that fight shall be, he cannot begin to guess.
If they fail, then he knows too that his life shall be worth nothing, and neither shall Wiltshire's. That the Council know nothing of their army is meaningless - the Concubine has the resources to purchase an army should the need arise - but at least they have the element of surprise.
Beside him, Wiltshire seems to be dozing in his saddle, and he fights with himself not to scowl. Mary has accepted his pledge of loyalty, and will brook no disagreement, and so the self-interested Thomas Boleyn uses her to regain that which he lost thanks to his plotting against his own daughter. Lord above, how despicable a man is this? Should they face battle, he is quite convinced that the man shall turn tail and flee.
He is distracted from his brooding as they reach the southernmost part of their diversion prior to their transfer from the St Albans road to the Hatfield road. As the woods recede, he is surprised to see that a lone man sits upon a horse, watching their approach.
"Ho there, sir!" He rides forward, "Whither are you bound?"
"Nowhere of note, my Lord." The stranger is clearly able to recognise his rank from his clothing - for he is dressed according to his Lordly state, "Who might you be?"
"That is for me to know, sir. I must ask you to move aside."
"That I shall do - though I am surprised to see a woman in armour." The man is grinning, rather stupidly.
Behind him, Mary urges her horse forward, "I am the Queen." She says, calmly, "I wear armour for I lead an army to reclaim my crown."
"The Queen is in London, Madam." He shrugs, "I know not who you might be."
Rather than show temper, she smiles, "You have been deceived, good Sir. For the Queen is before you."
To her surprise, he laughs at her, "So you claim to be the Queen, and you lead an army while in armour? Is that not treason?"
"It is not, I assure you. I am the Queen by right of blood, and I intend to claim that which is mine!" she is becoming impatient now.
And then, in an instant, foliage drops, and there are ranks of men, bows drawn, matchlocks primed, while Sussex emerges from the woods, "And so, my Lady, you have condemned yourself out of your own mouth."
Appalled she stares at the Earl, while Suffolk turns and looks around in shock. They knew - somehow, they knew…
Suddenly, there is absolute confusion, as the men behind her clamour to flee. Those to the rear are not soldiers, and thus they are permitted to depart. It is the leaders of the column that are to be detained.
"Defend her Majesty!" Wiltshire suddenly demands, looking around wildly at the impossible numbers that face them, "To arms!"
It is madness - but Suffolk can see no other course. If they are to escape, then they must distract the crowds of soldiers that surround them - and the only way to do it is to fight. To his surprise, the men that are at their back obey that furious command, forming up and surrounding them as Sussex and his troops emerge more overtly from their cover. Mary dismounts alongside Suffolk, while Wiltshire spurs his horse around the surging tide of bodies, "Protect her Majesty!" On the other side, Seymour does likewise - though Suffolk can no longer see either Wingfield or Tunstall, and can only assume that they have turned tail and fled.
"Come with me, Majesty." He grasps her arm and starts to force his way through the throng in what he hopes is the direction in which they have come. Surrounded as they are, he has lost his bearings - but all that matters now is to get her away from what is shortly to become an utter rout. They were betrayed - but by whom? Someone must have overheard their plans…someone with links to the Concubine…
Behind him, he hears the thud of bowstrings as the archers let loose. Immediately, he pulls Mary close and leans over her, "Forgive me Majesty - I have plate at my back, you do not."
No arrows fall around them, but he can hear the pained cries of men who have not been so fortunate. God, he must get her away from here - but a horse…he must find her a horse…
"Wiltshire!" he can see Boleyn a hundred feet away, shouting and kicking out at men who now seem intent only upon flight, "The Queen!"
He looks at them for the briefest of moments as though balancing a choice, then claps his heels to the horse's flanks, urging the animal forward - only to find that the press of men is such that he cannot make headway against the throng, "Out of my way, damn you! Suffolk! I cannot get to you, come forth to me!"
But they can no more reach him than he can reach them, for the rout is such that none care any longer for anything other than escape - the death that awaits them if they are captured a sufficient motive to trample even a Princess underfoot if she is in the way. Wiltshire is fighting to keep his seat as his horse stumbles back and forth, attempting to set down its feet upon ground, not men.
"My Lord - go," Mary is breathless, "I need you alive. I shall not die - she shall send me into exile. Flee the field, flee the Realm, and await my departure from England. I shall surrender myself to her, and thus we shall be free to fight again. I cannot do so if you are dead. Join Wiltshire - work for my cause while I am imprisoned: the Lords of the North - his Holiness, his Imperial Majesty. I am the Queen, and I shall claim my throne in the end; but that day is not today."
"Majesty…"
"Go!" Her eyes are anguished, "If we cannot win this day, then we shall fight again upon another! I must have my councilmen free to aid me when I am gone from England - and there is no way to do so other than to place myself in the hands of our enemies. I am not afraid - if I must become a Martyr, then so I shall!"
Helplessly, he stares at her - such courage - but can she not see that she has failed? There shall be no opportunity to regroup and start again if she is in the Tower, or placed into a marriage far from England. If God had wanted them to enter London, then they would have done so - but instead they have been trapped and defeated without even the opportunity to raise their own weapons.
"Find the Lady Mary!" someone's voice cries behind them, "Find her and bring her to my Lord of Sussex! A gold mark to the man who finds her!"
There is no option - he must flee, or die. "It is my order as your Queen," she demands, "conceal yourself in the woods and work for my cause in exile. If I am to die, then you shall have a martyr and England shall turn from the Concubine and her false faith."
His eyes agonised, Suffolk stares at her as she turns and steps back into the throng. Almost at once, someone has snatched her arm, and she is pulled away - and their excitement at discovering her has distracted the soldiers from those who were with her. Forcing his way towards Wiltshire, he accepts a proffered arm and is quickly astride the horse behind the Earl. Now that they are moving with the flow of people, it is a simple matter to kick the horse into a gallop, and the pair take flight with the men who have abandoned Mary's short-lived cause. God alone knows where Seymour has got to. It may be that he, too, is taken. As it is, they are now fugitives from the Regent - and shall have great prices on their heads before the day is out. Assuming that they can even find safe shelter, who would listen to their importunings now? He shall certainly try - but that is all he can do: try.
Such high hopes; but that is over - in the space of a scant two weeks, Mary Tudor has gambled for the throne. And lost.
Anne sits and fidgets, wondering what is happening; while, nearby, Rich, Petre, Gage and Southampton speculate pointlessly about an outcome that shall present itself of its own volition. They have been gone near on three hours now - and still nothing. Has her army prevailed? Were they obliged to fight? Have men died?
And then, at last, the thud of hooves upon heavy ground as a horse is ridden back into the camp. Immediately, she is upon her feet as Cromwell hastens into the pavilion.
"Majesty, it is over. There was no battle - though the archers were obliged to loose several volleys as the Lady's troops fell into disarray and attempted to conceal her. She is taken, as is Seymour, and most of her soldiers. Only those who followed the camp have escaped - though there is no news yet of Wiltshire or Suffolk. It is presumed that they have fled the field."
"So it is done."
"Yes, Majesty."
Anne sinks back into her chair. At least there has been little in the way of bloodshed - at least on the part of her own soldiers. Now she must think what to do with those who have been captured. Mary, of course, shall be removed from England to some suitable Protestant kingdom as far away as possible - but what of Seymour? What of the soldiers who were raised to fight against her? Should they be punished?
"Send Seymour and those of the army that are officers to the Tower to await our further pleasure." She says, quietly, "Disband the foot soldiers and send them back to their shires - but ensure that they are fined for their disloyalty to their Kingdom. The Lady shall be returned to Hunsdon, where she shall be close confined - none of her previous retinue are to attend her. From this day forth, only a household loyal to her Majesty shall be permitted to attend her, and they shall be replaced at every quarter, to ensure that none develop a misplaced attachment. We shall then decide what is to be done with her at our leisure."
"What of Suffolk and Wiltshire?" Cromwell asks, quietly, "They remain at large."
"Offer suitably large rewards for their capture." Anne says, "If they escape England, then that is that - but if they do not, then I wish for them to join Seymour in the Tower." She pauses, "Also, send the Seymour girl there - and the Clarencieux woman. They were complicit in the plans that the girl hatched - and so they should at least spend a suitable period of time in confinement to remind them where their loyalties should truly lie. But house them well."
Cromwell bows, and turns to Rich, who nods and departs the tent, "It shall be done, Majesty."
As the evening draws in, the army returns from the field. The deaths have largely been confined to those who were with Mary, as they were felled by arrows - but one or two men in the royal army have been lost. On the whole, however, there has been a remarkable lack of bloodshed, and she is grateful for it.
Perhaps now, in the face of such an easy victory, people shall accept that God has chosen Elizabeth to rule England, and she can - at last - set to work.
A/N: If you're surprised that Boleyn stuck around in the midst of the rout, so was I. Originally, he was going to do a bunk, but then I reconsidered it - what could be more fun than having two blokes who despise each other forced to go on the run together?
Until 2018...Happy New Year!