A/N: And it's Friday again! Where does the week go? Happy new year to everyone. I hope your celebrations were felicitous, and wish you all the very best for 2018.
So - Mary has made her play, but didn't take into account the extensive propaganda campaigning that's been going on since Anne started her charm offensive by largely keeping out of the way and turning the spotlight on her daughter. Sometimes things can seem so momentous, but in the end they are almost unbearably banal and inconsequential. Without the scope to claim that God had turned on England for accepting Elizabeth and a paucity of support amongst the higher nobility, not to mention the ongoing programme of economic and social reforms, she really didn't have a hope of gaining the support she needed.
Appirinia - thanks for your comment. In answer to your hopes: your wait for a confrontation between Anne and Mary is very short, as it'll end in, oh, about the next thirty seconds or so after you've read this!
Mary's punishment may well seem lenient (well, at first, perhaps!), but Anne is very conscious of the dilemma of her parentage. While she has been declared illegitimate, she remains Henry's daughter and - consequently - half royal. With the dubious mystery of the princes in the Tower still lurking close to the surface (it's a whopping, big red splat on the reign of Richard III even today, after all), she faces that same problem of what to do with a prisoner of royal blood that won't set a dangerous precedent for herself, or future monarchs. Elizabeth understood that all too well with Mary, Queen of Scots - and the fallout from that indicates that she as right to do so. One thing the Historical Anne and Cromwell had in common was a high degree of pragmatism, which has followed them into this alternate universe.
Having played singularly fast and loose with English history, I'm afraid I'm now going to do likewise with another European nation, though it could be said that there's at least a minor link given that one of Elizabeth's most ardent suitors in the early years of her reign came from there. In my defence, I plead AU and dramatic licence!
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A Paper Wedding
The house is well set in fine parkland just south of the town of Barnet, and has been granted to the Regent by its owner, a grateful gentleman who owns it only because it was once upon Church lands. Lands that are now his.
Mary has been housed in one of the larger upstairs chambers, a well appointed space with carpets upon the floors, a fine tester bed, and comfortable chairs around a large fireplace. None of her women are with her, having remained with the captured baggage train without horses to ride; and thus unable to flee. They have been placed in a covered wagon and are even now on their way to the Tower, with a large escort of the Queens' guards, while a messenger has been sent on to ensure that the Queen's House has been prepared for them.
Fidgeting with a loose button upon a quilted cushion, Anne stares out of the leaded window at the garden beyond, slightly distorted by the bulbous glass. That darker, more primal part of her nature longs to have sent Mary with them; but she knows that her future reputation shall be coloured by what happens now. She does not need Mr Cromwell to tell her that Mary must not be made a martyr, either to her overblown faith or to her claim of a blood inheritance. No - the brat must be forgiven, in spite of her almost certain refusal to accept mercy or forgiveness. Does she know yet that the people did not rise to her call? That those who followed her did so for reasons other than some perceived higher purpose? Perhaps she does - but Anne knows well that the girl has one, fatal flaw. She believes that all men are as slavishly pious as she is. Does she even realise that her beloved church is a rotting corpse of corruption?
It matters not - she has attempted to raise England against her Queen, and now awaits that Queen's pleasure. Or, at least, that of the Regent.
She looks up at the sound of a knock upon the door, and waits as Matthew opens it, "Majesty, the Lord Treasurer."
For the first time since she returned from their camp, she smiles, "Come in, Mr Cromwell."
Cromwell enters, and bows, "Majesty, the Lady is installed in her rooms, and is well guarded. I have appointed two particularly fervently protestant ladies to see to her needs - though I have advised them not to enter into any arguments with her over matters of religion. I have no wish for the guards to be obliged to enter the room and separate a group of screeching women pulling at one another's hair."
"Seymour?"
"Chained and also being marched south to the Tower." Cromwell sighs, "Both Suffolk and Wiltshire are being hunted - but I think it likely that they have fled the field upon horseback, as has Wingfield, for they are not amongst those who have been rounded up from the field."
"And what of them - have they been dispatched back to their homes?"
"Most, yes - other than those who do not have the funds to pay the fine that has been levied upon them."
"In that case, they shall enter the Royal army until they have earned sufficient wages to pay those fines. Then they shall be freely discharged." She indicates that Cromwell sit.
"Your late Lord would, almost certainly, have demanded their heads." He admits.
"I am not my late Lord - and I do not enjoy his power or the love of his Subjects, Mr Cromwell. Thus I must act with a gentler hand." Then she scowls, "Though I should delight in obliging that girl to subject herself to my wrath, she is protected by virtue of that which drives her to demand Elizabeth's crown."
Cromwell nods, and sighs, "I think she hopes for martyrdom - and, in so doing, drive out the protestant faith through the sending of a Catholic army to destroy us in vengeance."
"Then she shall hope in vain, for I shall not play that game with her - much as I should like to." Anne admits, "To do what she has done is treason - and I cannot demand the price of that from her."
"Then she shall receive that which she has always desired." Cromwell says, quietly, "A husband."
Anne looks at him, surprised, "You have found someone who would serve as a suitable lord for her hand?"
"Possibly. I have heard that King Gustav of Sweden is widowed, for his previous wife died after she fell while dancing. She was with child - and the fall appears to have corrupted the pregnancy, and taken her life with it. While she had granted him a son, there is but one of their union. Thus he seeks a new Queen. Who better than a young woman who is well grown and ready to bear many children, and also the daughter of a great King? He is Protestant - determinedly so - but desires greatly to have many sons to follow him, for he is the first of his house, and thus must choose his spouse with care to avoid the anger of his nobility."
Anne nods. Of all things, Mary desires to marry and have sons - for that is the first duty of a Princess, is it not? Once, she was paraded before the Princes of Europe as a potential bride - only for her fortunes in the marriage market to wax and wane with Henry's capriciousness as he betrothed her to one Prince, then to another, then to another, as his allegiances shifted. Thus she is almost too old to be a royal bride, and only her intact state shall win her a husband now, "Though is it not possible that he shall reject her on the grounds of her bastardy? She is, after all, the child of a King's invalid marriage."
"I am sure a suitably large dowry, and promises of trade and martial support, shall overcome that." Cromwell says, quietly, "If he can be persuaded to accept her, then it shall also be possible to deliver her to her new Kingdom by sea, and thus there shall be no danger of Catholic sympathisers attempting to waylay her."
Anne sighs, "Do you also feel some measure of guilt in doing so?"
He looks up at her, and nods, "We are inflicting a grievous punishment upon a young woman who has done naught but that which she thinks to be right. She is young, and has received an education of great stature - but not one that has aided her in navigating waters as treacherous as these."
"But we must do so - for if we do not, then she shall be free to raise men against Elizabeth again - and that I shall not have."
The pair turn at another knock upon the door, and Matthew opens it to reveal Michael without, "Majesty, Mistress Horsman has asked me to advise you that the Lady has asked for an audience."
Anne looks at her two stewards, then at Cromwell, and then back again, "Very well, advise her to escort the Lady to my Privy Chamber. I shall speak with her."
Michael nods, and withdraws.
"Do you wish to speak to the lady in private, or would you prefer if I remain?"
Anne shakes her head, "Matthew, kindly summon Sussex, Mr Rich and Lord Rochford. If any other members of the Council are present, send them, too. I think it best that she meets the Regent and the Council in the first instance. Whether I shall speak to her in private at any time afterwards shall be determined by her behaviour. She despises me, and thus I think it best that we are united in our dealings with her - and absolutely transparent. I have no wish to give her cause to claim that she has been treated poorly."
"Yes, Majesty."
Mary is still in the garments that she was wearing when in her procession, the bonnet and red coif, and the cuirass, which is slightly dented, over her black gown - and looks rather ridiculous now that she is facing the Council, rather than battle. Her expression is most defiant - but then, she has little choice other than to look so.
Seated in a fine chair, her Canopy of Estate over her head, Anne regards her. So young - so foolish; so utterly lacking in the pragmatism that is essential for one who must rule a Kingdom, "Lady Mary."
"Madame." The girl's answer is terse, reluctant. To use the term 'Majesty' apparently unthinkable.
"You have attempted to raise an army against the lawful Queen of England." Anne continues, "What have you to say?"
"Only that I am the lawful Queen of England, Madame. I seek only to claim that which is mine by right."
If she expects gasps of shock from the men around the woman before her, she is disappointed - for Anne has demanded that they remain impassive, no matter what is said. Deprived of that impact, Mary looks less certain, but retains that defiant expression as best she can, "So, what is to be my fate, Madame? The Tower? The Stake?"
"Neither, my Lady. It is not my intention to make a martyr of you - no matter how greatly your heart might desire it. On the contrary. You are to return to your house at Hunsdon, where you shall resume your former life. I shall not, however, permit you to plot again - your household shall be appointed by the Council in its entirety, and shall be replaced regularly, though you shall not be advised when that shall occur. Your former ladies are currently lodged at the Tower."
Mary flinches slightly, and her expression wavers for a moment, but with a visible effort, she forces herself to become impassive again.
"I can assure you that they are well lodged, and shall remain so. Their fates, however, are in your hands. Should you plot against the Queen again - be it thought, word or deed - then I shall be forced to reconsider my response to their acts of treason against her Majesty."
The girl sways slightly, but again forces herself to stand up straight, "And if others plot in my name - and I know of it not? What then?"
"If you know nothing of it, then you have nothing to fear. But there shall be no letters, no whispered messages, no attempts to win favour with your servants. You shall remain at Hunsdon until such time as arrangements for your future are settled."
"God shall determine my future, Madame." Mary's voice is low, venomous, "You destroyed my mother, the true Queen of England, and set your own spawn upon a throne in my place. He shall turn from this land for her sin, and her wanton whoring for her own pleasure! I shall regain that which you stole from me, and overturn all of your heresies! For you are naught but a mistress! A mere wanton! There is no drop of royal blood in you, and thus that of your child is poisoned by your common birth!"
Once, perhaps, Anne would have risen to such provocation; but there is now too much at stake. Instead, she remains impassive and cold; her face like stone. The men that stand alongside her are shuffling slightly, she can sense it; but they, too, keep their peace. All of the barbs that Mary has thrown at the woman before her seem to have done naught but glance off - and she stands where she is, her face reddened with temper, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"You have fomented rebellion in the Realm, Madame." Anne replies, her voice as cold as her expression, "It is for the love that I bear your late father that I do not dispatch you forthwith to the Tower. England did not rise to follow your call - only a ragged rabble of men with no better industry to occupy them who fled at the first sight of an army. They have returned to their homes, and shall not think of you again."
That seems to have had an impact, as the girl's eyes widen at the suggestion that she has not won the love of the people of England, "That is not so. I am the daughter of the true Queen of England…my Subjects would not forget me…"
Her voice is defiant - but now it is tinged with doubt.
"It is so. England has a Queen, and that Queen is not you. Thus I, as Regent, command that you be returned to your house at Hunsdon, until a decision has been made as to your future life. Go."
Mary scowls, but only a blind man could fail to see that her eyes are brimming, as the reality of her failure is beginning to sink in. For a moment, Anne is tempted to try to extend the hand of friendship; but even now Mary would reject it in fury, and thus she stays still and watches as Mary turns to depart. It matters not that the girl has failed to curtsey to her - to comment upon it would be a petty matter in the face of her victory.
As soon as she is gone, Anne turns, "Mr Cromwell, ensure that she receives every courtesy and comfort prior to her departure. If she refuses to speak to you, then send someone to her whom she shall accept."
He nods, "Yes, Majesty." Bowing, he, too, retreats.
The lady is sitting upon the edge of her bed as he is admitted into her chamber. She has failed to remove her warlike garments, and instead stares glassily at the wainscoting, clearly fighting with herself not to shed tears.
"Is that cuirass not uncomfortable, my Lady?" he asks, politely, "surely it would be easier if you removed it?"
Mary does not answer, but continues to stare at the wainscoting. Eventually, she speaks, "What shall happen to me?"
Cromwell sighs, "As you have been advised, my Lady - you shall return to Hunsdon to resume your former life. At this time, what follows shall be at her Majesty's pleasure; but there is no intention to imprison you."
"Beyond my clear confinement at Hunsdon?"
Cromwell fidgets, uncomfortably, "My Lady, you shall be offered every comfort, as before; you shall not be obliged to pay for your household, nor shall your possessions be taken from you. I am sure that there are many items at Hunsdon that are precious to you - and the contents of your baggage train are here, so any items of importance to you that you carried therein shall also be returned to you."
Mary slumps slightly, and closes her eyes, allowing one of the pooled tears to fall, "Thank you." She whispers, "My mother's rosary is held in a coffer in one of the baggage carts."
"I shall ensure that it is recovered and restored to you."
"And the…Regent…shall permit that?"
"Her Majesty the Regent has authorised me to ensure that you receive every comfort and courtesy, my Lady. That would most assuredly include the restoration of treasured possessions." He pauses, "If it is your wish, I shall retrieve the appropriate coffer for you immediately."
"Why are you doing this?" she turns then, "You have ever been my enemy."
"Perhaps, my Lady; but I have seen too much viciousness and anger in my time at Court - and is it not better to be good to one another? I do not think that her Majesty the Queen would wish to see her beloved half-sister destroyed; and I - as a parent bereaved of two girls - have no wish to inflict undue indignities upon you. That she has asked me to offer you every courtesy demonstrates that her Majesty the Regent also has no wish to do so."
Mary shakes her head, "That, I cannot believe, Mr Cromwell - but I should appreciate it if you could reunite me with my coffer. It is built of sycamore and carved with biblical scenes."
He bows to her, "I shall see to it at once."
She watches as he departs, and sighs, miserably. He is no friend to her - she knows it; but still he is magnanimous in victory. At least she shall be safely installed in Hunsdon for the time being; and thus her cause is not dead. Perhaps, with God's help, Suffolk and Wiltshire shall find a way to come to her aid - and thus she can make another attempt to regain her stolen crown.
Seated in his great Library, Thomas Howard squirms slightly on the cushions of his favourite chair and glowers at the fire, wondering what the hell is happening beyond the bounds of his castle walls at Arundel.
The loss of his court prestige still rankles extensively, particularly given that it was at the hands of Rochford - that duplicitous little runt. Ousting not only himself, but also his own father - and all by the simple expedient of introducing that damned letter from Richmond, and pretending ignorance over its presence amongst his papers. Who could have thought that a man so lacking in wise sense could have acted so? But then, the utter lack of sophistication in the execution of his betrayal can only mean that Rochford acted alone. Only he could have been so childishly unsubtle - but the means matters not; it worked, and thus the premier Peer of the Realm is now obliged to languish in the countryside while the daughter of a commoner rules the Kingdom on behalf of a babe.
Now that the excesses of his temper have settled rather more, he is rethinking his strategy. When he was first banished, he had decided to wash his hands of the entire affair and leave the blasted woman to fail, and hang the consequences. Now, however, his wish to be at the centre of politics is returning; and, with no Richmond to whom he can tie his ambitions, it must be the girl Mary, or no one.
Such is his determination both to reclaim his lost power, and to avenge that loss, that even being obliged to fight with an opinionated, headstrong girl is preferable to this wretched rustication. He has, in his favour, the fact that his family's credentials are wholeheartedly Catholic, which shall attract her, and the fact that he has proven skills upon the battlefield as a commander of men. He has - admittedly - acted against her in previous years, but with her options as limited as they are, she is hardly likely to rebuff him in the face of the advantages he can offer her.
Rising from his chair, he moves to a nearby desk and sits there instead, his chin propped upon his hands. Given that Wiltshire was also banished, there is the possibility of an alliance with the Earl. While Mary was known to despise him, thanks to his actions on behalf of a King who wanted his suddenly bastardised child shut away from his sight, a conversion back to the 'true faith' should overturn that…and Suffolk was for the brat all along anyway. Thus, if he can make contact with them, there is every opportunity to win over Katherine's benighted daughter and set her upon her throne. Even if she refuses to accept a Lord Protector, Tunstall's suggestion of recreating the post of Lord High Steward shall certainly overcome that stumbling block.
He is disturbed from his musings by a knock upon the door, and it opens to reveal one of his stewards, "Your Grace, a man claiming to be his Grace Bishop Tunstall is without, and seeks an urgent audience with you. He is dressed most roughly, but has presented a pectoral cross upon a chain, a gold ring and a purple skullcap as evidence of his identity. I thought to bar him from the gate, but he was insistent."
Norfolk is intrigued, and decides not to have the man ejected, "Then it may indeed be his Grace - but I shall soon know it if he is not. I shall see him in my Privy Chamber. Escort him there."
"Yes, your Grace."
Something has happened - Tunstall has no reason to be here if all is well at Court. Intrigued, Norfolk looks out of the wide windows from his library down to the great quadrangle below, before adjourning to his private apartments.
Tunstall, when he is shown in, is mud-spattered and dishevelled thanks to a hard, long ride, while his purple zucchetto and cassock have been abandoned in favour of singularly noisome garments presumably stolen from a peasant's hovel. The only evidence he has to prove his true status is already in Norfolk's hands, courtesy of the Steward. He looks fretful, and is hard put not to begin pacing back and forth.
"Well?" Norfolk does not need to ask what has happened. It is clear that a momentous event has occurred, and all he requires is to know what that event has been.
"I…" Tunstall forces himself to stop fidgeting, "The Lady Mary proclaimed herself Queen at St Albans two weeks ago - and attempted to raise an army against the Regent. While leading her men to a Priory some distance east from St Albans, in hopes of marching upon London in secret, her column was ambushed at Barnet, and she was taken."
"And you fled." Norfolk says, his expression cold.
"I…I did not know what else to do, your Grace. I am no warrior - and it was of concern to me that news of her capture be spread to those who might be able to effect a rescue."
"Or those who shall hide you from the Regent's vengeance."
"Seymour is taken - Wingfield was with me, but we were separated in the woods, and I know not where he is now. Suffolk and Wiltshire…"
"Wiltshire?" Norfolk stares, startled - while he had considered persuading Mary to accept the Earl through the presentation of a supposed 'conversion' it had not occurred to him that the man would do such a thing upon his own initiative.
"Yes, your Grace. My Lord of Wiltshire has recanted, and sworn his service wholly to the Lady." Tunstall is still unsure of how his news shall be received, "I remained only to learn what I could of the fates of those who led that column - before I came south to report the matter to you."
"And what do you expect me to do? I am banished from Court upon pain of execution should I attempt to act against the Regent again."
Again, Tunstall fidgets, "If the Lady Mary is to achieve the objectives she undertook to proclaim at St Albans, then the aid of the premier Peer of the Realm is now essential, for only the great Lords of the North did not declare for the Regent when she called upon them."
"Did they declare for Mary?"
"Er…they did not."
No surprise there - the risk of declaring allegiance in an insurrection is always that one shall lose all should one declare for the losing side. They used their distance from the fray as an excuse to avoid declaring until the outcome was known. Not that he can criticise them for doing it - he probably would have done no differently.
"And what of the Lady? Where is she bound - the Tower?"
"I do not know." Tunstall admits, a little shamefacedly.
"You do not know." Norfolk snorts, contemptuously, "You bound yourself to her fate when you thought her likely to succeed, and now you flee like vermin from a dog in the face of her failure."
Tunstall shuffles, and reddens. Disgusted, Norfolk turns away and crosses to the fireplace, "It seems, then, that the hour calls me forth. Since you have seen fit to discard your priestly garments, you shall depart from this place and seek out Wiltshire and Suffolk in the guise of a common peasant. Send them to me - I shall give you personal items to use as tokens. Their plotting has failed, and thus I shall take command of the Lady Mary's Council until such time as she has regained her throne."
"Yes, my Lord." Tunstall sounds most relieved, "I shall do as you ask."
"You most certainly shall. For if you do not, you shall be hunted down like a dog and dragged to Tyburn upon a hurdle. Now, remove yourself from my home. There is a rough tavern in the town where you shall stay this night, for I shall not have you under my roof. I shall send a steward with the tokens in due course."
Too embarrassed to be affronted, Tunstall nods, bows, and flees.
Ignoring the Bishop's humiliating departure, Norfolk turns his attention back to the fireplace, his eyes narrowed and vicious. So, the first attempt to remove that Woman has failed. In that case, he shall take the lead - and this time, they shall win.
Anne reads the letter that is to be dispatched to Sweden in the care of Southampton, Sadleir and an escort of royal guards, "This seems most satisfactory in its terms. Are we sure that we are not too late? He may already have decided to marry within his Kingdom."
"Matters are rather unstable in Sweden, Majesty," Rich is perusing a report that has been sent through from their ambassador in the Court of France, "King Gustav was elected to his position after a period of considerable strife, and his position is still not entirely secure, particularly in terms of overseas relations. His late wife gave him but one son, and he - as was your late Lord - is keen to accumulate more in order to achieve that security. Our sources in France suggest that he is looking for allies with reformist principles in order to further a reformation already under way in his own lands."
Anne's eyebrows rise, "Elected?"
"Indeed, Majesty - I believe that, prior to King Gustav, Sweden's Kings were elected to their position by the nobility; though it is suspected that he intends to overturn this practice, and favour primogeniture instead."
"Naturally - to be granted the crown by consent of the nobility - what a strange notion. How on earth could any King rule with such a price held over his head?" She looks concerned again, "Have we offered enough to persuade him to accept the match? She is, after all, tainted by bastardy."
"The dowry is of a proportion fitting to a princess of the Blood, Majesty," Sussex advises, "In addition, England shall offer military and naval support to Sweden in times of war, as brethren in the face of the malevolence of Rome. The lady is still sufficiently young to bear many children, is well educated and schooled in appropriate manners. Furthermore, she is the daughter of a great Prince of Christendom. If matters in Sweden are indeed as precarious as we are led to believe, then his Majesty shall need all the allies that he can find. Equally, I am advised that his Majesty is a clever diplomat and in possession of a most shrewd wit. I think it likely that he is more than capable of the pragmatism that his position requires."
"Very well. Ensure that the Embassy is as finely presented as possible - I should not be pleased for our overtures to be rejected upon the grounds that we look to be too poor a nation to offer a worthwhile alliance."
"There is also the issue of how quickly the marriage can be solemnised, Majesty," Cranmer advises, back at the table for the first time in some months, thanks to an ongoing scandal involving a pregnancy in the household of the Dean of Canterbury, "It may be better that the matter be settled by proxy - given the distance involved, that would be a reasonable expectation. I believe that there is an excellent portrait of the lady that was painted only a few years ago, which should also be sent. She has not changed greatly in appearance since then."
Cromwell looks surprised, "And thus you would present the matter to the Lady as a fait accompli?"
Anne looks at him with sympathy - a man with daughters who died before they were fully old enough to enter the marriage market, he seems to have quite forgotten that a woman's marriage is always presented as a fait accompli. She is less usual in that respect - as her marriage to the King was based entirely upon desire, and she fought for it as much as he did - but Mary would not expect that. All seem to forget that, prior to her marriage to Henry, it had been intended to marry her off to another man in exchange for his dropping a claim to a title her father wanted. No - her nuptials would have been entirely a political transaction, and her opinion would not even have been sought. The only reason that she was not married three or more years ago was her father's regular abrogation of treaties when they no longer suited his interests, "Mr Cranmer, I think you to be right. While Mary is no babe, the distance between our two nations is such that none would remark upon it. Furthermore, her eagerness to be wedded is well known: and thus none would object upon her behalf, for she has been given only that which she has expressly desired to have."
Anne sits back in her chair, relieved that another has made that suggestion. Hoist by her own petard: how fitting. The girl has made no secret of her dismay that she is near-on twenty one years of age, and still unmarried. For a woman of her station, that is a shocking oversight on the part of her parents. She should have been wedded and bedded at least four years back - either to a Prince of the Empire or of France - but Henry would not do it, and certainly would not once her bastardy was declared. Thus she remains in England, and remains a dangerous thorn in her stepmother's side.
"Dispatch the Embassy to Sweden with all haste, Gentlemen." She says, firmly, "It is my wish that the Lady Mary be the property of a husband by the commencement of Advent - and thus we shall be free to celebrate Christmastide without her shade haunting the Court. That shall be all for today."
She watches as they rise, and bow, before gathering their papers and departing. Seated alone at the head of the table, Anne considers the thought that Gustav shall say yes to the marriage. Then, all that she shall be obliged to do is pay for a suitably sparkling trousseau for the wretched girl, so that Sweden is not insulted by an under-jewelled bride.
Mary shall not like it, of course - not to go somewhere so far removed from her beloved bell, book and candle; but nor can she complain. All know that she is embittered over her spinsterhood, and to marry a King in spite of the invalidity of her parents' marriage is more than she can hope for. That it is a protestant King in a country far to the north matters not - she is getting a royal wedding, and all shall be joyful.
Even if she is not.
Elizabeth is, at last, free from the constraints of the leading rein, and rides Orithyia around the paddock as she wishes. The two pages are now obliged to run to keep up with her, though she has never fallen - her skills in the saddle apparently equal to her skills in the schoolroom.
Watching, Anne smiles for the first time in nearly four weeks. While the negotiations in Sweden are entirely out of her hands, she nonetheless frets over the matter almost constantly. What if the Embassy has been lost at sea? Or waylaid on the way from Gothenburg? What if Gustav is already married? Or, worse, he is not but refuses to wed the bastard brat of a dead King?
The weather has continued to be balmy as autumn encroaches upon the parklands, turning the green sycamores a wondrous red as the leaves prepare to fall. The lowest of the kitchen staff have been dispatched to seek out chestnuts, to be brought back and stored for roasting as winter closes in, while the gardeners are hard at work cutting back the roses in preparation for the frosts to come. There is no sign that God is displeased with her, or her daughter - and the returning Members of the Commons, summoned for their final session before Christmastide, say nothing of insurrection or discontent in the shires.
Yes - Mary chose the worst possible time to attempt to raise England against her sister. She could not claim that God was displeased, for there was no sign of it, nor could she offer to aid the starving and dispossessed, for the institutions that Anne had wanted to establish more than a year ago are now present - and the Churches ever preach upon the virtue of charity towards one's fellow man.
An entirely new suite of servants began work at Hunsdon only a few days back - selected from the Palace staff to exchange places with colleagues sent out there and now called back to Whitehall. Once she has heard from Southampton, she shall order the Court's removal back to Placentia - Henry always liked to celebrate Christmastide there…
"Look at me, Mama!" Elizabeth's voice calls across, and she does so, to see her daughter bobbing up and down as Orithyia trots. She has not yet learned the trick of rising and falling in the saddle in order to hold herself more steady, but, equally, she has only recently been permitted to travel at a speed faster than a mere walk, but as she approaches the fence, she slows the horse with surprising ease, and stops directly in front of her mother.
"My goodness, Majesty. That is excellent. We shall make a horsewoman of you yet!" she smiles, delightedly.
Elizabeth laughs, and then looks behind Anne's shoulder, "Mr Cromwell is coming Mama."
Anne turns, and indeed there he is, approaching with a folio under his arm. He does not move with urgency - but there must be a message of importance, otherwise he would not be here, "Thank you, my precious; go to - I shall speak to Mr Cromwell, and we shall dine later in your Privy Chamber."
"Yes, Mama." With a click of her tongue, Elizabeth urges Orithyia back towards Sir Anthony, who remains her riding tutor.
"We have it, Majesty." Cromwell's voice is low, "It makes good reading. I think you shall be most pleased."
He opens the folio and retrieves a large, folded paper, which Anne fights with herself not to snatch from him.
Most Gracious Majesty,
I am pleased to report that we landed at Gothenburg upon the fifteenth day of October, to find that the King and his Retinue had travelled from Stockholm to greet us at a fine Castle just beyond the City. There we were entertained, and presented your Majesty's offer of Mary's hand.
Upon reading the terms of the marriage, his Majesty proved most interested, and admitted to us that he had come to us upon hearing that a daughter of King Henry of England was being presented to him as a prospective Bride - furthermore, he was pleased that it was the elder, for he knew that a marriage to Elizabeth would have been invalid on account of her age. Thus he is content to accept Mary in her place, and consented to undertaking a marriage by proxy upon viewing her portrait.
Thus my Lord of Southampton, as Lord President of the Council of Queen Elizabeth of England, stood proxy for the Lady Mary as she was married to his Majesty, King Gustav of Sweden upon the twentieth day of October. The marriage documents have been signed and sealed, and are also enclosed. Thus the marriage was celebrated with feasting, and hunting. Mr Sadleir has been invited to return to Stockholm to establish a formal Ambassadorial residence, and awaits your pleasure to name a suitable candidate for that position.
A formal blessing of the marriage shall be performed in the great cathedral of St Nicholas in Stockholm prior to the new Queen taking up residence in one of his castles, for Sweden does not yet have a true Royal Palace.
His Majesty does not require the Lady to be referred to as a Princess, for he accepts that the validity of her birth is disputed - but he is intent upon alliance with England, and thus looks to formalise that alliance through marriage. Thus it is proposed that she be referred to as the Lady Mary, daughter of Henry the Eighth of England, France and Ireland, and such title has been set upon the marriage documents, to serve until she is crowned Sweden's Queen.
Thus I return to England anon, and shall - with your authorisation - commence the assembly of a fleet suitable to escort the Lady to her husband's side.
W Fitzwilliam. E of Southampton.
Cromwell has burrowed into that folio again, and holds out what can only be the formalisation of the marriage. Fighting with herself not to snatch that, too, Anne unfurls it, and reads the text with great care. The document is in Latin - the only common tongue between the two nations - and it is highly detailed. No matter how hard she tries, Mary shall be unable to claim there is no validity to this document - she is, in the eyes of all the laws of Europe, now married to King Gustav of Sweden, and shall have no alternative other than to depart England and never return.
"It is done." She says, quietly, "And she shall indeed be gone by All Saints Day."
"Yes Majesty." Cromwell agrees.
"We shall depart for Hunsdon upon Southampton's return, Mr Cromwell." She says, firmly, "I wish to impart this news to her - for I wish to see her face as she realises that she has been bested, and that she must depart England immediately. I shall not have it given to her by a Councillor. She has attempted to spite me, and thus I wish to show her that her spite has led only to her exile."
There is little point in objecting, so Cromwell opts not to, "Yes, Majesty. I shall make arrangements for a deputation and escort."
Anne nods as he bows and departs. Then she turns back to the now empty paddock, her eyes distant. All that matters to her is to rule well, and prepare England for her daughter's reign. Mary has stood in the way of that objective - and now, at last, that obstacle shall be removed.