A/N: Welcome to another Friday update! Thank you again for your comments; they are really appreciated.

Things have been rather quiet on the monastic front - but it's time to rethink, and sort out the religious houses that are still left...

CHAPTER THIRTY

A Social Irrelevance

Cromwell traces his finger along the line of text and squints to interpret the cursive Bastarda hand. Above that familiar opening preamble is an illumination that resembles a colonnade, containing a sequence of Arms and heraldic beasts to represent the late King. Within the enlarged first letter of the title, that same King sits upon his throne, surrounded by his councillors, and Cromwell smiles slightly, remembering the work that was undertaken to produce this enormous pile of data - and the speed at which it was done.

They had been men of the gentry, mayors, magistrates, sheriffs and even bishops; all eager to serve their king with diligence - and for no recompense - to evaluate the wealth of the English religious institutions - and the result is set before him, more than 22 volumes of descriptions and estimations of value that provide a shocking insight into the corruption of the Church.

There had been a time, long ago, when such places despised the accumulation of wealth - but those days are long gone, and a long succession of men eager to buy redemption for their sinful lives through the donation of lands to the Abbeys have granted obscene incomes to those who were supposed to have abjured all worldly wealth. No: the days when such places had any relevance in the communities that surround them are past No one now truly believes that such people are engaged in a vital duty to save the world from evil through the power of monastic prayer. No - they are nothing more than an irrelevance.

A very wealthy irrelevance.

He looks up as Rich approaches, once again burdened with a napkin containing some victuals thanks to another missed dinner, "Valor Ecclesiasticus? Do you intend to recommence the works?"

"I am considering doing so; assuming that her Majesty is willing. Matters upon the continent remain disturbed, and I should prefer to know that our coffers are well prepared should that strife be turned in our direction. I suspect that she has no desire to go to war without good reason - a trait that she shares with the late King's father. Royal bellicosity is ever a drain upon the finances of a nation."

Rich perches upon a nearby table as Cromwell unwraps the napkin to make a meal of bread and cheese, piled together with thick slices of roasted beef, "It is strange that he was so unwilling to wage war - for his son longed for nothing else."

"War is not a game, Mr Rich. I have seen battle, and it is not the grand enterprise that the late King envisaged - for he was never permitted to lead his troops into the fray, and thus did not see the true horror of combat. He never learned that conflict achieves nothing but destruction, bloodshed and heartbreak - and resolves nothing that could not have been more easily cured at the outset by wise diplomacy. It is my view that England should fight only if she must - not merely for the sport of it."

"The young bloods of England shall despise you for such a notion." Rich grins, cheerfully, "If the monies we recover from the Houses are not to be used for war, I assume that her Majesty has other plans for it?"

Cromwell nods, "She wishes to commission the building of roads between the major towns of England to facilitate trade - and to improve the larger ports for the same purpose. It shall provide work for those who have none, and men who have the means to purchase the land shall find their lot equally improved."

Rich blinks, "God above, that shall be costly. Are we sure that continued closures can support such expenditure?"

"Hence my return to the Valor Ecclesiasticus."

"And you intend to undertake that work alone?"

Cromwell snorts with amusement, "I shall not - Ralph shall. I am ever in awe of his powers of concentration."

Elizabeth is frowning with concentration, her brow furrowed and her tongue slightly poking from her mouth, as she slowly, carefully, traces letters that are beginning to show signs of growing into a fine chancery hand. The writing is still ungoverned, of course, for her five-year-old fingers still lack the dexterity to avoid blots and splatters.

The text is a short brace of simple sentences, but offers a challenge that fascinates the little girl; a passage that she has translated out of Spanish into English, and is now re-translating back into French. That, in itself, seems a simple thing for a child so capable in each language - but the true difficulty is in ensuring that the text, in French, matches the context, form and intent of the original Spanish exactly. To most children, such a thing would be a ghastly chore that they would dread - but Elizabeth relishes it, for her new tutor, William Grindal, presents the entire process to her as an enjoyable game.

Mistress Champernowne sits opposite, working on another passage of greater length, for she also enjoys the process of double translation, though her text not only longer, but is being translated into French from Latin before being translated onward into Spanish, as her young charge will learn to do in time rather than the simpler process of moving the translation through her mother tongue. Her original intention was to encourage Elizabeth to do the same - but the girl is so fascinated that she does so for her own leisure instead.

Seated nearby, reading a long, dull report from her French Ambassador, Anne enjoys the quiet industry all about her. It is likely that Elizabeth shall bound over to her shortly with her work, but she shall welcome the interruption - for her mind is wandering thanks to the dryness of the text in her hands.

For reasons she cannot fathom, her thoughts are occupied with the death of Edward Seymour, and - a few weeks later - Anthony Wingfield. The pair died two years back; but, even so, the reality of being obliged to condemn them has haunted her ever since, and she wonders how it was that Henry was able to sign a death warrant with such ease.

Was he haunted at night by the shades of the condemned? Did they ask him why he had ended their lives with the stroke of a pen? It matters not that the pair were guilty of treason - that they stood at the side of a pretender who wanted to rob Elizabeth of her rightful crown; they were men: living, breathing people who had thoughts, dreams and loves of their own - both snuffed out with the single signature 'Anne the Queen'.

Both men faced their deaths with dignity, and a courage that she wonders whether she could emulate; each giving a stirring speech that confessed their treachery, and exhorted the people below their scaffolds to pray for the Queen Elizabeth, and her noble mother. Such is expected of a convicted traitor, of course. Thankfully, each of them was decapitated at a single stroke.

Wulfhall is now in the hands of the youngest brother, the impetuous Thomas, while the sister has married into another gentry family elsewhere in Wiltshire, and shall never come to Court again. The rest of the estate has been handed to a middle brother, Henry, who seems to have no ambition to come to Court or to gain any prominence at all. She is pleased at his decision to remain obscure, and that the remaining siblings have been taken care of in a manner that shall keep them firmly away. No - there shall be no Seymours here while she wears a Crown.

Shaking herself slightly, she forces herself to focus upon the report again, and sighs; for that makes equally grim reading. The Emperor is - again - fighting the Ottomans, while King Francis seems interested in using the opportunity to bite off small morsels of the western Empire and digest them into his own Kingdom. Neither nation is particularly interested in England at this time, and the last grand treaty between England and France seems forgotten - perhaps under the assumption that it fell at the time of Henry's death.

Much as she has always favoured France, Anne has no wish to enter into any treaty that obliges her to declare war. The grand aspirations that lay behind the Treaty of Perpetual Peace were those of the seventh Henry, and quickly abandoned by the eighth. Perhaps it might be possible to forge another such treaty - one that brings all the Kingdoms of Europe together, rather than sets them against one another. It has, after all, been attempted - and to fail once does not mean that one should not try again.

Her council shall scoff at such a notion, of course, for who amongst them has not been raised to believe in the heroic glory of war? But she has visited infirmaries while upon progress, and seen the people who have borne the brunt of such violence; old men deprived of limbs, or even parts of their faces, and now obliged to rely upon the charity of others to continue what remains of their lives. No, if she can save the young men of her realm from such a fate, then she shall endeavour to do so.

"Excellent, Majesty!" Grindal's voice is delighted, "Your abilities with languages are remarkable - Mistress Kat has taught you well."

Anne smiles to herself, recalling her brother's vehement determination to escape his lessons, and the switchings he would receive for doing so. She had been more fortunate, being eager to grasp the opportunity to investigate the collections of books her family had accumulated, as her English education had been naught but that required to make a good wife and housekeeper out of her; but even she had not been immune from a cane across the palm for the slightest error. Neither Mistress Champernowne nor Mr Grindal view such chastisement with approval - she would not have permitted their appointment if they had.

"Look at my work, Mama!" Elizabeth, as expected, rushes over to her side with the paper. As expected, the writing is very untidy, but the words are correctly spelled, and the sentences are properly constructed; for Elizabeth's mind seems to work twice as quickly as her hands, and her intellect is leaving her dexterity far, far behind.

"It is excellent, my dear one." She smiles back, "No wonder Mr Grindal is so pleased."

"What are you reading, Mama?" Young though she is, Elizabeth is well aware that the papers upon her mother's lap are important.

"It is a report from our ambassador in France, my Elizabeth." She answers, "He speaks of the doings of France, and the Holy Roman Empire. It is important that we know these things - as England is a small realm, and we do not want to be overly buffeted by storms that break amongst our neighbours."

"Yes, Mama." Elizabeth nods, then frowns, "Are there storms?"

"Some, my dear. But none that are near to us."

"What shall you do, Mama?"

"I shall speak to your Council, Elizabeth, and we shall think upon how we shall speak to your neighbouring princes to persuade them that it is better not to fight. Your Grandfather refused to go to war - and he wanted everyone to live in peace, for he saw how easy it was for a kingdom to fall when riven by war. He claimed England by right of conquest - and had no wish to give any other cause to do the same to him."

"I see." The child nods, though she is far too young to truly appreciate the political machinations that shall be involved. That, of course, can come later.

"Majesty," Mistress Champernowne calls across, "Shall we take Castor and Pollux into the gardens awhile? I think they shall be pleased to play outside."

Immediately, Elizabeth's smile widens, and she turns to her mother, "May I?"

There is no need for her to ask, of course - to walk in the gardens is quite normal at this time of day - but she is a courteous and deferential child, and Anne loves her for it, "Yes, of course you may."

She watches fondly as Elizabeth returns her work to the large table, curtseys to Grindal, who bows in response, then leads Mistress Champernowne from the room, chattering excitedly. Oh, to be so carefree; to think nothing of such great concerns. How soon that shall, perforce, be lost?

Sighing, she returns to the report, and continues to think upon how the Council shall consider it.

Cromwell's expression is grim as he reads for the paper, "Assuming that the religious houses still possess a level of income commensurate to the figures reported three years past, it would seem that the degree of monies that are being withheld from the state are of such considerable size that they would pay for the building of a system of roads - and the development of our ports - three times over."

The supportive grumblings of his fellow councillors are very gratifying. There was a time when the sanctity of such institutions was absolute; and those who opposed reform refused to see their moribund irrelevance. Those conservatives are no longer upon the Council, and instead he is free to promote reform with renewed vigour. The presence of Archbishop Cranmer shall also go some way towards aiding him in doing so.

Anne's expression is one of shock, "Three times? That is scandalous! How can those who preach the virtue of poverty justify such incomes? And why is it not used to alleviate the trials of the poor who live around them?"

"The Brothers do not leave their cloisters, Majesty." Cranmer advises, gravely, "Only mendicants serve God within communities, and they reside more closely to the world; but the world has equally corrupted them, and few of them are devoted to the principle of poverty these days."

"If the wealth that they keep for themselves were to be liberated, then the construction of roads shall encourage further trade, and strengthen England as a European power, shall it not? Thus our word shall carry more weight alongside that of the Emperor and King Francis."

Sir John Russell nods, approvingly, "I think that it shall be most wise to do what we can to improve our standing amongst the nations of Europe; we are a small realm, after all - and our one true protection is our island state. It is clear to see that those realms where trade flourishes also flourish; and we would be fools to isolate ourselves from commerce."

"If we are to close the religious houses, Gentlemen," Anne reminds them, "then it must be done with efficiency and care - and the first funds recovered should be granted to charitable causes; before we commence work upon roads. I shall not have my daughter's subjects see wealth removed from one institution, only to be swallowed up by another without their being granted so much as a groat of it."

That causes a lot of raised eyebrows, but Cromwell understands, for he is unlike any other man at the table, lacking a birth to privilege and wealth. While most men accept their lot as being God's will - for they are taught so from the cradle - they are not blind to the meagre wages they receive while those who pay them eat fine foods from fine plates and dress in velvets. That they do nothing to protest is thanks to that quiet acceptance, endurance and hope for reward in the next life. That he has escaped that world is proof to him that it is lack of opportunity, not God's will, that keeps men in their lowly estate. The peasantry are not educated - but they are also not stupid. The Regent's vow to serve the people of England has brought her out of her cosseted world, and she has seen it with her own eyes. Unlike most, she has not closed her eyes to it.

"Mr Cromwell," She turns to him, "I think it is time to set the commissioners to work. Advise Mr Wriothesley to begin preparations."

"Yes, Majesty."

"And what of our relations overseas? I appreciate that the Emperor and King Francis are engaged elsewhere at this time, and thus we are at least spared the concern of being obliged to enter into an unwanted war. How go matters in Sweden - has our Embassy sent word?"

Sussex shakes his head, "Not at this time, Majesty. The last word we received other than the loss of a princess was that matters were settled, and his Majesty the King is hopeful that boys shall be born in due time."

"And what of religious matters?" Cranmer asks, keenly, "Has King Gustav continued to show zeal for the reform of the Church within his realm?"

Anne conceals a slight smile as Rich rolls his eyes, though Cranmer fails to notice the expression of exasperation. For all his interests, the Archbishop's own zeal for reform is at least half as great again as that of King Gustav - if not more - which annoys the Lord Privy Seal somewhat, being far less intent upon the idea.

"His work continues apace, your Grace," Cromwell advises, "As his decision to abandon the strictures of Rome was largely concurrent with that of our own late King, and Sweden abolished Canon law two years ago. Equally, monastic institutions are being suppressed, and lands once granted to the Church in hopes to purchase redemption have been restored to the descendants of those who donated them, while other land has been made available for purchase by men of Gentry classes who lack estates."

There are nods all around the table: that same population of gentlemen with lands acquired from the smaller religious houses formed something of a backbone to the support that she received when Mary attempted to raise England against Elizabeth.

"Perhaps we should do likewise, then, Gentlemen." Anne muses, "Before the works commence, ensure that those lands that were wrested from families in the form of donations to the Church are offered back to those who would have them now. Where descendants cannot be found, the land should be sold."

Cromwell nods approvingly, "That is a worthy plan, Majesty. Where families have fallen upon hard times, the restoration of lands taken from them by greedy prelates eager to pretend that doing so would bring favour with God shall win their love as their fortunes rise."

"What of the displaced occupants?" Anne asks, suddenly, "It would serve us ill to set them all adrift to exist as naught but vagabonds."

"We have set aside funds to pay them a pension, Majesty." Rich advises, "Thus they are granted the opportunity to find gainful employment, or - should they prefer to return to a cloister - to travel abroad in search of other houses living under the same Rule."

"And a good thing, too." Southampton snorts, "We would not want bearded men in ragged habits cluttering up the gutters."

"With the hair growing back into the shaved circle of their tonsures." Rochford adds, cheerfully, "I imagine that would be quite a sight. Perhaps a new fashion?"

"Now, now, brother." Anne chides, though she smiles as do the rest of the Councillors at his joke, "While we make light of the matter, it remains unfinished business. Thus I ask you, Mr Cromwell, to advise Mr Wriothesley of his task. Ensure that he is aware that there shall be no further delay - for I am aware that he lacks the same degree of sympathy towards this grand work that we share."

Cromwell nods again, "Yes, Majesty. I shall see to it."

Anne rises from the table, prompting her Council to rise and bow, "Thank you, Gentlemen. That shall be all for today. I believe we are entertaining our Ambassadors this evening, and I wish to ensure that all is prepared."

While the Court is far less profligate than once it was, there are occasions when display and show are of vital importance, and tonight is one such night. The hall of Placentia is gaily decorated with banners and drapes, while a multitude of candles shall provide light as darkness draws in, though the days are longer now that Eastertide is past.

In the Gallery, Jacob Sacks, who has tacitly replaced Mark Smeaton, is organising the musicians and the parts that he has prepared for them to accompany the dance after the feast is ended. Observing the to-ing and fro-ing, Cromwell allows himself to feel a sense of contented satisfaction. The two greatest threats to Elizabeth are no longer present, and God has smiled upon the harvest for the last two years in a row, creating a surplus of grain that he has taken care to purchase and set into storage to defend against harder times. The closure of the religious houses is shortly to recommence, and that shall certainly swell the Treasury more effectively than any bouts of belt-tightening by the Court.

He has set commissioners to work at all the ports large enough to accept vessels of greater size than an eight-man row-boat, and all vessels are inspected upon arrival to ensure that there are no more vile pamphlets entering the realm. Former commercial contacts have proved very helpful to his hopes of establishing a network of informants across Europe, and he would not be immodest were he to admit that he regularly knows the business of foreign Kings before they themselves do.

But for that network, he would not know that the two noble fugitives from England, the former lords Wiltshire and Suffolk, are still bound together in their enterprise - and resident in Brugge while they do what they can to accumulate the funds required to approach foreign courts without being thrown out as vagabonds. Furthermore, he has discovered in just the last two days the they are in communication with Norfolk, though there is little that can be done from Arundel Castle while Mary remains in Sweden, and the Regent holds the love of the people.

Tonight's discussions, of course, shall touch upon the future of Queen Elizabeth - for all her tender years. As a Queen Regnant, her value upon the marriage market is higher than all of the eligible princesses of Europe put together - and he must take great care to ensure that the man who marries her does not become de facto King of England. Queen she may be - but she is a woman, and thus shall be obliged under God's law to be subservient to her husband. It shall be all but impossible to engineer circumstances in which her husband is her master, but also her loyal subject. No wonder Kings are so set upon sons. It shall be a great challenge to bring about a solution; and England's future shall ride upon it.

He is not sure whether he is exhilarated at such a prospect, or terrified.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls him from his thoughts and he turns to see Sadleir approaching, "Ralph."

"Mr Treasurer." Sadleir comes to stand beside him, "I am given to understand that Ambassadors from France, the Empire, Milan, Genoa, Denmark and Bohemia shall be in attendance tonight. I have, therefore, assigned them to the two highest tables, alongside members of the Privy Council."

"Of course." Cromwell smiles, "Your reliability is exceeded only by your loyalty, Ralph. Thank you."

"It is my honour, Mr Cromwell." Sadleir bows, and withdraws to discuss the timing of the first remove with the Chief Steward of the Kitchens. Watching him go, Cromwell sighs - that young man is wasted in his current position. It is surely time to promote him. He makes a mental note to raise the matter with the Regent, before turning to greet Chapuys - always the first to arrive at such occasions. Presumably to find a quiet corner in which to surreptitiously observe others before anyone sees him do it. Cromwell is well aware of Chapuys's habits.

"Excellency." He bows, formally.

"Mr Treasurer." Chapuys betrays no surprise that Cromwell is present, or that he knows what the Ambassador is about. They have been in the Court for too long to be unaware of one another's behaviour, "Do you think it likely that we shall know this night to whom her Majesty the Queen shall be betrothed?"

Small talk - of course. The prospect of the Queen's marriage remains a matter for conjecture, and even a man as inquisitive and gossipy as Chapuys would not expect Cromwell to have anything substantive to say upon the matter. The Treasurer is only free with information when there is something to be gained from it - and what can he gain from discussing a betrothal with the Imperial Ambassador?

"That is a matter for her Majesty the Regent to discuss, Excellency - I can assure you that, once it is decided that her Majesty Queen Elizabeth is of suitable age to be betrothed, all shall be considered with good speed." Cromwell smiles, then turns and looks across the hall with an infuriatingly bland expression, "I understand that the kitchens are preparing some excellent beef from the fields of Norfolk this evening. I do urge you to try some."

"I shall bear it in mind." Smiling, Chapuys withdraws in search of the quiet corner he was seeking.

Mr Sacks's new galliard, which he has named after the Queen, trickles down from the gallery, as Anne commences her tenth dance of the night. She is tired, footsore and more than grateful that she shall be free to take a seat once this outing is done.

There is, of course, no better way to enter in to private discussions with the male Ambassadors than to do so in the midst of a dance; and she has taken full advantage of the opportunity. Some of the men sent to England from their home Courts are engaging and interesting, others stultifyingly dull; but in all cases they have been entertained with discussions centring upon the eligible young sons of their masters - their qualities, their perfections and every wonder in between. How remarkable that not one prince upon the Continent has a single fault of any kind. Almost as remarkable as the astonishing expectation that a child of five years would be an ideal match for a youth near-on ten years her senior.

She is not surprised that her Lord Treasurer has not joined the dance. There were times when he did so, years back; but now he prefers to claim that he lacks the art, and instead remains near the dais, watching over those upon the floor. As she turns back and forth, she becomes ever more aware that her eyes always seek him out - as though hopeful for an approving glance. She used to do that at Blickling, and then at Hever, while she was growing up, enjoying that pleased smile that would play across her father's lips as she showed herself to be an excellent dancer. At one time, it had been pleasure at her achievement - but later it became pride at her abilities to charm men, and hopes that she would win him greater rewards for himself through a suitable conjugal match. Even now, it grieves her that his love for her was so utterly consumed by his ambition for himself. And now he is gone - lurking upon the continent like a coiled serpent, eager to reclaim England for whichever Queen he can use to his own advantage. Instead, it is to another man that she looks for that earnestly wished-for paternal approval.

The music ends, and she curtseys to her partner, a gangling man from Copenhagen with a pocked face but an earnest and kindly manner, and smiles warmly, "Thank you, Excellency, I shall bear his Majesty's words in mind as I consider England's future alliances, and her Majesty's future husband."

"An interesting discussion, Majesty?" Cromwell asks, blandly, as she retakes her seat, his eyes still upon the gathered throng in the candle-lit expanse of the hall.

"Did you know that the princes of Europe are a quite remarkably saintly group of young men, Mr Cromwell?" She asks, lightly, "It appears that they are utterly lacking in any reprehensible traits, are magnificently handsome, and the most intelligent youths in Christendom."

"Is that not how all princes are meant to be?" Cromwell's eyes remain upon the gathered guests, though she can hear the faintest sound of amusement in his voice.

"Be that so, or no, Mr Treasurer," She smiles, "They all possess the same failing - the youngest of them is ten years older than she. The eldest near on twenty - and a widower, to boot. We must make alliances to protect ourselves from those who look upon us with covetous eyes, but the price shall not be her future marital prospects."

He does not comment. Regardless of the Regent's wish to protect her daughter for as long as possible, the requirements of convention override all; and Elizabeth shall marry whichever man is most expedient for England's interests. There shall be no choice in the matter, either for the child or the mother.

Not that it matters this night - for the important work has been done upon the dance floor. In the course of a single galliard, pavane or tordion, Queen Anne has charmed the various ambassadors of Europe each in their turn with greater effectiveness than her late husband could ever have achieved. Even Chapuys, that old rascal, seems rather uncertain now what to make of her. He is not won entirely, of course, but his hostility is now tinged with confusion as he realises that the woman with whom he took a turn about the floor is far more intelligent and astute than he realised.

The number of dancers is reducing now as people tire and either seat themselves, or withdraw for the night. Relieved, Anne sits back and reaches for a glass of eau de vie, "A success, I think, Lady Rochford."

Jane nods, and smiles back, "I think so, Majesty. First win their hearts, then win concessions."

"Absolutely."

Lord Rochford returns from the dance floor, looking equally pleased, "I have been eavesdropping, Majesty." He reports, cheerfully, "The talk amongst the Ambassadors is very positive - indeed, they are vying with one another to claim that they have won the hand of the Queen Elizabeth for their princes, and that England shall enter into an alliance with them."

"I look forward to seeing the proposals that shall be set before me in the next few weeks." Anne agrees, "We cannot exist in isolation. We have our alliance with Sweden, but I should prefer to at least extend the hand of friendship to as many as possible. Thus we can protect ourselves from a hostile invasion, and look to friendships to ensure that we are not obliged to enter into foolish wars with our neighbours. My late husband's father was well known as a peacemaker, and he did not make foreign wars. I think we should learn from that example."

Still watching the activity in the hall, Cromwell comments again, "And his reluctance to make war also proved most beneficial to the nation's coffers. From the records I have examined, England's treasury was in excellent health at the time of the succession of his son."

He chooses not to add that the son, and his wives, frittered that wealth away. Better to concentrate on rebuilding it than lament its loss.

"I am tired." Anne declares, stifling a yawn, "I think I shall retire - as quite a number of my courtiers appear to have done."

She rises from her chair, causing all around her to turn and bow as she makes ready to depart. It has been a long day, but at least there is hope for future friendships with those who might otherwise be enemies.

The evening has largely wound down with the departure of the Regent, and Chapuys remains quietly secure in an alcove just outside the hall, watching as the few remaining courtiers depart for their chambers. His eyes are intent, for there is one man in particular that he hopes to waylay.

It had been far easier to obtain information from the previous Court, as Henry had surrounded himself with nobility, selecting quantity over quality, and the politicking that ensued between the various factions had always been the leakiest of sieves when he needed to know what was happening. That the Concubine has managed to unite her council so thoroughly has made such eavesdropping largely impossible, and he resents being so blind. There is, however, one man that he can look to who might be prepared to aid him in exchange for some form of recompense.

He is not obliged to wait for too long, as Rich emerges from the hall, slightly tipsy and waving a rather foolish goodbye to a woman with whom he has spent much of the evening. Like many of the men at court, his wife is elsewhere and thus he looks to engage in affairs in her absence. Smiling cheerfully, he makes his rather unsteady way towards the spot where Chapuys is waiting.

"Good evening, Mr Rich - a most enjoyable evening, was it not?"

"Hmm? Ah, Excellency, yes - it was." Rich hiccups slightly. It's been some time since he has imbibed quite that much wine, "Are you returning to your chambers?"

"I am indeed. And who was the lady?" Chapuys keeps his tone cheerful, as though merely making an observation upon a good choice of mistress.

"Her? Lady someone or other. I forget her name - though she has cost me a goodly amount in jewels. Sarah, I think." He adds, as though an afterthought, "That's her name. Or was it Susan?" He giggles slightly at his foolish drunkenness.

Chapuys smiles, tolerantly. Rich is generally a very incisive individual, but less so when he is drunk. He is also, in spite of his current position, acquisitive, greedy and eager for wealth. A number of his properties are, after all, snatched for himself from the crop of religious institutions that were closed before the King died. His usual informants have departed with the disgraced lords who employed them, and he is struggling to find new people to tap for worthwhile intelligence to inform his reports to his master. The offer of more wealth in exchange for information? That would be more than helpful to a man for whom all previous information channels are closed.

"A costly pastime, then?"

"Not excessively so."

The Ambassador catches at Rich's elbow and guides him away from the corridor, "Forgive me, but I am a man in need."

"Need?" Suddenly the Lord Privy Seal seems a lot less drunk, and Chapuys is rather nervous; though he opts to plough on.

"It is helpful to me, and to his Imperial Majesty, to be kept apprised of matters in the English Court, Sir Richard. I believe that you are now a highly placed courtier - and thus privy to a great deal of worthwhile information."

"I am indeed, Excellency." Rich boasts, smiling expansively, "What information would you desire?"

"As much as you can provide for me." Chapuys smiles back, "I can assure you that you would be paid very well for your assistance."

Immediately, the smile becomes almost predatory, "And how much would that pay be? I take it that your other sources are proving to be less than useful to you if you are seeking information from me."

Chapuys smiles again - of course this venal traitor would be pleased to betray the Concubine for gold. For a moment, he is tempted to offer thirty pieces of silver, "That would depend upon the quality of the information."

Rich's eyes narrow, "Believe me, I am a member of the Queen's closest circle. The information I could grant you would be of the highest quality. I should have stood with the true Queen, had she been granted her inheritance, and I have wondered if there might be a way to aid her, for I have sinned grievously in my acts against her, as there was little course but to do so." He suddenly sounds quite frighteningly sober, "If I am to do this, however, I expect not only to be paid well, but also to be protected. Should I be discovered, then I shall need aid to escape the wrath of those who would destroy me. I have worked damned hard to win the trust of those around me, so their vengeance would be increased at least tenfold should they discover that I am the source of your knowledge. Norfolk threatened to have me quartered - I think it likely that the Concubine would have me sliced to death and fed to her stupid little dogs."

The Ambassador is pleased - he has bitten, and decidedly more quickly and easily than expected, despite his obvious concern at the punishment that might be laid upon him should he be discovered. That is no surprise - the man is a notorious coward, "I shall ensure that you shall be granted safe passage to a home suitable for a man of your political status at a location of your choosing anywhere within the Empire, Mr Rich. Furthermore, I shall arrange for you to receive a pension of three hundred ducats a month for the information that you supply - to be retained for the rest of your days should you be obliged to flee. The place of safety shall be provided for you, and for your family."

"Forget them - I do not need to be accompanied." Rich's eyes are vicious, "I shall give you all that you seek - and more."

Chapuys's smile widens further still, "I look forward to doing business with you."