A/N: Welcome to the next chapter. Thank you again for your reviews - I know, I know; I'm sounding like a stuck record, but I really am very grateful for your comments and critiques.

I admit that the next chapter is going to get a tad anachronistic - but my reasoning is that Anne, whether she was liked or not, was recognised to be a pragmatist, and I'm working on that basis. Consequently, her council table is a safer place to hold dissenting opinions than it used to be, so consensus is achieved through more wide-ranging debate than it might've been had Henry still been in charge. Again, if all else fails, I plead dramatic license! There is also a spot of historical pilfering, as the chapter title kind of suggests.

P.S. in answer to a number of queries in the reviews, the answer is 'yes' or 'you hope correctly', depending on how the question was framed!

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Regnans in Excelsis

Anne reads the report with interest, "And this is just the larger houses in the south of England?"

Cromwell nods, "Yes, Majesty. The commissioners have found not only remarkable degrees of wealth, but also a degree of licentiousness that has hitherto been entirely unsuspected. Not a few Abbots and Priors have been obliged to remove themselves from compromising positions with females of dubious repute in order to receive commissioners - and, indeed, I am reliably informed that more than one attempted to offer bribes to deter them from continuing with the inspection and closure."

Her eyes widen, and there is a grumbling of comment around the council table, "Are you suggesting that men of supposedly high principle who are avowed celibates maintain stables of whores?" Sussex is quite scandalised at the suggestion.

"Alas, yes." Cromwell confirms, "The officials that have reported such situations are unimpeachably honest. I do not doubt their word."

"Is this the case in most such houses?" Anne asks, concerned.

Cromwell shakes his head, "No, Majesty; I think that it is the exception rather than the rule - but nonetheless, the degree of wealth maintained by the larger houses is quite shocking. Mr Wriothesley anticipates that the funds that we shall recoup are likely to reach into hundreds of thousands of pounds in the first year alone."

Everyone stares at him, shocked. In a world where a labourer would earn no more than tuppence a day, the thought of such immense sums of money being stored in institutions that have supposedly sworn themselves to poverty seems quite scandalous.

"Then they should be closed, Mr Cromwell!" Southampton demands, furiously, "That unwarranted wealth must be removed from them forthwith!"

He nods, "That is ongoing, I can assure you, my Lord. All monies are being carefully accounted for, and reports shall be issued to the Council each week. All decisions relating to the expenditure of said monies shall be made collectively by your Majesty and the Council - though lands snatched from families by the church as a claimed donation to prevent damnation shall be returned to the descendants of the donor, in such cases where the family can be traced, as you ordered, Majesty."

"Thank you, Mr Cromwell."

There are general nods of approval; while the sale of the lands would generate significant revenue, what is that in comparison to the loyalty that such a gift shall inspire? There is already a substantial number of families who have responded to the purchase of their new lands with their loyalty, as Mary found to her cost, but to restore property to those from whom it was unfairly snatched? Were the young woman to return from Sweden, she would find herself unable to secure even the gentry to her cause.

"How many houses have been closed?" Anne asks.

"At present, some forty eight have been visited, and are either in the process of being closed, or are closed, Majesty." Cromwell consults his notes, "It is too soon to say how much wealth shall be recouped from these closures, but Mr Wriothesley's figures seem likely to be matched by Christmastide - even though another quarter shall still need to pass before the year's end."

"And has there been any opposition?" Rich asks, suddenly, "Forgive me - but not all Englishmen are as keen upon ending the corrupt practices of such institutions as we. Our reforms are greater than the mere closure of these houses, are they not?"

Anne watches as her councillors exchange glances, "Why would there be opposition?" Rochford asks, though he sounds bemused rather than hostile, "Surely her Majesty's subjects are pleased to know that the monies that have been withheld from them by these rapaciously greedy monks are to be granted to them in terms of new opportunities?"

Cromwell shakes his head, "Mr Rich is wise to ask such a question, my Lord. The reform of the church continues, but not all Englishmen are willing to abjure the Roman faith - they are held in its toils for fear of damnation should they fail in the smallest degree to offer all that they have to the Church. If they truly believe that they shall be cast into hell as heretics if they question the merest degree of all that is wrong with popery, then it is hard to persuade them that such fears are groundless."

"Do you think they would fight against reform?" Sir John Gage looks worried at the thought.

"It is hard to say." Cromwell admits, "For all the strength of their faith, many Englishmen are deeply suspicious of any who are not of their own. Should the Pope demand that Englishmen remove a faithless Queen, I think it likely that they would not do so."

"But if they feel that their faith is under threat," Rich counters, "That might not be so."

Sussex glares at him, "And what of your faith?"

"No, my Lord." Anne interrupts, "Let him speak. He is correct to air his concerns if he has them. Say on, Mr Rich."

"It is not unknown for men to adhere to a faith with excessive zeal, Majesty." Rich continues, "I do not count myself amongst them - for, God knows, my faith is weaker than most - but if there are men who consider the Roman faith to be the only true religion, and that it is threatened, then they may believe that they must act to remove the heretics that are leading England into damnation."

She nods, "That is a worthy argument. Much as I think it right that we must free men from the oppression of Rome, it is important to understand that not all men are willing to be released from such slavery - and may even fight to be permitted to remain enslaved."

"They do not see it that way." Rich adds, quietly, "They have been raised to believe that any faith other than that of Rome is heretical and leads only to hell."

"As were we all." Anne reminds him, "It is hard to set aside such belief, even when one is assured that it is erroneous. What do you suggest? That we permit those who do not wish to abjure the Roman faith to retain it?" she pauses, and frowns, thinking over the idea, "Perhaps that is a wise proposition - we do not prevent those who do not wish to accept reform from continuing to follow the popish religion; but instead allow them to continue in peace, and wait for it to die away of its own accord as the children in the schools are taught the reformed faith."

For a moment, everyone stares at each other, shocked at such a suggestion; certainly none of the men at the table would have thought to be so pragmatic. If there is a risk that the people of England shall fight to keep their faith, then why provoke them to do so? Surely it is better to allow them to continue for the rest of their days, while the generation that follows gradually abandons subservience to a foreign primate who cares only for his own benefit.

The more she thinks upon it, the better the idea sounds: certainly better than the risk of civil war. Elizabeth is, after all, being educated to be pragmatic in all matters pertaining to the governance of her Kingdom - and this would be a true exemplar.

"Mr Cromwell - draft a proclamation that frees her Majesty's subjects from the obligation to swear solely to the Church of England, but instead to swear loyalty to England in all matters but that of faith."

He is staring at her, open-mouthed.

"Please do not do that, Mr Cromwell, a fly might enter that gaping hole and then where would you be?"

Cromwell stares at the paper before him, and wonders what the hell to write. In an instant, his intentions to stamp out the Roman faith have been firmly pushed aside, and now he has to formulate a document that shall allow Catholics to remain so. It is hard to even pick up the quill, never mind set words down upon paper. Hell - it was a simple thing to do when he was drafting the bill to repeal the heresy law.

He looks up as Rich approaches his desk rather tentatively. It is hard not to glare at his colleague - though he is not entirely to blame.

"Might I speak to you - in private?" Rich is wringing his hands again.

Bemused, Cromwell nods, and the pair exit the offices in search of a quiet chamber.

"What is wrong?" the door is barely closed before Cromwell speaks.

"Two nights ago, as I was emerging from the Hall after her Majesty invited the Ambassadors to feast, I was approached by the Imperial Ambassador."

Cromwell nods. He does not need to ask why - Chapuys has been his diplomatic adversary for years, even though they are on friendly terms for much of the time, "How much did he offer you for information?"

"Three hundred ducats a month - to become a pension for life should I be obliged to flee England."

"I take it you accepted?"

"I did. It seemed sensible to at least offer a pretence of co-operation; there is no telling who else he might approach, and then we would have no control over the information presented to him. He has not made any further attempts to speak to me, so the matter rests at this time."

For the first time since he departed the council meeting, Cromwell smiles, "That shall be useful. I suggest that you offer a reduced payment in exchange for reciprocal information."

Rich nods, "Would it be worth surreptitiously declaring for the Queen of Sweden? Perhaps in hopes that she might return to England in due time. If it is possible to enter into a conspiracy of some sort, then we might receive advance warning should any plot be formed. I have hinted such sentiment - but I could certainly be more overt."

"After the work to send her away? I do not think it likely that Chapuys would believe you to have changed your allegiance in such fashion."

"Me?" Rich laughs - a hollow, bitter sound, "The man who was a friend of the late Thomas More, only to perjure myself to bring him down? I am well aware of my reputation - a man who shall turn his coat at the first opportunity for personal advancement. I declared for Norfolk, and then for the Regent. It would startle no one that I would turn yet again in return for financial recompense."

"We shall keep this from the Council, I think." Cromwell muses, "But not from her Majesty; not only would she not appreciate such a matter being held from her, but she may well wish to make use of this communication channel as much as we shall."

"Besides," Rich adds, "to do otherwise shall almost certainly kill what little trust she has in me. I should not like to lose that, having gained it."

"Then we shall speak to her of it at the first opportunity. After the outcome of this morning's meeting, she shall certainly wish to view my draft proclamation."

"The one that you have not yet written?"

Cromwell sighs, "Yes. The one that I have not yet written."

"Would some assistance be useful?"

"On this occasion - yes, I think it most certainly would."

The horse and the pony run together, though not too fast, as the pony must canter in order to keep up with the trot of the horse. In spite of Elizabeth's growing skill, Sir Anthony still rides to the rear in case of any danger, while Anne is alongside her daughter, revelling in the sheer pleasure of the ride.

Perhaps she should be reading papers, or working upon some policy or other - but she has been all-but imprisoned in her study for several days in a row, immersed in documents of almost unparalleled dullness, while Elizabeth has been equally immersed in grammar and mathematics. Time for them both to escape into the park for a while.

The sun is warm, the air vivid with birdsong, and Anne has taken care to ensure that their route shall take them to a very nice clearing in which they shall dine together under an awning. Elizabeth is unaware of the plan, but she shall delight in the surprise, particularly as little Jane Radcliffe shall be there, delivered by her father so that the girls can play together well away from prying eyes in the palace. Sussex has also promised to ensure that Castor and Pollux shall be there, so Anne anticipates remaining out in the parkland for much of the rest of the day.

Their conversation has been entirely in French, as Elizabeth's fluency matches her mother's now, though her writing still needs improvement. Browne is utterly incompetent in the language, and thus they are able to enjoy some privacy as they talk together. Had it been Mr Cromwell, of course, they would be rather helpless, for he speaks all of the languages that Elizabeth is being taught - including the ones that Anne does not.

For a moment, Anne is distracted by the memory of riding beside her father when she was as small as Elizabeth is now. He had always been so pleased with her progress on horseback, and even though his visits home were rare - thanks to his work as a diplomat - he always took the time to ride with her in the park at Hever, once she had moved there permanently from Blickling. It is hard to remember those far-off days - a time when she truly felt secure, and wholly surrounded by the love of a parent. He had loved her then; a pretty child with so much life…

And now she is a Queen - and he despises the very air that she breathes.

"What is wrong, Mama?" Elizabeth's voice interrupts her reverie, "Why do you look so sad?"

"Forgive me, ma cherie," She sighs, "It is nothing but memories of a time long ago. I have only to look at you to be happy again."

She smiles as Elizabeth looks delighted, "Can we go faster, Mama?"

"Just a little, my precious girl. I was not permitted to ride at more than a canter when I was as small as you - I thought myself a better rider than they would let me be. Riding at a gallop showed me that I was wrong, and I was lucky to be left only with bruises from my fall."

Elizabeth looks shocked, "You fell from a horse, Mama?" As she has never done so - thanks to the great care to prevent it - she seems astounded that such a thing is possible.

"I was very young, Elizabeth. I had not learned how to balance upon a horse; for there were no young grooms walking alongside to right me if I began to slip."

"For you were not Queen." The girl says, "But I am, so they walked beside me."

Anne nods, "Yes, my darling. You are Queen - but I was not. I was not even a princess - I only became Queen because I married your Papa."

Elizabeth looks astounded, "You were not a princess, Mama?"

"Indeed I was not - but Mr Cranmer anointed me with holy oil, just as he anointed you - and your Papa set the crown of England upon my head. And thus I became a Queen."

"If you were not a princess, Mama - why did Papa marry you? He was the King, and I know that I must marry a Prince, or a King, for I am a Queen."

"My goodness, Elizabeth, you are most acute!" She smiles at her, "Papa married me because he saw me, and fell in love with me - and he was determined to make me his Queen."

The child nods, excited, "And you loved him back, did you not, Mama?"

She does not answer, but instead smiles, allowing the child to make what she will of her reaction. In the time that has passed since her widowhood began, she has had much time for thought upon her heart and mind when that great dance of Courtly Love led to the placing of a crown upon her head. She knows her mind more thoroughly now, and an unpalatable truth that she wishes she did not have to accept. There is no need to tell Elizabeth the truth - that she did not love the man who first chased her with such determination. No, her heart belonged entirely to Henry Percy; and her refusal to be a mistress was born as much from the shattering of their betrothal as a determination to retain her honour.

There was something that she believed to be love - a regard and respect that she convinced herself was the true form of conjugal relations in place of the deep, passionate adoration she had held for that dear young man. That had come later - after Henry had worked so hard to seduce her - but when it came, she embraced it truly and absolutely, swallowing up her resentment and anger and setting that aside even before that crown was set upon her head. It seemed at the time that she had found love with the King - and she did not doubt it even as she learned of his death; but in the passing time, her memories of those days becomes hazy, and her experiences as Regent force her to review them in an altogether sharper light. In spite of all that followed, she does not regret her choices - for the result of that love rides beside her, and has made her world complete. Whatever is to come in the future, she is interested only in one thing - ensuring that her daughter's eventual marriage shall be happy, as much as beneficial to England.

Anne is not surprised to see that her daughter is delighted to discover the awning, and the fine repast set out for her pleasure, while little Jane Radcliffe is already playing with Castor and Pollux under the watchful eye of her father. It is not long before the pair are happily chattering to one another, while they recline on cushions and feast upon a mutton pie encased in a thick pastry coffin. If only it could always be like this.

Dinner consumed, the two girls are soon at play, laughing and throwing sticks for the two dogs to retrieve, while Anne sits back and watches them.

"They are happy together, are they not, my Lord?" she smiles at Sussex, who is watching his young daughter with equal fondness. She is relieved to see it - girls are not favoured, given that they take property out of the family when they marry, but this little one is clearly as valued as she once was. But is no longer.

Sussex nods, "I am glad of it. She is the last of my brood - I have three sons to carry on my name, but she is precious, for she is so reminiscent of my late Margaret." Even though he has married again, to Mary Arundell, he still carries a small token given to him by his second wife.

They lapse into silence, neither wishing to spoil the mood of the afternoon with discussions of politics, instead choosing to enjoy the happy games of the two girls. The combination of a good dinner, a morning upon horseback, and the warmth of the afternoon is making her drowsy, and she is most tempted to settle back upon the cushions to enjoy a brief nap. Yes - there are far too few such times to enjoy.

Evening is drawing in as the small entourage return to the Palace, and Mistress Champernowne carries a sleepy Queen of England to her chambers to prepare her for bed, "Sleep well, my precious daughter."

"I shall, Mama." Elizabeth yawns.

"Madge, I shall sup in private tonight." Anne turns to Margery, "Please could you secure something light - broth for choice."

"Yes, Majesty." Madge curtseys, "Mr Cromwell sent a message this afternoon to send his apologies, for he has been overtaken by work and has only completed the proclamation that you requested today. He asks to meet with you upon the morrow to discuss it."

She smiles, "Of course he has." She knows that he has struggled to write a document that goes utterly against his principles, "Send Matthew in."

Dispatching her steward to invite her Lord Treasurer to meet with her in the morning, she settles down to await her supper, and yawns, tiredly.

Yes, there are far too few days like this.

Cromwell's expression is rather stiff, but she is expecting that, and does not comment. Rich, beside him, is far less uncomfortable with the document they have set before her, as he would prefer at least to some extent to retain his own rather lax adherence to the Roman faith. In spite of her own enthusiasm for reform, that pragmatic sense within her is prompting Anne to accept that it does no one any good to force others to turn away from something that is the centre of their world. Best to let her Subjects swear their loyalty to England for matters temporal, and leave the spiritual matters to their own devices. The last thing she wishes to do is create an atmosphere of religious strife that shall work itself into a tangle that her daughter shall be forced to attempt to unravel.

She has seen enough work by the two men who stand before her to know who is responsible for which part of the text, as each has their own style and turn of words. Consequently, it is clear to her that the most conciliatory passages have been written by Rich, and have probably toned down altogether more combative text that Cromwell inserted. In most matters, he is as determinedly pragmatic as she - but his commitment to the reformation of faith in England rests very close to his heart, and his determination to remove popery from the realm verges almost upon a vocation. Almost as though he has a personal reason to do it.

"Render unto Caesar." She says, quietly, as she raises her eyes from the proclamation, "Thank you, Gentlemen. Much as I should wish to free all Englishmen from the yoke of Rome, I know that many are too habituated to the burden to feel able to set it down, and I am not an inquisitor. We all remember the cruel punishments that are set upon those who challenge the corruption of Rome - and I shall not free us from that through the application of equally cruel punishments. We are better than that, are we not?"

"Yes Majesty." Cromwell says, rather dolefully. She can see that, in spite of his resentment, he knows that she is right to do so, and the argument that it is the better way is certainly affecting him.

"Please - be seated." She smiles at them, indicating to Matthew to bring over a brace of chairs for them, "I suspect that you have more tidings than merely the proclamation."

"We do, Majesty." Cromwell looks relieved to be able to set aside the proclamation, "It appears that the Imperial Ambassador has encountered considerable difficulties in securing information for his master since your actions united the Council and reduced the danger of factions."

"And whom has he approached?" Anne asks, though it is not hard to guess.

"He approached me, Majesty." Rich admits, a little embarrassed.

"I trust you accepted?"

The embarrassment changes to a smile, "For three hundred ducats a month? I should have been a madman to refuse."

"The price of desperation." Cromwell adds, an equal smile upon his face - the first since they arrived in her chamber, "Our only true challenge is to decide what information to release. It must be of sufficient value to tempt Chapuys, but not so vital that it harm the security of the Realm."

"I think it would be most useful to let news of the proclamation escape prior to its formal announcement," Anne muses, "to ensure that the discovery that those who follow the Catholic faith are free from persecution in England, even as those who do not are cruelly persecuted upon the continent. I should love to know what that old fool Paul shall think of that."

"I shall see to it, Majesty." Rich promises, cheerfully, "I think that shall certainly be worthy of three hundred ducats."

"Indeed." Anne smiles at him, "Which, I assume, shall be donated in its entirety to the poor?"

The smile slips, and then he sighs, "Yes, Majesty." Rising, he bows, and departs in search of Chapuys.

"That was rather cruel, was it not, Majesty?" Cromwell asks, still smiling.

"It shall do him no harm. He is quite wealthy enough as it is." Anne smiles, then looks at him more incisively, "Forgive me for asking, but I feel that I must do so. Your reasons for wishing to stamp out the Roman faith - they appear to be rather more personal than most."

"I should prefer not to discuss it, Majesty." He says, rather more quietly, but she cannot fail to miss it: a sudden flash of pain in his eyes.

"Who was she?" Anne asks gently. It could not be clearer that he is talking of a lost love.

He stays silent for a considerable time, his expression one of conflict as he balances the question of his Queen with the personal pain of answering it.

"Her name was Benedetta." He says, eventually, "I was barely eighteen years of age when I saw her amidst the congregation of a church in Florence; and I was immediately smitten. There was no hope for us, of course, for she was of a noble family, and I was a penniless apprentice to a banker. I would have died for her…" his voice trails off, his eyes suddenly damp with tears.

"I am sorry," Anne whispers, "I did not mean to raise sad memories."

He shakes his head, "We were not fool enough to think that there was any future in our love - and we did nothing for which any should be ashamed, for she was a virtuous young woman, and my love for her was chaste. Indeed, we were not discovered - it was the act of another that shattered our childish idyll. Her mother's youngest brother had designs upon her, but sought only her maidenhead, not her hand. What protection could I give her? I was nothing - but she was remarkable in her courage and fortitude. She would not permit him to touch her, and turned to her priest for his protection."

His expression darkens now, and Anne realises that he is about to reveal his true reason for his hatred of Rome.

"His protection was to denounce her as a sinful creature, and demand that her parents shut her away in a nunnery. A punishment for her beauty, which had inflamed a man to sin by its mere existence. Her uncle's lust for her was blamed not upon his wandering loins, but upon her gentle countenance - and thus it must be hidden to prevent any man from being induced to sin by the mere act of laying eyes upon it." His head lowered, Anne sees a drop fall from his face and splatter upon the tabletop, "Her last hope was to turn to the Cardinal of Florence - who did naught but demand that she obey her parents and the will of the Church. She fled from him in despair, for she had done nothing to earn her incarceration - and came to me, for she knew that I would not see her so. But she was stopped before she could reach me - and the last I saw of her was her being taken away, pleading to the Virgin for her deliverance."

In spite of herself, Anne reaches out to rest a hand upon his arm. He does not withdraw it, but continues to stare downwards, "In that single moment, I lost my faith - for what Church condemns an innocent for the sin of the guilty? It was only later, as I moved amongst the northern nations of Europe, that I discovered that other men saw the Roman church as I did - and I returned to the fold. I had turned my back upon God - but He had not turned His back upon me."

"Forgive me, Mr Cromwell. My curiosity has caused you pain."

He raises his eyes again, "Perhaps - but it is maybe better that you understand now why it is so hard for me to accommodate the Popish religion in England. I returned from the continent, entered the legal profession and married my late wife. Do not mistake me - I loved my Elizabeth, and mourned her deeply when the sweat took her from me. But equally, Benedetta lived in a small shrine in my heart, where she resides still. I never knew what became of her."

"I am truly sorry."

Slowly, a smile crosses his features, "Thank you, Majesty. I am angered, yes - but to punish her Majesty's Catholic subjects for their continual determination to be subservient to the Vicar of Rome makes me no better than those who punished my poor Benedetta for being a beauty. And we are better than that, are we not?" He seems quite eager to believe that.

"Yes, Mr Treasurer. We are better than that." She confirms.

Chapuys stares at Rich, in astonishment, "She would do such a thing as this?"

"Would? Nay, she has, Excellency. The proclamation shall be made within the next two days."

The pair stand together at the balustrade of the river wall, looking out across the busy waters from the Privy Garden, their only witness a single robin.

"Most intriguing. It seems that she fears the power of the Church if she has no wish to act against it."

Rich shrugs, "Not remotely. She has decided to allow it to enjoy a brief remnant of life, while the education of the young shall eradicate it slowly, and quietly. The followers of the true faith shall be permitted to continue to do so - in the expectation that the young that follow them shall be trained to abjure it, and instead embrace heresy: secure in the knowledge that it is no longer a crime."

"Ah yes. Falsely absolving people of the sin of heresy." Chapuys scoffs, "Removing a law does not remove the sin."

"Indeed it does not."

"I think that this is most useful, Mr Rich. I look forward to a most worthwhile arrangement between us - and I can assure you that his Imperial Majesty shall be pleased to arrange the pension that was agreed."

"Speaking of that." Rich muses, frowning slightly as though deep in thought, "Perhaps - if I were to reduce the price, you would be willing to share information with me that might be of use. If I am aware of his Imperial Majesty's thoughts, that might well assist me in ensuring that plans made by the council are turned to a more…beneficial…direction through my intercession?"

Chapuys looks at him, surprised at his suggestion - though not disagreeably so, "I shall raise the matter with the Emperor, Mr Rich. I think he shall be intrigued at such an offer. Until I receive his answer, our initial agreement shall stand."

Rich bows, politely, "Of course, Excellency."

Cromwell is busy at his desk as Rich returns to the offices, "He has taken the bait?"

"Absolutely. I await his answer over the reciprocal provision of information - but he is intrigued at the proclamation of a religious settlement, and shall ensure that the tidings are communicated to his master at the first opportunity."

"Good. I shall advise her Majesty, and we shall ensure that the news is presented to the people in the next two days. There seems to be little profit in delay."

"I have already claimed that it is imminent." Rich agrees, "The sooner the proclamation is made, the less likely it shall be that the Emperor of the Pope attempt to act in a manner that depicts it as a frantic attempt to mitigate any action upon their part. Do you also think it likely that a Bull is soon to emerge?"

"The repeal of the heresy laws seem sure to inspire a response; for we have given the people of England a licence to commit that which is still considered to be a sin. Even on the continent, most laws against Heresy have been enacted by legislatures rather than religious authorities. We have repealed our laws, and thus heretics have been granted free rein, have they not? Thereby removing the only means to stem the flow of heresy in England. Furthermore, to claim that both faiths are now to be permitted worsens matters further still, as it now permits apostasy as freely as heresy."

"So it is a mere matter of time." Rich muses.

"I should say so; and thus the sooner the proclamation is made, the better, in order to pre-empt any spoutings from Rome." Cromwell rises from his chair, "I shall collect Mr Cranmer - come, we shall obtain her Majesty's final approval, and ensure that the proclamation is made at the first opportunity."

"Que est ista, que processit sicut sol. Et formosa tamquam Jerusalem viderunt eam filie Syon et beatam dixerunt et regine laudaverunt eam. Et sicut dies verni circundabant eam flores rosarum et lilia convalium."

The voice of the young boy soars above a gentle consort of viols, the ancient tune of the responsory a balm to Anne's tired mind after a long day of consideration and work. In spite of her determination to bring about the reform of the Church, she has never lost her reverence for the holy Mother, and venerates the Virgin as she has always done. A Mother for a mother. A Queen for a queen. Another beautiful arrangement by the remarkable Mr Sacks.

"And the proclamation has been made, Mr Cromwell?" she asks, sorting her cards for another hand of Primero.

"In London, Coventry, Winchester, Norwich, Exeter, York and Durham, Majesty," He reports, doing likewise, "The parishes have all received communications from Canterbury, instructing them to preach upon the virtue of peaceful existence with one's neighbour in one English family. I cannot claim that we shall soothe all disputes between those who are for, or against, reform - but we have taken away any grounds to do so. And that is all that one can hope for."

"How long, do you think, before the word is truly out?" Lady Rochford asks, intrigued at the entire prospect of the proclamation, "Do you think it likely that it shall bring true peace to England?"

"We can but hope, Jane." Anne smiles at her, "We can but hope."

She does not notice the glance that Cromwell and Rochford exchange. Hope is a wondrous thing; but they must deal with expectations.

There are a few plates of comfits, and a flagon of sweet wine at their disposal, having supped in the Hall with the rest of the Court. In the absence of those long periods of leisure she knew when Henry lived, the evenings are her time of relaxation, even if she must do so in extensive company to protect her virtue. At least, at this drowsy time of the day, she can choose her companions.

Their conversation lightens, discussing foolish matters pertaining to the silly internal politics of the Court, until Michael enters, "Majesty, the Lord Privy Seal is without - he requests an audience."

Anne exchanges a glance with Cromwell; she does not share that close sense of trust with Rich that she shares with the Lord Treasurer, and thus he is in her evening company far less frequently. He would not have come here unprompted without a very good reason.

"Thank you Michael, show him in. Could you ask Matthew to fetch another glass, and a chair, please?"

"Yes, Majesty."

Rich's expression is very uncomfortable as he bows to Anne, then seats himself in the extra chair, "Forgive me, Majesty; I would not normally intrude upon you uninvited, but I have received tidings that may be of concern to you."

Anne frowns slightly, "From our new source of information?"

He nods, "The paper is yet to reach our shores, but I am assured of its existence - and, given my source, I have no reason to doubt it."

"Say on."

"It appears that the combination of your proclamation, and the repeal of the Heresy laws, have elicited a response from the Bishop of Rome, Majesty. A Papal Bull has been issued. While it has not yet been delivered to our shores, I have been granted a précis."

"Your source is, presumably, most keen for us to know of it." Anne smiles, dryly.

Wordlessly, Rich hands it over. It is clear that he has not opened it - but his expression suggests that he knows already what it says. Doubtless Chapuys took a great deal of pleasure in telling him.

Carefully, she breaks the seal and opens the document. Its length, despite being a reduced summary, ensures that she is silent for a considerable time, but all watch as her eyes widen, and her face pales.

"What is it, Majesty?" Jane is immediately concerned.

"The Vicar of Rome has indeed acted." She says, a little faintly, "He has excommunicated me, and my child, and threatens the same for all who are loyal to us. Furthermore, he has exhorted all English Catholics to remove the 'heretic child queen' and her 'known wanton' mother, and assured that they shall be absolved entirely when they shed our blood in doing so. Furthermore, he has declared the marriage between that blasted creature Mary and Gustav of Sweden to be null and void, as it was not carried out under the Roman rite, and orders her to be returned to England to rule as the true Queen. Whereupon she shall be married to a Catholic prince, while England is restored to Rome, and all heretics destroyed forthwith."

"Well." Rochford mutters, reaching for his glass, "When he moves, he does not do so by halves - does he?"

"He has excommunicated my daughter…" Anne whispers, "Called her a devil child."

"It matters not, sister. She is not under his jurisdiction - the Pope has no authority in England; she is the head of England's Church, and thus cannot be excommunicated."

Anne shakes her head, "No, George - you do not understand. He has told all of Christendom that she is denied God's love - and that her name is not in the Book of the Living. How could he do that to a child? A girl of a mere five years?"

"Because it is politically expedient to do so." Cromwell says, quietly, "in such circumstances, it matters not that the victim is a mere babe."

"Perhaps he seeks to provoke you to act punitively, Majesty." Rich adds, "To strike out in anger against your Catholic subjects."

"Then I shall not." Anne snaps, furiously, "I shall prove myself to be better than that vile, horrible old man who punishes an innocent child for the actions of others. Such a creature as he does not deserve to call himself a Prince of the Church. He has struck out in spite, and I will not - will not - sink to his depths. We shall continue our reforms as we have planned - and the proclamation shall stand. No Englishman shall be punished for their faith - there shall be no burnings here. We shall set an example of how two faiths can exist together."

Cromwell smiles at her, a little sadly, "That, of course, depends upon whether the adherents to the two faiths are able to abide by such noble intentions, Majesty."

"Do you think me to be wrong?"

He shakes his head, "No, Majesty. Much as I despise the Roman faith, you are right - the shedding of blood is no way to settle this matter. To claim that the Church is brutal in its condemnation of men that it calls heretics, only to act in the same way is the truest act of hypocrisy. Did not our Lord forbid us to say 'brother, let me clear that speck from your eye' while we did not see the log in our own eye?"

"While the Roman Church does so, we must not." Anne says, firmly, then looks at him, a slight smile playing across her lips, "A revolution, perhaps?"

"I am not sure, Majesty. Perhaps the perspective of a woman; for no man could fail to be provoked by such a document as this."

As Henry would have been. The threat of excommunication had been ever present throughout his dispute with the church, and indeed a Bull had been prepared, only to be suspended in the hope that he would renounce his former activities and come back to the Church. Perhaps he might have done - but now he is dead, and they shall never know. Cromwell watches as Anne resumes her perusal of her cards, though he can see that she has been shaken by the Pope's act against her - but mostly against her daughter. In spite of their acts of reformation, and the consecration of Elizabeth as the Head of the Church in England, excommunication by the Pope remains a shocking last sanction that even a reformed Christian might dread. No indeed, Henry would not have stood for this - and the precipitate action that would have followed is something he fears to imagine. That Anne refuses to play such a destructive game is a relief for England; but how long that can continue, he cannot begin to guess.

All they can hope for is that England's Catholics shall ignore the Bull - and that they shall value the life of their tiny Queen more highly than the spite-ridden pronouncements of an elderly man in Rome.

Whether he likes it or not - the coming days shall tell him which way England shall go.