A/N: Happy Friday! Thank you again for your comments - killing characters is never fun, and I didn't enjoy consigning some of my lesser, but valued, characters to the grave. Equally, to have them all survive being in a confined space with rampaging Yersinia Pestis bugs would've been deeply unrealistic, so I wasn't really given much of a choice!

Fortunately, England is emerging from it, though the continent is still facing miseries. Thus it is time for Anne and her much depleted band to begin wending their way north again, to reunite with the rest of the royal party...

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

An Expression of Trust

The chamber is warm from the sun after three days of rain, and Cromwell is free from a sense of chill for the first time since he fell sick. It is not the chamber that he occupied prior to the outbreak of sickness, but that wing has been shut up entirely, for fear that the plague might recur, while all within it has been carefully removed and set upon a bonfire.

That was not an easy task; too many possessions of the dead being consigned to the flames. Petre seems too tired and weak to care at the loss of his baggage, but Rich is still shut in his rooms, mourning the loss of a number of deeply precious personal items that could not be saved, despite an impassioned protest on his part. For himself, Cromwell brought no such possessions, and cares not at all that all he brought with him is now ashes. He is grateful to be alive; though it is clear to all that he must have acquired whatever sickness befell him from a different badness in the air, as one of Sir James's boys has also been afflicted with a mild fever and a similar rash. He is most fortunate that his sickness was so mild in comparison to the sufferings of those who died.

Cromwell is strong enough now to no longer be confined to a chair, though excessive movement still tires him rather more than expected, while his appetite is still poor. He has no manservant, his own page and steward lost to the plague, and their loss stings him a great deal, as the boy was still new to his service, while Jonathan had served his needs for many years. They had been so looking forward to the opportunity to see England…

He closes his eyes, and clenches his fists, forcing his fingernails into his palms and concentrating on the pain. No tears - he cannot afford such a luxury when his Regent needs his counsel. He is alive, and that is all that counts at such a time as this.

Rising from his chair, he emerges from his chambers and goes in search of Rich. With Sussex and Gage dead, and Petre looking likely to retire given that he remains so weak, they are all that remains of the Council still in the Regent's presence other than Lord Sandys, who is looking most ashamed that he was obliged to flee to the Dower House while his colleagues suffered. Rochford is travelling north with the Queen, while Southampton and Russell are safe at Windsor. God alone knows what has happened to Audley and Baker. Either way, their desertion has assuredly banned them from the Queen's presence for the rest of the reign.

There is no answer when he knocks upon the door, so he ignores proprieties again and enters the room to find his colleague seated in a chair, almost obsessively working his way along a different rosary to the one he was obliged to cast into the bonfire while he stares fixedly at the small fire that burns in the ornate fireplace.

He does not look up as Cromwell fetches a chair and seats himself nearby, and they sit in silence for some time before Cromwell ventures to ask a question that has been troubling him, "Forgive me, but how is it that you were present when your nurse took sick with the plague?"

It is not an accusation of lying; more a sense of concern that Rich could have been of so little account to his parents that they would not notice that one of their children was present in a room that should have been shut up. Sons of the gentry and aristocracy are valued, are they not?

Rich remains silent for a dreadfully long time, but then slowly looks up, "We were in the midst of St Lawrence Jewry; my father decided to remain even in the face of sickness as he was intent upon the sale of wool from his flocks. If you think me avaricious and grasping, then it is from he that I learned it. Thus, when a kitchen girl took sick, it was too late for us to flee, for the city authorities barred our doors and forbade our escape. In the face of his actions, my father shut the servants up in the kitchens and pantry, and abandoned them to die, while we retreated to the other end of the house. But even that was too late, for my nurse also became sick."

"But they permitted you to remain in her presence?"

He shrugs, "As long as Robert was safe, they were unconcerned over a son that would not inherit. To my mind - even as a child - she was more my mother than the woman who bore me. After she was dead, my mother found me in the corner of her chamber, and I learned then that I had been wrong, for she comforted me without fear that I might have become sick."

"And you did not become sick?"

Rich shakes his head, "Perhaps the presence of sickness touched me but fled. I know not; but even now it has fled from me when it has taken so many others. And that, I cannot fathom."

Cromwell nods, "It is not unknown - I have heard tell of entire households who died but for one, who did not even become sick. How that is so, only God can say - but He has preserved you when He has taken others, as He has preserved me. It can only be that He has preserved us for a purpose. I take that to be the safe guidance of her Majesty the Queen to rule her Kingdom - and thus I shall give my all to do so."

"As shall I." Rich agrees, setting down the rosary and finally raising his head to smile back at his friend.

"Are you sure you wish to depart, Sir William?" Anne's expression is sad; for all his seeming quiet anonymity, she has valued Petre's aid as a Councillor.

"I think it best, Majesty." He sighs, "While the sickness has left me, so has my strength. At this time, I think there is little that I can do to serve you to the degree that you deserve."

She sighs, "As you wish; but should you recover your strength, know that you shall be welcome to return to my Council, for I am ever grateful for your loyalty. As soon as you feel able to depart to your home, I shall ensure that you shall be escorted in comfort at my expense, and I shall arrange for you to receive a pension of three hundred pounds a year for the rest of your days."

"Your Majesty is too generous; I am most grateful." He leans forth in his chair, as close to a bow as he can manage, "I have received word from my wife - all of my household are well, for the sickness did not reach them. Thus, as soon as it is possible to do so, I shall depart to join them."

Anne nods, "Of course - know that you do so with both my gratitude, and my blessing."

"I value both, Majesty."

One of the few surviving pages is approaching as she departs Petre's chambers, "I have received a letter from Viscount Rochford, Majesty. He has also sent a number of servants from his retinue to replace those who were taken by the sickness."

She nods, accepting the missive almost hungrily. In spite of being barely three weeks, the length of her Council's ordeal feels as though it has lasted for years; and to know of her daughter's welfare is now her greatest wish. George knows her well, and thus the first page of his letter speaks only of Elizabeth, her health, where she has travelled, whom she has met. Always they have managed to stay ahead of the sickness, dispensing alms as they pass and leaving sufficient monies for the infirmaries they visit to pay for what physics and succour might possibly be of use should they be needed. They have stopped in many parishes to pray at the churches with the parishioners - all of which at Elizabeth's insistence, for to do so was her idea.

My dearest daughter; how proud I am of you.

Not only has Elizabeth granted alms to those in need, but has walked amongst ordinary folk without hesitation or fear. If she is truly honest with herself, Anne would not have thought to do so - but equally would have forbidden such a manoeuvre upon the part of her child, too. In spite of her tender years, Elizabeth is proving to have a remarkable understanding of her people, and the intelligence to use that understanding. A Queen is not a King - people expect and value ruthlessness in a man, but fear it in a woman as an unnatural vice. Instead, she looks to a gentler path; and reaps the reward in renewed and increased love for her from her subjects. There shall be a need to be ruthless in time, that is not in doubt; but to have a cushion of regard upon which to rest when she does so is a worthy investment.

Mr Cromwell is in the makeshift presence chamber when she returns to her apartments, "How useful. I do not need to send for you."

"Forgive me, Majesty; I am told there is news from her Majesty's progress."

"There is indeed, my Lord Treasurer. It seems that it is not only Mr Rich who is known for such unwarranted inquisitiveness." She chuckles, handing over the letter, "Fear not, there are no statements therein that might be considered to be an embarrassment either to my brother or myself."

As he reads, Anne sends Matthew in search of Rich and Lord Sandys. Reduced her council may be, but at least those whose counsel she values the most are amongst the living, and thus they can build a new group of men to advise her daughter. Firstly, however, they must organise efforts to bring succour to those in the shires who have suffered an equal ordeal. The plague has subsided, yes, but nonetheless there are too many who have succumbed to it, and there remains a harvest to bring in if the survivors are not to starve in the coming winter. Thanks be to God that they are not at war - a ruinously expensive enterprise at the best of times, and certainly not a welcome one now.

There is little that they can do immediately, but at least they can institute some works to pay for the recovery of the shires as an interim measure. Once the full council is reunited, and Parliament recalled, a more organised effort can be undertaken; but until then they must at least make some beginnings - and be seen to do so. Anne does not need Mr Cromwell to tell her that the ordinary folk of England shall be worst affected should they do nothing, and equally the most disaffected should they feel abandoned by their Queen. While the nobility are the greatest threat to the security of a reign, one ignores the peasantry at their peril. The last thing Elizabeth needs at this juncture is a rebellion akin to that which was faced by her grandfather courtesy of tin miners taxed beyond endurance.

"If there is no further reason to remain, Gentlemen," She says once discussions are at an end, "I think that we should prepare ourselves for the journey north. I wish to be reunited with my daughter, but also to see for myself how matters lie in the shires. If I know the condition of her Majesty's subjects, I shall be better prepared to consider remedies. Unless there are reasons to delay, we shall depart after this coming sabbath, and make our way to York."

The late summer air is still warm, but there are suggestions of the autumn to come as the column makes its slow, ponderous progress through countryside that seems so benign. Perhaps that quietness is accentuated all the more by the absence of people - for only a small proportion of fields are being tended as they pass by.

"So many dead?" Anne asks, quietly, as Cromwell rides alongside.

"Not all dead, I believe, Majesty," he answers, "but many are still recovering after taking sick, and thus lack the strength to return to their crops."

"How far north did the plague reach?" The last she heard, it had reached Oxford, but no further.

"Cases were reported no further north than Oxford, Majesty, while the sickness reached westwards as far as Devonshire, and eastwards as far as Felixstowe, though it was not reported any further north than that. I have not heard of any reports from Norwich."

"Then we have been rather more fortunate than it might appear at first glance, Mr Cromwell."

"Indeed so, Majesty."

"And your son is safe?"

He nods, "Gregory is well, as is his wife and son. Mr Rich has received word from his manor at Felsted; their isolation has also kept them safe from the contagion, so his family are also well; though his eldest daughter became sick at her husband's house - but recovered."

"God has been most kind to us." She agrees, "Once we have reached our lodgings for the night, I think I shall send word to George to arrange for farm workers to be sent south to aid with the harvest. I should appreciate it if you would investigate our financial state, as I suspect that those who are sent shall require to be well paid for their efforts."

He nods, "I shall see to it."

They continue in silence awhile, while behind them Rich and Lord Sandys make rather stilted conversation, as the Baron is uncomfortable to talk to the Lord Privy Seal given that he despised the man prior to their imprisonment at Fenton's manor, but was obliged to reside in safety in the Dower House while Rich faced the horror of the contagion alone.

The guards who escort them are fortunate, having been quartered in the converted buildings that had once been part of the religious house prior to Fenton's purchase of the property. Thanks to the speed at which the stricken wing of the house was shut up, not one of them fell sick and thus they march briskly to the fore and rear of the column - ensuring that any who might be hiding in proximity to the road shall not see them as a worthwhile target for robbery. Under the circumstances, they hardly look like a royal procession.

The castle at Northampton is, fortunately, a royal possession, and thus they are not imposing upon a household that might have been struck by the plague. It is not in the best condition, but it is sound, and - for those who have reached it in the face of a steady drizzle that has grown only heavier as the afternoon as progressed - to be out of the wet is the greatest priority.

The lack of people in the hall for supper is another reminder of their losses, and Anne looks upon her victuals with little appetite. Sussex is gone, as is Gage, while Petre returned to his home aboard a litter. They might not have been members of her most trusted inner circle, but they were valued men, and she mourns them rather more than she expects.

With no Court to view them, there is no interest in propriety, and Anne sits at the head of a table at which her councillors also sit, rather than at a high table, while her ladies are engaged elsewhere preparing her gowns for the morning and turning down the bed. Cromwell is to her right, picking at a portion of mutton with appetite as lacking as hers. They truly make a sombre group, and she is not surprised when Sandys excuses himself and rises from the table to return to his chambers. Rich is not long in doing likewise, leaving her alone with her Lord Treasurer.

"I should find the time to apologise to Mr Rich more properly." She says, after a while, "I was unforgivably rude to him when I heard that you had taken ill."

"So I am advised." Cromwell replies, blandly, "It was a foolish act upon your part, and I am grateful that Mr Rich refused to permit you entry."

Anne shakes her head, "Foolish or not, I could not help myself. When I received his note advising that you had fallen sick, it was my first impulse."

"To come to tend me, Majesty? That would have been madness - I am not worthy of such consideration."

"You are to me." She admits, very quietly.

"Majesty?" He seems rather bemused at such a comment.

"I have looked to you for advice and guidance as a daughter looks to a father. When my own abandoned me, I thought myself truly bereft - but I was not, for I had you at my side."

He remains silent for a considerable time, before he answers her, "Forgive me, Majesty - but I feel I must confess that I think as you do. You see me as one who is a father to you, for your own is gone. God help me, I see myself in the same light, for I have lost my daughters, and now I guide you as though you might have been a child of my own."

They lapse into silence again, until Cromwell ventures to speak, "I shall tender my resignation, of course. It is not appropriate that I continue to serve upon your Council."

"I shall not accept it." She answers, firmly, "I cannot contemplate the prospect of holding this Kingdom for my daughter without your counsel and aid. I will not. If you resign, I shall refuse to accept it. If you leave, I shall have you chased down and brought back. Do not ask me to face this task without you. I cannot do it."

They are alone in the midst of the expanse of the hall. None of the stewards are present, and even the guards are upon the other side of the doors. With none to see her, she reaches for his hand and grasps it tightly with both of her own, "Do not leave me, Thomas Cromwell. I will not let you go. If you will not stay for me, then stay for my daughter. Stay for England."

He smiles - a rather odd, skewed smile, "Was there a time when we looked upon one another as enemies, Majesty?"

"Perhaps, but it seems that God did not wish for us to remain so. I am glad of it, for I could not have won through as I have done without your counsel. It was you who helped me to win Parliament, you who won me the Council. I think it likely that I could not have hoped to have held England for Elizabeth if you had declared against me."

Cromwell shakes his head, "I would not have done so, Majesty. Elizabeth was the heir - both by law and by the King's will. For that reason alone, I would have fought for her rights; but equally, I had enemies ranged against me as did you, and thus I was willing to do what was necessary to survive. It was only in the months afterwards that I recalled that once we had looked upon one another in friendlier terms, and my motivation changed from a desire to keep my head to a determination to bring her Majesty the Queen to her just inheritance, and to do so as your friend."

"A rather paternal friend." She smiles at him.

"It seems so."

"Thank you."

"What for, Majesty?" To her surprise, Cromwell seems genuinely bemused by her gratitude.

"For everything that you have done. For being a steady rock to which I have been able to anchor myself. For being a friend when others were not. Perhaps once we did not look upon one another with trust - but now, above all, I trust you. I know that you shall never lie to me, nor shall you deceive me. Where all others might fail me, you shall not."

He reddens slightly, but then smiles at her, "If that is so, Majesty, then you are a very foolish woman. But I thank you for it."

"If I am a fool, then I am the wisest fool in Christendom."

She releases his hand, and he rises to bow to her, "I am grateful for your trust Majesty. I shall endeavour to prove myself worthy of it. Good night."

"Good night, Mr Cromwell."

The town of Leicester shows no sign of the calamity that befell towns to the south, and the burghers are bustling around a busy market in defiance of all the horrors that failed to reach them. Her banner is being carried before her, and draws attention that is remarkably friendly - but as Elizabeth came this way not a fortnight ago, her welcome is upon a wave of delight at the visit of her daughter.

They continue through the narrow streets to the site of the old Abbey, now nothing more than foundations thanks to the clamour for stone after the building was closed. One of the structures that rose from that abundance of materials is a rather fine manor house that has been set aside for her small retinue.

Margery is busy with her gowns again, while Anne sits near the window in the late afternoon sunlight to read another report from Southampton, which makes cheerful reading, as the plague is now considered to have fully abated. The ships that were ordered to sea have now docked again, and the sailors are already being recruited to assist with the harvest in the shires and parishes where the plague has left too few to bring in the crops.

England, it seems, has been more fortunate than her neighbours, where the sickness continues to ravage Paris, Calais, Brugge, Antwerp and Gent - not to mention a great number of towns in between. Perhaps she should be relieved: a nation that is too busy with its own troubles to look upon its neighbours with hungry eyes is to be welcomed in their reduced circumstances. But she cannot feel anything other than sorrow. Their journey through the afflicted countryside showed her that many households had lost their men, and were facing great hardship as a consequence. Even now, Mr Cromwell is busy with his fellow councillors, investigating funds to support the almshouses, work to extend the reach of the poor laws to aid those who have been so devastated by the sickness. Being of poor stock, it is perhaps no surprise that he is so concerned to do so.

Looking up from her papers, she is surprised to see him outside, walking slowly - almost aimlessly - amidst the ruins of the abbey. Most of the stonework has been removed to ground level, though one or two piers rise a few feet above the ground. What is he doing there? Thinking, perhaps - she has learned from experience that he spends much of his time deep in thought, and prefers to do so while walking outside, or in galleries if the weather is poor.

No - he is not moving as aimlessly as he appeared to at first glance…it is as though he is searching for something. Bemused, she rises from her chair and looks out, "Madge, set the linens aside awhile, I think I should like to take a walk outside before supper."

She has not spoken to him again of their conversation in the castle hall at Northampton. In spite of her trust in him, they were alone together for a considerable time, and it is not appropriate for a woman of her standing - even a widow - to be alone in the presence of a man to whom she is not related. Thus Margery has remained at her side at all times since that evening; Elizabeth's reputation is still tied to hers, and is equally fragile.

The shadows are lengthening as they make their way, arm in arm, into the abbey precincts, traced upon the ground in remnants of the foundations. In spite of her dislike of those now-gone moribund institutions, it grieves her to a degree that a building of such beauty is now also gone. If only the men who had lived within it had been as graceful as the church that housed them; the litany of mismanagement, extravagance and corruption that took this religious house from wealth to debt a shocking reminder of why she has become so intent upon reform.

It is not hard to see her Lord Treasurer, still making his slow way around what appears to be the northern side of the east end of the church, though it is hard to tell precisely these days now that the walls are largely gone. Frowning slightly, she quickens her pace, obliging Margery to trot slightly to keep up.

The rustling of their gowns alerts him to their approach, and he raises his head, then turns to bow, "Majesty."

"A pleasant afternoon, is it not, Mr Cromwell?"

He nods, "Indeed so, Majesty. I am somewhat stiff from a day in the saddle, and there are worse places to stretch one's legs, I think."

"Whereabouts do you think we might be within the former church, do you think?"

He looks about, "The north east ambulatory, I would suggest. From the shape of the foundations behind us, that was the north transept, so the presbytery is likely to be there." He points to his left, then pauses, as he turns back.

"Mr Cromwell?"

"I think I have found that which I was seeking." He admits, though he seems reluctant to explain further. Looking beyond him, Anne can see a simple wooden cross that must have been placed upon the site of a grave once covered by stone. Intrigued, she steps past her Lord Treasurer and bends to see if there is a script.

Here lyeth the bones of Thos. Wulcy

For a moment, her stomach constricts at the name of her loathed adversary; the man who destroyed her hopes of marriage with Henry Percy, and who broke up the contract with James Butler in obedience to her late husband's decision that he must have her. She has never forgiven him for his enmity towards her, or his actions against her - but she knows well that Mr Cromwell was once his man, and a loyal servant whom the Cardinal trusted absolutely.

Just as she trusts him now.

"He made me what I am, Majesty." Cromwell sighs, "He employed me, trusted me and brought me into the service of the King. Regardless of his faults - and I was not blind to them - but for his patronage, we would not be where we are now, for I would never have been a Courtier. I suspect that I would have remained a lawyer and businessman."

"And I cannot begin to know to whom I might have been married." Anne agrees, "Perhaps I might have become Lady Butler after all."

"We shall never know."

"I despised him." She admits, quietly, "I suspect that much of the acts he perpetrated against me were in the service of my late Lord, for he had decided that he must have me, regardless of any considerations to the contrary. And yet - but for him, I would not have your counsel or loyalty; and I suspect that I would be the poorer for the lack of it." Rising, she steps back a pace or two, "I think, then, it is time to set that grudge aside. Perhaps inadvertently, he has served me well."

Cromwell grunts with mild amusement, "And he would have been appalled at the discovery."

She laughs, "Then I am content. Come, we should return to the manor - I suspect it is nearly time to sup, and it would not do for our hosts to be obliged to send a search party."

"God, this pile is in a poor condition." Rich observes as they enter the gatehouse, "If this is our bastion against the Scots should they cross the border and come south, then it is of little worth. Those walls would come down if one sneezed upon them."

The past week has been a long haul of slow, plodding travel, stopping each night at the home of obliging gentlefolk courtesy of agreements made by Rochford on the Queen's journey north. As they have travelled, the countryside has changed, as here the harvest has been cut, the wheat gathered into stooks to keep the ears from the ground while the stalks await threshing.

Now that the plague has abated, they have passed teams of reapers making their way south to aid in the harvest where men have been taken by sickness, as they have been granted purses of monies to compensate for the cost of the journey. For all his foolishness, Rochford is more than capable of acting upon the requirements of the Regent without objection or argument.

Now that they have reached Pomfret, Anne is becoming all the more excited at the prospect of being reunited with her daughter. Only a few more days and they shall be at Middleham. What does it matter that the castle around her is in a poor state of repair? Or that the roof of the hall is leaking somewhat? The horrible weeks of separation are almost at an end, and she shall hold her dearest Elizabeth close once again.

Behind her, Cromwell nods, "I fear so, Richard. Perhaps we should consider works to repair this place in order to protect the south. While there is no suggestion that the Scots look upon us with bellicosity, it does not hurt to be prepared."

She smiles to herself: always thinking of the safety of the Realm. No, she has done nothing to antagonise the Scottish kingdom, in spite of their equal situation in the loss of a King with only a girl child to replace him and a mother to be her Regent. Perhaps they should forge an alliance of some sort…

Her apartments are perhaps rather shabby; hastily hung with tapestries and with small carpets scattered across the wooden floor to offer at least a modicum of comfort in the midst of disorder. Certainly, Margery is sighing with despair, "Oh, Majesty - there is damp in this chamber! Surely we should find you better quarters?"

"I suspect that these are the better quarters, Madge."

Margery shudders, uttering small clucks of disapproval as she checks behind tapestries and examines the walls for moisture. Anne smiles a she does so; Hever had rooms that were in such a state - such is the way of things with buildings that were once fortresses, "It is for one night, Madge. Two at the most - what harm shall come from that? I shall be warmly wrapped in felt and fur when I sleep. Come, it is nearly time to sup: call Alice, help me to change my gown."

The view from the parapet is very fine, though as much from the distance one can see as much as the countryside. A defender could see an invading army at least two miles off or more - if only the castle itself were not so weak that such an army could take it without as much as a day's effort. It has been many years since he took up arms, but Cromwell has never forgotten the life of a soldier, and the importance of good defences against an offensive force. Even to his less than experienced eye, the castle in which they are lodging is hardly a bastion of security against any who might come to take it. Thank God no one has.

"Forgive the state of the walls, Mr Cromwell," Lord Darcy looks most embarrassed, "I have not the funds to pay for their repair. The most that I can do is shore them up as best I can. I fear that I have not been as good a custodian of this fortress as the Crown would wish."

"It is hard to preserve a fortress for the Crown when the Crown does not provide the monies to do so, my Lord." He agrees, "I am of the opinion that we have become complacent, for we have not looked to make war with the Scots, and thus they have not looked to make war with us. Equally, the North has been remarkably peaceable in the face of the reformation, though I think it likely that they have done so for her Majesty has not obliged them to abjure the old ways. Once we have recovered ourselves from the calamity of the plague, I think I shall look into funding a programme of restoration for this castle. It is not adequate as a defensive structure in its present state."

"Thank you, Mr Cromwell. Come, supper is to be served shortly - I fear it is not to the standard to which her Majesty is used, but the mutton is most fine, for the sheep feed upon moorland herbs; and it gives their meat an excellent flavour."

Cromwell smiles cheerfully, "In which case, I would be pleased to indulge."

The quality of the music is far less than that of the mutton, but the players are adequate, and thus the few ladies present are able to indulge in at least a few simple dances. Returning to her seat after a cheery galliard, Anne beckons Rich to her side, "Forgive me Mr Rich, but I have been most remiss."

"You have, Majesty?" he looks rather bemused.

"I treated you abominably in the midst of your trial, and I have not yet expressed my regrets for doing so. Your refusal to admit me to the house was wise, and I struck out at you with a most vicious outburst of temper."

"You were concerned for our health, Majesty."

"Perhaps - but it was not appropriate to hurl threats at you. I can assure you that I would not banish you from Court - for in your act, you proved to me that you are indeed a man to be trusted."

He looks a little embarrassed, but shakes his head, "I think that I am not. Mr Cromwell prevented me from attempting to escape the building - he came upon me reaching out of a window to the down-spout in hopes of clambering down so that I could flee."

Rather than laugh, or look disappointed, Anne indicates that he sit, "He said nothing of that to me."

"He would not have done - for I think he now shares your trust in me - we…had words, and he accepted that I was afraid without scorn. He did not forbid me to flee, but instead asked me to remain - so I did."

"I think we both owe him a great deal, do we not, Mr Rich?"

He nods, "And I also owe you that debt, Majesty. I have spent much of my time at Court acting in a manner that is most reprehensible, for I learned to act so from my father. He was shrewd, unscrupulous and light with the truth in his business dealings, and thus earned well. Even when wool became unprofitable, he found a way to make money - by swindling cloth traders and using the money to exchange his flocks for those better suited to the production of meat. Being a second son, I had no inheritance, so I learned most well how to profit from others."

"But now you find that honest dealings serve you better?" Anne smiles at him.

"I think I do."

"Then I am well served. Go to, Mr Rich. We shall rest here tomorrow, and move on to Middleham where we shall re-establish the council and set to work again." She pauses, then laughs softly, "Mr Cromwell told me that, in trusting him, I was a fool. If to trust him, and to trust you, makes me so, then I am glad of it, for England needs me to be a fool."

He rises, and bows, "In which case, God help England."

A/N the second: A quick note on locations. If you were to visit Leicester Abbey today, you wouldn't see anything of the structure that stood there, as it was entirely lost by the 17th Century, and no-one knew where it was in the Abbey Park. The house that Anne and her entourage are staying in was what went on to become Cavendish House, which is also now a ruin. Work to rediscover the structure began in the late 19th century, and continued on into the 1920s, so the 'foundations' that you would see today were raised in the 20th century; though a few walls around the park are intact from the heyday of the monastic House. While the structure is now a scheduled ancient monument and grade I listed building, for a considerable time during the early 2000s it was used extensively as a training ground for archaeology students of the University of Leicester, making it a very well excavated site.

No one knows now where Wolsey's grave was in the Abbey - as his remains have never been found despite extensive searches that first began barely a century after his death (perhaps they should try some of the city's other car parks). There's a memorial stone to him now, which lies in what was once a chapel off the north transept, so I've put the small cross that Cromwell was looking for in there. He intended to be buried in a whopper black marble tomb on a plinth; and, while you can't see him anymore, you can still see that, as it's in the Crypt at St Paul's Cathedral, occupied by Admiral Lord Nelson.

In furtherance of my habit of attempting to refer to all places by the names they used in the period, I've reverted to using Pontefract's 16th century name of Pomfret. This confusing habit will continue in the next chapter - but that will have to wait until next week...