A/N: And it's Friday again! Plus I have a new cable for my laptop. Thanks again for your comments, all of which are most appreciated.

With the plague finally gone, the Court has returned to London, while certain folk elsewhere are re-emerging from the proverbial woodwork. With the council decimated, it's time to start again, though this time I'm opting for just two additional 'named' councillors accompanied by general rent-a-mob; it's really hard to keep track of them all, so I've chickened out this time!

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Reconstruction

Anne kneels at her prie-dieu to accept the communion bread from Reverend Rawson and closes her eyes as she eats. It has been a long, tiring journey back to Hampton Court, amidst a countryside that is drawing ever closer to winter. By a true miracle of goodness by both God and man, the harvest even in the south has been almost entirely brought in, the stooks threshed, the grain gathered into the granaries, and the stalks now in great ricks to feed flocks and herds in the dead months to come.

She has not been inside her closet for almost a year, having departed to Placentia, and then to Whitehall, before the progress, but she is grateful for the familiarity of her surroundings. Elizabeth has received her communion already, in what had once been the King's closet. Now, however it is the Queen's closet - as is hers. How strange that there should be two Queen's closets…

The communion wine is set before her, and she is startled out of her reverie. Taking a sip, she crosses herself and thinks upon England's good fortune to have escaped the scourge of the plague more quickly than her neighbours did. There is news from France that the worst is now abating in Paris, but already the loss of the harvest in the north of the land is telling, as the price of bread is rumoured to be almost more than a peasant's daily pay.

Rising, she accepts the Grace, and departs her private chapel to return to her privy chamber, "Matthew, please ask my Councillors to attend me after the midday meal."

The view from her chambers over the ornamental gardens is bright with crisp sunlight as the last days of autumn sink into memory and the first of winter edge into view. The gardeners have already pruned back the roses, and clothed the fountains in their wooden jackets as a protection against frost. The days when such a view could capture her are long gone, and she turns back to the large table that she has set aside as a working desk, and considers the list of names that Mr Cromwell has provided, a list of men who might serve her well upon her council in place of those that she has lost.

She must also make appointments again. The loss of Sussex has robbed her of a capable Lord Chancellor; but at least she has a man upon her council who shall be entirely suited to replace him. Perhaps there shall be gossip at such a promotion - the Court has ever regarded her Lord Treasurer with scorn for his base-born origins - but only a fool disregards capability in the face of scorn by others. Henry recognised capability, even if he could be induced to abandon it, and that is a lesson she has no wish to ignore.

"Would you like some mulled wine, Majesty?" Mary is behind her, having emerged from her bedchamber, "Madge has secured some gingered bread."

"Gingered bread before dinner, Mary?" Anne looks up from her papers with a smile and a slightly raised eyebrow, "I think I shall eschew that, but a cup of wine shall not go amiss."

The pair turn as Matthew returns, "Majesty, the Lord Treasurer has asked for an audience."

Anne looks surprised, "Show him in, Matthew."

From his expression, the news he brings is not dread, but instead he seems a little saddened, "Forgive my intrusion, Majesty; I have been gathering reports of all that has occurred in London since our departure. While it is not the most fearful of news, I am grieved to report that his Excellency Chapuys fell victim to the plague some six weeks ago. He was slow to make arrangements to leave London, and was struck down as he was departing to a rented house in Buckinghamshire."

Anne sighs, "That is sad news indeed. Enemy he may have been to me, but nonetheless to die in such manner is a cruel fate. Do you require any act of condolence from her Majesty? I suspect that such sentiments from me shall be viewed as false."

"I have drafted a letter for her Majesty's consideration, Majesty." He advises, then pauses a moment before continuing, "It shall also be a great loss in terms of our knowledge of the doings of the Emperor. It is likely that the late Ambassador's secretary shall be recalled and replaced, so I have released him from his obligation to me and assured him that, while I cannot promise that his secret shall not emerge, it shall not do so via me."

"Secret?"

"As I said, Majesty. It shall not emerge from me."

She smiles at him again, "Then I shall not ask - but I shall wonder, most fervently."

"My lips are sealed."

She pouts, comically, then laughs, "So be it, Mr Cromwell. It is, however, pleasing that you have come to me prior to dinner, as I have news of my own. With the loss of my Lord of Sussex, a vacancy has arisen amongst her Majesty's officials. Consequently, in recognition of your service, and your loyalty to England, it is her Majesty's intention to appoint you as the new Lord High Chancellor of England."

He stares at her, his expression a bizarre mixture of pride, delight and horror, "Majesty, I am but a base-born common man - no one would accept such an appointment." In spite of his words, there is no disguising his pleasure at rising so high. Regardless of his faithful service, he is as enticed by such baubles as any other ambitious politician. He wants it - but there is a frisson of fear that jealous courtiers might attempt to conspire against him out of jealousy or snobbish pique.

"It is not for others to grant consent to her Majesty's will, Mr Cromwell." She answers, "While it is certainly my wish that you receive this appointment, I did not need to advise her to make it. She has made that decision herself."

"I am truly grateful, Majesty. I shall advise her Majesty of my acceptance of the appointment when it is made to me."

Anne smiles, "She shall do so in the Presence chamber after the Council meeting. I thought it a sensible move to warn you beforehand. It is not becoming for a man appointed to an office of such dignity to hop up and down upon the spot in delight. Besides," she adds, "I wanted to see the look upon your face."

Cromwell picks at the dish before him and attempts as best he can to conceal his excitement - of all the posts he hoped to gain, he never imagined he could rise as high as this: Lord Chancellor of England…Lord Chancellor.

But he remains base-born - and he can recall no man of such low birth attaining such power in the Court of England. Perhaps some have; but if they did, it is unlikely that they lasted for long: to be set above men of such great power leads only to jealousy, hatred, and plotting. Even in Elizabeth's Court, he remains unsure of his safety to a degree that his delight is tinged with dread. Norfolk may be gone, but there are other Nobles who are more than eager to attain a place upon Elizabeth's Council, and they shall be no more keen to accept him than the hobbled Howard would have been.

"What ails you?" Rich has noticed - which is perhaps no surprise given that they are so much in one another's company these days, "You have torn at that slice of beef until it is naught but fragments." They are both aware that Cromwell's appetite is hardly weak.

"It is of no moment, Richard. A matter that I am turning over in my head."

Rich smirks slightly, "I imagine all shall be revealed shortly. We are lacking men upon the Council, and I have no doubt that her Majesty intends to name those who shall take the vacant places."

It is hard to think otherwise - for there are a number of unfamiliar faces at tables around the hall. One of them is the son of a man sent to the block by the late King in order to evade the anger of burghers who despised his father's fiscal policies. John Dudley is a stocky, tall man with a sharp countenance and a good reputation, restored by the King after the dust had settled. Another of Wolsey's many proteges, Cromwell is not surprised to see him - a man of his talent would be invaluable upon the Council. The other faces are less familiar, but doubtless there shall be introductions in due course if they are to join him at the table.

From their seat at the trestle reserved for the higher Courtiers, Cromwell and Rich are both intrigued by the discussion between Anne and her daughter at the high table. Elizabeth is blushing most fetchingly, while her mother is clearly whispering words of support. Honours and appointments have until now been conferred by the Regent upon behalf of her Majesty. Today, however, she shall confer them herself.

That ceremony is a little way off, yet. It does not do for a Queen to have to edge her way out from behind a table and assembled guests, after all. They shall withdraw to her Presence Chamber in order for her Majesty to declare her honours from the height of her throne. Of all present, however, the reward of an honour shall be a surprise to all but one. Again, Cromwell fights with himself not to smile with sheer glee. Jesu, this is most unbecoming…

Eventually, everyone departs the hall, though the Council and senior courtiers gravitate towards the Presence Chamber, as all know that appointments are to be made. There are few amongst those attending who are not hopeful that they shall benefit from the largesse shortly to be dispensed.

"My Lords!" the voice of her steward is loud, "Her Majesty the Queen and Her Majesty the Queen Regent!"

All turn towards the entrance to the Queens' Privy Chamber, and bow as Elizabeth enters, her mother and her ladies to her rear. Taking her seat she looks nervous; she is, after all, still a child. Sitting to her right, Anne turns to her and smiles.

Shyly, Elizabeth rises and steps to the front of the dais, "My Lords, welcome. We are right glad to be returned to our Palace of Hampton Court after England's fearful danger. We have lost members of our Court - men who were valued and skilled members of our royal Council. As a consequence, we are minded today to appoint a new Council. Those who have been upon our Council since the beginning of our reign shall remain. Today, we ask Mr John Dudley and Sir Thomas Percy to step forth to accept the chains of office commensurate to members of our Privy Council."

Dudley looks pleased - but also mildly surprised, as though such an elevation was unexpected. Percy, on the other hand, seems quite convinced that such an appointment is no more than his due, and shows no such astonishment. Together, they approach the dais, bow and cross to join the other Councillors.

"We are most grieved to have lost our late friend, his Grace of Sussex. Thus I call forth Mr Thomas Cromwell."

Rich smirks again as Cromwell steps forth to approach the dais. To a degree, he is remarkably successful in his attempt to look surprised and intrigued at the reason for his summons. It could not be more obvious that he is to take the place of the late Chancellor. That said, a man of his origins has rarely risen to such heights, and he is already looking around at the faces of those who are observing, as they see the protege take the same steps as his lost mentor. Once, he would have shared their mildly scandalised expressions - though in his case such shock would have been seasoned with a liberal dose of jealous pique. Once, yes - but no longer. Instead, he is pleased for the man that he once hated, but now considers to be a friend.

For a moment, Elizabeth turns back to Anne, who nods again with an indulgent smile. "Please kneel."

Immediately, his face changes from carefully contained excitement to genuine surprise. Clearly, this was not expected.

The sword that is handed to the Queen is not of the length that Henry would have handled, for she lacks his strength. Instead, a delicate rapier is supplied, and she rests the blade either side of Cromwell's head, "We dub thee Sir Thomas Cromwell, also Baron Cromwell of Oakham."

The room goes quiet, the snide mutterings of those witnessing a worthless nobody silenced by his elevation to a peerage. Regardless of his birth, he is now a Baron: not particularly high, admittedly, but a peerage nonetheless. He looks up to see that Anne is smiling more broadly now; she retained one surprise for him, it seems.

"We do not think it appropriate that a man of your standing should lack a noble rank, your Grace." Elizabeth continues, "For it is also our intention to appoint you to the office of Lord High Chancellor, in place of our late lord of Sussex. Arise, Sir Thomas."

Cromwell stands, then bows low, "Majesty, I am overcome - I cannot find words adequate to express my gratitude at your generosity to one such as I."

"It is well earned, your Grace."

As the newly ennobled Cromwell returns to his colleague's side, Rich wonders how it is that he is not bitter with resentment, for he remains a Knight. Behind them, across the expanse of Courtiers, there is a quiet mumbling from those who are shocked at such an elevation - yet he is not. He is pleased for his friend; but then, he is Lord Privy Seal, and…

"We call forth Sir Richard Rich."

There is no escaping that thrill of excitement in his vitals as he steps forth, and is equally invited to kneel. Knighted already, he wonders what shall be granted to him.

"We are grateful for your courage and service amidst the sickness that overtook the Council while we were upon progress, and thus we make you Baron Rich of Leighs. Equally, we ask that you accept the burden of Lord High Treasurer."

His eyes a little wide, Rich rises to his feet and bows, "Thank you, Majesty. I shall give my all in your service."

As he withdraws, he can hear muttering again. Clearly his equal elevation has caused some disgruntlement; and he cares not one jot.

"We call forth Lord Rochford."

Rochford complies, and also kneels, "In gratitude for your counsel and kindness during our late progress, we appoint you Lord Privy Seal. We can think of no more worthy man to be responsible for our personal seal."

Seated behind her daughter, Anne fights with herself not to smile again. There had been a time when her brother would never have been accepted for such a post as this; for she herself would have fought against it. But he has shown his loyalty to her daughter - and to his sister - and proved his capabilities once free of the baleful influence of their father. Now, instead of a disgruntled exile, he holds the third highest Office of State. Father would be appalled…

Now, she fights with herself not to laugh.

The rooms are largely as they were left, albeit dusty and dank following several weeks of absence. The plague did not reach Poperinghe, but other parts of Flanders were devastated, and Brugge has equally suffered. Their wealth is safe, thanks to Boleyn's hasty removal of his savings from his unfortunate banker; and, to the best of their knowledge, the sickness did not spread into the northern realms. Without the rumours from the cloth halls, they are helpless to know whether or not Queen Mary is safe and well.

Ignoring his colleague, Brandon crosses to the window of the chamber that he had selected for himself, and gazes outside. The streets had once been quite bustling, but now they are quiet thanks to the toll of the plague. As he understands it, France is in an even worse state; but there is little trade in progress yet, as most merchants have yet to summon up sufficient courage to return.

What little he knows of events in England tell him that the girl Elizabeth and her mother have both survived, though not all of the Council emerged from the darkness. He is sad that Sussex was lost, but dismayed that the dread triumvirate of Cromwell, Rich and Rochford were spared. As long as they remain upon the Council, the chances of the Concubine making an error that shall end her Regency and the reign of her child are remote at best. Worse, the peasantry adore the child; as she has proved to be both pretty and intelligent. Their only hope now is to find a means for Mary to take back her throne thanks to the lack of any other to inherit.

He shudders at the thought. To assassinate a crowned head is a dangerous act that stands against all that he has ever believed. England has done nothing to remove the child - but then, to whom would they turn now that their true Queen presides over a son in Sweden? All that he has done, he has done for the sake of a great Queen and a true friend to whom he made a promise. Even now, he refuses to relinquish that commitment: he promised Henry that he would see the crown set upon the head of the true heir of England, and it is a promise that he will not, will not, break.

Boleyn, on the other hand, is immersed in a letter that has arrived from Norfolk, who avoided the plague by shutting himself safely away from it at Arundel. As he comes to the end of it, he snorts with astonishment, "God above, Norfolk has reached the bottom of the fish barrel and scrapes upon it."

Steeling himself to conceal an almost instinctive desire to roll his eyes heavenwards, Brandon turns, "In what way?"

"It seems that Chapuys managed to bribe that vile weasel Rich to spy for him. With Chapuys dead, Norfolk intends to make use of the turncoat."

"If he is willing to aid us, then what of it?"

"I think he shall find it harder than Chapuys did; after all, Rich knows what Norfolk thinks of him. I suspect it shall cost the Duke considerably more to win that treacherous runt than the Emperor was obliged to pay."

"As I said, if he is willing to aid us, what of it?" Brandon repeats.

"Are you truly so naïve a fool as that?" Boleyn demands, "Richard Rich aids none but himself. If he is to return to our side as an ally, then he shall expect Norfolk to pay handsomely. The last time he was with us, Norfolk planned to use him and then have him executed. The wretched creature overheard him say he would do so."

"Then we can manage without him."

Boleyn shakes his head, "Chapuys was as keen to see Mary upon the throne as any - and thus he was prepared to offer information to support her cause - even if it was naught but rumour that was little better than any that came from traders newly arrived from Tilbury. It shall serve us far better to have a pair of eyes and ears at Court, and better still if they are upon the Council. No - if he can be bought, then Norfolk would be a fool not to make the purchase. Much as he is despicable, Rich is well placed."

Brandon shrugs and resumes his perusal of the street below. He lacks the deviousness to sink to such befouled political depths as those plumbed by Boleyn and other career politicians - he has never needed to fight for precedence as he was granted it directly. If they can win a spy at Court, then it would serve them most well; but he shall leave that sort of treachery to those best suited to it.

Anne reads the letter in fascination, "This young man was born in the same year as Elizabeth, and even impartial reports suggest that he is a kindly, virtuous and gentle youth. I think we are all used to being advised that the sons of royal houses across Europe are all unimpeachably virtuous in all ways - but in this case, it may be true."

Cromwell nods, "The words spoken in rumours are equally complimentary, Majesty. He is the third son of that family and thus most unlikely to inherit a Kingdom. Consequently, we shall not be bound to another realm courtesy of a ruling King demanding that his sons are heirs to his kingdom first, and then England. While it would be at least mildly preferable for her Majesty to marry an Englishman, there are none of suitable rank to whom she can be matched."

On paper, at least, Filipe of Portugal appears to be an ideal prospect. Portugal is wealthy, and has forged wide ranging trade connections across the world that would serve England well if a suitable trade agreement can be reached. Equally, as the Emperor, through his Spanish ancestry, looks to claim Portugal if he can, an alliance with England as the realm grows in wealth and prominence could hardly be looked upon as a lesser side of the bargain.

"I shall mention him to Elizabeth." Anne says, "It would do no harm for them to open a correspondence with one another, for he is as old as she. Perhaps if they can forge a friendship, it shall be possible in time for them to accept marriage with more ease than some brides are permitted."

Cromwell nods again, "It is true that most high-born women are married for reasons other than those that drew you to his late Majesty. I would have hoped for my own daughters, had they lived, to have found marriages within which they could be happy - but then, when they lived, I was not of such prominence that I should have viewed them as tools to gain more for myself. I cannot safely claim that I would see them so now."

Anne smiles at him, "Do not forget that I was seen as such, Sir Thomas. Had my late Lord not demanded to have me, I think I should be married to a man in Ireland in exchange for the relinquishing of his title - and far from the Court. Equally, Mary would be Queen and our reformation would have been entirely stamped out. My recall to England was solely to use me as a tool to gain more for my father - so greatly did he desire a peerage."

He bows, "I shall return anon for the Council meeting, Majesty."

She nods, "Of course. It shall be most strange, shall it not? Old friends no longer present, and new men to meet. I am hopeful that we shall be able to continue as we did before."

"Yes Majesty." His expression is rather odd. He is still unused to being called 'Sir Thomas' by his Queen. Her smile widens in amusement as he steps back to depart.

"Madge, could you invite her Majesty to my Privy Chamber, please? There is a matter I wish to discuss with her."

"Yes, Majesty." Margery curtseys and departs. Despite being still a young girl, she is a Queen, and it does not do to issue a summons to one's Queen.

Mistress Astley is with her when she arrives, "You wished to see me, Mama?"

"I did indeed, my dearest Majesty. Please, come and be seated. I have received a letter from Portugal, from Prince Filipe, who is his Majesty's third son. He wishes to befriend you and has asked that you might write to him."

Elizabeth frowns slightly, "Do you think it likely that I shall marry him, Mama?" she is too intelligent to miss that possibility.

"Perhaps - if you like him. At this time, you are too young to be formally betrothed, so there is no requirement that you do so if you prefer not to. It is my greatest hope that your marriage shall be a happy one, into which you have entered willingly and joyfully."

There is, of course, no expectation that she shall not marry.

"May I see the letter, Mama?"

Anne hands it to her, "As you see, my precious, I have not opened it. I know that it is from Filipe, and that he hopes that you shall reply merely because his Father has advised me so. His words to you remain private - should you wish to write to him, then you may do so. If you prefer not to, we shall gently decline, shall we not?"

"I shall reply to him Mama." Elizabeth answers, "I have never left England, and I should like to know what life is like in other realms."

She smiles, fondly: such an inquisitive, bright child, "I am pleased that you shall, dear sweetheart. You are not obliged to marry him if you do not wish to - but I hope that you and he shall find a friendship in your shared youth and experiences."

"Thank you, Mama." Elizabeth rises, bobs a curtsey, and returns to her own chambers. God have mercy, she is still naught but a child, but her regal status demands that she must play the marriage game nonetheless. Of all the youths that have been set before her, this boy seems to be the most worthwhile prospect in terms of a treaty for England - but if it shall not make Elizabeth happy, then she has no wish to consider it.

"Welcome to my Council, Gentlemen." Elizabeth smiles politely at the new faces, "I am grateful for your presence, and I hope that we shall work together well as Queen and Council. I ask for honesty, frankness and truth in all our dealings, and I give you my word that I shall accept advice given in such terms willingly and openly."

The men who stand at the table bow collectively before taking their seats. Other than the new faces, the order in which they sit has also changed, as Cromwell is now seated to the right of Anne, a place that has become that of the Lord Chancellor, while Rich sits beside him, and Rochford alongside - the holders of the highest Offices of State. Warwick has modestly claimed a seat towards the far end of the table, though Thomas Percy seems quite keen to place himself as close to the Queen as possible.

Anne regards Percy without comment. He is the younger brother of the Henry to whom she had truly given her heart, until she was obliged to hand it to another Henry. In the absence of an heir to that lost love, who never recovered from the loss and died years ago estranged from the wife to whom he had been promised and from all of his brothers, the Northumberland Earldom has been restored to the Crown in accordance with the terms of his will, and thus the younger brother has not been granted it. Perhaps he hopes to earn it through service to the Queen who might have been his niece had circumstances not shattered the hearts of two young people. Should he do so, then she is quite certain that she shall be pleased to reward him with the restoration of the peerage. Time, of course, shall tell.

Discussions centre very much upon the ongoing restoration of England in the aftermath of the plague. The saving of the harvest has proved crucial, of course, but there remains the problem of many households who have lost their breadwinner, and the need to provide employment suitable for those who remain - as many of them are women, and thus they are obliged to seek what work they can to keep a roof over the heads of their children. Already, the infirmaries and almshouses are seeking washerwomen and chambermaids, while girls are being apprenticed to seamstresses and boys to all manner of trades. Further north, there is less to do as the plague did not reach the northern shires, but in the south, Mr Cromwell's commissioners have been most engaged in works to re-establish the trades that have lost those who practised them. Had there not been such a well organised mechanism, she cannot imagine how they might have managed.

"I have asked Mr Wriothesley to examine the state of the road-building programme, Majesty." Cromwell continues, "Many of the workmen have been either lost to the plague, or have returned to their homes. I think it safe to say that much of our efforts to bring in the harvest were aided by those roads that are already built, as it was possible to move men far more quickly than might otherwise have been the case. Thus I think it wise to continue to build more, in order to facilitate trade, thereby restoring England's coffers."

Rich nods, "Your treasury is in good health, Majesty." He takes up, for now the funds are his responsibility, "The last remaining debts left by your late father shall be met rather later now than we had hoped, but I am confident that we shall meet all obligations by the end of next year. There remains sufficient monies to pay for the continuation of our plans for roads, though I fear it shall be at a slower pace than previously, as we must spend with some care for the time being."

"Paris is also recovering now, though northern France remains in danger of famine." Cromwell resumes, "We do not have sufficient grain to offer aid, I fear; not without placing your subjects at risk of hunger. It would look most poor were we to oblige Englishmen to pay more for their grain, while selling a portion of it to a foreign realm."

"If there is insufficient grain to share, then so be it." Anne agrees, "Have we received entreaties from France?"

"Not as yet, Majesty." Rochford advises, "Though I suspect that King Francis knows that we cannot do so, and thus does not demand it."

"Let it be known that our inability to provide grain is owing to a lack of it, and that we would wish to do so if we could." Anne muses, "France remains an ally for now, it would do us no harm to show it."

"Yes Majesty." Cromwell scribbles a note upon his paper with a sharpened stick of paper-wrapped charcoal.

"Is there anything else?" Elizabeth asks.

"Yes, Majesty." Rochford answers, "His Imperial Majesty has sent a letter thanking you for your condolences over the death of his late Ambassador, and advises that his replacement shall arrive after the Christmastide festival. He also sends good wishes and hopes that you shall consider the suit of his son Philip, who is to inherit his Spanish Crown." Rochford's tone has become more amused, as they do not intend to consider such a thing; particularly as Elizabeth remains far too young to be betrothed.

"We shall consider it, my Lord Rochford." Elizabeth says, blushing charmingly.

With nothing remaining to discuss, the Council rises and bows as the Queen and her mother depart. Once they are gone, Rochford turns to Cromwell, "Do you think she shall consider it, Sir Thomas?"

"I think not." Cromwell shakes his head, "To marry a foreign King has risks for England that are greater than any benefit we might earn. The children of such a marriage would be Kings of Spain first, I fear, and England second. Englishmen shall not stand for the realm to be a lesser province of Spain."

"Filipe of Portugal shall be a better prospect." Rich agrees, "He is a third son, and thus unlikely to inherit his realm; consequently, his best hope of a match would be a lesser princess of another house - and to marry a Queen unlikely when there are other princes of higher status than he. Besides, it is reported that he is a kindly youth of excellent character, intelligent and well governed. If that is so, then he shall be a fine husband for our Queen."

"Assuming that she wishes to marry him." Rochford adds.

"That shall be for her Majesty to decide." Cromwell reminds him, then turns to see Warwick nearby, "Ah, my Lord Warwick, forgive my poor manners - welcome to the Council."

Warwick bows "Thank you, your Grace; I am most pleased to have been granted such an honour."

"I fear that today's discussions were somewhat mundane - but I can assure you that it shall not always be so."

"I am pleased to offer myself to her Majesty's service as she requires it."

Cromwell bows again as Warwick departs; there is ambition there, yes, but it is tempered by good sense. That is a man who shall indeed serve well - for he seems more intent upon service than the accumulation of power. Certainly, all that he has heard about the man suggests that to be so.

Percy, however, remains nearby and seems rather reluctant to approach the Lord Chancellor, instead waiting to speak to Rochford, who has the highest noble rank of the three remaining men in the Council Chamber. Even Rich, it appears, is of too little worth to be considered, for his barony is also only recently granted. Both are knights, but it seems that the Percy name is too important for its owner to be seen consorting with a man of Gentry birth.

After a while, as Rochford has no intention of ignoring his colleagues in favour of the new arrival, Percy deigns to approach, "My Lords."

"Welcome to the Council, Sir Thomas," Cromwell advises, "I hope that we shall work well together for the benefit of her Majesty and of the realm." His ability to shrug off even the most overt of insolence is remarkable - but then, he has endured insults, tirades and even assaults from his late King in such fashion, so it is hardly as though he lacks the practice.

Percy nods, more or less politely, then also departs.

"If that is how he means to continue," Rich mutters, "future meetings shall be far harder than those that have gone before."

"Perhaps he shall come around to the reality of things." Rochford sighs, "He is not as important as he wishes to be, I fear. I was no better, once. I have learned to work with those of greater talent, if lesser state, than I. He is a lesser son of an ancient House in the north, and in the absence of a son, should have inherited the Earldom - but he did not."

"If he learns to accept his position in the Court, and wins the trust of her Majesty, then I see no reason why he should not earn it back." Cromwell muses, "Though, if he does not, then he may be a source of trouble in the future. I think I shall reserve judgement upon him as a Councillor until we have seen more of his abilities."

"Do you think he might act against us, Thomas?" Rich asks. They are alone now and thus formalities have been abandoned.

"At this point, it is impossible to say, Richard. But I should be a fool indeed if I thought otherwise."

Rochford and Rich exchange a nervous glance. They have worked hard to create a united Council to serve the Queen and the Regent. Should Percy wish to raise the spectre of factionalism again, then it could overturn all that they have done.