A/N: Another Friday, another chapter! Thanks again for your comments; now that the plague is past, things are winding down again and this part of the story is drawing to a close; but not without a sting in the tail...
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
A Sudden Death
Cromwell sits back from his papers with a pain-filled sigh, stretching his arms above his head in an attempt to ease the cramped discomfort that is rarely silent these days. There had once been a time when he would not notice the endless hours hunched over papers and parchments, nor would he feel the stiffness in his fingers after many hours of careful writing. He prefers, however, not to concentrate upon such matters: for he does not wish to acknowledge that there are more years of his life behind him than ahead.
The clerks are all engaged in quiet industry: filing, scribing, passing documents from one desk to another. Most are little more than boys, all of whom are being apprenticed in the arts of fine calligraphy in order to become scribes who shall create the fair copies of Acts from the drafts that emerge from the pens of the lawyers. He smiles to himself at that silent work, bringing to fruition his long-held dreams to make life fairer for those who have nothing. God knows he wanted to create poor laws that would reward and aid those who wanted to work, but could not; treat the sick so that they could work again and even provide small endowments to widows and orphans. Most seem interested only in punishing the very poorest of Englishfolk for failing to be wealthy - but his plan has always been to censure only those who are truly indolent, not those who are held back by sickness or a lack of opportunity. To pay for it, of course, would have demanded taxation upon the boundless wealth of the higher nobility, and that was a reform that none of such wealth were willing to countenance: thus the laws that he has managed to pass have always been less far-reaching than he had ever wanted them to be.
He rouses himself from his contemplations to continue his work, only to see Rich approaching, an expression upon his face that suggests he wishes to discuss something in confidence, "Ah, Sir Richard, I am pleased you are here, there are some matters of a delicate political nature that I wish to raise with you, if you could adjourn with me, please?"
Rich nods, relieved not to have to ask; they have become so attuned to each other's mannerisms now that there is often little need to do so. Following Cromwell to a quiet chamber, he burrows into a folio and retrieves a letter, "I received this through rather surreptitious means this morning, Thomas."
Bemused, Cromwell takes the missive and peruses it.
My Lord of Leighs,
I am grieved to learn that our friend Eustace Chapuys has been called to God - a most premature demand upon us, I fear. It is my hope that we are able to put aside our differences further to your work with the late Ambassador to further the interests of our exiled Queen in the face of the continued wrongful occupation of the throne by the bastard child of a whore.
I maintain a degree of correspondence with the former Duke of Suffolk and Earl of Wiltshire, who are established in Brugge as a minor embassy that aims to speak for her Majesty in her absence from her true Court. While it is sounded about that she is contented in motherhood and has found common ground with her husband, I cannot believe that she would have discarded that which was most close to her, and to her sainted mother. Thus we await the time when the truth shall prevail, and she shall emerge to reclaim that which was stolen from her in so cruel a fashion.
Should His Imperial Majesty decide that the loss of Chapuys invalidates the agreement with you, I would be willing to offer a similar payment to retain your services for her Majesty Queen Mary as we lay the ground for her to step forth as England's true queen. I assure you that my methods of communication are not compromised, thus we can do so in safety - though I offer my further assurances that, should our agreement be compromised, there shall be aid to escort you to the continent should your life become endangered.
I await your answer.
Thos. Howard of Norfolk.
"Interesting." Cromwell comments, his eyebrows rising towards his hairline, "And he thinks you shall offer equal service to him after his cruel words about you?"
"It seems so." Rich agrees, "My former reputation remains sufficiently strong to blot out what I have become. I shall not, however, prove so easily turned this time - I would ask you to permit me to refuse in the first instance, as he stated clearly that he would send me to my death once I had outlived my usefulness to him."
"Indeed I should permit it, Richard. For you to turn your coat so easily would not ring true - Chapuys expected it, and did not show surprise at the speed of your agreement to his plan - but Norfolk has indeed demeaned and defamed you, so I suggest not only that you refuse upon those grounds, but also perhaps demand a higher payment in compensation for the injury. He shall not be surprised at such an outcome."
Rich smiles, cheerfully, "That, I shall most assuredly do."
"And if he consents, I presume that you shall also donate the additional monies to the poor." Cromwell adds, his lip twitching in amusement.
The smile slips, and Cromwell laughs.
Elizabeth smiles as she reads the paper that Madame Astley has delivered to her, delivered just a day ago by a courier from the Ribeira Palace. In answer to her request for descriptions of life in Portugal, young Filipe has sent a long document of several pages' worth of latin script filled with tales of the grand palace in which he lives, from which he can see the great ships that travel from Portugal to far-off lands, bringing back spices of great worth that have made the realm wealthy.
"Look, Mama; Filipe says that he can see the great carracks and galleons from his apartments, for the palace is set beside the sea." Elizabeth holds out the paper, whereupon Anne can see a carefully drawn sketch of a grand ship in full sail. Her daughter's skill as an artist is rather limited in comparison, as her preference is to write; but she is most impressed at the picture, "Perhaps I shall build a palace beside the sea."
Anne smiles at her, "But you can see great ships from your apartments when we are at Placentia, my dearest - for I think King John has but the one palace - whereas you have many."
"I do, do I not, Mama?" Elizabeth agrees, "Perhaps, then, I should not build another, for I have quite sufficient."
"I think so, my darling."
"He says that their ships have visited great lands that we have never seen before, and that his father has gifts from those lands which are most fine - they have plates made from clay that is so fine that they resemble egg shells, and swords that are curved and so sharp that they can slice a leaf upon water so that it is cleaved in two."
"Truly?"
"See? He has sent a drawing." Again, Elizabeth lifts a page upon which is drawn a sketch of a sword whose blade shows a most elegant curve. "He says that it has been given to him, and he would be pleased to show it to me one day."
Anne regards her daughter fondly; it seems that their introduction of the two children at an age where nothing more than friendship is demanded of them might bear fruit, for Elizabeth is enjoying their correspondence. Eager to receive a letter, and equally eager to reply to it. Perhaps, in time, they might well find that they shall be a good match as husband and wife. Much as she would like to have her daughter marry an Englishman, that is unlikely - for who would she marry? No - she must wed one of her own kind, and thus a youth of foreign descent shall be necessary. From her own experiences, Anne is well aware that her fellow English-folk are most disinclined towards any who is deemed 'foreign'. If they are to avoid losing the love of her daughter's subjects, then the prospect of a foreign marriage must be carefully handled, and the foundations laid early. In which case, she shall speak to Mr Cranmer…
"Mama - look at this picture! Is it not a most strange bird?" Elizabeth interrupts her train of thought with another drawing, this time of a tall bird with long legs and a long beak, "Filipe says that it builds great nests on top of chimneys and belfries."
"That is a stork, my precious." Anne smiles, "I remember seeing them when I lived in France. Their nests were indeed most remarkable. I recall once seeing one when we were hunting, for it was wading in a muddy leat, picking up frogs and swallowing them."
Elizabeth pulls a rather disgusted face, but is quickly absorbed in the letter again, "He says that he hopes that we shall one day meet. I should like that too, Mama. May I invite him to visit?"
"If you wish to do so, Elizabeth - though at this time, I think his father may not permit it, for he is no older than you. Perhaps we can extend the invitation that he come to us at a time when he is older."
"I should like that, Mama. I shall ask Mr Cromwell to draft a document for my consideration."
Anne smiles, and sighs inwardly. So young, and yet so old. The words are of a grown Queen, while before her sits a child. The burden of royalty ageing her even before she has become a woman. At least she has found a friendship with the young man so far away. Perhaps, if they are fortunate, that friendship might become love; and that, for a woman of such worth, is the best that one can hope for.
Thomas Howard of Norfolk has remained at Arundel for such a length of time that he feels like a caged animal: far from London, far from Government and far from power. God above, he misses the intrigues of the Court - gambling for such great stakes as power and prestige that are denied him thanks to the incompetence of a fool who now holds one of the highest offices in the land.
While he knows that his correspondence with Brandon and the vile snake Boleyn are secure, he remains uncertain over the safety of the letter that he wrote to the treacherous rodent Rich not three weeks back. The man is a turncoat - and it came as no surprise to him to find that the foul creature was more than happy to exchange the security and welfare of the realm he served for three hundred ducats a year - but he is also a known coward. The Regent's assurance that any further plotting would lead to the Tower might well have stayed his hand in dealing with the one to whom that assurance was addressed.
A discreet knock at the door alerts him to his steward, who enters holding a paper packet in his hand, "Your Grace, I have your stomach powders."
Norfolk straightens up at once; while he has no doubt that his closest servants are to be trusted, one can never be too careful in a house of this size, and the mention of medicine is their chosen method of announcing the arrival of a letter that cannot be shown to anyone but the one to whom it was sent.
The seal is nondescript - just a flat disc without a signet to avoid tempting a courier to open it on the basis of the status of the author. The writing is, however, familiar. He has not seen that script for several years - but he recalls it from court documents.
My noble Lord Howard.
I received your letter with much astonishment based upon your sentiments so clearly expressed as to my worth to your intended government and the Realm. Knowing that my life would be laid in your hands should I accede to your demand, and the value that you have placed upon it, I think I should be the greatest fool in Christendom to accept.
If I am to do so, then I shall require assurances that I shall not be flung to the lions should your intrigues miscarry. Equally, I shall require a payment of far greater worth than that paid to me by his Imperial Majesty. For my own security and safety, I have secured your initial letter - and, should you attempt to expose me, I shall hand it to her Majesty the Regent, claiming that my response to that letter has been solely to protect her interests. Be assured that, as you have no trust or liking for me, I have none for you.
There is no man but I upon the Council who shall be of equal use to you. Rochford is a fool and cannot be trusted to keep even the simplest of secrets, while the newly made Baron Cromwell is too beholden to the Concubine to consider it. I hold the trust of the Queen as they do - and no other man upon the Council shares it. Thus, if you wish to be advised of matters at Court, I suggest that you accede to my requirements.
I shall expect your response by Twelfth Night - be it agreement or refusal. If I hear nothing, I shall assume that you intend to betray me, and shall present your letter to her Majesty.
R Rich, Baron of Leighs and Lord High Treasurer of England
"Damn you for a treacherous weasel, you blasted jackanapes!" in spite of his knowledge that he has earned at least half of the spite contained in the letter, Norfolk is enraged by the pert response. Only a man who holds a better hand at the table - and knows it - would dare to write in such terms to a man of his stature. Rich is, however, right. Cromwell shall never show disloyalty to the Crown - no matter who wears it - and Rochford is a weak fool. The other men of the Council lack their closeness to the Crowned Brat and her Jezebel of a mother. While Chapuys was inclined to exaggerate on occasion, he was largely honest and well informed. Now that he is dead, they shall have no tidings from Court to inform them of the Whore's actions as she misrules on behalf of her spawn - and they must have it. How can they ensure that England shall welcome her true Queen if they do not know how much damage has been done? No - damnation and curses upon that son of a she-dog - it is Rich, or no one.
Muttering foul curses under his breath, Norfolk stamps to his great writing desk and seats himself to prepare his response.
The great hall is decorated with great boughs of fragrant pine, while applewood burns in the fireplaces to sweeten an atmosphere thick with the aromas of the recently voided Christmastide feast. The conversation is rather drowsy, as everyone has eaten more than their fill, and thus the music is slow, while the dancers perform a stately pavane. No one is entirely sure that they could manage anything more lively on such full stomachs.
Elizabeth is talking to the recently arrived Ambassador from the King of Portugal, a tall man by the name of Pedro Damião, with impeccable manners and a peerless knowledge of the game of Chess. He has brought another long letter from Prince Filipe, along with a gold circlet set with gemstones from many of the remarkable lands that the ships of Portugal have visited. While it is perhaps a little soon to do so, King John has also sent a letter to Anne, suggesting that a betrothal might be in order, along with suitable agreements and new treaties relating to trade between the two realms to supplement the treaty of Windsor; set down between the two kingdoms by two Johns, the first of Portugal and the first of Lancaster. In the near-on two hundred years since, it is the one treaty that has never faltered; perhaps, she thinks with a mild smile, because Henry forgot about it.
She has not spoken of it to Mr Cromwell yet - though she shall value his counsel before giving her answer. Almost instinctively, her eyes seek him out. Yes, there he is - seated at a gaming table with her brother, Lady Rochford and Mr Rich, engaged in a game of Primero. She would like to join them, as she is quite sure their conversation shall be most interesting, but she is obliged to remain alongside her daughter and preside over the gathering. It would seem most ill mannered for her to abandon the Queen's guests in order to join a small group of courtiers to play cards. Perhaps one day when Elizabeth has assumed her rights and rules personally - but not now.
Her assumption about the conversation is correct, and Rochford smiles as he listens to Rich's recitation of the letter that he sent back to Norfolk, "I fear I cannot be offended by your description, Richard - for I am indeed a fool and any who trust me with a secret is equally so."
"I am grateful for your understanding." Rich smirks, "I cannot deny it was a great pleasure to write in such terms to him, knowing that he would expect it and advising him that, no matter how insulted he might be, he is beholden to me for the tidings he requires. I have not forgotten the insults he laid upon me." His lips twitch slightly, "That he was - I admit - largely correct in his assertions are of no interest."
"I look forward to seeing his response." Cromwell adds, arranging his cards.
"Even more so as there shall be one." Lady Rochford agrees, "It was most cruel of you to threaten him as you did, Sir Richard."
"I know." Rich smiles cheerfully, "He expects it of me, so I am happy to play the game."
"Do you think he shall refuse your offer?"
He shakes his head, "I suspect that he shall accept it, my Lady. For all his loathing of me, the need for a pair of listening ears at Court that are within reach of her Majesty shall overcome that. I imagine his letter shall be as poorly mannered as mine to him, and that he shall expect to negotiate the payment I have demanded; but he shall accept my offer."
"Indeed he shall." Cromwell agrees, frowning slightly, "For I suspect his hand is as poor as this one."
Their conversation moves on to other matters; a fortuitous turn of events as Warwick approaches them, "I hope that I am not intruding?"
"Not at all, my Lord." Rochford smiles at him, cheerfully, "I fear my ability at cards is inferior even to that of my good wife, so should you wish to take my place, I am more than content to sit alongside and enjoy the conversation."
Warwick smiles back, "I should be delighted."
"I should warn you," Cromwell adds, "While my Lord Rochford states that his ability is inferior to that of my Lady Rochford, he failed to mention that her ability is not inferior to mine. I fear I have lost rather more of my stakes to her than I would care to admit."
The conversation over the cards remains neutral at first, as Warwick is new to their circle; but he is both affable, and intelligent, while his ambition is no greater than that of the men with whom he associates, "You must think me a most strange man, Sir Thomas; for I have returned to court in the face of the attainder and execution of my father upon false charges - though his properties were returned to me."
"Indeed I do not, my Lord. Your father served her Majesty's grandfather loyally, but was blamed for that which angered the people. It is, I fear, a hazard that all men in Government are obliged to face, for his late Majesty was eager to accept the joy of his subjects over matters that pleased them, but equally keen to blame his ministers for those that did not. Many good men have submitted to the axe for such royal displeasure, and there is no telling whether others might have fallen in the same fashion had he lived longer."
He chooses not to mention that the Queen Regent might well have been one of them.
The conversation moves on to lesser matters, of properties, families and children. As they do so, Cromwell can see, out of the corner of his eye, Thomas Percy making his way around the gathering. He has not had much opportunity to speak to the man, and knows only that his presence is thanks to his connections, rather than his status. Though it seems almost as though Percy considers himself to be the Earl that he is not, for he speaks to none of lesser degree. He looks back at his cards, and sighs. Damn - he should stop being so inquisitive: no wonder he is losing so badly.
"Forgive me." He sets down the cards as the hand ends, "I fear I am playing most poorly."
Warwick bows slightly, "I am most grateful for your welcome. Perhaps, my Lord Rochford, you would permit me to ask your good Lady Wife to join me upon the dance floor? I can hear the strains of a gentle pavane, which I think would not be too much in her condition."
Rochford smiles cheerfully, "If she is willing, then I would not object. Jane?"
"Thank you, your Grace. I should be most pleased."
The three men sit back with their cups as the Earl escorts Lady Rochford to join the dance, "God, to think I wished to set her aside, Gentlemen." Rochford sighs, "And yet she is a fine woman. What in God's name was I thinking?"
"We were all thinking strange thoughts at that time, I fear." Cromwell muses, "It is my hope that we have set aside the foolishness of rivalries - though I am becoming concerned that my hopes are misplaced."
"You noticed him, too?" Rich asks. He does not need to elaborate upon who he means.
"He has said not a word to me since he arrived." Rochford agrees, "I think he considers me beneath him."
Cromwell nods, "I am anathema to him, for I am base-born. I think I shall set someone to watch him, for he is polite at present, for he has not found his true place in the Council. Once he has, I suspect that shall change."
"I shall ask Jane to enquire amongst the ladies as to rumours over his behaviour." Rochford adds, "I should be astounded if he was not keen to regain the Earldom that his brother left to the Crown."
The arrival of a steward silences their speculation, "Sir Thomas, her Majesty the Regent asks that you attend her."
No sooner is he out of their small alcove than he can see why; the Milanese ambassador is a polite man, but also the dullest man in Christendom. No wonder she is looking for a reason to escape him.
"Majesty, forgive me, but I must speak with you upon matters of State." She may have summoned him, but he knows she has done so surreptitiously.
"My apologies, your Excellency." Anne smiles at her guest, who bows and withdraws courteously.
"Have I saved your Majesty from the risk of a diplomatic incident?" he asks, impishly.
"God yes. If I had been obliged to listen to the success of the cheesemakers for one more minute, I fear I should have sent him to the Tower." She answers, though she is smiling as she does so, "The poor man - he is utterly inoffensive, until he enters into a conversation for longer than five minutes."
"I have little to report, Majesty, other than the matter of Norfolk. We await the response to the letter that his Grace of Leighs has sent to him."
"I should have loved to have seen his face when he read it." Anne admits, smiling, "He must despise being beholden to a man such as Mr Rich."
"I suspect that he shall find some means to exact vengeance when he considers the time to be right, Majesty. It shall cause him greater discomfiture still to find that his supposed traitor has acted entirely with your knowledge and agreement. I think he does not appreciate that the Queen of Sweden has found contentment in her marriage and is loved by her husband - or of the fine gifts she has exchanged with her sister."
"Indeed." Anne admits, "In spite of the bad blood between us, her Majesty of Sweden has never thought anything but good of Elizabeth, and for that I am grateful - and relieved that she has found happiness with King Gustav."
"That is so." Cromwell agrees, "And - perhaps - it permits us to feel at least some degree of ease upon our consciences."
"That, also."
My Lord of Leighs,
In the light of our changed circumstances, I feel it wise to make things right between us. Her Majesty, Queen Mary of England - our true and most royal Majesty - remains incarcerated within the toils of a heretical Kingdom, while her realm is carried further and further from the true faith. In order to restore her, and England, it is better that we work as one.
Thinking upon your offer, I am in agreement that His Imperial Majesty's payment of three hundred ducats per month is indeed insufficient. Therefore, I - on behalf of her Majesty's Embassy in Exile - propose to raise the payment to five hundred pounds per quarter, in hopes that your aid shall lay the ground within the government to quickly resume the proper rule of her Realm upon her return.
As the premier peer of England, I have no doubt that I shall be granted high office - but I shall see to it that you are equally rewarded, for you are within the Heretic's Council and thus shall appear tainted in her eyes. As soon as she is advised that you worked within the enemy camp for her good, she shall be pleased to welcome you to her Council.
In hopes that you shall accept my terms.
Thos. Howard of Norfolk
"I wonder what it cost him in terms of cursing and bile to compose such a friendly letter as this." Cromwell muses, as he peruses the missive.
"I have no doubt that he shall reclaim payment by denouncing me to Mary at the first opportunity." Rich shrugs, "Should she return, and organise a council, I shall be repudiated and sent to the block with the rest of the traitors." He pauses, "Or perhaps the noose."
Cromwell pretends not to see his visible shudder, "We shall be prepared for it, Richard. Any attempt upon her behalf shall be met and repulsed. Thus none but those who have conspired with her shall see crowds from the heights of a scaffold. I should prefer it if we did not act in such fashion; it is disruptive to the realm as much as it is unpleasant. If we are obliged to do so, however, then we shall."
"The almshouse in Chelmsford that bears my name upon its rolls shall welcome the additional monies." Rich adds, slightly sulkily. No matter how much his character has improved, he remains hard put to ignore opportunities to increase his wealth, "Though I think I shall appropriate a small sum of it to pay for a new gown for Lisbet, as it seems unfair to demand that she let out her current gowns. She shall be most in need of such consideration come Lady Day."
Cromwell smiles to himself, and returns his attention to his amendments to the poor laws. His commissioners are reporting good progress as those who have long sought work but been unable to secure it have succeeded in connecting Coventry to Warwick with a well-paved road. Those who can do so have moved on to build elsewhere, but those who cannot have been organised into crews to see to its maintenance. Elsewhere, lesser ports are improving in size and facilities, to accept larger vessels, particularly upon the northern coasts, where trade with Sweden has certainly flourished thanks to their treaties with Gustav. Thanks be to God they are not at war - how many times was Henry obliged to debase England's currency to cover the losses and debts from such ludicrously expensive sorties over the sea? This year, however, it seems more than likely that, by Lady Day, they shall be able to revalue it; at least a little.
He turns to the report that one of Rich's clerks has recently delivered, and smiles in satisfaction - yes, her Majesty's treasury is in a remarkably healthy state in spite of the outbreak of plague. Should things continue as they are, then there is at least scope for England to defend herself should one of their neighbours decide that she has stood outside the great game of conflict for long enough. God above, Henry would never have stood for this - he was never happier than when he could stand proud as a warrior King, clad in armour and mail, a crowned helmet atop his head. Dying ingloriously at the head of one's army, it seems, was just something that happened to other people.
He loved Henry - and he hated him. Hell, would he even be alive today if Henry lived? It is only now, in the absence of it, that he recognises that insistent dread that, one day, Henry would discard him just as he discarded Wolsey, and More. It seemed to be an inevitable progression - rise, stand supreme, fall. Wolsey only escaped the opprobrium of the block thanks to his most sensible decision to die on the way back to London.
The Regent would not do that to him - or to anyone. For all her temper and pride, she has learned pragmatism from a lifetime of enforced compromise, and that alone shall keep his head upon his neck as long as he keeps his promise and serves her with loyalty and honesty. God knows it was easy to lose Henry's favour - and to have not the first inkling how one had managed to do so - but she is constant in a way that her late husband was not. Yet again, he smiles with a sense of almost paternal pride. Between them, they have wrested England out of the old ways, and look towards the new.
"My Lord, I have news from our Embassy in Sweden."
Startled, Cromwell looks up to see on of the older clerks, holding a folded paper. It is far too small to be one of the regular reports from the Ambassador, and he takes it, half confused, half concerned.
Heads go up all around the office chambers as he rises to his feet sharply, causing his chair to fall back against the wall behind him with a sharp clatter, "Mr Rich, with me. We must to the Regent at once."
Anne reads the short letter over and over again, as though doing so might cause the words upon it to change into less dread news.
"They are sure that the death was an accident?"
"In the absence of evidence to the contrary, Majesty," Cromwell sighs, "that is the only conclusion to which we can truly come. King Gustav fell from his horse while at the hunt, and died from his injuries. There is no evidence of assassination, only mischance. He was a most capable horseman by all accounts, but so was his late Majesty of England - and that did not save him from a similar fate."
"What of Mary?"
"That is not known at this time, Majesty." Rich adds, "We can say with at least some degree of certainty that he shall have made careful provisions for her in his will, as she was permitted to continue her devotions in private, and was protected from the more determined of reformers."
"It cannot be denied that he loved her," Rochford agrees, looking up from the chessboard at which his sister has been thoroughly trouncing him, "and by all accounts, she returned that love."
"And now his elder son rules." Anne muses, "Shall she remain?"
"While her son remains a child, I think so." Cromwell says, "Much depends upon what has been left to her by her husband. If she has lands and rights, then she is likely to remain; but in the absence of knowledge, it is impossible to do more than speculate. I suggest that our first concern be the future of the treaty, though we should also lay foundations to respond should Mary decide to depart Sweden - though again I think it unlikely that she shall demand England's crown unless she can secure aid from the Empire or from other Catholic realms. In the face of treaties, and England's stability, most would not countenance such a thing at this time. That said, I should be a fool to claim that there is no threat at all. Our greatest ally is the sea, and thus it may be worth diverting some investment into shipbuilding, thus ensuring that we have access to a navy should the need arise."
Rochford looks most interested, "Vessels that can be used for trade, but repurposed for war, Mr Cromwell?"
"A challenge, I think, but not an insurmountable one. I think that there are some excellent shipwrights - certainly in Plymouth and Portsmouth - who would be keen to consider it."
"Why would that be of concern?" Anne asks, "Surely a ship is a ship?"
Rochford shakes his head, "Not entirely, Sister - our Carracks are excellently built, certainly, but they lack the stability that serves best in war. Our good relations with Portugal shall serve us well, for it is their innovations in shipbuilding that has enabled them to travel to those lands from which her Majesty's most remarkable gifts came."
"In which case, my brother, go to. I charge you and Sir John Russell to approach Excellency Damião to discuss the sharing of such innovations, and look towards the creation of ships that shall serve us equally in peace as in war."
Rochford rises, bows and departs in search of the Lord High Admiral.
Anne turns back to Cromwell, "She shall not have England, my Lord."
"We shall do all that we can to ensure that she shall see no benefit in trying."
"It may be that she shall remain in Sweden, Majesty." Rich adds, "She is a mother, and she is the dowager Queen."
Anne sits back in her chair, a long-forgotten tension suddenly twisting in her vitals. Once, Mary had been quite intent upon claiming England - but they had known of it, and were ready for her. This time, however, they are far less well prepared. Even with a friend amongst the conspirators to report on all that she does - should Mary choose to make another attempt, there is no guarantee that she shall not succeed.
A/N: A short historical note (again). I've made a hasty amendment to this chapter to include the treaty of Windsor, which was signed in 1386 and sealed by the marriage of John I of Portugal and Philippa of Lancaster, the daughter of John of Gaunt. Following John I's victory at the Battle of Aljubarrota, in which English archers participated, he was recognised as the undisputed King of Portugal, and the treaty established a pact of mutual support between England and Portugal which remains in place to this day, making it 632 years old and the world's oldest treaty between nations that's still in force. It's why, while we seem to have picked fights with practically every other nation in Europe, we've never gone to war with Portugal. Ironically, I was entirely unaware of it until two days ago, when it appeared in a tweet to mark the anniversary of the wedding on 9 May. Consequently, future chapters will also have to be slightly tweaked to accommodate it!
The Poor Laws that Cromwell intends to institute in this chapter are based on drafts that the historical Cromwell made back in around 1536, but was unable to bring to fruition in the face of opposition from both parliament and the nobility. The means of paying for such extensive measures included resources of the Crown (and could quite probably have been derived from the closure of the monasteries), taxation of those who were better off and collections for poor relief in local parishes. The better off people most certainly did not want to be taxed, and thus the final legislation was nowhere near as far reaching as he'd wanted it to be. Cromwell's biographer, John Schofield, describes these measures in his biography: The Rise and Fall of Thomas Cromwell: Henry VIII's most faithful servant (Chapter 8: 'In the Line of Duty'), and cites the second volume of Professor Geoffrey Elton's Studies in Tudor and Stuart Politics and Government: Papers and Reviews as his source.
Apologies to Sweden for another leap into AU-ness. I'm steering the course back on track, albeit with early coronations and events - with Erik becoming King early, and then John (admittedly with the wrong mother) stepping in also slightly early. From that point on, he will comply largely with the actions of his historical counterpart. That, however, is still to come. As this part draws to a close, England is faced with the problem of Mary once more. Will she accept her life in Sweden, or will she step forth to claim England again?