A/N: Welcome back! Thank you again for your comments, which are (as always) very much appreciated. Apologies for delaying this upload - but, given the date, how could I not? To mark the 482nd anniversary of Anne's death, I present the first chapter of next part of what is becoming something of a saga in which she survived, and prospered.

We move on another five years. So far, all is quiet from Sweden as King Erik comes into his inheritance after a time under Lords protector, and Mary lives quietly while she supervises her son's education from a distance - but who knows how long that might last?

One thing I forgot to mention last week - the Portuguese Ambassador, Pedro Damião, was a real person - but far from being an Ambassador, he was actually a pharmacist; who also happened to be one of the great Chess masters of his age - who is credited as saying that, when he saw a good move, he looked for a better one. Needless to say, he will be using that quote in the coming chapter!

PART SIX

Warrior

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

The Lesser Thomas

25 December, 1548

Elizabeth sits upon her throne and watches the dance before her as her fingers caress the jewels upon Filipe's most recent gift to her, a magnificent brooch set with rubies from the farthest shores of the east. His accompanying letter tells her of people who speak strange languages, and who have sent bolts of quite peerless silk from the heart of Cathay, some of which has also been sent to her to be made into gowns for the summer.

Though she is not yet of age, her mother has granted a great deal of her rights and prerogatives as Queen to her, keeping only those most delicate, difficult matters that require an older head to consider. Indeed, once Twelfth night is past, she shall begin to have meetings with her closest councillors without her mother at her side, in preparation for the time to come when she shall do so as a matter of course. Mr Cromwell has become a valued chess partner, teaching her the essentials of strategy, but allowing her to make her own judgements and mistakes as they play. Once, when she was a small child, he had seemed to her to be almost a favourite uncle; now, however, he has become a valued councillor and friend, despite being vastly older than she.

Mama sits nearby, sipping at a cup of wine and sharing a smiling confidence with Aunt Jane, making a rare visit to the Court now that she has made a home for her husband and their young son, named William for his great-grandfather. Uncle George was so pleased with her for her achievement in giving him an heir, as were they all; and Elizabeth hopes that, when the time comes for her to marry Filipe, she shall be as happy as her aunt.

She shall marry him - that is a certainty, for the betrothal is now formal and agreed, along with new clauses added to their existing treaty with Portugal; though the news is yet to be announced to the Court and to England. Ever solicitous to her feelings, he has written to her separately, asking for her hand in marriage, and she has accepted. It was hardly necessary for them to make such an exchange, but he was most keen to win her heart, as keen as she was to grant it. Perhaps she is being a fool - but at this time of the season, is it not a joyous thing to be a happy fool?

A movement catches her eye, and she sees Sir Thomas Percy standing a short distance away, clearly seeking a summons to approach. As she beckons him, he bows, and indicates that a nearby youth join him, "Your Majesty. Allow me to introduce my son, also named Thomas."

Elizabeth is bemused; the youth standing before her is perhaps a little older than she, and looks most bashful; as though he is embarrassed to have been so abruptly introduced to his Queen, "Thank you Sir Thomas." She redirects her attention to the youth, "And I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Percy. Welcome to my Court."

The young man bows, a little awkwardly, "Thank you, your Majesty."

Percy nudges him slightly, causing him to turn to his father who directs a rather laden glance at him, and he reddens, "Might I be so bold as to request a dance?"

Heavens, such a breach of protocol - the son of a mere Knight has no right to ask for a dance from his Queen; it is for her to seek a dance from him. No wonder he is so embarrassed; perhaps she shall ask Baron Cromwell to remind Sir Thomas of his place, "Thank you Mr Percy. If you would forgive me, I am tired - but perhaps later?"

The pair bow and withdraw, and she is saddened to see the father turn his back upon his son, as though the failure of his enforced breach of protocol is entirely the fault of the youth.

"That was unfortunate, my dear one." Anne smiles at her, "The poor boy."

"I think I shall seek a dance from him before the evening is done, Mama." Elizabeth admits, "It seems most wrong that his father should be angry with him over something that he demanded that he do."

Anne laughs, "You are too kind, my Elizabeth."

"Perhaps I am, but I have not danced this evening Mama, and I should like to."

"Of course - you are the Queen, after all."

Warwick swallows his mouthful of cream cheese with cheerful relish, enjoying Rich's grimace of disgust, "How can you enjoy that vile stuff?"

"After all that I have consumed this night, I think it wise to do so. Besides, I find it most pleasant."

"I most assuredly do not."

Warwick laughs, "Forgive me. How is your good wife?"

"She is most well - thank you for asking." Rich looks up, "And there is a dark cloud in the firmament."

"What, Percy? Ah; I see his attempt to thrust his poor son under her Majesty's nose has fallen upon stony ground."

Rich's voice drops low, for the news is not commonly known, "His son? What is he thinking? She is betrothed to Philip of Portugal - the son of a mere knight, no matter his pedigree, is no match for that."

"Come now, my Lord - he is a proud man of a proud house. His brother willed his rights to her Majesty at his death after years of estrangement from the family that denied him his greatest wish, and this brother wants to win them back again. Moreover, if he can do so by marrying his son to a Queen, then he shall achieve more than his family ever has."

"Then he is truly a fool. Her Majesty waits upon letters from her Prince with great anticipation - and she shall never marry one of such lowly station as Percy's boy. Even if he were to win back the earldom, the lowest she could look would be to a duke." Rich snorts, "I have several sons of suitable age, but God knows I could never hope to set them before her Majesty; nor would I."

They turn as Cromwell joins them, "I see you have noticed Percy's breach of etiquette."

"Why has he been such a fool?" Warwick mutters, "If he is keen to win advancement, he could hardly have done worse."

"He is of the Percy family." Cromwell says, "They are an ancient and noble line, and he has been denied that which belongs to him in the absence of a legitimate heir. Perhaps his keenness to regain that lost prestige has shortened his patience."

Warwick shakes his head, "No, it is natural impetuosity. His brother was no different - did he not seek to love a woman in defiance of both his family and that of the lady? Moreover, he never forgave his father for ending that love and forcing the family's intended bride upon him in place of it."

"So diplomatic." Rich smiles. They all know that he means the Regent.

"I feel for the boy." Cromwell sighs, "Her Majesty's diplomacy saved him greater embarrassment. I would not be surprised if she did not seek a dance with him before the evening is done. From what little I have seen of him, he seems to be a fine young man with excellent prospects of making a good marriage. But not a marriage to her Majesty."

"Careful. He comes." Warwick mutters.

Immediately, Rich's smile widens, "And the man said, when they told him he looked like the Emperor and asked if his mother had been a maid in the palace, 'nay, but my father was often there.'"

Cromwell shakes his head, chuckling, "The day has gone on too long, if you are obliged to look to Macrobius to entertain your fellows."

"Forgive me. I have supped rather too well, and my wit is declining."

"Such wit as you have." Percy snorts, unconcerned that he is interrupting a private conversation, "Provincial men are ever dull and pedestrian."

"So I see." Rich retorts, immediately, and is rewarded with a disdain-filled scowl. Rather than allow matters to escalate, Warwick turns to the interloper, "Good evening, Sir Thomas. I trust you dined well?"

"Passing well; though it is no surprise that one so young has not yet governed her kitchens to present a decent table. Surrounded by men of little note who have displaced their betters, it is perhaps inevitable."

"Perhaps; though, given that such men of nobility have acted against their Queen, she rewards loyalty and good service. That is, after all, why you and I have been granted a place upon her Council, is it not?"

"Maturity brings wisdom." Cromwell smiles, only to be rewarded with another scowl.

"If that were so, then you would not be standing where you are." His expression one of near-disgust, Percy turns to his reddening son, "Come, Thomas. There is more appropriate company for men such as we elsewhere."

"Calm your temper, Richard." Cromwell mutters to his colleague, who has also reddened somewhat at the insults, "If he wishes to regain his late brother's honours, then his manner of doing so is remarkably foolish."

"Should her Majesty seek my recommendation that he do so, she shall not gain it. Jesu, Thomas - he is so assured of his superiority that he cares not who sees his manner towards you. You are the Lord High Chancellor, and yet he behaves as though you are naught but a gutter-dwelling peasant."

"But for my rank, Richard, I would be a gutter-dwelling peasant." Cromwell smirks.

"I doubt that." Warwick laughs, "A man of your talent would have succeeded in other fields, I suspect. He has been amongst us for five years, and has become secure enough to think that he knows how far he can go with his insults."

Rich sighs, "And he knows that he can rile me, but leave Thomas unruffled. How you do not rise to him, I cannot fathom."

"I have had much practice, Richard. Do not forget that Percy's insults are of little consequence when one has been cuffed across the head by a King."

"What of the boy?" Warwick adds, "He seems to be a meek youth, and his father's behaviour unsettles him."

They turn to see that the former Lord Rochford, recently re-granted his father's confiscated Earldom, has approached Percy and his son. Unlike his fellows, Wiltshire has at least a minor degree of lustre thanks to his proximity to the Queen, and is thus treated with a degree of courtesy. Matters are clearly improved by whatever Wiltshire has said, as Percy seems almost to expand slightly, and bows as his son follows the earl back to the dais, "Ah." Cromwell observes, "Her Majesty has permitted the young man to dance with her."

"The joy of it." Rich snaps, "I have no doubt that he thinks they shall be married before the week is out."

"Allow him his fantasies, Mr Rich." Warwick chuckles, "Foolish dreams of that which shall never be are more helpful to us than factional plotting."

"With whom shall he plot? He is liked even less than I."

"Envy makes for the strangest of bedfellows, Mr Rich." Cromwell reminds him, "We are lowly men raised to great political heights. It may be that we are secure from enemies at this time, but there is no certainty that such a privilege shall always be so. Complacency is perhaps a greater enemy even than plotters."

The dance is a gentle almain, and even the older members of the Court are able to participate if they wish. To most who watch her, Elizabeth is at her most disarming, assuring the hitherto embarrassed youth that his father's boorish introduction of him has not offended her. That, however, is all that is apparent. She is betrothed to a young Portuguese prince, with whom she is most friendly, and there is no intention upon her part to suggest that she expects otherwise.

To Cromwell's experienced eye, however, such subtlety is lost upon Percy, who watches the pair with a remarkable air of satisfaction. That shall bear watching. Such small things as these are the foundations upon which rumours are built - and they have spent too long working to keep rumours at bay to see new ones spring to life.

It is but one dance. He tells himself, firmly, there is nothing to fear if there are no more dances from here on.

He can trust Elizabeth to appreciate that - but Percy shall be an entirely different matter. Taking a sip of his wine, he makes a mental note to speak of it to the Regent in the morning.

Anne has not had the opportunity to host an evening with her inner circle for nearly a month, thanks to a whirl of events, meetings, visits and the passing of Christmastide, but Elizabeth is busy with her own ladies, and - like many young women who are just coming into their womanhood - the young Queen is less willing nowadays to have her activities overseen by her mother.

Excellency Damião has brought another letter from his young Prince, which he has delivered to the Queen, along with papers from King John that set down in more detail the terms of the treaty that the marriage of the pair shall seal. Like the late Chapuys, he is an entertaining, knowledgable man who makes excellent company when not politicking. Furthermore, his abilities as a chess player have ensured his presence amongst Anne's favoured friends.

Jane is at the muselar again, her final evening before returning to Beaulieu, while Mary Stafford sings a lilting French air to her accompaniment. George is attempting to find topics of conversation with Mr Rich, who is somewhat subdued thanks to the news from his home that one of his younger sons was taken by sickness shortly after the Christmastide feast.

Mr Cromwell, on the other hand, is seated at the chess table with Damião, in the midst of a silent battle that is punctuated by long, contemplative silences. While he is a fine player, Cromwell is finding that the Ambassador is considerably better, and thus each move he makes takes far longer than it might were he playing his Regent. To his credit, Damião does not look too smug as he counters each challenge, and forces his opponent into a defensive position. Anne smiles to herself as their guest finally makes the dread announcement Checkmate.

"I fear I am utterly outclassed, Excellency." Cromwell smiles, "Your skills are far superior to mine."

"I have much practice, my Lord." Damião answers, cheerfully, "Equally, I consider, and reconsider each move. Indeed - if I see a good move, I try to find a better one."

"A statement that I think I shall appropriate, Excellency."

"It is certainly applicable to more than merely chess, my Lord." The Ambassador agrees, "It is a lesson that I hope shall be instilled in her Majesty's betrothed - to act upon raw instinct is a foolish thing where the welfare of one's realm is at stake."

"That is certainly a lesson that we have endeavoured to teach to her Majesty, and one that I am confident that she has accepted."

Damião's voice lowers slightly, "Forgive me - but what is her Majesty's attachment to the son of Sir Thomas Percy?"

Cromwell frowns, bemused by the question, "In what manner, Excellency?"

"It is noised in some quarters that he is intended to marry her."

"If that is so, then it shall come as a great to surprise to all - and equally to her Majesty. I know that she consented to dance with him at Christmastide, but only to ease his humiliation at his father's boorish attempt to demand it. I am not aware that she has seen or spoken to him at any time since."

"I thought that to be the case - but a Court is a true nest of ants, and false rumours are easily spawned. I am also of the view that the rumours have been noised overtly in my direction in hopes of my believing them."

"In which case, I shall speak to her Majesty the Regent, and we shall take steps to quell them. The Queen is a virtuous young woman, and I have no doubt that she would be most distressed to learn that her honour is being so impugned. I thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"We are allies, are we not, my Lord? It serves us well to treat one another with trust and honesty."

"Such a remarkable innovation." Cromwell smiles, "Trust and honesty. What an earth shall we do if we are not conniving and seeking to undermine one another? Surely the world shall come to an end?"

"I am inexperienced at true diplomacy, it seems. Shall we play again?"

Cromwell laughs, "Forgive me, Excellency; I am a rather prouder man than I had previously thought myself to be: I fear that I am in dread of further humiliation in the face of your skill."

"In which case, I think I shall retire." Damião rises, smiling and bowing to Anne, "Thank you for your kindly hospitality, your Majesty. I look forward to our future alliance, and the forthcoming nuptials of our Prince Filipe with her Majesty the Queen."

"As do I, your Excellency." Anne smiles, rising as he steps forth to kiss her hand, "Good night."

Her smile as he departs lasts for less than a minute as Cromwell approaches her, "There are rumours, Majesty. Rumours about her Majesty."

"What?" Immediately, her eyes harden, "Say on, Mr Cromwell."

All eyes are upon him, and he shuffles, rather uncomfortably, "I fear that it is sounded about that her Majesty is considering the hand of Thomas Percy."

"That is nonsense, my Lord!" Anne looks appalled, "Can we be sure of this?"

"I intend to find out, Majesty. I am not yet entirely assured of Excellency Damião - though I have found no reason to doubt his integrity. If that is so, then Sir Thomas must act immediately to quell such falsehoods."

Jane frowns, "But the boy seemed well governed and sensible - why would he speak so?"

"It is likely that he has said nothing." Rich murmurs, a little dolefully, "Her Majesty granted him a dance at the Christmastide feast, did she not? That she did so out of courtesy means nothing to some - Courtiers delight in scurrilous gossip: I was once amongst them in doing so."

"In which case, perhaps we should invite his father to send him home?" Wiltshire asks.

Anne shakes her head, "No: that is likely to make matters worse rather than better - unless there is a specific reason for him to depart. Does his father have intentions for him to extend his education?"

Everyone exchanges glances, "I do not know." Cromwell admits.

"You do not know, Mr Cromwell?" Anne asks, archly, "My goodness, that must be a hard position for you to occupy."

"If Sir Thomas is intent upon wedding his son to her Majesty, then he is likely keen to ensure that he is a good prospect for one such as she." Jane muses, "Perhaps it could be suggested to him that her Majesty values education in a man more than any other virtue - and thus would show no interest in a young man who has not entered one of the great Universities."

"And thus he shall prevail upon the boy to attend a suitable establishment." Wiltshire finishes, "Not only do we remove a troublesome rumour from the Court, but we also ensure that an inoffensive youth is granted a princely education rather than banished under a cloud of rumours. I have no doubt that the loss of the Percy inheritance has prevented such an enterprise."

Anne nods, and sighs; once more they are obliged to resort to subterfuge to protect her daughter's reputation from nonsensical gossip. The child is as chaste as she was when she first came to Court, but still - even after nearly fifteen years - must labour under the cruel burden of her mother's reputation. When did the game of Courtly Love become a sullied act of whorish flirtation? She had never, ever, granted her virtue to any man but her husband - but now her daughter endures rumours of immoral behaviour on the sole grounds that she is the daughter of 'the great whore'.

"I shall think upon it, Gentlemen." She says, eventually, "Thank you. Forgive me, but I am tired - I think I shall retire. My condolences upon your loss, Mr Rich."

"Thank you, Majesty."

She watches as they depart, then turns to Mary, "I fear I shall never escape that unearned opprobrium, Sister. That, I do not fear - but that they should still proclaim that my daughter is stained because she is born of my womb?"

Mary sighs, "I fear, Anne, that it is the fate of a woman to be blamed for all that befalls a marriage. If the husband strays, it is the fault of the wife for failing to please him. If the woman is propositioned, it is her fault for dressing provocatively, even though she be in the habit of a nun. If a man seeks a mistress, it is his right and none remark upon it; but if a woman becomes that mistress, then she is a wanton whore. We are always to blame."

"Then I shall pray for better times, when we are not."

"As you wish, Sister." Mary follows Anne through to the bedchamber to assist her with her preparations for bed.

Boleyn sits at the table in his chambers and peruses his accounts with satisfaction. The resumption of trade after the end of the plague has proved to be highly lucrative, thanks to his being present to participate ahead of others who were yet to return from the towns to which they had fled. Brandon, of course, is utterly useless - he has never attempted to trade, and the few efforts he has made have been disastrous thanks to his being outflanked by wilier and more experienced men than he. God above, he might as well go back to lugging cargo at the port for a few grooten a day. Perhaps then he shall earn them some funds rather than lose them.

At least they are closer to his goal of affording to support an Embassy. Now that Erik has been upon the Swedish throne for five years, the reasons to keep Mary there are receding. Her son is established in his own household, and she has largely retired to the estates that her husband settled upon her before his death. Perhaps she shall be willing to resume her claim to the throne that was stolen from her - and he can stand beside her; to reclaim that which his own ungrateful witch of a daughter took from him.

The door opens, and he forces himself to rearrange the scowl of scorn that is already crossing his features, "Brandon."

His voice, however, does nothing to disguise it.

"Boleyn." Brandon acknowledges, but says no more, instead crossing to the window to look out at the street below. To watch the vile, acquisitive bastard hunched over his accumulation of wealth is almost offensive. The only reason he tolerates such behaviour is the knowledge that it shall benefit the woman to whom he has pledged his loyalty, and the promise that he made to her father. Once they are returned to England, that shall most assuredly change - the scales shall fall from her Majesty's eyes, and she shall send the mercenary politician to the block for the self-serving heretic that he is.

The brittle silence is becoming increasingly awkward, as neither man wishes to speak to the other. Eventually, a knock upon the door interrupts the thick atmosphere, and their lone steward enters, "This has arrived courtesy of a Merchant from Tilbury."

Boleyn is the closer, and quickly snatches the letter from the man's hand before Brandon can turn back from the window. He gives no word of thanks, but the steward is used to such poor manners, and withdraws without comment.

Still at his post, Brandon watches as his loathed colleague reads the letter, and frowns as Boleyn's features crinkle into a vicious smile, "So he has proved to be as disloyal a wretch as we thought."

"Who has?"

"Richard Rich."

"And that is news?" Brandon snorts, "He sold his loyalty to Chapuys, and now he sells it to Norfolk."

"He is costing Norfolk two thousand pounds a year. I am not sure who is the more desperate. I should have loved to have been present when he made that offer. God above, to have lost ten thousand pounds to such a creature, and to know that such losses shall continue for as long as our work continues."

"If God is with us, you shall see the moment when he takes his vengeance."

"That shall be most enjoyable. I have ever loathed that self-serving rodent." Boleyn fails to hear the disdain in Brandon's voice.

"Is there news from Sweden?"

Boleyn shakes his head, "All remains as it was. Erik rules, John is governed by tutors and her Majesty supervises his tuition while she resides in quiet retirement. Norfolk assures us that, should that change, the traitor Rich shall alert him."

For the first time since he entered the chamber, Brandon feels a sense of satisfaction. Much as it irks him to be reliant upon a man of such noted untrustworthiness, there is no other who could grant them the knowledge that they need in this changed world - and what of the cost when the gains could be so great?

"Perhaps we should lay plans to make an approach to her."

"And alert our enemies?" Boleyn glares at him, "God's blood, you are impetuous; without a safe means of making contact, we would give ourselves away before a letter reached her."

"Then what do you suggest instead?"

"That we wait. We can continue to accumulate sufficient funds to support her Embassy, and to keep her in an appropriate state once she has departed Sweden. Until she is willing to leave, however, we are helpless. Should that occur, then we can present ourselves to her, and seek appropriate sanctuary with a sympathetic realm. Spain, for choice."

Of course: Charles. She is his cousin, and thus he shall be bound by the bonds of family and blood to accept her.

"It would be helpful, Mr Brandon, if you could see to making some contribution to our coffers." Boleyn continues, his expression unpleasantly amused. They both know that he can offer nothing but manual labour to earn funds, "After all, with the number of shore-men depleted by the plague, even a man as unskilled as you can seek a higher wage."

Brandon scowls again. Jesu, the sooner he can denounce this foul creature to his Queen and send him to a deserved execution, the better.

"I know what you're thinking." Boleyn adds, smirking, "Believe me, you can try - but do you think she shall believe you when it is I who have moved heaven and earth to win her England while you have stood by and watched? I am a dangerous opponent - unless you can win greater favour than I, you shall remain a weakling who rode upon my coat-tails to reach her side, and earned nothing but the calloused hands of a labourer."

He does not answer; there is no way to do so without sounding petty and childish. Instead, he continues to glare out of the window. Her Majesty shall see his callouses as a sign of his devotion to her cause, and love him for it. She is not superficial and shallow; and she shall see Boleyn for what he truly is.

When that day comes, he shall relish it.

"Thank you, Mr Cromwell." Elizabeth sighs, "I did not intend for such an impression to be given. How shall we deal with this matter?"

Anne shall probably be angry with him for doing so, but Cromwell knows that his Queen must be alerted to matters that could cause her difficulties. He has made promises to the daughter as much as to the mother. He continues to make his way through the frost-protected parterre beds in the Privy Garden as they glitter with a multitude of sparkling ice-diamonds, while Elizabeth, muffled in furs and flanked by her ladies, walks alongside.

"I would advise against overtly sending him away, Majesty. Instead, we shall let it be known to his father that you would not consider the approaches of a youth of lesser education than yourself. Your betrothed is well known to be highly educated, but Mr Percy has come to court without the additional years of scholarship at one of England's universities. His latin is execrable, and he has no knowledge of Greek, or even French - if he is even to serve you as a councillor, he is woefully unskilled for the task."

"And Sir Thomas shall thus send him to receive such an education." Elizabeth continues, nodding, "He does indeed seem most intent upon securing a royal future for his son."

Cromwell smiles at her diplomacy.

"I have no intention of marrying Mr Percy, my Lord. I assure you of that." She adds, "I should never act without the approval of my Council or my mother." She makes no mention of the betrothal; only the most senior of the Councillors are aware of that yet.

"Even though you are Queen?"

"I am Queen, but I am also a girl. I do not think that I am yet prepared to make such decisions upon my own account. Do you not agree?"

"I think you are a wise, and well governed young woman, Majesty. It is sensible to seek help if one requires it, and the advice of older heads, too. That said, Majesty, it is not incumbent upon you to take that advice."

"Do you think I do not hear the whisperings, Mr Cromwell? I reside amongst those who whisper, and those words reach my ears. I lived in my own world when I resided at Hatfield, secure in my cosseted nest of servants and governesses - such whisperings did not reach me. I know that people speak falsehoods, suggesting that I shall ignore my betrothal to Filipe, and instead marry the son of a common Knight, when I have done naught but dance with him but the once."

He sighs; so young, and yet so old. Does she know that people think her to have light morals because they believed her mother did?

"I am old enough to marry Filipe, Mr Cromwell. Perhaps we should take steps to secure the negotiations with King John that shall bring about our marriage sooner rather than later."

"I shall speak to Excellency Damião upon the matter if that is your wish, Majesty. Perhaps your ladies might take it upon themselves to gossip that your Majesty seeks only the most highly educated men to serve in her Court, thereby sending the unfortunate Mr Percy into a world of higher education."

"It shall do him no harm, Mr Cromwell. Besides, if he is appropriately educated, then it may be that he shall become one of the foremost of my Council in future years. Does it not serve me well to lay the foundations for men who shall serve me when those who do so now are no longer present?" her tone changes, as though she dreads such an outcome.

He nods, "Indeed so, Majesty. I wish that I could live long enough to serve you for all your days; but I am a mere man. I give you my word that, if I cannot serve you all your days, I shall serve you all of mine."

"And for that, I am grateful, Mr Cromwell." Almost without thinking, she takes his arm, as though he might be a close relative of whom she is fond, "There was no one to whom I could turn as a father when I was young; and indeed my true papa died before I could truly come to know him. Perhaps I might have been bereft, but instead, God sent me a man that I could truly trust: he sent me you."

In spite of himself, Cromwell reddens, "I am honoured, Majesty. It was not my intention to be seen as a replacement for your late Father; but in the absence of daughters, I fear I wished to protect you as I could not protect them."

"And I am grateful for that protection, Mr Cromwell." She quickens her pace, "Come; we have much to do. Mr Percy must be dispatched to a university. We have the matter of his Highness of Portugal to consider in the light of our treaty." Her voice drops to avoid the ears of her ladies, "I am well aware that we must take care to ensure that I am not less than he is when we are married, so let us begin the negotiations."

Startled at her decisiveness, Cromwell follows.

The mood at the council table is rather more tense than usual, as the topic under discussion is how much power shall be granted to Prince Filipe once he has married the Queen. While the youth has shown no signs that he would resent being subject to his own wife, that is no indication that he shall be prepared to accept a lesser position once faced with the prospect.

"He cannot claim England's crown for himself." Wiltshire muses, "That shall not be acceptable to any in England, whether they be the highest of nobility or the poorest of burghers. We must take great care to ensure that your Majesty's prerogatives and rights are not removed from you."

"I assume that such strictures can be set down in law?" Elizabeth asks, saving Anne from having to do so. God, she is growing up.

"We shall take care to ensure it, Majesty." Cromwell assures her, "I have been in conference with the Attorney General and senior men of Parliament - theoretically, of course - to enact statutes that shall protect your Majesty's privileges as England's Queen in the face of her marriage to a foreign Prince." He is smiling a little, "I have also been considering a diplomatic means of explaining to King John that his son is not going to rule his wife's Kingdom."

"We shall have to find him some useful role, however." Rich adds, "If we do not, then even the most well governed and princely of men shall become irked and wonder why he permitted himself to be married in such fashion."

Warwick shakes his head, "No matter what we do, there shall be protest in England at the marriage of her Majesty to a foreign prince. Even one that has no Kingdom of his own to inherit."

Heads around the table are all nodding in agreement, and Cromwell is amongst them, "There is no easy way to present this to England, Majesty. Englishmen have ever been distrustful of foreigners, and will not take kindly to his presence, no matter how we prepare the way for him."

"That is indeed so." Elizabeth sighs, "I fear that I cannot easily marry within my own Kingdom, for there are no young men of suitable noble blood. Equally, it does not sit well with me to marry within too close a degree of affinity. I may be head of England's Church, but that does not give me the right to amend God's laws to my choosing. It may be better to agree suitable treaties with Portugal before settling the marriage; if Englishmen experience benefit in such an alliance, perhaps they shall be less distrustful of a foreign Prince."

She looks doubtful - she knows her subjects shall struggle to accept her betrothed - but what else can they do?

"Is it not worth reconsidering an English marriage?" Percy asks, "An English husband shall be acceptable to your subjects, Majesty, and there shall never be any claim upon the realm by another King should your descendants falter."

"And who would she marry?" Rich immediately asks, rather stiffly, "There are no young men in England of suitable rank." He manages not to add have you not been listening, you dolt?

"Can not a young man be elevated to a suitable rank?"

"Gentlemen." Anne interrupts, "We have settled this point. There are many old families of England, but none of them can provide a youth of appropriate age and rank. Our concern now is that the marriage that we are intending shall be concluded to the satisfaction of both parties, and also with as little disturbance to England as possible. I appreciate your concerns, Sir Thomas; but the Lord Treasurer is correct."

"Portugal is neither France, nor the Empire." Warwick says, "It has access to trading ports that neither realm has reached. Charles may have lands across the great western ocean, but Portugal has travelled east, and found riches that can hardly even be imagined. If English traders can reach those same ports, then England's wealth and prominence shall increase in similar measure."

"For all our years of alliance, and the stipulations of the treaty of Windsor, that shall not be an easy concession to gain." Cromwell reminds them, "If we are fortunate, perhaps we shall secure a foothold in the small enclave that has been established upon the coast of India - for they are now well established; though I suspect they shall guard their ports in the islands north of Cathay more closely."

"If we cannot claim gold from the new world, then perhaps spices from the east shall serve us instead." Warwick agrees, "I am told that a cargo of black pepper shall leave a man with riches that shall serve him for the rest of his days."

"Then we shall seek trading concessions in the indies." Elizabeth agrees, "I should, however, prefer it if our treaty did not oblige us to go to war."

"It is our intention that our alliance shall be founded upon trade, Majesty." Rich advises, "In exchange for access to the spice ports of the east, we intend to offer preferential access to the tin mines of the south west of England, establishing a specific commission to oversee transactions."

"Thank you." Elizabeth looks around the table, "If there is no further business to discuss, our meeting is concluded. Gentlemen, good day." She rises, and the men rise to bow to her.

"I understand your son is to attend the university at Cambridge, Sir Thomas." Southampton says, reaching for his walking stick, "The tutors there are excellent."

"Indeed." Percy agrees, "If my son is to serve her Majesty, then to match her in intellect seems appropriate."

Cromwell is grateful that Rich has his back to the man, who does not see the amused smirk upon the Treasurer's face. Elizabeth's ruse has clearly worked. Thus the youth shall be safely dispatched away from Court. When he returns - assuming that he shall, of course - her Majesty shall be married, and he shall be free to take his place at the Council.

He turns to see one of his clerks approaching, "Your Grace, we have received a letter from our Embassy in Sweden."

Most of the councillors have now departed, and only Rich and Wiltshire remain, so he feels safe to open the missive, "God have mercy."

"What?" Immediately Wiltshire sits down alongside him, "Is it bad news?"

"King Erik has had prominent members of a noble family murdered; he was subsequently found wandering in a state of insanity, and ordered that his own tutor be slaughtered. In spite of attempts to hide the deed, rumours have emerged, and Excellency Stamford is concerned that they are true."

"But it is not proven?" Rich asks.

"Not as yet - but if it is so, then it can only be a matter of time before the nobility act to remove him. A mad King is a deadly disaster for his Realm."

"But it shall cause us no concern, Thomas." Wiltshire reminds him, "He is not the only heir - there is also John. Should he inherit, then we can continue the treaty. Do you fear that Mary might attempt to claim England for her son?"

"No, that is not my concern; Stamford also reports that, since retiring to her estates, Mary has resumed her open celebration of the Mass. Consequently, the nobles who surround her son now whisper against her, and he has already referred to her more than once as a 'Godless papist'. Should he inherit, and have no love for her, what shall she do?"

"God above, Thomas, that can be no more than vague speculation. England is well governed and stable - she has tried once to claim her Majesty's crown, and failed. I cannot see how she could succeed from foreign shores."

"Nonetheless, I think it shall be sensible to take steps to shore up our relations with France and the Emperor." Cromwell sighs, "If they regard us as too much trouble to invade, then they shall not help her."

"Perhaps - but in the absence of any evidence of such a possibility, there is little worth in fearful speculation." Rich reminds him, "It is all very well to seek to look three moves ahead in a chess game, but until the opponent has made their move, it serves no one. Even were she to be exiled, it is as likely that she shall seek a convent as the crown."

"Forgive me." Cromwell looks up at his colleague with a slightly sheepish smile, "I am inclined these days to be more pessimistic. I think it must be my age."

They depart the council chamber, discussing matters of lighter note; but nonetheless Cromwell remains convinced that the problem of Mary shall rise to haunt her sister once again.

A/N: Another short historical note. The murder of the nobles in Sweden at Uppsala Castle did indeed take place - as Erik's mental health deteriorated, making him paranoid and suspicious of his Privy Council. The resulting conflict with the aristocracy in Sweden led to the murder of five members of the Sture family as he entered into a form of psychotic episode and ordered their deaths, additional to that of his own tutor, Dionysius Beurreus. I've seriously compressed the time between his assumption of the throne and this event - as it took place in 1567 - but again, for dramatic purposes. Afterwards, he regained his stability, and resumed his rule - though how that pans out in this AU will unfold in the coming chapters...