A/N: The wanderer returns! Fresh from my break, I present to you the next chapter...

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

An Inconvenient Mother

Cranmer is struggling somewhat, being obliged to revert to at least some portions of the Latin Mass as he leads the congregation through Quinquagesima celebrations in the vaulted surroundings of the Chapel Royal. In deference to their guest, Elizabeth and Anne are not worshipping separately from the rest of the Court in their closets, but are instead seated on richly upholstered chairs alongside the young Prince from Portugal while their Courtiers stand to their rear.

Elizabeth, however, has been clear in her instructions. While she has no wish to immerse herself entirely in popish ritual, she wishes to welcome her visitor courteously, and therefore has stipulated that the service shall be be partly in English, and partly in Latin. England is a nation that permits both the Roman and Lutheran faiths, so to deny a catholic visitor access to the Mass seems a very poor gesture when he has only just arrived. That said, the use of English as well is a clear message to those who might be hopeful of further concessions that the settlement is not to be changed: the Church of England remains ahead of the Church of Rome.

Filipe has been granted access to the small chapel that is set aside for the Ambassadors from countries where the Mass is still celebrated, and Damião's personal chaplain has been assigned to see to the young prince's spiritual needs in private. He has not protested at the use of English in the service - but then, he has been here only three days and has no authority, so his true feelings upon the matter may well be unsaid out of equal courtesy.

Her expression may be neutral, but Anne is struggling with a conflict of her own. There was a time when she would have commanded her daughter's entire attention and company, not out of a demand to do so, but because Elizabeth looked to her as her mother, and loved to be with her. Even when the Queen was established in her own household within the Palace, she still did so, extending an open invitation for her to be present as she wished. There have been many evenings when she has remained within her own apartments, allowing her daughter to entertain privately - but yesterday was the first time that she was obliged to do so, as Elizabeth asked that her chaperones be her own ladies, George and Mr Cromwell.

She is relieved that her daughter is not fool enough to wish to meet with Prince Filipe alone; to do so would invite crude comments and snide gossip over her virtue, and she has been taught to guard her reputation with the ferocity of a tiger. No, it is the discovery that Elizabeth is reaching an age where she must assume some of the burdens of womanhood, and thus her mother's presence is not required.

As they rise from the service, she - almost inevitably - turns to Mr Cromwell, who is standing nearby in conversation with Mr Rich over some inconsequential matter relating to the forthcoming Shrove Tuesday feast. He may have lost his daughters before they could marry, but he has a son, and perhaps knows what it is to find that a child no longer looks to the parent as the centre of their world.

"I shall see to it." Rich agrees, before departing, and Cromwell turns to Anne, "An issue with the supply of fowl for the feast, Majesty."

"If there is ample meat in its stead, I shall not be too alarmed." She pauses, "May I speak with you?"

"There is no need to ask, Majesty. I am ever at your disposal."

"Sycophant."

"Naturally."

The two exit the Chapel and return upstairs to the private royal apartments, where Nan, Margery and Caroline are supervising the laying out of her gown for her attendance at a grand supper to honour Filipe's presence, "I fear that I am becoming superfluous, Sir Thomas."

"Ah." Of course he has noticed. He misses nothing.

"I do not ask you divulge all that occurred in her Majesty's apartments yesternight; I am not willing to impose upon my daughter's right to privacy. It is merely that I am finding myself to be superseded in my daughter's affections, and she has no wish for me to be present as she spends her time with her Ladies and his Highness. I fear I am becoming…inconvenient."

Cromwell smiles, sympathetically, "I fear that is the curse of parenthood, Majesty. We bring them into the world, nurture them, care for them and love them - but in the end we are obliged to let them go. It was not so hard with Gregory, for he lived away from home for much of his education; but my girls lived long enough to find my presence an embarrassment if they wished to entertain friends, for all their love for me as their father. It is ever thus. If they cling to us, then we have failed them, I think."

"And that is a failure that England cannot afford. I have defended her as best I can from those who would use her for their own political gain; and now I must release her from that protection to learn from her own errors as much as mine."

"We always knew that this day would come, Majesty." He reminds her, "It is the culmination of the collective task we set ourselves when we set aside our enmity to save our own lives. If her Majesty cannot rule England, then we have failed utterly in that aspiration."

"Then I must stand aside and allow Elizabeth to make her way as Queen; to err and learn from those errors and to intervene only when she seeks aid. It is too soon, I think, to abandon her to her own devices should we face a greater threat than a poor harvest or a savage winter; but it is time for her to stand alone."

"I think that to be so, Majesty." Cromwell agrees, "I remain her Lord Chancellor, and shall advise her as I have advised you: Frankly and honestly."

Anne'e eyes grow a little distant, "I once told George that, should I wish to cling to the power of a Queen ahead of my daughter's claim, he must warn me of it. I am not sure whether my reluctance to accept Elizabeth's wish to entertain alone is pique at my being surplus to requirements, or at her assumption of her rights and prerogatives as Queen in defiance of my status as Regent. I am fearful that it might even be both."

"That is not for me to say, Majesty." Cromwell admits, "I serve both you and her Majesty. My status remains unchanged regardless of the identity of the one who rules. I am not perhaps the most appropriate person to advise you on that matter."

"Perhaps not - but you are the one in whom I place the most trust. You promised me, when this first began, that you would serve me absolutely, and would keep nothing from me. You have kept that promise where others might not have done, and for that I am grateful to God for restoring our confidence in one another."

He bows to her, "It has been an honour. I hope that it shall continue to be an honour."

"Heavens, yes, Mr Cromwell. I am not ready to dispense with you just yet. Now, get you gone - I must prepare myself for public display, and that is taking far longer than it did when I was younger."

He smiles, bows again, and withdraws.

The shipwrights at Wapping have been most interested in the Galleon Rainha de Lisboa since her arrival in the port of London, and their keenness to talk to those who sail her has not gone unnoticed. Thanks to the Lenten fast, the Court remains at Whitehall rather than embarking upon a wasteful progress so early in the year, and the need to find something useful for Prince Filipe to do is rather pressing.

Thus, in the face of a light drizzle that mists the Pool and shrouds the distant bulk of London Bridge, Wiltshire and Sir John Russell have accompanied their visitor to meet with a sharp-witted young man recently arrived from Deptford with a large leather folio of drawings and designs, eager to share knowledge with the builders of some of Europe's finest ships. Mathew Baker is a mere eighteen years old, still apprenticed to his father; but his eagerness to innovate, and - remarkably - to look to designing ships on paper, rather than laying vessels down on site and presenting the patron with a model is entirely at odds with usual practice. He has been at the Pool for no more than a month, but already has caused such ructions with the master shipwrights thanks to his insistence upon mathematical measurements and scale drawings that the Lord High Admiral has been obliged to investigate, and is most interested in what he has found.

In spite of his sheltered existence, Filipe is also most interested in ships, and has studied the drawings of his father's shipwrights with great interest. His expertise is not that of a man with practical experience, but his theoretical knowledge is extensive, and the discovery that there is a young Englishman who has similar interests has piqued his curiosity.

"Do you think that the boy is right?" Wiltshire asks Russell, as they watch the two young men perusing a drawing.

"It is possible." Russell admits, "Present practice is to lay the ship down at the construction site, and build it according to knowledge passed down from master to apprentice. Thus the only means by which a patron can envisage the final vessel is to view a model of it. Until it is built, he shall have no knowledge of its seaworthiness, how it is constructed within the hull or how it shall sail. Modifications are made only after the ship is built, and it cannot be certain that they are for the better until the ship has sailed again."

"Would Englishmen be more willing to accept this young man if he proved to be an advocate for advancements in the English fleet, do you think?"

"If they work, and English merchantmen can win prosperity for the realm as a consequence, then it is quite possible that he could win the love of her Majesty's subjects." Russell nods, "The Lord Chancellor, when he was Treasurer, set aside monies to pay for a Navy that shall serve us in times of both peace and war. Should any attempt to invade us, they must come by sea - and thus it is for us to repel them there. Should we need to, and we can do so with superior vessels that were developed with the aid of the Queen's consort, what better?"

Wiltshire nods, pleased, "They seem to have struck up something of a bond, I think." He watches as Baker animatedly points out various marks on his sheet of rough paper. It is equally clear that the only difficulty the young Prince has is identifying the English terminology for the parts of the ship. He points to another spot on the drawing, and Baker nods with interest. It could not be clearer that - used as he is to his ideas and suggestions being dismissed - he is finding it most exciting to have them accepted with such interest.

From his vantage point, Wiltshire has no idea what they are discussing; something about the reduction in height of the forecastle and its correlation to greater stability for the ship, alongside methods of constructing longer hulls, draughts, weights and riggings of sails that are far beyond his knowledge or understanding. Beside him, however, Russell is nodding with approval, "That young man is very knowledgeable, and so his his Highness. The Master shipwright has prevailed upon me to dispatch the boy back to his father with a flea in his ear. I think, however, I shall set him to work upon perfecting his designs. A suitable space in the offices of the Clerk of the Navy should suffice - I think Mr Howlett shall be most interested. He has been agitating for more discipline in shipbuilding from the moment he took up the post."

Filipe rises from his perusal and turns back, "Sir John, this is very good."

Russell steps across to join him, "From what I have overheard, Highness, I am in agreement. It has been my plan to speak to Mr Baker since he arrived from Deptford."

"I shall ask her Majesty if he can stay. Our ships are most fine, and I should like it if England's ships were also fine, for I shall soon be an Englishman."

"That is my wish also, Highness." Russell turns to Baker, "Mr Baker, I shall require her Majesty's agreement to do so, but I should like you to remain in London and present your designs to the Council of the Navy. I have not yet had the opportunity to peruse your documents, and I wish to correct that oversight."

"Thank you, my Lord." The youth is astonished at such fortune, "I give you my word that I shall prove myself equal to your offer."

"I shall also advise your father that you have been employed by the Crown. I suspect that he shall expect me to box your ears for your presumption, but I think England's need is greater."

Baker looks even more relieved.

The Prince smiles broadly, "Then we shall make a…a…marinha that shall be as good as my father's. No, better."

Wiltshire and Russell exchange a glance - it is as though he is an Englishman already. Perhaps, if this works, the rest of England shall think the same.

Rich has lost count of the number of times he has emerged from the Hall with a napkin containing a hastily assembled meal for the Lord Chancellor. While he breaks his fast quite royally, and certainly sups very well, Cromwell's adherence to the requirement to consume dinner is often compromised by his immersion in his work.

Today's gathered repast is bread and beef, which he sets down upon Cromwell's desk, causing his colleague to look up, "Ah, is that the time?"

"What has captured your attention, Thomas?" Rich draws up a chair, for it is clear that Cromwell has received news of considerable concern to him.

"Something that, I think, was inevitable; but it remains, nonetheless, startling." Cromwell hands over a sheet of rough paper, and Rich reads the letter scrawled upon it.

My Lord Cromwell,

I write in great haste to advise you that his Majesty, Erik of Sweden, has been removed from his throne by members of his nobility. While we were aware of rumours that he had participated in the killings of members of the Sture family, they remained very much rumours, and the King - for a while at least - seemed to recover his wits.

It appears, however, that this was but a temporary state of affairs, and his instability could not be contained any longer. Thus the nobility has rebelled against him, and plans are in place to set his younger brother upon the throne.

I had assumed that her Majesty Queen Mary would act as regent for her son, but it seems that this shall not be so. She remains upon her estates, and has not been called back to Stockholm - ostensibly at the behest of the new King; though it is speculated that this is instead the intention of the higher nobility, who intend to select a Protector from amongst their number. The rumours of her Majesty's return to her overt celebration of her Catholic faith following the death of her husband are widespread, and it has been confirmed that she has masses said daily for the repose of the late King's soul.

In spite of this devotion to her late husband, she lacks the love of the nobility, and I fear that they shall do all that they can to keep her from her son. I shall do all that I can to ensure that our treaties are respected - but it is my considered opinion that if Mary does not remain upon her estates, she may face exile. Thus I write to you to warn you, for fear that her Majesty may find herself obliged to welcome her half-sister back to the Realm.

As I am shortly to retire from Stockholm, I shall apprise Sir Anthony Greene of the matter when he arrives to replace me, and advise you in more detail upon my return to England.

William Stamford, Kt.

"Hell, that is not good." Rich sits back in his chair with a sigh.

"It may be that Mary shall remain in Sweden." Cromwell speculates, reaching for one of the chunks of bread, "For all the circumstances that led her there, she found happiness with her husband, and he respected her faith in spite of Sweden's reformation, and she equally respected his. It does not surprise me at all that she has masses said for him; for, by all accounts, she loved him, and he returned that love."

"And if she does not?"

"If she does not, then we shall see where she plans to go. It may be that she shall retire to a country that is more welcoming of her religious preferences - Spain, for choice, as she could look to her Cousin for aid. There is little worth in fearing that she might attempt to reclaim England while she remains where she is. Our best course is to appreciate that it might happen, and be prepared to counter it." He looks up at his colleague, "Do you intend to advise our conspirators?"

"If you are in agreement." Rich nods, "It seems sensible that they be advised. It is a certainty that they shall do what they can to approach her if she is exiled, so the more that we know of their activities, the easier it shall be to counter them."

"It seems that she, too, has become inconvenient." Cromwell mutters, mostly to himself.

"Pardon?" Rich looks up from his contemplation of the letter.

"It is nothing. I was just thinking aloud."

The Steward holds the letter uncertainly, for the man in the chamber is not the man to whom he is permitted to hand it. Boleyn is absent, busy with his trade and rumour-gathering at the cloth hall, and only Brandon is in residence.

"What is that?"

"I…er…it is a letter."

"So it appears." Brandon holds out his hand to take it.

"Sir…I…" the Steward dithers, uncertainly. If Boleyn knows that he has handed it over, he shall almost certainly be dismissed.

The former Duke curses inwardly. He has no argument with this inoffensive young man, and does not wish to leave him bereft of his position; but he is tired of the blasted former Earl keeping all missives to himself and handing out only morsels of knowledge, "Then tell him that I snatched it from you and struck you in your attempt to protect it." He snaps. To strengthen his point, he grasps the sealed document and wrests it from the steward's hand.

It has reached my ears via our informant that his Majesty Erik of Sweden has been deposed and imprisoned, and the boy John is now King. As he is not of age, his elders amongst the nobility intend to form a protectorship. As they are poorly disposed to her Majesty, Queen Mary of England, it is thought that they might dismiss her from the Realm. If that is so, I shall provide the funds required to travel to a point where she can be met and escorted to a safe haven from which the reclamation of England can begin.

I trust that work has been undertaken to make contact with a suitable man within her Majesty's household. If that is so, then we shall be prepared to aid her. Once we know that she is ready, we can bring England back to the true faith, under the reign of her true Queen, and the Heretics shall be driven into the sea.

N.

Brandon's eyes widen at the news. God above - it might happen…he might at last be able to keep his promise to his late friend. It has taken far too long - years longer than he had wanted it to be; but Mary has now ruled a Kingdom, and has learned all that she needs to know in order to do so wisely and well. Where once she had been a girl with only her faith to guide her, she is now a woman with experience and knowledge. England's usurper is still not yet of age, and thus it remains possible to claim that others rule in her stead. This time, the Realm shall look to a daughter of Henry that does not need a protector, or a regent…

He looks up as the door opens, to see Boleyn has a disgustingly satisfied look upon his repugnant face, "What?"

"It is done." The Concubine's father boasts, "A senior steward in her Majesty's household has agreed to speak for us should the need arise, and shall advise us should her Majesty require our aid. He is sworn to secrecy upon the promise of a handsome reward when she is properly restored to her realm." The pompous expression becomes inquisitive, "What is that?"

"News from Norfolk. You are too jealous in your guarding of his correspondence. I had to force it out of the Steward's hands." It is likely that Boleyn shall dismiss the poor young man anyway - but he can at least do what he can to absolve the boy of blame.

Boleyn holds out his hand for it. For a moment, Brandon considers refusing to relinquish it, but judges such an act to be beneath him, and hands it over.

"Interesting. It seems that my efforts have come to fruition not a moment too soon. I think then that the boy shall not be dismissed, but I shall have him whipped to remind him to whom such missives are to be given."

Brandon rolls his eyes in disgust, but does not comment. There is little that he can say that shall not be met with scorn, for he has been unable to aid the enterprise to even a tenth of the degree that Boleyn has achieved. He is a soldier, a Courtier and the manager of extensive estates; he lacks the skills that his hated co-conspirator demonstrates in such quantity, and Boleyn rarely allows him to forget it. God above, he shall enjoy the moment that the man lays his head upon the block, once the Queen sees him for what he truly is: a craven opportunist who would kiss the feet of the antichrist himself if it would gain him preferment…

He rouses himself from his bitter musings; such grousing is of little use to anyone, and certainly not to his Queen. For all his motives, Boleyn has ensured not only that they are ready to aid the Queen should she depart from Sweden, but that they have the funds to support her Embassy if she does. At least, if she is able to claim England again, he shall come into his own as a commander of soldiers, and finally make his fullest contribution to her destiny.

The horses thunder across the parkland of St James, following the hounds as they chase the stag out of a patch undergrowth and into open ground. While they still observe the Lenten fast, any beast they run down today shall require hanging time, and thus shall not be ready for consumption until the feast of the Resurrection, so none feel any sense of discomfort in doing so.

Elizabeth's skill in the saddle exceeds that of her mother these days, and she is to the fore of the hunt, though it seems that her betrothed is equally capable, and the two match one another pace for pace. In their wake, Anne marvels at her daughter's abilities, far more than her mild disgruntlement that her gelding cannot keep up. Their first quarry was a doe, and was thus permitted to flee; as she is likely to have a fawn in her care, and the maintenance of the herd is essential. Now that there is a stag in their sights, however, the hunt is on; and all are riding to the best of their skill.

After nearly a half-hour, the hounds bring the stag to bay in a copse. Once, Henry would have demanded the right to the kill, but he is no longer here and the task has always been undertaken by her Majesty's Master of the Hunt. Today, however, that right is Filipe's and he quickly proves able to handle the crossbow, efficiently ending the life of the exhausted creature with a quarrel to the heart.

Leaving the carcass with the gamekeepers to be transported back to the game cellars, the hunting party moves on to a small gathering of awnings and pavilions where they shall dine upon a fine selection of fishes, though the richer pastries that would normally be served are not present, being far too extravagant for those who are observing the season of Lent.

The Portuguese prince has proved to be a friendly, personable young man who has made many friends around the Court. Concerns that he might prove troublesome over the problem of his rank once married have been allayed to some degree by his behaviour, and his interest in developing England's naval capabilities with new designs for her ships. Being unlikely to inherit the Kingdom of his birth, he seems quite content to be adopted by the Kingdom into which he is to marry - but no one is fool enough to think that he shall accept the reality of being a King in name only with such equanimity.

Elizabeth's talent for languages has widened the number of tongues that she speaks, though she is new to Portuguese. Nonetheless, she is keenly taking the time to learn her future husband's language, and the pair converse regularly in one tongue or the other. Where they struggle, they switch to latin, which Mistress Astley finds most amusing, though she prefers it if they do not speak in Portuguese, as she does not speak it.

The air is warmed by the sun in spite of the earliness of the season, and the gathering is most congenial. Castor and Pollux have been delivered, and are causing much laughter as they harass an unfortunate young steward attempting to serve her Majesty from a dish of roasted tunny.

Supping from a small bowl of light pottage, Anne regards her daughter with a combination of pleasure and sadness; pleasure at Elizabeth's happiness, but sadness at the knowledge that another brings her laughter now, as well as the mother that she still loves. In that moment, she thinks of Mary; separated from her son and unable to participate in his upbringing, for he is now King. Even had he not been, she would still not be able to share his company, for boys are not educated by their mothers, or in their mothers' households. How must it feel to be so far from one's child? It is only now that Elizabeth is old enough to be of her own mind that she begins to understand that sense of bereavement. If Stamford is correct, then not only is she not permitted to see her son, but he is now being systematically taught to despise her; for he - or perhaps whoever now rules for him - has ordered that she not return to Court.

It has never occurred to her before to feel such sympathy for a woman who she once hated so deeply and saw only as a deadly threat to her daughter. Even her regret for the manner in which she imparted the news of the girl's marriage seems minor in comparison. That is done - long into the past. Now Mary is isolated and abandoned, and obliged to reside far from a Court where once she was a King's beloved consort.

As long, however, as she stays there.

Setting aside the bowl, she sighs to herself. Once again, her rival's daughter has risen to occupy her thoughts, filling her with nervous speculation that Elizabeth's reign might be threatened by her half-sister. Why is it that, no matter how settled matters might be, there is always something that crouches upon the horizon like a cornered dog, poised and ready to strike? Why can a Queen never have a sense of safety?

Perhaps, alas, because she is a Queen. God above, how long ago was it that she quarrelled with her husband over the right to demand more authority than he considered her to be entitled to have? Now that she has that authority, she wonders what on earth she was thinking.

Her mood considerably dampened, Anne is relieved when Elizabeth calls for her horse in order to ride back to the palace. A hard ride always lifts her spirits, and this afternoon is no exception. By the time her horse is being returned to the mews, and she has exchanged her riding habit for a fresh gown, she is smiling to herself as she reaches for a small book of poesies, and sits back in her favourite chair.

"Majesty, the Lord Chancellor is without."

She looks up, surprised, "Show him in, Michael."

When Cromwell enters and bows, he is not alone; a man in dark green velvet stands beside him and also bows. She has never seen this individual before, and wonders who he might be, and why her Chancellor has brought him into her presence.

"Majesty, forgive my intrusion. Allow me to introduce Sir William Stamford, our erstwhile Ambassador to Sweden."

"Ah yes, welcome back to England Sir William; I trust Sir Anthony has been fully apprised of his duties?"

"Yes Majesty." Stamford's voice is deep, yet smooth - like a fine claret - but his expression proclaims that he is to impart news that she shall not like, "While I had intended to make a report upon matters in Sweden upon my departure and return to England, I was not anticipating the news that I must impart to you."

"Go on." She can almost guess what he is about to say.

"I fear that, her Majesty Queen Mary, Dowager Queen of Sweden, has been stripped of her titles and lands by his Majesty's Council, and ordered to depart; on the grounds that she has stirred discontent in the realm through her refusal to abjure her popish rituals." Stamford admits, "It is upon the orders of the King, but all believe that it has been prompted by the nobility who rule in his name during his minority."

Anne feels a deep lurch in the pit of her stomach, and gives thanks for the tightness of her lacing, "Does she intend to return to England?"

"At this time, it is not known. The Council have granted her no aid to depart the Kingdom, and she has been given one month to secure passage to another realm, at which time she shall be turned out of her house."

"God have mercy - how can they hate her so? Has she truly fomented discontent in the realm?"

"Not to my knowledge, Majesty." Stamford shakes his head, "On the contrary, according to all reports that I have seen, she has been most discreet and has avoided such behaviour. The Noblemen who currently vie for the rank of Lord Protector wish to be rid of her in order to keep control of her son, and thus they make a false claim in order to justify their act."

And again that dismay is tempered by sympathy. She knows what it is to be hated; God's wounds, she does. It seems that she is not alone in being an inconvenient mother. It also seems, however, that Mary is equally unfortunate in not being blessed with a capable councillor with whom she can ally. With no Mr Cromwell at her disposal, and far from the Palace where her son resides, she cannot grasp the Regency as her stepmother did.

"We must notify the Queen. As her Majesty's sister, it would be wrong for her not to offer assistance, and I have no doubt that she would be offended if we did not allow her to do so. I should prefer it that the Dowager Queen not be invited back to England, but instead granted monies to travel to her Cousin's court, or one of his subject realms. God knows the Empire is big enough to accommodate her in some suitable estate. If we are obliged to pay her a pension, then the treasury shall bear it."

"I shall ask the Lord Treasurer to make preparations for such an arrangement if it is accepted, Majesty." Cromwell adds.

"Forgive me for bringing such tidings, Majesty." Stamford sighs, "I had hoped to entertain you with tales of the people of Sweden, who are most delightfully courteous and welcoming - perhaps another time?"

"I should like that, Sir William. Thank you." She smiles at him. It is, after all, not his fault that the news he has brought her is bad.

Stamford bows with a delicate neatness that quite impresses her in comparison to some of the florid nonsense she receives from other courtiers, and departs.

"In addition to asking the Treasurer to make arrangements for a pension, Mr Cromwell," Anne says, her expression cold, "Ensure that he raises the matter with my lord of Norfolk at the first opportunity. We must know what they intend to do - for they shall surely send men to her side now."

Cromwell nods, and sighs, "Never a moment's peace, Majesty."

"Indeed, Mr Cromwell." She also sighs, "Indeed."

A/N: And the spectre of Mary rises once again...but what will she do next?

A short biographical note. Mathew Baker was a real person; an innovative shipwright of the Elizabethan period who is credited with being the first to lay down a ship on paper as a design, rather than 'on site', thereby allowing the client to see exactly how the ship would look rather than just a basic model that could only show what it looked like on the outside. I've brought his innovative practices forward a great deal, presenting him as a bit of a genius apprentice, but he is probably one of the greatest, if not the greatest, of Tudor shipwrights, so who better to work with Filipe in redesigning the ships of the English navy?