A/N: Another Friday draws to a close - and brings with it a new chapter!

As always, thank you so much for your comments and reviews. I know there's some curiosity as to what happens to Mary - but, as she has stepped out of the world into the silence of a convent; alas, she has disappeared from the world, and her fate is lost in that silence.

As I have been wont to do on a few occasions, I have again resurrected someone who died in the 'Real' Universe, and given him a role in this tale. Sir Henry Dudley died in 1544 during the siege of Boulogne; but, as there has been no siege, he has survived, and entered Court.

Now that the Queen is with child, it's time to consider what will happen to the rule of the realm when she gives birth...

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Arrangements for a Regency

Elizabeth's eyes are flicking towards the plate of liver-paste upon wafers with a regularity that confirms that the cravings that seem to inevitably accompany pregnancy are most assuredly present with her. Despite the distraction, however, her thoughts remain firmly upon what must be done, "It is inevitable that his Majesty must rule while I am indisposed, Gentlemen. Nonetheless, we must ensure that his rule is confirmed both in law, and in the hearts of my people. It is essential that England is content that our decision is for their benefit as much as any other."

Cromwell nods, "Indeed, Majesty; when your late father was called to God, you were but a babe - and thus the Kingdom was at risk, for there was no one of age to follow him."

"No one but Mary." She reminds him, a little darkly.

"I was speaking in terms of the King's law and will, Majesty." He clarifies, with a slight smile.

She returns his smile, then reaches for a wafer, "I charge you as my Lord Chancellor to commence the legal works to confirm his Majesty as my Regent during my confinement." She does not mention that most dread outcome, of course; though her Councillors must. They can do that once she has retired to her apartments; particularly as the discussions are likely to be contentious in her absence. She is not blind to the opinions of the younger men around the Council table.

They move onto other matters, particularly additional reforms to the poor laws that shall improve the situation for those who have been injured while working, and require the attentions of physicians in order to recover. Cromwell smiles at their progress; he had wanted to bring in such measures even when Henry lived, but the Noblemen at the council table refused to contribute so much as a groat of their considerable resources to fund them, and thus he was helpless to do so. Now, however, he is one of those noblemen, and is free to act for the benefit of the people as he could not be when he was nothing more than a common politician. He still is that common politician, of course; but one who is also now an Earl - and even now he remains astounded at the difference a title can make.

With the ending of the meeting, he grapples with his walking sticks, but remains grateful for the assistance of both Wiltshire and Richmond as they abandon their papers to aid him to rise. Once upright, moving is a simple - if uncomfortable - business, but escaping a chair remains a tiresome activity that he cannot easily achieve without help. He is not unaware of the mildly scornful expressions upon the faces of the younger men at the Council table at his apparent infirmity, nor is he blind to the potential implications of such disdain. He has endured it for the entirety of his career, protected solely by the favour of the Crowned head for whom he has worked; but now the fear is that they shall attempt to persuade the Queen that he is too old to serve. Ah well; the body may be decrepit, but the mind is most assuredly not.

The three Lords make their slow, meandering way back to the smaller offices that serve the need for governance when not at Whitehall. Even if they were capable of hurrying - which nowadays they are not - their bond of companionship drives the slowness of their walk, as they gossip of matters of little consequence. Greater matters can wait until they are behind closed doors.

"Of all the things to crave: liver paste." Wiltshire grumbles, good-naturedly, "Even the smell of it turns my stomach. It seems that my royal niece has chosen to torment me in the midst of our deliberations."

Richmond snorts with amusement, "Better that than cream cheese, I assure you."

Cromwell's large office overlooks the great sweep of the river as it curves past Placentia, where more of those fine carracks designed by the King and Mr Baker are at anchor, awaiting the turn of the tide. One of the larger vessels, that great frigate Ark Royal, is amongst them, as the last of her crew is assembled prior to final sea trials. Having been aboard, he is aware of the quality of its design and build; should any threaten England again, then she shall be first and foremost of the realm's defence.

"Thank God the people look to his Majesty for that ship." He murmurs, his eyes upon the bare masts that are yet to have their sails unfurled, "It has ever been my fear that they shall not accept him."

"Not all men do, Thomas." Wiltshire sighs, "There are some who despise him for a foreigner, and others for being a catholic. We are fortunate that they are in the minority, and few pay them any heed."

"I pray to God that they continue to do so." Richmond adds, "For the sternest test of that resolve is to come. Who amongst those who accept his Majesty do so upon the assumption that, in her Majesty's absence, he shall rule them? His one virtue is that he is not Spanish."

Easing himself into his great chair, Cromwell nods, "That is true. Ralph tells me that his men are aware of some in the City who are so keenly intent upon Luther's reforms that they feel even the Church of England as it is now does not comply with God's law and intent. The merest fleck of paint upon an altarpiece, or a shard of precious metal, is abhorrent to them; and that was assuredly not my intention when first I took steps to commence reform in England. Even in the tightest grip of my zeal, I knew that the realm could not sustain such a transition easily."

"Puritans." Richmond grunts, crossly, "I know that they despise me as a catholic, and believe that I grant funds only to other catholics." He has never concealed his retention of his original faith.

"They despise us all, Richard." Wiltshire smirks, "You for your catholic faith, Thomas and myself for not being sufficiently Lutheran; though they prefer the term 'Protestant'."

"Protestant?" Richmond snaps back, "Protesting against what? The Settlement? Surely they would not wish to send those of the old Faith to their deaths?"

"Oh, they would." Cromwell says, tiredly, "Men have ever looked to religion to justify their own prejudices. I am as guilty as any; the difference being that I know that it is there, and thus quell it."

"So much for religious settlement." Wiltshire sighs.

"My Lord of Lincoln!" Anne smiles, looking up from her embroidery, "And what brings you to my door?"

She deliberately ignores Jane Wiltshire's mild smirk.

Lincoln bows again, "Forgive me, Majesty; I thought it might be appropriate, given her Majesty's recently granted appointment."

"As my private secretary, you mean?"

"So I am told, Majesty."

They both ignore a small snort of laughter from Jane.

"Her Majesty is notable for her sense of humour; which appears most heightened in her current state of health." Anne's lips are twitching slightly with equal amusement. It could not be clearer to her - or to him - that Elizabeth has done so with only one purpose in mind. Their discretion might well have protected themselves from general Court gossip, but not from her attentive daughter. With few opportunities to be in one another's company, their friendship has been conducted at a level that assured their discretion could be so complete. Quite an achievement for a woman upon which Court gossip has been centred from the moment she arrived in its midst.

"Perhaps so, Majesty." Lincoln agrees, "But it appears that I am now obliged to be in your company considerably more frequently than was previously the case, and thus I am keen to be advised as to your requirements for my service to you."

"Service, my Lord?" she asks, deliberately coquettishly. God, she hasn't behaved so foolishly in years…

He reddens slightly, prompting her to laugh, "Come, my Lord; perhaps a turn about the Privy Garden. If you are to enter my service, it is appropriate that we discuss your duties, is it not?"

Rising, she takes his hand and follows him out into the Garden.

Cromwell squints, removes his eyeglasses, squints some more, and sighs, "Damnation, I cannot read this script; Daniel, could you?"

Nodding, the young man retrieves the paper.

"Allow me, Daniel." Limping slightly, Wiltshire approaches, "I believe you have been hard at work since dawn, have you not?"

The youth's eyes turn to Cromwell, who nods, permitting him to depart; "Forgive me: it seems even that a device intended to aid me is no longer of any efficacy. Daniel has set all down with such care - and yet I cannot review it without further putting him to trouble."

"You did warn me once not to grow old, Thomas." Wiltshire agrees, "I fear I was a fool and chose not to listen to your advice."

"Poor sight?"

"Gout."

"Then my sympathy becomes empathy, George; for I, too, am so afflicted." Cromwell sighs, "Here, read this to me; my eyes may be of little use, but my ears remain sharp, and my mind is more than capable of absorbing the text."

"It ought to be, given that you dictated it." Wiltshire laughs.

He is still making his way through the thickets of legalistic drafting when Cromwell's steward advises that the Duke of Northumberland is without. He has Richmond in tow, and before long, the reading has devolved into a comfortable discussion of the clauses, while Northumberland makes notes, being the youngest present, and therefore the quickest at writing things down. The steward busies himself pouring out cups of sack for them all.

"I think it wisest to declare the Regency to commence upon the ending of the mass prior to her Majesty's entry into confinement, which shall take place one month prior to the expected birth of her babe." Wiltshire muses, as Northumberland scribbles, "And to end upon her resumption of her royal duties following her Churching after the birth."

Richmond nods, "That shall quell speculation that the King shall step forth and replace her Majesty in all things. Who is arranging her women for her lying in?"

"Mistress Astley." Northumberland reports, "She is ageing, but hopes greatly to oversee the birth of a child to her royal Mistress before she retires."

"Retire?" Wiltshire asks, "God above, should that happen, the world shall end!"

They laugh; another of that initial gathering who is determined to die in service, it seems.

"I note that you have included clauses to which his Majesty shall swear in relation to the governance of the realm, my Lord," Northumberland continues, "Primarily pertaining to acts of war or disaster."

"Indeed." Cromwell agrees, "While his Majesty has not shown himself to be overly bellicose, he remains a young man brought up in the tradition of princes, and thus has been taught that war is a worthy enterprise; though it seems that he considers trade to be more sensible for all concerned. While I have no doubt that he would not take it upon himself to declare war upon our neighbours, it is best that he swear openly not to do so, thus stifling those upon the Council who might take it upon themselves to persuade him that he should. Force of arms should be deployed only if the realm is imperilled; and not in any other circumstance."

"He shall agree to that." Richmond adds, "In all the times that we have conversed, he has regularly espoused his horror of warfare, and its cruelties upon those who are present where battles are fought. It seems that his tutors spoke not only of the honour of war, but also the horror. Glory belongs to the men with wealth, not to the men who must follow them."

"Then they were as wise as we are." Wiltshire smiles, "And probably as old."

There is, of course, one remaining clause to consider; though none of the group has dared to speak of it. His expression reluctant, Cromwell beckons over his clerk, "Daniel, please bring that final document we discussed last night."

"Yes, my Lord."

They do not need to ask what it shall discuss; for it is upon all of their minds: what shall they do if Elizabeth dies in childbirth.

"I have laid out three scenarios, Gentlemen." Cromwell advises, as Daniel hands a large paper to Northumberland, "Should her Majesty be taken but a son survive her; should she be taken, but a daughter survive her; or - I pray to God we do not see such a thing - that both are lost."

The thought of such a calamity silences them all, but nonetheless he continues, "Should she bear a living son, then he shall be raised by his father and shall rule in time. Equally, should she bear a living daughter, we shall raise her as we raised her Majesty; though her care shall be seen to by her father rather than her mother. The greatest concern is the fate of the succession should there be no heir, and her Majesty is taken."

More silence, punctuated by the soft ticking of a clock nearby. Eventually, Richmond clears his throat, "If…if that should happen, Thomas, then to whom can we turn? There are no surviving heirs in England."

"There is one." Cromwell sighs, "And she does not reside within the walls of a Convent."

"The Scots girl?" Northumberland asks. Being part of the Council of the North, he is more aware of matters in those distant lands, "She is promised to France - and has been sent there; even were she the only remaining heir, England would never permit her to tie the realm to a foreign King."

"That's as may be," Richmond grunts, "but she is the last of our late King's blood, for her father was the child of his late Majesty's sister. Distant blood and half Guise - but blood nonetheless. None of his Majesty's line, either in blood or law, has claim to the crown; only a child would, and if there is no child, then this child Mary would be Queen."

Oh God…another Mary. Wedded this time to France, and half French, to boot. All that they have in their favour is that she has expressed no desire to claim England. Not yet, anyway.

"Do we make enquiries of a discreet nature through our Ambassador?" Wiltshire asks, a little tentatively, "I suspect it likely that speculation shall already be rife within the French Palaces, but nonetheless it may be wise to assess the intentions of the King, for she is betrothed to the Dauphin. Should she be required to ascend to the throne of England, it is likely that we shall find ourselves a province of France in less than a year."

"In which case, they shall finally get Calais back." Northumberland snorts.

His quip breaks the tension, and Cromwell sits back, "Forgive my morbid words, Gentlemen; it is better that we prepare for that which does not happen, than find ourselves caught unawares. It is a woman's work to secure the health of her Majesty in her confinement, and thus we must place our trust in Mistress Astley, and in her Majesty the Queen Dowager, for I have no doubt she shall involve herself entirely in the procedure. Thus I hold every hope that, when her lying in is upon her, her Majesty shall give England the first of many fine children, and secure the House of Tudor for many years to come."

Richmond lifts his near-empty cup of sack, "Amen to that."

The young man standing in the corner of the great watching chamber is dressed fashionably, and perhaps a little too richly for his station; but his face is unfamiliar, and handsome enough to draw some comment from the younger women present, and the somewhat envious attention of not a few men.

Like most of his age, he has no formal appointment, and is present largely through the auspices of his father. Bowing courteously to the men who acknowledge him, unleashing a devastating smile upon any young woman who glances his way, he circulates around the room, and soon finds himself alongside a party of similarly aged youths, sharing the contents of a flagon of wine and talking of noble pursuits.

Sir Thomas Percy is at the head of the small table, and he looks up, intrigued, "And who might you be?"

Unperturbed by the startling arrogance of a man who seems to believe that he is duty bound to monitor the activities of all others present in the chamber, the new arrival bows with that same courtesy, "I am Sir Henry Dudley; and to whom do I have the honour of addressing myself?"

The words are courteous; the tone of delivery, less so. Given the rudeness with which the speaker has been addressed, however, it serves to amuse Percy, who snorts with mirth, "Sir Thomas Percy, son of the Earl of Cumberland and first Baron Alnwick."

Dudley bows with deliberate irony, "Sir Henry Dudley, Earl of Warwick."

It is, of course, merely a courtesy title - all sons of the higher Lords are permitted to use the lesser titles for themselves, as Wiltshire had once done when his father held the Earldom. Nonetheless, Percy's expression hardens for a moment; the Dudleys have lordship over the Percys.

The new arrival smiles cheerfully, "Come now, Sir Thomas, do not mind me; I am not the master of my birth." He grasps a stool and sits down, "Truth be told, I should be a happier man to be free to engage in wenching, cards, drinking and warfare. Is that not our right as noblemen?"

"But for the old fools at the council table who are base cowards, that would be so." Percy snorts, "The Queen is guided by a filthy catholic, and a coddle of old greybeards who have created a realm of shopkeepers."

"Ah, our foreign master." Dudley nods, sagely, "I'm told that, when the Queen goes into confinement, he shall take England back to his father as a province of Portugal, and we shall soon be required to forget that we are English."

"That is entirely so!" Percy snaps back, with some heat; though he is not fool enough to speak loudly, "We are in the grasp of a foreigner - and a vile papist, to boot. Were I upon the council, then I would not stand for it; but what to be done when most of those who sit there fawn and grovel to a Portuguese rooster?"

"It is, to be sure, most troublesome; for my own father is amongst them." Dudley admits.

"As is mine." Percy agrees, "God's wounds - once he had the will to speak for England against the misplacement of the crown of England upon the head of a foreign papist; but now he is no better than those with whom he sits. It seems that he has been bought with an Earldom."

An earldom to which he was - essentially - entitled; but no matter.

"And what to be done once he is ruling us?" Dudley asks, sotto voce, "For that time shall come when her Majesty goes into confinement. I have no doubt that he shall never give back what he has gained once it is in his possession."

"Then he must be removed." Percy hisses back, equally quietly, "England shall have an heir, and thus he shall no longer be needed. He, and his vile papist ways, shall be sent to hell where they belong. Once we have removed the old fools who have guided her so poorly, she shall see the truth of things, and thus all shall be well."

Dudley eyes him solemnly, "If that is so, then know that I am with you, willingly and determinedly. England has remained under the heel of the papists for too long, and even now they retain their grip upon us. Remove them, and their venom shall be expunged with them. Her Majesty should be freed from the grasp of her decrepit council, to lead the realm into a golden age of Godly purity."

Percy grasps his arm in a handshake, "You are welcome to our circle. We shall speak more anon."

Rising, Dudley nods, bows his head respectfully, and continues on his way.

The hall is busy with staff setting out the trestles for the afternoon meal, and he wanders his way through the midst of the throng to the screen passage, where his father awaits, "You were right, sir." He says, quietly, "There are plots afoot, though I think them to be naught but wild fancies at this time. His Grace Lord Percy shall be most dismayed to learn that his boy is at the head of it, if his loyalty to the Council now be true."

"Of that, I cannot be sure," Northumberland admits.

"Percy thinks it to be so."

"Then perhaps he is loyal; though that shall bear watching. It is not that long since he saw himself as entitled to more than his due."

"I shall be able to ascertain that anon; though I am concerned that this intended plot shall become known long before it grows to be a threat. Percy is hardly discreet - he accepted me into his conspiracy upon the basis of a single conversation. All I was obliged to do was speak in a manner that inclined to his view, and he shook my hand. Certainly, none rose to follow me as I made my way to the entrance to the hall; they remained at their table, sharing their wine and all but butting heads in their determination to speak quietly. How it is that none have already divined their intent, I cannot imagine. Their behaviour is all but a banner above their heads that reads 'Conspiracy'."

"As long as that remains the case, Henry, then all shall be well. Should one who is more attuned to the need to hide such sentiments join them, then they shall vanish from our scrutiny."

"Is that not why you have asked me to become one of them, Father?" Dudley smiles, "Have no fear; I shall keep careful watch. Forgive me if I am less than courteous over the coming weeks - it would be best for our plans if it appeared to all that we had quarrelled over some foolish matter and I am thus in a state of high dudgeon. Should there be any matter of concern, I shall ensure you are informed."

Northumberland nods, "As we intend for the King to be named Regent tomorrow, I suspect that such matters shall arise precipitately. Be ready, my son - but also be careful. You are the eyes of her Majesty now, and we cannot afford for those eyes to be plucked out."

"Fear not, Father. I shall watch with care - and, if God is with us, I shall be one of the leaders of the conspiracy before the month is out. Then we shall be prepared for whatever is planned." He leans forward slightly, "God save the Queen."

Northumberland smiles, "I shall advise my colleagues. God save the Queen."

It has been some years since Cromwell hosted the Council at his great house of Austin Friars; and indeed this is no meeting of the Council. The men present are the greybeards so despised by the younger Courtiers, but with so much at stake, the need to protect the realm has driven them to gather far from prying eyes at Placentia.

Seated at the head of the table, in his great chair, Cromwell surveys the men who have agreed to join him in this endeavour: Richmond, naturally; Wiltshire, of course; Lincoln, Northumberland, Sadleir, even doddering old Bedford has emerged from retirement to sit at their table - probably for the last time. Of them all, only Lincoln and Northumberland have not been a part of this group from the start.

"I must ask you to forgive me for placing you in this position, Gentlemen." He sighs, "Tomorrow's announcement is likely to draw out some elements at Court who shall be displeased at the discovery that his Majesty shall assume the throne during her Majesty's confinement. Until now, the agreed supremacy of her Majesty over her husband has been accepted - albeit reluctantly - by those who would otherwise consider the marriage to have sold England to Portugal; but we cannot guarantee that this shall continue from tomorrow. While her Majesty's confinement remains some months away, those who are less than content with the prospect of rule by King Philip might seize upon the opportunity to stand against it. My Lord of Northumberland has arranged for a young member of the Court to associate with those who are more overt in their discontent, in hopes of ensuring that plots are quelled, and the peace for which we have worked so hard is not overturned by unwarranted rebellion."

"Is this young man to be trusted?" Bedford asks, his voice a shadow of its once deep rumble.

"He is, my Lord." Northumberland advises, "He is my eldest son; and I would trust him with all that I have, and more. He is loyal to her Majesty, and thus shall report all to us where a threat is identified. Our concern that the louder youths are obscuring a quieter, more determined faction seems unfounded at this time, for all involved are youths. Those who are older have benefited from England's years of peace, and have no wish to see the realm founder upon the shoals of conflict. We have no desire to become like Spain; for all her glory, her coffers are empty, and the great treasure ships that come from Spain's acquisitions of the new world have failed to sate that gaping maw."

"And thus her poorest subjects suffer." Cromwell finishes, quietly. No one is surprised at that comment.

"Can we be sure that these young men shall attempt some form of rebellion?" Wiltshire asks, "It may be naught but youthful blustering. I was once so inclined - until maturity laid a hand upon my shoulder."

"Blustering is one thing, acting upon it is another." Richmond answers, "Though I think it would be foolhardy to act in such fashion as to encourage these youths to attempt some form of rebellion. If they do, however, I suspect that it shall be against us rather than her Majesty. For all their anger, it is not directed at the Queen, for she is young, and thus they consider her to be poorly advised, for they see her jewels and silks, not her skill and intelligence."

"Whereas we, who have guided her from childhood, see the latter in its fullest light." Bedford finishes.

"We must take care not to fall into the same trap, Gentlemen." Cromwell reminds the gathered men, "There are many amongst the younger courtiers who are as loyal as we; and we must not lose sight of it. Those who would conspire against us are the few, not the many. If we paint with too broad a brush, then the innocent shall be harmed along with the guilty. There was a time when such injustice occurred with painful frequency, and I have no wish for us to be no better than those who have gone before. If we do not learn from the errors of our forbears, then we shall be doomed to repeat them."

"Some might see this gathering in such a light, my Lord." Lincoln murmurs.

"Indeed so." Cromwell agrees, "It is my hope that we shall not be obliged to act. Instead, it is our concern that we be prepared for whatever shall come; be it a conspiracy, or be it nothing. With Mr Dudley's help, we may yet avert a plot, or the formation of a faction. His Majesty's retention of the old faith has served to grant her Majesty's catholic subjects a sense that they are not forgotten or of lesser importance than those who are of the new faith. As he promised, he has not pressed her Majesty to set aside her faith, nor has he made any demand to that effect."

"Is that why Mr Cranmer is not with us?" Richmond asks, suddenly. It is no secret that the Archbishop, for all his loyalty, remains wedded to the hope that the old faith shall wither and die away in time. The arrival of a catholic King has certainly upended those hopes for the time being - though he would prefer to travel far further along the path of reform than even Cromwell. Only those whom Richmond referred to in disparaging tones as 'Puritans' desire more.

"It is." Cromwell admits, "While his loyalty is unimpeachable, I fear that his conscience might be troubled by the pact that we must make. If those who cleave to the new faith place the realm at risk, then we must act against them. We should not forget that, when the former Queen of Sweden came against us, expecting England's catholics to rise up to welcome her, they did not. Furthermore, there was no suggestion that they would do so. It is for that reason that no measures have been taken against them; for they have proved their loyalty to the realm. I am well aware of my role in the creation of an England that has abjured the yoke of Rome; but if I must act to quell those who share my faith, then I shall do so. My loyalty is to the Crown of England, and the one who wears it. It has always been so, and shall be until the day I breathe my last. Thus I ask all present to join with me in signing a Bond of Association." He turns to one of his Stewards, who sets a large document before him, "If you do not wish to do so, then you are not obliged to sign, and need fear no repercussions in your refusal. I ask only that you read the document fully, and ensure that your choice is in keeping with your conscience."

We the undersigned hereby swear in the name of God that we shall work to the protection of the Crown of England, and her Majesty the Queen, who wears it. We also swear loyalty and service to his Majesty the King Consort, and abjure all who might conspire, urge, or abet others to visit harm upon those who are the rightful rulers of the Realm.

In doing so, we shall speak to no other of our pact, or of our work towards the ends that are implicit in its existence. Furthermore, where plots are uncovered, we pledge to speak of it only to her Majesty the Queen, his Majesty the King, or her Majesty the Queen Dowager if the former are indisposed.

The text already bears Cromwell's neat signature.

"There is nothing treasonous in this statement." Wiltshire says, reaching for the loaded quill to sign it, "I have no fear in setting my name upon it."

Richmond takes the document next, "I concur." He recharges the quill and sets his name down.

Lincoln reaches for the paper and quill, "Any act that places the realm in danger is treason, and thus I pledge myself to combat such iniquities."

Northumberland reaches for the paper, "I do not need to read it to know that it serves the interests of the realm first and foremost." His pause over the document is only to see where he should set his signature.

Sadleir says nothing, but instead reaches for the paper and quill with clear determination.

Finally Bedford lifts the text to his ageing eyes, "I concur with my Lords Wiltshire, Richmond and Lincoln." Carefully, he sets down a rather shaky signature alongside the others.

"My Lords, I would add a post script, but my eyesight betrays me." Cromwell advises, "I have signed it, but closer text is no longer within my gift."

Richmond immediately reaches for the quill, as his writing is the neatest of those who remain, "Dictate, Thomas. I shall set down your words."

"We sign this document in the hopes that it shall not be necessary for us to act upon it. God save the Queen."

The silence is punctuated by the scratching of the nib as Richmond sets the words down with slow care. Scattering pounce over the ink, he waits a moment, then shakes it free, "There. It is done."

They share a flagon of claret, though not in celebration. It seems that the Court shall never be free of factions - no matter how hard they wish it. Tomorrow, the King shall take an oath that shall govern his actions while he rules as Regent in the Queen's confinement; after which, God alone knows what shall follow.

It has been a long time since Anne has sat in the Privy Garden with just Jane and a dog for company. A small spaniel by the name of Persephone gambols amidst the spring blooms while bees and butterflies move from flower to flower; a gift from her nephew, young William Boleyn, recently returned from Cambridge, and now resident in the Inns of Court, where he looks towards learning more about the making and application of the law.

There was a time, long ago, when she had sat in a similar garden, beneath a pergola as rain began to fall, and wept in misery at the crumbling of her world. She had lost her son, and that loss had robbed her of the King's love; but fate has since granted her a nephew, restored her beloved siblings to her side and given her the joy of seeing her child achieve that for which she had always hoped. Perhaps sometimes what one wishes for is better forgotten - for what one gains in its stead is by far the better outcome.

A robin's song cascades across the garden, and she smiles at the sound of it, "It is most strange, Jane."

"What is strange?"

Today, for the first time, I noticed that Elizabeth's babe is starting to become evident; her stays have been let out to accommodate it. Until now, I knew that she was with child - but it was knowledge, not belief. Before this year is out, I shall be a grandmother."

"I had not thought upon such things." Jane admits, "But, yes, you shall indeed."

"But that means that I am old." Anne complains, a little theatrically, "How can that have happened?"

"I believe it is an inevitable consequence of the passage of time, Anne." Jane smiles back, "Moreover, we are no longer able to conceal our grey locks beneath coifs and hoods. Not if we wish to be fashionable."

"Always fashionable, Jane." Anne laughs, "I shall be fashionable even in my dotage."

The pair rise, and walk back to her apartments, arm in arm, "I think it is time that I change, Jane. His Majesty shall swear his oath as Regent in an hour, and to be fashionable at my age requires considerably more effort than it did when I was first at Court."

"I shall see to it, Anne. Do you still intend to wear your tawny velvet?"

"I do; though I may reconsider the jewels I was intending to wear with it; I think that the garnet rope may be more suitable than the topaz collar."

Still gossiping over jewels and cosmetics, the Dowager and her dearest friend leave the robin to its song.

"I wish that it did not have to be so, my beloved," the Queen sighs as she reviews the words of the oath that her husband shall shortly swear, "For I know, as do my Council, that such promises are unnecessary - for you made them upon your accession."

Philip takes the document, "If it shall serve to keep England at peace while you bring our son into the world, precious wife, then I shall speak the words upon it." Almost unconsciously, he reaches out to set his hand upon her velvet-covered belly, where the first signs of their child are becoming evident in the loosened stomacher, "Besides, you shall not enter confinement for months yet, and thus there is time to assure all of England that the realm shall be safe in my care, and restored to you upon your return to Court."

"I cannot fathom how it is that others do not see it."

"Nor I." He admits, sadly, "Though I continue to strive to show England that I am now an Englishman."

Behind them, Mistress Astley smiles, a little sadly. They are young - and love one another deeply. Of course Elizabeth cannot see that not all view her beloved husband as she does. In time, she shall understand.

"All is done, then." The Queen rises, setting the draft aside, "Let us greet the Court."

"Where I shall tell them that I am their friend. Again." Philip says, smiling at her.

From behind, Mistress Astley watches them as they walk, arm in arm, through the gallery to the watching chamber; empty of courtiers as they are in the hall beyond, awaiting them. As they pause, she hastens forward to straighten hems, adjust headwear and ensure that all is set to perfection. Michael, the King's steward, does likewise, to the amusement of his master, "There, Majesty. Perfection." Her eyes alight with pride, Mistress Astley stands aside as the doors are opened.

Elizabeth smiles, holding her husband's hand tightly as they enter the hall, where the Courtiers stand in throngs to await them. What must take place is too important to be concealed in the Presence Chamber; she is determined that all shall witness this, and be mindful of it.

Her Council are already in place, though again only Lord Cromwell is seated, in deference to his age, and trumpets rasp loudly from the gallery over the screens passage to announce the couple's arrival.

Cranmer stands nearby, though the great bible upon which Philip shall swear his oath is held by two young men of the Chapel Royal, as he equally lacks the strength these days to hold heavy books. His expression is not discontented, in spite of his lack of inclusion in the Bond of Association to which the most senior councillors have sworn - after all, it is impossible to be disappointed if one knows nothing of it. For all his ignorance of that choice, he seems pleased that his Queen, and the King who remains a papist, are to present the Kingdom with an heir. Better that than the danger of being a province of France, courtesy of the house of Valois. Perhaps Philip shall see the light in time.

"My lords," she begins, addressing her Councillors, "I thank you all for your efforts to bring about the arrangements for the rule of the realm while I am in confinement prior to the birth of England's first heir. It is my truest hope that I shall do my duty to England and bear the prince that shall continue the line of my Father's great House."

Even she does not mention the dread word 'princess'.

"Thus I call forth my lord, Philip of Wessex, to be appointed Regent from the time of my confinement until the completion of my Churching and return to the Court. For this time, he shall rule England in my stead, and I expect all of England to look to him as they look to me; as their anointed Prince."

There is no mistaking the steel in her tone as she makes her wishes known. Whether that shall be adhered to remains to be seen, but those who do not obey are likely to regret it once she is returned to Court. Only a fool makes fun of her temper.

The law that shall confirm Philip as Regent has already been made known to the populace: He shall have full authority to rule England, save for the declaration of war upon another realm, and the making of treaties. As no treaty is generally complete for signing in so short a time as a Queen's confinement, it is hardly unexpected. Defence of the realm, however, is within his authority, should one of their neighbours take advantage of the Queen's indisposition. As far as can be ascertained, none in the shires have objected to it.

Smiling at his wife as he joins her, Philip waits as the great bible of the Chapel is set before him, and the Archbishop limps on gouty feet to stand at his side, "If your Majesty would please take the oath."

He bows to Cranmer, "Willingly." Turning to another youth, who holds a neatly scribed document with the oath upon it, he straightens, sets his right hand upon the scripture, and reads aloud, "I, Philip, Duke of Wessex, King Consort of England, Ireland and France, do solemnly swear and declare to all here present that I shall assume the rights, privileges and responsibilities set upon me as Regent of England from the ending of the Queen's confinement Mass to the ending of her Churching.

"I also swear that, in that time, I shall rightly and truly govern England, advised by her Majesty's council. Equally, I shall not seek to make war upon any realm, nor to treat with any realm not already allied to England, or to bring about division and discord through the imposition of religious policy outside the Settlement of England. Furthermore, I swear that I shall defend the realm against any who might seek to make war upon us, and grant the Kingdom of England back to the hands of her anointed Prince upon her return to the Court. So help me God."

"God save the Queen!" one of the Guard captains shouts, startling everyone, but everyone settles again quickly, breaking into applause.

There: it is done. Seating herself upon her throne, her husband at her side, Elizabeth takes his hand again and watches as the Courtiers break up and begin to mingle. When she enters confinement, her husband shall rule England, and she shall be free to bear his son in peace.