A/N: And it's Friday again - and I'm on my holidays! Fortunately the holiday cottage has wifi, so here's this week's chapter...

As always, thanks for your comments. To answer a couple of queries: I admit I haven't included the Poles in this story - as I have something of a cast of thousands, it's a bit difficult to keep tabs on everyone! That said, the religious settlement in England has rather stymied a Catholic push to implement a counter-reformation, as they have no means to claim that Catholics are under attack. With no pressure from Reginald, there's no damage being done to the family, and they've largely withdrawn into the shadows of history for this AU. Which is my rather lame excuse for admitting that I'd forgotten all about them...

I haven't added Francis Walsingham to this story (or William Cecil, for that matter - sorry William!); but Walsingham didn't enter Elizabeth's service until 1573, so at this point he isn't actually involved with the Government at all.

Just to be a total, annoying showoff, a portion of this chapter was written in the Private Members' Room at Hampton Court.

So...with a bunch of rather loose cannons lurking around the Court, what next? Read on to find out...

CHAPTER SIXTY

Adventures in Spanish Gold

The chamber is largely silent, punctuated only by the sound of relaxed breathing as two old men drowse in comfortable chairs alongside the sun-bright window. Soothed to sleep by the warmth, and the aftermath of a good dinner, their conversation defeated by the soporific combination of sun and digestion.

To be fair, the morning has been a busy one: laws to be drafted, accounts to be made and a a seemingly infinite number of minutiae that seem to emerge without warning from all manner of quarters. The days when they could work from dawn to dusk, and seem not to notice the passing hours are a departed relic of youth; but even so - naps apart - they do the same even nowadays, albeit with the hindrances of gout and arthritis.

A small ornamental clock upon the mantel chimes the hour of three, and the younger stirs at its light tinkling music. Blinking against the brightness of the sunlight, he looks across to his still slumbering colleague, and reaches across to tap his arm, "Thomas; the hour is late - we should return to our work."

A sharp intake of breath, and Cromwell opens his eyes to see Richmond, "Forgive me, Richard; I seem to be unable to maintain a conversation for more than five minutes without the claims of sleep upon me."

"I am hardly a worthy influence, Thomas; if I cannot entertain you sufficiently to keep you awake."

Cromwell sighs, "Alas, even the most engaging of topics seems unable to withstand the call of my age to restfulness. I presume it to be in preparation for the time when my rest shall be eternal."

His eyes might be rheumy and watery these days, but he is still sharp enough to catch that flash of consternation in his friend's expression. Once, perhaps, it might have been concern at the loss of a skilled political mind at the Council table; but now it is more: a sense of fear at the loss of a good friend and ally. Richmond is the younger of the two by ten years, and has assumed - as is the manner of all in such a position - that he shall remain behind when his greatest friend is called to God, "Come now, Richard; aged I may be, but the spark of life resides within me still - and I mean to put it to use."

Shifting slightly, Cromwell reaches across to the papers that he had been considering before dozing off, "It appears that Spain has found more sources of gold from their lands across the western ocean. I imagine that his Majesty of Spain shall be relieved to know it; for his realm's finances remain precarious even now. The matter of the Turk remains unresolved, in spite of the treaties he maintains with the realms of the Empire; and still he continues his endless squabblings with Henry of France over the duchies of northern Italy - just as their fathers did."

"Some things never change." Richmond smiles, "Perhaps, in time, they shall look to us as an example of a realm that can manage its finances. We have not, at any time, gone to war with any other nation since her Majesty was crowned; and thus we have prospered. For those who feared the rule of England by a woman, it is perhaps a demonstration that we might have benefited for such rule had we sought such a thing in earlier times."

Cromwell snorts with amusement, "Nay, Richard; it is the times in which we live that prompts us to be so fortunate, I think. In times past, the Queens were as bellicose as the Kings; they did not call Isabella the She-Wolf of France without reason - as the second Edward found to his cost."

"Then I am grateful for these better times." Richmond smiles, "I fear I should not be an earl otherwise." He indicates the paper, "Does your report advise upon the degree of wealth that the ships are expected to carry?"

"Only in the most simple of terms." Cromwell admits, "Though I am given to understand that the degree of wealth is considerable. It appears that the sources of precious metals are all-but limitless."

"It is bullion?"

"So I am told; those who have seen the ships when they arrive claim that the cargoes are formed gold, not ore. There are wild tales of entire cities of gold. It is, then, no wonder that Spain guards her acquisitions so jealously."

"And even that is insufficient to meet the Kingdom's obligations?"

"Such is the financial burden of conflict, Richard."

"What measures do they take to protect these cargoes?"

"The vessels are heavily armed, according to my sources; to assault them would be foolish in the extreme. They are larger than most ships. Why? Do you think yourself capable of leading an assault against one?"

Richmond laughs, "I? It would be all but impossible for me to do so. I should be of little use as a strategist while emptying my stomach over the rail; set me upon a boat beyond the bounds of a dock wall, and I am helpless. Besides, only a fool would attempt to anger Spain when we are at peace. For all his poverty, Philip would not take kindly to robbery of that which he considers to be his."

"That the bullion is in the form of pure gold objects suggests to me that others would have considered it to be theirs first." Cromwell observes, blandly.

"Is that not ever so?" Richmond sighs, "All things pass from hand to hand; as a proportion of the religious houses passed from the monks to become my estates."

'Yours and mine, Richard." Cromwell smiles, "I can but hope that God shall look upon our acquisitions more kindly than posterity might."

"Do you think that others might be tempted?" Richmond is more concerned now, "Surely no Englishman would be mad enough to put our friendship with Spain at risk over a boatful of stolen property? Were we to push Philip hard enough, he would most assuredly turn his attentions to us - and without concerns at opening yet more hostilities additional to those already in hand."

"That is my fear, Richard." Cromwell admits, "There are men at Court who have both the desire for combat, and the funds to pay for a ship and crew to indulge their interest. Such accumulations of wealth would easily recoup the cost of the investment - and more."

"Floating heaps of money." Richmond observes, "Perhaps we should advise her Majesty. She would view such activities in as dim a light as we do - and could observe to the Court that activities of such nature are not welcome either in the view of fellow princes, or in private."

Cromwell looks uncomfortable; her power as Queen is as great as her father's as King; but pronouncements in the presence chamber are one thing - extending those requirements beyond the doors of the palace are quite another. Ignoring the will of a King is hardly difficult to accomplish, after all; how much easier to ignore the will of a Queen?

And, somehow, he must find a way to prevent it.

The rumbling baggage carts are sending clouds of dusty, dry earth skywards as the oxen plod their slow way along tracks eastward towards the great house of Knole, where Elizabeth and her closest circle shall spend the summer. Granted to her late father after the death of Archbishop Warham, it has remained Crown property ever since, but for a short time when Archbishop Cranmer used it as a country residence.

Tired of the back and forth movement between the same sequence of palaces, Elizabeth and Philip are keen to escape to the countryside of Kent, and to enjoy a period of time surrounded by fewer people. For all its size, Knole lacks the capacity to house the swarms of courtiers that seem to all-but infest the palaces, and giving those who are not as necessary as they believe themselves to be the opportunity to depart to their country estates as summer approaches is far easier than telling them that they are not welcome.

The Queen and her reduced Court shall follow in a few days' time, in order to allow the dust to settle, and to grant the chamberers time to prepare the grand house for her royal occupant. In the interim, however, a cohort of young courtiers have been dispatched along with the household staff to ensure that nothing is lost, broken or 'misplaced' en route. So far, however, they have done little other than impede the work of the carters, gamble amongst themselves and drink rather more than they should at wayside inns.

Chief amongst the group are Thomas Percy of Alnwick and his new fast-friend Henry Warwick. That the newcomer has a highly placed councillor for a father is of no importance, as Percy has likewise; besides there is great pleasure to be had in claiming the friendship of an Earl when one is eager to impress others.

While most of the group have an inheritance awaiting them, they are - at best - spendthrifts; at worse, profligate to the point of foolishness. Arrayed in velvets, silks and taffetas, pearls adorning their bonnets and jewels upon the hilts of their poniards, most of them are indebted to at least two creditors; and the accumulation of money is never far from their minds. Honest activities to accumulate it, on the other hand, could not be further.

"How much do you think one of those Spanish galleons could be carrying?" one of them, a foppishly dressed youth of a cadet branch of the Carew family asks, "God's blood, to be that laden with wealth. We should be the greatest of men in England."

"For all your dreams, Jasper," Percy snorts, "You are wasting them - for the old fools of the Council intend to bring about laws to prevent captains from private enterprises to obtain such wealth. That it goes instead into that gaping maw of Spain's coffers is an affront - but they fear that bankrupted realm more than they fear the Devil himself."

"And yet, I know of a captain in Portsmouth who claims not only to have the capability to waylay a treasure ship of Spain, but to already have done so." Carew continues, smirking at the incredulous faces around him, "The gold he obtained was of such value that not one of his men put to sea again, for they had no need to."

Now the faces are wide-eyed. To hold such wealth…

"Why does England not act?" Someone else asks, "How can we not be affronted at the removal of gold to a realm that is corrupt and bloated with papistry?"

Warwick rolls his eyes; of course: someone had to bring religion into it eventually. Not that he permits anyone to see him do it.

"That gold is funnelled into the corrupted hands of the Inquisition, and used to persecute true Christians." Percy snaps, "I came across too many who had been obliged to flee, and gathered amongst us in Cambridge to warn of the cruelties of the Cardinals who directed their torturers."

Again, Warwick rolls his eyes: how much of those lurid tales are truth, and how much exaggerated in the telling? That the inquisition is powerful in Spain cannot be denied, nor its grip upon the populace; but rumour does nothing but fuel further rumour, and where shall that lead England? But then, the time that he has spent amongst this group of young men has shown him that they are less intent upon service to God than service to the beliefs that they have fostered amongst themselves.

"If we are to do that, then first we must eradicate papistry in England." Percy continues, "That her Majesty has been induced to tolerate it - to the point that she has married a papist - is proof that those who lead her Council are decrepit old men who are no longer fit to advise her. Thus they must be removed first - and that is our goal."

"That would require resources that are not available to us." Warwick reminds his fellows, "You wish to remove Earls and Dukes, to replace them with knights and gentlemen. While his late Majesty, and his father before him, were certainly willing to accept the presence of low-born men upon their councils, the priority has always been in the hands of the highest nobles."

"And what of Norfolk?" Carew counters, "He was a great Lord, but the low-born of the council destroyed him. Now they are the great Lords, and thus they have become what they destroyed."

"And they have both wealth and property." Warwick continues, "What is a man without Land? Who amongst us has any accumulated sufficient property to be taken seriously amongst the highest of England? Without land, one is nothing. Without wealth, one cannot gain land."

"And thus I remind you of that Captain of my acquaintance." Carew finishes, smugly, "With his aid, we can gain wealth, and then land. With land, we shall have the power to challenge that papist who shares our Queen's throne. All that is needed is for me to advise him to put to sea, and that I shall do once we are settled at Knole, and all are too engaged in unpacking to notice a messenger's departure."

"I stand corrected." Warwick concedes with a smile, though his thoughts are not so accommodating. To his mind, if they are indeed to send a ship's captain to commence privateering with neither a letter of marque nor a state of war to underpin their activities, then he has no wish to be a part of it.

Not, at least, without the sanction of the first Lords of the Court.

Another inn is coming into view ahead along the road, and already the carters are pulling up to use it, as the midday meal is upon them. Abandoning their talk of conspiracy, the young men turn their attention to the quality of hunting to be expected at Knole park, leaving the men of lesser station unaware of their discussions.

Dismounting behind them, Warwick is already marshalling his thoughts. As soon as the Council arrive, he shall take his father aside to warn him. Better that they step in to stop this madness before it starts, than be obliged to smooth over diplomatic difficulties once all is done.

Anne looks up from her embroidery with a tired sigh and shifts her shoulders slightly to settle them. How long has she been engaged in needlework now? Two hours at least. God's wounds, now more than ever she longs for the time when she was endlessly engaged in work and worry over the future of England; for now she is little more than endlessly bored.

For all its bucolic loveliness, Kent is a most miserable place in the rain, and they have been trapped within the bounds of Knole house now for more than three days. Careful games of bowls in the long gallery are all very well, but with so many windows, and items that can be damaged by a poorly rolled ball, most have long since abandoned the idea and are looking elsewhere for entertainment.

Lady Wiltshire is smiling at her from her own embroidery frame; she, too, is chafing at the lack of work for her brain. Pleasant and restful it may be, but nonetheless embroidery has its limitations in terms of engaging one's mind and intellect, and enough is, quite definitely, enough.

Rising from her seat, she crosses to the rain-spotted windows and looks out at the misty dampness. Somewhere out there are deer and all manner of game birds that could be sought out and chased to ground; but the rain has ensured no scent for the hounds to find, and few are prepared to risk sickness or chill by riding out in the wet for long periods of time. The most they shall accept is that which is necessary - nothing more.

"Perhaps a game of chess?" Jane offers, "Or, I could call Susan and Margery if you wish to play cards."

"I should rather a dry spell, Jane." Anne says, a little waspishly, "I am hard put not to desire to stab the next steward that I see with my needles."

"Majesty, the Lord Chancellor is without and desires an audience."

Jane struggles to conceal a slight chuckle as Anne deliberately sets her needle down. At least the inoffensive youth has brought good news, "Thank you David. Please show him in."

She shudders inwardly at the twin thuds of Cromwell's sticks as he limps slowly into her presence, and bows with an aged awkwardness that she wishes were not there, then forces herself to smile and rise to lead him to a nearby chair, "I am right glad to see you my lord Cromwell. This weather has proved most tiresome to me; I can only imagine that it has proved worse for you in your painful joints."

"Alas, it is to be borne gracefully, Majesty." Cromwell smiles at her, easing himself into chair with flinches of pain as each of his infirmities strikes him, "While her Majesty the Queen should be made aware of the matter that I bring to you, I thought it best that you hear it first."

"I am most privileged my Lord."

He sighs, "I think, once you have heard my report, you shall think otherwise."

In spite of herself, she stiffens as she once did at the mere whisper of the dread word 'Mary'. What has happened now?

"It is not war, Majesty," he assures her, "We are, at this time spared that dread circumstance; but instead it is a domestic matter. His Grace of Warwick has advised my Lord Northumberland that the younger Percy has taken it upon himself to ignore her Majesty's sanction against sending ships to harass the Spanish treasure galleons. While they are not, as yet, in any position to send a captain to sea, they are most intent upon doing so, and are looking to find monies to pay for the crewing of the ship, secure in the belief that the rewards shall vastly outweigh their initial outlay."

"So it is greed, then."

Cromwell shakes his head slightly, "I think it to be more than that. While the young man initially cleaved to the old faith, his time at university has made him singularly fervent towards the new. His intent is to earn sufficient to purchase land. With property behind him, he shall be more powerful, and in a position to challenge the status quo in England. It seems that he despises his Majesty for both his foreign and catholic blood, and would prefer to remove him in hopes of securing an English King to sire heirs for the realm. He has not, at this time, suggested himself for such a privilege, and I think it likely that he is too stung by the humiliation of the evening upon which her Majesty declined his request to dance to believe himself likely to succeed in such an aim."

"Or perhaps he is unable to forgive her for the insult."

"That, too." Cromwell admits.

"There is something else, Thomas Cromwell." She adds, "I know that look upon your face. What has happened?"

He shuffles slightly, "I have heard rumours of a new play that has emerged amongst the players of one or two of the more reformist families in England, Majesty. It is - I am given to understand - based upon the story of the Second Edward, and is entitled Edward of Carnarvon."

"Why is that a matter for concern?"

"It has been…" he pauses, searching for an appropriate way to frame his statement, "…amended somewhat, in that certain historical folk within the play have become other than what we are told by history that they were. Edward is no longer a bad King who was ruled by favourites, but is instead a good king attempting to rule in spite of such folk; while his wife has instead become his mother, and has been cast in a most unfavourable light, alongside her lover Mortimer. Between them they are depicted as aiming and intending to seize the throne from the rightful King."

"I take it that the She-wolf of France is now intended to be me." Anne adds.

Cromwell nods.

"Need I ask who is intended by Mortimer?"

Cromwell shakes his head.

"And has this - confection - been performed in any house but those for whom it was penned?"

"At this time, no." Cromwell admits, "Those who commissioned it are too fearful to risk others who do not share their views seeing it and reporting it as seditious; though I am advised that it could be considered as such."

"I presume that you shall inform her Majesty in due course?"

"I shall, Majesty; though the action that shall be taken against it shall be determined by the Queen. On the matter of Baron Alnwick, however, I think her Majesty might be wise to reiterate her disapproval of any plan to harry or waylay the ships of Spain. For all his poverty, Philip might well decide it is worth the expense of a third front if he is sufficiently provoked."

"It is best not to refer to any individual in particular, I think." Anne muses, "If Percy is as keen upon the plan as he appears, it would be most foolish of us to give him reason to turn upon those who are with him - the Court does not need violence within it."

"That shall be the decision of her Majesty." Cromwell reminds her, gently.

"Ah yes." She sighs, "Forgive me. I thought myself back in those days when the decisions were mine. I have been immured in needlework for too long; my mind hungers for stimulation."

The Steward returns, "My pardon, your Majesty, my Lord; I have a missive from his grace of Northumberland."

The pair exchange a glance, and Anne reaches for the note, and reads it, "God's wounds - we are too late."

Cromwell stares at her, shocked at his failure to be prepared for whatever has occurred, "In what way, Majesty?"

Without a word, Anne hands over the note.

My lord of Essex, it grieves me to advise that, regardless of attempts upon his part to dissuade them, the youths with whom my son is associated have taken it upon themselves to send a ship to sea. In the weeks since we arrived at Knole, said ship has encountered and robbed a great vessel of Spain, capturing gold and other precious items. I know of this only from Mr Percy's unseemly crowing to his fellows over the matter - and thought it best to advise you at once, in order to take this matter to the Queen urgently.

J Dudley

Anne curses, furiously, "Now we are truly in a mire, my Lord! Even were we to claim that we knew not that this had occurred, for we have issued no letter of marque, nor have we declared hostilities, can we be assured that Philip shall not see it as such?"

Cromwell shakes his head, "I shall meet with Northumberland at once, Majesty. We shall discuss the matter with the Queen and make arrangements to confiscate the vessel upon its return to port. If the sailors have not pilfered too much, it may be possible to restore that which has been taken. If not, then we shall be obliged to make monetary reparations for the insult to the King of Spain."

Anne sighs. God above, she had mourned the lack of incident to tax her brain; but now she has exactly that.

"I think we should be most careful what we wish for, Mr Cromwell." She says, tiredly, "For we have received it - and in far greater degree than I should have wished."

Despite the vast improvement in the weather, Anne's mood remains dark as she walks in the garden with Lord Lincoln - again - with Jane - again - in tow as a chaperone.

"Forgive me for saying so, Majesty," Lincoln reminds her, "It is not your responsibility to speak for the Queen - she is well advised and shall deal with the King of Spain wisely and intelligently. Of that I am sure."

She looks up sharply, clearly preparing to snap at him, but then sighs. He is right, of course. Apologising to the King of Spain is her daughter's role now - and she must remain silent.

"It is ever the desire of a mother to protect her child from the vagaries of life, Majesty." Lincoln reminds her, "And a burden that one is hard put to set aside, I think."

"Alas, you are right, my lord." She agrees, "I am most intent upon protecting my daughter, in spite of her status as Queen. There was a time when she would not have been required to worry herself over such business; but now she is obliged to do from the moment she wakes to the moment she sleeps - and I have no doubt her dreams are as thick with concerns as mine once were."

"She also has her husband to stand beside her." Lincoln adds, "He is as intelligent as she - and equally well versed in the requirements of diplomacy. Between them, they shall find a way."

Anne is struck by his comment; so unused is she to a husband allowing his wife an equal say in matters of substance that she is reminded of the days when she had been the wife of a King. It had been her desire to rule alongside him - an Isabella to his Ferdinand - but he had not wished for that in any manner at all, and had denied her at every opportunity; even to the point of threatened chastisement. God, he had guarded his privileges jealously, and Lord help any whom he believed had usurped them.

What, then, had she been to him? She had believed herself to be a Queen and great Lady of the Court - of greater standing even than her predecessor, for the King had chosen her ahead of that poor, barren woman. But it had not been so; and she has long known it. For all their supposed love for one another, it is only now that she sees the happiness of her daughter and her husband that she realises her true value to Henry. She had been a prize - a hind hunted and won - and all he desired from her was sons. Perhaps, in the heat of that ardour, she had promised him such babes - she can no longer remember - or perhaps he had persuaded himself that she would bear them. Her intelligence, wit and skill had been of little account once she had failed in that aim to bring him sons, for his ardour had cooled, and thus she saw the truth of her power. Or lack of it.

It had been most peculiar to have men accept her words as a Queen once she was Regent, and the respect that her Inner Circle had granted her dwarfed that of her late husband. They had heads to keep on their shoulders, of course; but nonetheless they had respected her to a degree that she had thought impossible - and now they do likewise to her daughter.

Had it been a sham, then? An illusion driven by ardour and the desire for a male heir for England? Perhaps he had loved her once - though in comparison to Lincoln's clear regard for her, it seems all the more certain to have been nothing more than an infatuation of truly royal proportions. Indeed, her sense of peace and happiness in Lincoln's company suggests equally to her that her own feelings for Henry were more resignation to a marriage that had been set upon her, rather than a union that she was delighted to enter.

Pshaw! Henry is dead - what use is there in speculating over whether or not the years that they shared were built upon a foundation of love? Elizabeth has occupied her heart wholeheartedly and utterly, and that is - to her mind - the pinnacle of her achievements upon this Earth. If God shall welcome her to heaven for any great deed, it shall be that, for she has borne a good child who has grown into a fine young woman - and one that shall lead England into a golden age.

They are now some distance into the Privy Garden, shielded from the windows of the House by high hedges. Secure that none shall see them other than a discreet chaperone, she takes Lincoln's arm, and the two make their slow way through the gardens in silence.

She has found a man with whom she can find peace; and, in this life, what better gift can a woman receive?

Marriage, of course, shall be a difficulty - but if she cannot be Lord Lincoln's wife, then she shall be a most happy companion.

Most Happy.

God above, her personal motto. She had thought herself happy then - and, mostly, she had been. Perhaps it should have been Happy under the Circumstances, for she is happier now than she has ever remembered.

Smiling, she tightens her grip on Lincoln's arm, and basks in his reciprocal smile as they wander amongst the flowers.

Elizabeth's imperious temper has not been unleashed to such a degree for a considerable number of years; but there is no denying the tempest that has blown up at the Council Table.

"How dare my will be so ignored!" She shouts, enraged, "I have made it amply clear that none shall interfere with Spain's treasure fleets - I have issued no letters of marque! Nor have we declared war! And yet, here I have before me a letter of great anger from the King of Spain's Ambassador demanding to know why it is that English ships have taken to harassing his! It shall not do, my lords! It shall not do!"

Cumberland is sitting shamefaced and embarrassed, for all know that the ship was sent by a cohort of young men led by his son, who banded together to finance it and hoped to gain enormous wealth from the enterprise, "Majesty, I implore you to believe me - I did not sanction this act by my son; indeed, I knew nothing of it until this morning when the news was made known to the Council."

"The ship shall be intercepted, Majesty." Cromwell advises, "All that is upon it shall be confiscated and returned to Spain. His Grace of Northumberland shall travel south with the commissioners to oversee the procedure, and all shall be restored to Spain. We do not need stolen gold, and it serves us ill to keep that which is not ours."

"We shall require more than that." Richmond sighs, looking over the letter, "It is clear that compensation for damage to the ship is also demanded; thus we shall have to offer monies additional to the recovered gold - and for any that the sailors are able to secrete amongst their persons and smuggle off the ship."

Wiltshire nods, sadly, "Even were we to find all of the gold, and the damage to the ship that was robbed was insignificant, the gesture alone shall require additional outlay. The young Mr Percy has truly embarrassed us." He turns to look at Cumberland, clearly including him in the circle of embarrassed councillors, "All of us."

Philip turns to his wife, "I think it would not be wise to banish the young men from Court at this time - for fear that it would give them cause to plot more openly. It is clear that they look upon me with dislike, for I am both foreign and of the old faith. Thus I suggest we set an example to them of how men of good blood behave."

Elizabeth nods, calming somewhat, "I agree. They shall be required to make their own contributions to the reparations for the damage to the Spanish ship, but they shall remain at Court and - I hope - appreciate that such behaviour is not acceptable to me as their Queen. I look to the advice of my most senior Councillors, for it is wise and borne of experience. It is, I think, best that younger Courtiers learn from their example, and appreciate that it is that very experience that has kept England safe during my minority, and continues to do so now that I am of age."

Wiltshire smiles at her, "That, then, is what we shall do." He looks across at Cromwell, who seems almost to be drowsing; but then his eyes flick up to catch Wiltshire's, and he catches a sense of mild concern in the Lord Chancellor's expression. There is little that they can do to censure those foolish young men that shall not make matters worse in the form of resentment; but at least a sense that the Queen is willing to accept their behaviour as a mistake, and look beyond, might persuade them to be more circumspect.

Or perhaps not; only time will tell.

Cromwell remains at the table after the others have departed, Richmond at his side as always, and Wiltshire nearby. Aged it may be, but that political triumvirate that has accompanied Elizabeth's journey from child to queen remains bonded and strong.

"You think she has erred, Thomas?" Richmond asks.

"Nay; I think she has been set in a position that is all but impossible to resolve to the satisfaction of all, and she has taken the smoothest path to resolve it. The younger Percy's pride is remarkable in its size - as is his loathing of all that is catholic and foreign. I had not thought that his time away from Court would foster such savage sentiments - for he was a kinder youth before he departed. Perhaps it is we who have erred; for we induced her Majesty to persuade him to enter the University."

"We were not to know." Wiltshire sighs, "In our hope to mould him into a fine Courtier, we have instead created a steed who has been given his head, and cannot now be reined in."

"There is always hope that he shall learn from this reverse - and appreciate that it is ever better to be pragmatic." Cromwell assesses, quietly; and thus I shall pray that he be shown a wiser course."

"And, in the meantime," Richmond adds, with a rueful smile, "I shall set to work upon sourcing whatever additional monies are required to supplement the gold that the Duke is able to wrest from the thieving hands of those sailors in order to keep Spain from our shores." He shakes his head, crossly, "Secure we may be - but that shall not remain the case if our young bloods take it upon themselves to antagonise our neighbours."

"They shall learn." Wiltshire says, firmly, "For if we must teach them as a schoolmaster teaches a recalcitrant scholar in the grammar school, we shall."

The chess game has been conducted in an uncharacteristic silence, and Cromwell looks up from his pieces to see that his opponent's expression is oddly pensive, "What is it, Majesty? Does the weather oppress you?" The hot, humid conditions that have replaced the infuriatingly damp weather seem a rather unwanted exchange.

Anne remains silent a while longer, then looks up at him, "I have trusted you for the entirety of my regency, and you have proved ever to be worthy of that trust; truthful and discreet. I think that I must look to those early days when I sought your advice to do so again."

"Majesty?"

"I have always acted in such fashion that shall not impact upon my daughter; and even now I govern my life upon those terms. I think, however, that I cannot continue to do so; and thus I am placed in a dilemma."

"Ah." Cromwell nods, his old eyes twinkling with mild humour; he has guessed her problem, "Her Majesty made that appointment for the primary purpose of permitting you to keep company without excessive comment."

"Perhaps - but that is no longer sufficient." Anne admits, "I once told myself that, for the sake of my daughter, I could never love again; but it seems that that is a commitment to which I can no longer adhere."

He sits back, and regards her. The days when her hair was confined beneath a hood are gone, and she has accepted that her once arrestingly dark tresses are forever dulled to grey; artfully braided and encased in a fine net of gold threads and pearls, but she retains those smoky dark eyes, and remains a worthy woman to marry a man who has been wedded before, and widowed.

"And that is the hardest thing, is it not?" He comments, "He is a good man, and would make you an excellent husband; but you were once the wife of a King, and resented for it."

"The comments of the Court - and even the Realm - would be cruel to him, Mr Cromwell." She murmurs, "I could not do that to him - and yet, I cannot bear to imagine that I can never spend time with him other than as my Secretary."

"Your heart is in his keeping?"

She nods, "I granted it to Henry Percy when I was a maid, but Henry demanded it from me instead. Thus I granted it - only for him to snatch it and fling it aside when I did not bear him the son he required of me: for that was all that he desired once I had submitted to him. I had thought that I could be an Isabella to his Ferdinand, but I was alone in that thought - for his first wife had not been granted such a privilege, so why should I be? It is only now, with my Lord of Lincoln, that I realise what it is to be loved for who I am, rather than what was expected of me."

"He did love you, Majesty." Cromwell reminds her, "In those early days, you were his sun and stars - the centre of his thoughts - and he would have done all that you desired."

"Until I failed to give him a son." She adds, "I compounded his sense of failure in his first duty to the realm, and made him a laughingstock of the princes of Europe - for they laughed amongst themselves at his punishment for repudiating his rightful Queen in place of a low-born whore."

"Then they were fools - for the daughter you bore has proved that a woman can rule, and rule well, as a true queen regnant."

Suddenly her eyes are full of tears, "I want to be his wife - but I cannot be."

He watches her, saddened at her pain, "Perhaps, when her Majesty has borne her child, and the realm celebrates her joy, it shall be easier, Majesty. It might be that you can renounce your claim to a Crown and revert to your Marquessate. If that is so, then perhaps a marriage shall be possible."

She looks up at him with hope, "Do you think so? I should willingly give up any pretence of a crown in order to retire from this place and live in peace with a good husband. My time at Court is done, for Elizabeth is a woman grown, and no longer needs me to stand in her stead. I should delight in being no more than her mother."

"For she shall always need a mother." Cromwell smiles at her. After all that she has done for England, it would be a cruel thing to deny her that last opportunity to know happiness again. If it can be done, he shall do it. No - not if. He shall do it - even if it is the last service he grants her, he shall win her her husband.

She smiles again, reaching out to rest her hand upon his arm, "And again you have given me the best advice. Thank you, Mr Cromwell; were it possible for me to raise you even higher than you stand now, I would do so."

"And then my head would expand to such proportions that it should break my neck." He smiles back, "Let us wait until Elizabeth's first babe is born. All shall change then, and I think you shall be more free than you are now."

Anne nods, "Then let us wait."

Her eyes hopeful, she resumes her perusal of the chessboard, and their silent conflict continues. All rests upon the birth of her daughter's child - perhaps rather more than she would like; but her confinement is approaching, and soon that babe shall be born.