A/N: Back to work this week...fortunately, Friday is here and it's time for another chapter!

Thanks all for your comments, as always; your support is greatly appreciated.

With sedition and mutterings in the realm, things are not in the best of states for the closing stages of Elizabeth's pregnancy. In order to deal with whatever might come when she goes into confinement, Anne must step back into the spotlight once again...

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Confinement

Anne sits in the shade of an arbour and inhales the fragrance of the midsummer roses. It shall be here, at Placentia where Elizabeth's child shall be born; as she herself was. Much as she hopes that the babe shall be a son, Anne is not fool enough to assume as much. She had made that mistake when Elizabeth resided under her heart; and, while the disappointment had been tempered by the overwhelming love that had flooded her at the moment she had laid eyes upon her daughter, it changed Henry's heart entirely. Oh, he had claimed that sons would follow, as Elizabeth had been born healthy; but she could sense it. He had convinced himself that their first child would be the male heir he had demanded, only to find himself with another daughter. No amount of adoration could stand in the face of her worthlessness upon the marriage market - for no Prince would consider her as a prospective wife for their sons. Not with another daughter whom they considered to be the true child of the King.

Once more, she thinks upon that irony; Mary - assuming she still lives at all - is immured in a Spanish convent, while that second daughter is a Queen, married to a Prince and about to bear a child for her Realm. In that moment, her work shall be complete.

A pair of spaniels gambol upon the lawns of the Privy Garden, and she watches them fondly as Jane Wiltshire throws balls for them as she once did for previous pets. Once again, she thinks upon those days when her world was filled with work as she governed England for Elizabeth. That work is no longer her responsibility; and her days are as empty now as they were when Henry lived, and her existence seemed to revolve around pleasure. God's wounds, how superficial it seems to her now. What is embroidery, music and gossip in the face of a Realm in danger or a great problem of state to be solved?

Suddenly her heart is chilled with dread. When Elizabeth is a mother herself, her first duty to the Realm safely navigated, what shall there be for her? The Queen is a wife, and shall have a family to occupy her alongside the obligations of rule, but what of the Dowager? After those years of dread, desperate decisions and sometimes dubious triumphs, to be forced to return to a life of aimless occupation is all-but suffocating.

I am surplus to requirements. There shall be no place for me now.

"Anne?" Suddenly Jane is beside her, as though she has sensed her sister-in-law's pain, "What is it?"

"All that I once had is becoming lost to me, Jane." She whispers, painfully, "My daughter has no need for me, my dearest friends are ageing and dying around me; and I must accept it as my lot, for I am a mere woman. Moreover, I am a widow, and thus have no husband to whom I can devote myself, no house to run and naught to occupy me but needlework, scriptures and…and trivialities!" her voice rises with her temper, and she looks down to find that her hands are now clenched into white-knuckled fists, "I cannot bear it, Jane! I cannot! My mind was freed from a cage of subservience, and now it must be confined once more! What shall I do when those who stood with me at the beginning of Elizabeth's reign are gone? They remember what we did, what we endured, what we won and what we lost! I am nothing - and no one! Once, I was Anne! I was Henry's beloved!" and then she is sobbing.

Soothing her, Jane looks up to see that Lincoln has arrived, a portfolio under his arm, and is staring at them in dismay, "Majesty, what ails you?"

Hiccupping, Anne is unable to answer at first, but the pair have worked together long enough for him to guess the cause of her distress, "Forgive my interruption, but my Lord Cromwell has sent me to ask for your aid. With her Majesty due to enter confinement in a few weeks; while his Majesty shall rule in her place, he has requested that you resume your duties alongside him. There are concerns over sedition in the Realm, and his Majesty feels that it would serve best if he were to work with those who were the architects of the Settlement, as much of the discontent is based upon the practice of faith in England."

Anne dabs at her eyes with a small kerchief, "No, my Lord - I beg you to forgive me for my moment of weakness. I am aware that there is a war of words within the Kingdom, and I shall resume my duties for a brief time to assist his Majesty the King in countering it."

"I am grateful, Majesty." Lincoln answers, "For the pamphlets no longer quote verses from the scriptures, but instead make wild claims against her Majesty's catholic subjects - claims that are neither true, nor fair. Our ripostes are issued through opposing pamphlets, and also from pulpits; but there is no means to counter the truth that, once her Majesty enters confinement, England shall be ruled by a Catholic King."

"And thus I shall be a figurehead for the reformed faith."

"That is our hope - though it is possible that it may not be enough; for those who produce these pamphlets are likely to be those who call themselves 'Puritans', for their faith is the purest of all."

"Ah."

"Indeed, Majesty."

"We shall do what we can, my Lord." Anne says, briskly, her mood immediately lifted by the requirement to act, "I fear that such folk shall regard me as little better than his Majesty, for my reform is immeasurably less far reaching than they desire; but most of England see me as one who created a world in which all Christian men are free to approach God according to the dictates of their faith. That they once also saw me as naught but a whore shows the fickleness of Englishmen."

"In which case, Majesty," Lincoln reaches into his portfolio, "their Majesties asked me to show you this. They have considered it, but would also value your opinion."

Taking the paper, Anne frowns, "It is a list of names, my Lord."

He nods, but allows her to continue to read, and gradually she understands, "So these are individuals who have chosen to retain the old faith, but who are also highly placed within their communities?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"I take it that there is no evidence that the folk upon this list have undertaken any activity that is objectionable?"

"None that we have been able to determine, Majesty. They are conscientious and loyal Englishmen who have sworn their loyalty to their Majesties as their lawful King and Queen. We have opted not to investigate them further."

Anne nods, "If the only accusation against them is an anonymous pamphlet, then I would agree that it is naught but a provocation, and should be treated as such. My greater concern is that those who look for trouble might turn to it as an excuse to create it."

Lincoln nods, "And there is the rub, Majesty. If we ignore it, others might not. But if we address it, then it might be that we should grant it a legitimacy that it does not warrant."

Anne reaches the end of the list, and frowns more deeply, "This, however, might be difficult."

"That was my Lord Cromwell's view, Majesty." Lincoln confirms, "William Allen has always proved to be most opposed to the Settlement, and to her Majesty's supremacy. Unlike the others named upon this list, he has spoken openly of reclaiming England for the Pope, and of establishing a means of prolonging the old faith in England through the establishment of a seminary. Until now, only priests of the old faith already ordained have remained in post."

"We cannot stop him, my Lord. While there is no provision for the ordination of new priests in the Roman faith, there is also no provision to prevent young men from travelling abroad to do so, and returning to lead existing congregations. Furthermore, it would not serve the Settlement were we to stop them."

"It is something that I cannot consider in isolation, my Lord. I think it best that I join their Majesties and the senior men of the Council to discuss how this shall be met. I suspect that the only true solution to this shall be the birth of a son, for that can be presented as a sign of God's approval of England's Queen and her Realm. Thus we must do what we can to ensure that none are harmed in the interim."

In spite of herself, Anne is pleased; just as she had thought herself to be without a purpose, fate has come to her aid. She can serve England again, and - if God is willing - keep her daughter's Realm together one last time.

The Queen's Privy Chamber is unbearably stuffy, and Elizabeth's discomfort as her pregnancy edges closer to her lying in has driven her to demand that they hold the meeting aboard a boat upon the river. Their distance from the worst of the cesspits of London has reduced the reek of the river to bearable levels, and the breeze that is coming in from the east is cooled somewhat by the water.

"I think that none of those named upon this list are of concern to us other than William Allen, Majesty." Cromwell agrees, "And even he is of less account than most would claim, for his desire to create a seminary is a much-vaunted dream, but there are few, if any, who are willing to aid him in achieving it, for they are content to worship in their parishes as permitted by the Settlement, and do not feel oppressed. That said," he admits, "it would be foolish to claim that all are truly contented; but we have done nothing to provoke discontent - in spite of endless entreaties by the Vicar of Rome to overturn the Church of England. He forgets that Englishmen are English first, Catholics second."

"Nonetheless, I think we must take care," Richmond adds, "While even Allen is little more than a shouting voice in the wilderness, my concern is that those who aim to seed discontent against those who have not entered the Church of England shall find an audience for their views. We cannot be complacent - the pamphlets are becoming ever more accusatory, and there is every chance that they shall provoke foolish people to believe them, and innocents shall suffer for it."

"And that would be unacceptable to me." Elizabeth agrees, "I have no wish to replicate the strife between the old and new faiths that exists in France, or the brutal oppression that has all but eradicated the new faith in Spain. Equally, I would not wish to allow those who follow the new faith to bring harm upon those who have chosen not to." She shifts again, grimacing as she is kicked by her child.

Anne conceals her amusement at the indulgent smiles of the councillors.

"It is perhaps best to require priests to guide their flocks to remember that the greatest Christian commandment is to love God, and then to love one's neighbour." Philip muses, "We cannot ignore this attempt to provoke violence, but at the same time we cannot be seen to grant it even a suggestion that we approve of it."

"That you are of the old faith is helpful, Majesty." Wiltshire adds, "It can bring comfort to your subjects who share that faith that they are not alone in the face of undeserved hostility. Equally, her Majesty the Queen Dowager shall serve to show that there shall be no preferential treatment to those of the new faith either. That said, it may be wise to have the militia in reserve to keep watch and quell trouble - as long as we are not too overt about it."

"I should rather not do so immediately, my Lord." Elizabeth shakes her head, "Though it is not an option that I shall disregard entirely. I should prefer not to send soldiers onto the streets without just cause."

"In which case, Majesty, I shall ensure that the streets are watched, and that any gatherings are reported to me." Sadleir advises.

"I see that you have taken over the responsibility for the safety of her Majesty's realm." Anne notes.

"I have been taught well, Majesty." He smiles, "His Grace of Essex has been a most excellent tutor."

Cromwell smiles, as well, "His talent exceeds mine, Majesty."

"Then we are served well." Anne laughs, but her smile is soon gone again, "Take great care, my Lords. I do not wish to see fighting in the streets of London over a matter such as this. The Settlement was hard won, and lives were lost in the winning of it that I should much rather had been saved. It would grieve me deeply to find that the example we set in bringing it about has been ignored by those who have followed us."

"I think it is more than that, Majesty." Cromwell says, quietly, "While I am very much within the Church of England, my age tells against me, and those who seek Court careers are keen for men such as I to be retired and sent from Court, so that they can stand in our stead. There are a number of young men who shall assuredly serve you well, Majesty, for they have worked with us and served a degree of an apprenticeship in the reformed governance of England. Those who wish to remove us have not - and instead would prefer to claim what power they can for themselves. It seems to me that the destruction of the settlement, and the removal of the senior lords of the Council, have been set to run in harness."

"And thus England shall be rid of all papists, and the puritans shall rule." Richmond grouses, "I am told that they are so wedded to perfection that even Christmastide is considered an ungodly act of debauchery."

"Get thee hence, Satan." Wiltshire smiles at him, "All wrapped in the sinfulness of yule."

In spite of himself, Richmond smiles back, "Forgive me; I have lived in a Realm where faith is a matter for one's own conscience, and I have become accustomed to it - albeit slowly. It was not our intention to create a world where those of the new faith would look to destroy those of the old."

Cromwell shakes his head, "I fear that we would be deceiving ourselves if we said so, Richard. Was it not our intention that the old faith would die away as England gradually cleaved towards the new? Thus we have sown the wind, and now must reap the whirlwind."

"That the outcome of the Settlement has been to bring the faiths together is a better one is to be celebrated, my Lords." Elizabeth insists, "As we have trusted my Catholic subjects, so they have answered with loyalty. This man Allen may well be keen to redirect the course of England's faith, but how can he do so when all are free to worship as their conscience demands?"

Anne shakes her head, "Would it were so, Majesty; but those who are afire for their faith see it as their duty to impose it upon all around them. These Puritans and the lesser Protestants are keen to remove all Catholics from the Realm, while Allen and any who might adhere to him are equally determined to drive that which they see as heresy from the Realm. The law can grant freedom to worship; but it cannot stifle freedom to hate one another."

Elizabeth sighs, and takes her husband's hand, "You have said nothing, my love. What is your impression?"

"I felt that it was not my place to speak." He admits, "I am not English-born, and I was naught but a child when your dear Mother and her Council chose to free your subjects to follow God according to their consciences. Furthermore, my father permitted the Inquisition to operate within Portugal, and it is likely that those who speak out against us see me as a King who would do likewise to England. Thus I consider it to be of the utmost importance that decisions pertaining to the exercise of religion in the Realm are made by those who are English-born. I shall willingly add my agreement, to assure England's Catholics that their interests are protected, but the decision cannot sensibly be mine."

Cromwell shakes his head, "Nay, Majesty; you do yourself a disfavour. For all the loathing that you inspire in the hearts of those who lack tolerance, you inspire love in those who see you as their voice at the Court. Together with her Majesty the Queen, you present a union of both marriage and faith that serves as an example to all. As you love one another, let the priests in their parishes encourage their congregations to remember that the greatest of God's commandments is to love."

"It shall not encourage those whose hearts are aflame with hatred, my Lord Cromwell." Elizabeth reminds him, sadly.

"Perhaps not, Majesty; but if there are few who shall hear them, then their voices are effectively stilled."

"I shall issue a proclamation confirming our commitment to the Settlement." She says, then, "Further pamphlets extolling the virtue of union as Englishmen, with Scriptural instructions at their back, shall also be issued while the pulpits shall ring with the reminder to all of God's commandments to love him, and one's neighbour. I will not impose sanctions upon my Catholic subjects, for they have done naught to warrant it, but I think it wise to ensure that William Allen is watched carefully - and surreptitiously - to ensure that he does not act foolishly."

Cromwell nods, "Then it shall be done, Majesty."

As he sits back, Anne can seen in his face that he is not convinced that their actions shall serve; but then, they are dealing with those who do not see matters in a rational, or sensible, light. All that they can do is what they have agreed to do - and trust to God to do the rest.

Given the sentiments of the agitators, however, she is not even half as confident as she would like to be.

The thoroughfare of the Strand is busy with carts, hawkers, beggars, whores and all manner of London life. Almost cheek by jowl with those who must work to survive are the grand houses of the great Courtiers, most lining the banks of the river with their own water gates, thus ensuring that the occupants are not required to sully their fine shoes in the filth of the streets.

Most have houses here; Northumberland has Dudley House, a fine - though not overly ostentatious - pile near the small church of St Clement Danes, while Wiltshire maintains a fine residence close to the Inns of Court, though it is considerably smaller, given that his preference other than the Palaces is his fine mansion at Beaulieu. One of the largest seems paradoxical, given the relative lowliness of the family that owns it; but the graceful proportions and tasteful decoration of Cumberland House, home of the Percys when not in the North, speak of grander ambitions than those that have been achieved.

It is rare for Baron Percy of Alnwick to be present, being obliged to remain at Court under the eye of those he considers to be treacherous enemies to England; but he is here, chafing at the bit that has been imposed upon him. Forbidden to associate with his former friends, he has opted to disobey such a requirement, and the young aristocrats that were banished from the Queen's presence are as eager as he to seek reparations for the insult. Thus they, too, are lounging about the hall, supping wine as the servants void the rather limited victuals upon which they have dined. They are, naturally, not meant to be present, and it would not do for the household accounts to show feasts of too great a size.

If only Warwick were one of them. Of all the young men with whom he associates, Percy is particularly keen to bask in the reflected glory of an earl who shall one day be a duke. Instead he mingles with his own kind; and the group complains at their lot, grouses over the ascendancy of old men, and plots with all the uselessness of young men who have nothing better to do.

"God's blood - that old fool Cromwell has changed his tune since the days of his youth." One of them grumbles, "Was there a time when he worked to bring down the old ways, and turn England away from the folly of Rome? Now he grovels to a papist king, and agrees to let the rest of that popish rabble corrupt the faith with their idolatry!"

"It is because he is aged." Another snorts, "My father's father was a wise, erudite scholar when I was a child - but as I grew, his mind wavered, his intelligence faltered and he died a babbling natural, his wits eroded away by age. Doubtless the old Chancellor is the same. He should be retired forthwith - along with the other old men who hold England in a prior age."

Percy listens to the griping with a pleasure fuelled by his own aggravation. Those old men of low blood have held his ancient family back for tens of years - and even now they claw in rewards that should be handed to nobles. When they are high lords of the Council, Elizabeth shall be grateful for their sense, their intentions to set England at the forefront of the world, and willingly grind all of France and Spain beneath her heel. They shall win the spice routes of Portugal - so meanly shared - and the great, endless depths of gold from the new lands to the west. He shall be all but awash with wealth…richer than Midas and Croesus combined…

But not yet. First the old order must be swept away. Elizabeth is but a woman, and her weak woman's will is second to that of the foreign papist to whom she has been wedded. The spawn of that marriage shall be a mere half-breed, English only through his mother; and what if the Papist has his way? A popish prince upon England's throne? England would not stand for it.

He seems not to appreciate - or care - that there was a time when England would not have thought anything of a Catholic king upon the throne of a Catholic realm.

Were he to see with a more self-aware eye, perhaps he would understand that it is not so much religion that inspires his desire to overthrow the Council as a desire to snatch what they have: wealth, power, influence…

"God have mercy, boy; what are these wastrels doing in my Hall?"

The voice is sharp, the interruption shocking. From his seat at the high table, Percy looks up to see Cumberland standing in the doorway, staring in disbelief at the scene before him. There was a time when he would have been deferential to the man that has interrupted them; but today, that deference is tempered by disgust, for his father was once ambitious, but now he is a grateful milksop snatching at whatever crumbs are flung to him when lesser men are granted the entire feast.

"We are doing more than you, my Lord." He snaps back, "For it matters to us that England is ruled by a woman who is governed by a foreigner and old men. The Kingdom chafes under such misrule, and requires only proper leadership to overthrow it!"

Cumberland glares at his son, "And you think I know it not? While the old Crow lives, and his two cohorts have the ear of the Queen, she will hear no other! Do you think I have not tried to claim her trust? Her mother loved my brother once, and even the memory of that is not sufficient to reclaim the place that our line once held at Court! Better to bide one's time and wait for the old men to die, and then oust the young men they have corrupted. And you indulge in wine and victuals with your fellow fools pretending that England shall leap into your pocket at your first word? Have your plans moved beyond childish grousing and groundless dreams?"

Startled at the sudden outburst of bile, the youth sits up more straight, "We have plans, my Lord," his tone is now altogether more respectful, "London is upon a knife edge, with anger against popery growing by the day - and it is my intention to gather a troupe of actors to perform Edward of Carnarvon at the earliest opportunity, thus prompting the people to see that there is a better way. Where London leads, England follows, does it not?"

"So you have been thinking sensibly." The Earl grunts, "Better that than buying captains to harry the Spanish and embarrass the Realm. There shall be a time to destroy our enemies at sea - but not now. Once those who keep England servile are gone, it shall be a simple matter to redirect her Majesty to understand that it is better to strike first than be stricken. For all its peaceable overtures, only a fool could ignore the Pope's promptings to Spain to destroy us. With our wealth, and no other wars to trouble us, what could Philip do against England? God knows that I am tired of grovelling and feigning friendship with old men; but if plans are well advanced, then I shall provide additional monies to lay the ground for the end of that flagging old guard." His lip twists into a sneer, "And you thought me to be one of them. What choice did you give me other than to agree to your punishment? Impetuosity has not aided you, has it?"

"No, Father." Now he is contrite.

"The Queen has met with her closest advisers and the Cockerel of Portugal aboard a boat in the midst of the River. Those of us who are not of that closed band have been obliged to stand to the side and remain ignorant; but there is no doubting that they are concerned with the work to undermine this damned settlement and remove popery from England. Equally, I have no doubt that they have taken what steps they can to counter it, though I cannot say what those steps might be. What I do know, however, is that one William Allen is agitating to create a seminary in England to forcibly keep his popish superstitions alive. If he can be found to be conspiring against the true faith of England, then that alone might be a spark to begin the work to overturn all popish oppression. Keep watch for it - if he is as impetuous as you, then it shall not be long before it comes."

"Yes, Father." Suddenly, Percy is pleased. It seems that his father is with them after all - and with one of the Council upon their side, perhaps their quest shall be more easily achieved.

The chamber is dark, the fire warm - too warm, in fact - and all is prepared. As she surveys the room that has been set aside for her daughter's lying-in, Anne shudders. Elizabeth's own birth had been in slightly more comfortable conditions, as the September weather had cooled sufficiently to make the warmth of the fire bearable. Even so, the stuffiness of the atmosphere, accompanied by the unpleasant odours of numerous velvet-wrapped women trapped in close confines for more than a few days remains with her as a memory that she has never lost. Not even that wash of love that she felt for her babe has eradicated it. How odd…she remembers that, but not her labour pains.

Now, however, it is late July, and August approaches. The temperatures are unpleasantly warm, and most of the Court spends time outside in the pleasure gardens, surrounded by playing fountains that serve at least to cool the air a little. Elizabeth, on the other hand shall shortly withdraw from her Courtiers to enter these enclosed chambers. Uncomfortable though it shall be, it remains necessary to at least attempt to keep evil humours at bay.

Around her, the hand-picked midwives are busily directing a squad of equally hand-picked chamberers as they hang additional sheeting over the windows and scrub the floors with water and lye soap before laying down a thick carpet of rushes overlaid with carpets that have been taken out into the sun and beaten until not a mote of dust remains in their fibres. Fragrant herbs are scenting the thick air, while the fires have been laid with applewood branches that help at least a little to overwhelm the unpleasant odour of the fatty soap. God have mercy; she accepted this without demur when it was done for her confinement - but now she would give anything to protect Elizabeth from it. No matter how necessary it might be, it is still unpleasant.

Jane comes to stand beside her, and they link arms, "They have done what they can, Jane. I just wish that my daughter did not have to endure such discomfort to bring her babe into the world. When I bore her, I would have endured any agonies for the compensation of holding her in my arms; but now? When she faces the danger of childbirth? If I could exchange places with her and bear the child in her stead, I would do so willingly even if it be at the cost of my own life."

"We would give our lives for our children, would we not?" Jane agrees, "I have not been obliged to bear this burden, for I gave my husband a son, and thus the dangers shall be met by his wife once the time comes. Even now, we must carry the punishment for Eve's sin - but God has seen fit to ease it through the flood of love that accompanies the birth and banishes memory of the birthing pains."

"If I cannot carry the pains for her, I shall be at her side as she endures them." Anne says, firmly, "Though my own mother was not at my side, it was not owing to unwillingness on her part. Her letters to me before my lying in were loving and encouraging. Had she been free to come to me, she would have been there. I have them still; in a coffer."

There shall be a grand feast this afternoon, after which there shall be a mass to bless the royal mother-to-be. Then she shall withdraw from the Court into confinement, and not be seen again by any other than her mother until she emerges. The only men permitted to be present during her labour shall be the doctors - and all pray to God that they shall not be needed.

The two women depart from the birthing chamber and return to the relative cool of the Queen's privy chamber beyond. Elizabeth is not present, being out in the gardens with her ladies, but Mistress Astley has remained behind to organise the wet nurses. There shall be three of them, all of clean birth and good health; for a Queen does not nurse her child. Anne remembers her own battles to nurse Elizabeth, and the obligation to hand her adored child to such a woman - and, worse, to see her taken away to another household entirely. Henry would not have it; he wanted her ready to bear another child as quickly as possible, and all know that a nursing woman cannot conceive.

Elizabeth herself, of course, is not subject to the whim of an imperious husband. She is the queen, and it is her decision as the ruler of the Realm where her child shall reside. Thus, for the first time, apartments for the Royal babe have been established within the Palace, overlooking the Parkland to ensure fresh air and light at all times, and well away from the damp foulness of the river. Nursing the babe, however, is unlikely to be permitted - one child is not enough to secure a Realm. There must be two at least, and the sooner she carries another, the better.

But first there is the dread fear that she shall fail to survive this birth. Even were the babe to live; if she is gone, then they shall find themselves in worse position than they did when Henry died. She was a mere three years old, but she was protected by good councillors, a determined mother and a sequence of fortunate happenstances that ensured no misfortune robbed her of her birthright. This child, on the other hand, shall be a mere babe; the King a man of foreign birth, and the Council in a state of flux as the grandees age and die, while younger men of lesser wisdom step into their place. The battles over who shall lead that babe's government shall be far harder to settle than they were when Mr Cromwell came to her in those first hours after he learned of Henry's death: for while Northumberland has the respect of all, and is a Duke, the Council is fractured with fluctuating loyalties that are not so easily determined as they were when she was fighting for her political life.

Then she is furious with herself; God's wounds! Her daughter has not even given birth, and she is fretting over what shall happen if she dies. What if she does not? If she bears a living son, and lives too, then all of England shall be overjoyed, and the discontent of a few religious zealots shall be washed away in a flood of celebration. But she believed that she was to bear a son…and then Elizabeth emerged from her womb. For all his assurances that sons would follow, there was no mistaking that look of bitter disappointment in Henry's eyes - and accusation, too. It was, of course, her fault that the child she had borne was not a boy. Nothing could possibly be amiss with his seed, could it?

Jane notices as she stiffens slightly, "What is it, Anne?"

"I think it best that we remove ourselves to the fresh air of the gardens, Jane. I am becoming rather giddy." She lies. It is too embarrassing to admit to the memories that have emerged amidst the preparations for Elizabeth's confinement, "The warmth in the birthing chamber was oppressive, and I fear that I am affected by it."

They have been friends for too long, and Jane is no fool, "There is no more that we can do now but pray for her Majesty's health. The past is the past; let us look to the future. What happened to us shall not happen to our children."

Finally, Anne smiles, "Where would I be without your friendship, Jane? Come, let us see if my brother is without. I feel a wish to walk in the gardens with my family."

Returning her smile, Jane falls into step alongside her as they depart from the chamber.

The air of celebration is tinged with excitement and - if people were to be honest with themselves - a rather desperate sense of hope that the Tudor curse shall be ended with the birth of a healthy male heir for England. From the very first, the lack of such births in the line has given some cause to pretend that the Queen's grandfather stole the crown from the legitimate ruling house, and thus has been cursed with a fatal weakness in the males.

But then, others used to claim that the only reason that the house has survived at all is because of a cuckoo in the nest. Perhaps if Elizabeth does achieve that which her predecessors failed to do, that rumour might raise its ugly head again; but they shall cross that bridge should they come to it.

Seated in a comfortable chair, rather than upon a bench, Cromwell views the throng with his increasingly rheumy eyes, and imagines himself to be Simeon; to whom God made the promise that he would not die until he had seen the Messiah.

As his life draws towards its end, his mind often returns to those fearful days when Henry's death sent shockwaves through a fractured court and the opening moves were made, with England seemingly as a grand chessboard. Always the fear that they might be taken, and that he might end his life upon the block. Now, however, Elizabeth is preparing to depart into confinement, and - if God is pleased - that desperately needed son shall be born to the house of Tudor, and their right to rule shall perhaps be free of accusations against its legitimacy. Then, indeed, the servant can truly depart in peace.

"They look most contented." Richmond observes, seated beside him, "I am glad that they have found joy in their union."

Cromwell nods, "As am I. It is a blessing to find joy in one's marriage; and a gift that not all couples are granted. I was fortunate with my Elizabeth, for we were contented together; while my Gregory is equally well matched with his wife."

Richmond's expression warms, "And I. Had she not departed Court in the ending of the King's first marriage, perhaps my Lisbet might have served the Queen, and we would have been at Court together. I should have liked that; but she could not countenance the ending of the King's first marriage, and her loyalty to the Dowager Princess prompted her to depart."

Philip is still holding Elizabeth's hand as they rise from their seats to depart the hall in order to prepare for the Mass of dedication that shall precede her entry into confinement. From the tightness of his grip, it seems to Cromwell that he is fearful that he might not see her alive again once she is gone from his sight; but then that is a dread common to all husbands, for all know that childbirth is the most dangerous of a woman's duties to her Lord - and he might be left with neither offspring nor wife.

As he always does, Richmond assists Cromwell to rise from his chair, and the two old men make their slow, limping way back to the Chancellor's quarters, where they rest awhile with hippocras and reminisce over those early days, when they flew dangerously close to the sun in their efforts to evade the predatory claws of their enemies. They laugh over their mildly incompetent attempts to create seals to attach to the proclamations and papers that would confirm Elizabeth as Queen, and Anne as her Regent, and the look upon Norfolk's face as he realised that he had been outmanoeuvred by men of far lesser state than himself.

"For all the risks we faced, they were good days." Richmond muses, as their laughter settles again, "To think I came within an ace of casting it aside and placing myself in a noose. My cowardice came most assuredly to my aid, as did a single act of clumsiness."

"The smallest of incidents can set our feet upon a better path, Richard." Cromwell agrees, "Had I not secreted a man amongst the King's guard, I should never have known of his death in time, and neither you nor I would be having this conversation."

"Do you think Mary would have won the crown had we not undermined Norfolk's efforts to grasp the Protectorship?"

"It is impossible to know. God made His choice, and thus Elizabeth is Queen, while Mary is entombed in a convent; assuming, of course, that she still lives. Whether she does, or does not; I suspect King Philip would not care. It is a cruel end, I think. She was not to blame for the vagaries of her Father's heart."

"Or loins." Richmond grunts, cynically, "The manner in which he repudiated her was most cruel, I'll warrant; and equally I have every certainty that he would have done likewise to Elizabeth had his intentions to remove her Majesty the Dowager for the Seymour girl come to fruition. Elizabeth was fortunate in the timing of his death; Mary was not." Then he frowns slightly, "What is it, Thomas?"

"It is not a matter of great import, my friend. I think you should be blind if you have not noticed her Majesty the Dowager's friendship with my Lord of Lincoln."

Richmond laughs, "Indeed I have. For all their attempts at discretion, there is no disguising the pleasure they take in one anothers' company."

"In your legal opinion, are there any impediments to their marriage?"

Richmond looks startled, "Marriage?"

Cromwell nods.

"Well…" Richmond's mind is immediately at work, "She is no longer haunted by the spectre of pre-contract, for Henry Percy is long dead, but her rank vastly exceeds that of Lincoln. Even prior to her marriage, she was a Marquess in her own right, while he is but a Viscount. If he is to outrank her, then he must be raised to the rank of Duke, and that is not the right of men of our state. But - according to the rite of marriage, all that is hers becomes his, so to marry her would pass her Royal state to him as her husband. Perhaps her Majesty could raise him to an Earldom in recognition of his service to the Dowager and the Realm? Then the difference is less of a chasm."

"She would have to renounce all claim to the throne before that could be done." Cromwell adds, "Even though she is no longer Queen, she was crowned so, and any children that she might have…"

"Children?" Richmond is startled, "Do you think she might still be capable of bearing a child? Surely her age precludes it?"

"I am thinking of how her marriage might be perceived, Richard." Cromwell reminds him, "We should not forget that, even as Elizabeth came into her inheritance, there were still some in England who looked upon her mother as a whore who stole a crown from a Queen. That few mention it now is merely owing to her retirement from public view. Some have never forgiven her for the Great Matter."

"I shall think upon the question, Thomas." Richmond agrees, rising from his seat, "Come; it is time to attend the Chapel Royal, to offer our prayers for her Majesty's safe delivery of a child. Should she bear a son, then all shall be too delighted to care who her mother marries; for England's succession shall be safe."