A/N: Welcome back! Thank you again for your comments - I'm glad that the use of historic events in a new context is working; with so many critical events to make use of, there are sufficient parallels with history to use it, I think.

As was done with Richard II, a rising is preceded by the performance of a play...

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Rebellion

The bells of the great Abbey church at Westminster peal joyfully; to the point that some in the streets below are convinced that the Queen's babe has been born: but it is not so. Instead, a grand parade of royalty and nobility is to emerge from Placentia, sail upriver and alight at the Whitehall privy stair, from whence they shall travel upon horseback the short journey to the church to offer prayers for the safe birth of England's heir. Given the aftermath of Elizabeth's birth, royal diplomacy has already decreed that they shall not emphasise the requirement for a Prince.

Separated from her daughter, Anne remains in a sense of endless tension. She knows from her own experiences that there is no guarantee that Elizabeth shall survive the birth of her child - Henry's mother was, after all, taken in childbed along with the babe she had borne, and certainly the seventh Henry had never been the same after she was gone. Every night, she prays that Philip shall not know that pain. Or that she shall not, either. No matter the disappointment of the Realm should Elizabeth bear a daughter, Anne's only desire is that her daughter bear a child and live.

With the Queen in confinement, it is the King, and the Queen Dowager, who shall lead the celebration, and both are keen to ensure that they are seen together. Philip might claim that he is now an Englishman, and even truly consider himself to be one; but there are many in England who do not think the same, and the sight of the Queen's mother at the side of the King Consort is hoped to go at least some way to assuring all that the King shall not claim the throne over the head of England's anointed Prince.

Having retired from public view for some time, Anne enters the grand royal barge with a sense of trepidation. Her grand Court gown is also something of a departure from her usual garb, having eschewed ostentation as much as the public gaze. There was a time, of course, when she revelled in the stares of all who saw her, long ago when she was riding high astride the uncertain steed that was the King's affection; but then she came within an ace of losing her seat, and it was only the foundering of the mount that spared her from his wrath.

As they pull away from the privy stair, she settles into a chair alongside the oldest of her councillors, who is resting two gnarled hands over the pommel of one of his walking sticks. Even now, in the twilight of his years, he remains at her side, a constant in a changing world, "Perhaps you should enjoy a cup of posset, Mr Cromwell?" In spite of his elevated state in the Peerage, it seems odd - almost wrong - to refer to him as 'my lord of Essex'. Such is the length of their partnership, and friendship, that she would prefer very much to speak even less formally; but they are surrounded by Servants and oarsmen, and the informality would be inappropriate.

His eyes might be watery, and thickly bespectacled, but there is a light in them that age has not dulled, and he turns to her with a smile, "I thank you, Majesty; but my digestion is rather more delicate these days, and I find I can no longer tolerate posset. I should, however, appreciate a small finger of sack."

She returns his smile, and looks across to one of the stewards.

In spite of the size of the vessel, there is room only for five passengers alongside those who shall serve them while on the river; and the conversation is thus very wide ranging, given the accumulation of years over which those aboard have worked, and struggled, together.

The tide is racing today, so the great starlings of London Bridge are impassable. Thus the party pulls in at Lion Quay, alongside the Church of St Magnus the Martyr, where horses await to convey them to Baynard's Castle, from which they shall board another barge to continue the journey. There is also a litter for Cromwell, despite his embarrassment at being unable to easily ride in his advanced years. Only a mildly amused glare from his Regent persuades him to enter it.

The crowds of folk abroad in the streets of Eastcheap stand aside and cheer delightedly at the gathered royal entourage. Unlike the discontent of the minor nobles, there seems to be no animosity here - though the colourful nature of the procession, accompanied with ranks of scarlet-clad guards, trumpeters and drummers, could hardly serve to suggest anyone of less than royal estate.

Perhaps it is the fact that Philip does not ride ahead of his Queen's mother, instead riding with her at his side. It is not just modesty; but good common sense. He is not blind to the reality that his claim to be an Englishman is cosmetic only, and he remains foreign-born to the sensibilities of his subjects. Instead they ride together, smile, incline their heads and even offer the occasional wave of the hand at those who cheer them. Elizabeth's absence is not minded, for she is preparing to give England their new Prince, and the atmosphere is thus one of celebration, not censure.

"How they shall cheer when my beloved gives them an heir." Philip observes, delightedly, "She is loved by her subjects, Madame; even if I am not."

Anne smiles back, "Nay, Majesty. I do not see anything but love for you in this throng. Did you not declare yourself an Englishman, and serve your Queen in repelling a horde from Spain? They remember that more strongly than they remember that you were born abroad."

The cheers accompany them as the pass through the gatehouse into the base court of the grand house of Baynard's Castle. Rebuilt by Elizabeth's grandfather, the warlike edifice that had once glowered over the river is now graceful, and a light repast awaits the arrivals in the hall prior to their resumption of their journey upriver.

There is no disguising Cromwell's infirmity as he is helped from the litter, or his relief at being free from it. As they have always done, Richmond and Wiltshire aid him rather than the stewards, but - remarkably - Philip is also keen to assist; his respect for the foremost of his wife's Councillors writ large in his adjustment of the wooden steps. In spite of her anguished dismay at the cruel signs that she shall soon lose his counsel, Anne is relieved that the King has become a considerate, kindly man rather than a despot.

Henry would not have done so. Again, she finds herself making the comparison. There is no doubt that her long-gone husband would have entertained Mr Cromwell in such circumstances, even visited him at home; but no-one, not a single soul, could expect such solicitous care and attention to their welfare as this. Sometimes she has to pinch herself to remind herself that this is not a dream. Philip is, of course, a younger son who would have inherited little more than a minor estate - and thus he has been brought up to serve, not to rule. Even now, he sees service as his duty. Thank you, Holy Father. Thank you for your gift of a good King.

Under the King's direction, Cromwell is seated in a comfortable chair within an oriel that looks out over the river, while Wiltshire fetches comfits and cordial for him. Richmond oversees the gathering of additional chairs, and before long the three friends are settled together within the space of the oriel, and engaged in lively conversation.

Smiling, Anne lets them entertain themselves, retreating to a velvet upholstered seat set aside for her under the canopy of estate. Lincoln is nearby, talking cheerfully with Northumberland, and she wishes she could join them. It would, however, be inappropriate, for she has no reason to do so. Besides, she has not forgotten the annoyance that the Councillors displayed when she took it upon herself to interrupt their conversations when she was Queen. At the time, she considered it her right as an anointed Prince of England; but she had been foolish, and arrogant, in that presumption. Her role in those days had been to be Henry's brood mare, not his Isabella.

Her eyes rest upon the Viscount, and again she feels that sense of deep affection that she thought never to know again. There is a tuft of hair upon his head that has curled upwards somewhat following the removal of his bonnet, and her fingers twitch slightly with an almost instinctive, wifely urge to smooth it back down again. But she is not his wife; and thus she must stand aside and leave his head untidy. For a moment, her eyes glisten with painful tears. God above, it is hard to love, and not be permitted to show it.

"Are you well, Madame?" Philip asks, quietly. He is kind enough not to draw too much attention to her dampening eyes. Immediately, she forces herself to dash them away.

"I am quite well, Majesty." She answers, making herself smile at him, "Forgive me; I am obliged to await my daughter's lying in, but not be at her side, for childbed is ever a single step away from a deathbed. It is hard to hope for the best, when one is also afeared of the worst." It is hardly a falsehood to speak so, after all; she is indeed fearful.

The King's eyes soften in sympathy, "I understand your concerns, Madame, for I feel them too." He reaches out to take her hand, "Thus we shall set our hearts and our fears before God this day, and pray that England shall receive a son, and their Queen, safe and well."

Anne grasps his fingers tightly, "We most assuredly shall. Then perhaps England shall finally know peace."

"I am told that the prayers for her Majesty's safe delivery of a son two days past were given in Latin. Latin! The very tongue of the antichrist!" The voice is strident, and furious, "Even now, the Papists crawl their way into the halls of Royalty; and England's heir shall be one of them! Tainted by that foreign Cockerel's blood, we shall see the inquisition at our shores before he is even of age! He is the master of that house, and the Pope's heel shall be upon our necks 'ere the crown is upon the child's head!"

He is no priest, but nonetheless considers himself qualified to speak upon the matter for reasons of his own. A brick maker by trade, Samuel Wrothwell has abandoned his brick-works upon the prompting of divine visions, and has taken his message to the door of St Olave in Hart Street, not far from his lodgings, where a crowd stops quite regularly to listen to his spittle-flecked diatribes. Sometimes he even remembers to quote from the Scriptures.

The news that the mass in Westminster's Abbey Church two days ago had been said in Latin is utterly false; but falsehood has never stood in the path of a bigot, and certainly does not in this case. Indeed, much of what Wrothwell delivers in his ranting speeches is utter rubbish - supposedly inspired by the visions that have sent him away from altogether more worthwhile creative activity.

"The angels weep for this poor babe - and cry out to us to preserve him from such calamity! They plead for us to chase the Devil's agents into the sea, for they are all about us and plot to quell England's holy freedom and shackle us to Rome! But there are noble men who look to lead England well - for they have pulled the King of Spain's beard, only for the cowards who counsel her Majesty to grovel at Spain's feet! It is they who shall wrest England from Rome's devilish grasp! When they call, shall you hear?"

Standing amongst the crowd, Baron Sadleir sighs. In spite of his talk of the Percy faction, how many times has he mentioned Rome now? At least six; no wonder people are becoming bored and wandering away. Even those who are most fired up for the English church have more important things to do than listen to a rabid brick-maker claiming to hear the voices of Angels. Besides, he is hardly the only one: there are plenty of others to choose from. They have even given themselves a name: 'Divines'. Some are more educated than others - and are able to pepper their nonsense with scriptural texts to justify themselves; but those that lack that ability have the claim of visions to fall back upon, and so they do.

Men like Wrothwell are not of concern to the Baron. No, they are entertaining in their way; but they are uneducated and easily exposed for the fools that they are. It is the priests that echo - and fuel - their sentiments who are to be feared, for the people certainly listen to them. Indeed, much of what this man is saying was probably said just this Sunday past by one such cleric. Based upon where this man is speaking, outside a Church whose priest is moderate and temperate, it is likely that he was in attendance at St Brides, in Fleet Street. The priest there is under careful watch; as he is a Puritan in all but name, and has certainly been seen in the company of some of the young men who have associated themselves with the wild plottings of Baron Percy.

He sees little point in challenging the wrathful speaker, and moves on. Following the service at the Abbey, Lord Essex has retired for a time to his great house at Austin Friars, so he must travel there to consult with his old mentor and friend. The journey from the Wharves alongside the Tower is always worthwhile to capture at least a sense of the mood of the streets, and thus he always walks when the weather is conducive to doing so.

So far, the mood remains as it has for some weeks, and he is unconcerned, until he rounds a corner and sees a number of papers pasted to a wall.

The Most Glorious Historie of Kynge Edwarde of Carnarvon. Presented by the Lords Tenebrarius upon the feast of Augustine of Hippo who established Christian faythe anew.

Decorated with woodcut prints showing Bishops on fire and gruesome creatures being cast into unknown waters, they proclaim that this play shall be presented at the end of August - by which time the Queen's babe shall be born. It seems then, that they have no interest in whether or not the child shall be a boy - even a male heir shall not quell this madness. On the contrary - an infant heir can be moulded into as great a bigot as those who seek to forge him into one. Remove his father, remove the Queen's most senior, trusted, advisers, and what shall she do against a Council that seeks to control the English faith?

Altogether more nervous now, Sadleir quickens his pace. If the Lord Essex does not know of this, then the sooner he is apprised of it, the better.

Cromwell is, as he always likes to be, seated in the great Oriel of his personal apartments; looking out across the well tended gardens that he has seen so rarely in the latter years of his life. There was a time when he would have been in the chamber that he set aside as a study, immured in walls of paper, working endlessly towards the best governance of England - albeit tempered with a great deal of embezzlement that he only abandoned once the Queen determined that he should be remunerated for his work. He smiles to himself a little ruefully: in the midst of his honesty, there was one part of his promise that was allowed to be forgotten. I have sinned, Father. Sinned more than a man of my fortune should have done. In spite of all the good that I have achieved, I know that my sin remains upon my soul, and I pray for Your forgiveness, in hopes that You shall welcome me to Your embrace when my time is done; for I know that the sunset of my years is upon me. I ask now only that You grant me the favour of seeing my Queen bear England her Heir, as you blessed old Simeon to lay his eyes upon Your son in the Temple of Jerusalem.

He sighs, a little sadly. Even though he knows his days upon the Earth are dwindling in number, and is content with that knowledge, nonetheless he would be grateful to live to see Elizabeth's reign beyond its infancy. At least there is the joy of seeing God's table - where his dearest wife awaits him, and his daughters shall greet him with that same delight that they showed when they lived and he returned to them from a long day's work at the Court.

The sound of approaching footsteps rouses him from his contemplations, and he calls to admit the arrival in answer to the knock upon the door.

"Ah, Ralph." Now his smile is genuine, though it is followed quickly by a frown, "What concerns you so?"

"Forgive me, my Lord; I had little to report to you other than the smooth conduct of the offices of Government, but I was travelling through the streets of the City from the Tower wharves, and came upon some bills posted to the walls of a building upon the corner of Cornhill and Leadenhall Street. It is intended that, upon the feast of St Augustine, which is as much a holiday for the English Church as the Roman one - as you know - a troupe of actors has been engaged to present Edward of Carnarvon. The man who has engaged them is anonymous, but it can only be a member of the Percy faction. Whether Cumberland is involved entirely, or not, I cannot say."

Cromwell's eyes widen, "So they intend to grasp power even if the Queen bears England a son."

"Particularly if she bears a son, my Lord. They intend to use that event as a means to wrest power away from any who is of the Catholic faith, and banish them from the realm for all time. To them, England shall be for the English alone, including the Church."

"That is madness. In my youth, I thought as they do; but age brought wisdom and to see the religious strife within the realm of France shows even now that we were wise to seek a better way. What is the mood of the folk upon the streets? If they show no interest, then there shall be little that can be done by our conspirators. A faction is easier to bring down than a rebellion."

"At present, the people show little interest in the pleas of those who claim that Percy's foolish privateering is instead an act of English patriotism. Those who speak of it are so intent upon demanding that we shall become little more than a Papal province that those who listen do not hear that small jewel amidst the Romes."

"Then it may be that they shall not rise if encouraged to do so." Cromwell muses, "I think that young Baron Alnwick is a fool if he believes that Englishmen shall see him as a grand English hero upon the basis of one robbed ship."

"With few opportunities for martial prowess, it is all that he can offer." Sadleir smiles back at him, "It is hard to impress England with victories abroad when England has not waged war for many years. The only engagement in which he could have distinguished himself occurred when he was elsewhere, and was over in less than a day."

"Perhaps we should ban chivalric romances, then. Better that than someone else's faith." Cromwell shifts slightly in his chair, "Besides, I am advised that the boy Percy intends to present the play to his fellow conspirators in the next few days. If they can persuade themselves that they are justified in doing so, then they may attempt to raise London against us."

"And if they do?"

"Ensure that London does not rise."

Sadleir shudders; he has only seen a few of the preachers, and while they are unsuccessful - there is no telling how things lie elsewhere in the city, "What do you want me to do?"

"Continue as you have been, my friend." Cromwell advises, "I fear that I cannot continue to hide away in my house. I shall travel to Whitehall, and I think it wise that his Majesty, and her Majesty the Dowager, also take up residence there awhile. If Percy and his crew do attempt to raise London, it is better that they be near."

"I shall return to Placentia and advise them so. I suspect that the council shall wish to come with them."

"Good - then, if an attempt is made, we shall be prepared. He would be mad to try, for he has not earned the regard of London - but he is not the well governed youth he was when first he came to Court, and I think it is likely that he shall."

Sadleir nods. Surrounded by friends who share his wild belief, who is there to tell him 'no'? With the birth of an heir imminent, it seems that the young men of the Court intend to be the ones who shall rule the Council, in the hopes that they can rule the Prince. The time has come, it seems. The invaders are approaching the walls, and the Old Guard must defend them. And hope to God that they do not spark a Civil War.

The journey to Whitehall has been taken this time with altogether less pomp, and the gathering is rather more tense than it was two days ago. All of the Council is present; except one: Cumberland is conspicuous by his absence, and Anne's hope is that he has departed to his Town house to talk some sense into his son. It is a faint hope, admittedly; but a hope nonetheless. The only other absentee is Wiltshire - but he has remained at Placentia to see to the safety of the Queen should any attempt to seize her be made.

"Do you think that England shall rise at Percy's call?" Philip asks, worriedly. His understanding of the nobility of England considerably more limited than that of his wife, who has lived amongst the machinations of the Lords of the Realm from the tender age of three years.

Seated in a high-backed chair, Cromwell shakes his head, "I cannot think it likely. Had the young man earned the regard of the Realm in some fashion, then perhaps it might be a threat. As it is, I doubt that many outside the Inns of Court even know of him. Except as a name mentioned by those who stalk the streets and talk endlessly of the tyranny of Rome."

"And thus we gather here in trepidation over what may end up being nothing at all." Anne finishes.

"They have taken much care to present his ridiculous enterprise against the treasure ship as a strike against the evils of Spain." Richmond continues, reading through some additional notes that Sadleir has presented to him, "That it was a tiresome expense to the exchequer based upon an unlawful act of piracy is immaterial to them. He is a lone warrior against the monstrous cruelties of the inquisition." He pauses, for effect, "It says here."

There is a ripple of amusement amongst the gathering.

"I shall alert the City authorities, Majesty." Cromwell advises, "Should there be any action on the part of the conspirators, they shall give out that the people of London should remain in their homes. I imagine most shall do so anyway, for England has been at peace for so long that most would not wish to risk their prosperity to follow a fool who has no place upon her Majesty's council, and is unproven as a man."

"This is ridiculous." Anne snaps, "Are these young men so convinced of their cause that they assume all of London shall hear them? How can they believe so? Not one of them has gained sufficient fame to even be known to most of her Majesty's subjects - much less revered by them. They shall find themselves shouting to empty streets."

Richmond shakes his head, "Their claims of a more temporal nature might not be heard; but my concern is that they shall instead look to matters spiritual to further their cause. They claim that Catholic Englishmen cannot be true Englishmen while they are governed by Rome; and even more so in that they have accepted a Catholic King to rule them. I am not alone upon the Council in retaining the old Faith, and I have no doubt that those of us who do so under the auspices of the Settlement are considered to be traitors to England who shall encourage the King to seize the throne and crush England under the yoke of Rome."

"Even though you would not." Anne adds, pointedly, "God's wounds, Gentlemen; I thought this matter laid to rest in years past! And yet now we find that those of the new faith would attempt to oppress those of the old. I cannot pretend that we did not aim to allow the old faith to die of its own accord; but I was never my intent that matters should fall out as they have. Whatever happens, we must do all that we can to ensure that England does not fall into the same toils of religious strife that has scarred the heart of France, nor the cruelties that are visited upon those subject to the Inquisition in Spain."

"And in my former home, alas." Philip sighs, "In spite of my father's determination to curb their excesses, they look to the power of their Spanish equals with envy. While I consider the Settlement to be an example that all should follow, I am not fool enough to think that our neighbours would do so."

"Though it seems to me that we are upon the verge of emulating them, rather than the other way about." Northumberland adds, bluntly, "As our Catholic neighbours oppress their Protestant brothers, so our Protestants seem prepared to oppress their Catholic brothers. The very settlement thus stands upon the edge of a knife, and all could be thrown to confusion by a group of young fools and the fanatics that share their sentiments. That is what we must guard against. Do not forget the words of that damned play; the ones that are spoken last. They speak not of better rule by younger men, but instead of a realm from which all Catholics have been expelled."

Glances are exchanged, and Anne sags a little in her seat, "His grace of Northumberland is correct in his assessment, I fear. The risk to England is not the claim of misrule, but instead the claim of religious conspiracy. My Lord Cromwell, please ensure that the priests of London who remain untainted by foolish bigotry are instructed to preach upon the brotherhood of all men, and that England cannot stand in God's sight if the blood of our brothers is upon our hands."

He nods, "I shall see to it, Majesty. Nonetheless, I suspect that Percy's lack of prominence shall not serve him well; for even those who wish fervently to expel all of England's Catholic subjects might baulk at the promptings from one so untried. The words of the priests, and the Authorities of the City, should quell this rebellion before it can even begin."

Anne nods, then turns to Richmond, "My Lord, I also ask that you, with a deputation of Councillors, take steps to apprehend Baron Percy should the need arise. As the second highest officer of the Realm, I grant you the authority to do what must be done."

Richmond bows, "Yes, Majesty. I shall take my Lords of Lincoln and Hackney, as they are known to be of the new faith, in the hopes that there shall be no accusation of oppression."

Philip turns to address the gathering, "I fear, my Lords, that, if Percy permits this wretched play to be performed in his father's house, it is safe to assume that he indeed intends to raise the City against England's Catholic subjects - and that I shall be the figurehead of their discontent. Thus I shall stand alongside her Majesty the Queen Dowager and the Lord High Chancellor of England, the very architects of England's great Settlement of the Faiths; and, together, we shall defend that noble aspiration of brotherhood in Christ from those who would drown the streets in blood to wash out their imagined stain."

Northumberland rises, "My son shall attend Cumberland house - and shall send word if the play is performed."

"Then we are agreed." Anne says, in a quiet, almost deadly, tone, "Should this play be acted, then we, too, shall act."

The heat in the great hall is stifling; the uncomfortable warmth of the summer evening exacerbated by a gathering of great size, and an equally enormous accumulation of candles. Stewards are making their way about the throng, dispensing chilled ale in copious amounts additional to that already consumed during supper. The fading aroma of the meal mixing unpleasantly with the sharper odour of sweat.

Seated close to an open door, on the pretext that to do so allows him the relief of a slight breeze, Warwick watches as a number of men mill about upon a small raised platform lit by the evening sunlight that floods through the oriel. The high table has been removed, and now Cumberland, his son beside him, are seated in the midst of those they have invited to witness a performance that shall serve in time to persuade Englishmen that they must rise to save themselves from ghastly misrule that shall end in slavery to Rome.

His discomfort is more than mere overheating; for Warwick has ever been a sensible young man. The degree to which the Percys have permitted themselves to pretend that their actions are intended to save England from a regression to the old ways is truly bizarre. Alnwick might speak the words of a Puritan, but he has never once acted as one. No, he is keen for power at Court, and sparking religious strife is a quicker way of gaining it than honest service. Cumberland's motives, however, are far harder to discern. He has been welcomed back to Court, an Earldom created specifically for him following the creation of the Duchy of Northumberland. Perhaps it is that: the loss of their original, ancestral title, that has prompted him to act as he does. Already upon the Council, he was ever keen to regain a degree of regard that his late brother possessed - and what better than to create a hole at the centre that he can then fill? As long as the Old guard remains, there is no other way.

He sips at a good, well-chilled ale and watches as the actors commence their performance. To a more balanced viewer, the play is painfully skewed in its sentiments, and he wonders how it is that those present do not see it. Surely they have read the histories of past Kings? Do they not know that the true Edward was a fool who cultivated favourites to the detriment of the Realm and paid for it with his life? But no, they seem quite wrapt; and are not remotely bemused by the appearance of a boy in the guise of a woman despite the somewhat lurid intent of the words that he speaks.

"Ah, my lord, I grant thee my lips and all of my parts; for England shall be thine as 'tis mine. Let us think not upon this fool youth that standeth upon a throne of dust and thinks't the realm his. All the jewels, coin, gold, silver that thou couldst hope to win are before thee my beloved; set upon my breast as thy hand reach's forth to claim it. Thy honey words that drip into his eager ear are as naught to the lands of pleasure that reside within my flesh. All cares shall fall from us as garments this night; but from the morrow's morn, thou shalt be my King in heart and hand."

As the work unfolds, Warwick sups at his ale slowly. Queen Isabella was indeed a she-wolf who took Roger Mortimer as her lover; but now she is represented as Edward's mother, not his wife; while the machinations of the two Despensers have grown even more luridly cruel in the weeks since he last saw the play performed.

"And what of this she-wolf? This whore from France who hast enraptured the King with wiles and sports? Her lord and master conquered as a titan, yet the blood of Bannockburn seepeth through her veins as tears from a Virgin's eye. I will not have it! I will not! Thus I set upon thee, my brethren, the cruel burden of rebellion, to wrest our beloved England from such craven claws. As God hath set upon us this task most grave, I stand as your Lord and equal brother. Our stolen King shall see his crown again, snatch'd withal from grasping hands of black-gowned thieves who call themselves Englishmen!"

He shifts upon his seat, uncomfortably; the words might have been granted to Thomas of Lancaster, but nonetheless, shorn of their context, they could just as easily be spoken against the Queen Dowager in the days when she first caught the eye of the King. He is startled at the sound of murmuring in the audience; and turns to see that they are not angered by the play itself, but instead exchange glances that suggest they are hearing something that they always knew and chafed against. They are casting the Dowager and her Lord Chancellor as traitors who have not completed the work of the Reformation in England…

The destruction of the two Despensers is met with cheers, though they are presented with considerably more modesty than the events that inspired them. In spite of their service to the Realm, it seems that neither Richmond nor Wiltshire are particularly well liked in this forum. To witness their demise - even in a fictional context - delights them, and they are keen for more. Unfortunately - from Warwick's perspective, at least - Strickland is happy to provide it.

"Oh England! Poor lost realm of good people under Mortimer's heel most brutally crush'd! I cry thee mercy, for mine weakness and youth hast left thee unprotected. In despair my crown is snatch'd from me, in dismay my heart is break'd by cruel fortune and devilish counsel! But I am not fit to wear a crown; my weakness and foolishness e'er a wall too high to climb. My council a nest of vipers, in conspiracies envenomed, hast poisoned the Realm. It is to thee that I turn, oh Lord. Grant succour to your people; fill them with your Holy fire to blaze the serpents into ashes! England has a King and needeth not a she-wolf or her lover. I serve Thee, and shall wrest this Treasured realm from a wanton and her mate; and shall grant his vile corpse the courtesy of Despenser's dispatch upon a ladder's rungs!"

Another cheer as the imprisoned Edward's soliloquy speaks again of rebellion for the good of the Realm. There are yet more cheers as the people are shown to rise against the wrongful rule of Isabella and Mortimer to set Edward back upon his throne, while the sadistic delight of the audience as Mortimer meets his end with cowardly whining and self-justifications sickens him. Have they forgotten that Lord Cromwell is an old man? Besides, from his own knowledge of the man, Warwick is well aware that the Chancellor would never be so wretched in the face of death. Worse still are the jeers as 'Isabella' is dispatched to a nunnery.

Even though he is convinced that an audience less sympathetic to Percy's intentions would react with far less pleasure, Warwick remains fearful. Together, the accumulation of high-born nobles and aristocrats could command a significant number of men to follow them - and if that is sufficient to bring the people from their houses, the King and the Dowager shall have alternative other than to deploy the militia. And then all hell would truly break loose.

From the sound of their delight - particularly as Edward completes the play with his final soliloquy - Warwick is certain that they intend to try it.

Further into the hall, however, Percy's mood is entirely different. Delighted, he stands upon his chair, "Friends! Let us not allow this momentum to falter! England is burdened by the misrule of a Papist interloper and men too riven with age to counsel well! We must regain the Realm for her true Prince! Her Majesty's feet must be set upon a righteous path to create an England where popery is no more! Who is with me?"

Cumberland rises to his feet with an expression of pride as his son's words generate even more cheers, and not a few pledges to aid them. Still on his chair, Percy laughs delightedly, bathing in the adulation of his new-found allies. He turns to catch Warwick's eye, only to see the Earl's chair empty.

Henry Dudley is gone.

Philip paces back and forth, "There is no alternative. We must arrest them. Damnation! I had not wanted it to come to this!"

"None of us looked for this, Majesty." Anne reminds him, rather more calmly, though her own mood is hardly less enraged, "But it came to us nonetheless, and thus we must respond."

"But if we arrest them, then they shall claim that they were right! That I am naught but a papist tyrant who looks to destroy them for my own gain! Whatever I do, it shall be wrong…" he flings himself into a chair and taps the fingers of his left hand against the arm, irritably, "I think it best that we sign the warrant together, Madame; perhaps the presence of your signature alongside mine shall serve as a balancing influence."

Anne regards him, and sighs. He is right; whatever he does shall offend someone - but at least he is looking to find a moderate way to ease the situation. Her signature alongside his might help to ease the impression of an arbitrary act by a catholic King - and if it is delivered by men of each faith; that, too, might persuade folk that their action is not based upon religious intolerance.

"My lord Richmond," She says, as the seal is affixed to the warrant that the two have signed, "I ask you to take care. Young Warwick's report is that those who attended Cumberland house last night were provoked strongly by the sentiments expressed in the play, and are keen to offer their aid to this enterprise. My Lord of Essex advises that the Aldermen have been advised to warn the townsfolk to keep to their houses; but there is no certainty that they shall listen."

"Cumberland House has a river stair, Majesty." Richmond reminds her; for all of the great houses alongside the river are so served, "We shall escort them from there to Baynard's Castle where they shall be housed well."

"Good. It is too soon for the Tower. If we can quiet matters, then I hope we shall not be obliged to send them there."

"Ensure that they are given the best of hospitality, my Lord." Philip adds, "It is hard to demand rescue if one is a well-treated guest."

"It shall be done, Majesty." Remarkably sprightly despite his requirement for a stick, Richmond turns and departs to collect Lincoln and Sadleir.

The three Lords depart from Whitehall with a small cadre of guards. Better to look like an escort for those who travel than an army to quell a nest of conspirators, after all. To most in the streets, they are just making their way towards the Strand with the intention of attending one of the grand houses that line the river, and thus none pay them any mind. Men of high rank are escorted along the street every day, after all.

"Do you think he shall accept his arrest, my Lord?" Sadleir asks Richmond, the clatter of their horses' hooves concealing the low volume of his voice from listening ears.

"I cannot say." Richmond admits, "I hope that the presence of the royal seal shall be sufficient to silence him, and that he shall accept that he must obey their Majesties' summons. My concern, however, is that we shall do naught but provoke him to act without thought. The desire of these young Courtiers to displace men of my standing has been long-present, and we have been fools to ignore it; but it may yet be that we shall nip this in its bud, and thus all shall be well."

Riding beside them, Lincoln says nothing, but Sadleir catches his eye. He no more believes it than even Richmond does. If they can at least get Percy to a boat without his creating an almighty fuss it shall be an achievement. At least Warwick did not see any collection of armaments at Cumberland House.

Like many of the grander houses of the Strand, Cumberland's mansion fronts onto the street, but is guarded by a gatehouse of great size. There is a porter, whose reaction to their arrival demonstrates more strongly than anything else that the Percys are conspiring against the Crown - for his expression is one of helplessness. He does not know who to fear more - the men at the door, or the men within.

"I shall advise his Grace that you are present." He falters, nervously.

"There is no need to do so." Richmond answers, his tone curt, "We shall make our way through. Remain at your post."

It is probably too late to surprise them, of course; doubtless there is someone elsewhere in the Gatehouse who has noticed their arrival, and is likely fleeing to the main house to warn Cumberland and his son that a delegation from the Palace has come. They shall probably pause only to ascertain the reason for their presence; or they shall flee to the water gate. It is impossible to know.

"Do you think they shall stay to face us?" Lincoln asks, a little cynically.

"Probably." Richmond shrugs, "They shall maintain the fiction until they know our intent; by which time they shall be unable to deny their calumnies. We have an armed escort, so they can hardly fight us."

Sadleir snorts with laughter, "They shall have to find guns first. We already have them."

Dismounting, the group approach the porch of the house proper, only for the enormous doors to open and reveal a senior steward, "My lords, I am asked to welcome you to Cumberland house. Please enter."

Frowning slightly, Richmond turns to his colleagues. There seems to be no reason to refuse the invitation, but nonetheless they are all mildly uncomfortable as they make their way into the grand entry hall, where Cumberland himself is awaiting them.

"My Lord Richmond!" he smiles, almost delightedly, "Welcome to my home - I am surprised to see you, however; is there a matter at Court of which I am unaware?"

Suspicious, Richmond eyes the Earl, "My Lord, I must ask you to call your son. I am here with a warrant from their Majesties King Philip and Queen Dowager Anne - on behalf of the Queen Elizabeth - for your arrest. You are charged with…"

He is interrupted by the ghastly sound of a door being thrust open so sharply that it crashes into the corner of a dresser alongside the doorway. In an instant, the room is full of young men; all of them armed.

"On the contrary, my Lord Richmond." Cumberland smirks, as his son emerges from the group to stand beside him, "I assure you that the Portuguese Cockerel has miscalculated. If he comes to seize us, then we shall take steps to counter him. England is at stake, it seems. Thus we shall move to save her. If you are not with us, then you are against us, and I shall have you all confined."

Perhaps he should be afraid, but instead Richmond is annoyed, "I assure you my Lord I am not with you. Cease this treachery, and her Majesty shall look upon you with mercy. Continue, and you shall inevitably die."

"And the Popish King shows his true colours." Percy jeers, "James; confine these traitors to the wine cellar. When England is safe in the hands of her Majesty again, and those who have misled her are imprisoned, they shall be moved to the Tower."

"If you dare to do so, then it shall be you who faces the Tower." Richmond answers, still rather irked, "There is still time. Cease this foolishness now and her Majesty shall spare you."

Scowling with loathing, Percy snatches at someone's smoking pistol, the only weapon to hand that is primed and ready to fire. Setting the muzzle of the weapon at Richmond's forehead, he shakes his head, "No, my Lord, you have led England astray for long enough. You shall go to the cellar, or you shall die here and now. Choose."

"We shall go to the cellar." Lincoln says, calmly, "my Lord Richmond, step back. My Lord Alnwick, put up your weapon."

The scowl transforms back to a sneer, and Percy lowers the pistol. Scowling in his turn, Richmond steps back and allows himself to be escorted away.

"It seems that our hand is to be forced." Cumberland observes, "Gather your men, Gentlemen. We must call London to arms rather sooner than we had intended; for the Popish King has acted against Englishmen, and so he has grasped the Crown from our true Queen."

Between them, the Cumberlands stand together in the hall of their home as their conspirators depart to the streets. When they return, they shall bring an army, and all of London shall rise to save the rule of their Queen.