After Elizabeth, Aleneil, and Rhoslyn had returned safely to Hampton Court and taken up their usual pursuits, Aleneil warned Elizabeth not to trust Rhoslyn despite her appearance of sincerity, and certainly not to trust Pasgen.
"They are all terrible liars in the Dark Court. They can look so sincere and still be lying." She uttered Lady Alana's soft contagious laugh. "Of course the Bright Court is not overly dedicated to truthfulness either, but we do not lie when it is a matter of life and death."
"I will be careful," Elizabeth promised.
However, as it happened, there was nothing to be careful about. She rarely saw Rhoslyn, and then only from a distance, when in the train of her sister Mary. Pasgen she did not see at all. And in any event, she was not long at court.
The king returned from France safely in October, but the war, as Denno had predicted, had not gone well. King Henry did take Boulogne, but the emperor Charles did not take Paris. Indeed, Charles's war went so ill that the emperor made peace with King Francis of France without consulting Henry, leaving Henry open to the full weight of the French army—and added to that a treaty that committed the Empire to support France against any attack.
Mired in political recriminations with Charles, and nearly bankrupt, Henry pared his court down to what was by previous standards a mere skeleton—and he only kept on necessary officials. However, one of the acts passed by Parliament in 1544 was a new Act of Succession. The act essentially duplicated the provisions in the king's will—the throne to go first to Edward, second to any lawful issue of the king's marriage to Catherine Parr, third to his eldest daughter, Mary, but after that to Elizabeth, equal to Mary in all but the date of her birth. Named in an act of Parliament, Elizabeth's place in the succession was assured more certainly than by a clause in a will, which could be eliminated by a single pen-drawn line.
Warned to caution by both Denoriel and Aleneil, Elizabeth gave no sign of her feeling of triumph, but she was more at peace than she had ever been. And Denoriel did not choose to break that peace; he never told her that England was facing serious threats, as France and the Empire sealed their new alliance with plans to invade. For security as well as to get them out of the way, the two younger children were sent to Ashridge together. Mary, older and sometimes useful as a diplomatic pawn, remained with the court or retired to her own estates, as Henry or her own health dictated.
Elizabeth and Edward were delighted to be together again. In the private setting, the prince was less formal and rigid, and their tutors were even more flexible and amusing; there was no need for strictness with two such eager students. The children were well guarded but more to save them from annoyance than from any fear that anyone wished them ill.
In this climate, Denoriel had easily enough ingratiated himself with Sir Anthony Denny, chief gentleman of King Henry's Privy Chamber, by bringing secret information from France. He said the news came to him from his ship captains who traded in French ports, but he actually got the information from friends in Elfhame Melusine. When Sir Anthony asked him why he brought such news, ensconced as they were in the privacy of his study, Denoriel laughed.
"Because in these times any foreigner is suspect, and a foreigner like myself, who has a large trading empire, could be in danger of having his property confiscated and being cast out. I am not much worried about confiscation; most of my worth is in ships spread all over the eastern seas, and I have credit in many cities of the Hanse," he added, "but I consider this land my home, and I am loathe to find myself barred from it."
"No threat is being directed against our merchants," Sir Anthony said quickly, though his eyes were not on Denoriel when he said it, but rather, looking just past Denoriel's shoulder.
Denoriel smiled and shook his head. He knew and Sir Anthony knew that if the choice came between paying the king's mercenaries and stripping the merchants bare, the merchants would be stripped. But assurances were offered, however mendacious, because no one wanted the merchants to flee.
"As I said, I am not much troubled about confiscation, but I do not wish to be cast out," Denoriel repeated. "I have lived in England for over twenty years now. I have deep roots in this country and eagerly desire its well-being. And I have known and loved Pr—I beg pardon, the Lady Elizabeth, since she was a babe."
"Ah, yes. I remember. It was you Norfolk was obtaining a pass for." Sir Anthony laughed, his hands toying idly with a goose-quill. "He is much puzzled by you, Lord Denno. He cannot understand your attachment to the royal children since you never ask them . . . or him, for that matter . . . for favors."
Denoriel drew himself up. "I do not need any favors. I can and will always make myself useful and valuable to England because it has provided for me a haven, a true home."
A small spell accompanied the words; it did not need to do much because Sir Anthony was half convinced already. But when it took hold Sir Anthony would always like and admire Lord Denno and trust him completely.
"You mean that, I see, Lord Denno," Sir Anthony said. "Well, I am grateful for the news you brought and hope you will bring more. And I will see that, whatever happens, you remain welcome in this realm and have free access to Lady Elizabeth."
"That is the only favor I desire," Denoriel said, seriously, and with a little bow. "As for the children, Harry—I mean His Grace of Richmond—was such a child and growing into such a man as was reward enough just to know him. 'Tis said the good die young," he added with a sigh.
Sir Anthony nodded sympathetically. "His Grace of Richmond was a fine, open-hearted lad," he agreed.
"The Lady Elizabeth—" Denoriel uttered a warm chuckle "—now she is another kettle of fish entirely . . . a very spicy kettle of fish. She is a refreshment to the mind and the heart and I thank you sincerely for the permission to visit her."
Sir Anthony did feel a small qualm of suspicion that permission to visit Elizabeth would bring the foreign merchant into contact with Prince Edward, but Norfolk had accorded the man the same permission with Henry FitzRoy. Despite the spell—it was a little, gentle thing not designed to override clear thought—when Denoriel was gone again, Sir Anthony wrote to the prince's tutors to ask if Denno seemed to be influencing Edward in any way. He was promptly reassured that Denno did not spend much time with the prince and seemed to have no purpose with either child but amusement.
It was true that such amusements might lead to friendship and influence when the prince was a man, but that was many years away, and right now Sir Anthony was profiting by bringing the king information no one else had. Denno was always welcome at court, and aside from the information, Sir Anthony found him a most comfortable friend.
By the New Year of 1546 the threat of invasion had passed. As New Year gifts Denoriel brought Edward a fine astrolabe and a remarkable kaleidoscope. He brought Elizabeth, who was now edging toward her thirteenth year and womanhood, a set of gold pens, some intricate earrings into which her spell-bearing stones could be fastened, and a magnificent necklace—very like that which had turned to dross when she first returned from Underhill.
She kissed him when she saw the necklace and then said, "I cannot keep it, Denno. It will make all kinds of trouble if anyone sees it. Even Edward would not believe it was a free gift, not shackled to me with promises."
"You do not have to wear it," he said, flushing as he returned the kiss with perhaps a touch more enthusiasm than was fitting. "Put it in your box and only try it on for me. You have such a beautiful long throat."
She laughed and shook her head. "I could not resist showing it off. Keep it for me."
Denoriel did not continue to protest. He guessed he might not need to keep the necklace for very long, and it might win him another kiss when he brought it back. Henry was desperately seeking allies who would help him drive Emperor Charles into a new alliance that would force the French into peace and permit Henry to keep Boulogne. One way was through marriage, and Henry began offering his younger daughter to any nation he hoped to secure as an ally.
Most rulers, or their advisors at least, wary of being involved in Henry's difficulties, offered many speeches about how much they were honored, leading to polite refusals. One or two wished to keep negotiations open for their own reasons and sent flashy but—by royal or imperial standards—inexpensive pieces of jewelry to the proposed bride.
Elizabeth was frightened at first; she did not want to be anyone's bride. She knew, deep in her heart, though she could not have said how she knew it, nor why, that a foreign marriage was wrong for her, that she must never leave England. But Denno soon put her mind at rest. Through sources in the Hanse, he himself had brought Sir Anthony the information that one party was angling for trade concessions, not to support Henry's war.
As for the other offer, news did not travel only one way; Sir Anthony told Denoriel that the other party was actually too insignificant for Henry to give his daughter, even if he himself had proposed the idea in a fit of temper. Although nothing came of the marriage negotiations, Elizabeth was allowed to keep the relatively valueless trinkets—and to them was added Denoriel's necklace.
Both Edward and Elizabeth had been invited by Queen Catherine to celebrate Christmas 1545 and the New Year 1546 with the court. They had received lavish gifts of cloth for clothing and other marks of favor, but no one seemed to be interested in marrying any of the children at this point, and King Henry, suffering now for his lifelong pursuit of pleasure, found the continual full court something of an irritant. Since for the present time the children were useless as diplomatic pawns, there was no purpose in keeping them with the king, and soon after the New Year they returned to the country.
Edward probably actually preferred living in the country, as he did not seem much to enjoy the entertainments of court. Elizabeth loved being at court, but she was frankly terrified of being a treaty bride and hoped the retreat to Hatfield, which her father had ordered, meant the end of that danger. Also, she loved Edward and was glad to see him happy, and he was never happier than when he was alone with his tutors. She loved her books, too, and Denno was a frequent visitor, so she did not repine.
In fact Denoriel was so frequent a visitor at Hatfield, where he had long-established Gates and could come and go with great ease, that soon a slip of the tongue here and there revealed to him Elizabeth's adventure with Rhoslyn. Denoriel was horrified, and warned Elizabeth even more forcefully than Aleneil had to avoid Rhoslyn and never to trust Pasgen.
"Mistress Scot does not come near me," Elizabeth assured him, "and I have never seen Pasgen after that time he attacked me in the garden. But I am sorry for the dark lady. She really loved that little boy, and she is very sad. And I do not think she hates you anymore."
Denoriel felt a little sorry for Rhoslyn himself. He remembered her expression, and the tears that had poured down her face when she thought he had killed the changeling. He knew, too, what he would have suffered if Harry had actually died, and he could not help but think that she must have felt something similar for the changeling. After all, not only was Rhoslyn female, and equipped by nature with maternal instincts, she had actually created poor Richey and could presumably regard herself as something of his mother. Nonetheless, one of the times that Mary was at court, he waylaid her maid of honor, Rosamund Scot.
"Stay away from Elizabeth," he said, in tones as cold as a blast of icy wind. "If any attempt is made on her—"
Rhoslyn turned flashing black eyes on him. Bull-headed and bull-mannered; he always had been, and likely would never learn better.
Aleneil had told him, she thought. Stupid chit, could she keep nothing to herself? She should have been able to hold her tongue on that score, even if he was her brother. But that petulant thought made Rhoslyn smile slightly because she herself could keep very little from Pasgen.
So instead of sneering and turning her back on him, she said pacifically, "I mean her no harm. I am even doing my best to undo the evil notions I have given Mary."
Unfortunately the hint of a smile made Denoriel quite sure she was planning something evil. "I am not saying that you would, of yourself, intend to do Elizabeth harm," he said, his lifted brows implying disbelief, "but Pasgen might have other notions."
Pasgen would have troubles enough when Vidal realized that he was nowhere to be found. Rhoslyn did not want the Bright Court mobilized against him too. "No," she said trying to make Denoriel feel her sincerity. "Pasgen no longer wishes any harm to come to Elizabeth. He told me he will not act against her because he has reinterpreted the FarSeeings. He has come to think that Elizabeth is meant to come to the throne no matter what we do or do not do, and that future is as set and immutable as the past." She put a hand on Denoriel's arm. "I swear to you, he has withdrawn from the Unseleighe Court."
Denoriel stared for a moment, wondering if he could believe her. He could detect no levels beneath her overt words—but he did not dare rely on her swearing.
Finally, he shrugged. "Whatever you and Pasgen would prefer, you might not be able to disobey Vidal Dhu. So heed me: I do not want you or your brother near Elizabeth."
For a moment Rhoslyn was tempted to spit in his face. "We will do as we please, Pasgen and I," she hissed, but keeping her voice low. "Certainly we are not subject to your orders." Then she swallowed and shook her head; she owed it to that bright-haired princess, who had gone out of her way to give her an end to her grief, to at least bring the situation to a point of neutrality. "Believe me or do not believe me, but I really do wish Elizabeth well now, so I will give you a piece of advice. Do not watch me and Pasgen so closely that you miss the real threat to her."
"Real threat?" His voice was hardly a murmur. It would not be heard except by Rhoslyn herself, and the way he leaned toward her hinted at amorous dalliance.
"Watch for Vidal Dhu himself," she murmured back. "Now he is still amusing himself in Scotland. There is more than sufficient power from pain and misery pouring out of Scotland to keep the Dark Court fed full. Do what you can to make King Henry adamant about the Scottish treaty and pursuing the war with the Scots, for the more it is prolonged, the longer Vidal will tarry, and forget about Elizabeth entirely."
"The king is adamant enough without any help from me," Denoriel admitted.
"Good." Rhoslyn nodded. "That is Elizabeth's best warranty of safety. As long as Vidal is busy keeping the Scots from considering any compromise with Henry, he will not remember Elizabeth. But if the war stops and Henry dies, Vidal will act. He is very determined that Elizabeth not come to the throne."
Denoriel held up a hand, looking angry and horrified. Even to speak in the negative those two words, Elizabeth and throne, were treason. Rhoslyn pressed her lips together in angry frustration, knowing she should not have said that last sentence, that Denoriel would think she said it to make trouble.
Just then Mary turned from her conversation with Wriothesley. Rhoslyn's angry expression made her smile. Mary did not like Lord Denno. She gestured and Rhoslyn walked away from Denoriel.
He stood looking after her, very much troubled in his mind. There was something different about Rhoslyn, about the way she had spoken, even the way she had held herself while she talked. What she said could be a blind, of course, to fix his attention on Vidal so they could . . . what? They were too cautious to attack Elizabeth directly. Vidal, if he could see a way to direct the blame elsewhere, was not. So was the warning genuine?
And if it was—where was the new danger lurking?
Although Rhoslyn had been perfectly honest with Denoriel, she had inadvertently misled him. He did not believe her enough to relax his guard about Elizabeth, but her conviction that Vidal Dhu was in Scotland and single-mindedly devoted to Scottish affairs made him less alert to the prince's meddling with others.
In fact Vidal was devoted to Scottish affairs. He would have preferred to be in Scotland to keep a closer watch on Cardinal Beaton, the Earl of Angus, and several others. The men could be pointed in a particular direction easily, but they were so inconstant of purpose—except in the purpose of forwarding their own interests—that they could not be trusted without close supervision. Thus Vidal had tried to seek out Pasgen to work on Scottish affairs from the English end.
Vidal found no sign of Pasgen Underhill or in the World Above. He found Rhoslyn easily enough attending on Lady Mary in the mortal world, and she replied to his questions with sincerity—and by Vidal's own reading with perfect truth—that she did not know where Pasgen was. The last he had told her was that he wished to do some research in the Unformed lands. Vidal cursed her for a simple-minded and incurious fool, and left her to her own business. Control of Lady Mary without overt spells was important.
A visit to the servant in Fagildo Otstargi's house in London had already made clear that Pasgen had not been there in a long time. Vidal left and returned as Otstargi a few days later. He had spoken to his FarSeers and was clear headed and well informed. He did not send out any general notice of Otstargi's return but arranged for private messages to be delivered to several men on the council.
His note to the Earl of Hertford was returned unopened. Sir Anthony Denny sent a polite rejection of Otstargi's invitation. Paget made an appointment for the next week. Wriothesley appeared at Otstargi's front door only a few hours after the message was received.
Vidal received him in Pasgen's study, a place thick with ominously heavy volumes bound in curious leathers, and sporting upon the shelves a number of curiosities among the books. These were objects guaranteed to give a visitor pause—skulls that few in England would be able to identify, the requisite stuffed owl and crocodile that every self-respecting sorcerer was required to own, crystal globes and mineral specimens, and brass instruments of uncertain use.
As he had several years in the past, Wriothesley asked angrily where Otstargi had been and was told coldly that he had been away on his own business, which was no business of any other man. Since Wriothesley was not at all eager to hear about Otstargi's magical practices—which were illegal by act of Parliament—he did not enquire further. What he did ask was how to stem the king's spending on war. There simply was no money to be wrested from the realm.
"You cannot stop him altogether," Vidal said, leaning across the desk to emphasize his point. "King Henry must conquer something. Now that the Church is in his hand he wants to wrest away parts of France. Guide him into making peace with France—"
"The French will not accept his terms," Sir Thomas said, all but grinding his teeth. "Francis is determined to have Boulogne back and Henry is equally determined to hold it."
"So agree to give it back—" Vidal persisted.
"I just told you Henry would not hear of it. Ask the moon to agree to come down out of the sky and adorn the clock tower at Hampton Court; you will get as much cooperation," Sir Thomas retorted, temper barely held in check.
"Nor will you hear how to accomplish it if you keep interrupting me," Vidal said, barely holding in his own temper. "All Henry—or, thank God the agents he will send to do the negotiating—needs to do is to make the return of Boulogne contingent on something that the French will not want to do but that is possible of being done. Set a high price on the ransom of the city."
That gave Sir Thomas pause for a moment, and he sat back in his chair. "Hmmm. The king might not reject such a proposal out of hand. I will certainly suggest it to the council."
"Yes, but do not cut off all plans for war," Vidal added. "If you make peace on all sides, Henry will become restless, and his restlessness will burst out in a new and more expensive place—like supporting the Germans against the empire."
"God's sweet Grace forefend!" Wriothesley breathed.
"So . . . do not make peace with the Scots," Vidal continued, urging the project he truly wanted.
In a perverted way, Vidal was enjoying this. On the one hand, the mortals were so easily led—but on the other, the machinations he had to go through to lead them, the convoluted plotting and planning, made him feel challenged, and more like his old, clever self than he had in many a mortal year.
"Let Henry bend his warlike intentions on the Scots," Vidal continued. "You know that war with the Scots is cheap. It does not require large mercenary armies because the English of the northern shires are always willing to fight the Scots. And by God's grace, the Scots are always willing to fight anyone. Let there be peace for six months, and they will fight each other."
"Ah," Wriothesley said, smiling. "Yes. I see the wisdom of your advice, Master Otstargi." He laid a well-filled purse on the table between them. "And have you any advice for me, personally?"
"Yes." Vidal now sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on the carved arms, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. "Be more circumspect in your support of those who lean toward the old religion—except for Lady Mary. Aid her in any way you can, except for a direct confrontation with the king. A time is coming when adherents of the old religion will have shorter shrift than this king allows."
Wriothesley's face paled visibly. "This king . . ." He shuddered, glanced anxiously around the room, which was empty and bare of anything a listener could hide behind, then whispered. "Are you saying that . . . that Henry . . . will die?"
Vidal shrugged. "All men die. Sooner or later is the question . . . and this, my glass says, may be sooner. But certainly not tomorrow or next week. Let him make peace with France while offering conquest of Scotland and the union of the kingdoms by the marriage of Mary and Edward as the prize."
Wriothesley was still pursuing the earlier hare. "But you are not telling me the king will make even greater changes in . . ." He flushed. "God's Grace upon us all, he was speaking about the mass just the other day. But—no." Sir Thomas shook his head vehemently. "He will not order that mass not be said. Why . . . why he even spoke to the pope's emissary . . ."
Otstargi shook his head. "My glass does not say what the king will do. It shows many, many events, none clear. I only advise you to be cautious so you can move either way."
"You are telling me to give up my faith?" Sir Thomas stared hard at him.
Vidal waved a hand. "I never meddle with any man's faith. Caution and a closed mouth are not a change of faith. But if you do not keep the king's mind on the Scottish war, he will have too much time to consider religious problems. The Scottish war will not prolong the king's life, but also will not shorten it, as his sojourn in France may have done. And a peace with France will reduce the strain on the king's purse. Keep to these matters, and mind what company you keep. That is all."
Although Denoriel was making it his purpose to be in court even more often as the king's health wavered, he got no hint of Vidal's presence. Vidal never came near the court, and what Wriothesley advised was so much a matter of plain common sense that Denoriel never thought of outside influences. Paget and the council were soon advising the same political expedients.
At first the king seemed to ignore the council's advice. Soon after the children were settled in Hatfield, the king sent Edward Seymour, the Earl of Hertford, to Boulogne as if to begin a major enterprise. Denoriel talked to Sir Anthony and even to Sir Thomas Wriothesley but Sir Thomas simply shook his head, admitting that he had hoped Henry would make peace. They assumed the king intended to attack Etaples, which he had long wished to destroy.
Then, however, before Denoriel could consider how to interfere to turn Henry's attention to Scotland again, he discovered his work had been done for him. The king did a right-about-face and appointed commissioners to begin new peace talks with France.
Henry's first demands were impossible. He wanted the French to cease supporting the Scots against the English, asked for eight million crowns to reimburse English war expenses, and insisted that Boulogne and its surrounding area be ceded to England.
Later, when it was clear that the French were about to abandon the negotiations, he permitted his envoys to make concessions, agreeing that the Scots should be comprehended in the treaty if the infant queen were delivered to England, and then, the further concession that he would accept hostages in Mary of Scotland's stead. He even agreed that Boulogne would be returned to France in eight years if two million crowns were paid.
Although Henry signed the agreement in July and Francis ratified it on August sixth, no one was very serious about the terms. Nonetheless the treaty permitted Henry to dismiss the expensive mercenaries and reduce his own forces in Boulogne . . . which was still in English hands. The imperial ambassador remarked that if Henry was going to wait to return Boulogne for the payment of two million crowns, he would hold the city forever. To which Henry, who never intended to return Boulogne, made no reply beyond a satisfied smile.
By November, despite the fact that Henry's agreement with the French included the Scots, the king was castigating the Scottish ambassadors so violently, complaining that the Scots had broken the peace, that they became sure the English would attack them again and appealed to France for help. Henry did not seem to care what answer Francis would make; he went on ordering the assembly of more forces in preparation for another assault on Scotland.
To Denoriel's questions, Sir Anthony shrugged. The behavior was typical of the king. Thus Denoriel felt free to spend most of his time with Elizabeth, and it was just as well because at the end of November she and Edward were separated. Edward was sent to Hertford and Elizabeth to Enfield. Both felt the parting keenly, but Edward (who had no Lord Denno to keep his spirits up) wrote sadly in Latin to Elizabeth:
The change of place, in fact, did not vex me so much, dearest sister, as your going from me. Now, however, nothing can happen more agreeable to me than a letter from you . . . But this is some comfort to my grief, that I hope to visit you shortly . . .
The king's planning action against the Scots was all to the good as far as Elizabeth's safety, but very privately in his own home Sir Anthony confessed to Denoriel that the entire council was very worried about the king. He was clearly failing—and did not himself seem aware of it . . . unless the feverish orders to prepare to fight to protect Boulogne, the buildup of troops on the Scottish border, the negotiations with everyone about everything, possible and impossible, were because he feared he would not have time enough to complete what he intended to do.
The elven siblings discussed the situation in the one place where they need not fear being overheard—in Denoriel's own suite in Llachar Lle. "So do we warn Elizabeth?" Denoriel asked Aleneil after he had told her what Sir Anthony believed.
"He has seemed to fail before and rallied," Aleneil said. "Nothing in the FarSeers' lens is different."
"No, because Edward will come to the throne." Denoriel sighed, and leaned back into the cushions on his settle. "I hope you do not think those who support the old religion will put Mary forward?"
"They may try, but Mary will have none of it," Aleneil said certainly. "For one thing, she is not yet sure that Edward cannot be enticed back to Rome . . ."
"To Rome?" Denoriel laughed. "But Edward is a hotter little reformist than Elizabeth, who abides strictly by her father's middle way and says—taking Henry's words from his last speech to Parliament—that she will be neither 'mumpsimus' nor 'sumpsimus' but worship God without argument."
Aleneil shrugged. "But Mary has not really spoken to Edward for nearly a year, and some months ago she was given hope that Henry could be drawn back to Rome."
Denoriel stared at her for a moment, then said disbelievingly, "Henry? Surely that must be a fantasy."
"In a way, yes, but also a mystery." Aleneil shrugged. "A man called Guron Bertano arrived in England to discuss with Henry a reconciliation with the pope. That Henry would accept, I do not believe, but why was Bertano allowed to come? Why did he remain in England for two whole months? Why did he have a meeting with the king and two with Paget?"
"It seems quite mad," Denoriel said. "And Sir Anthony never even mentioned this Bertano."
Aleneil nodded. "It is possible that Bertano's mission has been kept secret from Denny or he was so sure it would come to nothing that it was not worth mentioning." She toyed with the beaded tassel of the jeweled belt around her loose gown, so unlike the corseted clothing she wore as Lady Alana. "Also, he leans slightly toward the reformed persuasion so I would imagine that Paget and Wriothesley were the men sent to deal with the pope's emissary—if he was the pope's emissary." She shrugged. "Likely also no one wanted word passed that Mary had some part in urging Paget to meet with Bertano."
Denoriel's brow wrinkled. "What this Bertano offered was thought to be tempting?"
Aleneil pursed her lips. "Mary believes that the pope offered to accept everything Henry has done, the divorce, the dissolution of the monasteries . . . everything . . . so long as Henry would acknowledge the pope's primacy."
Denoriel shook his head. "But that, although it was several times wrapped up in white linen, and perhaps Henry did not himself see it at first, was what the king really wanted from the beginning—to rule absolute in his own realm with no interference from the Church. Wasn't it?"
"I am not sure Mary ever understood that or could understand it." Aleneil sighed at Mary's thick-headedness.
"Elizabeth could." Denoriel laughed. "But how did you become familiar with this? I thought Lady Mary would have nothing to do with you."
Aleneil smiled. "From Rhoslyn." She shook her head at Denoriel's scowl. "I tell her nothing about Elizabeth and she does not ask. I think you are wrong about her. She is trying to change Mary's mind about Elizabeth. When Mary asked if Elizabeth would turn back to Rome if Henry agreed to Bertano's terms, Rhoslyn replied very cleverly that Elizabeth always bowed to the authority of the king, and would obey him in everything. And thus she has also covered Elizabeth's acceptance of the reformed religion in Edward's reign."
"Which brings us back to whether we should or should not warn Elizabeth that her father may soon die," Denoriel pointed out.
"She is so happy now," Aleneil said in a small voice. "There have been so few times in her life when she could be happy. I cannot bear to take it away from her."
"But the shock . . ." Denoriel's voice faltered. He, too, could not bear the thought of spoiling even a few days of this halcyon time.
So they said nothing, and Elizabeth, usually so quick to perceive anxiety in her guardians, did not seem to notice. Later they both thought she had been deliberately blind, but the blindness had given her two more months of peace.
It was not so peaceful for others. In December Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey and Harry Fitzroy's childhood friend, was accused first of heresy and then, worse, of treason. Denoriel had lost touch with the young man whose faults of quick temper and intemperate pride had worsened as he grew.
More shocking to Denoriel was that the duke of Norfolk, who had survived with no more than a brief period of eclipse the adultery of two nieces married to the king, was also seized, stripped of his staff of office and his garter, and thrown into the Tower. Judicious bribery bought Denoriel a secret visit with Norfolk, to whom he offered what help he could give, but the old man only laughed bitterly.
"I have done this and that evil in my life," he admitted without a sign of regret, "but I can truly rejoice in my absolute and unfailing loyalty to my master. And if it is his will to take my life without cause, in this I will be obedient, too. No, Lord Denno, there is nothing you can do for me—but I must say that I see I was mistaken about you. You, too, have never failed in friendship."
Denoriel left the Tower feeling both troubled, and strangely, honored.
However, Norfolk did not lose his life. His son was found guilty of treason—on no evidence beyond rumor and hearsay and the fact that he had dared quarter his arms with those of Edward the Confessor—and was executed on January 21. The duke, however, confessed various crimes, although not treason, and threw himself on the king's mercy.
This time it seemed obedience would not save him. A bill of attainder was passed in Parliament and orders were given on January 27 for Norfolk's execution on January 28 . . . only in the dark hours before dawn of the same day, it was the king who died.