Of Pride and Power - 4. Chapter 4: “Never put too much trust in friends, Learn how to use enemies.”

For the next week, William Cecil and I began making plans, which annoyed Thomas Seymore as the man would constantly converse with me. As the news of my imminent summons to court was known to Lord Protector Duke of Somerset, Edward Seymore, William Cecil used it as a smokescreen to play our meetings as nothing more than preparations for being at court. He reported to Edward about my current status, my joy of being away from his lascivious brother, and my gratitude for this period of peace. Of course, he would come back to me and report exactly what Edward would respond with from his indifference to my feelings, his anger at his brother’s ambitions, and his desire to use me to counter my sister Mary’s influence on my brother King Edward.

Cecil mentioned that he had received word that his transfer to the Earl of Warwick, John Dudley, was facing difficulties, so he would likely be proceeding to court before me. John Dudley was Robert’s father and the historical entries on him were not flattering. If I were to use a modern comparison, his personality was a cross between Emperor Palpatine and Tywin Lannister. His lust for power had ultimately undone him and nearly wiped out his family. However, in the short term, he would be extremely powerful and take over the government from the Seymore family after their upcoming downfall. I encouraged William Cecil to become close with John Dudley for position and power. However, I warned him to be careful of the man if Edward’s health takes a dark turn, along with seeking closer contact with Mary, which surprised him.

Despite my knowledge of the future and present issues with elements from the future within the Catholic Church interfering with the course of history, I needed her to succeed Edward after he died in a few years. Protestantism was losing its favor in England, so Catholicism was going to be a safe and known alternative to the common people. Even if it meant giving power over to Mary and by extension forces that could be dangerous to me, I had to make people realize the alternative was as bad as the current regime. I doubt the Catholic Church would prevent “bloody Mary” from inflicting her wrath on the people of England. Between the purges of nobles due to making her a bastard child, Protestant peasant persecutions due to her hatred for Henry VIII’s religious legacy, and the blunders in both domestic and foreign policies due to her husband and poor planning, I just had to bide my time and survive as she imploded. However, I conceded in my mind that my opposition knew all of Mary’s shortcomings and the historical rise that would follow. Also, there were two other Marys, the 33-year-old Queen Regent of Scotland Mary of Guise, and her 6-year-old daughter Mary Stuart, better known as Mary Queen of Scots. Either one of them could claim the throne of England with Papal support, which meant an air force and mechanized force among other things in this reality. I mentioned the coming succession fight with William Cecil, who lamented that there was little that could be done. We were missing one important person in my inner circle, who would be someone I could never forget, like Jack. I hadn’t known all of that yet.

Throughout all of this, Robert was envious of my attention towards William Cecil, even though we were getting off together daily now in the morning due to our teenage hormones. I knew it was wrong to use him like porn to get off, but every time I looked into his eyes, I saw Jack. I allowed him to touch me and I touched him, but I knew he wasn’t the person I loved and I wasn’t the person he loved despite the moments when I thought he was.

When Edward and his entourage, including William Cecil, left the residence, we received my summons from the court. We would head to London a month later for a royal audience. A small royal escort of three knights was stationed at the residence. Thomas Seymore as a result had to keep his distance from me due to the impending visit to my brother, King Edward.

In addition to my summons, Robert also received a letter from his father, John Dudley, the Earl of Warwick, to visit London. He was surprised by his father’s request, but he was happy to be on the road with me. Of course, his sudden departure did make some members of his family a bit jealous, including his older brother, Ambrose, who demanded to follow us to London despite not being invited by his father.

Before I go into detail about our journey to London, I should describe Ambrose Dudley. Historians claimed he was an honorable and dutiful lord, who served Elizabeth I with distinction as a member of her privy council and commander of the English army. He was supposedly simple and homely in character. The stout eighteen-year-old teddy bear was not someone that I’d personally pick to manage an army. Like all the Dudley brothers, he was not meant to be a soldier. He was cheerful and happy-go-lucky; he would just do things on a whim. That kind of attitude instantly made him someone I could be friends with. Also, based on his attention to the assets of young servant boys, he was likely a 5 or 6 on the Kinsey scale, but sadly, no one paid him any interest. In the modern world, guys like him probably wouldn’t get much of a look either from skinny jeans-wearing boys or big leather daddies looking for someone soft to top. I knew he died childless in a loveless marriage in my reality. Perhaps, the frame of beauty will change when I become the ruler; if breasts, a vagina, and a dick can work in one package, maybe a few extra pounds and a receding hairline will matter less.

On the day of our journey, I was dressed in travel attire that included leather long pants and a thick jacket with wool lining. Embarrassingly, Robert gave me a pair of his tight underwear, called a Braies, with a codpiece that made me look like a gay cowboy porn star. Robert’s codpiece was even worse, making him look like he could give his young pony a run for his money. He may not have had the biggest dick in the world, but he didn’t need to compensate. He said it was fashionable in court to have large codpieces and it would protect our important parts during a journey. I frowned at the idea of codpiece measuring contests between nobles, some idiotic heteronormative traditions never change.

On our journey to London, I learned something very important about these old-fashioned horse-drawn carriages, they were a pain in the ass, literally. All those stupid Disney movies about magic stagecoaches didn’t realize that Cinderella would have a sore ass from rushing to the castle, how could she even dance? The lack of suspension made these things uncomfortable for long-distance travel, despite the presence of fabric and pillows. I did not have motion sickness in cars, but this medieval carriage was going to drive me to puke my guts out. I peered through my memory recall ability and discovered that it was around the reign of Elizabeth I that the suspension carriage or Coach became popular in England. It was no wonder why she did that.

Due to my various protests, I was able to leave the stupid carriage and ride on Robert’s pony with him. We had to strip down to undershirts, so the weight on the pony wouldn’t be too much. I was glad that we were wearing the codpieces and thick leather pants, our balls would have been sore after an hour of rocking. Imagining my arms around Jack on a motorcycle was a fantasy that I had, even if it was unrealistic. Having my arms around Robert on a slow-moving pony was nice until we both got hard-ons. I was trying to force it down. Robert tried to squirm and adjust the position of his dick to the saddle, but there was no avoiding the sensation of someone wrapped around him. When we stopped for our first rest break near a brook, Robert and I jointly made a beeline to some bushes to get each other off. When we came out of bushes, Ambrose gave us both a knowing look, while making jerking motions. I gave him the middle finger, which I don’t think translated to anything in this period, yet. That session resolved the issue for a few hours until the hard-ons returned. Robert and I were horny fifteen-year-olds, who were giving each other constant skin contact on a slow-moving horse. This was not a sexual fantasy; it was a test of sexual endurance that lasted three days. We never went beyond hand jobs and touching, but it was enough. Neither of us was pissed about what we were doing at first, we even laughed at each other’s eagerness. It felt like Jack and me during school breaks, when we did nothing except read, cuddle, and have sex. The literal horseplay was too familiar to remind me that Robert was not Jack.

Then on the second day, we heard one of the escorting knights saying we were “sods”, which I translated as fags in modern English. Robert was uncomfortable with the label and I wanted to throw a punch at the homophobic airhead, but Ambrose laughed at the comment and mockingly said, “Better than being a celibate Catholic catamite.” There were no more homophobic comments after Ambrose’s comment, while Robert and I went in different directions to take care of our urges during breaks.

We reached the outskirts of London and I got back into the carriage. I was hoping to be sent to the Palace of Whitehall, which had replaced the Palace of Westminster as the primary royal residence. It was the largest palace in Europe until France’s Palace of Versailles, built one hundred years later. In our modern times, it no longer exists as it once did due to a fire during the 19^th century. It was supposedly magnificent, made to humble nobles and inspire English monarchs. Heading to Whitehall would have been a nice sign, but instead, we were directed by various nobles to make our way to Hampton Court Palace, where the last medieval Great Hall was built. It was a small backhanded reproach that I did not recognize until later.

We approached a dock that was preparing barges to carry people across the Thames River. I wondered why we weren’t using the famous London Bridge to cross. I stared up at a large red brick gatehouse across the river. Trying to recall the name of this building, I made a shocking discovery. In modern times, the gatehouse facing me would be called “Anne Boleyn Gatehouse”, since several rooms that were meant for her residence were still being constructed when she was beheaded. The route that I am traveling was not chosen at random, this was meant as a slight to me as Eli Tudor, the child of Anne Boleyn, and, if I had future knowledge, a warning about my potential fate. Had I been wrong about Lord Ashley’s motives? Was this all a setup to get me to London, to kill me, a historical anomaly, who shouldn’t exist?

I froze in place as Ambrose and the others unloaded the carriage. Only Robert noticed my discomfort. Since I was reborn, the sight of the gatehouse was my first true stirring of fear. Robert would not know how I reacted with fear. He wasn’t Jack, I thought he wouldn’t know how to counter my fear through affection.

He came up to me, “What is wrong?”

I whispered, “I’m scared. I think they want to kill me.”

He drew his arms around me, not caring who saw him do it, and hugged me. He rubbed my back as Jack did, one hand clockwise motion and the other counter-clockwise, which calmed me.

He replied with as much force as he could, “I don’t care what they want Eli, you will be safe with me.”

For the first time, I gave in to my need for connection and belief in something beyond understanding, like reincarnation or whatever new age people call it. I wanted to believe this was Jack hugging me, reassuring me, and promising to be with me. If we could have run away at that moment, I would have accepted a life of exile with him. Power meant nothing if I could have him with me.

However, destiny was not something we could deny. As a loud voice bellowed behind us, I separated from Robert.

A man, who appeared to share features similar to Jack, Ambrose, and Guilford, stood before us. He wore a gold threaded suit jacket with embroidered designs of flowers. I also noticed that his codpiece was made of sterling silver with bronze designs. This man was a high-ranking noble, who did not worry about flaunting his power or wealth.

He greeted us, “My Lord Eli, it is a pleasure to see you once more. I am the Earl of Warwick. I believe you are familiar with my two sons here. I have business at court as well, would you like to share a barge with me.”

In terms of royal precedence and status, I outranked the Earl of Warwick, so asking me to share a barge was very disrespectful. However, seeing as to which gatehouse we were facing, I can already surmise that Lord Eli was considered less noble than this man in the eyes of many. Even toward Princess Elizabeth, I doubt this man would have acted so rudely, but I did not belong in the gender hierarchy, not in this world or the modern world. Thus, I had to accept his offer.

Robert stood to the side of the barge with a downcast expression that I knew from Jack meant to convey an apology for what his dad did. John Dudley didn’t hide his contempt for me, nor waste time separating me from his fifth son. I was sure John Dudley, the Earl of Warwick, saw us embrace and probably knew from the knights or others that we were more than friends. For people in this era, having homosexual or non-heterosexual relations would be sacrilege. I didn’t know what to do or say about that. I feebly hoped that he would have kept it on the down low for reputation.

Even in modern times, Jack’s parents weren’t much better than my own. When his dad caught Jack sucking me off in their house, I was banned from interacting with Jack in their presence. Jack was never beaten by his parents, just neglected as the queer son they never wanted. After that, I wanted to break it off with him, offering him the chance to live a normal life with a wife and a white picket-fenced house that his parents imagined for him. Like a puppy that had imprinted on me, he followed me for a week until I broke down and accepted him.

Upon entering Hampton Court Palace, I was impressed at the ornate structure. It felt like I was walking into a church, which was one of the original intents as the first owner, Catholic Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, had wanted to build a Cardinal’s palace, similar to Italian papal palaces. He later surrendered this building and estate over to King Henry VIII, hoping he would be spared of the Catholic purge. Henry made several improvements to it, including building a tennis court and the last medieval Great Hall in England’s history. As it would happen, my destination would be the Great Hall, where I would be meeting my brother and sister per Lord Ashley’s request. Even if this is a trap, I must follow through with it.

Upon entering the Great Hall, I felt an air of tension as two groups of people lined the hall. I could tell one group was a Catholic faction due to a man in front with a white robe and pointy hat. I assumed he was the Papal envoy, who was thrown out by King Edward and Princess Mary had defended. The other group had Edward Seymore standing in front, with John Dudley alongside, so it was no doubt the Protestant faction. A young teenage boy was sitting on top of the dais, who looked a little like me, but skinnier and frailer. He was wearing a dyed cotton shirt with a golden sash and a codpiece several times larger than anyone else. I presumed this was King Edward VI.

Below him, sitting in a chair opposite, there was a mature-looking woman in her mid-thirties. I knew this was Mary Tudor. Despite knowing she was one of my main rivals and opponents, I felt a little pity for her. She was a woman defined by this era, her value was based on whether she could bear children as a result she must have died painfully with the realization that her womb was cancerous and could never have children. Modern women fight for their bodies, not because they don’t want children, but because they fight so they can be valued based on their ability rather than their value from men. Mary Tudor is a cautionary tale for women, who value themselves based on what others believe rather than seeing their self-worth.

I bowed before my siblings, “Your Royal Majesty King Edward and Princess Mary, I, your sibling, Lord Eli Tudor greet you both.”

Princess Mary spoke first, “Is it true that Sir Thomas Seymore has made advances upon your person?”

Anticipating this among various points that could be brought up, “They were undesired and reproached firmly by me, my Princess. For I am a cursed being, who cannot be advanced on.”

King Edward is interested in this conversation, “How so Lord Eli? As I recollect you have the male and female parts to entice anyone.”

I replied with as much dramatic flair as I could generate from a few years of drama, “I may possess these parts, but I am cursed. Throughout history, people like me could never enjoy these parts to their fullest or bear children. Woe, I am cursed by God to live as I am, a walking shadow, neither man nor woman. I am unworthy to stand before the throne of my ancestors.”

With that admission, I would likely be out of contention for succession struggles within the minds of everyone in court right now. However, most of these people will be dead after Edward and Mary purge them from court. If there were any church agents nearby with knowledge of future medicine, they would know that intersex people without modern medical intervention are usually incapable of reproduction as well. By admitting that fact in front of the court here, I am playing to everyone’s expectations.

I did consider whether my having a vagina might make it possible for me to bear children; like I was one of those Omega boys from gay fantasy stories written by women. However, as far as I could tell, no one else appeared to exhibit my anatomical differences in the various historical books I read. If I were an Omega, I would be the first in human history up to this point. Highly unlikely, but my memory recall ability does indicate there’s something else going on, so I can’t discount that potential. Besides, there are other ways to have kids, like adoption. Queen Elizabeth I had her cousin, James, succeed her from the Stuart line in Scotland, so it’s not like I can’t do the same. Though I might be a historical anomaly, I could pretend to be an inoffensive ripple effect for now.

Mary smirked at my revelation, then turned toward Edward Seymore, “What do you say to this Lord Protector? Your brother has assailed our sibling, cursed in the body as Lord Eli maybe, our royal blood cannot be treated as a mere trifle.”

Edward Seymore bowed to King Edward, “Your majesty, I wish to offer a solution, please direct Lord Eli to the care of Sir Anthony Denny of Cheshunt. It would be a fine place for someone of royal blood to settle and grow. As for my brother, I believe he should be investigated and summoned to the Tower.”

King Edward nodded, “It shall be done then, I shall also offer a stipend to my sibling Lord Eli, to further education and development, but I hear Lord Eli is quite knowledgeable already,” staring at me, King Edward asked, “Lord Eli, do you have any thoughts on changes to the Lords’ Prayer Book?”

The Catholic agent whispered something to Princess Mary.

Princess Mary broke in, “My king, the suggestion of change to a holy document is an abomination. People such as Mister Thomas Crammer wish to lure innocent souls into abandoning the sacraments and lead humanity down a path of destruction,” she furrowed her brows at me, “Do you agree Lord Eli?”

I identify more as an atheist or, at best, slightly agnostic after all I’ve been through in the last month. Even if there’s a god guiding everything in the universe, it is the height of human hubris that he would care what a human being would do concerning language or rituals. So, Catholic, Protestant, Judaism, or Islam would be worthless concepts in the face of a being that could create reality and life.

However, I can’t say that in front of these two as they debate the finer points of Catholic and Protestant grievances about having saints’ holidays so farmers don’t need to work for their lords to whether the bread and wine were the body and blood of Jesus Christ, so some poor malnourish person can get a free meal on Sunday. When it came down to it, these ancient debates were like modern arguments between business owners and regular people in modern times. We call them vacation days and living wages. Debates like this went nowhere and it’s one of the reasons why so many problems exist in the modern world. Using religion as your moral justification for why certain practices are kept or not made it worse, it's why Europeans in my timeline spent over a hundred years killing each other over faith. It’s not about religious freedom, it was about productivity versus being treated fairly.

Worse of all, there are core concepts that both sides of this debate agree on, like the place of women in society being below men. That’s why Mary consults constantly with that Catholic agent, she’s getting direction like a dutiful woman.

In modern times, it can translate to one group of Christians wanting to justify compounds filled with female sex slaves and another group of Christians wanting to deny women abortions. The underlying concept behind both groups is bad for women, but people believe that there are degrees between them and the other group. Why don’t people wake up and see the messed-up truth that the underlying tenet that drives their faith is inherently wrong? They are lying to themselves if they believe they are serving God or saving lives when they force their will on others. There is no difference between raping women to have your children and forcing women to give birth against their will for your belief. At the end of the day, both sides treat women like pigs or cattle, animals to be bred and used. If I ever have kids, it will be on my terms and with who I want.

King Edward and Princess Mary went about arguing with each other for over an hour without showing any sign of fatigue. Using my memory recall ability to learn the final result, this Lord’s Prayer book debate became a political compromise that didn’t work for either side. However, I noticed there was something I could do here to make things even more difficult for both Edward and Mary going forward, the liturgical calendar. I want to set this up for failure on both sides.

Clearing my voice in between one of their arguments, I offered, “I do not know enough about the subject of Mister Thomas Crammer’s prayer book to determine what is correct or not as it has been formally written. However, I do think we should honor those who came before us and pray for the mercy of God on those days. I do believe there are 181 notable saints, who were remembered for various feats performed in the name of Christ.”

Several people from both sides of the debate were shocked at my idea. Edward Seymore and John Dudley from the Protestant side frowned. The Catholic agent whispered something in Princess Mary’s ear. The man was stoic, eying me suspiciously, but I lowered my head in contrition upon his gaze. The idea of having 181 saint-holidays celebrations was foolish, but in the medieval world, it was done as a matter of ceremony, like giving people half a year's vacation. Keeping such a thing ongoing would interrupt various normal work and disrupt church schedules like sermons and gatherings. In the original timeline, the compromise reduced the total saint holidays to be celebrated down to 25 per year, but I am allowing the old Catholic tradition to continue as a concession. I knew the Catholic church would eventually reduce the total number of saint holidays, but right now they were trying to defend traditional values against reforms and wouldn’t risk changing a popular part of their traditions like that. I needed to buy time with my suggestion, plus garner some favorable word-of-mouth praise.

Princess Mary asked King Edward, “My king, I do not see there being an issue with maintaining the existing calendar of saint holidays.”

King Edward glared at me, “I can concede to the point from Lord Eli, despite the frivolity of such worship, I do agree commemoration is needed for sacrifices to Christ.”

Lord Ashley stood beside me and squeezed my shoulder. I thought that was his way of saying “good job” at getting them to make a compromise agreement. He was a sly fox, who probably leaked details about my sexual assault to get me out of Thomas Seymore’s house. Not a bad person, by the standards of the day, but he was not someone I approved. I was grateful for what he did, but I do worry about Mary’s advisor, who has been keeping a suspicious eye on me. If this were a test by an agent of the Church, I had most likely confused them by my words and support for their traditions.

As the business of the court continued and various things were brought up, I stood aside.

At some point, John Dudley, the Earl of Warwick stood in front of the dais, “Your majesty, as we are presently at court and in the presence of your royal persons, I wish to make a formal announcement.”

King Edward nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, my lord Dudley, you had my permission to announce this joyous news.”

John Dudley looked around the room, but focused his attention on me, then smirked, “I am announcing the betrothal of my fifth son, Robert Dudley, to Lady Amy Robsart. She comes from a fine family of standing in Norfolk.”

I blinked rapidly and looked around the hall until I found Robert, who was shocked at his father’s announcement of a marriage. He wanted to run over to me, but Ambrose held him back, shaking his head and pointing to King Edward and his father. I wanted to do the same, but Lord Ashley was still firmly squeezing my shoulder. It was at that moment that I realized I had miscalculated.

John Dudley was not done yet, “I am also happy to announce William Cecil, my new secretary. It was upon his sound advice that I was reminded that my young son required a true lady in his life to care for him and make him a proper man.”

In anger, I found William Cecil, he was walking to stand beside the Earl of Warwick. He did not give off any emotion, but I noticed a small twitch of his hand in my direction as he reached his destination.

William Cecil spoke facing John Dudley, “I am sorry as you knew…” he paused, “I could only offer such paltry services, my lord. I shall endeavor to serve you better and the crown for the rest of my days.”

That’s all William Cecil gave me, an apology hidden at the start of a statement. Was it wrong for me to trust William Cecil? Of course, it was my fault as well, we were messing around so much in Thomas Seymore’s house, the road to London, and a public hug near the Thames, that everyone knew we were more than friends. John Dudley would have known his son was queer before the letter to summon Robert was sent, so William Cecil only told him what he already knew and ingratiated himself, probably attacking me as well to make it more realistic. This would undoubtedly make him someone I hated, furthering future efforts to ally himself with Mary as well. His secret apology was to let me know that he only did what was necessary to achieve my goal. I knew Robert would eventually marry someone he didn’t love, but I thought I had another year with him based on the history books. In the end, my miscalculations did this to Robert.

Like Elizabeth in my history, William Cecil did what was right for his country and her as a ruler, but he could not help her as a friend. Would I end up like her in the end if I succeeded in all my ambitions?

Maybe Robert was some reincarnated version of my Jack, or maybe I was just lonely and overdosing on days of sex hormones, but no one should be forced into something they don’t want. I declared to myself in the Great Hall that day. I would get him back and, in this reality, he would be my lover and husband.