PREVIOUSLY. (Chapter 158)
[Year 13 of the SuaChie Calendar, Fifth Month (July 1495).
Shene Palace, London, England.
Council Chamber.
…
"And there is more," James added with a cunning smile. "Due to the personal friendship that has been forged and the mutual respect between our nations, England will enjoy substantial discounts on purchase prices and will have absolute priority over any other European kingdom. In the eyes of the Suaza, we are their preferred allies."
Henry closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the words.
Preferred allies.
While Spain and Portugal squabbled over papal bulls and fragments of coastline, England had just purchased the key to an empire. Religion might remain an obstacle in the sermons, but within the Kingdom's coffers, the future had just been written in Suaza ink.]
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(3rd Person POV, Henry VII)
January 10th, 1496 (Year 13 of the SuaChie Calendar, Eleventh Month).
London, England.
Royal Office, Shene Palace.
The inclement London winter battered the thick ogival windows of Shene Palace, but inside the king's personal office, the crackling fire in the massive stone hearth kept the cold at bay.
Exactly six months had passed since Henry VII had met in this very palace with Admiral James Norrington, following his victorious return from the Joint Expedition with the exotic Suaza Kingdom.
And, what weighed heaviest on the monarch's heart, a month and a half since the foreign vessels had set sail, taking with them his young daughter, Princess Margaret, to uncharted lands.
The palace gleamed with renewed opulence, a palpable wealth in the heavy tapestries and silver goblets that adorned the tables. This economic rebirth had been directly fueled by the flourishing trade ties and invaluable knowledge brought back from the Suaza Kingdom.
Yet, beneath that patina of gold and spices, the air seethed with a stifling uncertainty. Henry, a man who ruled through distrust and calculation, felt the vertigo of his own recent decisions and the monumental political shifts brewing under his reign.
Contrary to what the Tudor monarch had feared during the bloody early years of his reign, trade alone had worked the miracle of sustaining the crown's grueling expenses and debts following the wars against the House of York.
Prosperity had acted as a balm on popular discontent, drastically curbing the uprisings he had so anticipated. Even the persistent thorn of rebellion seemed less sharp, despite the emergence of the supposed pretender to the throne, "Richard of York"—who was nothing more than an impostor named Perkin Warbeck, now pulling his strings of treason while taking refuge in Scotland.
But the weight of the crown was nothing compared to the burden of fatherhood. Henry was consumed by worry over his daughter's fate on that transoceanic voyage. Confirmation that the girl had arrived safely in Dawn City would depend on the reports sent by the English ambassador to the Suaza Kingdom, Edward de Vere. If the winds were favorable, that vital message should arrive in just over a month.
Henry stood beside his heavy oak desk; his gaze lost in the flames. Behind him, occupying a pair of carved chairs, sat two of the most influential men in his realm: his loyal and unwavering ally John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, and the noble Thomas Howard.
They had been conversing for about half an hour, parsing through routine matters of the nobility in a deliberately monotonous tone to mask the underlying tension.
"Your Majesty..." John de Vere began, breaking a brief silence, his deep voice echoing with caution. "If I may be so bold, how fare your children and the Queen?"
Henry turned slowly, resting both hands on the polished wood of the desk. His gray eyes, usually so cold, betrayed a flash of genuine fatigue.
"There is only sorrow and worry in the halls of the royal family, John," the king replied, exhaling a heavy sigh that seemed to rob him of years. "Little Margaret's absence is an open wound. Even Elizabeth has secluded herself entirely in her chambers. My wife spends her days in prayer, consumed by the wait for answers that will still take time to cross the sea."
John de Vere nodded empathetically, bowing his head slightly.
"We shall soon receive word from my son Edward, Your Majesty. His embassy is solidly established," John assured, attempting to inject confidence into the room. He paused, weighing his next words with the care of one treading on thin ice. "However... I cannot help but wonder, my lord, if it was not too hasty a move to betroth the princess at such a tender age to a ruler so... distant."
Henry stared at him, but there was no anger on his face. He could not fault his oldest ally for sharing the same worry that robbed him of sleep.
"It is all part of a much grander design, John," Henry answered, straightening up, recovering his regal and calculating bearing. "Consider the alternatives. The cold and barren lands of Scotland, to whom Margaret was initially proposed, do not reflect even a fraction of the wealth, power, and future we can secure in that territory across the ocean... That alliance is the bedrock of the Tudor dynasty."
The king let the magnitude of his words settle in the room before turning his attention to the other side of the table. He shifted his stance, crossing his arms as he fixed his scrutinizing gaze on the second nobleman.
"And well, Thomas," Henry inquired, abruptly changing the subject. "You have remained unusually quiet throughout this exchange. Tell me, what is the true motive of your visit today?"
Thomas Howard, who had been listening in respectful silence, straightened in his seat. The firelight outlined the tension in his jaw.
"It regards what was promised for my son, Edmund, Your Majesty," Thomas replied, his voice firm yet tinged with the undeniable concern of a father. "By now, Edmund must be on his way to the Suaza Kingdom, only to depart and lead our new English settlement in those faraway lands they call North Quyca. As a father, I fear for my son's life in an uncharted territory. I have come to press you, my lord, regarding the backup resources and the fleets that were promised should they manage to secure a good foothold there."
Henry nodded slowly, though he furrowed his brow almost imperceptibly.
Deep within his calculating mind, he had planned to limit that financial aid, well aware that the crown's funds, however recovered, still had to be managed with extreme caution.
Yet, his political instinct warned him of the danger: abandoning this first great effort at colonial expansion at the slightest obstacle would send a message of weakness and could permanently stall his future overseas ambitions.
After a few seconds of dense silence, where only the popping of burning firewood could be heard, the king made his decision.
"The backup fleet is already prepared at the docks, Thomas," Henry decreed with an authoritative voice, leaning forward. "But the royal treasury cannot bear this weight alone. I will need your direct assistance. Your house must provide the remaining supplies and finance the additional colonists."
Thomas Howard did not hesitate for a single instant. He knew what was at stake, not only for his son, but for the prestige of his own lineage before the crown.
"It shall be done, Your Majesty," Thomas answered, nodding with a deep bow from his seat. "With this act, and with the blood and sweat of my son Edmund, my family will prove once and for all its absolute and unquestionable loyalty to the House of Tudor."
Henry nodded in satisfaction, allowing the faintest, icy smile to curve the corner of his lips.
With an elegant yet definitive gesture of his hand, he dismissed both noblemen from the room, leaving him alone with the fire and the maps of a world that was about to change forever.
Two months later.
March 12th, 1496 (Year 14 of the SuaChie Calendar, First Month).
London, England.
Council Chamber, Shene Palace.
The palace's spacious hall was steeped in a thick atmosphere, a blend of the beeswax scent from thick candelabras and the subtle perfume of heavy velvet and fine wool garments.
Exactly two months had passed since that tense, private fireside conversation between Henry VII, John de Vere, and Thomas Howard. Today, however, the scene was diametrically different.
The room buzzed with the expectation and curiosity of the most powerful men in England.
The majority of the high-ranking nobles remaining in the capital were gathered there, accompanied by a select group of wealthy merchants whose fortunes were tightly intertwined with the fate of the House of Tudor.
Henry, sporting that mask of calculated affability he mastered so well, had invested the first half hour of the assembly in personally greeting the most influential attendees, shaking gloved hands and nodding at exaggerated bows.
As the general murmur began to wane, Henry took his majestic, carved seat at the head of the massive oak table.
To his right sat his unwavering ally, John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, and to his left, Thomas Howard. Beside them stood out the sea-weathered figure of William Norrington, brother to the renowned Admiral James Norrington.
The moment of truth had arrived.
"My lords, gentlemen," John de Vere began, rising to his feet, his deep voice resonating with the authority of one speaking on behalf of the crown. "It is my immense pleasure to announce that, by the infinite grace of God and the excellent, tenacious governance of His Majesty, King Henry VII, England has secured the restoration of trade with the Duchy of Burgundy. As of today, we may resume exporting our wool to Flanders without the yoke of excessive tariffs."
The news acted like a spark in a haystack. The entire room erupted into cheers and applause. Goblets clattered against wood as nobles and merchants effusively congratulated the monarch for untying the economic knot that had so strangled them. Henry nodded, accepting the flattery with a slight bow of his head, though his sharp gray eyes never ceased scanning the attendees. He noted immediately that some, like Walter Cromwell, an astute English textile merchant, remained impassive, their faces inscrutable, as if the news did not alter their plans or they were already one step ahead of the competition.
Before the euphoria could entirely dissipate, Thomas Howard stood up, imposing a new silence upon the room.
"But that is not the only victory we celebrate today," Thomas announced, lifting his chin with undisguised paternal pride. "I have the honor to impart that my son, Edmund Howard, has successfully established an overseas territory under the English banner. A settlement located north of the domains of our powerful transoceanic ally, the Suaza Kingdom."
A sepulchral silence, laden with surprise and disbelief, seized the hall. Gazes flew from Thomas to the king. While everyone present was aware of the revolutionary commercial and political maneuvers England maintained with the Suaza Kingdom—and indeed, most had attended the emotional farewell of the young Princess Margaret Tudor the previous year—this northern colonial project had been a zealously guarded secret.
Henry, ever ruling from a place of prudence, had concealed the North Quyca settlement to avoid public humiliation and political backlash in the event of a disastrous failure... A failure that, fortunately, had not occurred.
Noting that the surprise was rapidly turning into a desperate urgency for answers, Henry raised a hand and gave a slight gesture to John de Vere to moderate the session and allow questions.
A nobleman from the northern lands was the first to raise his voice, leaning anxiously over the table.
"Lord Howard, what is the true state of this settlement? Of how many souls are we speaking that inhabit this inhospitable place?"
"The settlement is firm and stable," Thomas replied with aplomb. "And we must acknowledge that it has been thanks to the invaluable intervention and logistical support of the Suaza that our men have managed to interact peacefully with the locals, establishing amicable relations. It is true that, being the pioneer mission, the number of original inhabitants is small. However, with His Majesty's absolute backing, naval captain John Cabot, who returned to our shores scarce ten days ago with these glad tidings, has already set sail once more to the west. He leads a new fleet laden with English migrants and supplies that will secure the colony's permanence."
"We speak of the natives of those lands..." another nobleman interjected, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "What level of danger do they pose to our colonists?"
William Norrington, who had remained silent observing the aristocracy, stepped forward. As a veteran who had participated in that first, perilous mission alongside John Cabot, his word was law in matters of the sea and foreign shores.
"These are underdeveloped peoples, my lord," William explained, his tone gruff and direct. "They are in a tribal state, divided amongst themselves, with marked cultural distinctions. They inhabit the immense forests and valleys where Edmund has raised his defenses. They do not possess the steel that characterizes us."
The mere mention of this technological weakness provoked a surge of greedy murmurs across the hall. The English nobles exchanged glances fraught with ambition; where Norrington described primitive tribes, they saw lands ripe for conquest and exploitation, a playground devoid of the ironclad defenses of the Suaza.
"All this sounds like a great feat, to be sure," came the pragmatic voice of one of the eldest merchants in the room. "But is it truly beneficial for the Kingdom's Treasury? Or are we simply bleeding gold to maintain 'just another territory' covered in mud and savages?"
The question hung in the air, defiant.
Henry VII decided it was time to reclaim the stage. He rose slowly from his chair, resting both hands on the surface of the table, casting a shadow of absolute power over the room. The silence was immediate.
"Thanks to the cooperation that Lord Howard mentioned, we have realized the true, colossal dimensions of the territory we have just accessed," the monarch began, his voice resounding with a solemn magnetism. "We are not speaking of a mere island or a strip of coastline. We speak of a landmass vastly larger than all of England, Scotland, and Wales combined. A continent where the geography replicates the environments to which we are accustomed, but on a titanic scale."
Henry walked slowly around his chair, capturing the attention of every pair of eyes in the hall.
"Those lands possess inexhaustible forest resources for our shipyards. They boast perfect soil for the agricultural adaptation of wheat and barley, and endless plains ideal for mass livestock breeding. That..." he paused dramatically, letting the weight of the opportunity crush the merchants' doubts, "...not to mention things like this."
With a sharp flick of his hand, Henry signaled one of his attendants stationed at the door. Immediately, three men entered the hall dragging something incredibly heavy.
With a coordinated effort, they unrolled upon one of the side tables a colossal, thick hide, dark brown in hue and covered by a dense, rustic pelt. It was the hide of a bison, a wild and titanic beast, utterly unknown to European eyes.
The reactions were instantaneous. Nobles and merchants rose to their feet, drawing closer with exclamations of awe and reverential fear at the size and implicit ferocity of the beast that had once worn such a coat. The room boiled over once more, but this time it was not merely euphoria; it was hunger. An imperial hunger that was only just awakening.
Henry, watching as ambition ignited the faces of his subjects, allowed a triumphant smile to slowly sketch across his visage.
Three months later.
June 8th, 1496 (Year 14 of the SuaChie Calendar, Fourth Month).
London, England.
Royal Office, Shene Palace.
Exactly three months had passed since that immense, rustic bison pelt had awakened an imperial hunger in the hearts of the English nobility.
King Henry VII's personal office was bathed in the warm light of early summer, a radiance that filtered through the ogival windows and drew gleams from the polished wood of the desk.
In the room stood the two pillars of the crown: John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, and Thomas Howard, duke and trusted statesman. However, on this occasion, the atmosphere of cold political strategy was softened by the presence of Elizabeth of York, the queen consort.
The initial exchange of pleasantries flowed with unusual amiability; the nobles bowed their heads with deep deference toward the queen, reserving their usual measured and calculating tone for addressing the monarch.
The change in Elizabeth was palpable. Months prior, the departure of young Princess Margaret had plunged her into a silent grief and near-total seclusion. But today, the color had returned to her cheeks, and a light of genuine vitality shone in her eyes.
To date, the queen had received at least two letters written in Margaret's own hand. Knowing that her daughter was safe had not only comforted her enormously, but had ignited a spark of lively curiosity about these Suaza people and their exotic kingdom across the ocean.
For Henry, relief took a far more pragmatic form. Upon his desk rested the reports sent by Edmund Howard, who had established himself as governor and leader in that overseas territory.
Henry ran his fingers over the parchment, frowning slightly as he read the name of the settlement: Massachussets Town. His mind, ever molding the Tudor legacy, considered it a barbarous and unpronounceable name; New Lancaster or New England would have resonated with far more majesty.
Nevertheless, the results silenced any complaints about nomenclature.
Following Captain John Cabot's second voyage, the ships had returned to England with their holds bursting. They brought not only colossal pelts like the one that had already astonished the court, but a cornucopia of wonders: strange and nutritious foods, woods of exceptional hardness and grain, the gleam of precious stones, elaborate bone and antler ornaments, colorful exotic feathers, and, most importantly for the kingdom's coffers, gold.
The resources of the region were, simply put, incredible. Furthermore, the reports detailed how Edmund, relying heavily on the diplomacy and assistance of the Suaza, had managed to attract the locals to the English settlement, integrating them into a coexistence that drastically accelerated the town's development. The king's initial skepticism had transformed into a silent astonishment.
"Your Majesty," Thomas Howard's voice interrupted the king's musings, drawing the room's attention back to the geopolitics of the Old Continent. "The movements in Europe require our attention."
Henry nodded, intertwining his hands on the desk.
European alliances were a delicate game of chess. England had signed a treaty with King Charles VIII of France, agreeing not to interfere with his aggressive claims over Naples and other surrounding territories.
However, the future of the Tudor dynasty depended on the budding betrothal between his firstborn, Prince Arthur, and Catherine, daughter of the Catholic Monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella.
Caught between these loyalties, Henry had made a Solomonic decision: England would join the Holy League championed by Emperor Maximilian I, but under the strict condition of neither drawing swords nor facing France directly.
"Tell me, Henry," Elizabeth suddenly interjected, the rustle of her silk dress breaking the men's tactical silence. "With all these maneuvers... have you conversed in any way with the Holy Roman Empire? We shall soon be doubly allied with them, once the marriage between Joanna and Philip is formalized this very year, and that of Prince John and Margaret of Austria the next."
Henry remained silent for a moment, evaluating the weight of his wife's question. In his heart of hearts, he had not foreseen strengthening direct alliances with Maximilian's empire whatsoever. To validate his claim to the throne after the bloodshed of Bosworth, the ironclad recognition of the Spanish Catholic Monarchs was more than sufficient.
Moreover, a somber detail troubled him: the Holy See was embroiled in scandals and colossal negligences, causing both the Church in England and the believers of the Holy Roman Empire to begin behaving strangely, murmuring dangerous criticisms.
"Our relationship with the empire will be limited to securing trade, my Queen," Henry finally replied, his tone measured and soothing. "As of yet, there have been no formal conversations to strengthen other ties. We shall let that weight fall upon Arthur's shoulders in the future."
The king paused, seeking Elizabeth's gaze. His cold gray eyes showed a flash of genuine paternal conviction.
"In truth, my desire is to focus the crown's efforts on fortifying our new English territory across the ocean. I want those settlements to prosper until they become an impregnable stronghold for our Princess Margaret, who remains in Dawn City under the protection of the Suaza."
Hearing the mention of her daughter, Elizabeth's shoulders tensed instinctively, a reflex of maternal fear. However, upon processing the scale of the protection her husband was planning, her posture relaxed at once. A grateful smile curved her lips and, with a gentle nod of her head, she commended Henry for his vision and concern.
The atmosphere lightened, and for the next half hour, the conversation drifted toward lesser court matters. Just as the meeting seemed to be drawing to a close, John de Vere stepped forward, clearing his throat.
"Before we retire, Your Majesty... I must remind you of Admiral James Norrington's request."
Henry raised an eyebrow.
"Enlighten me, John."
"Lord Norrington has formally requested your blessing and resources to prepare a private expedition. He wishes to return to Cipangu and the other eastern territories explored during the joint expedition. His objective is the formal establishment of a new overseas territory, this time in the Far East."
Henry hesitated for a long moment. The idea of diverting resources and ships to waters so distant and unknown, even beyond the lands of the Suaza, gave him a sense of vertigo. But then, his mind summoned the figures.
He recalled the staggering wealth generated by trade with the Suaza Kingdom, the economic triumph of the Intercursus Magnus which he himself had achieved by restoring the lucrative wool trade, and the surprising stability of his first colonial territory under the command of the Howards.
England stood at a golden crossroads; a unique opportunity that, should he let it slip away, would be devoured by the Spanish or the Portuguese.
The king rose to his feet, his figure casting a long shadow over the maps scattered across his desk.
"Tell Norrington to begin his preparations, John. Have them ready the ships and gather the men. By early next year, that expedition must set sail."