Jean Plaidy - To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York

• Название: To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York
• Автор: Jean Plaidy
• Жанр: Прочая старинная литература

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“Dear lady, do not be so sad. You never knew him.”

“He was to be my salvation.”

“Oh come, dear mother. If you truly repent of what you did I am sure the King will forgive you. You are happy here. Why you live as luxuriously as you would at Court. It may be that in time the King will find another noble husband for you. But it will not be Scotland now.”

“Adieu Scotland,” said the Queen Mother slowly. “Adieu my King whom I never knew.”

She looked about her apartments.

“I have a feeling that I shall end my days here,” she said.

The King was feeling a little melancholy. He had just received the members of the embassy he had sent to Spain; they had been cheerful, optimistic, certain that their efforts would bear fruit, but Henry had never been one to deceive himself. He knew that whatever compliments had been paid and promises hinted at, nothing had really been achieved. He knew the reason why and it was that reason which he found so disturbing.

Arthur was at the very heart of his safety. He had thought himself the luckiest man in England when he had defeated Richard at Bosworth—or at least his armies had. Henry himself was no great general. His strength lay in his ability to govern rather than wield a sword—which men of good sense should know was more important for a king. They did not seem to, though—and if the time came for him to protect his kingdom he would need to shine on battlefields as well as in council chambers. That was what he dreaded.

He was never sure from one moment to the next whether someone might leap out to kill him. Every rustle of a curtain set him wondering; every time there was a knock on his door he wondered who would enter. It would get better when he felt more secure on his throne. It must be thus with all those who are not strictly in the line of succession.

The Lambert Simnel affair had worried him far more than he would admit. Not because it had had much hope of success—not because the baker’s boy could have been anything but an impostor—but because it showed how easily these rebellions could arise and how many people—even with only the flimsiest causes—would rise to support them.

And now here was the embassy from Spain. If it had brought back results—a signed agreement . . . something like that, he would have had an indication that he was accepted as a King of England, likely to remain firm on his throne. But it was not so. The embassy had come back empty handed.

The fact was that Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain had a family—one son and four daughters; and the youngest of these daughters was Katherine who was a year older than Arthur. Henry believed fervently in alliance between powerful countries, and a marriage of the children of the rulers was the best safeguard for peace. It had seemed to him that if Ferdinand and Isabella would give their daughter Katharine in marriage to his son Arthur, it would show the world that the monarchs of Spain believed in the stability of the King of England. Moreover Spain and England would be powerful allies against the King of France. This might appeal to Ferdinand and Isabella; it was the fact on which he had pinned his hopes. But he knew that the sovereigns would not want to form an alliance with a king whose grip on his crown was far from steady.

So he had listened to his ambassadors newly returned from Medina del Campo with gloomy attention and nothing they could say of the lavish Spanish hospitality, the gifts they had brought back with them, could dispel his melancholy.

Isabella and Ferdinand would not commit themselves to an alliance between Arthur and Katharine because they were not convinced that Arthur’s father would be able to keep his hold on the throne.

“Let us face the facts,” he said to John Dudley. “We have wasted the money we have spent on this embassy.”

Dudley was not sure of that.

“At the moment,” he said, “they are unsure. They will have heard of the Lambert Simnel affair and it has shaken them.”

“To think this could have come about through that baker’s boy!”

“It is not exactly through him, Sire. It is the fact that Margaret of Burgundy supported him . . . among others . . . and the indication that there are people who are ready to rise against you.”

The King nodded gloomily. “As I say, we need never have wasted the money.”

“It may not have been wasted. We have sown a seed. It may well be that later, when they see you have come to stay, they will change their minds. The children are so young yet and therefore marriage could not take place for several years. So much can happen in even a short time. And, Sire, we are going to show them that in spite of Lambert Simnel and any like him, King Henry the Seventh is here to stay.”

“You are right, of course, my lord. But it is a disappointment. I should have liked Arthur to be betrothed to Spain.”

“It will come, Sire. Wait. Let us be watchful and patient. Let us be ready for these troubles when they arise. Lambert Simnel has done us no real harm. You have shown the people that you can quell a rebellion, and it was a master stroke to send the boy to the kitchens. We need patience. Let us not be unduly troubled by the evasiveness of the Spaniards. The money has not really been wasted. The idea is sown in their minds. What we have to show them is that your throne is secure. Then we shall have them suing us for the marriage.”

Henry knew Dudley was right. With luck he would succeed. The result of his careful policies would soon be evident; and if he could get another son he would feel very confident in the future.

In the late spring there was good news. His efforts with the Queen were rewarded. Elizabeth was once more pregnant.

At the end of October Elizabeth the Queen went into retirement in the Palace of Westminster to prepare for the birth of her child. It was not due for another month but in view of Arthur’s early arrival it had been thought wise for the Queen to be prepared.

Margaret Countess of Richmond had arranged the household as she had for the birth of Arthur, and this time she was not harassed by the presence of Dowager Queen Elizabeth Woodville who, to the Countess’s great satisfaction, was still confined at Bermondsey.

The Countess had made a list of all her requirements.

“There must be two cradles,” she had told Elizabeth, “the cradle of state decorated with cloth of gold and ermine and that other in which the baby will sleep.”

Elizabeth listened contentedly. She was delighted to have her mother-in-law to rely on; and as she never questioned any of the Countess’s requirements there was perfect amity between them.

“We must have a good wet nurse . . . that is most important—a strong healthy young woman and her food shall be considered most carefully so that she can give the baby all due nourishment. Then we need a dry nurse, sewers, panterers and rockers of course.”

“As with Arthur,” said the Queen.

“Exactly so. Oh my dear Elizabeth, if this proves to be a boy I shall be overjoyed. Now I have arranged for a physician to be in attendance with the wet nurse at all her meals. That is most important for the health of the child.”

“How good you are.”

“I long to see you with a family of children . . . boys and some girls . . . for girls have their important parts to play in affairs of state.”

“I do agree.”

“I have my eyes on a good woman. She will give birth at the same time as you do. She is a respectable woman and this is not her first child. She has remarkably good health and has reared other children most satisfactorily. Her name is Alice Davy. The day-nurse will be Alice Bywimble. She is a good woman and I have two very good rockers. I have prevailed upon the King to pay them three pounds six shillings and eightpence a year. He thought it a great deal of money for such people but I have impressed on him the need to pay these people more than they would get in an ordinary household to make them realize the importance of serving a royal child.”

“And did he agree?” asked the Queen, wondering for a moment whether she would have to take sides with the King against her mother-in-law and thinking how awkward that would be.

“Oh I brought him round to my point of view,” said the Countess complacently, implying that she could always do that—even with the King.

Elizabeth was relieved. She reached out a hand and took that of the Countess.

“My lady, I thank you. I am so grateful to have you here to take care of these matters.”

“My dear, dear daughter, you cannot be happier than I. You know what my son means to me . . . apart from the fact that he is the King and ruler of us all, and I will say this—that although you come from a house which has for so long been the enemy of my own, there is none I would rather see my son married to than you.”

Elizabeth was deeply moved.

It was so easy to remain in loving friendship with her mother-in-law. All she asked was agreement in everything she did and as she was a very wise woman, this worked out ideally for Elizabeth.

The days began to pass at Westminster. It was quite clear that the new baby was not going to make a premature appearance, but arrived on the night of the twenty-ninth of November of that year 1489, which was exactly the time it was due.

The child was rather disappointingly a girl. But a strong healthy girl—more lusty than Arthur had been.

The Queen requested that she should be called after the King’s mother to whom she owed so much, and the King was most graciously pleased to agree.

So in due course the Princes Margaret joined her brother Arthur in the royal nurseries.

It was pleasant to retire to Greenwich. There she would stay until the birth of the child, for Elizabeth was once again in what people who do not have to endure it call a happy condition.

The nursery now contained Arthur who was five years old and Margaret nearly two. Arthur was a gentle, serious child, already showing an interest in his books. Perhaps this was because he was a little delicate. The King watched him anxiously. He was afraid something might happen to Arthur who was more than a son to him; he was one of the chief reasons why the people wanted him to remain King.

Minors were a menace. That had been the lesson of the ages. What the people always wanted was a strong king who had a son or sons in his youth so that by the time he died there would be someone strong to take his place.

“How I do hope this one will be a boy,” prayed Elizabeth.

Margaret was already showing herself to be a somewhat forceful little creature. She wanted her own way all the time and invariably got it, for she had grown out of the childish way of screaming for it and employed more devious methods to cajole the guardians of the nursery. The only person of whom Margaret seemed to feel some awe was her grandmother the Countess of Richmond, for the child was shrewd enough to recognize that there was a lady to be obeyed, and although she avoided having to comply whenever she could, she did know when it would be expedient to do so.

Elizabeth prayed that Arthur’s health might be improved and Margaret’s temper controlled and contemplated what the new one would be like.

She enjoyed being at Greenwich—less important of course than Winchester, the birthplace of Arthur, or Westminster, that of Margaret. But this one after all was but a third child.

There was a peace here among the green fields with the river meandering through them. She was not surprised that the Romans had called it Grenovicum when they had seen it and later the Saxons had named it Grenawic—the Green Town. It had been a royal residence since the days of Edward Longshanks and it had become increasingly popular ever since. Henry had enlarged the Palace and because the river was encroaching had added a brick wall along the waterfront. The tower in the Park had been started years ago and not finished until Henry had it completed. He was now talking about building a monastery for the Grey Friars who lived in the district. It seemed strange that Henry should consider spending money on such things for he was usually so careful and hated to see it, as he always said, “wasted.” But this was different. This was adding to the wealth of the country. He said: “It is important that we preserve our buildings.”

She was glad. It was lovely to see the old Palace as it should be. The people at Greenwich were pleased too and they were delighted that she had come here for her accouchement.

It was hot that June; she found the room stifling but of course it had to be closed in. These were the orders of the Countess of Richmond who said they must always comply with Court etiquette.

“Leave everything to me,” said the Countess. “All you have to do, my dear, is produce a healthy boy.”

“Pray God I do,” she replied fervently.

In London the sweating sickness was plaguing the people and the King had been very anxious that she come quickly to the cooler, fresher air of Greenwich, so here in this Palace with the tall mullioned windows and the lovely shade of terracotta in the tiled floors, she felt comfortable and secure. All she had to do was stay in her apartments with her women around her and wait.

It was comforting to know that the Countess of Richmond was at hand.

Oh God, she continued to pray, let this one be a boy.

And on a hot June day her prayers were answered.

Her child was born; strong, lusty, informing the castle of his arrival within a few minutes of his birth by his piercing cry.

The King came to Greenwich. This was a happy day. The new baby was of the desired sex and he seemed as healthy as his sister Margaret was proving to be. Another addition to the nursery and a boy! It was something to thank God for.

His birth was, of course, not of the same importance as Arthur’s, but he was the son of the King, and although while Arthur lived he would be of secondary importance it was always wise to have some boys in reserve.

The King was therefore pleased and although the festivities in honor of the child would not compare with those which had announced the birth of the heir to the throne they should be commensurate with his rank of second son to the King.

It was decided that the boy should be baptized only a few days after his birth, which was always a wise procedure, for so many healthy-seeming children died suddenly for no apparent reason. Bishop Fox came to Greenwich expressly to perform the ceremony and the Church of the Observants there had been specially decorated. The King had ordered that the font be brought from Canterbury for the occasion and there were carpets on the floor—a very special luxury and a wonder to those who beheld them and who were accustomed to seeing rushes there.

The little boy was discreetly divested of his garments and carried to the font into which he would be dipped, and all present marveled at the size of the baby and remarked that he was perfect in every way.

Bishop Fox proclaimed to all those present that he named the boy Henry.

Henry. It was a good name—his father’s name.

Only the child was indifferent and in spite of his extreme youth he appeared to look on at the scene with calm aloofness.

After being wrapped in a white garment he was taken from the church back to the Palace, with the musicians marching before him playing their trumpets and drums, to the Queen’s presence chamber where Henry and Elizabeth—who had not attended the ceremony in the church—were waiting to receive the procession.