by Jean Plaidy
He contrived to be near her when possible, to talk to her, to attempt to assess what her feelings would be if he were to ask for her hand. The Huntlys were powerful noblemen; they lived close to the King. But the King had shown him the utmost friendship ever since he had arrived in Scotland. He could but try. It would be strange if having done so much for ambition he should falter in love.
In the dining hall of Stirling Castle he contrived to seat himself beside her. From the end of the table he was aware of James watching him and he could swear there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. If he was against a match between them would he allow them to be so much in each other’s company? The Earl of Huntly was present also and he showed no objection.
Beside the King was his mistress Marion Boyd—very sure of herself now that she had a son as well as a daughter and both without doubt the King’s.
Perkin deplored such conduct. The King should marry and settle down and make his Court respectable. If he must have mistresses he should have them in private. Perkin had heard there were negotiations for marriage going on between him and Spain. This showed something of the devious natures of the Spanish Sovereigns for there were similar diplomatic missions in progress between them and Henry Tudor for the same purpose. It was clear that Isabella and Ferdinand were playing one off against the other.
If the Spanish Sovereigns would aid him, with the help of Margaret of Burgundy and perhaps the King of France, he could be certain of achieving his goal.
There were times when he wondered whether that was really what he wanted. He tried to see himself as a king and could not quite manage it, for he knew there was more to governing a kingdom than riding through the streets in purple and gold and smiling at the people while one acknowledged their cheers. He had managed the speech and the manner very well, but he was not quite sure how he would emerge from the other. In the meantime this dalliance was very pleasant particularly now he had met Katharine.
He turned to her and said: “You must forgive me for staring at you.”
“Were you?” she asked.
He smiled. “Ah, you are so accustomed to people’s gazing that you do not notice. In truth they cannot keep their eyes from you, for they all admire you as I do.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “You are kind to say so.”
“I say only what I feel. If you but knew what I feel for you . . . well, I hardly know what you would say.”
“If I knew, you might have an opportunity of finding out.”
She was smiling at him, encouragingly surely, but if he asked her to marry him and she refused . . . that would be the end. He wanted to go to James and say, “The Lady Katharine Gordon and I love each other, I beg you to give your consent to our marriage for that reason.” But what if she didn’t? He realized that he was afraid. That was why he did not want events to go further. He wanted to stay just as he was . . . pretender to the throne . . . accepted by important people talking constantly of the day he would be a king. He did not want to think beyond that. The future yawned before him like a dark pit and he was afraid to step into it lest he should fall into darkness. At the moment he was happy in the sunshine. He wanted to remain there.
He prevaricated as he did so often.
“You look so serenely beautiful; you are so young and when the sun shines on your hair it is like gold. I never thought to see such a perfect being.”
“I fear you do not see very clearly if you consider me perfect. I am far from that.”
“You have everything. Your family is a great one, you are rich, you are beautiful, above all you are good. I have been your slave . . . from the moment I saw you.”
“Have you?” she replied smiling. “I did not know.”
“You mock me.”
“In truth no,” she said. “How could I mock one who pays me the sort of compliments which anyone would want to hear?”
“I would speak seriously to you,” he said, “if I dared.”
“I did not expect you to be a fearful man, my lord Duke.”
“In one respect . . . yes . . . where you are concerned.”
“Afraid of me! Oh no that is not possible.”
“Katharine, you must know my feeling for you. Ever since I set eyes on you I have thought of little else.”
“You should be thinking of regaining your crown.”
“I could regain it I know . . . if I could but have this dearest wish of all granted me.”
“And you ask me to grant it?”
“You are the only one who can. I know I have to regain my crown. I know my future is insecure. . . .Perhaps I should not have asked you until I have that in my grasp. . . .”
“You do me an injustice,” she said, “if you think that I would say no if there was no crown and say yes if there was one.”
“Then you know of what I speak.”
“My lord, you are taking such a long time to say it that I must say it for you since you are meandering back and forth from the point in such a manner that you leave me no alternative but to guess.”
“Katharine . . .”
“Duke Richard, ask me . . . if that is what you want.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I cannot believe it.”
“Of course you know full well . . .”
“I know now that I am the happiest man on earth.”
“You will have to get the King’s permission.”
“And that of your father.”
“The one would follow the other.”
“I feel James will be sympathetic toward lovers.”
“I feel that too.”
“Oh Katharine, I would we were alone that I might kiss your lips.”
“You will speak to the King?”
“At the first opportunity, which I shall now seek. Katharine, you will be the Queen of England.”
“I hope there will not be a lot of fighting. I would rather stay here . . . at James’s Court all our days. Perhaps we could escape often to the country . . . and be by ourselves.”
“I cannot wait to speak to him.”
“He is in a good mood now. He is pleased with Marion but I believe he is glancing far too frequently at Janet Kennedy, but speak to him soon . . . speak to him tonight.”
“I will.”
He did. The opportunity occurred that very night.
The company was dancing, and James who had drunk a great deal of wine seemed drowsy. Perkin went to him and asked permission to sit beside him, which was readily given.
“Sire,” he said, “I want to speak to you of a matter which is very important to me. May I do so?”
James smiled and nodded. “Though I’ll take a guess first. It concerns a lady.”
“You are so shrewd, Sire.”
“Where ladies are concerned, yes. And the Lady Katharine is a beauty. I grant you that.”
“We love each other, Sire.”
“Love indeed! A beautiful emotion. Nothing like it. What do you wish, my lord Duke? You can’t make a mistress of a girl like Katharine. Huntly has her at Court to find a husband for her.”
“That is what I want to be, my lord.”
“Ah, marriage to Huntly’s daughter. Well if you are going to be King of England that will be an honor which even Huntly can’t refuse.”
“It is your consent I am asking for.”
“You have it, my lord Duke. I will speak to her father. I will point out to him the advantages of such a match for his daughter.”
“You have earned my endless gratitude. But you had that already. I cannot tell you what your kind acceptance of me at your Court has meant to me. And now . . . and now . . .”
“There, my lord Duke. That is enough. I wish to help you. I see no reason at all why the fair Katharine should not be yours and I shall see that Huntly feels the same. What of the lady herself?”
“She loves me . . . even as I love her.”
“That is charming. That is delightful. I like to see p
eople around me happy. Now, my lord Duke, you have deserted her too long. Let me see you lead her into the dance.”
When he and Marion were alone that night in the royal bedchamber James was overcome by mirth.
“This is a fine state of affairs,” he said. “This is going to set the Tudor ranting . . . if he ever rants. I doubt he does. He is a very self-contained man who never shows his anger. But just think what he will say when he hears that Perkin Warbeck is marrying Lady Katharine Gordon . . . my cousin . . . I can tell you this is going to madden him.”
“It pleases you,” said Marion.
“My dear, have you only just learned that what infuriates Henry Tudor is most certain to give me the utmost pleasure?”
“I hope it works out well . . . for the Lady Katharine,” said Marion.
So they were married and because of the rank of the bride and the expectations of Perkin they were given a royal wedding. James took a gleeful delight in behaving as though Katharine Gordon was marrying into the royal family. She was royal herself. “A fitting bride,” said James, “for the future King of England.” He was maliciously wondering what was happening below the Border.
The bride and the groom gave little thought to anything but each other, and as the weeks sped by their happiness grew for they were more in love every day. Katharine was all that he had believed her to be—gentle yet strong; modest yet proud of her family and of him; pliant and yet firm; fun loving and yet she could be serious. These were the happiest days of Perkin’s life and he wanted them to go on for ever. The thought of leaving Katharine to go and fight for his throne horrified him. In his heart he did not really want the throne. He wanted to live in peace with Katharine for the rest of his life.
She admitted that she wanted the same. It was amazing how they thought as one person.
He realized during those weeks of marriage that he had never really wanted a throne. It was people around him who had selected him because of his appearance and his natural grace to fill a role for which they sought a character to fit.
He began to see that he had been used.
But he dismissed that flash of understanding. He could not bear to examine it. He had become adept at pushing aside the truth and supplanting it by a picture of his making—or perhaps that of those around him.
All he knew now was that he wanted to go on like this. He wanted to make his home here in Scotland, to go on living under the protection of the King and the powerful family into which he had married, but into the halcyon contentment of those days there crept the fear that they must be transient. At any time the call would come. They would raise an army for him and send him to gain that to which they said he had a right.
“I don’t want the crown,” he said to Katharine. “I just want to stay here with you.”
She held him tightly against her. “If only it could be,” she said.
“Do you want to be Queen of England?”
She shook her head. “Not if it means your going away, risking your life. No . . . Let us hope we can stay here. Why should we not?”
He shook his head. “They will never allow it. Oh, I wish . . .”
What did he wish? That he had never left the home of John Warbeck? But if he had not he would never have met Katharine. Anything was worth that.
But it brought him back to where he had started. Here he was . . . blissfully happy, except when he remembered, then living each day in terror that suddenly the call would come.
Katharine added to his bliss when she told him that there would be a child. He wanted to weep with happiness . . . but it was a happiness quickly tinged with fear.
When the call came, there would be even more to leave . . . and perhaps lose.
Tyburn and Tower Hill
hen Henry heard that James of Scotland had allowed the Lady Katharine Gordon to marry Perkin Warbeck he was deeply disturbed.
“This means that James really accepts the impostor!” he cried to Dudley and Empson whom he had summoned because he knew that he would have to consult them as to how to raise money for war.
That seemed inevitable now. James would never have allowed such a marriage if he had not made up his mind to help Perkin Warbeck fight for the crown of England.
“He must be mad!” said Empson. “Does he want war then?”
“He is bent on making trouble. It’s a Scottish custom,” said Henry bitterly. “It will mean raising money for an army, which is the last thing I wanted to do. It is infuriating to see money wasted in this way.”
“It will be necessary to tax the whole country,” murmured Dudley.
“We must be in readiness for war,” agreed the King.
“The Spanish emissaries have arrived in England, Sire,” Empson said. “They will have heard of this marriage. It will not please them.”
“The French will be delighted. Do you think they intend to give him their support?”
“Who can say with the French! They are involved in their affairs.”
“But I am their affair, Empson,” said the King. “If they can do anything to harm me, you may be sure they will. A curse on these pretenders! First Simnel . . . now this one. If ever I get that fellow into my hands I’ll put an end to this once and for all.”
Dudley looked at him in silence. He thought: Is that possible while the disappearance of two little Princes in the Tower remains a mystery? Will there not always be men to rise up and say, “I am Edward the Fifth;” “I am Richard Duke of York.”
Within a few days Don Pedro de Ayala arrived from the Court of Spain. He had a proposition to make. His Sovereigns wished Henry to join the Holy League for keeping the French out of Italy and if he was to be free to do this, it was rather important that he was not engaged in hostilities with Scotland.
“The Infanta Katharine is promised to my son, Arthur,” Henry pointed out. “But I hear that the Sovereigns are offering one of the Infantas to the King of Scotland as a bride. It would seem that Spain is seeking an alliance with Scotland as well as England.”
“My lord,” cried Don Pedro, “there is no intention of a marriage between Spain and Scotland. I have been instructed to lay these suggestions only before you. You yourself have a daughter. Would you consider offering the Princess Margaret as a bride to James? This would be a way of preventing hostilities between your two countries.”
Henry was silent. What he wanted more than anything was peace. And the idea of having to spend money to go to war he found completely frustrating. He did not want war. He had always seen the folly of it. England wanted a peace. That was what he prayed for, a spell when he could work for the good of the country, curb extravagance, develop trade. He wanted all Englishmen to realize that the harder they worked, the more closely they were united with one aim in view, the richer they would all be. But that aim was not war. It was peace.
Oh yes, Henry wanted peace.
He would willingly give Margaret to Scotland for it. Why not? That was what daughters were for . . . to make alliances between hostile countries and bring about peace between them. Yes, Margaret could be the bride of James the Fourth of Scotland.
But there was one other factor. Perkin Warbeck must be delivered to him.
Until that was done there could be no talk of a marriage between Margaret and James—no talk of peace.
There could no longer be reason for delay. James was ready and eager to advance on his enemies below the Border.
He sent for Perkin and told him gleefully that soon he would be crowned at Westminster, so Perkin could do nothing but feign an eagerness, while there was nothing he longed for so much as to be left to live in peace with his wife and his newly arrived daughter.
But this was what he had come for. This was the price he had to pay for all the grand living, all the splendor, all the adulation he had enjoyed for so many years and now he had become accustomed to it. But just at that time he would have given a great deal to be living with Katharine in a small house in Flanders—two humble people of whom no one outside thei
r immediate circle had ever heard.
Katharine knew of his feelings. She shared them. She did not want a throne any more than he did and would have been perfectly content with that humble home in Flanders.
He could have wished that all this had never happened to him, that he had never gone into Lady Frampton’s service and attracted her by his good looks—but for the fact that through it he had met Katharine. More and more he was remembering those early days and there were times when he was on the point of making a confession to Katharine. He did not though; he could not bring himself to do it, even to her, and now the time had come when he must leave her and go marching into England.
“I shall send for you as soon as I am settled,” he told her.
“I know. I know.”
“What I don’t know is how I shall bear the separation.”
“You will be too busy to miss me,” she told him, “whereas I shall have to wait . . . and pray.”
“I shall need your prayers, Katharine. Pray I beg you that it shall not be long before you are beside me.”
“That is what I shall pray for.”
“I would give up everything I ever hoped to have not to leave you now.”
She nodded. She understood. Perhaps deep in her heart she knew that he had never been that little boy in the Tower of London.
James reviewed his troops and at Holyrood he made offerings to the saints and ordered that masses be sung for him and when Perkin joined him there he greeted him with pleasure.
“Now,” he said, “we shall see men flock to your banner. They have had their fill of the Tudor impostor. We will harry the Border towns and carry off spoils and see what effect this has on the Tudor. Meanwhile we will issue a proclamation in the name of Richard the Fourth, King of England and when you have thousands welcoming you . . . that will be the time to march south.”
Meanwhile they went to Haddington and across the Lammermuir to Ellem Kirk. They crossed the Border and raided several towns, but there was no response at all to the proclamation and it was very soon clear that the Englishmen of the Border were not interested in driving Henry Tudor from the throne and setting Richard of York up in his place.