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

by Jean Plaidy

  “Oh my love . . . my love!” she cried. “Will you ever love me? I will stay with you forever. You will never be rid of me never . . . never.”

  Her women were running round her. They were frightened out of their wits—not by her strangeness, they were accustomed to that—but at the prospect of death at sea.

  The thunder roared and the lightning was terrifying.

  “Philip,” screamed Juana. “Where are you, my love, my husband. Come to me. Let us die in each other’s arms.”

  One of her women knelt beside her.

  “You are frightened, woman,” said Juana. “You tremble. We are going to die are we not? I wonder what it is like to drown. Death comes quickly some say and in this sea surely so. I am not afraid of dying. There is only one thing in this world that I am afraid of . . . losing him . . . losing my beloved. . . .”

  She looked at them . . . these women who were clustering round her. They were in greater need of comfort than she was. She spoke truthfully when she said she was not afraid. If she could be with Philip that was all she asked.

  The ship was lurching violently and as Juana tried to get to her feet, she heard a voice crying out: “Land! Land. The lord be praised, it’s land.”

  Philip shouted: “Can we make it?”

  “We have to, my lord. This ship can’t carry us farther . . .It’s land or death in the sea.”

  “Go for the land then,” said Philip.

  He was thinking that he would have to throw himself on the hospitality of Henry. Was that wise? Most unwise, he thought. He would be more or less Henry’s prisoner. Here he was with only a few seamen at the mercy of one who might befriend him if it were expedient to do so.

  But it was that or death by drowning, so there was only one course to take.

  Juana was on her feet. She staggered on deck and stood beside Philip. She looked incongruous in her fine gown with her purse of gold strapped about her waist and her long hair flying in the wind. She was beautiful; there was no denying that and in her wildness she was like some sea goddess rather than a normal woman. Philip looked at her in momentary admiration. She had shown less fear than any of them at the prospect of drowning.

  “Philip,” she cried. “We are together . . . We have come through this.”

  She clasped his arm and he did not throw her off. Perhaps it was too solemn a moment and he was too relieved that land was in sight and that death was not imminent.

  “I think,” he said slowly, “that we may be safe.”

  As they came nearer to the land they saw that people were waiting there. In the early morning light this was a frightening sight, for some of those people carried bows and arrows and others had farming instruments which they could be intending to use as weapons. They looked menacing.

  The ship had ground to a halt and some of the men were wading ashore.

  Philip heard one shout, “This is the Archduke of Austria and King of Castile, with his Duchess and Queen. We beg for refuge.”

  There was a chorus of “Come ashore.”

  We must, thought Philip wryly. There is nothing else we can do.

  It was not long before, with Juana beside him, he was standing on dry land.

  One man had put himself in front of the crowd and it was clear that he was a person of some authority.

  “I am Sir John Trenchard,”he said. “Squire of these lands. I welcome you ashore.”

  “Thank you,” said Philip. “Tell me where we are?”

  “You have landed at Melcombe Regis . . . you just missed Weymouth. All along the coast your ships have been watched. There’ll not be many which have escaped the storm I fear, my lord Archduke. I thank God that you are safe. My house and household will be at your service and I doubt not you would wish to come with me right away.”

  “There is nothing I should desire more,” said Philip.

  “Then let us go. We are close by. You can have food and shelter at least.”

  The manor house was warm and cozy after the rigors of the night and Philip could not feel anything but relief and an overpowering joy that his life had been saved. The savory smells of roasting meat filled the hall and he gave himself up to the pleasure of taking advantage of the comforts his host had to offer.

  Lady Trenchard was giving urgent orders in the kitchens and throughout the household, while her husband dispatched a messenger to Windsor that the King might know without delay what an important visitor Sir John had in his house.

  The King received the news with an excitement so intense that for once he felt unable to hide it. Philip in England! Shipwrecked! At his mercy in a way. Fortune could not have been more favorable.

  The weather was bad; the heavy rain was causing floods all over the country and although the violent wind had abated a little it was still wreaking damage throughout the land.

  Henry blessed the storm. Nothing could have worked more favorably for him. Philip must be accorded a royal welcome, he said. He should be met and brought to the Court where Henry would devise such hospitality which would astonish all those who were aware of his reluctance to spend money. He was sure Dudley and Empson would agree with him that this was one of those occasions when it was necessary to spend.

  He sent for young Henry.

  The Prince had a faintly resentful look in his eyes. The King knew what that meant. He would soon be fifteen years of age and he resented being kept so closely under his father’s surveillance.

  Often the King had impressed on his son how much depended on him, what great responsibilities would be his, and it was then that he grew faintly uneasy because he saw that faraway look in the boy’s eyes, which meant that he was seeing the time when he would be king and imagining what he would do when his father was no longer there to restrain him.

  “Be thankful, my lord, for the Prince’s good health and looks and his popularity with the people,” said his ministers.

  “I am,” replied the King, “but sometimes I think it would be better if he were a little more like his brother Arthur was.”

  “The Prince will be strong, my lord. Have no fear of that.”

  And he sighed and supposed they were right. He knew that some of those who wished him well believed that he looked for trouble; he was never at ease and was always expecting disaster. Well, that was so; but then it was due to the way in which he had come to the crown.

  Now he looked at his son.

  “You have heard the news doubtless. The Archduke Philip has been shipwrecked on our shores. He is at Melcombe Regis with his wife.”

  “Yes,” said Henry. “I have heard it. Philip and Katharine’s sister.”

  The King frowned. He would have to pay a little more respect to Katharine now that her sister and brother-in-law were here, he supposed. But he was faintly irritated that his son should mention her.

  “You are always saying that you are not allowed to take a big enough part in important matters. Well, my son, here is your chance. Philip must be welcomed to our shores. Quite clearly I cannot go to meet him. I do not want to treat him as though he is a conqueror, do I? But I wish to show him honor. I intend to make this visit memorable . . . for myself as well as for him. So I shall send you, my son, to welcome him. You will go at the head of a party and greet him in my name.”

  Henry’s eyes sparkled. How he loves taking a prominent part! thought the King. How different from Arthur!

  “You will treat Philip with every respect. You will welcome him warmly. You will tell him of our pleasure in his coming. Now go and prepare to leave. I will see you before you set out and will prime you in what you will have to say to our visitor.”

  Henry said: “Yes, my lord.”

  He was all impatience to be gone, thinking: What shall I wear? What shall I say? Philip of Austria . . . son of Maximilian . . . one of the most important men in Europe, one whose friendship his father was eager to cultivate. He would excel. He would show everyone how he would handle delicate matters. . . .

  “You may go now,” said the King
. “I will see you before you leave.”

  Henry was off, calling to Charles Brandon, Mountjoy . . . all his friends.

  An important mission entrusted to him at last!

  In her apartments Katharine heard the news. Her sufferings had not diminished since she came to Court. In fact she thought that they had become more humiliating; for here she must live close to the rich and observe that the humblest squire was more comfortably situated than she was. It was amazing how quickly servants realized the contempt of their masters and lost no time in reflecting it. True she and her attendants were served food from the King’s kitchens but it was always cold when it reached them and was obviously those scraps which were considered unfit for the royal table.

  She was eating scarcely anything. Pride forbade her. Moreover she found that her appetite had diminished; she was in such a state of perpetual anxiety. Her father did not reply to her entreaties and she knew it was no use appealing to King Henry.

  All her hopes were centered on the Prince of Wales for he always had a kindly smile for her when they saw each other. It was a little patronizing perhaps, and in it there was an assumption of scuperiority but there was something protective in his smile and Katharine was in sore need of protection.

  Therefore when the news reached her that her sister and brother-in-law were in the country wild hope seized her. It was years since she had seen Juana but to see her again would be wonderful. She could talk to her. She would make her understand what her position here was like. Juana was important now: Queen of Castile. Juana could help her.

  This could be deliverance.

  It was in a state of hopeful expectation that she awaited the arrival of her sister and brother-in-law.

  A place of meeting had been arranged. It was to be at Winchester. Richard Fox, Bishop of Winchester had already been warned that when Philip arrived he was to be treated to the very best and most lavish hospitality. Philip was to be made to feel that there was no suggestion whatsoever of his being a prisoner. He was an honored guest.

  Philip had arrived at Winchester feeling rather pleased with the turn of events. He had heard by now that not all his ships had been lost. Many of them had been able to get into port and although damaged could be refitted and made seaworthy. In the meantime he was in England, about to meet the wily King; he was very much looking forward to that encounter.

  Moreover he was feeling particularly pleased because he had left Juana behind him at Wolverton Manor in Dorset whither they had traveled from Melcombe Regis and where they were—since it was the wish of the King—entertained with as much splendor as it was possible to muster.

  Juana had protested. She wished to accompany him. She did not want to let him out of her sight. But he had been adamant. The shipwreck had affected her more than she realized. She was distraught. She was overwrought. She was in a weak state. He feared for her health.

  She had watched him through narrowed eyes and he had been forced to threaten her. If she did not agree to stay and rest he would have her put away. She suffered from periodic madness and the whole world knew it. He would have no difficulty in making people believe that her violence had become so dangerous to others that she must be put under restraint.

  That threat could calm her better than anything, for although she was the Queen of Castile, Philip was more powerful and every member of her household would agree with him that she suffered from bouts of madness.

  He soothed her; he was gentle with her; he spent the night with her—which could soften her more than anything; and in the morning he was able to leave alone for Winchester having warned her attendants that she was to have a long rest before setting out to make the journey to Windsor.

  Savoring his freedom from the cloying devotion of his wife he was in excellent form, ready to enjoy the adventure; and when he heard that the Prince of Wales was on his way to meet him in the king’s name he was greatly amused. The boy was not quite fifteen, full of life, straining at the leash. Philip looked forward to an entertaining encounter.

  Young Henry meanwhile was rehearsing what he would say to Philip. Philip was handsome and therefore vain, he presumed. Philip was important to his father; therefore he must treat him with the utmost respect. At the same time he must let the Archduke know that he was of no small importance himself: Prince of Wales, king-to-be, someone to be reckoned with for the future.

  They met at the Bishop’s Palace and stood face-to-face smiling at each other. The speeches Henry had rehearsed were forgotten. He said: “Why, my lord Archduke, you are indeed as handsome as they say.”

  Philip was amused. “My lord Prince,” he said, “I see you have heard tales of me similar to those I have heard of you. And I will say with you . . . they do not lie. You are all that I heard of you though I’ll confess I did believe it was largely flattery.”

  There could not have been a better beginning. Philip knew exactly how to please the boy and he set out with all his considerable charm to do so.

  As for young Henry he was delighted; he felt he was making a supreme success of his first diplomatic mission.

  Before they sat down to the lavish banquet the Bishop’s servants had prepared they were the best of friends. Philip had explained that he had left Juana behind to recuperate after the fearful ordeal at sea. Henry wanted to hear about the shipwreck and listened entranced to Philip’s account.

  It was dramatic. Henry could see the young man—who was already a hero to him—giving orders on the deck.

  “We believed our last moment had come. I prayed then to God. I went on my knees and asked for my life to be spared. I believe—but you may think I am wrong—that I have work to do here on Earth and the time has not yet come for me to leave it.”

  Henry protested that he did not think the Archduke was wrong at all and God must have realized that.

  “I swore to the Virgin Mary that I would make two pilgrimages if she would intercede for me. I promised her I would go to her churches of Montserrat and Guadalupe and there do homage to her if she would but plead with God to save my life.”

  “And she did,” said Henry, his eyes glistening with religious fervor. Knights were the more to be admired if they combined piety with bravery.

  “From that moment the wind dropped. The rain abated so that we could see the outline of the English coast,” went on Philip.

  It was not quite true but Philip could not resist dramatizing the story for such an entranced listener.

  “Heaven intervened,” said Henry piously.

  “That is so, my Prince. We came ashore although I must confess that the inhabitants looked a little fierce at first.”

  “They should be punished for it,” said Henry, his little mouth hardening.

  “Nay, nay. They were protecting the shores of their country. How were they to know that I was a friend? I could have been an invader. Do not blame your good people, my lord Prince. Rather thank them. They would guard your island well. And the best gift a ruler can have from his people is loyalty.”

  “I think the people will be loyal to me.”

  Philip laid his hand on the boy’s arm. “You have the makings of a great ruler. That is clearer to me than is this goblet of wine.”

  How Henry glowed! How he admired the Archduke! He was so good-looking, so charming, and Henry was glad to know although he himself was not yet fifteen and could be expected to put on a few more inches, he was already as tall as Philip.

  He asked about Juana. Philip explained that she was suffering from exhaustion and that he had insisted that she remain behind for a while and take the journey to Windsor more slowly.

  Henry said: “I look forward to meeting the lady Katharine’s sister.”

  “Ah . . . indeed yes.”

  Henry shut his lips firmly together. He had been warned by his father not to speak of Katharine. These were her close relations and the subject of her treatment in England could be a dangerous one.

  Henry wondered fleetingly what the King intended to do about Katharine;
but he was too involved with this fascinating companion to let her intrude into the conversation. Besides she was a forbidden subject. But the very fact of that made him feel he wanted to talk of her.

  “Your wife has brought you great possessions,” said Henry; and it occurred to him that if Katharine had been the elder she could have brought Castile to him. He was sure then there would not have been all this uncertainty about his marriage.

  At length they retired for the night for they were to leave early next morning. By that time the excellent camaraderie between them was noted by all around them.

  It was as though the Archduke of Austria and the Prince of Wales had been friends all their lives and none would have guessed that they had met for the first time only the day before.

  It was a pleasant journey. They were both young and healthy enough not to be disturbed by the wintry weather and as they approached Windsor they perceived King Henry with a magnificently attired entourage riding toward them.

  King Henry, regal in purple velvet, made a striking contrast to the black-clad Archduke and his rather somber attendants. The King swept off his cap and was glad that he had taken the precaution of wearing a hood with the cap on top so that it could be removed leaving his ears covered, for the icy wind was penetrating and he was plagued by many rheumatic aches and pains these days.

  “It is too cold to linger here,” he said to Philip, “but I would say to you that I rejoice to see you. You are as welcome as my son here. He, I and my whole kingdom are at your service.”

  Philip replied that he was deeply moved by such a touching welcome and taking his place between the King and the Prince of Wales he rode with them toward the castle.

  From a window Katharine was watching. She had hoped to be there in the great hall to greet her sister and her husband but it had not been suggested that she should, so fearing a rebuff she had remained in her apartments.

  But I shall see Juana, she told herself. Something must come of that.

  She looked from the window. She saw the three men. But where was Juana? She was terribly afraid. Why was it that people always whispered about her sister? She knew Juana was wild. She had always been so. Only their mother had known how to deal with her. But there were times when Juana had been a loving sister, kind and even gentle, always ready to listen to other people’s problems.