Her first step had been to enlist the support of another woman, the widowed queen, Elizabeth Woodville. Edward IV had broken with royal tradition by marrying for love (or, as some said, because the lady was not otherwise available) and socially very much beneath him. The marriage caused considerable ill-feeling at the time and was to give rise to a smouldering resentment among the older nobility and other members of the House of York, who frankly regarded the Queen's numerous relations as a tribe of rapacious upstarts. Elizabeth herself was never liked. She seems to have had an unhappy talent for making enemies, but her reputation for cold-hearted, calculated greed may not be entirely deserved. In a world where it was every man (and woman) for himself, she can hardly be blamed for taking full advantage of her amazing good luck in catching and holding Edward's notoriously roving eye.
Now, in the summer of 1483, her luck seemed to have run out. Apart from the tragic loss of her sons, her marriage had been declared invalid and she had been insulted and stripped of her dower rights by the new king. She and her five daughters were holed up in sanctuary at Westminster when Margaret Beaufort opened negotiations, using as emissary a Welsh physician named Lewis who, by a fortunate coincidence, also attended the Queen. The proposition brought by Lewis was for a marriage between one of the Yorkist princesses - preferably the eldest, another Elizabeth-and Henry Tudor. In return, the Queen would promise the support of the Woodville clan in Henry's bid for power.
The advantages of such a match from the Tudor point of view were obvious. The inclusion of the Yorkist heiress in the new Lancastrian-Tudor claim should go a long way towards satisfying those Yorkists who were already becoming disenchanted with King Richard and alarmed at his ruthlessness. As well as this, any alliance which offered a reasonable prospect of bringing the two factions together and putting an end to the destructive and tedious quarrel which had over-shadowed English political life for so long would be sure of a welcome from the business community, and indeed from all that solid middle section of the population with a vested interest in stability and the maintenance of law and order.
Elizabeth Woodville was ready to co-operate-naturally enough, since Margaret Beaufort's suggestion brought her not only a glimmer of hope for the future but also a possibility of revenge - but the two mothers could do nothing without money and men. Fortunately Margaret at least was not short of money or of the means of raising it, and she had begun to employ her trusted steward, Reginald Bray, on the delicate task of canvassing support for her project among 'such noble and worshipful men as were wise, faithful and active'. She'd also been doing a little canvassing of her own. Some time that summer, as the Lady Margaret was travelling from Bridgnorth on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady of Worcester, she happened to encounter the Duke of Buckingham on his way to Shrewsbury and, so the story goes, at once took the opportunity of begging him to intercede with the King on her son's behalf, for she earnestly desired that he might be allowed to come home. It's not likely that Buckingham misunderstood this touching maternal plea, made on the excuse of the close blood tie between them (the Duke had been the nephew of Margaret's second husband and was a Beaufort on his mother's side). At any rate according to the traditional account, it was shortly after this convenient wayside meeting that he decided to throw his very considerable weight behind the unknown quantity of Henry Tudor. This was a curious decision for a man who, until very recently, had been one of Richard of Gloucester's strongest supporters and who could himself have made quite a convincing bid for the throne. But then, if we knew what actually passed between Margaret Beaufort and Henry Stafford on the road from Bridgnorth to Worcester that summer day, we should know a great deal more about the intense personal and political manoeuvring which preceded the change of dynasty.
Couriers bearing news, instructions and large sums of cash were now slipping unobtrusively across to Brittany, while Margaret waited for her son to justify her unswerving faith in him. But she was playing a dangerous game. Before the end of September the King had got wind of what was going on, and by the middle of October the coup had collapsed. The Duke of Buckingham was captured and executed, and Margaret might well have suffered a similar fate, had not Richard been reluctant to antagonize the influential Stanley family. This, at least, is the explanation usually given for the fact that the Lady Margaret escaped the normal punishment of those caught plotting against the State. Instead, she forfeited her property, which was transferred to her husband for his lifetime, and Thomas Stanley was ordered to keep his wife under better control in future, removing her servants and making sure that she could not pass any messages to her son or her friends, nor practise against the King. All this, says Polydore Vergil, was done, but although Margaret's outside activities might have been curtailed, she continued to work on her husband, and when at last Henry landed in South Wales in August 1485, he was pretty well assured of the Stanleys' support. This was of great importance, as the family owned vast estates in Cheshire and the West Midlands, and while admittedly they waited until the last possible moment before committing themselves, it was the Stanleys' intervention which turned the scales at the battle of Bosworth.
Unfortunately we have no record of the first meeting between mother and son after the triumph of Bosworth, but it seems reasonable to assume that it was not long delayed. Certainly Henry Tudor showed a very proper recognition of the enormous debt he owed his mother. Thomas Stanley was rewarded with the earldom of Derby, and the first Tudor Parliament restored to Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, the estates confiscated two years before. As well as this, she was granted the wardship of young Edward Stafford, son and heir of her late ally the Duke of Buckingham, and a life interest in numerous manors and lordships. The Parliament of 1485 also conferred upon her the rights and privileges of a 'sole person, not wife nor covert of any husband', thus giving her control of her huge fortune 'in as large a form as any woman now may do within the realm'. 'My lady the King's mother', as she was usually styled, had therefore become an extremely rich and important personage, allowed to sign herself Margaret r and, for all practical purposes, honorary Queen Dowager. Bearing in mind the vital biological and political part she had played in establishing the new dynasty, this seems fair enough but, as far as Margaret was concerned, it's probably safe to say that her real reward had been the moment when she saw 'her son the King crowned in all that great triumph and glory'. Her friend John Fisher was to recall how she wept copiously throughout the ceremony, explaining that 'she never was yet in that prosperity, but the greater it was the more she dreaded adversity'. It was a natural reaction after all those years of anxiety, disappointment and fear, but there was to be no more adversity for Margaret Beaufort, and three months later she saw another of her long-cherished plans come to fruition. On 18 January 1486 Henry Tudor fulfilled the pledge he had given in the aftermath of the abortive coup of 1483 and married Elizabeth, King Edward's daughter-a union which all sensible people devoutly hoped would mark the end of the Wars of the Roses.
Elizabeth of York, another woman to whom the Tudor dynasty owes a large debt of gratitude, was not quite twenty-one at the time of her marriage-an unusually advanced age for a king's daughter to be still unwed. As a child, Elizabeth had been betrothed to the King of France, but this arrangement had fallen through, and her father's death, followed by the upheavals of the Gloucester take-over, had drastically affected her prospects.
If it was accepted that a hereditary title could be transmitted through the female line (and Henry Tudor's hereditary title, such as it was, devolved entirely from his mother), then the Yorkist branch of the Plantagenet tree was the senior and, as Edward IV's eldest surviving child, Elizabeth's claim to be queen in her own right was infinitely stronger than Henry's to be king. There was nothing in English law to prevent a woman from occupying the throne, but in the political climate of the late fifteenth century such an idea would obviously have been unthinkable, and there is no evidence that the Yorkist heiress herself ever resented the subordinat
ion of her rights to the Lancastrian claimant. Indeed, according to a contemporary ballad, The Most Pleasant Song of Lady Bessy, Elizabeth, horrified at the thought of being forced into marriage with her uncle Richard, summoned Lord Stanley and begged him to help the exiled Henry to come home and claim his right. When Stanley hesitated-he was afraid of Richard and besides it would be a deadly sin to betray his King - Bessy flung her headdress on the ground and tore her hair 'that shone as the gold wire', while 'tears fell from her eyes apace'. Lord Stanley was touched by her distress, but still he hung back. 'It is hard to trust women,' and Bessy might let him down. He also protested, rather feebly, about the difficulties of communicating with Henry. He himself cannot write and dare not confide in a secretary. But dauntless Lady Bessy was ready for him. She can read and write, if necessary in French and Spanish as well as English, and she will act as scrivener. Deeply impressed by the talents of this 'proper wench', Stanley gave in and, late that night, alone together in Bessy's chamber and fortified by wine and spices, they concocted a series of letters to Stanley's friends and to 'the Prince of England' in Brittany. It was Bessy who found a trusty messenger, Humphrey Brereton, and she was presently rewarded by a love letter from Henry, telling her that he will travel over the sea for her sake and make her his queen.
The Song of Lady Bessy, which was probably written by Humphrey Brereton, a squire in the Stanley household, contains a number of authentic touches and a good deal of poetic licence. All the same, it's quite possible that Elizabeth may have been in touch with Henry at some point in the months before Bosworth and may have sent him a message of encouragement by one of the secret couriers going over to France. Although she had never seen him, she would, of course, have heard glowing reports from Margaret Beaufort, and in any case - whether or not there was ever any truth in the story that King Richard was contemplating marrying his niece - Elizabeth of York seems to have come to the conclusion that a Tudor triumph offered the best hope of a secure and honourable future that she could reasonably expect.
Henry has often in the past been accused of deliberately-delaying his wedding in order to forestall any suggestion that he owed the throne to his wife, but although the marriage was certainly of great political importance, the new King's title could in no way be strengthened by his wife's. It was the second generation of Tudor monarchs which would benefit from this union of 'the two bloodes of high renowne', and Elizabeth's real usefulness would depend quite simply on her fecundity. The Yorkist princess had been rescued from the power of her wicked uncle, and the reproach of bastardy, laid on her by Richard's government, had been removed by act of Henry's first Parliament. She had been raised to the dignity of queen consort. Her mother had been rehabilitated and her sisters suitably settled. In return she was expected to be fruitful and thus ensure the future of the new royal line. By contemporary standards, it was a perfectly fair bargain.
There can be no question that Elizabeth understood her historic role, and she was to fill it nobly. She became pregnant immediately, and in September i486 her first child, Prince Arthur, 'the Rosebush of England', was born a month prematurely at Winchester amid universal relief and rejoicing. There was a gap of three years before another living child arrived, a daughter christened Margaret, whose dynastic value was to equal that of the grandmother for whom she was named. Eighteen months later came another son, Henry, and the following year, 1492, another daughter, Elizabeth. A third daughter, Mary, was born in March 1495, and a third son, Edmund, in February 1499.
The King's mother had retired from political life once her object had been achieved, and, while her daughter-in-law was occupied with the all-important business of filling cradles, Margaret Beaufort turned her attention and her considerable organizational talents to domestic matters, laying down a series of Ordinances designed to ensure the smooth running of the royal household. Like most grandmothers, she was greatly concerned with the welfare of her grandchildren, but this grandmother had more reason than most to take a keen interest in the continuance and well-being of the family she had founded, and the first of her directives covered the preparations to be made 'against the deliverance of a queen'.
As soon as the mother-to-be had decided where she wished the event to take place, a suite of rooms must be got ready and 'hanged with rich arras'. The lying-in chamber itself was to be completely hung with tapestry, walls, ceiling and windows, 'except one window, which must be hanged so as she may have light when it pleaseth her'. The floor was to be 'laid all over and over with carpets' and a royal bed installed. The 'furniture appertaining to the Queen's bed' included a mattress stuffed with wool, a feather bed and a bolster of down. The sheets were to measure four yards broad by five yards long, and there must be two long and two square pillows stuffed with fine down. The counterpane should be of scarlet cloth, furred with ermine and trimmed with crimson velvet and rich cloth of gold; while the whole outfit was to be garnished with silk fringe in blue, russet and gold and topped with crowns embroidered in gold and, of course, the royal arms. Luxury on this scale was naturally beyond the reach of the average family, but every household, excepting the very poorest, could provide a feather pillow and some additional comforts for the woman in childbed.
My lady the King's mother went on to describe the procedure to be followed when the Queen 'took her chamber' - that is when she retired from public gaze, usually about a month before the actual birth. After hearing divine service in a chapel 'well and worshipfully arrayed' for the occasion, she would hold a reception in her 'great chamber' for the lords and ladies of the Court, and the company would be served with wine and spices. After this, the two lords of highest rank present would escort her to the door of the inner chamber and there take leave of her. 'Then', wrote Lady Margaret, 'all the ladies and gentlewomen to go in with her, and none to come into the great chamber but women; and women to be made all manner of officers, as butlers, panters, sewers, etc.' From now on, everything needful would be brought to the outer door of the great chamber and there received by the women officers.
Again, this sort of elaborate ceremonial was reserved for royal and noble households, but in every stratum of society childbirth was regarded as an exclusively female affair. When the accoucheur, or man-midwife as he was rather scornfully referred to, began to make his appearance during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, he met with considerable hostility from more conventional midwives, who furiously resented this encroachment on their preserves.
At Court the great ladies of the realm gathered as of right to attend the Queen through her ordeal, but in every walk of life a lying-in was a social occasion when all the neighbourhood wives would assemble to 'make good cheer' and support and encourage the woman in labour. The knowledge that the party could so easily end in tragedy doesn't appear to have dampened anyone's spirits. Death was, after all, an everyday occurrence and physical pain an integral part of everyone's experience.
Assuming things went well, the next event to be provided for was the christening and this normally took place within a few days of birth - infant life was too uncertain to permit of any unnecessary delay. A royal christening was a state occasion, with the church lavishly decorated throughout and the necessary lords spiritual and temporal in attendance. Lady Margaret noted that these personages, plus those appointed to be godparents or gossips, should be lodged near the place where the Queen was delivered so that they would be ready and waiting to accompany the young prince or princess to church. In pre-Reformation days, it was customary to immerse the naked infant in the font, so a screened 'travers', or closet, must be prepared with a 'fair pan of coals', plenty of cushions and carpets and a supply of warm water, where the baby could be undressed and if necessary washed - whatever happened, he must not catch cold. After the baptism - and with her unremitting eye for detail Margaret Beaufort decreed that the font must be well raised, so that the congregation would have a good view of the proceedings and not be tempted to press too close - a lighted taper was put into the child's hand and it w
as carried to the high altar to be confirmed by the officiating bishop. 'All which solemnities accomplished,' it was returned to the travers to be dressed again, while the godparents were served with refreshments and the christening gifts presented. Then the procession formed up again and the newly-christened prince or princess, carried by a duchess* was brought home 'in such sort as it was carried to the church, saving that the torches must be lighted, and a cloth of estate borne over it'. The christening gifts were delivered to the Queen, and the baby was brought in to receive her blessing before being taken back to the nursery. Parents were not much in evidence at a christening. This was the godparents' occasion, and, in any case, the mother was scarcely in a condition to leave her bed.
Lady Margaret's concern for her grandchildren did not end with baptism, and she laid down careful rules for the management of the royal nursery. There was to be a Lady Governess or Lady Mistress to supervise the wet nurse and the dry nurse, who had under them three assistant nurses or cradle rockers. The loyalty and reliability of these intimate personal attendants was vitally important, and their oaths of service were therefore to be administered by the Chamberlain of the Household in person, while the yeomen, grooms and other lesser servants who waited on the nursery must all be sworn 'in the most straitest manner'.
Tudor Women Queens & Commoners Page 2