The Queen of Last Hopes

by Susan Higginbotham

  “With due respect, your grace, this is a matter of honor, of knightly honor. It is a concept a woman cannot understand as well as a man.”

  “I am no knight, but I understand that with my husband ill, you lords should be working together instead of fighting one another. I understand that our son will be ruling England someday, and I wish to see him presiding over a secure one.”

  “Somerset’s trial and punishment will be beneficial to the realm and to the prince, your grace.”

  “How?”

  “It will rid the king of a councillor who has done him nothing but harm and who has served his self-interest.”

  The unctuous tone was beginning to grate on me. “And you have no self-interest yourself, my lord?”

  “No man is free of self-interest, but my interest is far more with seeing England restored to her former strength and glory, which will serve us all. And in any case, Somerset’s fate is not in my own hands, but in that of the lords of the land. I was not even the one who impeached him. That was the Duke of Norfolk, though I certainly concurred with his sentiments.”

  “The king is much attached to the Duke of Somerset. He will be vexed and grieved if Somerset comes to any harm.”

  “If he recovers.”

  “Do you wish for the king’s recovery, my lord?”

  “Why, of course,” York said, his response just a beat too slow.

  ***

  When I dismissed the Duke of York, I went to the place at Westminster in which I was happiest—the nursery.

  The nurses promptly brought me Edward, whose light blue eyes gazed back at me with the vague interest of a very young baby as I took him in my arms. “Did you miss me? Are you being a good boy?” His nurses assured me that he was the most good-natured of babies, though of course I would not have believed them if they had said otherwise. I turned to the wet nurse. “Is he still suckling well?”

  “Beautifully, your grace. The prince has an excellent appetite.”

  I smiled and sat as Edward drowsed in my arms. Content as I was to hold my boy, I could not push the encounter I just had from my mind. Since York came back from Ireland, his single goal had been to get rid of Somerset, and with Henry incapacitated, he might just achieve his goal—against a man who was my husband’s chosen advisor. To strike at Somerset was in its way to strike at Henry.

  Though both the Duke of Exeter and the Duke of Somerset believed that York had been behind Suffolk’s death and the Jack Cade revolt, no one had ever proven his involvement—but then again, no one had proven his lack of involvement either. I stroked my son’s hair and frowned into space. I could not help but believe that for all of York’s grand words about acting for the good of the realm, he was also acting for the good of himself. How far might his ambition take him? My little son stood between York and the crown; could York ignore this fact? If the worst happened to Somerset and Henry never recovered his wits, what might happen to my Edward in a kingdom controlled by York?

  I turned my gaze back to Edward. “Whom can we trust, little one?” I asked softly.

  And then the answer came. Myself.

  ***

  The Duke of Buckingham stared at me for a good minute, then sputtered, “Your grace. Are you mad?”

  “No,” I said. “One mad spouse in a marriage is enough, I believe.”

  Buckingham flinched at my sardonic tone. I had caught myself making grim little jokes like this more and more often; if I did not, I might well cry to think of the Henry I had married and the Henry who sat insensible at Windsor. “But a queen—to have the governance of the country! A woman!”

  “Most queens are women, surely? Come now, Buckingham. I am not attempting to be another Queen Matilda.” I knew little about her, but I had observed that the mention of her name had a tendency to make Englishmen blanch, and Buckingham predictably shuddered. “I am only asking to be made regent until Henry recovers or until our son is old enough to rule. Then I will go back to stitching altar cloths, I promise you. And I will not be without good counsel. You and others shall make sure of that.”

  “England is not ready for a woman wielding that sort of power.”

  “Nor was England ready for a mad king, but we have one, don’t we? And in any case, women have been regents in France, and yes, I am aware that this is not France.” Buckingham smiled slightly, just enough to encourage me to press ahead. “My lord, it does make sense. I pray that no harm comes to Somerset, for I am fond of him, and even more so of his children. But if he does survive, then he will doubtless take his revenge upon York, and then York will be taking his revenge upon him, and on and on while the kingdom suffers. If I were regent there would be one less thing for them to quarrel over.”

  “Don’t be so sure, madam. We men will always find something to quarrel over.”

  “Do at least consider this, Buckingham. I shall have to prepare my bill to put before Parliament. You will have time to ponder it.”

  Buckingham made a sound that might have been a grunt, then recovered his natural politeness. “I will think upon it, but I can promise nothing else.”

  “That is enough for now. And now, my lord, I think it is time to show the king his son. Perhaps that might help heal him.”

  “I can agree with your grace on that.”

  I sighed. “I dread it, you know, even as I know it might be our last hope. To see Henry being fed and walked about, completely helpless…” My eyes filled with tears. “In truth, I have put off mentioning it because I fear the sight so much.”

  “He is kept well. But it is a grievous sight, I must admit, at least for those who have not seen him so before. I am compelled to say that I am used to his altered state now, but it took time.” I must have looked as forlorn as I suddenly felt, for Buckingham added, “My lady, I shall be with you.”

  “Shall the Duke of York be there?”

  “Not if you do not wish him to be.”

  “Good. I don’t.”

  ***

  Soon before Christmas, on an unusually mild day, I and my son rode by barge from Greenwich to Windsor. There we were conducted to the chamber where Henry’s attendants brought him every day to sit in his chair of state in the hope that this routine might push him back into a state of normalcy.

  We had agreed that seeing both Edward and me at the same time might shock Henry and do him more harm than good, so I handed Buckingham my son as we stood outside the half-open door. “Don’t drop him.”

  “I’ve held my own sons many a time, your grace, and they’ve thrived,” said Buckingham good-naturedly. “See?” He nodded at his eldest son, a man in his early twenties who had accompanied us. “The Earl of Stafford is living proof of it.”

  I smiled nervously as Buckingham went through the door. From my position, outside of Henry’s line of sight, I could not see Buckingham, but I heard him say in a hearty voice, “See, your grace, your queen has given you a fine prince! We crave your blessing.”

  There was no sound except for my own deep sigh. The Duchess of Buckingham took my hand as my lip began to tremble in spite of my efforts to keep my face calm. “It may take time, your grace.”

  Buckingham kept on speaking in a bright tone, telling Henry about my son’s christening and about his godparents, who were the Archbishop of Canterbury, poor Somerset, and the Duchess of Buckingham. After once again begging for the king’s blessing, he said in a lower voice, “Your grace, your queen has come to Windsor as well.”

  I was inside the chamber before Buckingham had even finished his sentence.

  I dropped to my knees in front of Henry. For the first time in months, I looked upon my husband. Henry was paler than usual, having not spent time riding each day as had been his wont, but he was properly shaven and his hair had been trimmed just as he liked it, a trifle too short for fashion. His robes were immaculate. I had feared that having to be fed his meals would have caused him to lose too much weight, but although he was visibly thinner, he was not starkly so. It was his eyes that were most changed.
The gentle eyes that had looked at me so lovingly when we met at Southampton were blank, like those of a corpse, and they stared toward the floor, never varying their downward gaze except to blink occasionally and give me false hope.

  Buckingham gave me a moment to absorb the shock of my husband’s appearance, then carefully put Edward in my arms. His familiar, dear weight made me recover myself. “Henry,” I said in the same forced, bright tone Buckingham had used, “I bring you the great gift we have received from God, our son. He is healthy, thanked be the Lord, and he needs only your blessing.”

  Henry’s eyes flickered, and suddenly he turned his eyes straight upon our son. Buckingham and the attendants nearby gasped. Then Henry dropped his eyes again. His expression had never changed.

  “Henry, please. Your blessing on our fair son.” I rose and handed Edward to Buckingham, who looked near tears. I took Henry’s limp hand in mine, then kissed his cold cheek. “My love,” I whispered. “Do you not remember me, Marguerite, your queen? I love you so dearly. Please come back to me. I miss you so much, and our son needs a father. Our country needs a king.”

  Henry remained motionless in his great chair, oblivious to my kisses and caresses. Even Edward’s growing fussiness, culminating in an outright wail, did nothing to rouse him. “I will come again and see you with our son,” I said finally, stepping back, trying to keep from my voice the hopelessness I felt. “God keep you, my husband.”

  Outside Henry’s chamber, I broke down and wept on the duchess’s shoulder. “Still, there was that one movement he made,” the Duke of Buckingham said tentatively when I had recovered. “It is little enough, but it is more than anything we have seen before. Perhaps in a month or two—”

  “I do not think I can bear it,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Get me out of this place. Now.”

  ***

  I wept my fill about Henry, and then I set to work with my councillors, drawing up my petition to be named regent. Meanwhile, Somerset languished in prison while the rest of the lords gathered together weapons and followers, seemingly preparing for war instead of for the Parliament that was supposed to meet in February. Even the elderly Archbishop of Canterbury, John Kemp, thought it prudent to arm all of his servants. No one knew what to expect from anyone, and everyone was coming prepared for anything.

  “At least I am not coming with a group of armed men like all the rest,” I told Katherine Vaux as she brushed out my hair the night before I was to ride to Parliament. “That surely will count for something in my favor.”

  “Do you think they will grant your petition?”

  “I can only hope, but I am pessimistic,” I said, sighing as my long hair swirled around my face. Henry had loved the sight and would sometimes brush it for me. “York has been given the commission to hold Parliament in lieu of Henry, and before Parliament even began, he brought a lawsuit against the Speaker of the Commons and had him thrown into the Fleet after judgment was entered against him. York wants Thorpe out of the way, of course, because he is an associate of Somerset’s. And Norfolk, York’s creature, is attempting to get Archbishop Kemp dismissed as chancellor.”

  “It doesn’t look good.”

  I nodded. “But by appearing and presenting my petition, I may at least influence Parliament to create Edward as Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester. That would be some security for my boy.” I gazed in the mirror as Katherine finished braiding my hair for the night. “At least I must try my best for him.”

  ***

  I arrived at Parliament the next day and duly presented my bill before the assembly, whose members looked faintly ill or scandalized as I did so, as if I had chosen to don a bishop’s miter and take to the pulpit. There was nothing to be done now but to wait in my chambers at Westminster as Parliament debated. Its members seemed to be in no hurry.

  Then one day as I reading through a book that poor Suffolk had given me, Katherine Vaux came inside, a paper clutched in her hand. “My husband gave me this,” she faltered. “He felt your grace should know about it. It is—horrid.”

  I snatched the paper and read it. It was a diatribe, rambling and barely legible in parts, but its gist was only too clear. Not only was I trying to seize power to which I, a woman and a Frenchwoman to boot, had no right, I was trying to foist my bastard son off upon the country as Henry’s heir. My bastard son by the Duke of Somerset. “Where did this come from?”

  “On the door at St. Paul’s, your grace. There are others of the same nature nailed there, William said. This is the worst.”

  “By God, the man who wrote this should be hanged, drawn, and quartered. I wish I could do it myself.” I rose, shaking with rage. “Is Parliament still in session for today?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” I called my parting words over my shoulder as I hastened through the chamber door. “I have some business to discuss with the Duke of York.”

  ***

  York was sitting at a table in his own chamber, looking over some papers, when I barged in. “Your grace? I must say the common courtesy of announcing yourself is requisite, even from a queen.”

  “Never mind the common courtesies. Read this.” I thrust the paper in York’s face, all but stuffing it into his mouth. “How dare you say the prince is Somerset’s bastard?”

  “Your grace?”

  “Don’t play the innocent! It is written here, for every common churl in London to see.”

  “I have heard the rumor before this,” York said calmly. He took the paper and scanned it. “Yes, this is what I have heard. But I did not spread it.”

  “You lie!” Without realizing it, I had begun speaking in my native French. “Who would have better cause to spread such a rumor? You hate Somerset and wish to destroy him, and you are in line for the throne should my son be put aside as a bastard.”

  “I have no ambitions for the throne, I assure your grace. Now calm yourself. I did not put up this paper or direct its posting, and I do not know who did.”

  “You said you have heard the gossip before this. Have you done anything to counteract it?”

  “That is hardly my place. Nor am I in a position to offer proof to the contrary.”

  “Well, I am. I will swear an oath before every bishop in England—before the Pope himself if necessary—that I have known no man but King Henry. And my ladies and the men of Henry’s household can swear as to when and where Henry came to my bed, and how long he stayed there.”

  York shrugged. “But what good will they do? Your grace’s ladies cannot swear as to whether the king was capable of the act once he arrived in your bed.”

  I slammed York across the face, putting my full weight behind my blow so that I teetered forward. York grabbed my wrist, and for a moment I thought he might throw me to the ground. Instead, he released me and stepped back. His cheek was bloody from where my ring had caught him, but he was smiling. “Do you realize what you have done? You have just proven, conclusively, that you are utterly unfit, with your ungovernable temper and your hasty ways, to serve as regent. Ill-advised as your proposal was, I have thought at times that one woman in a hundred might be capable of handling the task, but you certainly are not that woman.”

  “No woman with an ounce of spirit would listen to such vulgarity and not react as I did.”

  “Oh? Well, I do not pretend to be able to speak for your sex. In any case, even before your attack upon me, I could not possibly support the idea of your grace’s regency.” York sneered as he said the words your grace. “Aside from your unsuitability, I’ve no doubt that you would restore Somerset to a position of authority, and soon we would likely not only lose Calais through his incompetence and treachery, but perhaps find the French at our very shores. I’m not at all sure that as a Frenchwoman you would not find that entirely acceptable. You have, after all, been screeching at me in French for half of this conversation.”

  “My son—Henry’s son—will be King of England. I would protect that throne for him against any man in France, including my own dear
father, if it came to that.”

  “Very touching, but I would not like to see your grace’s protestations put to the test. Now, may I reason with you? I will repeat what I have said previously, that I did not start the rumors about the prince’s parentage and have no idea who did. No doubt when the prince is older he will bear a more decisive resemblance to the king than he does at present. That should silence the gossips once and for all, more readily than any oaths you and your ladies might take. In the meantime, if your grace drops this ridiculous bid for the regency, I will do my part to see that the rumors are stopped.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Then I shall not waste your grace’s time or my own by protesting further.” He took the paper and read it more closely as I turned to take my leave. “But really, your grace, if these were written at my dictation, don’t you think I would express myself better than this? This writer can barely express a coherent thought.”

  ***

  Whether it was the rumors about my son’s parentage, or the disadvantages of my sex, or a general fear among the lords of winding up in prison with Somerset I shall never know, but my bill to serve as regent was firmly rejected. My one consolation was that my son was indeed created Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester, thanks largely, I suspect to the exertions of the Archbishop of Canterbury and of the Duke of Buckingham.

  Then, on March 22, the near-octogenarian archbishop, who had tottered more than walked into Parliament over the past few days, took to his bed after one exhausting day and was dead within a couple of hours, worn out, it was said, by his age and the strain of the last few years. When the news was brought to Henry—as it had to be, as England was now without a chancellor—he was even more unresponsive than he had been when I showed him our child. With no hope of my husband recovering, there was no avoiding a protectorate now, and York became that protector.