The baby’s wails became demanding, and the midwife ordered the wet nurse to take him from the room.
“No!” Margaret forced her voice to steady. “Give him to me.”
The woman looked between her lady and the midwife, uncertain which she should obey.
“He is my child, and you will give him to me.”
“Yes, my lady.” The young woman rushed forward and placed the red faced infant in Margaret’s waiting arms.
Tears continued to stream down Margaret’s face, though she no longer shook with emotion. “I will nurse him myself.”
“What? My lady, your wet nurse is waiting to take the baby for you.”
“No. He is mine, and he is the last bit of Richard that I will ever have. Our baby will be fed by his mother.”
The midwife shrugged, and turned back to her own business. She had not become successful at her trade by arguing with noble ladies.
Margaret gazed at the tiny boy, now suckling contentedly at her breast, but could see only Richard’s face. Maybe there had been a mistake. He could not truly be gone. Would her Heavenly Father do this to her? After her parents and brother, surely her husband would not be taken from her as well.
The women carried on their work around her, and it was almost as if the devastating announcement had not been made. If it were not for the fact that the infant fed at her own breast rather than that of the wet nurse, she could convince herself that she had imagined it.
But she had not. Richard, the man she had grown to love though under different circumstances she would not have even known him, was gone.
She watched their baby fall into peaceful sleep through the tears that she felt would never cease.
December 1504
“Is this young Geoffrey? Isn’t he the spirit and image of his father?”
The jovial duke of Somerset lifted the infant’s chin with a stubby finger for a moment to express interest that he knew would please Margaret. She was well aware that he saw no resemblance to her late husband and would be hoping that she would send the baby away with his nurse as soon as possible. He was a kind man, but still a man with no room in his schedule for young children. With that in mind, Margaret beckoned to Molly and sent her off to the nursery with her precious bundle.
“Did Richard have our accounts in good order, Henry?”
“Of course, of course,” he said as he fumbled with papers in one hand while balancing a quickly acquired wine goblet in the other. “I am happy to cover the costs of Richard’s funeral arrangements. He was such a dear friend.”
Henry did not look at Margaret as he said this, and she wondered if he hid tears or did not want to see her shame in the admission that she had not the funds to cover the cost of her husband’s funeral. While she wanted to argue and decline his generous offer, she had to think of her children’s future rather than her own pride.
“Thank you, Henry. When I am in a position to return your kindness, you can rest assured that I shall.”
The duke continued to shuffle papers with no obvious objective other than keeping his hands busy. “You will remain here with the children?” he asked, gazing around at the large estate clearly wondering how she would keep it up.
“I think not,” she said and continued before he could object. “I will spend some time at Syon Abbey while I am in mourning. The peace and prayer will restore my state of mind, and the children can begin their lessons.”
“A wise plan, dear Margaret.” He took a slow sip from his wine while studying her over the rim. “And then?”
She sighed. She was not in the mood to plan further than the next day, but her circumstances did not allow her the luxury of procrastination. “I will likely spend some time with Catherine. We shall see.”
Margaret and Princess Catherine had become quick friends during the latter’s brief marriage to Margaret’s cousin, Prince Arthur. Had he not died, Catherine would be a happy bride and mother, and Elizabeth might still be alive. Margaret shook her head to clear it. What might have been didn’t matter and only served to distract her from important decisions. “Yes, I will spend some time with Catherine,” she said more confidently.
April 1509
“Long live the king! Long live King Henry!”
Margaret wasn’t sure how to feel about the death of Henry Tudor, who had committed the legalized murder of her brother and defeated her uncle in battle. She certainly wouldn’t be shedding any tears for the man who had turned her future upside-down when he walked away from Bosworth as the victor. She had tried to find the good in him for Elizabeth’s sake, but now they were both gone. Their son Henry, who looked so much like his grandfather, King Edward, stood in his father’s place.
Henry was tall, handsome, and charismatic - everything that his father had failed to be. He made people laugh, and they felt special to be spoken to by the king himself. His red-gold hair gleamed in the sun like a Plantagenet crown. But he was not truly a Plantagenet, Margaret reminded herself. Whatever resemblance he had in appearance and personality with Elizabeth’s father, Henry was a Tudor.
As he made his way toward Margaret, she forced herself to think about Richard. He was the one gift that the late king had given her that she could be thankful for. She still missed him and caught glimpses of him in the way Geoffrey laughed and the curl of Reginald’s hair. Before her thoughts ran away with her, she dropped into a deep curtsey.
“Cousin!” Henry boomed. “Rise, dear Margaret and give me a kiss!”
Margaret smiled in spite of herself and grazed her lips against young Henry’s cheek. “You look very well, your grace.”
He did. All of the women of marrying age in the vicinity looked jealously at Margaret for gaining his attention. The fact that she was his close relation and twice his age made little difference.
“I pray that your reign will be long and prosperous,” she added, curtseying again to indicate that he was free to leave her for more interesting members of his audience.
“Thank you, Lady Pole. You can be sure that I will be sharing my bounty with you and your family.”
Margaret opened her mouth to inquire his meaning, but he had already moved on, closely followed by a herd of sycophants hoping to profitably attach themselves to him.
It was true that she had struggled in the years since Richard’s death, though she had refused to marry again in order to ease the burden on herself. Her reluctance had only partially been due to loyalty to the one she had loved. She had also been hesitant to inquire who Henry Tudor would choose to pair her with a second time. It was safer to be alone and focus on her children. Would this Henry choose to raise her up to a status more suitable to her ancestry?
Her answer came within weeks. Margaret was asked to come to court and wait upon her closest friend, Princess Catherine, who was soon to become Henry’s queen.
May 1509
“Margaret! You will not believe the good news!”
Margaret rushed to Catherine’s side, overflowing with thankfulness to see her friend so full of joy after years of uncertainty and doubt.
“What is it?” she asked, taking Catherine’s hands into her own. The younger woman’s eyes were shining with happiness that had been adding beauty to her countenance since the new King Henry had announced that he would finally marry her.
“He is releasing William Courtenay from the Tower!”
Margaret was touched that this news brought Catherine such delight. William’s wife, Margaret’s cousin Cat, would undoubtedly be thrilled to have her husband back after years of imprisonment under Henry VII. It was evidence of Catherine’s deep love and compassion for others that she had taken up the Courtenay cause as her own.
“That is wonderful indeed,” Margaret agreed. She allowed her mind to create a vision of the bold Cat welcoming her husband back into his home. Cat was not one to hide her feelings behind decorum and would greet him with passion. Margaret had to shake herself back into the present before letting the vision take her too far into the Court
enays’ private moments. She could see that Catherine was watching her, waiting for confirmation that she had used her power over the king effectively.
“Cat will be stunned and overjoyed,” Margaret assured her. “You have made a friend and gained a supporter for life.”
“The praise should go to God and our gracious King Henry, who has made their reunion possible,” Catherine demurred.
“Yes. Thank God for King Henry,” Margaret agreed, her years of training enabling her to keep the surprise from her face that these words had ever been formed by her. Maybe this King Henry would be one that she could indeed thank God for.
“We truly should,” insisted Catherine. “Look at how he has lifted up the both of us from our poverty and unhappiness.” She made sweeping motions with her arms as she said this, as though to emphasize the bounty gifted to them by their new king. “Cat will have her William returned to her, and all will be pardoned.”
“All except the de la Pole brothers,” Margaret couldn’t stop herself from saying.
Catherine blushed only for a moment. She had lost the innocence that had caused her face to flame at the slightest provocation that had embarrassed her when she first became Arthur’s young bride.
“The de la Pole brothers are in open rebellion and should not expect pardon.” Catherine proved eager to demonstrate that she would be her husband’s most staunch supporter. “He has also had those vile ministers Dudley and Empson executed for their lawless acts,” she added in the hopes of encouraging Margaret to look upon her betrothed more favorably.
“That is true,” Margaret agreed without emotion. While she liked the henchmen of Henry VII no more than anyone else, she could not rejoice at the tyrannical act that whispered of executions under the former king that had been little more than legalized murder. Margaret was keeping quietly to herself until the son proved a better man than the father, even if he was favoring her and Catherine to a much greater extent.
June 1509
Catherine looked angelic as a natural flush rose to her cheeks and excitement lit her eyes, rendering cosmetics entirely unnecessary for enhancing her beauty. Margaret watched as women bustled about to prepare the princess for her wedding day. If the people expected a second exquisite St. Paul’s ceremony, they would be disappointed. Catherine showed every sign that she would be submissive to her husband in all things, but in this she had insisted that her wedding day to Henry would not be filled with mirror images of her marriage to his brother on that autumn day almost a decade earlier.
Though their vows would be exchanged within the palace at Greenwich with only the necessary witnesses in attendance, Catherine was adamant that she look her best for her young groom. When asked if she was concerned that she was five years older than the virile, young king, Catherine simply laughed the idea aside. She had waited a quarter of her life to marry Henry, and nothing would make her think twice now.
Margaret prayed that Catherine’s second marriage would be much happier than her first, and much longer. The years that had stretched between these days had been filled with doubt and conditions that most princesses never had to learn to live with. Catherine had been resolute and was now receiving her reward. As Margaret prepared to return to her children at Bockmer, she prayed that Catherine’s joy would be complete and that she would soon bear a child.
Seeing Catherine eager for her wedding day had not given Margaret the pangs of jealousy that she had half expected. She still missed Richard, but that emptiness had not given her the urge to find a second husband. For this one thing, she did have reason to be thankful to Henry. He had shown no signs that he planned on asking her to marry any of his followers. As a relatively poor remnant of a bygone dynasty, maybe she was no longer the favorable catch that she assumed herself to be.
Before the evening fell, Catherine was enraptured with wedded bliss. A more intimate party of women prepared her for the night with Henry, and Margaret used this time to say goodbye as well.
“You have your husband to see to your needs, and I must attend to my children,” Margaret said firmly when Catherine begged her to stay at court. Catherine was a dear friend, but Margaret had learned through hard experience to give up nothing for the pleasure of kings and queens.
“Just for a short time,” Catherine pleaded. “You have been by my side through so much,” she added, allowing her open countenance to finish the work.
“Very well,” Margaret acquiesced. “I shall stay for a fortnight to ensure that you are well ensconced in wedded bliss before I return to Bockmer.” She brushed through Catherine’s gleaming coppery hair and changed the subject. “Is there anything else you need from me before I leave you to the attention of your bridegroom?”
To Margaret’s surprise, the quick reddening of Catherine’s younger years warmed her cheeks. She pulled Margaret close to avoid eager ears. “Is there anything . . . well, anything that I should know?” she asked in a barely audible whisper.
“But, Catherine, surely . . .” she stopped herself before saying more. Remembering the days with Catherine and Arthur at Ludlow, Margaret suddenly understood. “You truly are untouched. Arthur never . . .”
“He was not healthy enough during our short time together. I, of course, did not pressure him, thinking that we had long years ahead of us.” The flush had faded from Catherine’s cheeks, but she looked down to avoid Margaret’s eyes.
“Do not worry,” Margaret said, embracing the shockingly naïve little queen. “You will know by nature what to do.”
She could hardly add that Henry certainly had the experience to guide her. It was one of those things that was understood but not spoken of. Margaret kissed Catherine on the forehead as if she were her daughter, gave her a silent blessing and the sign of the cross upon her brow, and quietly left the room. Though it had not been her intention, she found herself kneeling in the chapel before returning to her own rooms. Please Lord, she begged, let this marriage be blessed and watch over your devoted daughter, Catherine.
~~~~
Catherine would be queen, and it seems one Tudor prince would do as well as the other. Margaret was astonished at first to hear that young Henry intended to make his brother’s wife his own. But upon second thought, it made a sort of sense. Henry would be replacing his brother in every sense of the word, as if poor Arthur had never existed at all.
“Margaret, it is such a comfort to have you here with me.” They sat working at their embroidery projects, Catherine in a dress more beautiful and elaborate than anything she had worn since Arthur died.
“There is nowhere else I would rather be,” Margaret said though images of her children briefly flashed through her mind. “You and I are kindred spirits, are we not?” she added with a smile.
“Ah, but if I were you, I would rather be with my children,” Catherine said knowingly. “It makes me appreciate your presence all the more. You alone shared my time with Arthur, before we were both left alone in this world.” She worked her embroidery with a small forced smile on her face.
Margaret was impressed by her friend’s strength, but she did not want to be reminded of their dead husbands today, nor of the time that they had spent together after Richard’s death. Two young widows praying for the king to see their needs but not marry them off to men not of their choosing - it was not a memory that Margaret often visited. Better to live in the present.
“The boys are busy with their tutors, and Ursula may yet join me here. We will get you settled as a happily married woman first.” Margaret shared a secret smile with Catherine, shoving aside questions about the age difference between the royal couple and whether or not God blesses those who marry their brothers’ wives.
Catherine had been through too much since arriving in England to great rejoicing eight years earlier, Margaret thought. Both women had been raised from the relative poverty and obscurity that Henry VII was comfortable leaving them in. The son had proven more generous.
“Will you marry again, Margaret?”
; Catherine may have been a shy and quiet girl when she first arrived to be Arthur’s bride with few words of English under her control, but she had gained confidence through her trials.
“That will be up to the king.” Margaret evaded any discussion of remarrying and was no longer of an age or level of wealth that would bring suitors. “I am content with my children.”
“I could speak for you,” Catherine began, eyeing Margaret discreetly. “If there is someone you prefer.”
Margaret answered with laughter causing her words to quake. “Do not waste the favors earned in Henry’s bed upon me.” She was purposely bold to encourage Catherine to drop the subject.
It worked. Catherine focused her eyes on her work as her characteristic blush darkened her Spanish skin.
“Maybe there is one thing that I would ask,” Margaret thought aloud, making Catherine’s head bob up in surprise. “When the time is right,” Margaret added.
“Anything, Margaret,” Catherine gushed. She cast her work aside to take up the older woman’s hands. “You were with me through the darkest part of my life. Watching Arthur…” She faltered. Though they were married just a few months, Catherine was still brought to tears by the thought of her young husband’s suffering and death. “What can I do for you, once I am crowned queen?”
“It is Cat’s William. He remains in the Tower for his impetuous talk. I know that Henry said he would be released, but can you ensure that it does not slip his mind?”
Catherine drew back slightly. She had not expected to speak to her husband about treason quite yet. Margaret held her hands firmly, injecting her with confidence as she continued. “Courtenay is no threat to Henry, even less so than he was to his father. He will be content to raise his children and love his wife. Give them their pride in their Plantagenet blood while Henry has the crown.”
Faithful Traitor: The Story of Margaret Pole (Plantagenet Embers Book 2) Page 3