She scanned the small crowd. So few. Her sentence must not have been announced. She would never know why events had unfolded this way. She needed just one friendly face.
And there it was.
Katherine, Henry’s daughter but not dressed as a noblewoman, was standing dangerously close. Her peasant’s garment caused most to look past her, but not Margaret. She would take one final risk.
“Please, girl. See this sent to my family,” she begged. She could not let on that she recognized her granddaughter, but she did press a note into her hand before being forced back to the block. Margaret did not dare look at her again. The risk she was too great.
Margaret shook off the grasping hands of the guards. “I am well aware of how this is done.”
The executioner knelt before her and asked for forgiveness for what he was about to do. “May the Lord forgive you as I do,” Margaret said automatically with the fleeting thought that it must leave wounds on the soul to have his occupation.
She took one last deep breath of clean spring air and smiled, because she knew the air would be much sweeter in heaven.
Epilogue – May 1541
King Henry VIII wished to clear the Tower of traitors before his planned progress to treat with James V of Scotland. It seemed easier and safer to leave London without the passel of schemers gathered together. That one of these prisoners was his aged cousin bothered him little, if at all.
The maid sent to clear the room that had been Margaret’s home for longer than a year found a poem etched into the cold stone wall.
For traitors on the block should die;
I am no traitor, no, not I!
My faithfulness stands fast and so,
Towards the block I shall not go!
Nor make one step, as you shall see;
Christ in Thy Mercy, save Thou me!
Afterword
Margaret Pole is often referred to as the last Plantagenet, and she was indeed the last of her generation. Her remaining children did manage to continue the spread of the family tree.
Geoffrey Pole did not inherit his mother’s strength of character. After Margaret’s execution, he joined his remaining brother in Europe where he seems to have aimlessly wandered until Queen Mary’s reign. He died shortly before his queen, leaving several daughters and four sons, two of which would die in the Tower and one who would be exiled.
Ursula bore over a dozen children for Henry Stafford and lived well into old age, an unusual feat for a Plantagenet. She did, however, suffer the execution of one of her sons. Thomas Stafford was ironically executed for rebelling against Queen Mary in an effort to stop her plans to marry Philip of Spain. Ursula’s daughter, Dorothy, became a prominent member of Elizabeth I’s household.
Reginald Pole returned to England in order to serve Queen Mary, but not as her husband. He was made Archbishop of Canterbury within the Church of England and served in that role until he and his queen died on the very same day, November 17, 1558.
Henry Pole, the son of Lord Montague, was never released from the Tower and is believed to be one of many York sons to meet his death too early under mysterious circumstances within those cold stone walls.
Author’s Note
The story of Margaret Pole demonstrates the epitome of what medieval people would have referred to as fortune’s wheel. Her highs were astronomical: the daughter of the heir apparent, later Countess of Salisbury. However her lows were worse than most people experience: the execution of her father, brother, son, and eventually herself.
Tudor England was a dangerous place to live.
As this is a work of fiction, I would like to take the opportunity to explain where I have taken artistic license. Some of these are minor, such as the changing of names to avoid having dozens of Henrys and Catherines. I have used different spellings and titles as much as possible to clarify who I am referring to. For example, Arthur’s wife, Jan, was truly another Jane, and Ursula’s Harry was another Henry. As spellings in the sixteenth century were not used consistently, I felt little license was required in this strategy.
More serious decisions were made regarding Margaret’s thoughts and relationships. I used historical facts as an outline, and created the ‘mother bear’ attitude in Margaret to justify them. The personalities of her sons are established to some extent in their statements after arrest. Geoffrey truly did give testimony against anyone he could and then attempt suicide more than once in guilt. Henry, on the other hand, remained firm and unafraid, just like his mother.
Regarding dates, I had a few more decisions to make. Precise dates are not always provided for the birth of children and other events that we record thoroughly today. Some examples in Margaret’s life include the dates of her children’s births and Arthur’s death. I have chosen to follow the research of biographer Hazel Pierce in dating these events though they are not always the most often repeated dates proclaimed in online sources. For example, Pierce states that Margaret’s children, besides Geoffrey, were born by 1500, while Wikipedia gives 1504 as Ursula’s birth year. In most cases, it is the people themselves that are more important than the exact dates that cannot be known.
The relationship with John Hussey, including the wild ride to visit Queen Catherine at Kimbolton, is completely my creation. It is true that his wife was imprisoned for refusing to refer to the princess as Lady Mary, so I chose to make him an active member of the White Rose faction. I also gave dear Hussey an extra lease on life with his final secret visit to Margaret in the Tower. In truth, he had been executed the year before.
It remains unclear why Henry VIII decided to have Margaret executed when he did, other than as part of a heartless cleaning of house. The commonly repeated story that Margaret attempted to run from her executioner was not written by a witness and does not seem to fit what the remainder of historical evidence tells us about her character. I chose to write this final scene the way I did to indicate her protest, but not in such an undignified manner.
Writing about Margaret Pole was a unique experience after spending so much time with Elizabeth of York. The two York women chose vastly different ways of coping with the trials that life threw at them, but they shared the strength that must have been infused in their royal blood.
Connect with Samantha
at SamanthaWilcoxson.blogspot.com
or on Twitter @Carpe_Librum.
Other books by Samantha Wilcoxson
Historical Fiction
Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York
Middle Grade Fiction
Over the Deep: A Titanic Adventure
No Such Thing as Perfect
Read the first chapters!
Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen
The Story of Elizabeth of York
By Samantha Wilcoxson
Copyright © 2015 Samantha Wilcoxson
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the prior express written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material in violation of the author's rights.
ISBN10: 1511803312
ISBN13: 978-1511803311
Printed in the United States of America
For men who fought for a king they had never laid eyes on.
For women who kept homes ready for men that would never return.
For Lancaster.
For York.
For Elizabeth, a Plantagenet Princess who became a Tudor Queen.
Part I – Plantagenet Princess
November 2, 1470
Elizabeth’s lips were firmly set in a pout as she glared out the window of Westminster Abbey. She should be rejoicing, as the rest of London was, for the birth of the wailing baby boy. But her stomach was churning like the Thames that was being pelted by icy rain on the other side of the glass. After three girls, beautiful girls undoubtedly but still only girls, her father had his first precious boy.
She watched vari
ous attendants file up and down the stairs of the abbot’s lodging that had been graciously turned over to the woman whom Yorkists still considered the Queen of England, Elizabeth’s mother. The fact that Margaret of Anjou claimed that title for herself meant little to them. They were confident of the return of their golden Plantagenet King, Edward IV. Elizabeth twisted the skirt of her dress in her hands, careless of the wrinkles she was creating, and prayed that they were correct. How she missed her father!
When the Lancastrians had paraded their frail claimant to the throne, Henry VI, through the streets, Elizabeth had been shocked that this man inspired people to fight for him. To her, he looked more like a poor traveling friar or tutor than a mighty king. Certainly her father would return from exile and rescue his growing family from sanctuary. At least, she hoped so.
She wondered if he would still love her now that he had a son.
“Princess Elizabeth, would you like to meet your baby brother?”
Elizabeth looked up at Jayne, one of her mother’s young servants. Elizabeth’s eyes normally danced with the mischief typical of a four year old, but today they contained more fear and concern than a child’s eyes should. She slowly released her hold on the crumpled dress and took the soft hand that Jayne held out to her. As she stood, she reminded herself to hold up her head proudly with its crown of coppery blond tresses. She was still a princess, after all.
Elizabeth looked up into Jayne’s face as they proceeded up the worn stone steps. Jayne, still only a child herself, exuded gentle kindness, leaving Elizabeth feeling comfortable to ask, “Is my mother so very happy?”
Crouching down to Elizabeth’s level Jayne said, “Of course she is happy, my lady.” She saw Elizabeth’s face fall slightly and continued, “Not only because she has a lovely new baby, but because she has such a wonderful eldest daughter to help her with him.”
They continued up the final few steps and paused before a large carved wooden door.
“Are you ready?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and straightened her back. “Yes, I am ready.”
Jayne hid her smile at the miniature picture of her mother that Elizabeth made. She held open the door for the little princess to enter.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the scene before her. Certainly she had been invited to see her younger sisters upon their births, but she was almost five years old now and noticed more of her surroundings. Her gaze took in the hunchbacked mid-wife with stringy, dark grey hair. She was bent over a pile of bloody rags and a basin containing what looked like an animal’s stomach. Finally, Elizabeth turned enlarged eyes toward her mother lying in bed cradling a small bundle.
She walked toward the bed, keeping the proper pace as her mother had taught her, hoping to earn the queen’s favor with her maturity and grace. However, Queen Elizabeth, for whom little Elizabeth had been named, did not even reward her daughter with a glance until she had reached the side of the bed. Elizabeth Woodville sat up with her glorious silken hair arranged around her. The color of corn silk, the queen’s hair was her pride and joy. Elizabeth craned her neck to peer at the little face held close to her mother’s breast.
“Elizabeth,” the queen said with a satisfied smile. “Meet your little brother, Prince Edward.”
“He is quite red, mother.” It was out before she could stop herself. So much for acting like the perfect princess in her mother’s presence.
But, the queen just laughed. “As all new babies are, my daughter,” she assured her. “Even you, as lovely as you are now, looked much like this when you were first delivered.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Really, mother?”
Her mother patted the bed beside her, and Elizabeth finally relaxed as she climbed up next to her and settled herself in the plush bed coverings.
Her mother whispered as if they were conspirators. “Yes. In fact, most babies are just a little bit ugly for the first few days, but then they begin to improve dramatically.”
Elizabeth tried to contain a giggle as she leaned over to examine the young prince more closely. Her mother accommodated her by pulling back the layers of blankets confining him. As he was freed, the baby boy flailed skinny arms and legs and scrunched up his face which reddened as he held his breath. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the unimpressive specimen and looked up at her mother.
“You are right, mother. A little bit ugly.”
Elizabeth jumped as Edward released the wail that he had been saving up breath for, but her mother only laughed again.
“He is fine, just unhappy about being disturbed,” she said as she nonchalantly handed the baby off to his wet-nurse. Contented suckling sounds almost immediately replaced his cries.
Without the baby between them, Elizabeth felt she was being too familiar sitting on the bed with her mother, so she stood. Looking around the room for something to focus on besides her mother’s face, she asked, “Father will be quite happy, will he not?” She tried to sound casual, uninterested.
“He will be very happy, Elizabeth. Your father will always love you, but every king needs an heir,” the queen stated in a tone that welcomed no nonsense.
Elizabeth met her mother’s eyes, “Yes, I know. I will go say prayers for my baby brother now.” She turned from the bed.
“Come visit again tomorrow, Elizabeth,” her mother said as she walked away.
At the door, Elizabeth turned and curtseyed saying, “I will, my lady mother. I look forward to seeing how the Prince’s looks improve.”
~~~~
The next morning Elizabeth was awoken by coldness in her toes that was creeping up her thin legs. She pulled her feet up into her bed coverings and tried to force sleep to return to no avail. Sighing, she peeked over at Cecily and Mary and was happy to see that they also were awake. Their little blond heads were close together as they played at some private game. Elizabeth pulled her covers around her and moved toward them for their companionship and warmth.
“Did you see the baby prince yet?” she asked her sisters.
Cecily, who was not yet two years old, was quite certain that she was the baby but certainly no prince. “I’m a princess!” she corrected in her childish lisp.
“Of course you are,” said Elizabeth with the maturity of a four year old who has already been made a big sister three times. “But our lady mother has another baby, Prince Edward.”
“I want to see!” exclaimed Mary, who had recently celebrated her third birthday.
“We will see him today,” Elizabeth assured them. “But I will tell you a secret.”
She waited for her sisters to lean in as she savored her higher knowledge.
“He is just a little bit . . . . well, ugly.”
The girls burst into fits of laughter that brought their nursemaid, Matilda, into the room to see what they were up to. She smiled at the vision of the three York princesses snuggled up together.
“And what is going on in here, my ladies?” Matilda asked.
“Bess said the baby is ugly!” Mary announced.
“Mary! That was to be a secret!” Elizabeth was horrified that her confidence had been so casually broken, but Matilda just smiled knowingly as she stepped up to the pile of blankets and little blond girls.
“You may find that he looks more handsome today,” she said. “Babies do recover quickly.”
“When can we see him?” Mary demanded.
“We must wait for your lady mother to call for you,” Matilda reminded them. At their disappointed sighs, she added, “Let us go and find some bread to break your fast,” knowing that food was certain to distract them, even from the excitement of the new prince.
As the little girls ate with a speed that indicated hunger tempered by noble manners, they continued to talk about their new brother. Cecily asked, “What about Papa?”
“Our father,” Elizabeth corrected her, “will certainly want to see him as soon as possible.” As she said it, she prayed to God that it were true. Would her father return soon?
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“When will he be here?” asked Mary, certain that her older sister was the source of all answers.
“We must ask our lady mother when we see her today,” Elizabeth said because she hoped for an answer just as much as the younger two.
Soon, the queen did call for her daughters. They ran giggling up the stairs but were stopped on the landing by Matilda, who reminded them to compose themselves before the queen and prince. When they walked into the room with Elizabeth first, followed by Mary, and finally little Cecily toddling behind, they were a picture of royal decorum.
“Good morning, lady mother,” Elizabeth said as the three curtseyed, Cecily almost falling over in the effort.
“Good morning, my beautiful daughters!” said the queen as she beckoned them to come forward.
The girls had exhausted their capacity for self-control with their greeting and hurried to the bed to see their brother.
“Oh, Bess! He is not so ugly!” Mary exclaimed with her trademark candor.
Elizabeth blushed and refused to meet her mother’s eyes until she heard her laugh. “No, he is certainly more handsome than yesterday,” her mother agreed. Elizabeth looked up and her mother kissed her forehead and gave her a knowing smile. “Bess, you will be such a big help to me with your brother and sisters while we are here.”
“Here” meant in sanctuary. Living in the abbot’s quarters of Westminster Abbey instead of one of the royal palaces.
“How long will we be here?” Elizabeth asked. Three pairs of innocent eyes in various shades of blue locked onto their mother, and their chattering stopped as they waited for the answer to this question.
The queen lifted her head and looked down at them as though she were sitting on a throne rather than reclining on the abbot’s bed. “Your father the king will remove us from this place as soon as he possibly can. Warwick will not be able to stand up to him now that he has a son and heir to fight for.”
Faithful Traitor: The Story of Margaret Pole (Plantagenet Embers Book 2) Page 30