She buried her face in his chest and choked on the words that she should have been saying. He held her firmly, not understanding why she clung and heaved with silent sobs. His eyes searched for Cecily’s, but she looked as pleased as a mother watching her child accomplish something they had been pushing them toward. He kissed the top of Elizabeth’s head and moved his hands along her back letting her be the first to leave space between them.
“Henry, I am so happy to see you,” Elizabeth whispered when she finally found herself able to speak.
He kissed her forehead, cheeks, and finally her mouth. “I have missed you more than I can say,” he admitted. When she said nothing more but burrowed deeper into his arms, he felt that somehow a pending disaster had been avoided, though he knew neither what nor why.
September 1496
“Kathryn has given him a son.”
The tone in which the simple statement was made told Elizabeth all she needed to know. This was no child to rejoice over. Perkin Warbeck, who claimed to be Richard IV, would now claim to have in his hands the heir to the throne as well. Anger rose within Elizabeth at the thought of someone replacing her Arthur as it never had when rebels tried to replace her husband. A flush burned across her face. This must be stopped.
“What are you going to do, Henry?”
“I have been told that he and James are preparing to raid in the north. Warbeck believes that James is going to fight his battle for the throne for him. More likely, the Scots have their eyes on Berwick. I am going to negotiate a peace with James that will entice him to abandon his ties to his little pet. He will see that it is better to have me as an ally than an enemy.”
“You will fight him?”
“I will offer Margaret to him.”
Elizabeth forced her features to stay neutral as comprehension dawned. Margaret, her daughter, would be offered as a bride to the Scottish king. She had always knows that would be the fate of her daughters, but James was known for his sinful living and many mistresses. How could Henry so calmly plan to give his own daughter to such a life?
“He will accept. As you said, the alliance with Warbeck is costing him more than he is worth. Margaret and your friendship are valuable assets.” She couldn’t help emphasizing the word ‘assets’, hoping that he would understand that she thought he was treating their flesh and blood no more kindly than he would cattle. If he noticed, he gave no indication.
May 1497
England moaned under the burden of the taxes that Henry’s parliament enacted in order to fund the raising of troops and purchase of weapons and supplies. Elizabeth did not fare the spring any better as she was driven to bed by illness. Though never in fear for her life, she had missed seeing her children and husband while abed at Greenwich for several weeks. Finally, she felt well enough to make plans to return to court.
Henry’s mother had been surprisingly accommodating. Whether it was for love of Elizabeth herself or for Henry’s sake, Margaret had sent her own physician to see to her daughter-in-law, personally visited, and brought exotic foods to tempt her appetite. Elizabeth thanked God for Margaret’s resourcefulness and kindness while asking him to forgive her for being so judgmental of her in the past.
Looking forward to an unhurried progress to Eltham to visit the children before joining Henry in London, Elizabeth was unprepared for Henry’s message. The man arrived looking as though he had ridden hard the entire distance from Westminster to Greenwich.
“Your grace,” he said wearily as he kneeled at Elizabeth’s feet.
“You have a message from my husband?”
“Yes, your grace. He would have you travel to Sheen in all possible haste. An uprising in Cornwall demands the king’s attention. He would have you join him before things escalate.”
“I will leave with the dawn,” she assured him, gesturing to Jayne, who promptly left the hall to organize the packing. “You may find refreshment in the kitchen. Do you intend to return to the city today?”
“I must, for I will ride with the king’s troops when they march on Cornwall.”
His pride was evident and brought a smile to Elizabeth’s face. It was a fine reminder that some men did see Henry as the true king and served him loyally.
It was fortunate that the messenger had arrived when he did. Elizabeth raced to Sheen the next day.
~~~~
The trip, though short, had left Elizabeth worn and weary. Her illness had sapped her of strength that had clearly not been completely regained. She was ready to collapse into bed, but Henry, after a brief formal greeting, had whisked her into his chambers rather than hers. Rolls of parchment were stacked on every flat surface; Henry left so little to underlings and insisted on personally attending to each task. Forcing away her feeling of exhaustion, she joined him at the table where a map of his domains was flattened and weighed down.
“Peace has not yet been finalized with the Scots,” he said, gesturing toward the north. “And these Cornish malcontents are taking advantage of the fact that my troops are occupied.” This time the gesture was more angrily directed at the southwest.
“What would you have me do?” Elizabeth asked, unsure why he had chosen to have this discussion with her rather than one of his advisors.
“You are to collect the children from Eltham and continue on to the Tower, Bess.”
“The Tower?” She tried to avoid it if possible, unable to separate it from the memory of her brothers.
“Yes, the Tower,” he confirmed. The look in his eyes told her that he knew of her hesitancy, but this was not the time to make sentimental decisions. “It is the safest place.”
“Yes, Henry.”
“The rebels will be surprised to learn that my armies have, for the most part, gathered in Lambeth. With the Percys defending the border, I have not been required to send as many north as has been assumed.” He paused to smile at her, pleased with his minor victory. “They will run into a wall before making it to London, but I will take no chances with your safety or that of our children.”
“And your mother?”
“She will join you.”
Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgement. Henry continued to examine the map as one who desires to watch the drama unfold immediately before his eyes rather than wait for it. His brow furrowed in concentration, while Elizabeth scanned the chamber for a chair or stool. After a few moments, Henry looked at her as though he was noticing her for the first time.
“Bess, you have pushed yourself to the brink.” He circled the table and took her into his arms. She leaned against him. “Your chambers have been prepared. Let me escort you.”
She allowed herself to be led to the rooms that she always occupied when staying at Sheen, as she often did. Henry usually stayed with her, his own rooms turned into more of a workroom, as she had just seen evidence of. Her own chambers were a welcome sight. While she had been with Henry, Jayne had seen to it that candles were lit and food was delivered.
Elizabeth sighed deeply as she fell into the window seat. She closed her eyes and basked in the warmth of the sun until Henry handed her a goblet of wine.
“Thank you.”
“I am glad you were able to come so quickly, Bess. I know that you have not been well and see that you remain not fully healed.”
She took a grateful gulp of the sweet red wine before answering. “I tire more easily, but you need not fear. I am no longer suffering the illness, just the effects of spending weeks in bed.”
“Praise God,” he said, squeezing onto the narrow window seat next to her. “I will leave in the morning and you must as well. I am sorry to ask it of you, but I must see to our army and you must see to our children.”
“Of course, my king.”
June 1497
Henry had departed to contend with what seemed like the minor threat of the Cornishmen. After growing up with her father continuously riding off take someone in hand, Elizabeth could not trudge up much concern for this minor rebellion. Still, she had set out for Eltham, if at a more leisu
rely pace than Henry had intended for her to take. The towers of Eltham were spotted in the distance, and Elizabeth smiled as she thought of the reunion she would soon have with her youngest children.
Arthur, who resided at Ludlow, was almost eleven, practically a man in his own right. Henry continued to negotiate a marriage contract for him with Catherine of Aragon, the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Castile. Elizabeth had long ago accepted the fact that Arthur had a life separate from her own now that he was old enough to spend his days learning to be the next king. He would not be with his brother and sisters when Elizabeth arrived at Eltham.
Margaret, already a beauty though not quite eight years old, would be overjoyed to see her mother. She had outgrown the fussiness that Elizabeth had struggled with when Margaret had been an infant. She was still strong in opinion and spirit, but had gained self-control and the manners of a princess. She doted on her younger sister Mary, who had celebrated her first birthday in March.
Ruling over the household and his sisters, in practice if not in name, was Henry’s namesake, Prince Harry. At almost six, Harry was the spitting image of Elizabeth’s father. Were he the one to be king after his father, it would be as if the Plantagenets had never given way to the Tudors, Elizabeth thought ruefully. Instead of the robust reincarnation of Edward IV, Arthur, who took much more after his father, would rule England, a true Tudor in name and appearance.
Riding into the bailey, Elizabeth was surprised to see that another person had seemed to arrive just before them. As the man approached her, she saw that he wore the livery of Henry’s household knights, and her concern grew.
“Your grace,” he said, bowing before her. “The king has sent me to ensure that you move with all haste to London. The rebel force is approaching with more speed than originally anticipated. He would have you safe within the city.”
A blush of embarrassment flared across Elizabeth’s face, and she hoped nobody noticed. She had been lazily travelling as if on progress while an army bore down on her children. “We will leave within the hour,” she stated loudly enough for all to hear as if it had been her plan all along. “Lady Denton, you will see that the children’s necessities are packed as quickly as possible.” Elizabeth Denton had been in charge of the nursery at Eltham since it had been established, and Elizabeth was grateful that she could count on the woman being capable of taking this sudden upheaval in stride.
Ignoring those who would push forward to attend to the queen, Elizabeth rushed into the palace to find her children and see that they were comfortably gathered into the waiting litter.
“I want to ride my pony!” Harry objected. He stood with his sturdy little legs shoulder width apart and his chubby fists on his hips, looking like a miniature king. The fleeting thought crossed Elizabeth’s mind that she and Henry may be making a mistake in considering the dedication of this son to the church, but it was not the time to think about it.
“Harry, we must travel quickly and far. You will obey me in this.”
His freckled face fell and his posture stooped, and she was reminded that he was only six years old. She squatted down to look into his eyes that were as blue as her own. “Harry, I will see if there is time to have your pony ready to go with us, but you will begin in the litter.” A wide grin was her reward, and she tousled his red-gold hair. “That’s a good boy. Now where are your sisters?”
Before he had time to answer, Margaret was walking toward them with baby Mary in her arms. A nursemaid was a step behind them carrying a large basket of the items that were considered vital to have in the litter with the little ones during the trip.
“Margaret, aren’t you a lovely little lady!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She regretted that she was not always with her children and was amazed each time she saw her daughter and another transformation had taken place.
Margaret did her best to curtsey with the bundle in her arms. “My lady mother,” she said in formal greeting.
“God bless you, my daughter,” Elizabeth said, rising her up in recognition of her well-learned manners before pulling her into a more casual embrace. “Thank you for helping your nurses prepare for the journey, Margaret. I look forward to spending time with each of you, and you can tell me what you have been learning.”
“Yes, mother. I have been learning French and the history of the Plantagenet kings. I also have my embroidery to show you.”
“Wonderful, I cannot wait to see it. We will speak in French at supper to practice your skills.” Elizabeth’s own French was impeccable due to her lessons as the future queen of France when she had been betrothed to the Dauphin so many years ago. She gestured to her daughters and their nurse to continue on to the bailey and be settled in the waiting litter.
True to her word, Elizabeth and the children, along with their attendants were setting a fast pace for London.
“Keep nothing from me,” Elizabeth insisted when Henry’s man sidled up next to her.
He nodded, respecting her for her quiet strength and her heritage. “The rebel army has swelled to include over 18,000 men. They collect more malcontents as they march.”
Eighteen thousand! Were Englishmen still so discontent with Henry as their king? Her face showed nothing. “May God bless the king and his armies as they crush this rebellion.” She said what was expected of her as calmly as possible.
They arrived in London with no pageantry or welcoming crowds. Wearily, the small procession made its way to Coldharbour House. Though the Tower was the safer stronghold and Lady Margaret not the most welcoming host, Elizabeth would camp with Henry in his army tent before entering the Tower.
Six days were spent in the incongruent activities of playing with the children and receiving increasingly alarming reports from Henry. The rebel army continued to receive more support than he had dreamed was possible and was marching on Farnham in Surrey. With the promise of battle taking place so near the city walls, Elizabeth realized that she had no option but to move her family to the safety of the Tower.
Approaching by barge, she gazed up at the whitewashed stone with conflicting feelings warring within her. She had happy childhood memories of this place, of another life when she thought her father was a god and would reign over England long into her own adulthood. So much had fallen apart when he died. Now the Tower was a stark reminder of her brothers, who had last been seen here in the fall of 1483. Had it truly been almost fifteen years? Her brothers would be twenty-seven and twenty-three were they alive today. Were they?
She shook her head, hoping that her brothers’ spirits would someday stop haunting her. It was not likely to cease as she took up residence in the fortress where many believed they had died.
~~~~
“What is that sound, mother?” Harry asked. The booming sounds reminded him of thunder though it was sunny and clear.
“That is the sound of battle, my son,” Elizabeth said, taking advantage of his brief willingness to be pulled onto her lap. They sat together looking out the window though they could not see the source of the noise. “I was the same age as you when I was closed up here while my father took on rebel forces. Kentish rebels took advantage of his absence to attack London, but my Uncle Anthony repelled them and executed their leader.” She gazed out the window as she spoke, missing the enraptured look on her son’s face. If she allowed herself, she could forget what year she was in the situation was so similar.
“What happened to your uncle? Why have I never met him?”
His question brought her back to the present as completely as if she had been doused with a bucket of icy water. She was uncertain how to answer him about events that had taken place during that part of her life that she didn’t fully understand either. She wondered if anyone would ever piece together her family’s story in complete accuracy. If she couldn’t, how could anyone else?
“He was executed for treason,” she stated flatly.
“What?” Harry’s head spun around to fix his icy stare at her. “A soldier hero was executed for treas
on?”
“They were confusing times, Harry. I pray that you will never encounter in your life the type of events that occurred after the death of my father.”
A flash of comprehension crossed his face. “Your evil uncle killed him, like he did your brothers.”
He stated it like it was a fact, and, even though she had wondered if it were true, it angered her to hear her six year old say it. He had been taught to say it, she realized, for how else would he know if his tutors had not put it into his head. She made a mental note to speak to Lady Denton. Not all of the Plantagenets were gone. They had forgotten about her.
“No. He did not.” In that moment, she was certain that she spoke the truth.
Harry looked confused, but said nothing. He looked as if he was searching his memory for the proper lesson. Surely he had remembered correctly. He remembered being astounded by the story of his grandfather’s brother who had stolen the crown and ruled England with a heavy hand. He even would have married Harry’s mother if his father had not rescued her. Yes, he knew that he remembered that part. He looked at his mother, doubting himself. Surely she would know what had happened.
“He did not,” she repeated, but Harry would be disappointed if he thought she would say more.
~~~~
The next time a disheveled knight was presented to Elizabeth, the fear did not accompany him. Though he looked as worn and dirty as their last messenger, he also exuded the joy of victory as he knelt before his queen.
“Please, stand,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “And tell me of my husband’s triumph.”
He rose and gladly accepted the wine that was offered to him. Elizabeth waited patiently while he took thirsty gulps. He had earned the privilege of a few moments respite before sharing his story.
“Not one will doubt your husband’s skill as a soldier now, your grace.” He took a drink from the cup that had been refilled for him, and Elizabeth ignored the implication that Henry’s prowess had been previously questioned. “The rebels did not expect us to have a force of 25,000, your grace. We were able to surround them and,” He paused realizing that the queen would not need nor desire the gory details of battle. “The king led us bravely and competently. He will present himself to you after he has given thanks at Saint Paul’s.”
Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York Page 24