“Thank you for your report and thank God that the enemy has been delivered into the king’s hands,” Elizabeth said as she gestured to servants to attend to her husband’s faithful household knight.
September - October 1497
Following his victory over the Cornish rebels, Henry turned his attention to the north. The peace negotiations had been going back and forth for months, but it was time to finalize the terms and put an end to the border raiding. He would give James his daughter, Margaret, but in return he wanted Warbeck. With the thrill of success in the south fueling his ambition, he was certain that James was ready to come to terms.
Henry’s luck seemed to be fleeting. Though the Treaty of Ayton was indeed signed, James informed Henry that Warbeck and his noble wife had already been sent away on a ship fittingly named the Cuckoo. Henry was not amused. So close to having the pretender in hand, Warbeck managed to slip through his fingers again. The feeling of not being in complete control was a way of life Henry had been forced to accept as an exile. It was not something he relished as a king.
Elizabeth attempted to comfort her husband as he fumed over the news of Warbeck’s most recent escape, but he refused to be distracted. He would have his reign secure so that he could turn to the task of seeing Arthur properly married to the woman who would be England’s next queen.
An agreement had been reached over the summer regarding Arthur’s betrothed. Catherine, the Spanish Infanta, would be sent to reside at the English court in December 1499 upon reaching age fourteen. Arthur had presented himself well at the formal betrothal that had taken place in August. Tall, graceful, and intelligent, Henry thought that his son would be the man that he himself would have been if not forced to endure exile during his formative years. The betrothal ceremony was one of the few events that had given Henry any joy since the rebellion, but he also knew just how easily betrothals could be broken.
It was in this state of mind that Henry received news that Perkin Warbeck had landed at Whitesand Bay near Land’s End in Cornwall. Not wishing to underestimate the malcontents in the southwest a second time, he was quick to assemble his men and arms. He was uncertain whether the Englishmen would join Warbeck, seeing this as a chance to have their revenge, or if their recent defeat would leave them hesitant to join him. He intended to be prepared for either eventuality.
Once again, Elizabeth watched as the man she loved rode away. She would never get used to the feeling of not knowing if she would see him again as his army marched off. Her father had led men away many times and always returned, but Richard had not, though she had fully expected him to. As she lost sight of Henry among the dust and crowd of horses and armor, she wondered if she’d had her last glimpse of him.
~~~~
When Henry left to hunt Perkin Warbeck, Elizabeth left with her mother-in-law and younger son on a progress meant to remind Englishmen that they had a duke of York, and he was the spitting image of his royal grandfather, Edward IV. This man claiming to be the rightful king could not be supported by anyone who laid eyes on little Harry, or so Elizabeth hoped.
They rode at a pace slow enough for Harry to ride a horse that Elizabeth felt was altogether too large for him, but she had been assured that his presence must be royal in every way. She had to admit that few would guess that the boy was only six years old. Sturdily built and confident, he sat upon that glossy gelding with his head held high and red-gold hair shining like a second sun. Elizabeth remained always a step behind to keep the crowds eyes on the young duke of York, and he performed his role beautifully.
Waving to old men, blowing kisses to young girls, Harry looked as though he always rode stallions through city streets. His cloth-of-gold shimmered in the sunlight as his cloak was fluttering in the autumn breeze. Elizabeth had to turn away when tears threatened and pride closed her throat. How she wished her father could see his grandson today. She squinted in order to search the sky questioningly. Maybe he could. It made her smile, and that brought another cheer from the friendly crowd.
Their route brought them to Walsingham, far from the forces of Warbeck or pockets of rebels, and Elizabeth was glad to enter the chapel there as she had before with praises on her lips for the warm welcome Harry had received everywhere they had gone. She also surprised herself by finding that she was able to once again pray for the gift of more children, should it be the Holy Father’s will. The fear and depression that had assaulted her after Mary’s birth had truly left her.
As her prayers turned to Henry and his army, she heard a faint shuffling behind her. Taking a moment longer to finish her prayers, she stood, crossed herself, and turned to the waiting page. He shifted from foot to foot in impatience, but did not speak until Elizabeth nodded to him.
“A messenger from the king,” he announced, excitement bubbling in his voice.
Good news then, Elizabeth thought. The messenger should not have whispered of his news, but it was possible that the page had deduced positively based on the man’s appearance and attitude. It was easy to tell those bringing news of a defeat from those bearing news of a triumph. She simply gestured for the page to lead the way to the hall where the man, who Elizabeth recognized from Henry’s household, awaited her while people gathered to hear what he would say.
Elizabeth considered clearing the room to hear word of her husband in private, but she shared the page’s opinion that this was not a man bringing an unwelcome message based on his relaxed posture and easy smile. She would share the happy news with those who had come to hear it. Seating herself in a large chair that had been placed at the head of the hall for her use, she gestured for the man to come forward. He did, and knelt before her.
“Please, rise. You have come far and bring news we are eager for you to impart.”
“Yes, your grace,” he said in a deep, silky voice that caused the women listening to give each other appreciative looks. “Your husband has had another great victory. This time he has the pretender Warbeck in hand.”
Gasps went through the crowd. Warbeck’s name had been whispered for so long without him setting foot in England that he had become something of a myth. Now he was reduced to being a man, a prisoner of the king.
“Praise God!” Elizabeth said, her eyes scanning the hall and quieting the whisperers. “Please, tell me all.”
The messenger stood tall and proud, enjoying his moment as the center of attention. “The pretender and his disorganized force of mercenaries and discontented Cornishmen made their way to Exeter. He was proclaiming himself Richard IV as he went, which drew a few, who did not know enough to know better, to his banner. Their attempt at a siege at Exeter was a pathetic failure, which should prove that this man is no son of our great Edward if nothing else does.” He paused to allow quiet agreement to move like a wave through those listening. “He was greatly deserted after this failure, but he pushed on toward Taunton until the king’s army drew near. Then the coward deserted the few men that had been willing to stay with him until the end in order to attempt an escape in Southampton. Not able to make his way through our king’s coastal defenses, he took sanctuary in Beaulieu Abbey.”
Elizabeth sent up a silent prayer that Henry had not dragged Warbeck from sanctuary as her father had done to his enemies in the past. She did not think his reputation could afford such as act against God. She need not have worried.
“The king, being as merciful as he is great,” the messenger continued. “Promised the boy a pardon in return for his surrender, and he had the sense to accept.”
Elizabeth realized that she had been leaning further and further forward. She sat back in her chair, taking a deep breath. This man, who had been claiming for six years that he was her brother, was in her husband’s custody. She was eager for the day that she would lay eyes on him and be able to judge him for herself. She also dreaded it.
“What else happened in the aftermath?” she asked, knowing that there were always messy items to wrap up after an event such as this.
Less willingl
y than before, Henry’s man went on. “King Henry went back to Exeter where some of the rebels were hung. It would have done no good for him to show too much mercy, your grace.”
Elizabeth simply nodded for him to go on. She was more than familiar with the concept. Why did men seem to forget that the women had grown up in the same war-torn times that they had?
“When confronted with men who would have known . . . Prince Richard.” He felt his face go red at the reference to the queen’s brother. “The pretender did not know them, and he confessed to his grace, the king, that he had lied about being the duke of York.”
Arranging her face carefully to not show emotion at this, Elizabeth nodded for him to continue.
“When the king found out that the pretender’s wife had been left at St. Michael’s Mount, he sent some men there to take her into custody as well. I heard that she was in black of mourning when taken for she had lost a babe while she waited there for her treacherous husband.”
“Thank you and God bless you for your loyalty and fine service,” Elizabeth said as she gestured to servants to see to his comfort. Those indicated eagerly responded, hoping to hear more details from this man who had been in the thick of the action. Surely, there were parts of his story that had not been appropriate for royal feminine ears.
Taking Jayne aside, Elizabeth said low enough only for her ears to hear, “Prepare our things. We will leave for London with the dawn.”
~~~~
Word reached Elizabeth upon entering the city that her husband was not in London. She fought back disappointment and made arrangements to stay just one night before travelling on to Sheen. By the time they arrived the next day, even Harry was tired of riding.
“Will my father be there?”
“Yes, Harry, that is why we have come.” Elizabeth snapped, lacking her normal patience.
“I’m sorry, my lady mother.”
She sighed and smiled at him. His freckles stood out dark against his pale skin after so many days in the sun, and his hair displayed streaks of strawberry blond. “It is I who should apologize,” she said. “I am weary of travel and ready for a bath and a warm bed.”
“My own bed would be nice,” Harry agreed though he wrinkled his nose at the idea of a bath.
When they finally entered the bailey at Sheen, Elizabeth had never been happier to be at the end of a journey. She was also overjoyed to be greeted by her husband, who waited to personally help her from her horse. They held each other close for a moment, neither uttering a word.
“Bess,” he whispered into her hair, taking deep breaths to soak in her scent. He was surprised to realize how much he had truly missed her.
“Henry.” She looked up at him. “Thank God for your victories and that you are free from injury.”
“Amen,” he agreed and then kissed her, a quick, sweet kiss that was more than he usually would allow in front of the watching attendants but held promise of more.
“Father, I rode all the way to Walsingham and back!”
Henry smiled and released his wife in order to squat down to his son’s level. “Did you now?”
Harry puffed out his chest and a broad smile split his face. “I certainly did! Tell him, mother.”
“I believe you, my fine prince,” Henry said, ruffling Harry’s ever unruly hair. “And a wonderful job you have done of watching over your mother in my absence.”
If it were possible, Harry’s smile increased.
“I heard that you killed the rebels and took Perkin Warbeck as prisoner,” Harry said before he could lose his father’s attention.
Henry raised an eyebrow, wondering who had been sharing war stories with a six year old. “It is true that the rebellion was quelled and the leader is in my custody. It is a king’s duty to protect peace within his realm, and his family’s job to support him, as someday you will support your brother, Arthur.”
Harry’s face fell a little at this. He understood that Arthur was to be king, while he would likely become an archbishop, but it seemed horribly unfair. “Of course, father.”
“We can talk more later, after I have cleaned up and had some rest,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Harry, why don’t you join your father and I in my chambers after supper?”
This grown-up invitation had the desired effect, and Harry’s face lit up again. He skipped along as his nurse led him away. Both parents watched him, wishing that they again had that kind of unbound energy.
“When you are ready, Bess, I will also have the lady Kathryn Gordon presented to you.”
“She is here?”
Henry nodded. “She was in an awful state when my men found her. Apparently, she had been with child when they landed but lost the babe after Warbeck left her at St. Michael’s Mount. Of course, it was also a terrible shock to her when her husband confessed to her that he was not who she believed him to be.”
They had begun walking into the palace as Henry spoke, Elizabeth grasping tightly onto Henry’s arm.
“She believed him to be Richard then?”
“I’m afraid so,” Henry confirmed. “She wept and raged when Warbeck told her the truth, but I have tried to show her every kindness as the cousin of our daughter’s betrothed.”
“Poor woman,” Elizabeth sighed.
A large tub had been lugged into Elizabeth’s chambers and filled with buckets of hot water. It felt like the height of luxury to settle into the rose scented liquid and close her eyes while Jayne washed her hair. She would have been lulled to sleep if it were not for the thoughts of Kathryn Gordon that flashed irritatingly through her mind.
Apparently, Lady Gordon had not been part of the deception but one of the many fooled by this man claiming to be her brother. Henry showed no doubt that the man was not Richard, and his wife seemed to have believed his confession, as little as she liked it. Elizabeth didn’t know whether to be sad or relieved. Soon she would meet his wife. Had Kathryn been looking forward to the time when they would meet? Did she believe that they would be rival queens? Loving sisters-in-law? Certainly she expected neither of these extremes now. Elizabeth decided to delay this delicate introduction until the next day. It would give them both more time to decide what they should expect from the other.
Henry entered the chamber as Elizabeth’s ladies finished dressing her. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and Elizabeth nodded her consent.
“I will not be able to let Harry stay long. I am eager for bed,” she said wearily.
“As am I, my lady.”
Elizabeth swatted playfully at her husband with a laugh. “You are welcome in my bed, but be warned that I may be asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.”
He gathered her into his arms, and she gratefully leaned into him, feeling the stress of the past weeks draining from her as she soaked in his strength.
“How was our son welcomed in the east?” Henry asked as he kissed the top of her head.
Elizabeth put enough space between them to look up into his face. “He was marvelous, Henry. You would have been so proud. Nobody who saw Harry would guess that he was anything less than a prince.”
Henry simply nodded as if he had expected no less. Summoned by the sound of his name, Harry came running into the room until a stern throat clearing from his attendant slowed him down and he bowed before his parents.
“Please stand, fine prince,” Henry said formally. “I have been informed that you performed the duties of the duke of York to the queen’s complete satisfaction.”
“Thank you, your grace!” Harry’s words joined in the game of formality though his tone held too much enthusiasm for a courtier.
Elizabeth smiled at the happy picture made by father and son. Harry was chattering about the trip, his new horse, and the little gifts that people had handed him as he rode through the crowds. Elizabeth half listened while her mind wandered. Did all princes of the Church start out as rambunctious little boys? She was brought back to the present by the sound of her husband’s voice.
�
�Harry, I believe that you will need to get yourself off to bed before your mother falls asleep in her chair.”
“But I haven’t yet told you about . . . .”
“There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow,” Henry stated firmly before Harry could race into the next topic.
Harry pouted but knew better than to argue with his father. The hours on horseback had also worn him out more than he cared to admit, and he was looking forward to his soft mattress and goose-feather pillow. He placed a kiss on the cheek of each parent before accepting their blessing and leaving for the nursery.
“Ah, that boy will make us proud, Bess. I am certain of it.”
“Yes, he is a good boy,” Elizabeth agreed.
“Let’s get you to bed as well,” Henry said, standing and extending his hand to her. She took it and let him pull her up and lead her to the bed.
Once they were settled under the covers, she found that she did have a little more energy to expend before falling asleep.
~~~~
The next day, Elizabeth was more nervous than she cared to admit. She was not pleased with the selection of dresses she had with her, all either too formal or too plain for the sensitive meeting with the woman who had hoped to usurp her position.
“No, not this one either!” she exclaimed with uncharacteristic anger toward her ladies.
“Alright, your grace,” Jayne said, calmly laying the fifth gown aside. “This one then, for the blue brings out the beauty of your eyes and the red in your hair.”
Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York Page 25