Rodrigo de Puebla stood before Elizabeth and Henry with a strained look on his suntanned face. He was a Spanish diplomat who had been a go-between for Ferdinand and Isabella in the marriage negotiations with the Tudors for several years. He enjoyed speaking of the promised marriage between Arthur and Catherine much more than the marriage that Henry was proposing for Rodrigo himself.
“I am honored,” Rodrigo said with an eloquent bow, “But you would not expect me to accept such a proposal without the approval of my own king and queen.”
“Certainly not,” Henry agreed. He placed a high value on loyalty and would not undermine that of another monarch’s subjects. “I will leave it to you to discuss with them as you see fit.”
“We would love to have you on English soil more often, Rodrigo. You would be tempted to stay longer if you had an English bride,” Elizabeth teased.
“Nothing could be more of an incentive to stay as long as possible than your own beauty, your grace,” he said with another perfect bow.
“Ah, we will not pressure him, Bess. What of the plans to bring Princess Catherine to court?” Henry asked, changing the subject to one that Rodrigo was much more comfortable with, though there was an issue with this long discussed topic as well.
“Catherine longs to learn English customs and meet her betrothed, of course,” Rodrigo said in the perfectly pronounced English of those who have learned it as a second language. “There remains, however, one concern.”
“What concern might that be?” Henry asked, his temper already rising.
Rodrigo was used to dealing with royal anger and continued politely but firmly. “Concern remains regarding the rebel claimant to your throne. It is said that he resides at court with his wife.”
“He is imprisoned in the Tower and has not been allowed privacy with his wife since his capture in October of last year,” Henry corrected. “He is no threat whatsoever. In the six years that he trounced around the Continent attempting to gain support for his claim, he failed miserably, just as he did when he landed on England’s shore.”
“True, but he still lives.”
Elizabeth gasped. “He is kept in a prison that none has ever escaped from.”
“Well, few, anyway,” Rodrigo said in an off-hand manner that allowed him to correct the queen without sounding insubordinate. This also allowed him to segue into his masters’ other complaint. “There is another Plantagenet prince held within the Tower with a strong claim to the crown, is there not?”
“My cousin has been under guard since his tenth year. He has never shown any sign that he is a threat to my husband’s reign,” Elizabeth said calmly. She was practiced at keeping her anger hidden, but Edward’s imprisonment was a topic that still unnerved her, and now Rodrigo was implying that it was not enough.
“The earl of Warwick is a simpleton, kept in comfortable confinement for his own protection,” Henry said lazily, as if Edward were of no consequence.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. Of course Edward was a simpleton. Henry had allowed him only the most minimal of tutoring or interaction with anyone other than his guards. Elizabeth remembered the innocent little boy who wondered if he would get his turn to be king. Did he still wonder about crowns or would he be happy simply to be free? She shook herself from her internal meanderings to listen to the Spanish envoy.
“Be that as it may, Catherine’s parents must be assured that their daughter’s ascendancy to the English throne would be secure as Arthur’s wife. With two men in London ready to take the young prince’s place, you can understand their apprehension.”
“No, Rodrigo, I do not,” Henry bellowed. “Do you believe that they are more concerned than I am about the security of my kingdom and my son’s inheritance? I can assure you that neither of these men you have mentioned are a threat in the least. You are welcome to meet them and judge for yourself.”
Rodrigo’s eyes lit up at this invitation. So few men were accepted into the company of Edward of Warwick, many had forgotten that he existed. Perkin Warbeck, on the other hand, had charmed half of the monarchs of Europe before being captured by Henry, who had stunned them all by welcoming him to court rather than executing him. He tried to hide the excitement he felt, already envisioning the report he would be able to give to his king and queen.
“That would be favorable,” he said calmly. “I will meet with the earl and the pretender as soon as is convenient.” He bowed and left the hall before Henry could backtrack on his offer.
~~~~
Elizabeth was surprised to get a request for an audience from the Spanish envoy a few days later. She rarely met with him without Henry, but this made her curious rather than concerned. Eager to finalize the alliance with Spain, she asked that he be brought to her immediately.
“Your grace,” he said, bowing before her within her chamber as gracefully as if they were before an audience in the great hall.
Elizabeth rose from the window seat and gestured for him to join her at a small table she had set up with wine and her favorite tarts and cheese.
“You are too kind,” Rodrigo said as he took a seat.
“I am intrigued, Rodrigo. What would cause you to ask to meet me specifically, not Henry?”
Rodrigo took a long drink from his cup. “Ah, sweet Rhenish red, not one I often taste while in London.” He set the cup down, while Elizabeth neither lowered her eyes nor broke the silence left by her inquiry. “You cut quickly to the heart of the matter, your grace. I thought you may be interested in my observations at the Tower.”
Elizabeth furrowed her brow. Whenever she visited Edward he was well treated, if isolated. She sent him books and letters as often as she was able, as did Margaret, but she could not deny the fact that life went on while Edward became a man without one. “Edward was well, was he not?”
“Oh yes,” he said, nodding like one who is happy to have some good news to impart. “Edward is not so much a simpleton as an uneducated young man who has not experienced much. He certainly maintains strong devotion to you, your grace, and through you to your husband.”
“As we said,” Elizabeth pointed out. “He is no threat.”
“Probably not,” Rodrigo agreed, yet a frown settled on his face.
“What is it?”
“I had hoped to observe for myself the similarities between Warbeck and the great king Edward.”
Elizabeth blushed. “He resembles my father, that would be difficult for me to deny, but I can assure you that he is not Richard.”
“That is just the thing,” Rodrigo said, leaning toward her in his intensity. “I could not see the resemblance.”
“I am confused, Rodrigo. I hide nothing from you. Truthfully, he is closer in appearance to my brother, Edward, than to Richard, but I, their sister, would know if he were either. Between you and I, I suspect that he is a product of one of my father’s dalliances.” She knew that it was dangerous to confess so much to a man with the ear of the Spanish monarchs, but he would have observed the truth for himself.
“You do not understand, your grace,” Rodrigo made a motion to take her hand before regaining possession of himself. “He would be unrecognizable to his own mother. Warbeck has been severely beaten, possibly tortured. He resembles no Plantagenet prince in his current condition.”
“No!” It came out as a whisper, but Elizabeth’s eyes bulged in shock. What she had to say about this revelation needed to be said to Henry, though, not Rodrigo. “I have no knowledge of this.”
“That is why I am here,” he said, sitting back in his chair and reclaiming his cup of wine.
“Did you speak to him?”
“As much as he was able. His face is disfigured and he is missing several teeth. Speech was difficult and painful for him.”
“And what did he say?”
“He claimed to be Richard of York.”
~~~~
Elizabeth stormed into Henry’s chambers, something she had never done before. “Leave!” She ordered away his attendants and scribes with a wave of he
r hand.
Henry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he did not countermand her. Whatever had upset her must be serious for her to overcome her natural docility. When the room had emptied, he cleared his throat and asked, “What has upset you, Bess?”
Elizabeth ignored his outstretched hand and his attentive tone. “You have upset me,” she stated with her feet planted and hands on her hips. She saw his face tighten and his hand fall back to his side, but he forced himself to remain calm. “What has been done to Warbeck and why is he claiming again to be my brother?”
“Warbeck escaped and incurred some injuries upon his capture.”
She cut him off before he could say more. “You are lying. He has been beaten. Have you tortured him as well?”
“Bess, he took the mercy that had been shown him and threw it in my face. Why would he try to escape when he was allowed free movement at court?”
Elizabeth sighed and shook her head then used the tone she employed when explaining something to a child. “It is because you kept him from his wife, from his child. You are a man, Henry. Is it so difficult for you to imagine what you might do in his situation?”
“I had to keep him from his wife. Any children of his could be the source of rebellion.”
“Because he is my brother.”
They stared at each other, each waiting for the other to contradict this statement.
“He is not Richard, of that I am certain,” Henry said.
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed as she examined her husband in a new light. She knew that Warbeck was not Richard because she knew her brother. While Warbeck certainly had the look of a Plantagenet, he did not look like Richard. But how did Henry, who lived in exile throughout Richard’s life, know that?
“I have admitted that I believe him to be my brother,” she said again.
Henry vigorously shook his head. “He may be the result of your father’s famously wandering eye, but he is not heir to the throne.”
She agreed, but asked, “How do you know?” Her eyes were piercing, more angry and accusatory than Henry had ever seen them. He was first to look away.
“We have discussed this. It is common knowledge that your uncle killed both of your legitimate brothers.”
“Yet you are threatened by this Warbeck, but not my bastard half-brother, Arthur, who is a member of your household.
“Arthur is not a threat and has no ambition. Warbeck is and does. It is not important what I believe to be true about him, but what he can convince others of.”
“Yet, you seem certain that his story is false, despite the fact that he has taken it up again.”
“He knows he has nothing to lose, Bess. He is grasping at straws, hoping someone will believe him and come to his aid.”
“I have no doubt that you are correct, but you are not answering my question.”
Henry gave her a hard look. “What do you want from me, Bess? Everyone has known that they are dead for fifteen years.”
The whispers of gossip that had reached her ears naming Henry as her brothers’ murderer spun through her head. She had pushed him this far. Had she the courage go farther? The air sizzled with the words that neither of them dared to say. As they stared into each other’s eyes, her anger deflated and he knew that she would not ask the one question she had really meant to ask.
“What happened to Baybroke and Smith?” She settled for a safer inquiry.
“Warbeck’s gaolers?” Henry blinked at the sudden change in topic and intensity. “Nothing. Why?”
“They allowed a treasonous prisoner to escape. Is there no punishment for permitting rebels to run free?”
Henry’s face went blank and slightly pale. Then she knew that she had caught him in a scheme, though not the one she had thought to accuse him of. “He was released on purpose,” she said with dread. She did not realize that her husband was capable of this type of treachery. “The guards were told to let him escape so that you had the means to justify his harsher treatment and isolation.”
Henry said nothing. Elizabeth turned and strode from the chamber.
~~~~
Elizabeth was thankful for a visit from her sister, Cecily. She wasn’t sure what to do with the information she had obtained about Warbeck. Or if she should do anything. Cecily listened without comment as Elizabeth described how Warbeck had been trapped into having more crimes heaped upon him and the severe treatment he had been receiving.
“Why do you think Henry allowed him to be at court in the first place?” Cecily asked. She looked at the ceiling and twirled a loose strand of hair as she considered the situation.
“I suppose so that all would see that he was no true threat.” Elizabeth had not thought to question Henry’s mercy. It was not more than he had done for Lambert Simnell, who was still a member of Henry’s household caring for his falcons. “It could have been for the sake of his wife.”
Cecily’s eyes lowered to take in her sister. “He is fond of Kathryn?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Everyone is fond of her. She is devout, kind, young, and beautiful.”
“Hmmm…” Cecily’s eyes strayed upwards to search the roof beams for more ideas. “But something made him change his mind.”
“Warbeck was becoming quite popular, and there was the difficulty of keeping him from his wife’s bed.”
“Ah, Bess. There you may have it. Henry believed that a noble woman would disavow her husband upon learning that he was, at best, a king’s son born on the wrong side of the sheets.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, nodding. “I think that is true.”
“He wants no more little rebel Warbecks running around, but he could not justify a more severe sentence when Warbeck was making friends at court. So, he convinced him he could escape.”
Hanging her head in shame of her husband’s deeds, Elizabeth mumbled a positive response.
“He will not wish to stop with imprisonment,” Cecily predicted.
Elizabeth’s head shot up. “What do you mean?”
“Warbeck will not be content to waste away in the Tower quietly the way our poor cousin has. Henry will look for a way to have him eliminated.”
Elizabeth was about to contradict her sister, but then she remembered bits of gossip from when she was a child. The sixth king Henry had been locked up in the Tower when he died, supposedly of misery. Her father had executed rebels time after time to protect his crown, and his brother had done no less. Somebody had killed her brothers, but was it to protect Richard’s crown . . . . or Henry’s?
“Yes, I believe you are correct. What should I do?”
“You should do nothing,” Cecily stated firmly. “Henry is the king, and it is not only his own crown that he protects.”
February 1499
“If Henry was displeased with the friendly welcome Warbeck received at court, he must be gnashing his teeth over Ralph Wilford.”
Cecily and Elizabeth sat together in Elizabeth’s confinement chambers at Greenwich. A cozy fire burned in the hearth, and the windows were covered with tapestries to keep out the winter chill. The sisters felt as though they were in their own private world, away from that place where schemes unfolded and people died. John Welles, Cecily’s husband had gone to God earlier in the month, but she thwarted each of Elizabeth’s efforts to discuss the loss. After losing her husband and both of their daughters, Cecily needed to think about something other than what God had taken from her.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and soaked in the fire’s heat. She recognized Cecily’s statement for what it was: an effort to avoid her own tragedy. “He has run out of mercy,” Elizabeth admitted. “The man who put Lambert Simnel in the kitchens rather than the executioner’s block no longer exists.”
“I don’t understand it, Bess. Why would this man claim to be Edward? Have people forgotten that he is still in the Tower?”
“Maybe they have,” Elizabeth said sadly, thinking of all that Edward had never been allowed to experience. “Whatever the reason for the impersonati
on, Wilford was quickly executed for claiming to be the earl of Warwick. It seems that people must be content with Henry’s rule.”
“I do not believe that.” Cecily paused to pour more wine into their cups before settling back into her seat. “When it is Arthur ruling and more time has passed, the people will embrace him. Our brothers and uncle will be forgotten as our cousin has been.”
“I pray that you are right,” Elizabeth sighed. “I would have Arthur enjoy peace during his reign as neither my father nor husband was allowed to do.”
“He will be known as Good King Arthur, with no remnants of our cousins’ war to besmirch his long and peaceful reign.”
“Amen.”
The sisters sat silently before the fire for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Would they see the glorious era of Good King Arthur? The wine and warmth comforted them each and made their troubles seem far away. It was easy to believe for a moment that they were just two sisters, not princesses with a lifetime of worries, deaths, and betrayals between them.
“The baby will arrive soon,” Cecily said. “Do you wish for a girl or boy this time?”
Without opening her eyes, Elizabeth replied, “Of course a queen is required to wish for boys.” A small smile touched her lips. “Too many boys served as the third Edward’s curse. I believe I desire another girl, who can help Arthur build his peace through marriage alliances.”
“A wise choice, sister,” Cecily agreed. “How is your backup prince? Any more suited to the church than before?”
Elizabeth laughed out loud. “Oh, Cecily, nobody else would dare speak of Harry that way! But you are perceptive. He enjoys riding his horse more than learning his verses, though he excels at both. Surely no priest seemed suited to that profession when they were not quite eight years old.”
Cecily thought that she could think of a few examples to fit that bill but did not press. “He keeps his tutors on their toes, I am certain.”
More laughter. “That he does,” Elizabeth agreed. “I see so much of our father in him,” she added in a softer voice.
Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York Page 28