Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York

by Samantha Wilcoxson

  Her voice echoed around the bare walls, and she could have sworn that she heard other voices mingled with her own as if ghosts called out to her. The guards were more hesitant to follow this order, after all, it would be the wrath of the king brought down upon them if something happened to Queen Elizabeth. In the end, they quailed under her imperial glare and returned to their post on the other side of the heavy door. Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised to see that Tyrell seemed relatively unharmed, unlike Warbeck, who had been unrecognizable to those who saw him after his death. She shivered and flung that thought aside. She could not be distracted from her purpose, for she was certain that this would be her only opportunity to speak with the man who claimed to have killed her brothers.

  If James Tyrell was shocked to be receiving the Queen of England as his visitor, he did not show it. His face was grim and resolute. It was the face of a man who knew that he was going to die and was determined to make it a good death. He stood to give up his stool to Elizabeth, as it was the only seat in the small, dark chamber, but Elizabeth waved away this effort and remained standing before him.

  “You served my father, fighting with him at Tewkesbury, and loyally served my uncle as a member of his household.”

  With a slight dip of his head, Tyrell said, “That is correct, your grace.”

  “Though your father was executed for treason, you have supported the York cause.” Even to the extent of rallying behind her cousin, Edmund de la Pole, most recently. She was not interested in exploring that path. “If what I am told about your confession is true, you committed a heinous crime against the family you had previously served.” She paused and narrowed her eyes to examine his face, which gave away nothing. “If you killed my brothers, it was done on the order of my uncle, in whose service you were at that time employed. I need you to tell me if that is true.”

  Tyrell was not intimidated, though Elizabeth did her best to put on the most regal manner she had ever seen displayed by her own mother. After considering her for a moment, he said, “That is the manner of my confession.”

  Elizabeth smiled at him. “Ah, but I have read your confession. I am interested in what you would say that could not be put to parchment.”

  Rubbing his face in an effort to wash away the conflict within him, Tyrell took more than a minute to form his response again. “My confession is complete.”

  Elizabeth began to feel that this visit was pointless, and she would go to her grave not learning the truth.

  “You have a son, Sir James.”

  “I do, your grace. He is enjoying similar accommodations as myself . . . . for now.”

  It was a clue, and she knew he would not give her many.

  “He will inherit your lands and titles, despite your confession.”

  Tyrell only nodded once.

  “Or because of it,” Elizabeth said, closely watching his face. His answering nod was almost imperceptible. “You did not kill my brothers.”

  An almost imperceptible flicker of fear flashed across his face, and he leaned forward to furiously whisper, “You must say nothing.” He ordered her, as though he spoke to a serving maid rather than his queen. “My death will have been in vain if the king believes that there are doubts about my guilt. My reputation will mean nothing, but I can secure my son’s place.” He quickly sat back and arranged his face, leaving Elizabeth to wonder if the whispered declaration had been imagined.

  Elizabeth looked toward the door, reassuring herself that they could not be overheard. Leaning closer than was proper, she asked the question that had plagued her for almost two decades. “Did my Uncle Richard order the murder of his nephews?”

  Tyrell peered into Elizabeth’s eyes, knowing that he was closer to her than anyone other than the king was allowed. Had he been that type of man, it would have been easy to kiss her and more long before the guards realized what was going on. Could he trust this woman with his son’s future? He whispered as if they were lovers. “He did not.” He hoped and prayed that he had not just made a horrible mistake.

  Elizabeth did not immediately move. She took in every detail of Tyrell’s craggy face, for she must decide which version of his truth to believe: the one Henry forced from him upon threat of death to ensure his son’s inheritance, or the one hesitatingly given for the peace of mind of the queen. She straightened, pulling away from him. “That is what I have always hoped and believed. You may trust that I will not use this information to the detriment of your son.”

  She moved toward the door, but halted when Tyrell unexpectedly spoke once more. “For your brothers’ murderer, you may wish to look closer to home, your grace.” Fingers of dread ran up and down her spine at his words. She did not turn or respond, but pushed her way through the door and away from James Tyrell for the last time.

  Elizabeth returned to her chamber just in time to bring up her breakfast into a pot held by Jayne. Sweat beaded up on her forehead as the queasiness threatened to knock her off her feet.

  “Are you alright, my lady?” Jayne asked softly when Elizabeth seemed to have nothing left to bring up.

  Leaning back and slowly nodding, Elizabeth cursed her own impetuous decision, made in the wake of losing her firstborn child. She had convinced Henry that it was a good idea. Of course they should have another child. They were young enough, and Harry needed a brother, just in case.

  “I believe I am with child,” she admitted to Jayne. And his father is a murderer, she thought only to herself.

  “The king will be so pleased!” Jayne said with false enthusiasm. “You will also be pleased to hear, your grace, that your sister, Cecily, arrived and requested an audience just after you left for the Tower.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes, wishing that she could take a moment to think before anything was piled upon her weary shoulders. “Once you have disposed of that, you may attend me and send someone to escort my sister to my private chamber.”

  “Yes, your grace,” Jayne murmured before leaving the room.

  As soon as Cecily entered the room, Elizabeth knew that she had news to share for her sister was not accomplished at hiding her feelings. Apparently, neither was Elizabeth.

  “Bess, my poor dear! Are you feeling well?” Cecily hugged her warmly before holding her at arm’s length.

  “I am quite fine,” Elizabeth laughed without disclosing more. “Tell me what it is you have come to share before you burst with it.” She gestured toward a window seat where they sat close to each other.

  “I do hope that you can understand, for I know that I have been disobedient,” Cecily began. She looked out the window rather than at her sister’s face. “Bess, I am married.”

  Elizabeth gasped. It was the scene with her aunt Katherine being repeated before her eyes. It took her a moment in her current mental state to recover enough to respond. “God’s blessings to you and your husband. Who is he?”

  “Oh, thank you, Bess! He is wonderful, and I hope that the king will agree. His name is Thomas Kyme, and he is . . . . well, he is a squire.”

  Elizabeth smiled her first real smile of the day. Cecily may have had poor Ralph Scrope torn away from her, but she would have her common husband. “And you are in love?”

  “Madly!” Cecily’s glowing face and wide grin attested to the truth of it.

  “I will, of course, speak to Henry on your behalf, though he may curse the Woodville women’s habit of marrying for love. I would suggest that we also speak to my mother-in-law that she may take up your part. She has always been somewhat partial to you, respecting you for your boldness.” At the mention of the lady Margaret, another thought occurred to Elizabeth, one that made her blood run cold but she had to push it aside for the moment.

  “Thank you, Bess! And God bless England’s most wonderful queen!”

  Elizabeth waved away Cecily’s exuberant appreciation. “Henry may not be in the mood to be overly generous, mind you.”

  “I do not care,” Cecily said firmly. “As long as my marriage is left intact, he
may take whatever he desires.”

  Henry did. Though Cecily was allowed her Linconshire squire, he confiscated her estates.

  June 1502

  Elizabeth had moved her household to Richmond following her visit to the Tower. She had not shared her suspicion that she may again be with child with Henry before leaving London because it was far too early to be certain. Her feelings toward her husband were such chaos within her. She had believed that healing was taking place between them after the loss of Arthur, but Tyrell’s words to her had again turned her cold toward him. She must learn the truth. If Henry was responsible for her brothers’ deaths and had lied to her for seventeen years of marriage, she would maintain a separate household from him for the remainder of her days. She would not endanger her children’s future by making a public scene of it, but they could no longer live as husband and wife.

  “Jayne, I am planning a progress.”

  “Is that wise in your condition, your grace?” Jayne spoke softly and made sure that they were not observed, for few guessed Elizabeth’s condition.

  “Whether it is wise or not, it is something I must do. I have put off discovering the truth for too many years. It can be delayed no longer.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” Jayne demurred.

  “Please send my sister, Cat. I would speak to her about my plans.”

  Moments later, Cat joined her sister and they huddled close together as partners in crime.

  “I have visited the Abbess of the Minories,” Elizabeth said in a low voice.

  “She is cousin to Tyrell?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “She does not believe that Sir James, God rest his soul, committed this crime against our family.”

  Cat had expected no less. “Now what?”

  “I informed Jayne that I would like to prepare to go on progress.”

  “You really intend to do this!” Cat looked at her eldest sister with new respect. “We will find the truth, Bess.” Cat did not remember her brothers, something that she would not admit to her sister. However, her husband, Will Courtenay, remained in the Tower for supporting their de la Pole cousins. The least Cat could do was to help her sister in her quest for truth. If Henry was found to be the boys’ killer, would Edmund become king? She shook her head. She must focus on the present.

  “Once I have the Princess Catherine settled at Croydon Palace, we will be free to set out. The poor girl is beside herself with grief and fear for her future.”

  “And is she with child?” Cat asked, though not out of concern for the Spanish princess whom she barely knew.

  Elizabeth frowned and shook her head. “Catherine confided in me that Arthur had never felt well enough to consummate the marriage, though he gave the impression that he had to avoid embarrassment. Even if I did not believe her, which I do, her ladies have observed her monthly flux since his death.”

  “It is for the best that Harry is secure as heir,” Cat said because it was the proper thing to say. She was not at all certain who the next king would be. If Henry died before Harry was of age, she doubted that he would be any more successful than her own young brothers had been.

  “God has his hand in this,” Elizabeth said softly. “Though I will never stop mourning for Arthur, Harry was not meant for a life devoted to the church. He will make a king in the very image of our father, and for that I am grateful.”

  Cat made no response and the women sat in their own private thoughts for a few moments.

  Elizabeth broke the silence. “I have sent some goods and money to our sister.”

  Cat pursed her lips. She must guard her words carefully when it came to the king’s actions. “Henry has not forgiven her.”

  Shaking her head sadly, Elizabeth regrettably admitted, “No, he will not annul the marriage, but neither will he restore her estates. Cecily was prepared for punishment, but I do not think she expected this. She is learning what it means to live without luxuries that we have always taken for granted.”

  “I hope that the love of her husband is recompense enough.”

  “As do I,” Elizabeth agreed, but she wondered if it could be for a woman who had grown up a pampered princess.

  July 1502

  Wagons and litters were lined up with horses stamping the ground and pulling at their reigns. Elizabeth was nervous about setting out on her own, but whether it was the pregnancy that she was now sure of or the information she was afraid she would gain that caused her anxiety, she was not certain. Cat was full of enthusiasm and a sense of adventure, and Elizabeth wished that she shared her energy and optimism. As they climbed into a litter together, Elizabeth was glad that she had such an upbeat travelling companion.

  At Colnbrook, they made offerings at St. Mary’s Chapel for safe travels and good health in addition to prayers for Arthur’s soul, though Elizabeth was doubtless that he would have been welcomed immediately into heaven.

  By mid-July they were at Notley Abbey when they received a messenger from Havering bearing the news of the death of little Lord Edward Courtenay.

  Cat received the news of her son’s death without a crack to her composure. Her husband imprisoned, his heir dead, she refused to allow others to see her wail in pain like a commoner. After releasing the messenger to find refreshment, she rose and ordered her attendants to prepare her things to return to Havering.

  “I’m sorry that I must leave you, Bess.”

  “Cat, I can accompany you.” Elizabeth was disturbed by the lack of tears in her sister’s eyes. “The truth about our brothers has waited this long to be revealed. It will hold a little longer. Let me be with you and comfort you.”

  “I do not need comfort. Find the truth, Bess, for those who know it are dwindling as the years go by. If our family is to have justice, you must continue while I go to bury my son.”

  When Cat rode away with her small, sad group of attendants, Elizabeth was more determined than ever to complete her quest before any more sons of York could die.

  Unfortunately, she made it only as far as Woodstock when she was forced to halt for the sake of her health. Those with her by now were all aware of her pregnancy, but they hid their concern in her presence. Not only was the queen thirty-six years old, but she had suffered during her last pregnancy as well. Some were bold enough to question why she would risk this journey as she struggled with fatigue and nausea, but all loved her well enough to care for her without bringing these doubts to her.

  It was August before Elizabeth felt well enough to move on, this time to the hunting lodge at Langley.

  August 1502

  Elizabeth felt lost not having Cat with her but then felt selfish for wishing her sister there rather than mourning for her son. Elizabeth had not known Cat’s little Edward, who was not more than a toddler when he died. To assuage her feelings of guilt, she sent Cat money for funeral expenses and began including masses for Edward Courtenay’s soul with Arthur Tudor’s.

  Jayne was forced to attempt to fill the gap left by Cat’s absence, and it was she who accompanied Elizabeth to pray and give offerings at St. Anne in the Wood near Bristol. The queen seemed to be pushing herself despite obvious fatigue and dizziness. Jayne did not understand why Elizabeth did not delay her progress until after the child had been born, but wondered if this progress was as much to put distance between the king and queen as any other goal Elizabeth had in mind.

  The chapel of St. Anne’s was a vision of beauty that belonged in a myth. Trees towered over the low stone building, which was covered in flowering vines making it look like the building itself had sprouted up out of the earth. Jayne and Elizabeth lit candles for Arthur and Edward before kneeling to pray before the altar. Elizabeth spent an unusually short amount of time on her knees before pulling herself up by grasping the prie-dieu rail and crossing herself.

  It was the holy well that interested her. Leaving the chapel, the women followed a worn path through the thick woods to a stone well. A well of holy water, enough to bathe in, would certainly have healing powers. While
her guards ensured their privacy, Elizabeth and Jayne undressed to their shifts and submerged themselves in the surprisingly cool water. Though neither said anything, both knew that prayers were being sent to the Heavenly Father for the health of the babe and his mother.

  As they rose from the water, feeling refreshed and at peace, Jayne spoke first. “Will we be carrying on to Ludlow, your grace?” She assumed that part of the reason for Elizabeth’s ill-timed progress was to visit her son’s household and grave, so she was surprised when Elizabeth answered without meeting her eye.

  “No, we will not be stopping at Ludlow. I must get to Raglan Castle.”

  Elizabeth was already walking away with a more confident stride than the tired shuffle that had brought her to the well, leaving Jayne to wonder what on earth was at Raglan Castle.

  After a brief trip into Wales, where they visited the Monmouth Priory and again made donations and gave alms, the royal procession carried on to Raglan, home of Charles Somerset, the last of the male Beauforts.

  ~~~~

  Though Jayne was not as comfortable asking Elizabeth about her choice of destinations as one of her sisters would have been, she was able to discover more about the man Elizabeth was determined to visit. Charles Somerset, illegitimate son of Henry Beaufort, duke of Somerset, had loyally served Henry, who he probably considered some sort of distant cousin. He was also married to Elizabeth Herbert, daughter of William Herbert and Mary Woodville.

  Jayne was certain that it was not this familial link that drove her queen but a more distant one. After Mary, Elizabeth’s aunt, had died, William Herbert had married Katherine Plantagenet, the illegitimate daughter of Richard III. Jayne had long ago guessed that her mistress had conflicting feelings regarding her uncle Richard, but why was she trying to unravel the mysteries surrounding him now?