by Jean Stubbs
She looked at him with some indulgence that evening and bent to her needlework as she spoke, so that she might not seem to advise him but to converse naturally.
‘We women have more power for good than you would grant us, sire, and it is as needful for the greatest prince in Christendom to have a loving wife as for the lowliest of all his subjects. Men speak and women listen. Men rule and women serve. Men make war and women make children. That is our rightful function. And in return for their lives and loves they ask for nothing but a man’s protection, and a little kindness.’
‘Well, madam, have we been unkind to any lady?’
‘I think you are unkind to one — and that is not your mother who is grateful to you — but one that is like I was once. Aye, very like, except that life sharpened my eyes and wits, and sorrow moulded me.’
‘We have been most attentive to the Lady Elizabeth,’ said Henry guiltily. ‘She is much at court and joins our revels. Last night she won a sum of money from me at cards.’
Lady Margaret selected a fresh thread of colour.
‘You have played the skilful courtier right well, your grace, but nothing more. The affairs of state are cold, my lord. You must have tenderness to solace you. And though no king may wed where he chooses, yet you should show the lady more than courtesy. Fine phrases spoken in public, my lord, sound empty if there be neither friendship nor understanding behind them.’
‘Do you lecture us, madam?’
‘I should not dare, sire,’ she said, mocking him gently, ‘but I have ever said what I think is right, and shall do now — by your leave. I would see the lady content, and you content with her. A monarch stands as one upon a tower, who looks at what is passing in the plain. But he is a man, after all, and should be able to shut his chamber door and sweeten his eminence with love.’
She had damaged his vanity.
‘I was ever a good and loving friend to all my husbands,’ Lady Margaret continued, as he remained in hurt silence. ‘The Lady Elizabeth will be so to you, and you shall draw more comfort from a wife than from a mother.’
Henry remembered Lord Herbert striding into his wife’s solar, striving to say the right things about her embroidery, his blunt head wagging in admiration. He set vanity by the heels.
‘What would you have us do, madam, since compliments and courtesy are not to your liking? The lady is fair, and we have said so. We are bound by oath to wed, and we shall wed her.’
‘I think that I should speak to her, sire, as a man does to a woman, and privately. The evenings are warm and the gardens lovely still, and you may walk and talk together out of the noise of court.’
It was a minute or so before he replied, but the reply was gracious.
‘We thank you for your counsel, madam, which is both wise and good.’
She caught his hand and kissed it.
‘What manner of man was my father?’ Henry asked.
She paused, looking a long way back.
‘I knew him such a little while,’ she answered slowly, ‘that I remember but two things about him. He had a voice such as your own, and yellow hair.’
‘So passes memory with time, and makes poor shadows of us all.’
She flushed slightly.
‘One matter troubles me, my son, and I would speak of it. You are my earthly joy. I have none other. What I do for you I do with a glad heart. That set aside, I desire only to prepare myself for God.’
He was ahead of her, knowing she spoke of Lord Stanley.
‘I am no longer young, my lord. I can bear no more children, and my good husband has sons to his name. For my soul’s health — although I would not hurt him — I would we separated, that I might end my days in prayer. How does this seem to you?’
Unspoken, the thought of Stanley lay between them: found wanting in all but the ability to survive.
‘It seems both meet and right, madam. Would you that we spoke with him?’
She inclined her head.
‘The Lord Stanley is a noble gentleman,’ said Henry firmly, ‘and will see that this is good. We have rewarded and exalted him, and shall do. He shall serve us faithfully with no repining.’
He rose and stretched, turning to the window, looking out on his realm.
‘As for that other matter that we spoke of, we shall befriend the Lady Elizabeth. For we have learned much of you — and of women through you. By the Cross, madam, we are right glad we are a man.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Long I’ve loved a tall young maid
But never have we trysted.
And when I, who’ve known distress,
Was hoping for her gladness,
She that I courted, whispered
To me, to cut short my word —
‘I’ll not love a wandering man’s
Ungentle lack of substance!’
Building for Love, Anonymous, fifteenth century
Well, this should not be hard upon me, Henry reflected, as they strolled in the September evening. The long hand he clasped lightly felt cold, but the girl was shy and needed only his encouragement. Their attendants were a good distance behind, and any guard had withdrawn himself from their notice, so they were as much alone as they would be until they married.
‘Our delight in your company is so great,’ he began, ‘that we would be alone with you awhile, lady. For the court and state eats up our time more than we wish, and we would know you better.’
‘Your grace is pleased to say so, and I am glad of it.’
Her reply, though sweet, was as cold as her hand. He tried again.
‘And though the night is beautiful, yet when we look upon your face we see a greater beauty — and rejoice in it. You are fair, madam,’ he added sincerely, and a little interest stirred him.
‘On such a night as this, long since,’ she said with difficulty, ‘the king, my father, entertained the Lord of Gruthuyse — the Duke of Burgundy’s ambassador. And they walked in the gardens and in the vineyard of pleasure, and after we had supped we danced and played games...’
She stopped, and begged his pardon for her chatter.
‘But this was long ago,’ she said, subdued, ‘and of no interest to your grace.’
‘All that has pleased you pleases us, madam,’ he replied gently, for there was a sadness about her that moved him: a suggestion that once she had been happy and the happiness had gone. ‘How old were you, lady, when you delighted in these things? Did you play ninepins? Did you dance yourself?’
‘My father danced with me, my lord, and made me merry. And the Duke of Buckingham danced with me also, and I wore a bright blue gown. I was but six years old.’ His attentiveness warmed her. ‘We played with closheys of ivory, and my mother played at morteaulx — and she could bowl the ball finely. And the ambassador, that was a handsome gentleman, had three chambers of pleasance allotted him — all hung with white silk. There were comfits and syrups...’
Her tale was finished. Uneasily, she smiled at him and looked away again.
‘Now will this be our great good fortune to set aright. For we shall keep a splendid court together, lady. When shall you marry us?’
‘When your grace pleases,’ she replied, almost inaudibly.
‘And does that please you, madam?’
‘I am your grace’s humble servant.’
A rare gust of temper took him, who was always calm and deliberate.
‘What empty phrase is this?’ he cried, adopting his mother’s words unconsciously. ‘Come, madam, we are king and queen in truth, but shall that stand between us? May we not be man and woman — aye, and husband and wife — also? We have sought to know you, that this marriage may be more than a convenience of state. And you answer us with yeas and nays and speak of humble servants, when we would have a loving helpmeet by us. Do not talk of duty,’ he cautioned, as she opened her mouth submissively, ‘we have enough of duties at court. We ask you for your friendship, madam, if we have not your love. Why, am I crooked? Does my face displease
you?’ He had lapsed into the first person in his disturbance, and her expression changed. ‘I am a man, as other men. And I tell you, madam, that other ladies have found me comely enough!’
She was scarlet with fear and embarrassment.
‘And now you weep, like any woman that has not her own way. Well, that is better than nothing. I thought I had a very tapestry beside me, that could not change its countenance. Speak up! Do I displease you? You wrote a loving letter to me once, and sent a ring. But now I see you did as you were bidden — and I am sick of courtesy.’
She put both hands before her face and sobbed for wretchedness.
‘We shall be answered,’ Henry said inexorably. ‘Was your letter nothing but good policy, madam?’
‘God help and save me, sire, I wrote it all myself. But that was to a prince I did not know, and he seemed fine and fair — a silver knight to rescue a sad lady. And then you won the field and came to London, and you are real, your grace — and I know not how to speak with you. For how can dreams live and walk? I beg your grace’s understanding.’
‘Come, stand with me beneath this tree. They must not see you weep, Elizabeth. England has had sorrow enough and expects us to be merry. So I was a dream once?’ he added, and smiled to himself. ‘Here, lady, dry your eyes for you will spoil them. Now tell me more of this.’
‘There were some at court that laughed behind their hands when the Dauphin did not marry me. And then King Richard smiled upon me, and they whispered slander. Oh, my lord, you would have pitied me then. Miserable creature that I was, and passed from king to king as it pleased them. I said I would rather endure the torments that St Catherine bore for love of Christ, than be joined to a man that was the enemy of my family. But though I spoke bravely it brooked me not, for if he had so desired he would have married me. Princesses do as they are bidden, sire. They are not asked.’
‘Then Henry Tudor asks you, humbly, will you wed him?’
She dried her face and fingers, beginning to find her way in this new set of circumstances.
‘Would your grace give me leave to understand him better?’ she said timidly. ‘I know that they would have us wed tomorrow if they could, but will you wait a little? And talk with me, as you have done this evening?’
‘Most gladly, lady. Will three months suffice you? I doubt that I can hold them off much longer. For my parliament are as anxious for the wedding as though they wedded you themselves — I blame them not for that!’ he added lightly.
She moved a little closer in the shadow of the tree, and he let her stand by him, not even offering to take her hand lest he frighten her off again.
‘What will you say to them, my lord?’
‘Now let me think,’ said Henry, enjoying himself in a new game of subtlety. ‘I shall say that I desire to make my own position safe. Aye, that is very sound. They will believe me. I shall say that I won the crown in battle, and not by right of your inheritance — which is something purer than my own, madam. And Morton will smile and smooth his hands, and my gallant gentlemen will call me a churl for keeping a lady waiting, and England will name me a laggard lover. But you shall have your three months, Elizabeth.’
She sensed his strength and began to lean upon it.
‘How will you bear this, my lord?’
‘Oh, very well,’ said Henry cheerfully. ‘We know the truth, so what matters? If they say nothing harder I shall have a joyful reign.’
She smiled for the first time in his company, and ventured a confidence.
‘I like you truly, my lord.’
‘Then that is a good beginning,’ and he bowed over her hand. ‘Come, lady, let us lighten the court with our presence. And I shall be your friend, but you have one that is as true as any could be.’
‘And who is that, my lord?’
‘My mother, Lady Margaret.’
They paced through the gardens, their attendants walking respectfully behind them, and the hand that Henry held in his was warm and confident.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
... be it ordained ... that the inheritance of the crown of the realm of England and France ... be rest and remain and abide in the most royal person of our new Sovereign-Lord, King Henry the VIIth, and in the heirs of his body lawfully comen perpetually ... and in noon other.
Rotuli Parliamentorum, 1485
Behind the scenes of rejoicing, the savouring of coming pomp and a new reign and a new peace, Henry set quietly and forcefully to work with his Council. As he looked round the long table that morning he felt he had chosen well.
Here was Bishop Morton in the flesh, who had so long been an intelligence upon paper: haughty and astute. Stanley the cautious, wholly won to his service since there was nowhere else to go, and welcome for his cunning; and his brother William and his son Lord Strange, both dedicated, both useful. Richard Fox, who had joined him in Paris, son of a Lincolnshire yeoman: as watchful and shrewd as Henry himself. Busy Sir Robert Willoughby, who was driving hard bargains with the merchants for coronation purchases. Giles Daubeney, who had served both Edward IV and Richard III, and thrown in his lot with Lancaster when the princes were murdered. Oxford, frank of tongue and staunch of service. John Alcock, who had been tutor to the young king, Edward V. Jasper of the ready sword. Reginald Bray, trusted with so much and failing in nothing. Sir Edward Pynings, Lord Dynham, Edgecombe, Guildford and others. All men whose virtues lay in their minds rather than their escutcheons. For Henry did not intend to be ruled by barons, but to be served by able politicians.
So his smile rose from satisfaction as well as amiability as he welcomed them, and set about the business of the coronation. And while he read the details they waited in respectful silence.
‘My lords,’ said Henry briskly, setting down the papers, ‘we purpose, as we have promised, to wed the Princess Elizabeth of York, and that is understood. Moreover, this marriage is our delight as well as our bounden duty.’
They liked this very well.
‘But we see that our excellent advisers have assumed that the princess will be crowned at the same time as ourself, which purposes a speedy marriage, and neither our marriage nor her coronation is our wish at the moment.’
A little silence followed, though Morton smiled to himself and admired the sacred ring upon his hand, unsurprised.
‘This is no dishonour or discourtesy to the lady, who is as meet to be queen as she is noble and beautiful. We are king by right of conquest rather than dynastic claim. For though our line is royal many have said we are of bastard blood. And truly,’ he added, with gentle humour, ‘our ancestors indulged their fancies rather than their families or the state. But the Princess Elizabeth has no such shadow sinister upon her escutcheon, being daughter of a rightful king and lawfully descended on both sides. If we are not seen to rule by virtue of our own strength then shall people say, “This is no king, but the queen’s husband”.’
The silence was broken by Morton, whose blackened teeth were in full display.
‘You speak with the wisdom of the prophets, sire, and with much humility. For no man here would doubt your royal blood. And yet, as you say, people clack among themselves. So you would be crowned first, and alone, sire — is that your wish?’
‘Aye, for we must look facts in the face, as the Holy Bible says. We are king in fact. Let us be crowned in fact, and govern in fact. That goodly man King Henry had the crown by right — was that enough for him and England?’
‘One little matter, sire,’ said Morton, as one by one they nodded their agreement. ‘I should not wait too long to marry the Lady Elizabeth, or it may seem you are unwilling. Then would you lose half England, and we be back where we began.’
‘You have our solemn promise, my lord bishop. I say more. It is our wish to wed the lady. But we are king first and husband after, for we rule through no woman nor are governed by any.’
‘Do the plans please you, otherwise, sire?’ asked Robert Willoughby, after a pause.
‘They please us very well, good
Willoughby. Let the writs be issued on the fifteenth of this month, to summon the lords spiritual and temporal, and those high in our commons, to our crowning. And good Sir Robert, though the people must see us in our splendour, avoid all damnable pomp and outrageous superfluities. We shall be looking to your accounts.’
Willoughby bowed, reading this command rightly as the best possible goods for the least possible expenditure.
‘And speaking of accounts,’ said Henry, taking up another sheaf of papers, ‘we see our royal treasury is much depleted. Duke Richard bought his friends to no good purpose and at a high cost to our realm. We shall be watching both private and public moneys. Let no paper pass you by that has not our initials on it. We propose to sever our household revenues from those of the state, and set a limit on them, so that our people shall see we take their welfare to our heart.’
‘The traitors who fought for York,’ Morton observed, putting his fingers judiciously in an arch, ‘should be attaindered, sire. There is some goodly revenue in their lands and possessions.’
‘And if, by an Act of Resumption, you restored to yourself all the lands appertaining to the late King Henry, sire,’ said Fox quietly, ‘you would find much property your own that is not so now.’
‘We thank you, and we shall note these things. What shall our good merchants lend us for our coronation?’
‘Ten thousand pounds, sire?’ Robert Willoughby suggested.
‘We shall entreat them for this sum. And we must ransom the Marquis Dorset and Lord Feneway from France, which will cost us two thousand more. Shall they be pleased to lend this also?’
‘They should be pleased to invest in their own futures, sire!’ Oxford said bluntly. ‘We risked our lives that they might trade in peace, not long since.’
