by To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII;Elizabeth of York
“Henry the King,” he murmured to himself. “Henry the Eighth.”
He could not help studying his father, whose face was pale, whose hair was gray and whose eyes were without luster. Arthur’s death had aged him a great deal. Well, the Prince of Wales was only eleven and even he recognized that was rather young to be a king.
“I can wait awhile,” he told himself, “knowing that one day it will come.”
The Princes in
the Tower
he King was weighed down with anxieties. He had lost his eldest son; the Queen was ill; but most alarming of all was the fact that his grip on the crown after seventeen years of good rule was still not firm enough to give him peace of mind.
At the heart of his insecurity was the fear that someone would arise and snatch the throne from him—someone mature, strong, able to charm the people and who was in possession of that which for all his cleverness Henry would never attain: the claim to rule by the law of hereditary accession.
There would always be whispers against him—behind his back, of course. At least none dared utter them aloud, but he was aware of them. “Bastard sprig!” “Was your grandmother really married to Owen Tudor?” “Your mother, it is true, descended from John of Gaunt—but from his bastard family of Beauforts.” And whatever case was brought forward to prove legitimization there would always be those to shake their heads and murmur against him.
So here he was after seventeen years during which he had proved he knew how to govern since he had brought his country from near bankruptcy to financial prosperity—and yet he must live constantly with this fear that someone would one day rise against him.
In public he could snap his fingers at pretenders. He could laugh at poor simple Lambert Simnel tending his falcons and Perkin Warbeck had met his just deserts. Henry hoped by his leniency to these two—and he had been lenient even to Perkin Warbeck—that he had shown the people how little importance he attached to these impostors.
But in fact he had attached the utmost importance to them—not in themselves, of course, but what they stood for.
The young Earl of Warwick was dead. It had been a wise move to get rid of him, and to execute him openly for treason. There must be no more disappearances in the Tower. There was more to be feared from mysterious disappearances, he had learned, than from open execution. No one talked of young Warwick now. The people had accepted that he had been a menace to the peace of the country. They had not been very interested in him. Poor boy, he had been a sorry figure, a prisoner for most of his life. It would have been better for him if he had never been born.
Assessing the mood of the people Henry believed that they were not eager for rebellions; they wanted peace. They were in fact more contented with his rule than they realized. They grumbled. People always grumbled. If things went well they wanted them to go better. Give them comfort and they wanted luxuries. They did not like the taxes imposed by Empson and Dudley. Did they not see the need for a solvent exchequer? Did they not understand that a bankrupt nation could not hold off its enemies? Did they realize that their growing prosperity came from the wise calculation of the King and his able ministers? They must know that trade prospered; they cared about that. Was that why they had realized it would have been bad for the country to put a foolish youth on the throne just because his father had been the brother of Edward the Fourth?
Yet both Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck had had their supporters. Lambert had been doomed to failure from the start. The idea of trying to impersonate a young man who was actually living and could be brought forth from his prison in the Tower and shown to the people was absurd. It was different with Perkin. His had been a much stronger case. For he had declared he was Richard Duke of York—the Prince who had disappeared in the Tower.
This was a lesson to all would-be pretenders. If you are going to impersonate someone let it not be one whose whereabouts are known. Choose one who has disappeared mysteriously and in this case one who, had he lived, could well be the true heir to the crown.
This struck at the heart of his acute anxieties.
Who knew when someone else would arise? At any time there could be someone with features similar to those of Edward the Fourth who would declare he was the son of that King, who would say: “I am one of the Princes who was in the Tower and who was never accounted for.”
It was not difficult for unscrupulous people to find young men who looked like Edward the Fourth for that monarch had scattered his seed far and wide. he must have left bastards in various parts of this country and others. Wherever he went he had his women, many of whom would think it an honor to bear the King’s child.
So there it was … the heavy shadow … the ghost of two little boys, who would now be young men … to come and haunt him and disturb his peace.
If only he could say: These boys died in the Tower. I know they died. He could not do that. He dared not answer the all-important question: How do you know?
There must be a way. He would find it.
Then the opportunity came and as soon as he realized what it could bring, he determined to seize it. It would need care; but then he was a careful man. A certain ingenuity? Oh, he would manage that.
He was careful and ingenious by nature. And there was so much at stake.
It was when the name Sir James Tyrrell was mentioned in connection with the Earl of Suffolk that the idea came to him. He was excited. It might just be possible to put an end to these fears which had haunted him ever since he had come to the throne. And if this could be done, if it were possible to work this out, he must do so. He was determined that his plan should succeed.
It had not been difficult for Edmund de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk to convince himself that he had a greater claim to the throne than Henry Tudor. He was the second son of John de la Pole, second Duke of Suffolk, and Elizabeth the sister of Edward the Fourth; and from his mother came his claim. Edmund had been twenty-one years old when his father had died and he should have succeeded to the title then because his elder brother, John, had been killed at the battle of Stoke where he had been fighting with Lambert Simnel’s army. However, John had been attainted and his goods and title confiscated by the King. Edmund had become the King’s ward at that time but later Henry had given the title back to Edmund and an agreement as to the family estates had been arrived at, which proved Henry’s grasping nature and his determination to squeeze out every penny he could whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Consequently only a portion of the de la Pole estates were returned and in exchange for these the King demanded a payment of five thousand pounds. Edmund was appalled but the King had stated, with an air of gracious leniency, that the sum could be paid annually over a number of years.
Although Suffolk returned to Court and was present at certain ceremonies, the King’s treatment of him continued to rankle. Henry believed that the young man had had a sharp lesson and would think twice before following in his brother’s footsteps, which he must see had led to his early death and the loss of prestige and property. His claim to the throne—flimsy though it was—caused the King to watch him with some concern, but it seemed that Suffolk had realized that his best hope of living comfortably was to be a loyal subject; he was with the army which had marched to Blackheath and dispersed the rebellious Cornishmen. Henry was pleased; perhaps he had nothing to fear from the young man; but of course he would remain watchful.
Then an unfortuante incident occurred. Suffolk had been involved in a quarrel and in the heat of passion had drawn his sword and run his adversary through the heart.
This was murder and Henry was not going to allow crimes of that nature to go unpunished.
Suffolk was enraged. It had been a fair fight, he insisted. Moreover he was royal; he did not expect to be treated as an ordinary person.
“The King has robbed me of much of my estate,” he said, “and in doing so forgets I am of the royal House of York. Would he indict me in the King’s Bench like some ordinary felon?”<
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“Murder is a felony,” was the King’s answer to that, “and those who commit it cannot be excused because of their royal blood.”
“Henry does not like those of us of the House of York who might be said to have more claim to the throne than an upstart Welshman,” was Suffolk’s impetuous retort.
His friends warned him of talking too freely but Suffolk was recalling the loss of the large portion of his estates and he was feeling reckless.
It was inevitable that some of his words should reach the King’s ear. A dangerous man, thought Henry. One who should be guarded against not so much because of his temper but because of his connection with the House of York.
Here was the old bogy rising once more. Lambert Simnel … and away in the distance the shadowy figures of two small boys in the Tower.
He brooded over Suffolk; he asked certain questions about his movements.
Suffolk had his friends, and they advised him to get away for a while until the affair of the killing blew over and as Suffolk had no intention of standing trial, in early August when the weather was calm he crossed the Channel without fuss, determined the King should not be aware of his departure until he was well away.
On arriving in France his first call was at the Castle of Guisnes near Calais. He knew he would receive a warm welcome there for the custodian of the castle was his old friend Sir James Tyrrell.
He was right. Tyrrell was in the courtyard as soon as he heard of his friend’s arrival. With him was his son, Thomas, of whom he was clearly proud and understandably so. Thomas was a handsome young man and it was obvious that there was a happy relationship between him and his father.
Tyrrell called to his horsekeeper, John Dighton, to give his personal attention to their guest’s stabling and Dighton, red-faced, big and broad and clearly capable, immediately set about doing his master’s bidding.
Sir James then took the Earl into the castle and sent his son to give orders that nothing should be spared in providing the utmost comfort for their guest.
Then he settled down to hear an account of the Earl’s abrupt departure. When he had explained, Suffolk reviled the King and brought up the old grievance of the King’s taking from him the major part of his inheritance, and then giving him back a portion for which he had to pay.
“Oh the King is most gracious,” said Suffolk sarcastically. “He has given me a period of time to pay him for my own estates. Did you ever hear of such conduct, James? And that the old miser should dare to behave so to a member of the House of York, angers me beyond description.”
“His treatment of you is because you are of the House of York,” said Tyrrell. “It was a sad day for us when the Tudor came and killed good King Richard.”
“I know you served him well. Rest assured that this King of ours sleeps uneasily in his bed. He is constantly on the lookout for someone to thrust a dagger into his heart or stretch out rightful hands to take the crown. You, my friend, were always loyal to our House of York.”
“King Richard’s reign was too short, alas. He was our rightful King.”
“I often wonder how much truth there was in that story of Edward’s precontract to Eleanor Butler,” went on Suffolk.
“There is one mystery which will never be solved.”
“And there is another. Those two little boys … Kings both of them if the story be true that the elder died before the younger. King Edward the Fifth and King Richard the Fourth. They were pleasant boys. I saw them now and then when I was young. ‘Tis a strange story. I wonder the King does not sift the matter, for if one of those little boys still lives he is indeed the true King. Henry cannot pronounce them bastards for if they are, so is his Queen—and how could the King of England marry a bastard!”
“’Tis a long-ago mystery,” said Tyrrell, staring straight ahead. “Too far back in time to be settled now.”
“But one which must haunt the King … unless he knows the answer.”
“It may be that he does know the answer.”
“You think he may?”
Tyrrell was silent then he said, almost as though speaking to himself, “Oh it is long ago. But you, my lord, what plans have you?”
“To rest here for a while and see how the land lies.”
“My son and I will make you welcome here for as long as you wish to stay.”
“I must not stay long. By doing so I should compromise you with the King.”
“He knows I have no plans to rise against him.”
“Then you should not be too friendly with those who have a reason for doing so.”
Tyrrell looked at Suffolk with something like wonderment.
“You, my lord … how?”
“Why should I not discover? It may well be that I have friends on the Continent. As for you, James, you might do well not to connect yourself too openly with me … until such time as it will be safe to do so.”
Tyrrell’s face hardened: “I do not fear the King,” he said.
“No, you are well away. He has been a good friend to you … in a manner of speaking. After all you were a strong supporter of King Richard.”
“Oh yes … I must say that I was forgiven my allegiance to the House of York. He made me Sheriff of Glamorgan and Morgannock and gave me the Constableship of Cardiff Castle for life with a salary of one hundred pounds a year.”
“Generous treatment for a miser. There was something behind it all. There must have been.”
“Yes,” said Tyrrell, “there must have been.”
“The Tudor always has his reasons and he is not accustomed to giving something for nothing. He must have had a great opinion of you, James. He must have thought very highly of your services. And now you have Guisnes. Almost as though he wanted you out of the country. It shows he trusts you.”
“Yes, I think he trusts me.”
“Then you should keep it that way … until such a moment as you decide it is no longer necessary. One must be wily when dealing with the Tudor.”
“You are right there. Have a care, my lord.”
“You may trust me to do that.”
Shortly afterward Suffolk left Guisnes. Tyrrell was relieved to see him go.
He had good reason to know how ruthless Henry Tudor could be.
It was then that Henry’s spies on the Continent brought him news that Suffolk had stayed awhile in the company of Sir James Tyrrell at Guisnes Castle. This increased Henry’s uneasiness, and he decided that Suffolk must be brought back to England and if it was not possible to persuade him to come back then it would be necessary to use force.
“I will offer him a pardon to return,” said Henry to Dudley. “I will imply that this unfortunate killing will be forgotten.”
“You think it wise, my lord?”
Henry was thoughtful. There were matters of which even Dudley knew nothing. He spoke firmly: “Yes, I think it wise. I want Suffolk in England where we can keep our eyes on him.”
When Suffolk received the King’s messengers who arrived with the pardon, he decided that his best course was to return. So far he had committed no sin against the Crown and he knew that that was what Henry really feared.
So he returned and was received by the King.
Henry studied him warily, wondering about his activities on the Continent. Enemies of the House of Tudor abounded there, but he was not unduly disturbed about Suffolk’s attempts to raise an army against him. He believed that would meet with little success. He did wonder though what Suffolk and Sir James Tyrrell had talked about when they were together.
“Well,” said Henry affably, “that matter of affray in which a man was killed … we will choose to forget it.”
“I am glad of that. There was nothing else I could have done. I was insulted.”
“These moments arise and in the heat of them … well, it is understandable.”
Suffolk thought: Cold-blooded fish. Who could imagine his ever being caught up in the heat of any passion? His eyes were a cold pale blue—how different from E
dward who would have blazed out, shouted and then in a short time they would have been laughing and drinking one another’s health. A man knew where he was with Edward. With the Tudor he could never be sure.
“So you visited Tyrrell at Guisnes,” said the King quietly.
“It was the first port of call, my lord.”
“And how was the custodian of that castle?”
“In good health, I think. His son is with him—a fine upstanding young man.”
“Yes, yes. It is good to have sons. Is he content with his life there?”
“It would appear so.”
“You must have had a great deal to talk of. I know what it is when a man meets someone from home. Did he talk of England … of his past life here?”
“Not much. We were not together very long.”
Henry was trying to probe the thoughts of the other. Had Tyrrell said anything? Of course he hadn’t. He wouldn’t be such a fool.
He changed the subject. He did not want Suffolk to suspect he was overinterested in James Tyrrell.
He brought the meeting to a close. It was significant now that the rift between Henry and Suffolk was over, but with each a little wary of the other.
That had happened just before the young Duke of Warwick was brought to the block and beheaded. Shortly before Perkin Warbeck paid the penalty for his recklessness.
After Warwick’s execution Suffolk became uneasy. Warwick had died because of his claim to the throne. His, Suffolk’s, was not so strong but it existed; and he had already shown his antipathy to Henry Tudor.
He thought it might be wise to slip out of the country again with his friends. In secret he had discussed his dissatisfaction with the Tudor rule and it had been suggested to him that the Emperor Maximilian would delight in the discomfiture of the English King and it seemed feasible that he might be ready to help in his downfall.
Suffolk thought: Why should not I be the one to bring about this happy result? I am of the House of York. Ours is the true reigning house.
