The 7th Wife of Henry the 8th: Royal Sagas: Tudors I

by Betty Younis

  “Well, my lord, we shall open this trove and see what treasure my dearest father has bestowed upon you!”

  After much cursing and hunting for tools to pry the heavy lid off the box, it finally stood open, positioned between Henry, sweating at the exertion, and the old man faint of breath with anticipation. With youthful impatience, Henry tossed aside the clean hay which had been used for packing. Both peered in.

  “Oh may God have mercy upon my soul.” The old man crossed himself as Henry pulled a heavy tome from the wooden crate. It was bound in plain calfskin crackled with age. Henry passed the book-sized collection of bound parchment sheets to the old man. With shaking fingers, he opened it to the first page. Both stared in wonder.

  “Livres des merveilles du monde,” breathed Thomas reverently, “The book of the marvels of the world.”

  “Indeed,” exclaimed Henry. “My word, I do not know of anyone who owns such a manuscript. Tell me, did this Marco Polo write it himself?”

  “No, no, young Henry,” explained Thomas, “The story was dictated by him to his cellmate, Rustichello, while he was in prison once he returned home. Now when was this particular copy made…”

  They both searched until Henry finally pointed excitedly to a passage buried deep within a prologue.

  “Thirteen hundred. ‘Twas published in the year of our Lord 1300 – holy mother, it is some 200 years old!”

  The old man sat stunned and thrilled at his sudden acquisition of one of the rarest books in England. He drifted further and further from the moment, lost in the worn pages of the work by Marco Polo. Henry sat nearby and waited, pleased that the old man was pleased. But he was keenly aware of the time and of his original purpose. With a polite cough, he drew Thomas back from his wandering thoughts.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “You wish to discuss the business at hand, do you not?”

  “My lord,” Henry launched into his prepared speech, “I am the son of the King, albeit the second son. When Arthur comes to the throne, I shall support him and enjoy a full life at court. I will, of course, have my own lands and castles and estates, and shall strive to be good man, a learned, just and compassionate man, in all I undertake.”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “Your daughter, Elizabeth, has ensorcelled me. I love her deeply and truly as my only love. When we were children on our neighboring lands, she and I played at childhood games as though we were brother and sister. You know this, as does my father. We know each other as only those who have grown up together can do. Now that we are older, we have come to realize that we share a great many passions – for books and music, for science, for home and the House of Tudor. I know myself, and I know that my heart will forever be hers.”

  Henry stopped, bowed low before Thomas, and on bended knee finished his speech.

  “I therefore beseech you, Thomas de Grey, Baron of Coudenoure, to grant me thy daughter’s hand in a pre-contract of marriage. This pre-contract, in recognition of the law of the land and the law of my father’s will, shall be binding, and will be followed in due time by marriage proper.”

  Henry bowed his head, then stood.

  Thomas looked at him lovingly and long before replying.

  “Henry, my son, nothing will please me more as you know. But your father? What are his thoughts?”

  Henry shifted uneasily on his feet.

  “I have determined to do this, Baron, and so I shall. My father will be pleased but it is best to tell him only after Arthur and Catherine have announced an impending birth – an heir to the House of Tudor.”

  Thomas nodded and smiled.

  “I see your point,” he said. “With the line secure, your father may be willing to consider a marriage for you born of love rather than continental politics. You will be free, or freer, at any rate, to marry within the kingdom. And to marry as your heart dictates.”

  Henry nodded.

  “Exactly. My father knows and respects you, sire. He is mindful of your sacrifice for him, and also of Elizabeth being your only heir. He will be pleased, I am certain.”

  “Elizabeth is not only my sole heir, Lord Henry,” Thomas countered. “She is my only family, the last of my line. Mind you treat her well.”

  “My lord, you know me to be chivalrous to all ladies – have no worries on that score. I swear to you, by my father’s throne, by my heart, and by all the gold and riches I shall ever own, that I shall be faithful to Elizabeth to my dying day.”

  “She is learned, Lord Henry, as are you. She is a mere woman, but she is keenly interested in all that books may have to offer the humbler sex. You must promise that she shall always have access to this library, to my books. Even though ‘tis a strange proclivity in a woman, ‘tis harmless in her case.”

  Henry nodded in agreement. Thomas reciprocated and rose.

  “Come then, let us go and tell her. I suspect she is fully aware of what we are discussing and will be impatient to know my decision.”

  Charles Brandon and Elizabeth sat opposite one another in a seldom used room across the stone hallway from the library. Agnes sat nearby, fiddling with her embroidery but not actually embroidering. Charles’ intermittent attempts at conversation had fallen flat and he had finally given up and joined them in their silence. All stood as Henry and Thomas entered the chamber. Thomas clumped to his daughter’s side.

  “Tell me, daughter, do you love this young ruffian?” He smiled playfully at Henry.

  Elizabeth’s eyes shown with a love so powerful as to be almost frightening. She flushed as she answered.

  “Yes, father, I love him more than life itself.” Her answer was to her father, but her eyes never left Henry’s face.

  “There is no formal ceremony necessary, just witnesses,” Thomas began.

  “I am here as a witness for my friend and liege,” Charles took a step forward as though to confirm his words with actions.

  “Excellent, young Lord. And you, Lady Agnes, are here as my child’s surrogate mother.”

  “I am, sire, and I shall bear witness to all that is said,” came her solemn reply.

  “Then, Henry, Lord, Duke of York, Warden of the Scottish Marches, and Elizabeth, Lady of Coudenoure, tell me your pre-contract.”

  Henry took Elizabeth’s small hands in his. His manner changed and he looked into her clear eyes, realizing again how happy he was in her presence. He spoke the words he had rehearsed so often in the days since she had agreed to be betrothed to him through pre-contract. His voice, initially small and almost quiet, gained strength as he spoke.

  ““I, Henry, take thee Elizabeth to my wedded wife. In witness of this contract, unto thee I plight my troth. You shall have my heart forever and a day, and I shall yet marry thee when the day cometh.”

  He looked upon the young girl in whom he had so much faith, and whom he loved more than anything.

  “In honor of the privilege you grant me by your love, I ask you to accept these gifts, small tokens, of the great love I have for you.”

  Charles stepped forward and first produced the necklace Henry had hidden away in his clothing that morning. A gold cross, inlaid with rubies, hung heavily from a thin gold chain. Elizabeth bowed her head while Henry gently placed it around her neck. Next, Charles produced the velvet wrapped rectangular object which he himself had secured from Greenwich Palace that morning at Henry’s request. Henry placed it in Elizabeth’s hands. Without looking up, she loosened the drawstring and pulled from within a bound volume. Reading the cover, she gasped.

  “Galfridus Monumetensis – Geoffrey of Monmouth!” Only two copies were known to exist – she knew this from her father.

  “What?” Her father stepped forward and Elizabeth continued reading.

  “Historia Brittonum.” She passed the volume to him. He took it from her as gently as a mother swaddles her babe and his eyes gleamed with a passion only a bibliophile could understand. Tears welled up in his aged eyes, and he looked at Henry.

 
“This is a 12th century manuscript – My son, what gifts! This is beyond anything I have ever known!”

  He looked down and dashed the tears away with his free hand. Henry smiled, knowing he had done a kindness that the old man would never forget. He looked at Elizabeth, her face shining with love. After a moment, she spoke, mirroring the words he had murmured only moments before.

  “In honor of the privilege you grant me by your love, I ask you to accept this gift, a small token, of the great love I have for you.”

  Agnes stepped forward and gave Elizabeth a small pair of needlework scissors. Without meeting Henry’s eyes, Elizabeth separated a lock of hair and snipped it, holding it out to him.

  He was overwhelmed at the simplicity and beauty of the gift. A young girl with nothing, and he with everything – tears welled in his eyes at the thought of how much she loved and trusted him. He made a silent vow to himself never to allow any hurt to befall her or her father. They relied totally on him and his chivalrous nature responded to such humble adoration with a surge of protective masculinity.

  She looked up at him and their gaze locked for a long moment. Finally she spoke.

  ““I, Elizabeth, take thee Henry to my wedded husband. In witness of this contract, unto thee I plight my troth. You shall have my heart forever and a day, and I shall yet marry thee when the day cometh.”

  The room grew suddenly still. As if a sudden cloud had obscured the sun, the light within the great hall changed instantly from the brightness of a bold spring day to the darkening gloom of a winter’s eve. Agnes shuddered uneasily. But no sooner had the light diminished than it appeared again, and as on cue, Thomas clapped his hands as an end to the small, informal ceremony.

  “Now, let us eat and be merry, for I am to have a son and my daughter is happy! What more could I ever want?”

  The group turned to congratulations and a happy chatter enveloped them. Only Agnes stood back, and on impulse, moved to the window and looked out. The sky was a cloudless blue. So where had the change in light come from, she wondered? What had caused the momentary darkening over her dear Elizabeth’s pre-nuptials? She crossed herself vehemently, saying a prayer as she did so. She checked again but no, she saw no clouds at all or any other visible cause for the disturbance. A chill set upon her, and she hurried to catch up with the others.

  Chapter Three

  The simple layout of Coudenoure’s rooms reflected their original ecclesiastical purposes: the ground floor was set off all round by a high clerestory which gave light and vertical depth to its stone walls. The current library, with its wide hearth and arched ceiling, had once served as the refectory for the devout greyfriars of an early order of Franciscans. The room extended along the west wing of the manor and save for the most northerly portion of it served entirely as a repository for Thomas’ beloved books. One and a half centuries earlier, a fire had swept through the small community of brothers, leaving only the charred ruins of its adjacent sanctuary. Accordingly, the north end of the refectory, now the library, had been retrofitted as a small oratory for worship and meditation. This arrangement proved insufficient for the needs of the monks, however, and the king had ordered their relocation to Cambridge. Across the massive hallway which now served as a foyer lay two rooms. One looked out over the wide lawn which graced the front of Coudenoure, and was referred to by all as the great room. It sole use was for formal occasions and special events. Smaller than the library and square in shape, it too reflected its medieval origins with heavy stone floors and walls, and a clerestory. The back room on the east side served as the main kitchen for the manor as it had for centuries. Its two great hearths and a large double door which opened onto the rear yard of Coudenoure had been part of the original buildings.

  Agnes joined the family in the great room. The long table, hewn from a single oak, was positioned near the hearth against the far wall. Thomas sat prominently in the middle chair, with Henry and Elizabeth decking him on either side. A short Latin prayer was in progress as Agnes joined them.

  “Lady Agnes!” Charles spoke in an exaggerated manner as each crossed himself at prayer’s end, “…You have outdone yourself!” He looked out over the laden table and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Agnes smiled and inspected the fruits of her staff’s work that morning in the kitchen. A platter of civet of hare took center place. On one side of it, a fat swan had been marinated with cloves and garlic and placed in a pastry coffin. On the other sat a large boar’s head, stripped and stuffed with apples and raisins. As the eye travelled outward from these delicacies, sweetmeats and sugared plums, tarts and wine soaked fruit provided the secondary dishes. Yes, Agnes thought, it was a meal fit for a high holiday, or the pre-contract celebrations for Lady Elizabeth.

  Henry and Charles, hungry from their long ride earlier that day set upon the meal with a gusto seldom shown at normal meal time. Elizabeth, too, with the appetite of extreme youth and excitement, tucked into the feast. The servants, hidden away in the far recesses of the grand hall, smiled as they waited upon the party, knowing full well that the leftovers would soon come their way. As appetites were satisfied, Charles turned to Agnes.

  “So, Lady Agnes, perhaps you will be next at the marriage altar.”

  Agnes ignored him, pretending not to have heard until he made another attempt at one of his favorite topics for humor.

  “I say, Lady Agnes, even at your advanced age perhaps…”

  “I heard you the first time, young Charles. And tell me, what makes you think that I am of an advanced age? Um?”

  Charles laughed aloud.

  “Touché,” he rejoined, “Indeed, you do not look a day over…”

  “Yes?”

  “Fifteen.”

  The table roared with laughter – Agnes’ hair was salt and pepper and a comfortable middle-aged waistline was one of her more pronounced attributes.

  The conversation rolled on in an intermittent fashion until Henry rose and called for his lute. As he strummed it lovingly, Thomas sang a ballad while Charles and Agnes danced.

  “The couple!” Thomas cried as Henry and he finished. “Now the happy couple!”

  No one else knew how to play the lute, but Henry twirled Elizabeth to the sound of Thomas clarion baritone and the stomping and clapping of Charles and Agnes. Even the servants watched with lighthearted abandon and added their tapping and clapping to the festivities. After all, their mistress was marrying royalty – it could only bode well for the household’s fortunes and thus for theirs. It was a golden day, and they knew it. It would not be forgotten.

  Finally, as the light began to wane, Thomas rose and stamped his cane upon the floor, signaling an end to the festivities. Henry suddenly realized that they had long since missed the deadline for leaving in order to meet Lady Margaret’s timetable.

  It was later still by the time good-byes and well wishes were heard and said. As they stood in the gathering eve, Henry impulsively pulled Elizabeth aside, out of earshot of the others and around the corner of the manor house. Ignoring the hoots and whistles from Charles, he took both her hands in his as he kissed her sweet lips.

  “My love, we had no time today to talk just ourselves.”

  “‘Tis well, Henry. We have the rest of our lives to talk.”

  “And to do other things.” His look brought a deep blush to her cheeks, but she held his gaze steadily.

  “My lord, I know not about these things, but I know that I love you, and that I am yours in every way.”

  Henry kissed her again.

  “My darling, when you are old enough, and my brother has sired an heir, then we shall be husband and wife. We shall know the full glory of physical love and it will be the rightful and joyful consummation of what our hearts already know.”

  Henry backed slowly away, and then turned quickly towards the front of the house. Elizabeth watched him go, her hand to her lips. They were still warm from his gentle kiss, and closing her eyes she smiled, completely overwhelmed by joy and happiness.<
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  Charles was waiting impatiently on his mount.

  “Come, man! I promised your grandmother we would be back by sundown!”

  With a gallant bow to Thomas, Henry sprang lightly into his saddle, and gave full rein to Governatore. They galloped down the drive and Henry gave a loud happy, “Whoop!” It was done. Elizabeth heard and laughed aloud.

  Beyond the drive they turned and retraced their path along the river, racing along betwixt the damp banks of the flowing water and the brambled discord of growth opposite it. Charles slowed at the bend where hours earlier, they had changed their riding gear for more formal and festive attire. Henry continued on at a gallop, shouting at Charles over his shoulder.

  “Forget it! We are too late and will never clear Greenwich wood before dark even now.”

  “Lady Margaret will want to know why we are suddenly attired so differently, Henry. You cannot slip past the old crone.”

  “Leave it to me,” said Henry. “We’ll enter by the front gate and stay close to the tree line. There is a back door by the scullery and the servant there will help – I know him.”

  As the night drew on they rode hard, entering the wood well past the hour of darkness. They were forced to slow their mounts and ride at a steady trot in the gloom of the deserted forest. The damp smell of the hot lathered horses, the rot of fallen leaves and vegetation, and the evening mist brought powerful memories to Henry’s mind. He had grown up here, in this virgin land. The kings of England had always owned this wood, and it had lain as it had for centuries, for millennia, repeating the cycles of life over and over and over. His childhood had been played out among these trees and copses and he could not smell the scents of the wood without it conjuring up powerful images of his past. His thoughts ran to Elizabeth, and the events of the day. Her childhood had been spent as his had, outside in the meadows and glades of Greenwich, and frequently with Henry as they invented and played children’s games and roamed the land together. He remembered her dress, her hair, the faint scent of lavender clinging round her at their small ceremony that morning. He had never wanted for anything, but now, knowing that he would spend his life with the woman he loved more than anything, he knew that regardless of his material wealth, his prior existence had been incomplete. But no more.