by Betty Younis
The road which separated Greenwich Palace proper from its associated grounds loomed before them and Charles pulled his horse in sharply.
“Do not be a fool, Charles,” Henry taunted, “It is the dead of night – there will be no traffic to beware of.”
“‘Tis not the traffic that worries me. ‘Tis your grandmother,” Charles shot back as they slowed their horses to a walk and crossed the muddy way. Henry took the lead and they clung to the tree line, still walking their mounts lest the sound of their approach alert the household to their presence. The lawn was wide and deep and it was some time before they approached a small door entering into a back wing of the palace.
A shout from a guard met them as they entered the pool of light cast by several torches mounted securely in iron fittings on the palace walls near the entrance. Henry jumped from Governatore and threw his reins to the man.
“My lord.” He bowed deeply as Henry and Charles passed into a long dimly lit hallway.
“Luke, see that my grandmother does not find out about this, do you understand? You know nothing about our movements this evening. And get our horses to the stables quickly.”
Another bow greeted his words and with the stealth of lions on the hunt the two young men made their way through the back hallways of the great palace clinging to walls and avoiding the servants. Finally, though, they hit an impasse and Henry turned to Charles.
“See that servant?” he whispered.
Charles nodded.
“He is in my grandmother’s hire.”
“They are all in your grandmother’s hire, my friend.”
Henry smirked.
“Indeed, but I know which ones she pays extra and what she pays them extra to keep up with my movements and report back to her. ‘Tis a simple matter to pay more.”
“Then how do we pass?” Charles nodded at the guard who still stood stiffly at attention at the great door which would give them access to the grand foyer and to the stairwell and thus to their rooms on the second floor.
“Like this.”
Henry produced a small coin from a belt at his waist and boldly approached the guard, holding it out as he did so.
“We passed this way several hours ago, do you understand?”
The guard winked and pocketed the money. Charles and Henry opened the door and looked shiftily about. The man rubbed the coin in his hand and stood at the door warily. He watched them take the stairs three at a time and disappear into the dim recesses of the floor above. When they had gone, he strode through the great foyer and with a knock entered the room Henry and Charles had stood in that same morning. Rising from a deep bow, he spoke to the old lady who sat in the shadows of the fire.
“They are home, Lady Margaret.”
“It is late, is it not? Did young Henry say where he had been?”
“No, but they were well dressed so I daresay he was not out with unsavory types. And Lord Charles will always protect him.”
The old lady sat up sharply and pinned her eyes on the man.
“Dressed well did you say?”
“Yes, madam. Both of them. Very well indeed.” He described their attire.
Lady Margaret Beaufort stared into the fire, listening to his words and remembering the simple hunting gear her grandson and his compatriot had been wearing that morning. When he had finished, she smiled and nodded at one of the nearby women. The woman promptly produced a small coin and gave it to the guard.
“Well, well,” the old woman said to herself. “So he has outwitted me. But has he actually done it? Surely he would not pre-contract with that silly girl without telling the King.”
But then she remembered.
“Mary! Yes, you. Did you find my ruby cross? Three days it has been missing!”
“No, m’lady, and I have questioned everyone. No one has seen the piece.”
A deep flush crossed Lady Margaret’s face.
“So perhaps after all he has betrothed himself. And young Charles will never betray him.”
She mindlessly fingered the embroidery piece in her lap mumbling to herself as she did so.
“I shall have to counter. Yes…yes. But ‘tis a small matter. A very small matter indeed.”
Chapter Four
A great thundering noise woke Charles from a deep sleep. He lay on the soft feather bed staring at the tapestry which hung across its top canopy, wondering if he had dreamed the disturbance or if it were real. But no time elapsed before the thundering turned to a great clatter in the hall below. He jumped up and dressed, shouting through the door which stood open near his bed.
“Henry! Henry, wake! There is something afoot!”
“What say you?” called his friend sleepily from the adjoining room. Charles raced in.
“There are men here, for God’s sake. I know not why. Now dress quickly, my liege. Quickly!”
He continued to whisper urgently to Henry as he looked out the window.
“What is it? My father? Is the King here?”
“I know not. Come!”
Both men grabbed their swords and ran through the hallway towards the great stairs. Only the night candles, those left burning to provide minimal illumination while the household slept, lit their way. The shadows danced and played upon the great stone walls providing an eerie surreal backdrop to their pell-mell race down the stairs. The heavy torches carried by the men who waited for them there did nothing to dispel the sense of ominous import which enveloped them all. From the darkened recesses of the huge hall came shouts and orders.
“Light the candles, oaf!” yelled a man in back. “I tell you light them all!”
Like ants emerging from an anthill, servants began swarming out of the doorways and back hallways. Candles were lit but no words were spoken by the men who now confronted Henry and Charles. Recognizing one of them, Henry strode forward. As he did so, they all bowed deeply, remaining in obeisance until he spoke.
“Rise, men. What brings you here at this hour?”
Lady Margaret appeared at the top of the stairs with a line of women behind her, all of them fidgeting with their clothing as though they had dressed as they ran down the hallway. Leaning heavily on the two closest to her, she sang out sharply.
“Silence!” The room fell again into a deathly hush, and as the men bowed anew as Lady Margaret descended the stairs.
Slowly and majestically she approached the Earl of Oxford, John de Vere, the man Henry had recognized.
“Upon my son the King’s honor, what brings you here? News of some sort?”
He nodded, fearful of what he was about to say.
“Well, then?”
Henry moved closer to his grandmother.
“Lady Margaret, you must sit.”
The candles now blazed, and the room was well-delineated from the shadows which still obscured its deeper recesses. Adjacent rooms shone forth as well, and Henry and Charles led her into the small sitting area off the main hall which she preferred and which she used constantly. She sat quietly while the servant stoked the fire knowing that something awful had befallen her family. Otherwise why would Arthur’s godfather have ridden to Greenwich from Ludlow Castle where she knew he had been with Catherine and Arthur? What had happened to cause such a wild midnight ride? Why did they insist she sit for the news? Servants flitted in the shadows, and Charles bade them leave. Only the handful of lords – earls and dukes each – stayed in the room. When the last servant pulled the door behind him, John de Vere finally spoke.
“Lady Margaret, the sweating sickness came to Shropshire.”
“I know this,” she replied. “I knew two days ago, for a messenger brought word. There was deep concern for His Highness and his most noble wife, Catherine, as you surely know. But the sickness was in the marches, but not at Ludlow Castle itself.”
De Vere waited, letting the silence speak before he did.
“My lady, your grandson Arthur, the heir to the throne, was taken ill this morning.”
Margaret’s face p
aled. Henry stared at the man, knowing but not knowing what he was about to say. Charles caught a deep and ragged breath. Behind them, the men who had ridden with de Vere pulled themselves closer together as though seeking strength and solace in their sheer number.
“How is our Lord Arthur?” Henry asked in a strangely husky voice.
De Vere bowed his head for a moment. His gray locks, wet with perspiration and rain from the long and wearying ride from Shropshire, hung in sad ringlets about his wrinkled face. Finally, looking up, he spoke in a solemn and low voice.
“My lady, Lord Henry, our great Arthur died today at Ludlow Castle.”
Henry took a step backwards rubbing his hand across his forehead.
“What?” he cried. “It cannot be!”
Charles’ eyes grew huge and without a moment’s hesitation, he fell before Henry.
“I pledge my service to thee, Lord Henry. And to your father, and to the House of Tudor.”
The others in the room followed his example. Only Margaret remained as she had been.
“And Catherine?” she asked after a moment, the men still upon bended knee.
“She, too, has the sickness, but she lives yet. There is hope for her.”
Henry stood dumbfounded, uncertain of his own emotions. Happiness? Fear? Anxiety? Sadness? He did not know. He could not speak and a few moments later found himself in a chair with the audience of men and Margaret and her ladies before him. Still he said nothing.
“And King Henry?” Lady Margaret spoke sharply. “He is tonight at Richmond, with Queen Elizabeth. He has been told?”
De Vere rose and shook his head in denial.
“My lady, I fear to tell the King the news. I am telling you first, and also I tell you that his heir, Lord Henry…” he nodded at Henry as he spoke, “…must be secured from harm before the king is told. Otherwise, he will fear the worst. We must make certain young Henry is safe from the sweating sickness and I have heard a rumor that it has reared its terrible head at Kingstowne in Surrey.”
A man moved forward and coughed. Henry recognized him as Thomas Howard, the Earl of Surrey.
“‘Tis true, Madame,” he stuttered as he spoke, “My son has told me of it this very day.”
Margaret nodded, thinking quickly. Despite her grief, she recognized the opportunity she had been waiting for to remove Henry from Greenwich and Coudenoure Manor with its temptations and intrigues. Without hesitation she spoke.
“Henry will ride with you to Richmond. He will be safe there and his father will need to see him to reassure himself of his sole remaining heir’s safety. You will all rest here till the dawn, and then ride.”
She turned to the woman closest to her.
“Lady Colleen, see that these men are fed, and that fresh horses are provided them for the morrow.”
Henry rose heavily from his chair.
“My brother is dead? You are certain? How can that be?” He simply could not take it in. Margaret rose, too, and gently took him by the arm.
“You will warm yourself here by the fire, young Henry. Dawn is almost upon us, and the King needs you.”
All shuffled out, all but Charles. He sat near Henry in silence waiting for his friend to speak.
“Charles, you must go to Coudenoure.”
Charles shook his head vehemently.
“No, Henry, I shall come with you – you may need a trusted man and I will see you through whatever is about to come.”
Henry stretched out his hands towards the fire thinking of Elizabeth and the vows they had exchanged only hours earlier.
“You will join me as you must for I need your council, but first you must ride to Elizabeth and Thomas. You must tell them the news, and let Elizabeth know that I am safe and all is well. I will send a letter with you.”
“Ach!” exclaimed Charles. “I had completely forgotten about your pre-nuptial today! Good Lord, what will you do?”
Henry looked at him.
“Just this, Charles. You will leave with me and the men who have come. My grandmother must think you are riding with me to Richmond. But when we have cleared the gate and entered the road, you will part from us, and ride to Coudenoure. Thomas will want to know the details, and you must consult with him. For after your counsel, I value his the most. He will know how to handle the pre-nuptial arrangement and what to do about telling my father. Until then, no word of my pre-contract must be known. It must be kept secret, and when you have finished at the Manor, you will come to me in Richmond. Only then will we discuss our thoughts and decide our path. What think you?”
Charles nodded in agreement.
“Agreed, your Highness,” Charles stared at the fire and absently prodded the burning logs with a nearby poker before continuing. Henry knew his friend, his predilection for thoroughness in his thoughts before speaking, and so waited. After a moment, he went on.
“It has the advantage of keeping your grandmother at bay. She cannot question me, and her eternal suspicions about you and Elizabeth will be quieted by your being away. We will see what the good Baron Thomas has to say. Yes, ‘tis a good plan.”
They sat together until a servant appeared with a steaming plate of bread and roasted beef. They ate in silence, contemplating the unexpected turn of events which had just befallen Henry.
“You there in the shadows.” Henry clicked his fingers at a nearby servant. “See that this fire burns hot for my friend – he has a difficult and long journey ahead.” With that, he strode out and ran lightly up the stairs. Once in his room, he moved quickly to a desk near the window. The candles were burning, and he sat down to begin his difficult task.
Margaret had returned to her bedroom and paced before the fire. Her ladies waited, thinking that grief was working its way into their mistress’ bones, and that sadness would be in her voice when she spoke. Instead, her pace quickened and she mumbled to herself in a frantic tone. Suddenly, she looked up. Only deep satisfaction played across her features as she dismissed them all.
“But mind you come to me before the men leave for Richmond,” she directed as they pulled the door behind them.
Smiling to herself, she too sat at a desk positioned near the window. But her task was very different from that of her grandson. Deeply satisfied, she knew she had countered effectively, temporarily at least, her grandson’s plans to marry Elizabeth. She was sad for Arthur, but relieved for Henry. And Henry had always been the more robust of her two grandsons, better able to wear the crown. Yes, events had turned her way. Now she must find a future for Elizabeth and her father that would take them far from Henry. She smiled as she took up her pen, and thought of the victory which was almost within her reach.
Dawn was spilling across the great lawn as she finished her work, and carefully folded it and sealed it with her own bright red wax, stamping it with her own insignia. A knock on the door and the sound of horses being brought round from the stables told her it was time to see the men off.
There was solemn chaos in the chill air as the men mounted and prepared to ride. Before Lord John de Vere could do so, however, Margaret pulled him aside.
“This is for the King, and only for the King, do you understand?” she looked at him sternly and produced her epistle from within the folds of her shawl. They turned their backs towards the others. Lord John took the letter and placed it within his shirt while nodding.
“All is well?” his brow furrowed – he wanted no surprises from the old lady.
“Aye, but we must move quickly to help young Henry avoid the clutches of a local woman,” she replied knowingly.
“He is but a child!” John was shocked. “And his destiny is to rule England. What is it – some pre-contract between young lovers?”
She nodded.
“What is your plan?” he asked.
“Her father is a local baron,” she confided, “And both he and his daughter lust for books. We shall have the King send them on a papal embassy to Rome. They may ask for indulgences for our fair Arthur, and revi
ew the Vatican’s collection for manuscripts for our own kingdom. You know my son’s penchant for books – he will agree I am certain.”
John laughed at the old woman’s craftiness.
“Indeed, they could be years at the task,” he chuckled slyly. “Manuscripts must be copied. And one must find the scribes to do so. Years.”
“Indeed,” came the response. “Now go, and get the King’s signature on all we need to send them to Rome. He will be overcome with grief and will not care about such a minor matter. And see to it that he provides a stipend from the Crown’s purse lest they try and beseech him on the matter of money.”
John bowed deeply as he replied.
“It shall be done,” he exclaimed.
Henry had watched the exchange uneasily from his horse. Lord John, seeing the young heir’s face, moved quickly to quell any suspicions he might have. He called loudly to Lady Margaret.
“Your Ladyship, we shall be especially mindful of the King’s wife in her grief, and will send her to you here at Greenwich so that you may watch over her. It will be done as you wish.”
Henry’s face relaxed. His grandmother’s scheming related to the tragedy of his brother’s death, not his own happiness. En masse, the group turned as like a ship caught by a mighty wind and galloped towards the great limestone gate. Lady Margaret watched, then turned back to the palace with a smile upon her lips.
As they cleared the gate, Charles fell back, and with no notice disappeared quickly into the wood on the far side of the road. Henry rode on.
Chapter Five
Elizabeth slept late and Agnes had let her, knowing that the excitement of her pre-contract with Lord Henry had exhausted the woman child. Her sleep was deep, and she did not hear Charles as he rode wearily to the front door of Coudenoure. Agnes let him in.
