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

by Betty Younis

  On the side of Coudenoure was an orchard of pears and apples. The scene was medieval in its complexity and chaos. The layout had grown organically without thought of plan or esthetic. Between each building was dirt which turned quickly to mud when it rained. There was no surrounding wall or moat, for the monastery had not been cloistered. That lack of a defining wall had always given Henry and Elizabeth the sense that the estate simply faded away into the surrounding fields with no beginning and no end. Coudenoure sprang suddenly from the earth and then evaporated slowly over the wide horizons of the vast pasturage and wood which lay beyond it.

  “Of course! That’s it!” Elizabeth mumbled to herself. “We shall bring order and beauty out of the ordinary. Henry will love it.”

  She ran back into the library so quickly that Agnes rose and Thomas awoke from his slumber in front of the fire. Seeing their alarm, she moved to calm them.

  “I have decided what I shall do while I wait for Henry!” she exclaimed.

  They stared at her, not sure what to expect.

  I will lay out a great garden for Coudenoure. I will take the country round about and make it beautiful.”

  “Lady Elizabeth, it already is beautiful, as God made all of nature to be.” For the first time in two weeks, Agnes’ sounded stern. Her father looked at her keenly.

  “What have you in mind?” he asked.

  “We shall use mathematics!”

  Thomas laughed at his daughter, happy to see her happy, but uncertain of what she meant. She continued.

  “Father, you and I shall lay out gardens in precise designs. We shall fill them with unusual plants. We will collect seeds as we now collect books – I have heard of such things from the reports of the New World.”

  Thomas stood while she continued.

  “The chaos of the outbuildings will be replaced with an ordered structure. We will make it so.”

  “‘Tis interesting, child, but would be a massive undertaking.”

  She waited.

  “But t’would be a grand undertaking. Coudenoure is small enough that we could manage it.” He nodded his head as he spoke.

  Agnes looked at them both, pleased to see them once again communicating and collaborating, but unsure of their plan.

  “Lady Elizabeth, maids do not do such things.”

  Thomas interrupted in support of his daughter.

  “They also do not study Greek and Latin and Italian. They do not read books and talk about them, either. ‘Tis a harmless pastime for my daughter, Lady Agnes. Nothing will come of it but delight for our little manor.”

  He stomped his cane upon the stone floor and a servant came running from the shadows.

  “Stoke the fire, you nit. Lady Agnes, will you join the Lady Elizabeth and I as we peruse the grounds of Coudenoure?”

  Agnes laughed.

  “I think not, sire. Instead, I shall have prepared an evening meal at which you can share your findings with me.”

  The cloud seemed to lift a bit from Coudenoure.

  Chapter Seven

  It was May before the sound of hooves upon the long drive once again disturbed Coudenoure. But it was not Govenatore with Henry astride. Nor was it Charles. It was someone else entirely, and Lady Agnes ran pell-mell through the manor and out the back to find Elizabeth and Thomas.

  “You must come immediately,” she gasped, bent over to catch her breath.

  “Henry? Is it Henry?” Elizabeth threw the large sheet of paper she held to the ground and began to run.

  “No!” Agnes shouted between gasps. “Come back child!”

  She turned to Thomas.

  “It is Lady Margaret Beaufort.”

  “The King’s mother?” Thomas began to limp hurriedly toward the main house. “Why is she here?”

  “I do not know, but I am uneasy, sire,” Agnes walked with him. Elizabeth followed behind.

  “One of her escort came ahead so that we can make ready for her.”

  “‘Tis as it should be,” Thomas declared. “The King’s mother! But why does she visit us?”

  Agnes stopped, forcing Thomas to do the same.

  “I do not want Elizabeth to meet her. She can stay here, or we can hide her away in her room.”

  Thomas looked at her with concern.

  “I do not know why we need to do this, but we do,” Agnes continued. Thomas waved her silent.

  “Hush, woman, we will all honor the King by serving his mother.”

  They walked on into the great hall. Elizabeth listened in silence, knowing that Agnes was almost never wrong in her intuition, but also knowing that her father would not be moved. It would be an interesting afternoon.

  Lady Margaret’s steed appeared at the end of the drive, being led slowly and majestically while the woman herself sat stiffly upright in the elaborate saddle. Thomas and Elizabeth bowed deeply as she was helped out and escorted into the central hall and through to the library. Agnes clung to the shadows but before closing the library door, Thomas motioned silently to her.

  “Go to your listening post,” he began. Agnes interrupted him.

  “I have no idea, my lord, about which you speak.” She was unsuccessful in the lie. Thomas ignored her.

  “If you hear anything that might put our Elizabeth in danger, or should Elizabeth herself say anything that might give Her Highness cause for concern, you must interrupt at once. And remember, she knows nothing of the pre-contract.”

  Agnes nodded and Thomas pulled the door behind him.

  Lady Margaret Beaufort sat in front of the great fire in the same pose she had held on her horse. Elizabeth had heard tales of her from Henry: she had secretly died and her limbs and countenance had been arranged into her never changing pose and dire expression; she possessed an eerie sense of his goings-on, particularly when she did not approve; she was a viper in a wimple; family was everything and the individual nothing.

  The servants brought fresh fruit and cider, and when they left Thomas finally spoke.

  “My Lady Margaret, what brings you to Coudenoure?”

  Margaret spoke with incisive decision.

  “An order from our King, my son,” she said.

  Thomas waited.

  “He asks after you, and sends his regards to you and your daughter.” She looked directly at Elizabeth for the first time. Yes, she thought, I understand the allure this girl has for my Henry. She was not fair and her dark chestnut hair gave her complexion a darker hue than was usual, setting her apart from the common maid. But it was her eyes – Margaret found herself staring into deep recesses of intelligence, dark pools of knowledge that maids did not normally possess. She shook off the sense that the young woman knew why she was visiting Coudenoure, indeed, knew everything about her. She was bewitching, for certain, but Henry must not be allowed to marry so far beneath him. A king with this woman? Never. She turned her gaze back to Thomas, and snapped her fingers at her faithful Joan who stood nearby. The lady-in-waiting produced a rolled sheet of parchment and passed it to Margaret, who silently handed it on to Thomas. In turn, he unrolled it and read silently for some moments.

  “I will do as my king desires,” he declared. “But tell me, how did he settle upon this plan? I know naught of the Papal Court.”

  “He wishes indulgences said for dear Arthur,” Margaret said imperiously. “He trusts you and knows that you will do as he bids.”

  Thomas bowed his head in affirmation.

  “And the manuscripts?”

  “That is a pleasure for you, sire, apparently,” she nodded at the shelves bulging with all manner of books and codices. “I believe King Henry has chosen you because of your knowledge of all matters contained therein. He knows you will choose carefully.”

  Thomas stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  “And my household? My daughter is barely a woman and I cannot leave her alone with her lady’s maid, Lady Agnes. T’would not be seemly nor wise.”

  Margaret knowing it had come to the critical point, proceeded slowly.
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br />   “Tell me about this young woman, this daughter of yours. Does she belong at court?”

  “No!” Elizabeth barged into the conversation involuntarily. Aghast at her own outburst, she quickly tried to make amends. “My father and I are the last of our line. I must look after him for he is lame, as you can see.”

  No one spoke and Elizabeth kept her eyes on her folded hands in her lap.

  “Child,” Lady Margaret spoke with the thinnest veil of sympathy, “Your father is to travel to Rome in the service of my son our great king. You have just heard that you cannot be left to your own devices, and I agree. The only alternative would be for you to accompany him on his journey.”

  A strange sound, like falling mortar, interrupted their conversation. Margaret looked sharply at the interior wall of the library. Thomas pretended he had heard nothing. Elizabeth spoke.

  “Me? To travel to Italy?” It was such a strange notion she did not know what to think.

  “It would be odd, certainly. But tell me child, have you any interest in languages or reading?” Margaret already knew the answer – the trap was beginning to close.

  “My lady, I have great interest in books and manuscripts and knowledge of all kinds.”

  “And Italian?”

  Elizabeth blushed.

  “I do speak it and read it,” she said softly. Thomas intervened.

  “‘Tis a simple pastime for my Elizabeth,” he said sternly. “There can be no harm in a maid filling her hours with such harmless pursuits.”

  “You miss the point, my Lord Thomas. You see, if she speaks Italian, she may well prove invaluable to you on your journey. Not only would this course solve the problem of what to do with her while providing you with the comfort of family, but also give you someone to help with the language.”

  “But the language of the court is Latin,” Thomas countered, suddenly seeing where the old lady was headed. But too late. In her excitement, Elizabeth did not see the dark turn of the path ahead and chimed in.

  “But I read and speak Latin as well, so I could assist you, father.”

  The innocence of the girl was remarkable, thought Margaret.

  “Then it is settled. Your household will go with you, including your daughter. She will never marry beyond her station, so ‘tis no thing if she should travel and pursue learning with you. ‘Tis a harmless pastime, as you yourself have said.”

  It was almost finished.

  “But Madam,” Thomas rose as he spoke, “I am only a baron with a small manor. I have not the funds to mount such an undertaking.”

  “Read again my son’s instructions,” Margaret demanded. Thomas sat and read again, realizing that even that eventuality was covered. Once again Joan produced what was necessary. This time, it was a small purse which clinked heavily as Margaret passed it to Thomas.

  “This is funding for your journey. As you read, the king has allotted you court funding for your manuscript purchases and living expenses and indulgences. You will receive disbursements periodically while in Rome. You will be fine.”

  She rose.

  “My barge will be here two days hence to take you down the Thames to port. From there, I have arranged passage on a galleon. A member of the Spanish ambassador’s retinue, a nobleman and his family, are travelling on the same ship, so the accommodations should be fine.”

  Joan once again produced a document sealed with the king’s own imprint.

  “When you arrive, these are your papers for Pope Alexander VI. Under duress, you may use them in your travels to protect you and your family, should you need to do so.”

  Without another word, lady Beaufort walked to the front door. After being assisted in remounting her horse, she looked down from her perch and felt a moment’s pity for the old man and his daughter. Whether the sea voyage did them in, whether brigands on their journey to Rome beset them, or whether they arrived safely at the Pontiff’s court, it did not matter. She was certain she would not see them again in this life. She had saved young Henry from a disastrous match and in doing so had saved the Tudor line. She nodded to them and was escorted slowly back down the drive to the river where her barge awaited her.

  *****

  “And you, sire! Did it not occur to you that the old bat was manipulating you? That it would serve her purposes quite well for our Elizabeth to be taken to the ends of the earth and quite likely never heard from again? Um? What say you, old man?”

  Elizabeth had shooed the servants from the main hall and was at Agnes’ favorite post along the outer library wall. She wondered why the stone floor beneath the loose mortar had not been worn away, so frequently was it occupied. Nevertheless, she listened breathlessly while her father took a verbal beating from Agnes.

  “Did I not say no good would come from her visit? You laugh, I know, at my prescient nature, but by all that is holy I was right and she means Elizabeth harm. A maid, a young maid, to travel to Italy? And why stop there? Why not the lands beyond Italy of the Moors, my lord, and on to Cathay as well? My word! What is that but nonsense and yet you let her speak it. You let it happen.”

  On and on she went, the torrent of words like a raging river. Thomas never spoke, not out of courtesy – letting her finish her diatribe – but because he was absorbed by the wording in the King’s decree. What a strange turn of events. Strange, strange indeed. Agnes finally paused for breath and Elizabeth decided to rescue her father. She hurriedly replaced the mortar and entered the room. Both Agnes and Thomas demanded that she leave, but for once, she withstood their heat and stayed in the room.

  “So, father, what is this? I know not what to think about it all.”

  Thomas nodded. “Child, Agnes and I have been discussing it. ‘Tis strange indeed.”

  “Not strange,” Agnes almost shouted. “The old bird knows of the pre-contract. She must, and she is intent on it not happening. She is the one who has hatched this plan.”

  But Elizabeth shook her head in disagreement.

  “Agnes, she cannot know. No one knows but us three, Charles and Henry.”

  “And further,” Thomas added, “This decree is signed by King Henry himself – did she involve him as well?” His tone was sarcastic. “I think not, Agnes. The king would never allow himself to be talked into such a plan, especially by a woman and all to negate a pre-contract? No, she knows nothing.”

  “You are wrong, Thomas,” Agnes was still breathing fire, “And what exactly does the decree say?”

  Thomas read it slowly, paraphrasing as he did so.

  “It is King Henry’s wish that indulgences and prayers be said for his beloved Arthur at the Holy See itself. He wishes for Rome to hold masses and remember the kind and gentle youth who would have been king. It is not enough that all of England do so. The Pope himself must remember and pray for Arthur’s soul as well.”

  Thomas paused and added his own thoughts. “I cannot imagine our King’s grief at so great a loss. It must make him mad with sorrow.” After a moment, he continued interpreting the decree.

  “In addition, and in recognition of my, Thomas’, love of manuscripts and learning of all kind, he has directed that I purchase, or, in cases where that is impossible, I should have copied, manuscripts of all sorts: geography, holy books, literature, philosophy, whatever I find that would enhance my library and that of the King, and therefore England’s pool of knowledge.”

  “It is a strange combination of pursuits in the service of my king. To seek prayers for our beloved Arthur and yet seek out manuscripts – ‘tis odd.”

  “‘Tis bait,” Agnes spat the words out. “She knows of your love of books and added this delight to blind your eyes lest you resist the siren song she sings.”

  Thomas nodded slowly.

  “Lady Agnes, I believe there may be some truth in what you say.”

  Agnes had the wherewithal to hold her tongue.

  “But how did she involve the king? I know my Liege well, and he would not stoop to such devious means to end a pre-contract. Not at a
ll. He would send for me and we would talk as men talk, and decide what was proper betwixt ourselves. His own mother would not be involved.”

  Elizabeth remained silent, stunned by all she heard. This was no conversation about what she had done that day or how her latest embroidery piece coming along. It was the first time she had ever been allowed to participate in a conversation about anything other than the mundane or the sacred, literature or language. She had always been protected from the harshness of life decisions and the despicable nature of those who frequently stood above her. She was shocked at the thoughts being expressed, but something more – she was comfortable with them, and she spoke.

  “We must think carefully,” she began, and the older two looked at her more in curiosity than in seriousness, “For Henry’s well-being, and ours, may depend upon it. I have heard what you say, and Agnes is right. It is too much to believe that Lady Margaret knows nothing of the pre-contract. We may safely assume that somehow she has ferreted that information out. Given that, and given the lengths she is obviously willing to travel to deny Henry and me our happiness, then we must assume that if she fails in this, her opening gambit, she will resort to more drastic measures to achieve her goals. Correct?”

  She had their attention now. This was no child speaking, but an intelligent woman laying out a factual analysis of their situation.