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

by Betty Younis

  “Charles, you layabout! Get up, man! A fine stag has been seen recently by the Thames’ edge…”

  He heard Charles laughing now.

  “You will have to change your story, Henry, if you want the Lady to continue believing you. How many fine stags can there be by the Thames’ edge?”

  A servant appeared with ale, fruit and ham. Henry and Charles schemed while they ate.

  “What about…Grandmother, we must slay several dragons today which have recently been spotted sitting by the Thames’s edge?”

  Henry laughed.

  “Do dragons sit?”

  “No, I have it…”

  “No, I have it, Charles. Come, let us ride to see my love.”

  As always when he was at Greenwich, Henry raced down the stairs and went immediately to the sitting room favored by his grandmother. As always, she had heard his approach and awaited his appearance.

  “So, young Henry, where are you and Lord Charles off to today? More stag hunting?” She spoke with a sarcastic tone that was unmistakable.

  Charles blanched slightly at the words. Henry maintained his composure and quickly changed his line.

  “No, Lady Margaret, indeed, we have grown tired of pursuing stags just now. We intend to hunt boar today.”

  He considered leaving it at that, but he couldn’t.

  “Indeed, a fine boar has recently been seen by the Thames’ edge.” He paused and a smile played across his thin lips.

  “We shall bring it down.”

  Margaret nodded, impressed with young Henry’s willingness to mock her knowledge of his pursuits.

  “Be back by nightfall,” she demanded. The two young men bowed obsequiously and left.

  Margaret smiled to herself. Young Henry was in for a shock, for the servant she had stationed along the Thames had reported an hour earlier that her barge had sailed by with its curious circus of occupants and baggage. Coudenoure would be empty when he galloped up its long drive to greet his lady love.

  She had considered telling him, thus saving him the bitterness of the discovery which awaited him at Coudenoure, but his anger was sure to be mighty upon finding Elizabeth’s absence. The old couple she had sent to run the place had been given specific instructions as to what to tell Henry. He would need the ride back to Greenwich Palace to cool off and understand that it was the king’s wish and therefore could not be ignored. By the time King Henry awoke from his grief Elizabeth and her family would be in Rome, and while he might not remember signing the decree which took them away, he would likely find use for them there. If necessary, she would see that he did…herself. In the meantime, she could deny any knowledge of events. It would be years before they returned, if ever, and there was no one else who dared override her authority and tell young Henry the truth. Yes, a fine plan. She had only to feign ignorance upon his return that evening, and to appear sincere in her condolences that he had spent his day in pursuit of game that had eluded him.

  *****

  As Henry and Charles reached the familiar bend in the river which signaled that Coudenoure was close, Governatore snorted and surged forward in a wild gallop. Henry’s routine was well-known to him and fresh oats awaited him at the end of the long drive. But as they turned onto the gravel way, Henry pulled up short. Charles’ horse reared as he reined it in and shouted to his friend.

  “What is it?”

  Henry nodded at the manor house.

  “No smoke from any of the chimneys. ‘Tis unusual, that is all.”

  “Who are those people, there, that old man and woman, in front of the door?”

  Henry nudged Governatore forward at a trot.

  “We shall find out,” he said. “Let us pray that it is not the sweating sickness or the plague.”

  As they dismounted, the older man stepped forward and bowed deeply.

  “Yo-yo-yer Lordship,” he began. Henry pulled his riding gloves off while he listened.

  “Go on, old man.”

  S-s-sss-sire, the Lord Thomas is not h-h-here.”

  “Indeed,” said Henry. The old lady bowed and stepped forward.

  “My Lord Henry,” she began.

  Henry’s eyes narrowed.

  “The Lord of Coudenoure, Lord Thomas de Grey, has left with his family.”

  Henry stood silently.

  “Do tell,” Charles said quietly from behind him.

  “Sire, good King Henry sent him and his family to Rome to seek indulgences for our poor Arthur.”

  “Go-go-go-God save his soul,” chimed in the old man.

  “And Coudenoure? Who shall mind the manor while our Lord is in Rome?”

  “Lord Thomas asked Liam,” she nodded at her partner, “…and me to do so. We live round about here and ‘twill be glad to see that it is well looked after till he and the Lady Elizabeth return.”

  Henry stood silent and still, betraying no hint of emotion.

  “‘Tis a strange thing, is it not?” asked Charles. “Did Lord Thomas indicate when he would return?”

  “Aye, my lord,” the old lady felt confident in her story now, and her voice reflected it. “He said they would be gone for many a year.”

  “Indeed,” came the quiet reply.

  Henry turned and remounted Governatore.

  “Good Lady, I thank you for this news. Sir, I wish you good day.”

  The old woman smiled broadly.

  He nodded at Charles and turned to ride back down the drive. After a short distance, Charles pulled even with Henry.

  “What is this?” he asked quietly.

  “How did the old woman know my name?”

  Charles nodded.

  “Yes, I caught that. What is afoot? Do you think Elizabeth and Thomas are in danger?”

  “I do not know,” replied Henry. “Let us clear the drive so that they may know nothing of our concerns. We will talk when they can no longer see us.”

  He clicked to Governatore and they rode in silence, clearing the gate at the end of the drive. As they turned onto the river path, the bay suddenly snorted and stopped. A small girl had stepped in front of him on the path.

  “This is the King’s land, my lady,” Henry smiled. “What say you to that?”

  “I say identify yourself, my lord.”

  Charles and Henry laughed.

  Henry leaned forward towards the child. Her blue eyes showed fear but she stood her ground.

  “I am Prince Henry,” he said gently. “And you?”

  “I am Elizabeth’s friend and I travel on your land at her direction.”

  Henry and Charles quickly dismounted.

  “What is it, child?” Henry knelt and the girl came forward shyly. She pulled her hand from behind her back and held it out towards Henry.

  “‘Tis fine, child. ‘Tis fine. Is this from Elizabeth?”

  The girl nodded, her eyes still wide with consternation. She seemed unwilling to let go of the small bundle she held until she finished her speech.

  “My Lady Elizabeth said that the people at Coudenoure should not know what I am doing. She said to tell you that you must protect me if they find out.”

  “Child, no one will hurt you,” Henry said. “And no one will know. Now, what is that you have there?”

  She relinquished her small bundle. Charles reached into the pocket on his vest for a coin to give the child, but she shook her head violently.

  “No! My Lady Elizabeth said if you paid me, it would become known. You must not!”

  “Then how shall we thank you?” asked Henry.

  The small girl gave the question serious thought.

  “By bringing her home, my lord. That would suit me best.”

  Henry unwrapped the dirty cloth he had been handed and found a folded paper within. He quickly opened it and began reading aloud:

  “My Darling Henry,

  If you are reading this, then you have been to Coudenoure and found me gone. I am so perplexed that I almost do not know what to write.

  Two days ago, your gra
ndmother, the Lady Margaret Beaufort, appeared at our door with a decree for my father from our great king.”

  Charles sat down on the ground while Henry continued.

  “He is to travel to Rome for indulgences for Arthur from the Holy See and the Pope himself. While there, he is to seek out manuscripts and codices of all manner for his library, and for England.”

  “What?” Charles interrupted. “What mission is this? Indulgences and manuscripts?”

  “I am not old enough, nor wise enough, to go to court, and Lady Agnes cannot run the estate. Lady Margaret therefore insisted that we travel with my father to Rome.”

  The little girl suddenly spoke.

  “My lord, my lord, there is one more thing I am to tell you. I almost forgot!”

  “What is it?”

  “I was to tell you that they left this very morning on the barge of your grandmother, and will sail from, from…”

  Henry and Charles both breathed deeply.

  “From where, child? Can you remember?”

  The little girl closed her eyes as though remembering Elizabeth speaking in her mind.

  “She said they were going to Woolwich, sire. Yes! That is it! Woolwich. And that your grandmother gave them quite a bit of coin.”

  “My lord, I know not what to do so I go with my father. The worst that can come of this is that we are apart for months, possibly a year. I pray no longer!

  My Love, know that I think of you endlessly. Please for the love of my father look after our library and Coudenoure.

  I am, your loving,

  Elizabeth

  The little girl bowed prettily, then disappeared into the underbrush as quickly as she had appeared.

  Charles looked at his friend and shuddered. He had never seen Henry so upset.

  “So the old woman knew all along of our trips, I suspect. Henry?”

  Henry nodded, his face darkening with anger.

  “‘Tis true, I believe,” he responded. “And she must have knowledge of the pre-contract. Otherwise why send my Elizabeth on such an impossible journey?”

  “It can only be to keep the two of you apart,” rejoined Charles.

  Henry looked up at the sun in the sky, gauging the time. Charles knew his thoughts and spoke them for him.

  “We must fly to Woolwich,” he said and jumped into his saddle.

  Henry did the same.

  “I will deal with my grandmother later,” he shouted.

  But even as they rode, the barge made Woolwich. But even as they thundered past the usual turn for the woods, continuing to follow the river instead, the baggage loaned to Elizabeth, Thomas and Agnes by Lady Margaret was being loaded onto the ship. And even as they cleared Woolwich village itself and rode hard for the dock, the mighty galleon had weighed anchor and sailed nearly out of sight. The sun had almost set.

  Henry threw himself from Governatore, shouting at any and all.

  “Come back!” he screamed. “Hear me! Come back!”

  But his only answer was the wind in the billowing sails of a nearby ship.

  He waded into the river, shouting and waving his arms.

  “Elizabeth! Come back! Elizabeth!”

  Chapter Ten

  Henry awoke the next morning and as was his habit at Greenwich lay for a long time watching the breeze ripple the leaves just beyond his bedroom window. Charles and he ate breakfast in silence and made their way slowly down the grand stairs of the palace. They knocked on the sitting room door of Lady Margaret and bowed as they entered. Margaret stiffened, expecting the worst.

  “Good morning, grandmother,” Henry said pleasantly.

  Charles bowed low and echoed his friend’s sentiment.

  Margaret watched them with hooded eyes, trying to ascertain the direction of the attack of anger she knew must soon be forthcoming. Henry might not know of her role in the affair, but he could not, would not, express anger against the king. That left her as the target for his hurt and fury.

  “Where are you off to today, young Henry?”

  Henry looked at her without blinking.

  “My lady, we are riding in the park today. A fine stag has been seen recently, near the Thames’ edge. We shall bring him down.”

  For once, Margaret was speechless. She had no inkling as to how to proceed.

  “Indeed, Madame,” said Charles, “It should be fine hunting today. Fine indeed.”

  They bowed, turned and left the room.

  Margaret was stunned. She had expected fury, tears, raging words and violent actions. But this? She knew from the old man and woman themselves, through her network of spies, that Henry and Charles had been to Coudenoure yesterday, had been told of the departure of Elizabeth and her father and Agnes, and had been told that their return would be months, perhaps years in the future. And now this? What was she missing? What game was young Henry playing at?

  The guards at the palace gate which fronted onto Greenwich Road saw them coming. Stepping out into road itself, they halted the wagons and horses making their way into London with their wares for the urban market. All dismounted and waited reverently for a glimpse of whatever royal was about to cross their path. A murmur went round that it was Prince Henry himself, the young man who would be their king, who was leaving the palace. Within seconds, he and Charles appeared at the gate and walked their mounts in a stately fashion across the road. But before they could enter the woods on the far side, a spontaneous cheer arose.

  Henry pulled his steed up short and waved at the men and women who were bowing now. A weak smile almost lit his features. As he rode on and disappeared into the woods with Charles behind him, they gathered in knots in the road, discussing his demeanor, his clothes, his horse, his companion. Once in the woods, Charles called out to his friend.

  “My lord, what a prince you have become! I believe they would follow you even to the ends of the earth if you asked them to.”

  “But I shan’t,” came Henry’s angry yet doleful reply, “For they have no way of bringing Elizabeth back to me, do they my friend.”

  The ride was silent and slow, and it was not until they reached the meadow which gave access to the path along the bank of the Thames that they spoke again. A group of men, liveried in his father’s colors, were waiting beside their horses for Henry to appear. Charles saw them in the distance.

  “So the word was received,” he said in low tones as they clicked to their mounts and hastened to meet them. “And do you think they shall give trouble?”

  “No,” replied Henry, “For what I want costs no one anything and I am the first prince of the realm. There will be no issues, and they will present it to my father as I wish.”

  Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, bowed to his knees as Henry approached. His guardsmen followed suit and behind them two other noblemen did the same. But Henry barely saw the men before him. He had surveyed the group and settled his gaze on the two people who only yesterday had lied to his face about his grandmother’s involvement. He strode to them oblivious of all around him. The old man, Liam, and his wife wore the same, tired garments they had worn a day earlier. But the confidence they had shown on the steps of Coudenoure as they had glibly ignored his grandmother’s role in the entire debacle had disappeared. In its place was abject fear. Like a mare with blinders on he continued to stare at them in open anger, ignoring Charles’ cough and hand on his shoulder. For the first time in his life, he understood rage. He had been denied the one thing, the only thing he truly needed in this life and in his mind, Liam and his wife were to blame almost as much as his grandmother, for if they had not engaged him in idle conversation the previous day, he might have made Woolwich in time. His hand moved to his sword and played with the gilded hilt while he continued staring at them with a hostile smile. A look of extreme fear crossed the old woman’s face and she threw herself on the ground, face down in abject obeisance. Liam continued kneeling but terror shook his entire frame, for the look on their prince’s face was barely human. Henry enjoyed playing with them
, letting them think he might loose his rage upon them. It was a strange, malignant feeling that took hold of him, one which, if he had not been bound by servitude to his father the king and therefore restrained, he would surely have acted on. After a moment, he shook the feeling off, returning to his own self. After all, what would his love, Elizabeth, say to him? He could hear her now, “…You must always be kind, Henry, to those beneath you. It is God’s plan and His provenance for us all as we seek grace.”

  He turned away from the pair, wondering briefly if this was what it felt like to be king. All his life he had known that as the king’s son he held power in his hands. He had understood from an early age that those around him were more wont to do his bidding than the bidding of his companions. But there had always been limits. There had always been voices and dictates from above which imposed sanctions upon his actions should they fall beyond the bounds of chivalry. But now? He wondered.

  Henry nodded to the Earl and they walked some ways off from the group before speaking.

  “My Prince, they will never set foot at Coudenour again.”

  Henry nodded his head while the Earl continued.

  “We have done as you asked: the estate shall be managed by my own servants. My mother, God rest her soul, died last month, and her manor at Guildford shall be closed, for I have no need of it presently. The staff who served her there under my direction shall serve you at Coudenoure. Francis is a man I trust with my life, sire, and his wife Bess is a good woman. They ran my mother’s estate well and are grateful to serve you in any capacity that you may desire. They are discreet, and totally loyal to His Highness the King.”

  “And not His Highness’ mother, Lady Margaret?”

  The Earl coughed politely.

  “They understand to whom they owe their allegiance, my liege. It will not be an issue I can assure you.”

  Henry kicked at the ground for a moment, thinking through the points he had put in the letter he had sent the previous evening to the Earl.

  “And how shall I get my letters to my love, Elizabeth?” he asked.

  “It is arranged, sire. Bess has a sister who is in service to the sister of England’s ambassador to the Papal Court in Rome. You shall give your letters to Bess. Francis and Bess have a son who shall serve you at Coudenoure as well, my lord, and he shall get them to his aunt whenever the need arises. From there, they shall be sent with other mail directly in the care of the Ambassador himself, Lord Gallingbrook. I have already posted a note to him this very morning. He is my friend and there will be no problems.”