Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen
The Story of Elizabeth of York
By Samantha Wilcoxson
Copyright © 2015 Samantha Wilcoxson
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the prior express written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material in violation of the author's rights.
ISBN10: 1511803312
ISBN13: 978-1511803311
Printed in the United States of America
For men who fought for a king they had never laid eyes on.
For women who kept homes ready for men that would never return.
For Lancaster.
For York.
For Elizabeth, a Plantagenet Princess who became a Tudor Queen.
Part I – Plantagenet Princess
November 2, 1470
Elizabeth’s lips were firmly set in a pout as she glared out the window of Westminster Abbey. She should be rejoicing, as the rest of London was, for the birth of the wailing baby boy. But her stomach was churning like the Thames that was being pelted by icy rain on the other side of the glass. After three girls, beautiful girls undoubtedly but still only girls, her father had his first precious boy.
She watched various attendants file up and down the stairs of the abbot’s lodging that had been graciously turned over to the woman whom Yorkists still considered the Queen of England, Elizabeth’s mother. The fact that Margaret of Anjou claimed that title for herself meant little to them. They were confident of the return of their golden Plantagenet King, Edward IV. Elizabeth twisted the skirt of her dress in her hands, careless of the wrinkles she was creating, and prayed that they were correct. How she missed her father!
When the Lancastrians had paraded their frail claimant to the throne, Henry VI, through the streets, Elizabeth had been shocked that this man inspired people to fight for him. To her, he looked more like a poor traveling friar or tutor than a mighty king. Certainly her father would return from exile and rescue his growing family from sanctuary. At least, she hoped so.
She wondered if he would still love her now that he had a son.
“Princess Elizabeth, would you like to meet your baby brother?”
Elizabeth looked up at Jayne, one of her mother’s young servants. Elizabeth’s eyes normally danced with the mischief typical of a four year old, but today they contained more fear and concern than a child’s eyes should. She slowly released her hold on the crumpled dress and took the soft hand that Jayne held out to her. As she stood, she reminded herself to hold up her head proudly with its crown of coppery blond tresses. She was still a princess, after all.
Elizabeth looked up into Jayne’s face as they proceeded up the worn stone steps. Jayne, still only a child herself, exuded gentle kindness, leaving Elizabeth feeling comfortable to ask, “Is my mother so very happy?”
Crouching down to Elizabeth’s level Jayne said, “Of course she is happy, my lady.” She saw Elizabeth’s face fall slightly and continued, “Not only because she has a lovely new baby, but because she has such a wonderful eldest daughter to help her with him.”
They continued up the final few steps and paused before a large carved wooden door.
“Are you ready?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and straightened her back. “Yes, I am ready.”
Jayne hid her smile at the miniature picture of her mother that Elizabeth made. She held open the door for the little princess to enter.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the scene before her. Certainly she had been invited to see her younger sisters upon their births, but she was almost five years old now and noticed more of her surroundings. Her gaze took in the hunchbacked mid-wife with stringy, dark grey hair. She was bent over a pile of bloody rags and a basin containing what looked like an animal’s stomach. Finally, Elizabeth turned enlarged eyes toward her mother lying in bed cradling a small bundle.
She walked toward the bed, keeping the proper pace as her mother had taught her, hoping to earn the queen’s favor with her maturity and grace. However, Queen Elizabeth, for whom little Elizabeth had been named, did not even reward her daughter with a glance until she had reached the side of the bed. Elizabeth Woodville sat up with her glorious silken hair arranged around her. The color of corn silk, the queen’s hair was her pride and joy. Elizabeth craned her neck to peer at the little face held close to her mother’s breast.
“Elizabeth,” the queen said with a satisfied smile. “Meet your little brother, Prince Edward.”
“He is quite red, mother.” It was out before she could stop herself. So much for acting like the perfect princess in her mother’s presence.
But, the queen just laughed. “As all new babies are, my daughter,” she assured her. “Even you, as lovely as you are now, looked much like this when you were first delivered.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Really, mother?”
Her mother patted the bed beside her, and Elizabeth finally relaxed as she climbed up next to her and settled herself in the plush bed coverings.
Her mother whispered as if they were conspirators. “Yes. In fact, most babies are just a little bit ugly for the first few days, but then they begin to improve dramatically.”
Elizabeth tried to contain a giggle as she leaned over to examine the young prince more closely. Her mother accommodated her by pulling back the layers of blankets confining him. As he was freed, the baby boy flailed skinny arms and legs and scrunched up his face which reddened as he held his breath. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the unimpressive specimen and looked up at her mother.
“You are right, mother. A little bit ugly.”
Elizabeth jumped as Edward released the wail that he had been saving up breath for, but her mother only laughed again.
“He is fine, just unhappy about being disturbed,” she said as she nonchalantly handed the baby off to his wet-nurse. Contented suckling sounds almost immediately replaced his cries.
Without the baby between them, Elizabeth felt she was being too familiar sitting on the bed with her mother, so she stood. Looking around the room for something to focus on besides her mother’s face, she asked, “Father will be quite happy, will he not?” She tried to sound casual, uninterested.
“He will be very happy, Elizabeth. Your father will always love you, but every king needs an heir,” the queen stated in a tone that welcomed no nonsense.
Elizabeth met her mother’s eyes, “Yes, I know. I will go say prayers for my baby brother now.” She turned from the bed.
“Come visit again tomorrow, Elizabeth,” her mother said as she walked away.
At the door, Elizabeth turned and curtseyed saying, “I will, my lady mother. I look forward to seeing how the Prince’s looks improve.”
~~~~
The next morning Elizabeth was awoken by coldness in her toes that was creeping up her thin legs. She pulled her feet up into her bed coverings and tried to force sleep to return to no avail. Sighing, she peeked over at Cecily and Mary and was happy to see that they also were awake. Their little blond heads were close together as they played at some private game. Elizabeth pulled her covers around her and moved toward them for their companionship and warmth.
“Did you see the baby prince yet?” she asked her sisters.
Cecily, who was not yet two years old, was quite certain that she was the baby but certainly no prince. “I’m a princess!” she corrected in her childish lisp.
“Of course you are,” said Elizabeth with the maturity of a
four year old who has already been made a big sister three times. “But our lady mother has another baby, Prince Edward.”
“I want to see!” exclaimed Mary, who had recently celebrated her third birthday.
“We will see him today,” Elizabeth assured them. “But I will tell you a secret.”
She waited for her sisters to lean in as she savored her higher knowledge.
“He is just a little bit . . . . well, ugly.”
The girls burst into fits of laughter that brought their nursemaid, Matilda, into the room to see what they were up to. She smiled at the vision of the three York princesses snuggled up together.
“And what is going on in here, my ladies?” Matilda asked.
“Bess said the baby is ugly!” Mary announced.
“Mary! That was to be a secret!” Elizabeth was horrified that her confidence had been so casually broken, but Matilda just smiled knowingly as she stepped up to the pile of blankets and little blond girls.
“You may find that he looks more handsome today,” she said. “Babies do recover quickly.”
“When can we see him?” Mary demanded.
“We must wait for your lady mother to call for you,” Matilda reminded them. At their disappointed sighs, she added, “Let us go and find some bread to break your fast,” knowing that food was certain to distract them, even from the excitement of the new prince.
As the little girls ate with a speed that indicated hunger tempered by noble manners, they continued to talk about their new brother. Cecily asked, “What about Papa?”
“Our father,” Elizabeth corrected her, “will certainly want to see him as soon as possible.” As she said it, she prayed to God that it were true. Would her father return soon?
“When will he be here?” asked Mary, certain that her older sister was the source of all answers.
“We must ask our lady mother when we see her today,” Elizabeth said because she hoped for an answer just as much as the younger two.
Soon, the queen did call for her daughters. They ran giggling up the stairs but were stopped on the landing by Matilda, who reminded them to compose themselves before the queen and prince. When they walked into the room with Elizabeth first, followed by Mary, and finally little Cecily toddling behind, they were a picture of royal decorum.
“Good morning, lady mother,” Elizabeth said as the three curtseyed, Cecily almost falling over in the effort.
“Good morning, my beautiful daughters!” said the queen as she beckoned them to come forward.
The girls had exhausted their capacity for self-control with their greeting and hurried to the bed to see their brother.
“Oh, Bess! He is not so ugly!” Mary exclaimed with her trademark candor.
Elizabeth blushed and refused to meet her mother’s eyes until she heard her laugh. “No, he is certainly more handsome than yesterday,” her mother agreed. Elizabeth looked up and her mother kissed her forehead and gave her a knowing smile. “Bess, you will be such a big help to me with your brother and sisters while we are here.”
“Here” meant in sanctuary. Living in the abbot’s quarters of Westminster Abbey instead of one of the royal palaces.
“How long will we be here?” Elizabeth asked. Three pairs of innocent eyes in various shades of blue locked onto their mother, and their chattering stopped as they waited for the answer to this question.
The queen lifted her head and looked down at them as though she were sitting on a throne rather than reclining on the abbot’s bed. “Your father the king will remove us from this place as soon as he possibly can. Warwick will not be able to stand up to him now that he has a son and heir to fight for.”
She said it with such confidence that the girls did not doubt her in the least and began gazing out the windows several times a day to watch for their father’s livery.
February 11, 1471
Little celebration would take place on this day despite the fact that it was Elizabeth’s fifth birthday. Her mother had seemed so certain three months ago that her father would be rescuing them, but here they were still in rooms that felt increasingly cramped with food that was nothing compared to that of the royal kitchens. To a five year old, “soon” meant long before three months had gone by. Where was her father?
She was disconsolately sitting at the window, no longer really watching, but sitting there as a course of habit. Maybe her father would surprise her for her birthday. She could not make herself excited over the possibility. After all, if he hadn’t shown up for tiny Edward, she doubted that he would show up for her. She had heard her mother talking to her grandmother, Jaquetta Woodville, Lady Rivers, about a host of people with names that were familiar without understanding the real reasons why her father could not come home.
She had heard that the Earl of Warwick was supporting old Henry VI as King now, but didn’t understand why. Had he not fought with her father? Were they not cousins? How could there be so much confusion over who was king? Elizabeth was confounded by the events swirling around her.
She was roused from her reverie by her two half-brothers, Thomas and Richard. They were all that remained of her mother’s first marriage to the Lancastrian knight, Sir John Grey. She could see that some of their darker coloring must have been inherited from their father, but both were just as handsome as any son of Elizabeth Woodville would be expected to be. The boys bounded up to her holding out a lumpy, poorly wrapped package.
“A present for you, Bess!” they exclaimed together.
Forgetting her depression, she wiggled down from the window seat to see what the boys, had managed to bring to her. Lavish gifts were no longer the norm for the royal family after the long months in sanctuary, and she wondered how they had come up with one.
She eagerly took the package from their hands, forgetting her manners in her excitement, and pulled at the twine bow holding the scrap of fabric in place. “Oh!” she said softly as two bright colored oranges rolled out of the wrapping. Elizabeth felt tears come to her eyes as she remembered just a few days earlier when a basket had arrived from a local merchant with a note encouraging them not to be dismayed. York supporters had not forgotten them. The children had torn into the fruit like starving animals. She had thought it gone, but her brothers had saved the last, and most precious, of the fruit for her.
“They look wonderful,” she said as she craned her neck to look up at each of them. “Thank you.”
Richard, who was ten years old, was a handsome, if mischievous boy, though he did not share her coloring. His hair was darker and eyes brown, apparently taking after his father. Sir John Grey had been killed in 1461 at the second Battle of St. Albans fighting for Henry VI. Woodvilles were all staunch Yorkists now that Elizabeth Woodville was Edward’s queen.
Thomas, at sixteen, was too old to be considered a child, but his mother had insisted that he, too, flee with the family to sanctuary when Edward was forced into exile by his former friend and ally, the Earl of Warwick. The rugged, blond haired boy was straining for self-control in the confined quarters and had enjoyed occupying himself with plans to entertain the girls this day.
“You are very welcome, my lady,” Thomas said as he bowed and extended his arm to her. “Now if you will come with me to enjoy the day’s festivities.”
Elizabeth giggled before composing herself to mimic her brother’s seriousness. “That sounds delightful, my lord.” She placed her small hand upon his arm and allowed him to escort her into the next room where her sisters were already sitting on pillows waiting for the show to be put on by Richard and Thomas. They clapped as the three of them entered, and Elizabeth realized that the boys must have been planning this for days, knowing that they could use some cheering up. She kissed them each on the cheek before taking her seat.
Richard set a circlet that had been fashioned out of twigs onto her head and one of his own cloaks on her shoulders. Then Thomas announced, “Let the tournament begin!”
Thomas and Richard retreated to opposite sides of the
room where they hoisted their makeshift jousting equipment and climbed onto broomstick destriers. Elizabeth was touched that Thomas, who was certainly too old to play this way, was doing it solely for his half-sisters’ amusement. The girls cheered uproariously as the boys jousted and dueled enthusiastically before them. When, at last, the boys stepped forward to bow before their sisters, Elizabeth put on her most royal princess countenance and posture in place of a crown. She rose and complimented them on their knightly bravery and aptitude.
“Thank you so much for putting on this show for us today,” she added more informally.
She was enveloped in a group hug with her siblings. Though she was momentarily happy, she couldn’t help but wonder where they would be when her next birthday arrived.
April 1471
Elizabeth’s mother never tired of reveling in the plans that her father would be making when he returned. If he returned. As for the little girls, they only dreamed of running through fresh grass and picking wildflowers. The betrothals and alliances that might be made upon the return of the king were still quite beyond them.
Certainly a suitable match would be made for Elizabeth, but she thought little about it. The queen did not seem to have any doubts about Edward’s return to England and its throne, but as the months dragged by, Elizabeth began to wonder if she would ever see her father again. She often caught herself staring out the window, daydreaming about people whose lives were moving on as they sat in the same rooms day after day.
The reverie was broken when a flash of movement caught her eye. She sat in the same faithful window seat as she had every other day for months now. The adventures of her imagination flitted away like a shadow. She peered through the window, attempting to discern through the rain, the never ending rain, what had stolen her attention. It was a young man dressed as a page who looked vaguely familiar.
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