Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York

by Samantha Wilcoxson

  She remembered how sure she had felt the last time Richard had rode away. His safety and victory were never in doubt. She forced herself to trust that God’s plan for Henry was different. What else could she do?

  For the first time in her life, her mother was a calming presence. Whether it was her advancing age or the coming of her grandchild, Elizabeth Woodville seemed to truly desire a quiet life free of politics and scheming. She shared stories with Elizabeth of when she was a young mother. Only when she mentioned her son, Richard Grey, did the tenseness around her eyes become visible. Guilt flooded through Elizabeth as she remembered that she had defended her uncle Richard when he had put her half-brother to death.

  “I know what you are thinking, Bess, and you should not,” her mother said.

  “I have been thinking about those years for some time now,” Elizabeth admitted. “And I owe you an apology, mother. You were right about my uncle Richard.”

  Elizabeth’s mother shook her head as if she would rather have been wrong.

  “You also were right about Henry. I was wrong to doubt your choice of a husband for me. I truly was a foolish girl.”

  “Oh, Bess.”

  Elizabeth was enveloped in a hug that felt more sincere than any affection she remembered receiving from her mother before. She basked in it, refusing to be the one to let go first.

  “I assure you that you are forgiven,” her mother said. “I was no different at that age, and I am glad that you are able to think for yourself and stand up for what you believe to be right.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, no. I plan to be a submissive wife and dutiful mother. My time of headstrong willfulness is hopefully all behind me.”

  “Not all behind you, I hope,” her mother said with a mischievous smile. “Sometimes the men do need us to stir them up and bring to light their faulty judgments.”

  “I will leave that to you then, mother, since your judgment has proven better than my own.”

  A page arrived in the doorway and awaited Elizabeth’s attention.

  “You may approach,” she said with a gesture to beckon him forward.

  “A letter from the king, your grace,” he said as he bowed low and held out the parchment bearing Henry’s seal.

  “Thank you.” She uncharacteristically failed to offer him refreshment, her attention captured by the first news she had received since Henry had left London. Her mother and the ladies surrounding them were quiet while she read.

  “Thank God!” she finally exclaimed.

  “What is happening?” her mother leaned forward to ask.

  “The Staffords, who had joined Lovell, have gone into sanctuary in Culham. Lovell has escaped, but Henry believes that he has left the country for Burgundy.”

  Elizabeth’s mother sat back and quickly took up her work.

  “I am surprised that Tom and Humphrey would join Lovell,” Elizabeth went on still staring at Henry’s writing. “Did they not rebel with Harry Stafford against Richard?” Elizabeth looked at her mother the way she had when she was a little girl, hoping that she held all the answers. “Why, even John de la Pole has accepted a position in Henry’s government.”

  “Uniting with Francis now has nothing to do with Richard. You’ve lived through enough civil war to know that loyalties and alliances are forged and broken with every change that takes place. Richard is dead, and Henry is king. People will realign themselves.”

  Chills ran through Elizabeth’s body as her mother coldly referred to a war that Elizabeth had assumed was over.

  “But I am queen. If a York on the throne is what they are fighting for, why still fight?”

  Her mother abandoned the work she was pretending to focus on. “You just said yourself that you will be a submissive wife and dutiful mother. Besides, Henry has placed no crown upon your head. Does that sound like a York on the throne? Of course they will still fight. They are men.”

  “But my son,” Elizabeth said as her hand flew to her expanding abdomen. She ignored the reference to her lack of coronation.

  “In fifteen years, men will be willing to fight for him. He is nothing but a future dream right now.”

  “A dream of a future of our country united in peace! How can the people not desire that?”

  Her mother sighed and seemed more like her old self. “You do not understand men or politics, Bess. It is what makes you a better person than the rest of us.”

  Later that spring, Elizabeth was relieved that her mother was not in attendance when she learned that Henry had pulled Humphrey and Thomas Stafford from sanctuary. She was shocked that he would violate the laws of the church in this way, though she knew that her father had done the same thing. Humphrey had been executed for his role in the treasonous plans, but Tom had been pardoned though heavily fined. By the fall of that year, Henry had obtained a papal bull excluding those accused of treason from the benefits of claiming sanctuary.

  September 1486

  The lingering summer heat lay upon the country like a blanket. Elizabeth sat in a shady spot in the gardens of Winchester Palace, where she had moved to be away from the disease infested city of London during her pregnancy. Henry had also been insistent that his son, for it could only be a boy, would be born at Winchester as the traditional location of King Arthur’s Camelot. High expectations already existed for this unborn child.

  Because she could not tolerate the stifling air inside, Elizabeth was often found under the arbors using a fan to stir the air into some semblance of a breeze. With her eyes closed, she forced herself to rest her uptight muscles. Beginning with her forehead that was lined with tension, she mentally moved down her body and released air from her lungs with each muscle relaxed. When she reached her abdomen, she smiled at the kicks and turns that were beyond her control.

  She sighed and leaned back with both hands placed on the roundness of her baby that would be entering the world in the next six weeks or so. Something firm pressed up against her hand and she wondered if it were her son’s little hand. She longed to hold his tiny fingers in her own. Soon the mysterious body part moved on as the baby rolled and turned within her womb. How miraculous that God could create this new life within her with no effort on her part.

  The Lady Margaret had already prepared Elizabeth’s lying in rooms and had been attempting to convince Elizabeth that she must enter them soon in order to be certain that six weeks would be spent there before the baby was born. Although Elizabeth appreciated her mother-in-law’s attention and devotion to her unborn grandchild, she had no desire to spend a month and a half waiting alone in a dark room for her child to be born. Her mother had assured her that no such precautions were necessary. The mother of twelve was unable to convince the mother of one that she was knowledgeable on the topic. The fact that Lady Margaret’s one child was king gave her all the authority she needed.

  Elizabeth was delaying as long as she could but knew that by the end of September she would have to enter the luxurious but dull rooms. At least she would have her mother and cousin, Margaret, with her. She had insisted upon having those two present, as well as Marjory Cobbe, who had served as midwife for the birth of Elizabeth’s two youngest sisters. Henry had mediated between his wife and mother and gained the Lady Margaret’s acquiescence to these three attendants.

  “Are you staying cool, my dear?”

  Elizabeth smiled at the sound of Henry’s voice. Throughout her pregnancy, his status as an only child had been clear. He was attentive and constantly concerned that Elizabeth was healthy and comfortable. She did not mind the attention but wished she was more able to calm his fears.

  “I am perfectly well, my love.” She opened her eyes and patted the bench next to her in invitation. He joined her and placed one of his hands between hers on her rounded belly. A smile lit his face when he was welcomed by a small protrusion pushing forth to meet his hand. He placed a lingering kiss on her cheek.

  “I am glad you’ve found a cool spot to rest.” He wiped sweat from his brow as he spoke.r />
  Elizabeth laughed. “Well, relatively cool anyway. Can you remember a September so warm?”

  “Well, having lived in France, yes.”

  “Of course, that was a silly question. The child robs me of my brain,” she sighed. “I always wondered why my mother claimed that, but now I know it to be true.”

  A few locks of damp hair had escaped her pins and were plastered to her face. Henry pushed them back and kissed her temple. “You are beautiful. Do you know that?”

  She laughed again. “I do not feel very beautiful at the moment. I am swollen and red with heat, but I am happy that you are pleased, husband.”

  “I am,” he said, kissing her again. “Very pleased.”

  “Pleased enough to celebrate even if I give you a daughter?” As her time approached, she became more concerned that the babe would not be the expected male heir.

  He gazed into her eyes, and she was warmed by the emotion displayed. She knew that others saw caution, concern for the treasury, and even fear, but whenever his eyes found her she saw love.

  “I will be more than content with a healthy daughter and wife,” he assured her. “We will have plenty of time to have more sons and daughters whatever this one may be.” He patted her stomach as if including the babe in the conversation.

  “You put my mind at ease. Thank you, Henry.”

  “Thank you, my sweet Elizabeth, for being a wonderful wife and giving me what I know will be a beautiful child.”

  ~~~~

  The days at Winchester were more easy-going than those at Westminster had been. Fewer courtiers filled the hall, and Elizabeth felt more freedom to enjoy herself away from prying eyes. With Cecily, Margaret, and her mother, she held her own small, informal court and ignored her mother-in-law’s requests that she enter her lying in rooms.

  The weather finally began to cool toward the middle of the month and the women enjoyed the crisp air outside. Elizabeth enjoyed bringing puppies from the kennel into the gardens to play, though it reminded her of her time at Sherriff Hutton with Edward. She continued to pray daily for him because it was clear that speaking to Henry was not quickening his release. Maybe the birth of an heir would make him feel confident enough to give Edward his freedom.

  As they ran and laughed together, Elizabeth watched Margaret and Cecily. Her desire to help them find husbands and happiness had driven her to bring up these topics with Henry as well. Although he was affectionate toward her as a husband, he made it evident that his word would be the last on matters of state.

  The bulk of her midsection kept Elizabeth on the sidelines as the other women ran, threw sticks, and rolled in the grass with the dogs. It was amazing how young one could feel with a litter of puppies to play with. Elizabeth enjoyed watching them. She had begun to feel uncomfortable pressure in her abdomen and knew that she would not be allowed outside for much longer. Cecily came to sit next to her in the cool grass.

  “Cecily, I am glad we are able to enjoy this day. I am afraid that I will not be able to delay entering confinement beyond this week.”

  Cecily nodded her agreement. “Margaret does have a way of getting what she wants.” She had picked up their mother’s habit of leaving off any honorific due the king’s mother.

  “Truly, she wanted me there at least a week ago, but I could not see the sense in spending six weeks in a dark, airless room.” A stronger pain made her gasp and her hand flew to her stomach.

  “Bess, are you alright?” Cecily turned to her with concern etched into her face.

  “Quite.” Elizabeth forced a small laugh through her grimace. “The babe is just getting large and making me more uncomfortable.”

  Cecily raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Discomfort? It looked like pain.”

  “Just a little. It is too early,” Elizabeth insisted.

  Her sister decided to take her at her word and relaxed in the soft grass. She too was considering the destiny of their cousins Margaret and Edward. What cruel twist of fate left them parentless and in the control of an inhospitable guardian. She also wondered when her own future would be determined. Henry had his wife and his heir. When would Margaret be content to release her spare princess?

  Elizabeth gasped again next to her. This time, Cecily jumped to her feet and called to the other women.

  “We must get Bess inside,” she ordered. “She is having childbirth pains.”

  “But it is too early,” Margaret pointed out unnecessarily. One look at Elizabeth’s face caused her own to turn red. “I’m sorry, Cecily. What can I do?”

  “Find our mother. Tell her we will meet her in the birthing room.”

  Cecily motioned for the other ladies to help her, and they pulled Elizabeth to her feet. As they did so, Cecily felt warm wetness surround their feet. She looked into Elizabeth’s eyes and saw confirmation there. She also saw fear.

  Her eyes fell on one of the ladies who was not helping support Elizabeth. “Have a messenger sent to the king immediately.” Turning to her sister she softened her tone. “You will be fine, dear Bess. God is with you, and may he help us get you inside before the child is born.”

  By the time they arrived in the carefully laid out room, Elizabeth was panting and trying to resist the urge to bear down. Tears of relief flooded her eyes when she saw her mother hurrying toward her.

  “Mama, you’re here. It’s too early.” It was a ridiculous thing to say, but she felt her burden ease giving these problems over to her mother who had successfully given birth to a dozen children.

  “There could be some miscalculation,” her mother said soothingly, though they all knew that it wasn’t true. Elizabeth and Henry had been married almost exactly eight months ago. Miscalculation wasn’t a possibility. The baby was coming too soon. The older Elizabeth took charge of the room and ordered each person to complete a task, including the sending of Margaret to go into the chapel and pray for a safe delivery. Even the less pious Elizabeth Woodville was taking no chances with her eldest daughter and first grandchild.

  Elizabeth was laid gently on the bed, but she insisted that she needed to be on the birthing stool.

  “Not yet, my dear,” her mother insisted. “You need to relax. It is the best way to keep the little one where he is for a little bit longer.”

  “I cannot!” Elizabeth cried.

  Her mother appeared unaffected by her outburst. She gently pushed back Elizabeth’s loosened hair and patted her face with a cool cloth. “You can, sweet Bess. Relax.”

  At that moment, the midwife entered the room.

  “I will need to examine you,” she said to Elizabeth without words of greeting.

  Elizabeth’s mother stood and looked down her nose at Marjory Cobbe. “You will remember that you address the queen.”

  Marjory bowed her head, “Yes, my lady. I was just told that it was an emergency.”

  Elizabeth’s mother scanned the room for the culprit but addressed Mrs. Cobbe. “Young women always believe that labor is an emergency. My daughter is doing perfectly well, and you will show her due respect.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  The atmosphere in the room quieted but also gained a level of peace with the confident arrogance of Elizabeth Woodville. The examination complete, she was reassured that her evaluation of the situation was correct. Elizabeth and her baby seemed to be doing fine, but the child would be born today.

  Henry had yet to arrive at Winchester, so early in the morning of September 20th after a long night of labor, a second messenger was sent to him with the news that he was the proud father of a small but healthy baby boy.

  Lady Margaret fussed over the fact that her carefully laid out birth plan had already been cast aside. To think, the king’s wife going into labor while sitting in the garden! Now that the baby was born, the remainder of the schedule would be followed religiously. Elizabeth kept to the room, which was decorated with tapestries of subtle colors and calm scenes. Little air or sunlight was allowed in, at least when Lady Margaret was in the room. No men were al
lowed in the room for any reason.

  This is why Henry was forced to sneak into his own wife’s room. He arrived at Winchester as soon as he was able and was eager to see Elizabeth.

  “It is out of the question,” his mother stated. She held out the tiny infant to him as if for inspection. “She has presented you with a son. You can wait until she has been churched to be presented to you.”

  “Mother, she is my wife. She need not be presented to me.” A grin split his face as he stared in wonder at the small bundle with a wisp of dark hair peeking out.

  “For heaven’s sake, Henry,” Margaret continued. “You are the king, and you must behave as such. Do not be so enamored with this woman.”

  Henry looked at his mother, but could not find the desire to argue with her while he held his son. His tiny, perfect son. “This woman is the woman you insisted that I would marry for years before I actually determined to do so. I have married her upon your command, but I love her upon God’s.”

  “You will wait,” Margaret stated firmly as though she too had forgotten that he was the king and not her little boy.

  That very evening Henry was allowed into the room by a most unlikely ally, his mother-in-law.

  “She has been eagerly awaiting your arrival,” she said as she unlocked the door for him to enter. He chose not to notice that she did not call him ‘your grace’.

  “Elizabeth,” he whispered as he entered the darkened room. He stepped carefully among the rushes, afraid of making a sound should he wake his wife or son. His eyes were still adjusting to the dimness when he was caught in an embrace that almost knocked him off his feet.

  “Henry! You are here.” Elizabeth held him tightly, and his arms wound around her waist. It felt strange to find her so much thinner than the last time he had held her. He kissed the top of her head until she turned her face toward him, and he covered her cheeks, eyes, and lips with his kisses. She returned them fervently.