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

by Samantha Wilcoxson

  “Mother,” Elizabeth groaned. “It is happening too quickly!”

  Rushing to her daughter’s side, she gripped her hand and pushed damp hair from her face. “You are doing beautifully, Bess,” she said in a calm, confident voice. “This child is just anxious to see you face to face.” She smiled at her daughter and wondered, not for the first time, that this kind and obedient woman had been born of Edward and herself. A crooked smile lifted one side of her face. God has lessons to teach each of us through our children, she admitted only to herself.

  “Pray for me mother,” Elizabeth begged. “For I am afraid.”

  She kneeled, not releasing Elizabeth’s hand. “Heavenly father, send your angels to protect your obedient daughter, Elizabeth, and her child. Send her comfort and peace, I beg of you.”

  “I am not worthy, Lord,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I am afraid. Increase my faith and forgive my unbelief,” she moaned as she felt she was being torn in two.

  “Amen,” her mother whispered, ending the nontraditional prayer. She fixed her eyes on Elizabeth for a moment before conferring with the midwife.

  “The child comes quickly, but there is nothing to be afraid of,” the midwife reassured. “I know what to look for, you know.”

  Elizabeth Woodville’s eyebrows arched in surprise. It had been years – decades? – since anyone had spoken to her that way. Then she laughed out loud. It was somewhat refreshing.

  In the end, the midwife was correct. A squalling, chubby child was safely delivered within a few hours of Elizabeth’s first pain. Both mother and child were well, and not one person expressed disappointment that the babe was a girl.

  ~~~~

  Henry brought Arthur to meet his baby sister, who would soon be christened Margaret, and Elizabeth’s heart soared to see them after her weeks in confinement. Was Arthur taller? Did she detect a few more grey hairs at Henry’s temples? Certainly, the people we love do not change so quickly, she assured herself.

  A nurse laid Margaret in Elizabeth’s arms before quietly leaving the room. Elizabeth savored this moment with her little family gathered around her. The fire cast a warm, orange glow about the room, and she could imagine that nothing else in the world existed.

  “What do you think of your baby sister?” she asked Arthur, who was peering down at the bundle with a thoughtful wrinkle to his brow.

  His eyes, which were hazel like Henry’s, met his mother’s. “Are you sure it’s a girl?”

  The disappointment on his face made Elizabeth laugh, and she put up a hand to keep Henry from saying the admonishment she could see on his lips. “When I was a little girl,” she said. “My mother had three girls before my first brother was born.” She kept the smile on her face and was determined to not think of the fate of that greatly celebrated baby boy.

  Arthur looked horrified. “You will not have three girls, will you mother?”

  “I will have whatever children the Lord chooses to give me,” Elizabeth said with her hand cupping his soft, rosy cheek. “I am daily thankful that he chose to give me this little boy.”

  Finally, Arthur smiled. “I am too,” he said, cuddling up to her side. “But next time, I do hope he gives you another boy.”

  Winter 1489-1490

  Christmas festivities went by before Elizabeth’s churching, not that she felt much disappointment. She enjoyed the quiet times with Henry and their children. Never did he make her feel that he was displeased with being presented with a daughter. Elizabeth would soon be twenty-four and hoped to have many more children. Her mother had brought life to ten children beyond Elizabeth’s current age, so she was determined to be patient.

  Margaret was a needy child and Elizabeth missed the immediate bond that she had felt for Arthur. Too often she found herself handing over the crying child to a wet-nurse after losing patience with her. Remarkably, Henry seemed more forgiving of the child’s screaming. If he were in attendance when the crying began, he would pace the room, bouncing the baby gently, while crooning to her in a low voice. Elizabeth caught the surprised exchanges between Margaret’s nurses and silenced them with a glare. Henry had the cares of a kingdom upon his shoulders. If he chose to take time to sooth a cranky child, nobody would be allowed to accuse him of behaving in an undignified manner.

  A long awaited visit from Cecily broke through the winter gloom once Elizabeth had left confinement. The children were scrubbed and dressed in lavish fabric, and nurses stood by to take them away once they had been presented. Elizabeth adored her children, but looked forward to sharing a few precious days with her sister.

  Sounds of hurried movement and footsteps informed Elizabeth of Cecily’s arrival before the heavy door was forced open on its groaning hinges. She smiled at Arthur’s rigid stance, so determined was he to be the perfect prince. If Margaret could get through introductions without squalling, it would be a minor victory.

  Cecily swept into the room with a radiant smile on her face and a light blue gown swirling around her. Elizabeth smiled at the choice of color. Most noblewomen would not wear light colors for it gave the appearance of lack of wealth. Cecily would wear whatever color she liked and not concern herself with others’ thoughts.

  “Look at those gorgeous children!” Cecily exclaimed as soon as she laid eyes on them.

  Arthur looked at his mother, at a loss of what to do in the face of such informality. Smiling, Elizabeth gave him a gentle shove. “You may greet your aunt Cecily,” she whispered in his ear.

  He performed a solemn bow and stated, “You are most welcome here, Lady Cecily.”

  “Isn’t he just the most precious thing?” Cecily exclaimed as she pulled Arthur into her arms. He remained stiff only for a moment before giving in to his aunt’s affections. He giggled when she messed up his carefully arranged hair and kissed him on the forehead. He was disappointed when she eventually set him aside to see baby Margaret.

  “Well, the poor girl looks like our father!” she said when she looked down at Margaret’s red face and auburn hair.

  Though the comment would have rankled coming from someone else, Elizabeth laughed at Cecily’s analysis. “She will be a lovely lady when she grows into her temper.”

  “Ah, you have your hands full, Bess,” Cecily said knowingly. “If she has inherited the Plantagenet fury.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “She is very certain of herself already and will be a strong woman,” she said. “A much stronger woman than her mother.”

  Cecily put an arm around her sister. “She is very blessed by the mother God has placed her with, one who can keep her temper in check.”

  While the sisters shared a moment of shared understanding and pleasure at each other’s presence, Arthur stood on tiptoe in an effort to be part of the conversation.

  “She doesn’t really do anything,” he insisted. “I can show you my soldiers.”

  “Well, now, commanding your own troops already?” Cecily asked as she crouched down to Arthur’s level.

  “The soldiers of England always beat the armies of France,” Arthur observed quite seriously. “And I have books.”

  “That they do,” Cecily solemnly agreed. “And I would love to see your books after I have seen to my luggage.”

  Arthur beamed at his ability to capture his pretty aunt’s attention. He was not even upset when his nurse took his hand to lead him away, but he looked back to wave and found her smiling after him.

  After the children and their nurses had filed out of the room, Cecily turned her brilliant smile on Elizabeth. “You look lovely, Bess. Did you suffer ill after Margaret’s birth?”

  Elizabeth shook her head, “Thank God, no. The child is more difficult but the recovery was free of complications.”

  “Praise God,” Cecily echoed. “I regret that I was not with you.”

  Elizabeth laughed at the memory of her fear. “It was scary in its quickness. I was thankful for our mother’s presence.”

  “Really?” Cecily’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You are reconci
led to her then?”

  Considering her response before speaking, Elizabeth finally admitted, “I believe we have come to an understanding.”

  “An understanding that you will not ask any questions that would convict her,” Cecily guessed.

  “She was a comfort to me during my labor, and I do not know the extent of her involvement in the Simnel rebellion or under what understanding she participated. I feel it is better left that way.”

  “It is best to look forward rather than back.”

  “Even better to look up,” Elizabeth amended. “You seem radiant with happiness, Cecily.”

  “I am, Bess,” Cecily sighed. “I cannot wait another moment to tell you my news.”

  Joy spread across Elizabeth’s face as she guessed at the only news that would so enliven her sister.

  “Yes,” Cecily affirmed Elizabeth’s unspoken thought. “I am with child.”

  Pulling Cecily into her arms, Elizabeth was ecstatic that her sister would soon have the quiet family life she longed for. She held her tightly, their blond locks – Elizabeth’s more copper and Cecily’s more silver – intertwining where they had slipped free of their arrangements.

  “God’s blessings on you and your child,” Elizabeth whispered as she reluctantly released her sister.

  “Thank you, my queen,” Cecily said with a shallow curtsey that made Elizabeth laugh.

  “And Viscount Wells, he must be happy.”

  “Oh, please call him John,” Cecily insisted. “He is beside himself with joy, especially since I informed him that I saw no need to restrict nocturnal activities due to the baby.”

  The sisters shared a smile of shared secrets. “You do love him then,” Elizabeth stated, happy that Henry’s choice had given her sister joy.

  “I do.” If there was a small part of Cecily’s heart that would always belong to Ralph Scrope, it was no greater burden than that carried my most noblewomen.

  “Wonderful! Now, we can begin to obsess over grooms for our young sisters instead.”

  They both laughed, but neither mentioned that it would indeed be soon when Henry would choose a husband for Anne, who was now fourteen years old.

  Elizabeth motioned for servants to see to Cecily’s luggage and led her from the room. As they retired to a quiet library, Elizabeth decided to share news of her own.

  “Henry has indeed been planning a wedding, but not our sweet sister’s.”

  Elizabeth could almost see the names flashing before Cecily’s eyes as she considered who was in need of a spouse.

  “He has agreed upon a betrothal for Arthur.” Elizabeth kept her voice free of emotion so that Cecily would be free to express her own. Though she knew child betrothals were common, she had been a part of them herself, she also knew that they could lead to betrayal and heartache.

  “Who has he matched our prince to?” Cecily asked, her voice matching Elizabeth’s in flatness.

  “Catherine of Aragon, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain.”

  Cecily allowed hesitant approval to appear on her face. “A good match,” she admitted.

  “It was part of the Treaty of Medina del Campo,” said Elizabeth, struggling to work her mouth around the unfamiliar Spanish words. She had already spoken to Henry about adding the language to Arthur’s tutoring schedule. “During my confinement, Henry dubbed him a Knight of Bath.”

  “Ah, is he growing up on us already?”

  Elizabeth smiled wryly. “Well, he is quite mature for a three year old.”

  The sisters laughed together, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the feeling of camaraderie that enveloped them.

  ~~~~

  The Christmas court was a subdued one despite the recent birth of the royal daughter. A measles epidemic raged through the city, reminding Elizabeth of the loyal Emma who had died after helping her minister to those in need in the wake of the plague that had followed Henry’s men to London. This time, she sent what money and goods she could to be distributed, but she could not put herself in harm’s way now that she had her children to think about. She prayed that God forgave her selfishness.

  February 1490

  Though a brisk wind whipped around her and snow threatened to fall, Elizabeth was glad to be returning to Westminster. The privacy and peace that existed outside of London’s gates was a welcome refuge, but she could not forever ignore the fact that she was queen. Arthur had been returned to his own household at Farnham. Part of her heart ached for him, but she had grown accustomed to the fact that he would never stay with her as though she were nothing more than a merchant’s wife.

  Margaret’s cries could be heard from where she was carried in a litter accompanied by her wet-nurse and attendants. Elizabeth closed her eyes and prayed for peace from, and affection for, this colicky child. It only made her desire Arthur’s presence all the more. She would be reunited with him soon, when he came to London at the end of the month in order to be installed as the Prince of Wales. For just a moment, she allowed her mind to retrieve memories of the previous Prince of Wales. She must learn to give up to God this mystery that would not be solved.

  The chilly air wound its way through her hair and under her mantle, cooling her nerves and temper. Soon she would be in her own rooms within the palace walls being welcomed by her husband, and Margaret would be sent to her own.

  The vision of the city of London emerging through the fog allowed Elizabeth to sigh in relief. She was anxious for a bath and rest. How much more wearying was travel with a squalling child! Within minutes of their arrival, she had dismissed Margaret and her caregivers. She sought peace and quiet with the company of her ladies and prepared for her reunion with Henry.

  “I wish to be with my sister when she enters her confinement chamber.”

  Henry was taken aback by the request. He turned his face away from the crackling fire, hiding his emotions in the shadows. Her chamber was warm and comfortable and revealed no evidence that its occupant had only just arrived.

  She knelt before him. “Henry, I realize that it is an unusual request, but I would be such a comfort to her.”

  He smiled and wound a lock of her coppery blond hair around his hand. “You know that you may have anything, so long as you ask looking as fetching as you do now.” She wore only her chemise, and her hair was unbound and spilling down to her waist.

  “Thank you, Henry!” She sprang to her feet and embraced him fervently.

  Laughing, he pulled her into his lap. “Some women would squeal over jewels. You desire only my permission to serve as an attendant. Do not be too easy to please, my queen.”

  Her eyes smoldered at him from beneath lowered lashes. “But, my lord, there is more that I require of you.”

  ~~~~

  A lump rose in Elizabeth’s throat as she listened to the crowd of faithful Englishmen cheer for her son. Though Arthur looked more like his father than anyone in Elizabeth’s family, she could not help but feel that things were being made right by another little boy being named Prince of Wales. Another Plantagenet prince, she thought but could never say. Outwardly, she embraced her role as the mother of the Tudor dynasty.

  Though he was only three years old, Arthur bore the ceremony and attention as one born to it. He was already much more comfortable with the trappings of royalty than his father. Elizabeth loved Henry, but recognized that at times he appeared as though he were a merchant playing king for the day. Nobody would ever say that about Arthur.

  King Arthur. Even his name left no room for doubt that he was born to rule and to rule well. She beamed at him, and he rewarded her with a tiny dignified smile. His self-control was more evidence of his Tudor ancestry. Elizabeth could admit to herself that a little less fiery temper and impetuousness would serve Arthur well as a ruler and save him some of the heartache that had plagued her family.

  She would not think of her family today. She wouldn’t picture her father, young and vibrant, making people love him just by walking into a room. She wouldn’t think about her moth
er, at this very moment ruling her world that was now limited to Bermondsey Abbey. No little ghosts of her brothers would be allowed to march along in the procession. She certainly would not allow her mind to drift into the world of what-ifs where she saw herself married to Richard instead of Henry. No, God had worked things out, and she would see only those he had left to her.

  April 1490

  “Bear down, Cecily!” Elizabeth pushed sweaty locks of hair from her sister’s face and stared intently into her eyes. “You can do this, sister dear. Remember, you are a Plantagenet princess.”

  Cecily seemed to take a respite from her pain as she gazed back into her sister’s face, soaking up the strength that Elizabeth offered. She said nothing, but lines of stress seemed to ease slightly on her forehead and around her eyes.

  Elizabeth allowed nothing but confidence to emanate from her. As one who had lived her entire life at the royal court, she was an expert at only displaying those emotions that were fitting at the moment. The fear that Cecily’s labor was taking too long, that she didn’t seem to be making any progress, would not be found anywhere in her countenance.

  “I will leave you for just a moment to offer up prayers of thanksgiving that the Lord will soon bless you with a hardy child,” Elizabeth said, giving Cecily’s clammy hand a reassuring squeeze before standing.

  When she turned toward the small chapel that lay just off Cecily’s lying in chamber, she exchanged a look with the midwife that bid her to attend.

  Entering the chapel moments after Elizabeth, the midwife found her at prayer just as she had said, but the prayer was one that pleaded for the lives of Cecily and her unborn child rather than the platitudes of thanks she had expressed to her sister. The midwife waited as Elizabeth stood, crossed herself, and placed a kiss upon the small gold crucifix before turning to her.