Elizabeth Woodville had aged into a shadow of her former self since Elizabeth had last seen her. The hardships of her husband’s death and disappearance of her sons had added fine lines to her face, but she had still been beautiful. Little remained of her famous beauty as her daughters gathered around her. The shimmering blond hair that had captured the attention of a young king was thin and cropped short to avoid the difficulty of maintaining it. The skin, kept smooth through creams and constant attention, had been allowed to fall into dry haggardness. A plain dress hung loosely on her bony frame. Still, she smiled brightly as her daughters surrounded her.
“You have even brought my little Cat!” their mother exclaimed with more motherly affection than they remembered her expressing before. Their youngest sister, Catherine, in her twelve years, had experienced almost constant political upheaval and considered the gossip and questions that flew through Henry Tudor’s court to be perfectly normal.
“Do you know that they believe our brother, Richard, has landed in Ireland to reclaim his crown?” she blurted.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at this, but her mother didn’t even blink.
“Likely only fools believe that,” she said calmly. “How are you, Bess? I hear that you are expecting another child.” She firmly closed any discussion of her lost sons.
“Yes, mother,” Elizabeth took up a thin hand and noted the blue veins that coursed close to the surface. “I hope for another son of course.”
“Be careful how many sons you pray for,” her mother said harshly. “Edward III’s quiver of sons has caused heartache for generations after his passing.”
Elizabeth tried to imagine her little Arthur and Henry fighting each other for the throne or forcing abdication on each other’s children. Certainly, the great Edward had never envisioned fighting between cousins either.
“I pray that my children and their descendants will be protected from such a fate,” she whispered. She did miss Arthur now that he was master of his own household, but was consoled by the fact that her cousin Margaret would be with him as Sir Richard Pole had been named the Chamberlain of Ludlow Castle. Margaret was sure to shower Arthur with affection while maintaining the necessary discipline.
“As do I,” the former queen said nonchalantly, patting her daughter’s hand. “And Cecily, she also has added another daughter to her household.”
“Yes,” Anne said, seeing that Bess required a moment to put out of her mind the disturbing visions her mother had placed there. “I was hoping we would be the bearers of good news, but clearly you have already heard.”
The older woman laughed. “I still have my informants, but in this case Cecily wrote to me after the birth of little Anne. Named for you?”
Anne blushed. “I’m sure not,” she said. “Certainly, the babe is named for our lovely queen, Anne Neville.”
Elizabeth Woodville grunted at that but chose not to comment on the virtues or lack thereof of Richard’s frail queen.
“I had hoped to attend her once again,” Elizabeth added. “But Henry did not wish for me to travel in my condition.”
“I am sure that Viscount Welles arranged for her to be well attended. He does dote upon her,” Anne reassured Elizabeth with a wistful look in her eyes.
I must ask Henry about his plans for sweet Anne, Elizabeth thought, suddenly realizing that her quiet little sister was ready to begin her own family. She removed one of her hands from her mother’s in order to take up one of Anne’s small but capable hands. “I’m sure you are right. Cecily has done well and made her husband very happy.” Anne’s blush deepened at the attention that she was receiving, but she warmed at her sister’s praise.
After an hour of pleasant small talk, Elizabeth could see that her mother was tiring. It saddened her to see this woman who had served her husband so competently, sometimes scheming more than she should have, looking so worn. Maybe it was better to be taken in relative youth as her father had been. He would always be remembered as a strong, golden warrior.
“We must allow you to rest, mother,” Elizabeth said as she stood. Her sisters and attendants rose with her. She half expected her mother to argue and claim unending energy, but she acquiesced with a sigh.
“Your mother is an old woman,” she said with chagrin. “I have appreciated this visit more than you know.”
Were there tears in Elizabeth Woodville’s eyes? Certainly not.
“I love you, mother,” Elizabeth whispered as she leaned to embrace her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had said it. Had she ever said it and meant it as sincerely?
“And I love you, my daughter. I am so proud of the queen you have become. I am happy to see that you have learned from my mistakes.”
Elizabeth had an argument on her lips that her mother waved away.
“I am old enough to admit that I did indeed make some mistakes, though they may not be the same ones that you see,” she said with a wry grin. “You are a beautiful, kind, and thoughtful woman, Bess. How you are the product of Edward and myself I am not at all certain, but I am glad that you are.”
Speechless, Elizabeth simply embraced her mother once more and then stepped back for her sisters to do the same.
As they rode the barge back across the Thames, Elizabeth approached Anne. “Thank you for suggesting this visit, sister dear. I had put it off for too long and it was more enjoyable than I anticipated.”
Anne simply smiled and leaned into her sister’s side. They enjoyed the companionable silence for the remainder of the trip.
June 1492
Lady Margaret had recently visited the confinement rooms. Cecily did not need to ask when she entered. The closed shutters and snuffed candles told her that her sister’s mother-in-law had been present. Though Margaret had no children besides Henry, and he had been born when she was only thirteen, she considered herself an expert on childbearing. Surveying her sister’s calm face, Cecily wondered how she had the patience for such an overbearing presence in her life. Then she smiled to herself, thinking that their mother wasn’t much different, except that in this area she truly was an expert.
Cecily threw open the shutters without needing to be told. Elizabeth allowed them closed and the room darkened to please Henry’s mother, but she drew the line at leaving them that way once Margaret had made her departure. Taking a deep breath of warm, grass-scented air, she turned a smiling face toward Elizabeth, who returned the grin in full.
“Thank you, Cecily. I know she means well, but it was starting to feel a bit stifling in here.”
Cecily allowed a small laugh. Margaret’s very presence was stifling, but she would attempt to be as kind and graceful as her sister in this case. If Elizabeth could bear it in her condition, then Cecily could too.
“How are you feeling?” Cecily asked as she sat at the edge of her sister’s bed. It was far too large for one small woman with a giant mattress stuffed with expensive feathers. At least Margaret made sure that Elizabeth was accommodated in royal fashion.
“I have nothing to complain about,” Elizabeth said with a content sigh and a hand placed upon her rounded belly.
“And even if you did, you would not.”
Cecily fluffed Elizabeth’s cushions and fetched her a cup of wine. Then she noticed their younger sister, Anne standing near the door looking as though the doctors had bled her, so white was her face. Glancing toward Elizabeth to ensure that she had not noticed, Cecily rushed to Anne and pulled her into the hallway. A guard sat half dozing just outside the door, another requirement of Margaret’s that seemed completely unnecessary to Cecily. She was once again thankful that it was her sister, and not her, who was queen. They moved down the hall to a small alcove that offered some privacy.
“What is it, Anne?” Cecily asked impatiently. “You should not enter Bess’s room looking as though you have seen a ghost.”
Anne blushed and struggled to speak, stopping then starting to mumble so that Cecily did not catch a word she said.
Cecily sigh
ed and took Anne’s hands in her own. “Anne, my dear sister, I am not angry with you. I only wish to help Bess have as easy of a time as possible. What has upset you?”
Tears streamed down Anne’s face and she looked to the floor rather than her sister’s face. Cecily cursed her impatience and wiped Anne’s face.
“Hush, Annie. Surely things are not as bad as all that. Tell me.”
Cecily’s arms went around her younger sister who sniffled and wiped at her eyes.
“It is mother,” Anne sobbed. “She is gone.”
Gone? Dead? The news was not completely unexpected. Elizabeth Woodville had been in declining health for months, but still it was difficult for Cecily to believe it. She remembered her mother as such a strong presence, full of life and vitality, and now she was no more.
Anne continued to sob freely in her sister’s arms. She was a young woman who was close to few but held those few very close to the heart.
“There now,” Cecily crooned, wondering how her own eyes remained dry. “Mother was looking forward to the glory of heaven that she now enjoys. Imagine the greeting she will give our father.”
Anne released a choked laugh at that. Young as she was, she remembered the fiery passion that had flamed between their parents.
“I am sorry that I could not control myself better within Bess’s room. Do you think she noticed?”
“I do not, but we must decide how to tell her.”
“Oh, Cecily! Surely not until after the birth.”
Cecily shook her head. “She would be unhappy with us if we were to keep it from her or if she were to learn of it through gossip. Do not worry yourself. I will tell her when I think it best.”
“Thank you, Cecily. I do not think that I could do it.”
“You have a tender heart, and that is nothing to be ashamed of,” Cecily assured her and then held her until her tears had run dry.
Later that evening, Elizabeth and Cecily had sat down to a supper carefully created to include the queen’s favorite dishes.
“Bess, I have something I must tell you.”
“Finally,” Bess said with a sigh. “I have felt the tension in the air since this morning and was hoping you had cleared the room of all others in order to share with me what everyone else already clearly knows.”
“We have underestimated your ability to read us, I see,” Cecily said with a half-hearted grin. “I’m afraid the news may upset you, but I would have you hear it nonetheless.”
Elizabeth placed her cup on the table and let her hands rest in her lap. “And I would hear it.”
Cecily rose from her seat and knelt in the fragrant rushes by her sister’s chair. “It is our mother.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and drew in a long breath before nodding. “She has died.”
“Yes,” Cecily whispered. “I am sorry that it has happened this way and at this time.” She reached for the small white hands lying in Bess’s lap.
“She did not call for us.”
“No. She would not have wanted us to remember her that way, and, of course, she knew that you were unable. She would not have wanted you to feel guilt in not being able to attend her. More likely she was saddened by the fact that she could not attend you.”
Elizabeth smiled. “She was a mountain of strength when I labored to bring Arthur and Margaret into this world. I pray that she is now at peace with herself and with God.”
Cecily stood and put an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Then you can bear it?”
“I can. Our mother has been joyously welcomed into our Savior’s arms, not to mention our father’s. What could make her happier?”
“Oh, Bess, how I do sometimes envy your faith. I believe you are right. Our mother’s earthly time lasted longer than her pleasure in it. Thank you for reminding me of that. I will be happy for her and try not to mourn.”
“There is nothing wrong with mourning, dear Cecily. I will miss our mother and will be forever grateful that Anne convinced me to make that last visit, but I am also thankful that she has received her heavenly reward.”
Cecily gave Elizabeth one last squeeze before returning to her seat, wondering if either of them would be able to eat now. She had forgotten that the hunger of a pregnant woman is lessened by few things of this world. Elizabeth had taken up her spoon before her sister had retaken her seat.
“I will name this babe for our parents,” Elizabeth said after a few silent moments. “Edward if it is a son and Elizabeth if it is a girl.”
“That is a wonderful idea,” Cecily agreed. “But did you not grow weary of the confusion of two Elizabeths in the house as a child?”
Elizabeth grinned. “It has its advantages and disadvantages. My daughter will be called Eliza.”
She said it with such certainty that Cecily was not surprised when her sister gave birth to a perfect little girl less than a month later.
July 1492
“She is beautiful, just like her mother,” Henry said while holding tiny, copper-haired Eliza.
“You are not disappointed in another daughter?” Elizabeth asked. Henry had not shown dismay, but she knew how important sons were to a king. She remembered her father’s joy upon meeting little Edward for the first time. No, she would not allow herself to think about that.
“Disappointed? Of course not! You have provided me with two healthy sons. More would only cause rivalries. Remember Edward III.”
“How could I forget?” Elizabeth’s entire life had centered on the debate concerning which of Edward III’s descendants had the best claim to the throne of England. Maybe two sons were sufficient.
She had invited Henry to join her in the gardens, so happy was she to be released from her luxurious but confining birthing chamber. With a wave of her hand, attendants rushed in to scoop up baby Eliza and carry her inside. Those who remained put a respectful distance between themselves and the royal couple.
“I have heard that my grandmother Neville refused to attend my mother’s funeral.”
Henry took a deep breath and sighed, confirming Elizabeth’s belief that he was hoping that she would not hear this particular bit of rumor.
“It is true. I wish that I could tell you that she was ill or feeling her age, but she would certainly tell you the truth were you to speak to her. Cecily Neville never forgave your mother for ensnaring your father.”
“I know,” Elizabeth agreed. “I just wish that she could have at least forgiven her in death. My grandmother is a pious woman. I am surprised that she has overlooked the virtue of forgiving others their trespasses.”
“Forgiving and mourning are two different things, Bess. I’m sure that the duchess of York forgave your mother and even loves the children she bore her son, but to publicly mourn her is much to ask.”
“You’re right, of course. Maybe I expect much of an old woman very much set in her ways. I thank you for allowing a quiet funeral as my mother requested. She would not want people to think about her as she was in her last years but to remember her at my father’s side.”
Henry said nothing but took his wife’s hand. All else was left unspoken as they watched the sunset splash across the canopy of the sky. A few tears streaked down Elizabeth’s face as she considered the fact that her mother would never enjoy this sight again, but then she smiled when she marveled at just how glorious it must appear from heaven.
October 1492
The scene in the bailey was no less familiar than it was unwelcome. Men examining their horses a final time while squires scurried to ensure that everything was packed for their masters correctly. Though their armor was not necessary at this point, many wore it, for it made a memorable spectacle for an army to march out fully armed even if it were only to march onto waiting boats. When they stepped foot onto French soil, the helms and hauberks would serve for more than ceremony.
Elizabeth surveyed the scene from her chamber window. Fall leaves scattered in the wind and the trees beyond the castle walls were a masterpiece of reds and golds. Sh
e wondered how many of these men were looking upon the autumn splendor for the last time. Would Henry be one of them? She could not ponder that type of thought, with Arthur only six years old. As much as she cherished her husband, it was England that would suffer most if left once again in the hands of a child king.
She allowed herself to follow this path in her mind for only a moment. If Henry were to fall in France, would the English accept her rule as regent more affably than they had her mother’s? Would Arthur’s kingship succeed where her brother’s had failed? Elizabeth wondered who would race to her side in support and who would act in rebellion against her. Her cousin Edmund de la Pole, possibly. They were fond of each other, but it was said that her ancestress Matilda had been fond of Stephen, too, and it did not keep him from stealing her crown.
Shaking negative and unnecessary thoughts from her head, Elizabeth spotted Henry among his household knights and milling crowd below her window. Pride filled her heart as she gazed down at this man she had learned to love unashamedly. How interesting are the ways of the Lord, she reflected. Her memories of ranting at her mother in hatred for the exile she had never met were replaced with feelings stronger than any she had for any other person. Only God could have brought that about, of that she was certain. Henry would never look the ideal soldier as her father had, but he looked lean and strong in his finely tailored livery today.
They had agreed to say a private farewell before Elizabeth appeared for the formal send-off. When Henry disappeared from her window view, she knew that he was coming to her for that purpose. Feelings raged inside her, fighting for prominence. Worry slithered through her veins making her want to hold onto Henry and beg him not to go. Love of her husband tended to agree with worry, but love of her country wished him health and good hunting. Pride in the king Henry had become and knowledge that he needed to see that to encourage him today was what she allowed to the forefront. By the time she had arranged her skirts and her face, he had arrived.
Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York Page 20
