by Tony Riches
Chapter Fourteen
May 1498
Henry spread out the detailed plans of the new palace for his mother’s approval. ‘One Christmas I will always remember,’ he gave her a rueful smile, ‘and the most expensive, by a long measure.’
‘I worried that the smoke had injured your health.’
‘I’ll confess to being a little short of breath, although the potion from my physician seems to be working.’
‘I imagine the cost of the fire, including the crown jewels, was incalculable.’ She continued to examine the drawings as she spoke. ‘Let us thank the Lord not one person lost their life.’
Henry agreed. ‘As you can see, I’ve resolved to rebuild. The new palace is to be our family home and main residence once more. I found inspiration from the scale of your fine manor house at Lathom.’
‘I hardly saw your stepfather for a year while he built Lathom. He had little time for anything else, and now he only leaves Lancashire outside the hunting season.’
‘My advisors think I spend too much time with the master mason Robert Virtue—but I insist on approving every detail of his plans.’ He pointed to the drawing on the table before them.
‘I plan to top these octagonal towers with gilded domes, decorated with brass weather vanes. You’ll be able to see them for miles. There are to be three floors, with twelve rooms on each. Our family apartments surround a private internal courtyard with a grand water fountain in the centre—and panelled glass windows will flood the rooms with light.’
‘It warms my heart to see how you’ve turned this disaster to good purpose, Henry.’
‘In truth, Mother, the old palace of Sheen was full of York memories, particularly for Elizabeth.’
His mother agreed. ‘I never felt at home there, for the same reason. I could feel the presence of ghosts of the past.’
Henry nodded. ‘I’ve also learnt from the fire. Solid stone walls, with the roof lined with lead—and the risk of fire reduced with brick-lined chimneys to all the fireplaces.’
He studied his mother’s face as he unrolled the final drawing. ‘The finest decoration is planned for the new chapel.’ He smiled at her nod of approval when she noted the prominent Beaufort portcullis motif. ‘It will be built with white stone, with privy closets for private prayer and a plaster ceiling decorated with red and white roses.’
She laid a hand on his arm in a rare moment of tenderness. ‘It broke my heart to see the old chapel in such a ruinous state, Henry. I would like to contribute to the cost of the new one.’
‘Of course, lady Mother. I will dedicate it to you as our family chapel, a place of peace and contemplation. I have also decided to honour our heritage. We shall rename Sheen the new Palace of Richmond.’
Henry cursed at the news. ‘It seems we manage to quell one rebellion only to see another breaking out in its place!’
He was visiting Sir Thomas Lovell, Chancellor of the Exchequer, one of the few remaining friends who fought with him at Bosworth and Stoke field. A shrewd financier as well as soldier, Lovell was trusted with the most secret details of his accounts.
They sat at the refectory table in his great hall, where painted shields, trophies from long-forgotten battles, adorned the whitewashed walls. A procession of serving-girls brought choice platters of meat and fish, game birds and exotic delicacies.
Henry washed his hands in a bowl of rose-scented water and held them in the air while one of Sir Thomas’ serving-girls dried them on a white linen towel. He watched as another servant filled two silver goblets with dark red wine.
Sir Thomas raised his goblet in the air. ‘To your good health, Your Grace, and the success of Cabot’s next expedition.’
Henry tasted the wine. Rich and sweet, he guessed it must be one Sir Thomas had saved for the occasion of his visit. ‘John Cabot and his sons cannot be blamed for turning back because of bad weather. I am sure they’ll prove as good as their word.’
Sir Thomas nodded. ‘The London merchants have paid for them to depart again from Bristol, with five ships laden with English goods to trade for gold and spices from Asia.’
‘I wish them well. The Treasury could use the income from this new trade.’
‘We would not like to propose more taxes to Parliament, Your Grace, for a while at least.’ Sir Thomas stabbed a finger in the air. ‘Your late Uncle Jasper would have known how to deal with these Welshmen.’
Henry smiled at the mention of his uncle. ‘He would have talked them out of it, had them swear fealty and saved us another costly battle.’
Lovell considered this for a moment and sipped his wine before replying. ‘The financial reparation after the Cornish revolt far exceeded the costs we incurred...’
Henry used his fingers to pull the meat from the bones of the small quails arranged on his plate. He’d become used to Thomas Lovell’s subtle way of making his point. Few others knew the truth, but the fines demanded from those behind the last insurrection provided a much-needed boost to Henry’s coffers.
‘This is different, Sir Thomas, is it not?’
‘If these Welsh rebels have taken the castle at Harlech, it seems the men of your garrison there were either incompetent or in collusion with them?’
They waited as servants carried a glazed suckling pig to the table. The pig seemed to stare at them with baleful eyes, until a servant removed the head with his knife and cut the meat into thick slices, over which he poured an orange sauce.
Henry tasted it and nodded in approval. ‘You are right. I recall my Uncle Jasper telling me Harlech withstood a seven-year siege by being provisioned from the sea. It was the longest in our history.’
Lovell held up his empty goblet for his serving-girl to refill it. ‘You could send Sir Giles, Baron Daubeney, with his army to root them out—but what if that takes another seven years?’
‘It could make the rebels a focus for every dissenter in the land—but pardons in return for fines...’
Lovell took a deep sip of his wine and narrowed his eyes. ‘It might offer them a way out of this alive and at no cost to the Treasury.’ He looked pleased with himself. ‘Keep your army at the Scottish border, Your Grace, where it might focus the attention of King James?’
‘I don’t see what we have to lose, Sir Thomas, please arrange for my message to be delivered to Harlech Castle first thing in the morning.’
Henry returned to Westminster to discover that Perkin Warbeck was missing, despite a thorough search. The terms of his close arrest had been relaxed over the past months, although he was always followed by yeomen of Henry’s guard. These stood before him now, unable to explain what happened.
‘We pay you to watch over him, a simple enough task, yet he gave you the slip?’
The oldest of the guards spoke for them. ‘We think he escaped through a window, disguised as a servant, Your Grace. When we found he wasn’t in his rooms, we searched the palace and the grounds. There’s been no sight of him.’
‘I allowed him the use of a horse. Is it still in the stables?’
‘It is, Your Grace, and we’ve accounted for all the other horses. We believe he can’t have gone far on foot.’
‘Don’t underestimate Warbeck.’ Henry scowled. ‘He is a dangerous and resourceful man and must be found, do you understand? You are to find him and bring him here to me.’
A thought occurred to him. ‘Warbeck’s wife, Lady Katheryn, is with the queen at Eltham Palace. Two of you are to ride there and be ready if he tries to contact her—if he has not already done so thanks to your incompetence!’
He dismissed the guards. They had played their part well enough. All he had to do now was wait. Even his lady wife would understand. Perkin Warbeck had broken the terms of his lenient confinement and deserved whatever he got.
He remembered his first meeting with the beautiful Lady Katheryn. He’d never been alone with her since, yet he’d allowed his adoration of her to cloud his judgement. Warbeck should be locked up in the Tower. He’d let him hav
e too much freedom because of his desire to please her.
He knew he should have negotiated her return to Scotland. It would have shown good faith. The work of Bishop Foxe, to negotiate a new treaty with King James, as well as a betrothal, would have been made a little easier.
He liked to keep her at his court. Lady Katheryn seemed content as Elizabeth’s lady-in-waiting. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow when she first heard his request, yet she’d said nothing, even when he paid for Lady Katheryn’s fine gowns from his own privy purse. His priest confessor told him to remain mindful of the words of his Lord’s Prayer; lead us not into temptation.
The elderly Prior of the Charterhouse of Sheen bowed his head. ‘I came in person, Your Grace, to tell you the man named Perkin Warbeck has taken sanctuary with us.’
Henry studied the man. He recognised him as a regular visitor to the old chapel at Sheen Palace before the fire.
‘We are grateful to you. Warbeck cannot be permitted sanctuary.’ He looked at the prior. ‘He must be taken into our custody.’
‘You cannot violate sanctuary...’
‘He is a traitor, a dangerous man, Prior.’
‘Sacred places are protected from acts of violence, no matter how those acts are justified by law, Your Grace.’ The prior’s voice wavered a little as he spoke, betraying his nervousness at challenging the king.
Henry held up a calming hand. ‘There is no need of any violence. He will be escorted to the Tower and well treated.’
The prior seemed doubtful. ‘He’ll not be executed?’
‘He was detained within my own household on condition he respected the terms of his arrest.’ Henry sat back in his chair. ‘He will now be returned to the Tower until we are satisfied he has learnt his lesson.’
The prior seemed satisfied. ‘In that case, Your Grace, I will decline his request for sanctuary.’
‘A wise choice, Prior, for which we are grateful.’
After the old prior left Henry called for the captain of his guard.
‘Take some men to the Charterhouse of Sheen and arrest Perkin Warbeck. He is to be pilloried in the public stocks in Westminster for one day, and for another at Cheapside, where he is to recite his confession to whoever will listen. Then you are to confine him in the Tower of London.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘And tell the Constable of the Tower to find a cell with no windows. We don’t want him escaping again, do we?’
Elizabeth found Henry still at work in his study. She’d made the short journey from Eltham to Greenwich Palace as a surprise for him and seemed in good spirits. He turned at the sound of rustling satin as she entered.
‘A new gown? It flatters you well, my lady.’
She gave him an elaborate curtsey, pleased with his compliment. ‘My dressmaker follows the latest fashion from the Continent. One good consequence of that dreadful fire—an excuse to replace all my old dresses.’ She leant down and kissed him. ‘I’ve missed you, Henry.’
‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I’ve been kept busy with the rebuilding, then dealing with the revolt in Wales and Warbeck...’
She placed a finger to his lips to silence him. ‘I know how hard you’ve been working, Henry. I mean I’ve missed you,’ she gave him a shy smile, ‘in my bed.’
He studied her face for a moment. ‘You are recovered?’
‘With God’s grace, as well as I’ll ever be.’ she blushed, more like a new bride than his wife of twelve years.
He took her hand. ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, ‘as I should like to have another son.’
Lying awake on his back in the darkness, unable to sleep, he felt her stir next to him. It had been well over a year since she shared his bed and he liked the feel of her warmth close to him. He caressed her curves with his hand, tracing the shape of her heavy breasts.
She turned to face him. ‘You don’t mind that I’ve put on a little weight?’ Her voice sounded cautious, as if fearful of his answer.
‘A little?’ There wasn’t enough light to see her face but he sensed her tense at his teasing. ‘I love you as you are, Elizabeth, as God is my witness.’
He’d missed the physical side of their lives together. She had lost her girlish looks over the past years yet now had a different, maternal beauty. He knew she was conscious of her double chin and thickening waistline yet it didn’t bother him in the least.
‘I am hardly the same man you married. I’m forty-one years old now, ready to be put out to pasture.’
She propped herself on a cushion and he thought her eyes sparkled with amusement in the poor light. ‘Is there something you wish to confess, Henry Tudor?’
‘Well, let me see. I confess I am now too short of breath to play tennis or exert myself at the hunt. I still suffer with my teeth, my hair is thinning and...’
‘Enough!’ She laughed. ‘Although you forgot to mention your poor eyesight?’
‘I thought that was my best kept secret?’
‘I’m glad you don’t see all my wrinkles. I know you too well for you to have secrets from me, Henry, and I love you just as you are.’
‘Thank you, Elizabeth.’ He reached out and let her long hair run through his fingers like golden silk as he had done when they first married. ‘There is something else I must confess to you, Elizabeth, something I’ve told no one.’
Her body tensed again. He thought she might be holding her breath while she waited to hear what he had to say.
‘My physician, the Italian Master Parron, is an astrologer. He professes to read the future in the stars.’
‘Lady Margaret told me you have been seeing him. She does not approve. I imagine she considers fortune-telling the work of the Devil.’
‘She might well be right. All the same, I asked him what he could see of your future.’
‘I don’t wish to know.’ There was a serious note to her voice now. ‘I think I’d rather be ignorant of God’s plan for me...’
‘He says the stars forecast that you will live a long and happy life, Elizabeth. I thought you’d be pleased to know.’
‘He tells you what you wish to hear, Henry—don’t you know in your heart it is impossible to tell the future?’
‘Master Parron publishes his predictions in an almanac so their accuracy can be verified. I must say he is convincing...’
‘We were told Perkin Warbeck was convincing, yet he couldn’t answer any of the questions when I tested him.’
Henry sat up in bed. ‘When was this?’
‘You don’t imagine I could live under the same roof as one who said he was my brother without questioning him?’
‘I worried once that you, of all people, might prove him right, Elizabeth. It would have been the worst for me, so I showed him to others he might have known. He recognised none of them.’
‘And now you have him in the stocks, reading aloud his confession to the people who ridicule him...’
He was surprised she knew. ‘It was only for a day or two, as punishment for trying to escape after I’d treated him so well.’
‘Where is he now?’ The note of challenge in her voice reminded him of her mother.
‘I expect you know he’s in the Tower—and there with good reason.’ He took a deep breath. ‘There is another thing I must confess to you, Elizabeth.’
‘What is that?’ Again she seemed to hold her breath.
‘We are no longer as wealthy as I would have people believe. In truth, our expenses exceed our income and we cannot continue to live on reserves.’ He’d not planned to tell her yet now found it comforting to share the secret that troubled him so greatly.
‘How can that be? What about the new taxes? Where has all the money gone, Henry?’
‘Not through my gambling, if that is what you are thinking. The new taxes were used to pay for the army. The fire at Sheen cost us dearly. I paid men to salvage what they could from the ashes but we lost everything there. The rebuilding expenses have far exceeded the estimates.
’
‘Who knows of this?’ She sounded shocked at his news.
‘Only the Treasurer of the Chamber, Master John Heron, and of course our Chancellor, Sir Thomas Lovell, who knows everything. His advice is to continue as if there is not a problem. I must, Elizabeth, for the sake of the country.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘My new gowns will hardly have helped—and you’ve even bought gowns for my ladies.’
Henry’s brow furrowed in the darkness as he realised she was referring to his gifts to Lady Katheryn. ‘I was anticipating payment of the dowry from King Ferdinand—or at least the first instalment. It would have tided us over...’
‘I thought Rodrigo de Puebla met with you to agree the payment?’
‘He told me King Ferdinand cannot make the payment while there remains a challenger to our throne.’
She looked him with a question in her eyes. ‘Did you encourage Warbeck’s escape, so you could lock him up in the Tower?’
‘He escaped of his own free will and must accept the consequences.’ Henry’s tone was abrupt.
‘Do you plan to have him executed?’
‘That will not be necessary. I’ve already confirmed to King Ferdinand that our throne is now secure. Our son can marry his Aragon princess at last, God willing.’
Chapter Fifteen
February 1499
Henry and Elizabeth watched with great pride as their new son was held over the gleaming silver font brought all the way by wagon from Canterbury Cathedral. Named Edmund, after Henry’s father, their fifth child howled through the blessing as cold, holy water was poured over his head.
Wrapped in a coverlet of lamb’s wool to save him from the cold, a lit taper was put into his tiny hand by the bishop. Edmund stopped his crying to stare in fascination at the bright flame of the taper, a symbol of how the king’s son would light the way.
The baptism, held like the others in the church of the Observant Friars at Greenwich, was a state occasion, with all the great and good of England in their finery, despite the recent fall of snow. As before, Henry’s mother, the new Prince Edmund’s godmother, presided over every detail of the service.
