Henry - Book Three of the Tudor Trilogy

by Tony Riches

  After Foxe had gone Henry reflected on the men such as him who’d shown such loyalty over the years. It saddened him to know people said he’d appointed bishops such as Foxe and Fisher out of patronage.

  Henry woke from a troubled sleep to see his precious Elizabeth seated at his bedside. For a moment he thought he might still be dreaming. She looked as young and beautiful as ever, golden hair showing under a white coif with a border of dazzling pearls.

  ‘How are you, Father?’ She reached out and placed her cool hand on his feverish forehead. ‘Can you speak?’

  Betrothal had changed Mary. Like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, she had bloomed from a girl into a woman. She dressed like a queen and wore the diamond and pearl brooch, her wedding gift from Charles.

  She studied his face with the look of one who knows a poorly kept secret. Henry couldn’t fail to notice the way they all looked at him now. He’d grown skeletal from lack of nourishment. His grey hair was lank and his chin rough with stubble but he knew the look of pity.

  ‘Mary...’ The words formed in his mind yet none came from his mouth. Before the quinsy he’d always taken being able to speak for granted. Now it had become elusive, something to be worked at.

  ‘Don’t try to talk, Father.’ She brightened as she produced a folded parchment. ‘I have had a reply to my letter to Prince Charles.’

  Henry tried again. ‘Charles will have many enemies when he... becomes Emperor of Rome.’ His voice sounded hoarse. ‘As his empress... you can help him make peace with France.’

  ‘I should like to see the world beyond these shores.’ Mary’s face lit up at the thought. ‘It will be a great adventure, Father.’

  Henry struggled to suppress a cough. The burning pain of coughing was the worst of the quinsy. He pointed to his cup of warmed mead. Mary understood and held it to his lips. He focused his mind on swallowing a little of the sweet liquid.

  She placed the cup back on his side table. ‘Would you like me to read his letter to you?’

  Henry nodded his head. She would make Charles a fine wife, a credit to the Tudors. He remembered the first time he held her in his arms. Mary entered the world without fuss after the sad death of their daughter Elizabeth. Now he could picture her as queen of an empire, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. Her mother would have been so proud.

  Mary began to read in French. Henry thought the words sounded far too mannered and formal for a nine-year-old. He suspected the letter had been composed by his advisors but Mary seemed pleased with it. When she’d finished reading she folded the letter as if it was of great value to her.

  ‘I would like to ask you a favour—or for you to at least consider it, Father.’ Her face was serious and he glimpsed what she might look like when she was older.

  ‘Whatever you wish, Mary. How could I refuse you?’

  ‘It is not for myself, Father. I ask on behalf of Princess Catherine. She has been gracious company for me, teaching me Spanish in return for lessons in English.’

  Henry nodded. ‘Your brother told me. What is it you ask?’

  Mary took a deep breath. ‘She is in despair about her future. I would like to ask that you permit her marriage to Harry.’

  Henry lay back on his soft pillows and closed his eyes. ‘I confess I’ve not... treated her as my own daughter, as I promised.’ His voice was a whisper, as if he spoke to himself.

  He didn’t hear her reply and opened his eyes as Mary left, pulling the door closed behind her. He should have agreed with good grace, yet his old enmity against Ferdinand lingered. He would see her again when his throat recovered a little. In the meantime, he would give the matter thought. He was in no condition to meet with Princess Catherine, although his conscience told him he should.

  Lady Katheryn’s eyes were full of sadness, despite her forced smile of greeting. She had not been to visit him for over a week and he suspected he knew the reason. She dressed as if already in mourning, and took his frail hand in hers, as Elizabeth had once done, a sign of her affection.

  Henry managed a smile. ‘I hoped you would come to see me soon.’ He sounded hoarse yet was determined to speak.

  ‘I... wanted to remember you as you were—then I realised it would be selfish.’ She stared into his eyes, as if trying to read his thoughts.

  ‘If you hadn’t come, I would have summoned you, Katheryn...’ Henry closed his eyes as he dealt with the pain then continued. ‘There is something I want to tell you.’

  ‘I already know.’ Her soft voice was a whisper. ‘I know you too well, Henry, so of course I am aware of your feelings towards me.’

  ‘I could never tell you, no matter how I wanted to.’

  ‘I was the wife of your enemy...’

  Henry nodded as he remembered. ‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you...’ He noticed her smile at his translation of the Vulgate. ‘I’ve had more than my share of enemies yet few were as easy to love.’

  She gripped his thin fingers in her hand. ‘I never was your enemy.’

  He realised she was on the brink of tears. ‘I’ve often wondered why you show me such affection, risking your reputation, after your husband...’ His words tailed off. He could not remind her he’d had her husband executed.

  ‘Queen Elizabeth showed me great kindness.’ Her voice sounded wistful at the memory. ‘On her deathbed she asked me to promise to watch over you.’

  Henry wished he hadn’t asked but remembered the many times she’d shown him true affection. He doubted it had been much hardship to keep her promise to Elizabeth. He decided to use the little voice he had left for something of greater importance and gave her hand a squeeze.

  ‘I wish you to marry again, Katheryn.’

  ‘Who would you have me marry?’ Her eyebrows raised in surprise at his suggestion.

  ‘The most eligible nobles of my court would fight each other for your hand.’ He managed a smile. ‘You are a beautiful woman. I’ve seen the way they look at you.’

  ‘I have been married once—and am in no hurry to do so again.’

  ‘You are still young. You are as clever as any of my advisors. All I ask is that you live your life to the fullest.’

  ‘I will think on it, Henry,’ she returned the squeeze of his hand, ‘while I pray for your recovery.’

  Harry had not visited until summoned and arrived late. The chair scraped on the tiled floor as he sat. Henry stared at his son, as if seeing him for the first time. His fashionable clothes emphasised his athletic build and the gold clasp with large ruby adorning his cap looked familiar.

  Henry raised a hand and pointed to the precious jewel. ‘I remember... that belonged to your mother.’

  ‘I wear it as a keepsake.’ His tone softened for a moment. ‘I miss her, Father.’

  Henry nodded. ‘As do I, Harry.’

  ‘You sent for me, Father?’ He glanced back towards the door, as if he would rather not be there.

  ‘We have... important matters to discuss, Harry.’ He studied his son’s serious face. ‘You are to succeed me, yet I’ve failed to prepare you well enough.’

  Harry remained silent for a moment. ‘I have spoken with my grandmother. She recommends Bishop Fisher to help me select advisors.’

  ‘Good. Listen to John Fisher, Harry, he offers good counsel.’ Henry took a deep breath. ‘There is another matter... regarding Princess Catherine. I wish you to set aside the dowry and marry her.’ He paused to recover his breath. ‘I have wronged her and wish to make amends.’

  Harry nodded. ‘I will do so gladly, Father. May I inform her now?’ His youthful energy and enthusiasm shone in his eyes.

  ‘You may, Harry,’ he felt his voice failing, ‘and inform the princess that I... regret—no, tell her I’m sorry she has been made to wait so long.’

  He knew Harry wished to go. ‘Take care of your sisters...’

  Harry stood. ‘I shall write to Margaret in Scotland and invite her to visit you.’

  Henry winced with pain. He
would never see his daughter Margaret again, even if she made the long journey from Edinburgh. He pictured her anguished face the last time he’d seen her and wondered if he’d been right to marry her to King James. He stared at his son, straining at the leash like one of Elizabeth’s greyhounds.

  ‘Look after Mary... she seems older than her years but needs you to watch over her.’ He gasped for breath now.

  Harry was gone without a farewell. He felt a pang of sadness that his son seemed to care so little for him. If he had his time over again it would be different, as would many things.

  They surrounded his bed on three sides, hands clasped together as Bishop Fisher said a prayer. The hour was late and stumps of candles flickered, casting long shadows on the tapestried walls. The last embers of a fire glowed bright amber in the hearth, offering little warmth, yet no one bothered to throw fresh logs on the fire.

  ‘By the sacred mysteries of man’s redemption may almighty God remit to you all penalties of the present life and of the life to come. May he open to you the gates of paradise and lead you to joys everlasting.’ Bishop Fisher anointed his head with oil. ‘May almighty God bless you, Father and Son, and Holy Spirit... Amen.’

  Henry heard John Fisher’s words and knew what they meant. Blessed relief from the pains that troubled him. He would never again have to worry about usurpers, no longer make decisions of life and death.

  He couldn’t speak and found it difficult to breathe, so closed his eyes and surrendered to his destiny. He’d ensured the succession of the Tudor line and overseen the longest peace anyone could remember. His children would marry well and he’d made his mother proud. Now he reached out towards the light, for Elizabeth and Arthur, waiting for him.

  Author’s Note

  Henry Tudor died on 21 April 1509. There has been speculation about the probable cause, including tuberculosis, gout and asthma. Having spent over three years researching every detail of his life, I decided a fitting end to end the final book of the trilogy would be to visit his tomb in Westminster and pay my respects to Henry, his wife Elizabeth and his mother, Lady Margaret Beaufort.

  There is something surreal about making your way through Westminster Abbey to the Lady Chapel at the far end. There are many distractions, as you pass the tombs of earlier kings and queens, and see Henry’s granddaughter Elizabeth I in a side chapel.

  Henry’s towering tomb dominates the centre of the Chapel. Surrounded by a blackened bronze grille, his effigy is raised too high to see. I climbed a step and peered through the holes in the grille and finally saw Henry. His effigy lies at the side of his wife, Elizabeth of York. Their faces have been burnished by the touch of countless hands over the centuries and their hands are clasped in prayer.

  Designed by Italian sculptor Pietro Torrigiano the black marble base has gilded medallions representing the Virgin Mary and Henry's patron saints. At either end of his tomb cherubs support coats of arms and at each corner are Henry’s badges of the Welsh dragon and the greyhound of Richmond.

  The inscriptions on the tomb are translated as:

  Here lies Henry the Seventh of that name, formerly King of England, son of Edmund, Earl of Richmond. He was created King on August 22 and immediately afterwards, on October 30, he was crowned at Westminster in the year of Our Lord 1485. He died subsequently on April 21 in the 53rd year of his age. He reigned 23 years eight months, less one day.

  At Henry’s funeral Bishop John Fisher said:

  'His politic wisdom in government was singular; his reason pithy and substantial, his memory fresh and holding, his experience notable, his counsels fortunate and taken with wise deliberation, his speech gracious in diverse languages. His dealings in time of peril and dangers was cold and sober with great hardiness. If any treason was conspired against him it came out most wonderfully.'

  Tony Riches

  Pembrokeshire, Wales

  www.tonyriches.com

  Also by Tony Riches

  Owen - Book One of the Tudor Trilogy

  England 1422: Owen Tudor, a Welsh servant, waits in Windsor Castle to meet his new mistress, the beautiful and lonely Queen Catherine of Valois, widow of the warrior king, Henry V. Her infant son is crowned King of England and France, and while the country simmers on the brink of civil war, Owen becomes her protector.

  They fall in love, risking Owen’s life and Queen Catherine’s reputation, but how do they found the dynasty which changes British history – the Tudors?

  This is the first historical novel to fully explore the amazing life of Owen Tudor, grandfather of King Henry VII and the great-grandfather of King Henry VIII. Set against a background of the conflict between the Houses of Lancaster and York, which develops into what have become known as the Wars of the Roses, Owen’s story deserves to be told.

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  JASPER - Book Two of the Tudor Trilogy

  England 1461: The young King Edward of York takes the country by force from King Henry VI of Lancaster. Sir Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, flees the massacre of his Welsh army at the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross and plans a rebellion to return his half-brother King Henry to the throne.

  When King Henry is imprisoned by Edward in the Tower of London and murdered, Jasper escapes to Brittany with his young nephew, Henry Tudor. After the sudden death of King Edward and the mysterious disappearance of his sons, a new king, Edward’s brother Richard III takes the English Throne. With nothing but his wits and charm, Jasper sees his chance to make young Henry Tudor king with a daring and reckless invasion of England.

  Set in the often brutal world of fifteenth century England, Wales, Scotland, France, Burgundy and Brittany, this fast-paced story is one of courage and adventure, love and belief in the destiny of the Tudors.

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  The Secret Diary of Eleanor Cobham

  England 1441: Lady Eleanor Cobham, Duchess of Gloucester, hopes to become Queen of England before her interest in astrology and her husband’s ambition leads their enemies to accuse her of a plot against the king. Eleanor is found guilty of sorcery and witchcraft. Rather than have her executed, King Henry VI orders Eleanor to be imprisoned for life.

  More than a century after her death, carpenters restoring one of the towers of Beaumaris Castle discover a sealed box hidden under the wooden boards. Thinking they have found treasure, they break the ancient box open, disappointed to find it only contains a book, with hand-sewn pages of yellowed parchment.

  Written in a code no one could understand, the mysterious book changed hands many times for more than five centuries, between antiquarian book collectors, until it came to me. After years of frustrating failure to break the code, I discover it is based on a long forgotten medieval dialect and am at last able to decipher the secret diary of Eleanor Cobham.

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  WARWICK

  The Man behind the Wars of the Roses

  Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, the ‘Kingmaker’, is the wealthiest noble in England. He becomes a warrior knight, bravely protecting the north against invasion by the Scots. A key figure in what have become known as ‘the Wars of the Roses,’ he fought in most of the important battles. As Captain of Calais, he turns privateer, daring to take on the might of the Spanish fleet and becoming Admiral of England. The friend of kings, he is the sworn enemy of Queen Margaret of Anjou. Then, in an amazing change of heart, why does he risk everything to fight for her cause?

  Writers from William Shakespeare to best-selling modern authors have tried to show what sort of man Richard Neville must have been, with quite different results. Sometimes Warwick is portrayed as the skilled political manipulator behind the throne, shaping events for his own advantage. Others describe him as the ‘last of the barons’, ruling his fiefdom like an uncrowned king. Whatever the truth, his story is one of adventure, power and influence at the heart of one of the most dangerous times in the history of England.

  Available as
paperback and eBook

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Author’s Note

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