The Complete Tudors: Nine Historical Novels

by Jean Plaidy

  The most difficult part was to show indifference to the food. That was something Henry could not feel for he was invariably ravenously hungry.

  It was September about three months after Henry’s third birthday when messengers arrived at the Palace. They came to announce that in a few days the King and Queen would be visiting Eltham.

  The household was in a twitter of excitement, which was mainly apprehension. They were all very much in awe of the King, for although he rarely spoke to any of them, if he noticed anything of which he disapproved there would be a complaint and the fact that it would not be made in the hearing of the one to blame made it worse because there was no chance of answering the charge.

  The Queen was a beautiful, gentle lady, but it was the King who counted.

  Henry was at the nursery window with Arthur and Margaret when the cavalcade rode into the great courtyard. He saw the magnificently caparisoned horses and the servants of the King in their green and white livery mingling with those of the Queen’s purple and blue. It was exciting. Henry jumped up and down in his glee.

  “Be still, Henry,” admonished Margaret. “You are behaving like a stable boy.”

  Henry‘s little blue eyes narrowed. He would have liked to send his bronze horse and knight rushing straight at her. But this was not the time for retaliation so he merely scowled at her, which did not bother her in the least and she laughed at him saying, “Now you look really ugly!”

  As though he ever did! As though he ever could! How often had he heard the servants say he was the image of his grandfather Edward and he had been one of the most handsome men in England.

  Anne Oxenbrigge was running into the nursery casting an anxious eye over them all. Arthur’s tutor was there with other attendants and servants because now was the time for the children to go down and greet their parents.

  Arthur led them into the great hall.

  They knew what they had to do. They must bow to the King and Queen and wait until they were spoken to.

  The King was a disappointment to Henry. He did not look like a king. Henry would have liked to see his father in purple velvet and ermine with a golden crown on his head.

  When I am King…he thought…and then with a guilty look at Arthur…if I am King I shall always look splendid. My father might be just a squire or a lord…out for a day’s hunting. The Queen was beautiful though—like a picture, rather remote, with her plump rather expressionless face and a certain longing in her eyes, which the children did not understand.

  The King watched them to make sure they behaved in the correct manner and when the first ceremony of greeting was over they were all a little more comfortable.

  Refreshment was immediately brought for the party and Arthur served the King and then the Queen with wine and cakes. The Queen kept Margaret and Henry with her…one on either side, and Henry thought how beautiful she was and was proud of her. He kept comparing her with Anne Oxenbrigge. Anne was by no means as beautiful…but somehow he would hate them to send Anne away whereas when the Queen went he would not mind so very much after the first day or so, and then he would only mind because it meant that all the excitement of a royal visit was over.

  The Queen asked questions about what they did. Margaret tried to talk all the time but Henry was not having that. There was quite a little babble about the Queen, which was different from what was happening with the King and Arthur who seemed to find it difficult to keep their conversation going.

  Finally that ceremony was over and the King and Queen went to their apartments while the children returned to the nurseries, there to wait the next summons, which would be for dinner; as they would take this with their royal parents their mentors hoped they would remember all they had been taught about the washing of hands and the correct method of eating.

  Arthur was given precedence of course; he it was who held the basin while the King’s hands were washed; then he sat beside the King and there was more of that uneasy talk. Poor Arthur, he was wishing that the ordeal was over.

  They were all glad when the tumblers who traveled with the King and performed for his entertainment were brought in. The King’s stern face relaxed into a smile as he watched them and young Henry was so excited he leaped up and tried to imitate them, which caused a great deal of amusement and even made the King laugh aloud.

  Then there was the King’s fool called Patch who said a lot of things to make them all laugh and was really quite disrespectful to the King, which Henry could not understand until he learned afterward that this was a special privilege for fools whom nobody took seriously.

  If I were a king, he thought, I wouldn’t allow anyone to speak disrespectfully of me, fool or no.

  Ever since he had overheard that conversation he was thinking more and more of what he would do if he were king.

  He was surprised when the King told him to come and sit beside him. His father studied him very carefully.

  “You may have been wondering why the Queen and I have come to Eltham.”

  “To see me…and Arthur and Margaret.”

  “Yes, that is so. But there is a rather special reason and it concerns you, my son.”

  Henry’s eyes were bright with excitement; his little mouth turned up in a smile.

  “I am going to honor you, Henry. I am going to give you a title. You must be worthy of it.”

  “I will, my lord,” said Henry firmly.

  “I believe you will. You are going to be the Duke of York.”

  “Couldn’t I be Prince of Wales?”

  “What do you mean? Arthur is the Prince of Wales.”

  “He doesn’t like being Prince of Wales very much. I should…”

  The King’s smile was a little wintry. “You must not say such things. There is a Prince of Wales and he will remain Prince of Wales until he becomes the King. You will have to understand these matters. You will be Duke of York, which is next in rank and honor to the Prince of Wales.”

  Henry was subdued. He had betrayed his dreams. That was silly.

  Although he hoped that one day he would be the King, he knew that he must never tell anybody.

  “What must I do, my lord?” he asked.

  “You will be told and have time to learn what you have to do. It is a most important ceremony and I want you to be worthy of it.”

  Henry nodded gravely.

  “There, my son,” said his father, “that is the purpose of our visit…to honor you.”

  That was very pleasant, but for just a fleeting moment Henry wished that his parents had come to see him…rather than just to tell him of something he had to do, even though it was such an honor.

  The King dismissed him and he went back to his place beside the Queen. Margaret was watching him jealously, and he could not resist crying out: “I’m going to be Duke of York. I’m going to be honored.”

  He looked up at his mother. On impulse he buried his face in her skirts. He felt cool hands taking hold of him. It was one of the carvers. His mother was smiling but she made no attempt to touch him. Margaret was looking pleased, which meant that he had behaved in a manner which was quite incorrect. The King was pretending not to see what he had done, but the King saw everything. He would hear more of this.

  His pleasure was dampened. He knew then that he wanted his mother to ruffle his hair as Anne Oxenbrigge did, to pick him up and hold him against her breast, to tell him that for all his impudence he was only a baby.

  He was glad when the tumbling and antics of the fool ceased and he could go to the nurseries. Anne was there waiting. He ran to her and caught her by the knees.

  “Anne, Anne, I’m going to be Duke of York!”

  He was picked up, held in the strong arms. He buried his face into her large soft breasts.

  “Well, well,” she said, “you’ll have to mind your manners, won’t you?”

  She was laughing. He said: “Are you glad, Anne? Are you pleased?”

  She was silent for a while. Then she said: “No…I expect I want you to s
tay my baby….”

  Then he put his head down on her breast again and clung to her. He was comforted.

  It was a golden October day when they came to prepare him for the great event. He was dressed in velvet with a cap on his abundant reddish hair, and they put a heavy gold chain round his neck; his cheeks were even rosier than usual, for he was very excited.

  His riding master had had some qualms. He was very young to ride, but it was believed he was proficient enough to manage a small quiet horse; and the people would of course be delighted with him. The King had said that this was the time to show them that there was one Duke of York and one only and he was the son of Henry Tudor here in London and not a lying impostor skulking on the Continent.

  So young Henry came riding into London where the Mayor, the aldermen and dignitaries from the city companies were all waiting to greet him. The people had crowded into the streets and when they saw this beautiful little boy sitting so confidently on his horse and returning their greetings with such royal gravity they roared their applause.

  At Westminster the King was waiting to receive his son and when he saw him he congratulated himself on this move. Few could have done more for him than this beautiful child at this dangerous moment when the news from the Continent was growing more and more grim and it was certain that people in England were concerned in the conspiracy. A glow of affection showed in his eyes but young Henry was too concerned with his own role to notice it.

  He had been drilled constantly for the last week so that he should not fail to do what was expected of him and he was thoroughly enjoying it all. This was his day. And although Arthur might be the Prince of Wales, the most important son of the King at this time was Henry.

  His first task was to join in the ceremony of washing the King’s hands. It had been decided that he should be the one who stood by with the towel. But he must kneel when offering it and he was a little unsteady. However the King smiled at him and he believed he had performed that duty with grace. Now he could sit down and eat—being very careful how he did so—and even at such a time his appetite did not fail him.

  Afterward he was taken away to a small room where he was stripped of his clothes and placed in a warm herb-scented bath. This he knew was the ceremony of purification, which all knights had to undergo.

  He sat in the bath and listened to the injunctions which were read out by Lord Oxford, explaining to him what knighthood demanded. He must remain faithful to the Church; he must protect widows and maidens; and above all he must love the King and serve him with all his heart.

  The King put his hand in the water and making the sign of the cross on young Henry’s body, kissed the spot.

  Then the boy was taken from his bath and dressed in a robe made of coarse stuff which irritated his skin. He was then allowed to go to his apartments although the rest of the knights who had joined in the ceremony would spend the night praying in the chapel.

  He was glad to cast off the coarse garment and delighted when the following day they dressed him in silken clothes, which in comparison seemed deliciously soft. In the chapel the knights were waiting to conduct him to the Star Chamber where one of them, Sir William Sandes, lifted him and carried him to the King’s Hall where the King was waiting.

  The King then commanded two of the most noble peers in the land to put the spurs on the little boy’s feet, so the Duke of Buckingham fixed the right one and the Marquis of Dorset the left, while the King himself put on the boy’s sword. There he was equipped like a knight—though a diminutive one, but he felt very proud.

  The King kissed him and said: “Be a good knight, my son.” Then he picked him up and put him on a table and as he stood there with his newly acquired sword and spurs everyone cheered.

  He was now a Knight of the Bath.

  But it was the greater title which the King wished to bestow on him and the following day there was another ceremony.

  This was far more impressive because the King wore his robes of state and his crown and he himself wrapped young Henry in the velvet cloak of deep crimson edged with miniver and put on his coronet and sword.

  He was now the Duke of York.

  After that it was rather disappointing because although there were tournaments and entertainments to celebrate his elevation, the adults seemed to have forgotten that he was the center of it all and now that he had actually gone through his performance he was once more regarded as a little boy. It was true he was allowed to sit in the royal box and watch the knights tilt against each other, but Margaret and Arthur were there too; and when the prizes were distributed to the successful knights it was not he who awarded them but Margaret.

  How self-satisfied she was when the knights came up one by one and knelt to her. She could not resist glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Henry was watching. It was as though she said: “I know you went riding through the city and everyone cheered you, but watch me now. They are all kneeling to me.”

  It was irritating and he scowled at her, but try as she might she could not take from him the memory of all those people smiling at him and cheering him and so obviously thinking how important he was.

  He wanted that adulation to go on and he grew more and more sorry that he had not been born the eldest. He was sure the people would have preferred him to Arthur.

  How could fate have been so blind?

  It was just after Christmas when Sir Robert Clifford arrived in England and called on the King at the Palace of the Tower where he had taken up residence at that time.

  As soon as he knew that he had arrived Henry received him.

  The man bowed low.

  “So,” said the King, “you have returned.”

  “My lord, I can do no more in your service. I am of the opinion that the conspirators have become aware of my actions and I have news of one near to you who is a traitor and I believed that I had something to say to you which could not be trusted to paper.”

  “I see,” said the King. “Go on.”

  “I would remind you, Sire, of your promise to me.”

  “Yes, yes, a free pardon. It is yours.”

  “And five hundred pounds for my services.”

  “It shall be yours. Tell me of this traitor.”

  “I fear you will be inclined to disbelieve me for it concerns one very close to you…even related.”

  The King tapped his fingers impatiently, but still Sir Robert hesitated, whether to give his revelation more momentum or whether he feared the King’s wrath over what he was about to reveal, Henry was not sure.

  “Come, come, Clifford. Speak up.”

  “My lord, Sir William Stanley is in league with Perkin Warbeck.”

  “Stanley! Impossible.”

  “I feared you would feel so, my lord. But it is the truth. I have evidence. Letters in his handwriting. He is ready to offer his help to the impostor when he lands in England.”

  Henry was silent. He would not believe it. Not William Stanley…brother of his father-in-law! Heaven preserve him, how deep had this thing gone! He had scarcely had a night’s sound sleep since he had heard the name of Perkin Warbeck.

  “Allow me, Sire,” said Clifford. “I can give you irrefutable evidence and knowing that you would find it difficult to believe in this man’s perfidy I have brought you that evidence.”

  The King held out his hand.

  He stared down at the paper. Stanley’s writing. Stanley’s treason! There could be no doubt of it.

  He felt sick with disgust and anger. Had he not seen it with his own eyes he would never have believed it. Stanley! What would his mother say? What would his stepfather say? This was terrible. This was treachery of the worst kind.

  “My lord, you believe me now?”

  “I believe you, Sir Robert. You have done good work. It is a pity that you were ready to betray me in the beginning.”

  “A mistake, Sire, for which I crave the pardon which you have already granted me. I realized my mistake and I wished to rectify my errors…wh
ich I am sure with your love of truth and justice you will readily agree that I have done.”

  For five hundred pounds and a free pardon! How uneasy is he who is a king! Must it always be so? Must those whom he most trusts betray him?

  “You have done well,” he said. “You shall be paid your five hundred pounds. Leave these papers with me…You may go to my treasurer and take an order from me for your five hundred pounds, which shall be paid to you at once. Then you may go.”

  “Thank you, my lord. It has been my pleasure to serve you.”

  “Go now,” said the King coldly.

  He sat silent for a few seconds. Somewhere in this very palace Sir William Stanley would be preparing for the evening’s entertainment, little guessing that his perfidy was revealed. Henry was glad that he had come to the Tower. Stanley could be taken to his cell without undue fuss.

  He sent for the guards.

  “Arrest Sir William Stanley,” he said, “and have him conducted to a dungeon. Make sure that he is well guarded.”

  The men-at-arms were astounded. They hesitated, wondering if they had heard correctly.

  The King said, and his voice was very cold: “Those are my orders. Sir William Stanley is to be conducted without delay to a dungeon. He is under close arrest.”

  The men bowed and went out. Henry sat for a few moments staring into space, his face creased into lines of desperate unhappiness.

  The King signed to the jailer to open the door of the cell. He went in. Stanley turned sharply and let out a cry when he saw who his visitor was. He went onto his knees and tried to take the King’s hand.

  “My lord…Sire…I do not understand.”

  “Get up, Stanley,” said the King. “Alas, I understand all too well.”

  “My lord, I pray you tell me of what I am accused.”

  “Of treachery, Stanley.”

  “Treachery? I…Your faithful servant…”