by Jean Plaidy
The Queen sat beside the King and she looked as though her thoughts were far away, and although she was smiling, the smile was forced.
Oh, how different it will be when I am King, thought young Henry.
Margaret, with a dignity new to her, distributed the prizes to the champions of the joust. There were silver bowls and golden cups; and the victors bowed low and kissed her hand when she presented them. She looked very lovely with her young face glowing, and clearly enjoyed being a Queen.
As soon as the prize-giving was over, the pageant began; and because such scenes were rare at the Court of Henry VII they seemed especially delightful. Never it seemed had morris dancers danced with such zest; the ballet was an enchantment, particularly as the six ladies and six gentlemen who took part were all masked and there was the fun of guessing their identities.
And when it was over, the time had come for the King to present gifts to the Scotsmen, and there was an awed silence as the magnificence of these was revealed. For the Archbishop of Glasgow there was a cup of gold and six silver pots, twenty-four silver bowls and a basin and ewer of the same precious metal together with a receptacle for holding hot ashes for the purpose of keeping the feet warm.
It was clear how it hurt the King to part with such treasures, but he did so with an air of resignation as though to say: This much would I do for the good of England. More cups of gold were presented together with crimson velvet bags full of golden coins; and many of the King’s courtiers marveled that the King could part with what he loved best in the world.
The Queen looked on through a haze of pain. It can’t be long now, she was thinking. I never suffered like this before. What is going to become of me?
For a few seconds the great hall faded from her sight; she moved forward in her chair; but everyone present was too intent on the magnificent gifts which the King was bestowing to notice the Queen. And when these were all presented she was sitting upright once more, very pale and exhausted—but she had looked ill for some time and her looks surprised none who happened to glance her way.
It was late January when the Queen’s barge was rowed along the river to the Tower of London. She was determined to have her lying-in at the palace there, and eagerly she awaited the birth of her child.
Her sister Katharine was with her; this was the one person who could give her most comfort.
“Stay with me, Kate,” she said. “You remember the days when we were young. They are not really so very long ago, are they, and yet how distant they seem! I shall shortly be thirty-seven—not a great age, and yet when I think of the days when our father fought for his throne, and of how our little brothers disappeared in the Tower and Uncle Richard took the throne, it seems as though I have lived a hundred years.”
“You should not brood on the past, dear sister,” Katharine told her. “Think of the future. When your little son is born he will bring you great delight. You are fortunate in your children.”
“I often wonder what their lives will be like. My little Margaret…how will she fare in Scotland, with a husband who is twice her age and already an experienced lover by all accounts?”
“His age, although twice that of Margaret, is not great…she being so young.”
“That’s why I tremble for her. She is so young and headstrong.”
“I do not think you need fear for your children, Elizabeth. They are all strong-willed and well able to care for themselves. Margaret…Henry…and even little Mary. They remind me so much of our father.”
“I am glad of that.”
“And the new child…I wonder if he will resemble them.”
Elizabeth caught her breath in sudden pain. “I think we shall soon be able to judge,” she said. “Kate, my time has come.”
It was Candlemas and the Queen lay in her state apartments in the Palace of the Tower of London. The King was at her bedside; he was disappointed. He had been certain that this time they would get a boy. But at least the child was alive, and that was a good augury for the future.
“A girl,” he mused, “and we have two girls already. Pray God the next will be a boy.”
And I still abed with this one! thought the Queen. But she did not protest; she had never protested against the King’s desires. He had been a faithful husband and, if he had rarely shown her the warmth of affection, he had never shown her the coldness of cruelty.
“I should like to call her Katharine after my sister,” she said.
“Katharine let it be,” murmured the King. “It is as good a name as any.”
She looked up into his shrewd face. What did a name matter? Elizabeth, Jane, or Katharine—whatever she was called the little girl would have to play her part in the destiny of England when she was called.
Margaret had ceased to be the center of attraction. The jousts were over; there were no more banquets. A gloom hung over the royal palace.
From a window of her apartments at Richmond she had watched the barges sailing along the river; many sailed down to the Palace of the Tower.
Henry came and stood at her side; even he was subdued. “Is she very ill, do you think?” he asked his sister.
Margaret nodded.
“Skelton told me that Dr. Hallyswurth is now at her bedside.”
Margaret was suddenly afraid. Her mother was grievously ill and her illness was due to the birth of their little sister; and the bearing of children was the direct result of marriage.
First came the jousting, the banquets, the feasts and the dancing; and then the nuptial rites; and if one were fruitful—and one must pray that one might be—this terrible ordeal, which often resulted in death, was the next step. Not once only must it be faced…but again and again.
Her mother was very ill—many believed she was dying—and it was because she too had had a wedding, as Margaret had, and because it was her duty to give her husband children.
It was a sad thought when one was twelve years old and just married.
She felt envious of her brash young brother, who would one day be King in his own right—not because of a marriage he had happened to contract—and who would not have to suffer as their mother had.
“I wish I were a man,” she said vehemently; and she watched the slow satisfied smile spread across her brother’s face.
A barge stopping by the stairs caught her attention and she said: “Look! Someone is alighting. He may bring news from the Tower.”
They ran from the room and down to meet the messenger, but when Margaret saw the expression on his face she felt sick and wished that she had stayed in her apartments, because before he spoke she knew.
“My mother is dead,” she said in a whisper.
The messenger did not answer, but bowing, stood humbly before her; and in that moment Margaret was too filled with sorrow for the loss of her kindly mother to harbor fears for her own future.
So the Queen was dead and it seemed that the little Katharine would not long survive her. The King had shut himself away to be alone with his sorrow, but those who knew him believed he would already be making plans for a new marriage. It was not that he did not appreciate his Queen who had been a good and docile wife to him; he would never forget that through their marriage the White Rose of York and the Red Rose of Lancaster had mingled harmoniously. It had been a good marriage, but it was over, while the need to provide England with sons was still present. Young Henry was a fine healthy boy—but now that Arthur was gone he was the only boy; and death could strike quickly and suddenly as he knew well.
There was mourning throughout the Court where there had been gay wedding celebrations; and on the day when Elizabeth of York was laid in her grave the scene was in sad and bitter contrast to that of a few weeks before.
Through the city, from the Tower to Westminster, rode the melancholy cortege, and the newly wed Queen of Scotland knew that many of her father’s courtiers watched her furtively and asked themselves whether this was not an ill augury for her wedding. On the other hand, was that a certain relish—equ
ally furtive—which she detected in the eyes of the Scottish lords? Were they telling each other that only young Henry stood between Margaret and the crown of England now? And since Elizabeth of York could no longer give the King of England sons, that was a matter of some moment for those who had the good of Scotland at heart.
Was there a little extra deference in their demeanor toward her?
If so, Margaret did not notice. During those sad days she forgot that she was a newly created Queen; she was merely a twelve-year-old girl sorrowing for a mother who had never shown her anything but kindness.
One could not mourn forever. That long winter was passing and with the coming of May the King sent for his eldest daughter.
“Your husband grows impatient for his bride,” he told her. “It is time you joined him.”
“Yes, Sire,” answered Margaret.
“Preparations shall begin,” the King told her. “Make yourself ready. In June we will leave Richmond together, for I plan to accompany you on the first stages of your journey.”
Fear showed itself briefly in Margaret’s eyes. Now that the time of departure was coming near she did not want to go. It was pleasant being a queen in her father’s Court where she had spent her childhood, teasing Henry, flaunting her new importance before little Mary; but to go away to a foreign land was a different matter.
The King did not notice her fear. His mind was on other matters. He wanted a new wife, more children for whom advantageous marriages should be arranged. When he looked at his daughter he did not see a tender young girl so much as a means of keeping the peace with the tiresome warlike people who had made trouble at the Border for as long as any could remember.
The marriage pleased him; therefore Margaret pleased him.
“You may go now,” he told her gently. “Remember what I have told you.”
She curtsied and left him; then she hurried to her bedchamber.
She told her attendants that she had a headache and wished to rest, and when she was alone she began to weep silently.
“I want my mother,” she murmured into her pillows, for now, when she would never see the Queen again, she realized that from her alone could she have received the comfort and understanding of which she was in such need.
So Margaret, remembering that she was a bereaved little girl, forgot that she was also Queen of Scotland; and for a long time she lay sobbing because she had lost her mother.
To the Court, however, she showed a brave face, and on the sixteenth day of June, riding beside her father, acknowledging the cheers of the people who had come to watch her pass, she left Richmond Palace on the first stage of her journey to Scotland.
James IV of Scotland was not awaiting his bride with any great excitement. His counselors had advised him that the marriage was for the good of Scotland and he must needs agree to it.
And so, he thought, I must take this child to wife.
Not so long ago he would have refused to do so, no matter that she was the daughter of the King of England and peace between the two countries was desirable. He had been in love and had made up his mind whom he would marry; and so deep had been his feelings that he would have insisted on having his will.
But passions ran high in Scotland and lives were cheap.
I should have taken greater care of her, he told himself again as he had a hundred times before. Then he would have been the husband of another Margaret.
But the deed had been done and there was no going back. He had now to think of greeting this child whom they were sending him from over the Border, for it was no fault of hers.
They were saying that England and Scotland were united at last; and the Rose and the Thistle could now grow happily side by side. But could that ever be achieved? Was even the union of Tudor and Stuart capable of working such a miracle?
James stroked his auburn curling beard, and his hazel eyes were momentarily melancholy.
He had lost the Margaret he loved, and now must endeavor to make a success of union with her namesake.
And even as he prepared himself for the journey which would end in his meeting with his bride, he was thinking of his first meeting with that other Margaret at Stobhall, her father’s mansion on the banks of the Tay.
The banks of the Tay! The wild water cascading over the rocks; the sound of birdsong, and the trees in bud! And beside him, Margaret. Never had he believed such happiness existed in the world.
To be fifteen again…and in love for the first time. For the first and last time, he had told her; for she was the only one he would ever love.
She had listened earnestly, believing him. Then he had been a handsome youth. Not dark like his father; not yellow-haired like his Danish mother. It was said that he had inherited the good points of each, and the result was auburn hair which shone as gold in the sunshine; and hazel eyes that could be serious but more often merry; the sensitive mouth of a poet, sensual as a lover’s; and a hint of recklessness in the expression which hinted he would be brave in battle.
Margaret was tall and golden-haired and all the world seemed as beautiful as the banks of the Tay to the lovers.
In the beginning they strolled among the trees while he talked to her of his childhood which had been a strange one. He tried to explain to her how he and his brothers had lived almost like prisoners in the Castle of Stirling.
“Whenever I see Stirling I shall remember. What a prison! There it stands on that precipitous hill, and my brothers and I used to look down from our windows on to the Forth. We were always expecting our father to come. We talked continually of him. I remember so well that whenever a stranger came to the castle and he was tall and handsome we would run to him and ask him if he were our father. ‘Please, please, sir,’ I used to say, ‘tell me you are my father.’ And always I was assured that he was not.”
“Poor James. How strange it must have been.”
“My mother tried to console us. We were fortunate in her.”
“The King has behaved badly not only to you, James, but to the whole of Scotland.”
Had anyone else made such a statement he would have been shocked, for he and his brothers had always been taught that kings should not be judged by their subjects; but since she was Margaret who could do no wrong, he listened.
“I have heard it said that it is no easy matter to be a king,” he replied with a hint of melancholy.
“You will be the best King Scotland has ever known.”
She gave him such adoring looks that he believed her.
“Queen Margaret,” he said, and kissed her hand.
He saw her eyes shine with the excitement he shared; at fifteen it had been pleasant to play their game of make-believe.
“It may be soon that you are crowned King of Scotland, James.”
“Nay, my father has many years before him.”
“But the nobles have risen against him.” She was well aware of that because her father was one of the rebel leaders, and it was for this reason that they had brought the heir to the throne from Stirling to Stobhall.
“It is not good that there should be civil war in Scotland.”
“It will not be for long.” She was repeating what she had so often heard. “And the King spends too much of the nation’s wealth on his favorites, and has mixed brass and lead in silver money and passed it off as pure silver. That is a bad thing to do.”
James shrugged his shoulders and, putting an arm about Margaret, kissed her; there were more pleasant things to do on a sunny afternoon than talk of the misdeeds of his father.
“You must not forget that you will soon wear the crown.”
They sat down on the bank and James thought fleetingly of his father.
“Perhaps he was led away by the company he kept. My mother told me that his greatest friends were a musician, a tailor and a smith at one time, and that he set great store by his astrologers.”
“He believed all they told him,” Margaret affirmed. “That was why he was afraid of you and your brothers as well
as his own brothers.”
“I remember my mother telling me that when I was born the position of the stars and planets showed him that harm would come to him through me. As if I would ever harm him!”
“You would never harm anyone. You are too kind and gentle. You will be the greatest King Scotland has ever known.”
They kissed once more and as he laid his hands on her shoulders, he was trembling with excitement, but he did not know what he wanted to do, so he dropped his hands and stared at the river.
“He had a dream,” he said, “and when he asked his astrologers to interpret it, they replied that the royal lion of Scotland, in course of time, would be torn by its whelps. That was why he lived in fear of me.”
“A father—and a king—in fear of his son!” scorned Margaret. Then she touched his cheek with her finger. “And such a son.”
He caught the hand and kissed it. He was overcome by a gust of passion but, acutely conscious of his inexperience, he hesitated. There was a bitter sweetness in fifteen-year-old love that would never be equaled at another time of his life, he knew. She drew away from him. “They will find a bride for you from some foreign country,” she said sadly. “They will need to make some useful alliance.”
“They have found brides for me before.” He snapped his fingers. “That for their foreign marriages! When I was very young it was decided I should marry the Lady Cecilia, second daughter of King Edward IV of England, but when Edward died his daughter was no longer considered a worthy consort. There was a new king on the throne—Richard III. I know because my mother insisted that I learn what was happening in other countries and particularly in England.”
“It is a necessary part of the education of one who is to be King,” Margaret reminded him.
“And Richard had a niece, the Lady Anne Suffolk, and he was eager for her to marry me. But it was not long before the Tudor Henry VII had ousted Richard from the throne and then Lady Anne, like Lady Cecilia, was no longer a worthy match for me. Foreign marriages! They often come to naught.” He boasted: “When I am King I shall choose my own bride and I know who she will be.”
