Elizabeth of York: A Tudor Queen and Her World (55 page)

By 1499, Jane Vaux, Lady Guildford, who had long served in the household of the Queen, was also employed as governess to the princesses; in 1503 she was paid a salary of £13.6s.8d. [£6,500].
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The nursery at Eltham was therefore dominated by women, and the young Prince Henry spent his childhood very much under female influence. The fact that Elizabeth Denton served both Prince Henry and his mother suggests that the Queen spent time with her younger son and his sisters,
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taking a keen interest in their learning and accomplishments, as did the Lady Margaret. All the evidence suggests that Henry, Margaret, and Mary grew up closer to their mother than was often the lot of royal children. It is likely that Elizabeth herself taught her younger children some of their early lessons. A literate woman who loved books and music, she imparted her passion for these things to the future Henry VIII and his sisters. David Starkey noted the similarities between the few extant examples of her handwriting and theirs, which suggests that she herself taught them to read and write.
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Prince Henry’s formal education had begun the year before under the guidance of the Cambridge-educated poet laureate, John Skelton, a protégé of Margaret Beaufort, who was probably responsible for his appointment. Skelton, who was also a great satirist, now took up residence
with his charge at Eltham Palace, and would remain in that post until 1502. Erasmus told Prince Henry that Skelton was “that incomparable light and ornament of British letters, who cannot only kindle your studies but bring them to a happy conclusion.”
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Twenty years later, when Henry was King, the poet recalled:

It was ever-frowning, frost-faced Skelton who encouraged the prince’s musical talents, inherited from and encouraged by both parents, and taught him to play the lute, organ, and virginals, to read music, and to sing. Young Henry proved to be gifted musically, not only as a player but also as a composer: many pieces he was to compose as an adult survive and are still sung today. Skelton also fostered in his pupil a love of theology and taught him Latin. Like all the Tudors, Henry had an aptitude for languages. Above all, Skelton instilled in the boy a love of learning and scholarship that lasted all his life; and he took delight in his charge’s achievements, calling him “a delightful small, new rose, worthy of its stock.” It was for Henry that he wrote his
Speculum Principis
, a manual for a future ruler, which advised him not to rely too heavily on his ministers, and to “choose a wife for yourself, prize her always and uniquely”—advice that the adult Henry did not heed.

Much later—around the time of Elizabeth’s death, as he was given mourning cloth to wear in her funeral procession—Skelton was succeeded as tutor by a Scottish schoolmaster, John Holt,
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who in turn was replaced on his death in 1504 by William Hone, a Cambridge scholar who also taught Princess Mary.
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The young duke was also instructed by Bernard André, who wrote his
Vita Henrici VII
to teach him history, and probably schooled him in Latin. Arthur’s former tutor, Giles Dewes, taught him French, and perhaps grammar and alchemy. It is possible that Thomas More, a humanist scholar like André, instructed the boy in mathematics, geometry, and astronomy; it was probably More who had introduced the boy to the works of Erasmus.
Later, Erasmus would assert that Henry’s style of writing was like his own because he had been encouraged to read his books when young.

Of Margaret’s education we know little, save that she could read and write, although not very competently; she was the first English princess whose signature survives. She loved music and dancing, and had minstrels among her personal servants. Elizabeth encouraged her to play the lute and clavichord, and the King purchased for her a lute costing 13s.4d. [£325].
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Despite all the care taken over their upbringing, Elizabeth’s children grew up in a world overshadowed by insecurities, threats, intrigue, and paranoia. Unsurprisingly, that would take its toll—and now a new threat was brewing.

In September 1496, James IV invaded England with Warbeck, his support assured by Warbeck’s promise of the return of Berwick, a town that had been much fought over by the Scots and the English, and which the future Richard III had taken in 1482. Henry VII prepared to confront the pretender, saying that “he hoped now he should see the gentleman of whom he had heard so much.”
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But James’s army was more interested in looting and settling old border feuds than in securing a victory for Warbeck, and four miles into England the Scots king was obliged to cease raiding and retreat at the appearance of the royal army. Henry was now determined to force James to surrender Warbeck. Early in 1497, Parliament readily voted punishing taxes to finance a war against the Scots.

Elizabeth suffered a brief illness at Greenwich in the spring of 1497. On April 25, Lady Margaret wrote to the Queen’s chamberlain, acknowledging gloves he had purchased for her: “Blessed be God, the King, the Queen, and all our sweet children be in good health. The Queen hath been a little crazed [broken down in health], but now she is well, God be thanked. Her sickness is not so good [amended] as I would, but I trust hastily it shall, with God’s grace.”
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It is clear from this letter that Margaret Beaufort took a proprietorial interest in her grandchildren—“
our
sweet children”—and that she was genuinely concerned for her daughter-in-law, the Queen. It does not read as if this was merely the concern of a dynast for the royal bride her son had
married. But by June 12, Elizabeth had recovered, Andrea Trevisano, the new Venetian ambassador, congratulating the King on that date “on his own well-being, and that of the Queen and his children”; Trevisano also brought letters of credence to Elizabeth and Prince Arthur.
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Crippled and provoked by the new taxes, the “brutish and rural” men of Cornwall rose against their sovereign and marched on London. Elizabeth was at Sheen with the King when news came that the rebels were on the march, and he paid her £10 [£4,860] “for garnishing of a salett”—the helmet he would wear into battle—with jewels.
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Before departing on June 5 to deal with the threat, Henry furnished Elizabeth with a stout escort of lords and gentlemen, and she immediately hastened to Eltham Palace to collect Prince Henry and her daughters; although only Margaret is mentioned, the younger children lived together, so probably Elizabeth took Mary with her too. She entered London with them the next day, lodging at Margaret Beaufort’s house, Coldharbour, within the protection of the City walls. They stayed there six days, while the reports that filtered through from the west grew ever more alarming. The rebel army had been reinforced by malcontents from the shires, and on June 12 their forces numbered 18,000 and they were approaching Farnham in Surrey. On hearing this, the Queen hastened with her children into the Tower for safety, no doubt thanking God that Prince Arthur was far away in Ludlow and no longer living at Farnham.
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On June 16 the rebels reached Blackheath, four miles east of the City where they drew up their battalions, ready to attack. Their plan was to force an entry into the City and assault the Tower, because they thought the King was there. But Henry had now joined his forces with those of his chamberlain, Lord Daubeney, and their 25,000 men were stationed at Lambeth, blocking access to London. The King was keeping his nerve, aware that the rebels were exhausted after their long march, and preparing to surround and overcome them. But he knew too that the situation was critical, for Elizabeth and his children were in the Tower.

“There was great fear throughout the City, and cries were made: ‘Every man to arms, to arms!’ Some ran to the gates, others mounted
the walls, so that no part was undefended; and the magistrates kept continual watch lest the rebels should descend from their camp and invade the City.”
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For Elizabeth, this ordeal must have resurrected dim but frightening memories of Fauconberg’s attack on the Tower in 1471, when she was four years old. Once again she was trapped in the fortress while turmoil raged outside, this time with her own children at risk. Well-educated as she was, she was probably uncomfortably aware that during the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, the mob had breached the Tower’s defenses, insulted the mother of Richard II, and dragged forth and beheaded the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Treasurer. The Tower was no more heavily fortified now than it had been then.

But on June 17 the King “delivered and purged” everyone’s hearts of fear as he sent forces under the command of his nobles to surround the rebels. Then, “with manly stomach and desire to fight,” he himself led an army out of the City, sending Lord Daubeney ahead “with a great company.”
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Staunch Londoners hastened to the King’s aid, and that day the Cornish insurgents were routed in a sharp skirmish at Blackheath, in which two thousand of their number were slain. A victorious Henry returned to London to be welcomed by the mayor and to give thanks in St. Paul’s Cathedral. Afterward, he hastened to the Tower to be reunited with Elizabeth and their children. They were back at Sheen by July 1.
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The following month Henry sent envoys to James IV to demand the surrender of Warbeck and to offer peace terms. But James had preempted him, having already dispatched the pretender south—in a ship appropriately called
The Cuckoo
—to launch an offensive on the southwest. Simultaneously, despite having agreed a seven-year truce with Henry, James was planning another offensive across the border. England stood in deep peril.

Warbeck, however, scuppered the fine timing of this strategy by making a detour to Cork to visit Sir James Ormond, his chief Irish supporter, in the hope of rallying more men to his banner. Learning that Ormond had been killed in a brawl, he had no choice but to flee across the sea to Cornwall, with four Irish ships in pursuit.

In July 1497 a new treaty was agreed to with Spain, which provided for the Infanta to come to England when she was fourteen, an age she would reach in December 1499. That August, Prince Arthur was formally betrothed to Katherine of Aragon at Woodstock Palace, Henry and Elizabeth having traveled up to Oxfordshire to be present.
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Arthur was now nearly eleven, “but taller than his years would warrant, of remarkable beauty and grace, and very ready in speaking Latin.” The King and Queen “celebrated with great triumph and festivities the marriage between Prince Arthur and Katherine, and in this good time they hope she will be brought to England with great splendor.”
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But their hopes were destined to be frustrated.

On September 3, 1497, after the new Venetian ambassador, Andrea Trevisano, and his Milanese counterpart, Raimondo de Soncino, had an audience with the King at Woodstock, they were presented to Queen Elizabeth, whom they “found at the end of a hall, dressed in cloth of gold. On one side of her was the King’s mother, on the other her son the prince.” This was Henry, not Arthur, even though Arthur was present at Woodstock.
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As David Starkey points out, by now Arthur, the heir, was generally associated with the King, while Henry, the second son, was usually associated with the Queen
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—a deliberate policy that may have reflected personal affiliations within the royal family.

“The Queen is a handsome woman,” observed Trevisano. Being presented to her was a privilege only permitted to ambassadors if the diplomatic business in question concerned a woman, in which case she would naturally take an interest. Trevisano and Soncino brought her letters from the Signory of Venice and from a lady whom Soncino called “our queen”; this was probably the charming Beatrice d’Este, wife of Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan. Elizabeth’s French was not fluent like her husband’s, so the ambassadors addressed her in Italian, with Thomas Savage, Bishop of London, acting as interpreter.
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On September 7, 1497, Perkin Warbeck landed at Whitesand Bay near Land’s End in Cornwall, which was still simmering with resentment against the King. But Henry had received reliable intelligence from Ireland
of the pretender’s aims, and was now making haste to assemble an army at Woodstock.

Having taken St. Michael’s Mount, and left his wife in the monastery there, Warbeck marched to Bodmin, recruiting three thousand “part-naked men” of the “rude people”
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on the way. At Bodmin he had himself proclaimed Richard IV. On September 17, having rallied at least three thousand more supporters to his banner, “this little cockatrice of a king”
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and his army appeared before Exeter, to which they laid siege. Despite having few weapons, no armor, and no artillery, they managed to breach one of the gates, but were firmly repelled by the King’s brother-in-law, Lord William Courtenay, and the citizens, and cut to pieces.