To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York (38 page)

What will become of us all? wondered Katharine. She will not be here to see.

A few days later the child Katharine, who had cost the Queen her life, was stricken with a grievous illness and within a short time she was dead.

The Search for a Queen

he king was restive. He had lost his queen but he could not afford to waste time in grief. He was not yet so old that he was beyond getting children. He was forty-six—a mature age it was true—but he was by no means impotent. His life with the Queen had shown that. He could convince himself that he was a comparatively young man and therefore he must at once make plans to remarry.

The Spanish Sovereigns were being awkward about the dowry. Ferdinand was a wily man to deal with and Henry did not trust him. Isabella was a great queen but she was concerned for her daughter and Henry believed that Katharine might have written to her expressing repugnance for the match with young Henry. He knew, of course, that that would carry little weight with Ferdinand, but with Isabella it might be another matter.

But suppose he had a more dazzling proposition to put before the Sovereigns? He sent for de Puebla, a clever man who delighted in intrigue and was not averse to a little sharp practice. He was the sort of fellow who could always be safely sounded out and who for considerations could be counted on to give consideration to every scheme—however shocking it might appear to some.

Henry said: “The Sovereigns are no doubt a little concerned about their daughter’s future.”

“Why, my lord, they know that she is to have Prince Henry. That seems to them a sensible and happy conclusion to the Infanta’s matrimonial affairs.”

“Henry is only a boy, not yet twelve years old. I fancy that the Sovereigns are concerned about waiting for him to come of age before the final ceremony can take place. I have another idea. How would they feel about seeing their daughter Queen of England immediately?”

“My lord!”

“Why not? I am free to marry.”

“And you would take your son’s widow!” Even the worldly de Puebla was taken aback.

“It seems reasonable. Katharine is here. There would not be the expense of bringing her over. She is a widow. I am a widower.”

“I do not know how it would be regarded,” said de Puebla. “But it can be put to the Sovereigns.”

“We could marry almost immediately. I have always held the Princess Katharine in high regard.”

Why, thought de Puebla, she could be in childbed before the year is out . . . she might manage even that. No time wasted between the birth of the little Princess and the birth of the next child even though there had to be a change of queens. Even by de Puebla’s standards there was something very cynical about this king.

“Well?” said the King.

“I will put the notion to the Sovereigns without delay.”

“Do that,” said the King. “We do not wish for unnecessary delay.”

De Puebla could not resist the chance to break the news to Katharine. Moreover he felt that by so doing he might ingratiate himself with her. He wanted to assure her that he was working for her, so he called on her.

“My lady Princess,” he said, “I have news which I thought I should impart to you without delay. I have this day written to your noble parents.”

“Written of me?” she asked, growing pale.

“Yes, at the request of King Henry.”

“Of what does he wish them to know?”

“He is sending them a proposition. He is asking for your hand. . . .”

“For Prince Henry, I know. That has been decided.”

“No . . . for himself.”

Katharine stared at him. She could not have heard correctly.

“The King . . .”

“’Tis so. The King would make you his queen . . . without delay.”

“I can’t believe this. The Queen has not been dead two months.”

“The King is in a hurry.” He came closer to her. “He is obsessed by the need to get heirs. Elizabeth gave him several but too many died. He wants you who are young and strong to take the place of the Queen in his bed.”

De Puebla was smiling in a way which nauseated her. Horrible pictures sprang into her mind . . . images of something she did not understand and which made her uneasy, more than that—terrified her.

“No,” she said. “No. I shall never agree.”

“I have been ordered by the King to write to your parents.”

“Oh no, no,” she cried. “Not that . . . anything but that . . .”

“I believe Queen Isabella has decided you shall have Prince Henry. My Princess, when I hear from her I shall come straight to you. I thought it best to warn you . . . that you may be prepared.”

She stood staring straight before her and de Puebla, bowing low, asked leave to retire.

Poor girl! If the Sovereigns decided it would be expedient for her to take old Henry she would have to. And he fancied Ferdinand would rather like the idea of seeing his daughter Queen of England now . . . even though he would have to pay the second half of the dowry.

When she was alone Katharine went to her apartments and shut herself in. Doña Elvira tried to discover what ailed her but she would tell no one. She wanted to be alone with her horror.

Fervently she prayed, calling on God to save her, calling on her mother to come to her aid.

The days began to pass slowly.

Whenever she was in the company of the King, which she thanked God was rarely, she saw his eyes on her. They were not lascivious, speculative rather, as though he were assessing how fit she was to bear children. She compared him with Arthur and weeping afresh for her young husband, she longed above everything else for home, to be able to tell her mother of her fears, to see those dear kind eyes filled with understanding. If she could but see her mother, explain to her, she was sure that no matter how advantageous this marriage would be to Spain, Isabella would never allow it to take place.

What if she wrote to her mother? But de Puebla had told her in confidence. Her father might see the letter. Henry might learn that she begged not to be married to him. She could visualize all sorts of dire results; and she decided that nothing could be done but hope and pray.

Henry himself was restive. He was not well and the arrogance of his young son irritated him now and then. He should of course be grateful for having such a son who was so suited to being a king; but sometimes the boy behaved as though he were already one and he wondered whether young Henry was looking forward with a little too much zeal to the day when he would ascend the throne. Sometimes those rather small but intensely alert blue eyes would be caught studying his father as though, thought the King, he were summing up my ability to cling to life, and assessing how many more years were left to him.

The prospect of a crown was too glittering for a young boy of Henry’s temperament to reconcile himself to waiting patiently until it could be justly put upon his head.

The King gave a great deal of thought to his son and the Prince of Wales was not the least of his anxieties. The boy had to be kept on a firm rein and the King fervently prayed that more years might be granted him so that he did not leave the country in the hands of this exuberant boy until he had attained some maturity.

The King had dismissed John Skelton from the Prince’s household for he had come to believe that the poet tutor had a bad inflcuence on the Prince. In a way the King admired Skelton. He was a poet of some ability and above all he was a fearless man. He had shown that in his verses about the Court, which he had portrayed quite derisively. But Henry believed he was too worldly to be the daily companion of a young impressionable boy, and fancied he had probably already initiated the Prince into the enjoyment of pleasure between the sexes and that, unlike in his own case, these pleasures would be very much to young Henry’s taste.

Well, Skelton had gone; Henry did not want to be unjust to any man. He had no desire to be harsh and rarely acted so except when common sense demanded it. So although Skelton had lost his post as tutor to the Prince of Wales he was given the living of Diss in Norfolk and in addition to this Henry gave him forty shillings a year in recognition of his service in the royal household. Therefore Skelton had done rather well for himself for the pension added to his stipend put him in a position to be envied by other less fortunate priests.

Skelton had settled down to write more scandalous poems and young Henry had a new tutor, William Hone. The Prince had greeted the change with a certain resentment. If he had been a little older and more sure of himself there would have been open rebellion, the King believed; and it was one of the factors which added to his uneasiness.

Hone was a meek man. Perhaps the difference from Skelton was too marked, and young Henry became quickly reconciled because he found William Hone very easy to handle.

The fact was young Henry was finding people generally easy to handle—largely, the King suspected, because those around him had their eyes on the future. They would be thinking: How much longer is the old lion going to last? Then it will be the young cub’s turn. Therefore wise far-seeing young men that they were, they made sure to keep in the prospective King’s good graces.

It was an uneasy situation and one entirely distasteful to the King but he was too much of a realist not to see that it could not be otherwise.

He would have to content himself with keeping an eye on his son and when he thought a man was too dangerous—as in the case of Skelton—discreetly getting rid of him.

He often considered the young men who were the Prince’s particular friends. There was Charles Brandon . . . something of a rake and five years Henry’s senior, which was a matter for some concern. Brandon was making Henry grow up too quickly. He was turning the young Prince into a sophisticate . . . and he not twelve years old yet! There was a world of difference between twelve and seventeen but Brandon had been brought to Court because of the gratitude Henry owed his father. The King liked to reward those who had been with him at Bosworth Field where Brandon’s father had been his standard bearer and had died standing steadfastly with Henry. So Charles Brandon was there . . . at Court . . . young Henry’s companion and confidant. But he must be watched . . . in spite of his father’s loyal service on that decisive field of battle.

Then there was young Edward Neville—tall as Henry with the same fair skin and reddish hair, a fine boy, but of course belonging to one of those families who had made a great deal of trouble in the land. One who was descended from Warwick the Kingmaker would have to be watched.

Henry Courtenay was another boy. He was younger than Henry and was at Court because his mother was there, sister to the late Queen; but his father was now in the Tower on account of complicity with Suffolk, which had resulted in the execution of Sir James Tyrrell. The late Queen had said that it was her duty to look after her Courtenay nephews and nieces. And Henry could not very well turn them away in view of their relationship to the Queen. Moreover, children should not be blamed for the sins of their fathers.

Yes, the King would have liked to make a change in those surrounding his son; but he had other matters on his mind now and he had at least sent Skelton away.

Perhaps he was too sensitive about his son’s ambitions. After all the boy had to be brought up to kingship. There was some small comfort in the fact that he knew he would inherit the throne. That was so much more to be desired than coming to it suddenly. No, young Henry was preparing himself for the role and the King should be pleased that he took to it with such alacrity.