The Thistle and the Rose (2 page)

Henry's lower lip jutted out slightly. He opened his mouth as though to speak; but when he looked up into his father's stern face, he changed his mind. He was not yet King of England.

In the Queen's great chamber in Richmond Palace a dazzling company of men and women had assembled.

With the Queen were her daughters, the Princess Margaret and the little Princess Mary. Margaret, in her state robes, looked slightly older than her twelve years; her naturally rosy complexion seemed even more dazzling than usual and her eyes shone with excitement. Everyone in this assembly was aware of her, for in the ceremony which was about to take place she would be the central figure.

A fanfare of trumpets sounded as the King, accompanied by the Prince of Wales, entered the chamber. Such a fanfare must have satisfied even young Henry. He looked smug, Margaret thought, and well pleased with himself. Had he already forgotten how much
he disapproved of the Scottish match, or was he going to make a formal protest? No, he never would. There was one person at Court of whom Henry went in great fear, and that was his father. He might strut like a young bantam before his sisters and his friends—but in the presence of Henry VII he never forgot for one moment that he was but a ten-year-old boy who must mind his manners.

With Henry and his father were the Archbishops of Canterbury and York; and they were immediately followed by the Scottish lords who also had their parts to play on this occasion.

Margaret's gaze rested on Patrick Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell, who was to stand beside her and take the vows; for he had been chosen to act as proxy for his master. There he stood, accompanied by the Archbishop of Glasgow and the Bishop Elect of Murray, a poor substitute, she was sure, for the King of Scotland, who she had heard was possessed of great charm and handsome looks.

Now that they were all gathered together, the purpose of their meeting was ceremonially announced and the Archbishop of Glasgow opened the proceedings by turning to Henry VII and asking: “Does Your Grace know any impediment on your part to this wedlock, other than is here dispensed withal?”

The King replied that he did not.

Then the same question was asked of the Queen who gave similar answer.

It was then demanded of Margaret whether she knew of any reason why she should not make an alliance with the King of Scotland.

“I know of none,” she answered; and as she spoke she could not resist flashing a look of mockery at her brother. He knew of reasons, if he had been speaking the truth to his sisters when they were alone. But Henry was solemnly staring ahead and pretended not to notice her glance.

Now it was the turn of her father to ask the same questions of the Scotsmen. Margaret caught her breath. Was it really true that her prospective bridegroom had contracted a marriage with his mistress? What if one of the Scottish lords spoke up and said so? Would that be an end to this marriage?

But the Scots were assuring the King of England that there was no impediment to the marriage, and the Archbishop of Glasgow turned once more to Margaret.

“Are you content, of your own free will and without compulsion, to marry my master?”

Margaret spoke the words which she had rehearsed with her mother. “If it please my lord and father the King and my lady and mother the Queen, I am content.”

“It is our will and pleasure,” pronounced the King.

Now her hand was laid in that of Patrick Hepburn who was declaring with the utmost earnestness: “I, Patrick Earl of Bothwell, procurator of the right high and mighty Prince James, by the Grace of God King of Scotland, my sovereign lord, having sufficient power to contract marriage
per verba presenti
with thee, Margaret, daughter to Henry by the Grace of God King of England and Elizabeth Queen of the same, do hereby contract matrimony with thee, Margaret,…”

Margaret's gaze had strayed once more to her brother; she was flashing a message to him: Why did you not speak when there was time? It is too late now.

But the young Prince of Wales refused to interpret her glances. He was showing a great interest in everything that was going on and endeavoring to look as pleased with the proceedings as his father did.

The Archbishop of Glasgow was attracting her attention and whispering: “Repeat after me.”

She nodded slightly and, following him, began: “I, Margaret, first daughter of the right excellent, right high and mighty Prince and Princess Henry, by the Grace of God King of England, and Elizabeth, Queen of the same, wittingly and of deliberate mind, having twelve years complete in age in the month of November which be past, contract marriage with the right excellent, right high and mighty Prince James, King of Scotland, for the person of whom Patrick, Earl of Bothwell, is procurator; and I take the said James, King of Scotland, unto and for my husband and spouse, and all others for him forsake during his and my lives natural; and therefore I plight and give to him in your person, as procurator aforesaid, my faith and troth.”

As she completed those words there was a sudden burst of music from the royal trumpeters and in an adjoining chamber minstrels began to play.

Princess Margaret of England had now become the Queen of Scotland.

Life was exciting for Margaret—full of color, full of splendor. It was rarely that King Henry encouraged extravagance at his Court but this was, after all, the occasion his daughter's marriage and he must impress the Scottish visitors with the wealth and power of England.

“A waste of good money,” he told his Queen. “Banquets… jousts! I did not know until this time what a feckless band of courtiers were mine. They welcome the opportunity to flaunt their wealth in senseless pageants.” His eyes narrowed and Elizabeth guessed that he was noting the spendthrifts and devising ways in which the wealth they were so eager to throw away could be diverted into the royal coffers.

Poor fools, to spend more than was necessary. Did they not yet understand the manner in which their royal master's miserly mind worked? Constantly he was thinking of gold for his exchequer. Taxes, fines, they were good methods of swelling it. He wanted more and more gold; he would never be satisfied; just as he wanted more and more children, that he might bargain for concessions from the royal houses of Europe. The Scottish marriage… then marriages for Henry and Mary and all the others who would follow.

Oh no, no, she thought. There could be no more. But how could she explain to him? Her duty was to provide him with children—counters for bargaining in state politics, in the same way that it was for his ministers to devise laws for diverting his subjects' wealth into the royal exchequer.

She knew that she was looking ill; her sister Katharine had told her so. But Henry would not notice. She must go on unfalteringly doing her duty as he did his.

“A few more days of this jousting,” she said to soothe him, “and the celebrations will be over.”

He shook his head sadly. “We must not give the impression that we are a poor nation. There will be reports circulated as to
how we celebrated our daughter's marriage. But, since her husband will be eager for her to join him in Scotland, we might cut short the merrymaking.”

Elizabeth shivered. “She seems so young. Not much past her twelfth birthday. We shall miss her.”

“Yet I fancy she is old for her years.” The King dismissed the matter comfortably. “And you'll soon have another to take her place. Pray God this time it is a boy.”

“I trust it will be so.”

The King gave her one of his rare smiles. “And if it is another girl, we'll not despair. There's time ahead of us.”

She turned to glance out of the window. She could not trust herself to look at him lest he see the fear in her face.

It had been a great day of jousting. Margaret had sat in a place of honor, the Earl of Bothwell beside her; she had applauded the skill of Charles Brandon and the Duke of Buckingham, while young Henry watched broodingly. In his imagination he was jousting with the knights, surprising them all with his skill. It was a great trial to be but ten years old and a looker-on.

Margaret had become grown up since that ceremony in their mother's chamber. He noticed that she was treated with a new deference; he was envious; and when his father was not present he acted as though he were already the King. All his friends indulged his whims; after all, was he not Prince of Wales, destined one day to be King? If he wished to anticipate that day it would be a foolish man who gainsaid him.

Little Mary was delighted with the jousting. She sat with her brother and asked eager questions while he looked after her tenderly; but all the time he was watchful of Margaret who had temporarily usurped the place of honor which he felt should rightfully be his.

After the jousting there was a banquet, and it was Margaret who again sat in the seat of honor, who was Queen of the pageant.

Henry could not understand his father who, in his drab garments, did not look like a king, and sat a little apart from the company with a tired expression in his eyes as though he found all the splendor and fun rather silly.

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.