To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York (39 page)

Pray God he himself could live for a few more years until Henry was of a sober age. The King had no doubt that with maturity would come some suppression of that egoism, which was so much a part of his son’s nature. All young men could be unwise. He will settle to it, thought the King. He just needs a firm hand now.

The sound of voices below broke into his reverie and going to the window he saw a group of young people at play. He was alert immediately because he caught sight of young Henry among them. His son was on horseback for the game—as most games played by the boys—was a military as well as an equestrian exercise. Henry stood out among them—although he was younger than most. The King could not repress his parental pride. He will soon be taller than I am, he thought, half resentfully, half fondly. And the boy glowed with health as his father had never done.

He would look the part, and he would play it to the full, but would he have the stability, the cunning . . . the King reproached himself. Young Henry was but a boy yet. The correct training, the molding, the watchfulness would shape him into the sort of king his father wanted him to be and whom the country needed.

The game was that which was a favorite of the young: quintain. On a pivot stood a figure in the form of a knight in armor. It was life-sized and fixed to one hand was a sandbag. The player must ride at full gallop to the figure, attack it and retreat before the arm shot up when the sandbag could hit the rider. Like all such games there was a strong element of danger in it, for the rider who was not quick enough in getting away could receive such a blow from the sandbag as would unseat him, and there had been accidents—one or two fatal.

Although the King was nervous about his son’s taking part in dangerous games he knew that he must do so; and this favorite one of quintain would not have interested the boys at all but for the danger they had to avoid.

He watched them for a while. He noted that young Henry had more turns than the others, that the applause which greeted his successes was more vociferous than that awarded to the others.

Inevitable, thought the King. But I must be watchful of him. If I had another son . . .

His expression lightened. Katharine was here . . . on the spot, and if there were objections he would impress on his ministers the need for another male heir. It is never wise to have but one. Henry seemed healthy but let them remember the Black Prince and the disaster his death had brought with the accession of the boy Richard.

Katharine had not been tested for fertility yet, and he had to be thankful that she had not, for if the union with Arthur had been consummated that might have made marriage with him too distasteful to be accepted. But as it was he saw no reason why she should not be his wife. She had married his son it was true, but it had been no physical marriage.

He had hopes of Ferdinand. Of Isabella he was not so sure.

Even as he watched his son at play he heard the sounds of approaching hoofbeats and glancing away from the game in the opposite direction he saw that the visitor was de Puebla and he guessed that the Spaniard brought news from his Sovereigns.

A faint pulse beat in his temple. He found that he was quite excited. There should be as little delay as possible. There would be a lavish wedding to satisfy the people’s love of ceremony . . . and then . . . the consummation and the results.

One of his squires was at the door to tell him that Dr. de Puebla was below and seeking an audience.

“I will see him now,” said the King.

De Puebla came in and bowed. He looked grave and knowing the man well the King’s spirits sank. There were going to be obstacles. That much was apparent.

“You have heard from the King and Queen?” asked the King.

“My lord, I have heard from Queen Isabella.”

The King was even more dismayed. It was from that quarter that he expected opposition. Ferdinand was much more likely to agree if the match was advantageous enough. Isabella was too emotional and feminine, too much the doting mother, which was strange in a woman of her ambitions and abilities. And Isabella was Castile, and Ferdinand Aragon and Castile was the more important. Ferdinand in a way owed his greatness to Isabella and loving wife and mother though she was, Isabella never forgot it.

“She refuses sanction for your marriage with the Infanta,” said de Puebla.

“Refuses? But she must see the advantages.”

“She says it is against the laws of nature. The Pope would not agree.”

“The Pope will agree if we explain to him his need to do so,” said Henry tersely.

“But Isabella will doubtless explain his need not to grant a dispensation,” said de Puebla slyly.

Henry disliked the man although it was to his advantage to cultivate him. He was a good go-between, serving Henry almost as much as the Sovereigns. It was for this reason that he had done so well in England and that his rival had been recalled.

“My lord,” went on de Puebla, “the Queen is very firm. She says no to such a marriage. She is surprised that it should be suggested.”

“And Ferdinand?”

“You know, my lord, that he could not act without Isabella.”

Henry nodded.

“Perhaps we should not give up hope. But I deplore the wasting of time.”

De Puebla smiled again with that sly look. “None could accuse you, my lord, of doing that. I must tell you truly that the tone of Queen Isabella’s letter is very strong. I know my mistress well. She is not pleased that the possibility of marriage should even have been suggested. She says that Katharine is to marry the Prince of Wales and she desires that the binding ceremony of betrothal takes place without delay. If this is not done she demands the return of the half of the dowry, which was sent on Katharine’s marriage to Prince Arthur.”

Henry was silent. He was astute enough to know that in asking for the hand of Katharine so soon after his wife’s death he had made a grave error.

De Puebla went on: “The Queen however understands your need for a wife and she would draw your attention to the recently widowed Queen of Naples.”

“The Queen of Naples?”

“Young, comely . . . and a queen,” said de Puebla.

Henry was silent and de Puebla went on: “If you should need my services, Sire, I should be happy to give them.”

“Thank you,” murmured the King. He felt old and tired. But he was not one to waste time in regrets.

Already his mind had turned from Katharine of Aragon to the Queen of Naples.

When de Puebla presented himself to Katharine a few days after his audience with the King he came to her smiling enigmatically. He felt the good news would be more appreciated if she suffered a few moments of anxiety first.

“You have news from my mother?” cried Katharine.

“My lady, I have indeed such news.”

He paused, allowing a smile to creep slowly across his face. She was waiting breathlessly and he realized he could delay no longer.

“The Queen, your noble mother, refused to allow a match between you and the King.”

Overcome by relief, Katharine covered her face with her hands. She should have known. How she thanked God for her beloved mother! While she was there, steadfast and caring, there could be little to fear.

“She is, however, eager for a binding contract between you and the Prince of Wales and is insisting that this be settled within the next few months.”

Katharine could not speak. The Prince of Wales seemed a good prospect compared with his father; but mainly she supposed because marriage with him must necessarily be postponed until he was of a marriageable age. He was not quite twelve so there would be at least two years’ freedom. Oh, this was good news indeed.

“I am aware that you are pleased with your mother’s refusal.”

“I am so recently widowed. I have no wish to marry again . . . yet.”

“You will have to wait awhile for the Prince to grow up.” De Puebla was smiling. He had a little commission from the King and he was wondering how best he could put it to Katharine. He went on: “Your mother has suggested that the young Queen of Naples would be a suitable match for the King. She is recently widowed and some twenty-seven years of age.”

“She would be more suitable in age than I, most certainly.”

“Your mother would expect you to write a note of condolence to the Queen of Naples. She has just lost her husband and you, so recently widowed yourself, would understand her melancholy.”

“I will of course do so.”

“That is good. And it shall be delivered into the hands of the Queen of Naples herself.”

“Was that my mother’s only request?”

“Yes. But I have letters from her for you.”

Katharine reached out to seize them eagerly and after handing them to her de Puebla bowed himself out.

Eagerly she read the letters. They assured her of her mother’s love and care. Isabella never ceased to think of her although so many miles divided them. She would soon be the betrothed of the Prince of Wales and one day Queen of England. She must always remember that she was Spanish by origin even though by marriage she became English. She must never forget that her mother thought of her constantly, cared for her and was working all the time for her good.

Katharine kissed the letter; reread them many times, wrote her letter to the Queen of Naples and settled down to enjoy her feelings of immense relief.

The King received the messengers immediately on their return from Naples. They had had instructions that letters written by the Princess Katharine were to be delivered into the hands of no one but the Queen.

Now they returned with an account of what they had seen.

“Tell me of the Queen,” said Henry, coming straight to the point. “She is twenty-seven years of age, I know. Does she look so? Is she comely?”

“She looks young for her age, Sire, and she is comely. But it was not easy to see for every time we were in her presence she wore a great mantle, which revealed only her face. But she appeared to be handsome . . . as far as we could see.”

“Is she tall or short?”

“My lord, we could not see her feet and the height of her shoes. From what we did see it would appear she is of middle height.”

“Tell me how was her skin? Not blotched or marked?”

“No, my lord. Fair and clear . . . as far as we could see.”

“What color hair?”

“Judging by what we could see—and the color of her brows—it would be brown. Her eyes are brown . . . with a touch of gray.”

“Her teeth?”

“Fair and clear and well set. Her lips round and thickish. As for her nose . . .”

They hesitated and the King said quickly: “Yes, yes, her nose?”

“It is a little rising in the middle and a little coming and bowing at the end. She is well nosed.”

“Ah,” said the King. “But what of her breasts?”

“They are somewhat great and full, my lord. They are well trussed up after the fashion of the country, which makes them seem fuller than they are in truth and her neck appears shorter.”

“Has she hair on her lips?”

“No, my lord.”

“Tell me, did you get near enough to discover whether her breath was sweet?”

“We believe so, my lord.”

“Did you speak with her after she had fasted?”

“We could not come to her at such a time, my lord, nor could we have been sure that she had fasted. We can only say that her skin was fair and clear and we detected no unpleasant odors in her presence.”

“Ah,” said the King. “She seems worthy.”

He dismissed the ambassadors and thought about the new wife he would have.

She must be possessed of all the good qualities he had been so eager to confirm. He had to get children and he could so easily find the process repulsive if his new wife failed to comply with the necessary requirements. Queen Elizabeth had been one of the most beacutiful women in the country and he had felt no overwhelming desire; but he had always done his duty although he had to confess that he experienced a certain relief when his Queen was pregnant and the need for marital practices was removed.

And now . . . this new wife. The Queen of Naples. Naples was worth a good deal. He would go ahead with proposals for the marriage. He was sure that the people of Naples would be delighted to ally itself with England, which under its wise king was fast becoming a power on the European scene.