Jean Plaidy - To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York

Now he could not take his eyes from her. She wore a coif of white silk with a scarf spattered with gold and stones of many colors. It covered half her face as well as a good deal of her person. She told him that it was called a mantilla. Her gown was pleated and spread out in hoops from her tiny waist. It was the first time Henry had seen the fashion which he was to see many times later as it was noticed by many of the ladies who determined to imitate it.

He enjoyed leading her to the Cathedral and all the time he was suppressing his envy of Arthur.

And there was Arthur waiting in the Cathedral dressed in white satin, looking handsome and slightly less fragile than usual.

Henry noticed that his parents were not present and tried not to look up at the latticed box from where he knew they would be watching.

And so Arthur was married to the Princess of Spain and Arthur was now taking his bride to the door of the Cathedral so that the people in the streets could see them.

The cheers were deafening. There was no doubt that the people were pleased with Prince Arthur and his Spanish Princess.

Now Henry was to the fore again for it was his task to lead the bride from the Cathedral to the Bishop’s Palace where the banquet was waiting for them. His Aunt Cecilia, who had been widowed on the death of her husband Lord Wells some three years before, was one of the train bearers.

The feast had begun. There must be such a display as would impress the Spaniards and the King was determined that, much as he deplored spending the money, there should be nothing of which to complain.

And after the feasting there was the ceremony of the bedding, which had been causing not only the married pair but the King and Queen so much anxiety.

First the bed must be examined for lurking weapons—knives and daggers—concealed among the feathers. The moment which Arthur and Katharine had both been dreading had arrived.

There was the usual ribaldry and Arthur was glad that Katharine could not speak the language. The bed had been scented and sprinkled with holy water and the word which was used most frequently was fruitful. Katharine had always known that the first duty of a Princess was to get children but she was afraid and knew very little of the process necessary to their production.

Katharine was undressed by her ladies and, still veiled and in her bedgown, she was conducted to the bedchamber. Arthur had been led in—having similarly been disrobed by his attendants—and the two young people stood facing each other apprehensively.

The bed curtains were drawn back. The bed was blessed and the moment had come.

The King then approached them and said in a low voice which few but the bride and groom could hear: “You are young yet. There is plenty of time before you. You are not ready for marriage. There should be no consummation . . . until you are a little older.”

He was looking anxiously at his son. He need not have worried. Arthur was looking immensely relieved.

Katharine was smiling too.

So they were led to the bed where they lay side by side. Arthur reached for Katharine’s hand and held it fast; and they talked quietly together in Latin . . . until they fell asleep.

The pageantry continued. Before Westminster Hall a tiltyard was set up. There was a loge for the King’s party hung with cloth of gold; and round the entire area stages had been built for the people to sit and watch the tournament. It was received with the utmost delight. The people declared they had never seen such entertainment and they wished they had a marriage every week. It was wonderful to see the knights tilting with each other. They pointed out the famous people as they saw them. All knew the King and Queen and the royal children of course but figures like the Marquis of Dorset and the Earl of Essex and Lord William Courtney were names to them until they saw them take on life in the arena.

At dusk the party returned to Westminster Hall for feasting and dancing and Katharine would distribute the prizes won at the tournament.

The ladies took their places on the King’s left hand—Katharine with Queen Elizabeth, and the King’s mother the Countess of Richmond, the Princesses Margaret and Mary and other members of the family such as Lady Wells. On the King’s right hand was Arthur, Henry and other nobles arranged according to their rank.

The pageants were beautiful and all was done in honor of the marriage; and there was much dancing and singing.

Arthur must dance, of course, and the King had suggested that his Aunt Cecilia perform with him. Always, thought Henry, he must dance with elderly people. My father is afraid that the young would dance too fast for him. Arthur however looked graceful in his white satin and Aunt Cecilia was certainly determined not to force him into too much exertion, cleverly giving the impression that it was for her benefit rather than his.

Young Henry was waiting his chance. When it came he would show them. There would be no need for anyone to slow him down. He had always excelled at dancing and he was going to show the assembled company how much better he could perform than his brother.

His eyes fell on his sister Margaret. He and Margaret had never been good friends, but he did admire her dancing. She was as good as he was . . . or almost. The two of them together could astonish the company.

He could not wait. He went to her and took her hand. She was longing to dance too. She wanted some of the applause which had gone to others for doing something she knew she could do far better.

For a second she scowled at her brother. Then she smiled. She had to admit that he could dance well too and together they would be a perfect pair.

So they danced and the musicians watching them played the music more wildly and glancing at the King, Henry saw that his father was amused . . . more than amused . . . rather proud of these two bright healthy children of his.

“Faster, faster!” cried Henry and because his robe was encumbering him he took it off, threw it high in the air so that with greater freedom he could dance more vigorously. The company applauded as they watched the youthful pair cavorting in the center of the hall.

At last the music stopped. The dance was over. The applause was enthusiastic and even the King was smiling.

Henry looked at Katharine. She had clapped her hands together, smiling.

Henry bowed to his parents and then to her.

I am sure, Henry was thinking, Katharine would have liked me better than Arthur.

Dudley and Empson had brought the King a valuation of the Infanta’s dowry.

“Some one hundred thousand crowns, my lord,” said Dudley with satisfaction.

“A goodly sum,” mused the King, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His fingers moved as though to grasp those articles that he might add their value to his exchequer.

“The goods could be said to belong to you, Sire,” said Empson. “They are after all the Princess’s dowry.”

“But what were the rules laid down by the Sovereigns?”

“That the goods should remain in the possession of the Infanta until the second half of the dowry was paid.”

“That will be in a year’s time.”

“True my lord, but we could make good use of those goods now. However, perhaps some advice could be sought.”

“De Ayala?” said the King and shook his head. “De Puebla possibly.”

“We should get more satisfaction from him. I fancy he has a wish to please us for he does not stand so high in the Sovereigns’ favor as does de Ayala for instance.”

“No, they like not his origins but to my mind he is an abler man than de Ayala. I will sound de Puebla.”

“It is the best solution, my lord.”

Henry lost no time in seeking out de Puebla. He did not summon him for he did not wish him to think that the matter of the dowry was a weighty one. However during the course of the conversation between them he said suddenly: “I should like to have possession of the dowry.”

De Puebla folding his hands together, looked down at them gravely.

“The ruling was that it should remain the property of the Princess of Wales for one year after the celebration of the nuptials.”

“I know. I know . . . but in view of the fact that it is her dowry . . . which comes to me . . . to the Prince, why should we wait this year?”

De Puebla looked sly. “My lord King,” he said, “you know full well that I have always sought to be your friend, and that has not always been easy.”

The King nodded.

“This matter of the dowry now . . . Am I correct in thinking you would prefer one hundred thousand crowns to the jewels and the furniture?”

“You are right.”

“It is no use trying to get the Sovereigns to pass the goods to you. They will never do that. But what if the Princess were to wear the jewels . . . use the furniture . . .”

“Why should she? She has plenty of those.”

“If she had her own Court she would need these things and the jewels are part of her state regalia.”

“What do you suggest, my friend?”

De Puebla was thoughtful. He guessed that the marriage had not been consummated. The Sovereigns would be angry if they knew this. They were as anxious as Henry was to get an heir from the union. De Puebla knew that much as Henry wanted an heir he was terrified that sexual exertion would rob Arthur of what little strength he had. De Puebla was mischievous by nature. He liked to be the innocent party who stirred up the waters in the pond and made them troubled and then run away and disclaim all knowledge of what he had done. That was how he had always worked. De Ayala despised him; well, he despised de Ayala, that cultured gallant diplomat. His methods were no way to make history.

The royal pair had not consummated the marriage because Henry did not want it consummated yet and the only reason was that he was afraid for his son’s health. Let the boy take his chance, thought de Puebla, and if making love was too much for him then there would be further interesting situations to amuse de Puebla. Get the pair away from the anxious parental eye . . . and then they would see.

“Since you do me the honor of asking my opinion,” said de Puebla, “I will give it. This is between ourselves, Highness. Send the Prince and Princess away to a Court of their own . . . Wales, say. The people love the Prince there. They will love the Princess too. Let them hold Court, let the Princess wear the jewels . . . use the articles of the dowry . . . then when the time comes to hand them over you will say you cannot accept second-hand goods. The furniture will have suffered, the arras . . . the tapestries will be a little worse for wear. You can then demand one hundred thousand crowns, the first half of the dowry.”

“H’m,” said the King. “You are a devious thinker, my lord.”

“In the service of Your Highness.”

“And of your Sovereigns?”

De Puebla moved an imperceptible step nearer to the King. “My lord, I have had good friendship from you,” he said. “Better than . . .”

He did not finish and the King did not ask him to.

“I will think about this matter,” said the King.

A few days later it was announced that the Prince and Princess of Wales would reside for a while in Ludlow.

They were approaching the castle—Katharine with those who were left to her of the Spanish retinue she had brought with her, headed by Doña Elvira, and Arthur with a group of advisers who had been chosen by the King.