Arthur

Chapter 39

Elizabeth of York; London, England. April 2nd of 1502.

My boy left this world at the second hour of the second day of April. I know so, because exactly at this time, Melusina sang to me the saddest and most heartbreaking song I will ever hear in my life. She knows, as a mother who lost children when she was forced to leave her home, the pain of losing a child.

I remembered, foolishly, as I used to think that the pain of losing Richard was the worst feeling I had ever experienced. I was wrong, so wrong… Nothing compares to the pain of burying a son. When the messengers from Wales sent the news to court, I had already prepared myself for the news, but hearing it from their mouths, that the Prince of Wales was dead, made me realize that he would never come back to me, and I would never see his handsome face again.

Henry was even more mortified than me; part of me pitied him, the father in him that lost his first-born, a son that was so beloved and so expected. But another part of me remembered what he and his family had done to mine. I did not seek his hand while they informed us about the death of our son. I did not offer my shoulder for him to cry. I did not invite him to my rooms or exchanged a single word with him.

Lady Margaret, however, was as cold as ice; she always thought of my Arthur less of a prince because he was a quiet, scholar boy who wished to study and learn everything there was to learn. I hated to think so, but it seemed as if she had hopes this would happen, and so her other grandson, the one whom she had spoiled all his life, would be the next in line. She knew no love, my mother-in-law; she only knew ambition and power-seeking.

I ordered mourning in my household, and left to my rooms, asking to not be disturbed. I had never been as strong as my own mother, who fought until her death for her sons. I took one of the only things my mother left me, a necklace with a dark pendant. There were so many things I wish I had asked her, about motherhood, about marriage, about love and life…  For the first time in long years, I wished she was with me, advising me, telling me what to do next, telling me how to cope with such ripping pain. But she was gone as well, away from this world of vanities, leaving me to be trapped in the wolf cave. My mother lost so many sons… Most of them were taken from her violently, and suffered a crude, unjust death. Thinking of that, I realised how I had underestimated her; she was strong enough to keep fighting, even with a blow like this. I could never have done it, I knew that.

“How did you do it?” I asked to the necklace, almost waiting for a response. “I cannot understand it. You knew so much and you never taught me about this. Now I need you, and you are not here.”

The reply never came, and never would. The necklace was as lifeless as my mother.

“I lost my son,” I said. “My son. My precious son Arthur. You lost your precious son as well. How did you survive the pain? How could you keep fighting for him even after he was gone?”

A knock on my door distracted me from my morbid monologue; quickly, I put the necklace back to my jewelry box, only noticing how the pendant was actually a reliquary, and it had slightly opened. I closed the jewelry box, deciding to think of it later.

“Come in.”

Lady Catherine Gordon entered the room, already in her black gown, and looking sincerely sad. She curtseyed respectfully, before talking.

“Your Grace, I cannot express my sentiments in words…”

“You do not need words, Catherine,” I smiled bitterly. “Unlike everyone else, you speak grief with your eyes.”

She approached, taking my hand thoughtfully. “I know it is a hard time, but I have something that might be of your interest.”

“What is it?”