Arthur

Chapter 31

Elizabeth of York; London, England. February 1502.

“What?!” I spat. The pageboy bowed, obediently.

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” She said.

“Say it again, for I believe my ears have deceived me.”

“His Majesty the King has denied your request to visit the Prince and Princess of Wales, Your Grace.” He mumbled.

“The King has denied me the right to see my son and his wife, is that what you’re telling me?”

“Your Grace, I –”

“Where is the King.”

“He is in his office, Your Grace, but–”

I did not wait for the boy to finish his sentence; I had longed for my son ever since he left the court, and now I was denied the right of a mother to visit her child. At every step of mine I could feel the anger growing inside me, pressing against my chest.

“Your Grace, the King is occupied now!” A guard tried to inform me as I reached the door for my husband’s office, but I ignored it and opened it myself, furiously walking inside.

“Milord!” I called, looking around. I found him seated by the fireplace, and quickly standing up from his lap, one of my maids, the young and fool Lady Mary Stafford.

“Your Grace.” She curtseyed, looking down. I needed no explanation; it was clear that my husband had been in a compromising position with that girl, taking from the blush on her cheeks and chest, and the lock of fair hair falling from the once careful plait. I dismissed her with a movement; my time of being jealous and bothered with such matters had long passed me, years back, when he I learned that my husband had fathered a bastard girl from some French mistress.

“Madam…” he mumbled, disastrously.

“I have just been informed you have denied me the right to see my son in Ludlow.” I said, sparing him the shame of explaining himself. “May I ask why, milord?”

He looked away. “Arthur has still much to do, Elizabeth. He has only just arrived in Ludlow and he needs time to adjust himself and learn his way.”

“That does not stop me from seeing him!” I reply. “Why, husband? Why am I not to see my son?”

“Elizabeth, please.” Henry stood up, contradicted. “He is a man now, it is about time that he renounces to his mother’s whims!”

“Says the man who still eats on his mother’s hand!” I spat, in which he turned to me, his face livid. Then, it struck me. “It was her commandment, wasn’t it? Your mother was the one to tell you not to see my son?”

Henry opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then closed it again.

“How dare she?” I asked, walking towards him. “It’s my son.”

“We believe you have been overly cautious with him.” He replied, at last. “It will give him the false premises of a King.”

“Overly cautious? Pardon me, milord, but had your mother not been cautious towards you, you would not be here now, and there would be another King of England before me.”

The words escaped my lips without a thought, and the image of Richard took over my mind. I knew that my husband had the same image in his.

“I want to go see my son.” I said, quietly. “And if you do not allow me to, I will not wait for your permission.”

Henry sighed. “Can we wait one more month, Elizabeth? Next month, and you can go visit Arthur.”

“Do I have your word?”

“Yes, you have my word.”

“Then I accept to wait, one month and that is all.” I said, nodding to him. I turned to leave when I noticed, laying next to the chair my husband was occupying moments before, a feminine lace.

“And tell Lady Mary to be careful with her clothing.” I said, glancing at him. “I have noticed she has been incautious enough to… lose pieces among my belongings.”

“Your Grace.” Lady Catherine Gordon entered my rooms. I had dismissed all the other ladies for the night, and required that only Catherine would attend me.

“Catherine, please open the window for me.” I requested, and she rushed to obey. The night was peaceful, quiet, with a delicate cold breeze.

She approached me, and I made a gesture indicating the chair beside me, which she took. She was a pretty woman, and a smart one, and I would need her attributes.

“I must see my son.” I said. “The King and his mother have been trying to keep me from visiting my son. I wonder why.”

“Lady Margaret has her spies.” Catherine replied quietly. “Are you sure the secret is kept between us two, Lady Margaret Pole, Lady Cecily and her man in Tournai?”

“It cannot have reached Margaret’s ears, I am sure.” I replied. “But she might know I have a plan. She cannot dream of what is it, but she can smell conspiracy from miles away, that crone. She was born in conspiracy.”

“It would be wise to let Lady Margaret Pole know about it.” She advised.

“My cousin Margaret is careful; she always assumes there is someone listening. She lost her father for a failed conspiracy.”

“What do you have in mind, Your Grace?”

“I need someone to be close to the King and have his ears.” I said, softly. “He has a great deed of care for you, Catherine, has he not?”

“Perhaps, milady, but I cannot–”

“You do not have to.” I interrupted her. “Is it true you are friends with little Mary Stafford?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Tell me about her.”

“She is a pretty girl, has good manners, but lacks wits.” Catherine smiled. “A poor silly girl she is. I daresay it is impressive that she can count her age years.”

“Perfect.” I smiled back. “And how close are you to Lady Mary?”

“As the Head of the Queen’s Rooms, it is my duty to keep an eye on the young maids. She is an obedient girl, unlike the others. She appreciates my advises and see me as a mentor.”

“Then, we must take this girl to the King’s bed.” I replied, in a low voice. “She is halfway there, I know. Make sure she gets there. I want to know what Lady Margaret Beaufort knows or suspects.”

“Do you think it’s wise to trust her with such task?”

“If she is well trained to do the right thing, I see no reason why she shouldn’t.” I look at her. “Can I trust you this task?”

Catherine nods. “I shall have it done, Your Grace.”

“I thank you, my dear Catherine.” I stood up, walking to the window. “Margaret Beaufort is a strong opponent.” I say, as I admire the sky. Not far from there, I know the Thames is running peacefully, and I can feel the river’s flow into the night. “I cannot afford to have her suspect of us.”

A strong breeze entered the room, and the candle next to me had its flame blown away. From afar, perhaps from the Thames, I heard a very soft, melancholic song. A different song from what I had ever heard before; sad, passionate and warning.

“Your Grace, you should not stay by the window, those cold breezes are deadly.” Catherine said, walking towards me and trying to close the window. I let her, as I tried to think why Melusina would sing for me now, such intriguing song. It wasn’t an announce of someone’s death, but it did not seem to me the announce of anything to be happy about.