Arthur

Chapter 35

Elizabeth of York; London, England. March 1502.

Spring started to show its first signs earlier. I woke up with my ladies merrily giggling and preparing my dress, content with the pleasant weather and the prospects of a happy season. Every morning, new flowers were placed on vases around my bed, from my own garden. Jasmines, roses, marguerites, all of them announcing health, joy and renewal. The pleasant warmth and the shy sun beams were perfect for a walk around the castle, for hunts and for picnics outside. The whole court seemed to be in syntonic moods with the weather. Except for me.

I walked around my rooms, thoughtfully; those were not my rooms by right. I was not even able to inherit my mother’s rooms, the Queen’s rooms, for my husband gave them to his own mother and made new ones for my use. The expensive dresses, the jewelry, the tapestry… Everything was not mine. I felt like I had not felt for years: like a child, as if I had no power, no right and no one to protect me. Just as if I was once again in sanctuary with my mother and sisters, not knowing my luck, praying for the safety of everyone around and hoping for my own survival.

The only difference was that I had no cause then; I was merely the daughter of the late King of England, then his bastard, then the King’s niece. I was what people decided me to be, and I had nothing to lose. It was comfortable enough for me to switch sides at any time after I lost my brother. But I had gained a cause; there was no chance for me to change my mind, to give it up or let it go.

It was as if the Yorkist spirit, long hidden and forgotten within my soul, had suddenly resurrected. A flame burning so strongly that I was surprised that I had not yet been consumed by it. The loyalty and perseverance, such remarking traits of the Yorks, were restored to my heart, and I had no intention to let it be blown away ever again.

I was a fool, a fool! I believed Henry on our wedding day. I cannot imagine how I made myself believe his words. Was I not supposed to know if he was lying to me? I, the daughter of Elizabeth Woodville, the Queen of plots, the Lady of schemes? I learned so much from her, and I thought I knew it all, I was positive I would be able to care for my own self and make my own choices; but I was a fool.

I could not bear to look at my husband and my mother-in-law; I did not know exactly their roles in that mortal plot, but I was certain they had their share of guilt, and that was enough for me. I would never forgive them, but most of all, I would never forgive myself for not seeing it sixteen years earlier.

I tried my best to avoid the company of Lady Margaret Beaufort; I knew she had never liked me. She despised my mother, who once thought of her as a loyal friend and even trusted her with her sons; she despised me, she made it clear during the brief time I spend at Lord Stanley’s house when Richard was still King and I had big hopes for myself, beautiful dreams and a wonderful future ahead me. In my mind, she was the one who took it all away from me, and I could not bear to look at her face.

My husband barely noticed my gloomy moods; he was far too distracted by his new whore. I was not even bothered by the fact he was not in my bed. Truthfully, I was thankful he would keep away from me. I could not bear touch Henry. I did not believe he was able to perform any cruel act, but I knew deep inside my heart that if he knew his mother had done it, he would never say a word.

The only thing that kept me smiling to the courtiers, entertaining the ambassadors and doing my duties as Queen was that I had a cause. I had the higher hand in that game, and nobody could take it away from me. I could unmask those who had hurt me and my family, and I’d have them pay for it.

Until that night, I was certain my feelings and my plans were safe with me and those of my trust; after all, we had been careful, using trustworthy and loyal messengers and keeping it among the family. I realised my behaviour was rather unusual to the eyes of everyone else, for I had claimed to be sick almost every night to avoid dining in the Great Room with my husband, as well as spent most of my time alone or with Lady Catherine Gordon. Decided to keep the appearances and attend to dinner, I had my new gown made of white ermine put on me by my careful ladies and even allowed them to put little flowers in my hair, plaited carefully around my head and partially hidden under the headdress. Henry looked at me as if he was hypnotized; I believe he had always been hypnotized by my looks. Any daughter of my mother, any girl from the House of Rivers, was a beauty like no other in the world. There was the time my grandmother Jacquetta was the most beautiful woman in England, the Duchess of Burgundy, who conquered the heart of the Londoners at first sight. Then, my mother conquered the throne of England with her wits and looks, and there was no man who could ride pass her without having his heart skip a beat. And I knew I was no different, even though my youth had abandoned me and I had resigned myself to a much quieter life than the ones my grandmother and mother had. However, I could see in my husband’s eyes the same foolish obsession and desire that most men would have in their eyes when glancing at me. The difference was, Henry knew me better; and he knew my feelings. Therefore, his emotions were mixed with frustration.

“Husband.” I greeted him as we sat together on the table, ready to dine. His mother was on the chair on his left, as usual, when I would sit on his right. The dinner was served, and the court hoped for my favour. I sent good pieces of pheasant to Lady Catherine and my favourites, and Henry and Lady Margaret Beaufort did the same to theirs. I noticed the Spanish Ambassador, Dr. De Puebla, was sitting on the extremity of the table, looking nervous and irritated. I also noticed no one had sent a single favoured piece of the dish to him, and he would have to wait for less fine pieces.

“Dr. De Puebla looks… distressed.” I said casually to Henry. He glanced at the man and shook his head.

“We’ve been having our differences.” He said. “The Infanta’s dowry has not been fully paid. Ferdinand of Aragón sent me half of the dowry when the Princess arrived and promised me to send the other half right after the wedding, but he has not kept his word. And Dr. De Puebla” he gestured to the man “has not given me any satisfactory reasons for that.”

I looked at the poor man, who seemed to be under so much pressure. I was sure the Spanish King was giving him a difficult time as well. Thinking quickly, I separated a fairly good piece of pheasant and asked to be sent to Dr. De Puebla. Henry looked at me, confused.

“We should not hold enemies.” I said. “Let us keep Dr. De Puebla happy, so he can intercede for our case kindly. And, we make no use of a distressed Ambassador by all means.”

The mean reached the Ambassador, who looked rather surprised at the pageboy who delivered it. I imagine he asked him who had sent it, and I assume the boy said it was from the Queen, for Dr. De Puebla looked at me in a mix of surprise and delight, and bowed his head to me before starting eating fast, a bit happier.

“That’s actually very wise of you, Elizabeth.” Henry said, admired.

“I do not understand your tone of surprise, milord. After all, you knew when you married me that I am my mother’s daughter.”

He looked at me disturbed, turning a bit paler. At that very moment, I knew he feared me.

“Your Grace.” A man called from behind us, and as I turned to see who was it, I saw the Duke of Buckingham, Edward Stafford. My own cousin. “I am very sorry to interrupt, but I would appreciate a word with you about an urgent matter.”

“Of course.” He said, apparently glad that he had a reason to leave the table.

As soon as Henry left, I caught the sharp eyes of his mother staring at me.

“I’ve heard the Princess of Wales is ill.” She said.

“Ill?”

“Apparently a cold or something of the kind. It does not seem to be serious, and Arthur is well.”

“Since when?”

“Three, four days, I believe.”

“Three days? My daughter-in-law has been sick for three days? Why was I not notified?” I wondered why Margaret Pole had not sent me a note about it.

“You did not know, then?” Lady Margaret Beaufort asked.

Then I knew it; she knew I had ways to know what happened in Ludlow. She knew I had people on my service. The only thing I worried about was, did she know who were they? Did she intercept my letters?

“I do not know what you have in mind, Elizabeth.” She said, drinking a bit of her wine. “But I can guarantee you this: It will not work. You are no longer a York, so keep away from your mind every silly thought.”

I fisted my hand in anger and bit my cheeks so I would not reply and risk everything. I could be a bluff, a trickery from that old crone. And, for my surprise, I realised I did not fear for myself.