Elizabeth of York; London, England. December 1501.
The Christmas bliss between Henry and I found its end just about New Year, when my husband told me about the progress in the negotiations for my daughter Margaret’s marriage.
“Next month at the latest the treaty will be signed between James and I, and Margaret shall be deemed his bride-to-be.”
We were having lunch together in my rooms that day, with my ladies and his stewards standing behind us. I put the fork with quail egg inside my mouth to disguise my surprise.
“But so soon, milord?” I asked, after I had recovered my smile. “Our girl is not yet thirteen!”
“My mother was twelve when she got married and thirteen when she gave birth to me.” He remarked. “And see what a marvelous woman he has become. Our Margaret will be alright.”
I wanted to remind him that his beloved mother had nearly died of childbirth, suffered terribly during it and even being tossed. Not to mention she became sterile and was forced to remarry almost right after becoming a widow of his father. I knew Margaret Beaufort had never been a happy woman; even with her precious son on the throne, she remained icy on the inside. In her mind, making Henry King of England was nothing but her obligation, as it was her duty to rule England through him. It was not a matter of personal satisfaction; I doubted she even knew what satisfaction was. No, Margaret aimed higher; she wanted to be remembered as the woman who made her son King. She boasted for being a pious woman, free of sin, but we all knew there was pride in her every move, and that she had gone to Hell to put a crown in her son’s head.
“Surely she will remain with us for a fair longer?” I asked, hopefully.
“Maybe a year until she is married. I need to see how far I can trust the Scots.”
At least my husband was being careful, I thought. I had no liking for the Scots; to me, they were worse than the Welsh, wild, violent, without any sense of elegance or politeness. Their nature was just plain rude and proud, for they were a kingdom formed by rejects and rebels. I feared to send my little girl, my proud spoiled Margaret, to such hideous place.
“I thought Margaret would be married off to a French heir.” I said, in the most indifferent voice I was able to pull out.
“No, no… Though I am inclined to consider a match for Mary to the French Dauphin.”
“So soon? Mary is only five…”
“We arranged Arthur’s betrothal to the Infanta when he was younger than Mary. I see no problem…”
I did not reply, thinking that, after all, it was a perfect match.
Henry cleaned his mouth with his napkin and looked around. “Leave us.” He said to the court, briefly. I looked at him inquisitively; Henry would only ask them to leave when he had something serious to tell me. After the last maid left the room, he inclined to my direction.
“Speaking of the Infanta, I have been worried about something.”
“What is it, Henry?”
“Hey dowry has not yet been fully paid.”
Catalina’s dowry was a fine amount of money; the first half was paid shortly after their marriage, but the other half had not yet been sent.
“I believe the Spanish King is playing with me.” He sipped his wine. “I am not content.”
“Their marriage has only taken place, Henry. There is plenty of time.”
“Ferdinand even suggested that I’d take the rest from the Princess’ service.”
I hesitated; then, suddenly, I understood the reason why Margaret Beaufort had decided to send my son and his wife away so quickly. In Ludlow, they would be forced to use her service; every time a plate was used, it lost its value. At every accidental scratch, at every faded painting, the service would cost less and less. And then, Ferdinand of Aragón and Isabella of Castille would have no choice but to send the amount in money.
It infuriated me that Henry had sent my son away from me on Christmas time because of money. He must have noticed my sudden coldness, for he shook his head smiling.
“I didn’t expect you to understand; but I had to, Elizabeth. I can’t let them fool me.”
“Arthur always spends Christmas with us.”
“But now he is a grown man and a husband. And I will start treating him as Prince of Wales first and my son second. Therefore, he must answer for his wife.”
I nodded coldly and wiped my mouth with the napkin before standing up. “Excuse me, I need some fresh air.”
“Are you unpleased now?” He asked.
I turned my face to his direction, though I did not look at him. “You are the King. You must do your bidding.” I said. “But sometimes I wish you remembered that I am the daughter, the sister, the niece and the wife of Kings. I will also be the mother of the next King and grandmother to his son. I have survived hard times. I believe my opinion should not be neglected, as well as my wisdom should not be underestimated.”
I left the room before he could reply. But oddly enough, I felt a twisted sense of satisfaction. “At least I have a plan…”