Jean Plaidy (18 page)

There was immediate interest. Henry Tudor was known to be insecure on the throne; the King of France and the Emperor Maximilian would not be averse to a little trouble in England. It was always wise to keep kings engaged on their own doorsteps. It prevented their meddling in the affairs of others.

The King of Scotland sent a warm invitation for Peter to visit him; but before he could reply there was another invitation—this time from the King of France.

This was too important to be dismissed and Peter set out for France without delay.

It was at this time that Henry heard what was happening and knew that he had to discover all he could about this Peter Warbeck who called himself the Duke of York. That the man was a liar Henry was well aware. He could have told the world that it was quite impossible for him to be the Duke of York. But how could he be so sure? they would ask. There was the crux of the matter. Henry
was
sure, but he did not want the reason for his certainty to be known.

He sent spies to the Continent to find out how far this matter had gone and who was involved in it.

He remembered how his contemptuous treatment of Lambert Simnel had reduced the boy to a figure of fun. It showed the people how those who set out to take a crown from a king could end up watching the spits in that king’s kitchen.

He talked not angrily of this impostor but slightingly, giving him the nickname Perkin, which was sometimes given to those called Peter.

In Court circles and in the streets they talked of Perkin Warbeck and the name Henry had given him did surprisingly diminish his stature.

Henry was getting very concerned when he heard through his spies that the King of France had received Perkin Warbeck with honor as though he were indeed visiting royalty. He knew that his enemies on the Continent were just waiting to see him fall. It was a perpetual nightmare. During his early years he had been striving for the throne and when he eventually achieved it he discovered that his real troubles had begun. To be ever watchful of enemies, wondering constantly who was plotting against him, to be in constant dread of assassination … was this what he had dreamed of all those years in exile?

But he was committed now. He had to hold his throne for the sake of his son, King-Arthur-to-be, for the sake of the House of Tudor.

Some might have shrugged aside this ridiculous impostor, have told the world that he was liar and cheat—and the reason why it was a certainty if necessary.

Sometimes it was in the interests of peace that murder should be committed. Henry could assure himself that only in such circumstances would he be guilty of it. He wanted to be a good strong king; he wanted to bring prosperity to England; he wanted to leave a great country behind him when he died. He wanted Arthur to have an easier life than he had. Was that wrong? What happened to countries ruled by minors? There was always trouble. Looking back over history this was a lesson which stood out clearly. He had come to the throne through conquest. He did have a claim. He was descended from great British Kings Arthur and Cadwallader—his mother was descended from John of Gaunt and his grandmother had been Queen of England and daughter of the King of France. Was that not good enough?

The people would realize in time that a serious-minded king who sought to do what was best for the people was more worthy to rule than some little boy with pretty manners—even if he were the true son of Edward the Fourth, which this ridiculous young Perkin was most definitely not.

There was one ray of light. The French King was eager to complete the Treaty of Etaples and Henry would refuse to sign until Charles had promised that he would give no aid or shelter to pretenders to the English throne.

At least that was a small victory.

Charles signed the treaty and the result was that Perkin Warbeck with his adherents was asked—very politely—to leave France.

This Perkin did but he had already received an invitation to visit Margaret Duchess of Burgundy.

The Duchess of Burgundy, the sister of Edward the Fourth, was a forceful woman who had on the death of her husband become a very powerful one.

She was devoted to her family. Like all of them she had adored her eldest brother Edward and one of the great sorrows of her life had been the quarrel between Edward and their brother George Duke of Clarence, which had ended by Clarence’s being drowned in a butt of malmsey in the Tower. It was said to have been an accident because he had been a heavy drinker and it was assumed he had fallen into the butt during one of his bouts of drunkenness. Margaret did not know whether to believe the story or not, but she suspected George had become a menace and that Edward had removed him for that reason.

That saddened her. Families should cling together. She could not blame Edward of course, for she knew George would have been a danger to him but she did mourn him sadly. She turned her attention to developing the arts and to encouraging the printer Caxton in his works, later sending him to Edward to print books in England. She had obtained licences for the English to export oxen and sheep to Flanders and also wool free of custom duty. She had wanted friendship and trade between Flanders and England; and because of her relationship she had got it.

And then the Tudor had come. He had killed her brother Richard and that had been the end of the House of Plantagenet, which to her had been heartbreaking. To think that the noble House to which she had belonged had been set aside for that upstart Tudor was intolerable. She hated Henry Tudor. He was mean and grasping; he was the complete antithesis of her brother Edward. Edward had been generous-hearted, romantic, handsome, pleasant … a perfect man. And this Tudor was a miser who thought of little but hoarding money. He was slight in stature whereas Edward had been a man of bulk as he grew older, but when he had been young he had had the figure of a god. She had never seen Henry Tudor and did not want to, but she had heard many descriptions of him—pale dry skin, grayish eyes, cold as a wintry sea, and reddish-brown hair. Not a handsome man, but one who could be ruthless if crossed.

I will cross him, thought Margaret. If I had a chance I would drive him from the throne.

There was, moreover, a personal grievance for when he had seized the crown, Henry had confiscated the greater part of the dowry which Edward had bestowed on her when she married the Duke of Burgundy. It was maddening to think that what should be hers was in the hands of that man; and she made very welcome at her Court all the dissatisfied Yorkists who came from England. They all hated the Tudor monarch and were ever seeking means to overthrow him and they could be sure of finding a sympathetic listener in the Duchess of Burgundy.

Thus when Perkin Warbeck arrived she was ready for him.

She embraced him affectionately, then held him at arm’s length that she might see him better.

“My nephew,” she said. “We have often wondered what became of you. You are so like your father, I weep to look at you. I am thankful that you have come to me. It may not be long now before you have that which is your rightful due. You will find friends here who are only waiting for the opportunity to help you.”

So at the Duchess’s Court Perkin was treated as though he were indeed her nephew. He told his story of his wandering after the man selected to murder him had allowed him to go free. He talked of the Framptons who had befriended him and first made him realize that he should do something and save his country from the Tudor rule.

“That shall be done,” said the Duchess firmly. “We will raise an army. You will find that you have many to help you.”

She kept him beside her. Everywhere she went she presented him as the White Rose, Prince of England, King Richard the Fourth. She talked to him continually of her brother King Edward, of how he had lived; she told him everything she knew of that king’s family and it seemed to Perkin that the life of Richard of York was more real to him than that of Perkin Warbeck of Tournay. He began to believe he had really been in Sanctuary with his family; he could almost remember being sent to the Tower to join his brother; he could see his mother’s face distorted with grief; he could feel her tears on his face as she kissed him and gave him over to his jailers.

With Margaret he
was
the Duke of York. Peter Warbeck was just an identity he had assumed while he was waiting to declare himself.

Henry, watching events very closely, was getting more and more disturbed.

He must take some action. It was no use asking Margaret of Burgundy to give up this ridiculous charade. She wanted him off the throne, he had always known that; and what could suit her better than to set up her own puppet?

He could bring trouble to Flanders, and against his better judgment he decided to do so. He forbade all contact between England and Flanders and expelled all Flemings from England.

It was a mistake and enraged the people of London. Riots were narrowly averted but it taught Henry how easily the people could be persuaded to rise against him and that any one of these pretenders with no claim to the throne whatsoever could ruin himself and the country.

“It is no use shrugging aside this Perkin,” he said to his Lord Chamberlain Sir William Stanley. “He is more dangerous than Lambert Simnel. It is all very well to talk slightingly of Perkin as we did of the scullion now in the kitchens, but they make trouble, these petty adventurers.”

“Indeed it is so, my lord,” said Stanley, “but this fellow is a nobody and most people know this.”

“My good Stanley, you give the people credit for too much good sense. There are people who will support a cause however flimsy because they take a delight in discord. One is never quite sure where trouble will come from next.”

“Sire, you are firm on the throne now. It would take a mighty force to shift you.”

The King smiled at Stanley. He wished he had his confidence. Good Stanley. He owed a great deal to him and had recently made him a Knight of the Garter. He doubted whether but for Stanley he would be where he was today. Stanley was in a way a member of the family, for his brother had married the Countess of Richmond thereby becoming Henry’s stepfather. It was Stanley who at Bosworth Field had deserted Richard the Third and brought his men over to Henry’s side at a vital moment. One could say he had helped put Henry on the throne and Henry liked to have such men about him, being haunted as he was by the fear of assassination or the rising of those who would try to take the crown from him.

They were joined by Empson and Dudley, who were so good at thinking up taxes which could be legitimately imposed on the people and thus adding to treasury funds.

They were smiling. They had brought him good news of large sums of money which had recently been added to the exchequer. But the King could not be weaned from his melancholy mood.

“It is no use amassing wealth and creating a prosperous country if all our efforts are to be squandered in wars to suppress pretenders.”

“No one can really believe that Perkin Warbeck is the Duke of York,” said Empson.

“We know that, my friend,” replied Henry, “and my enemies on the Continent know it as well as we do, but it suits them to set him up, to provide him with that which he needs to come against me. I have a suspicion that he is not without friends in this country.”

“That cannot be,” cried Dudley, aghast.

“Impossible!” echoed Stanley.

“I have not your trusting natures, my friends,” said the King. “There are certain people about me whom I know to be loyal … who have proved their loyalty … but beyond that.”