Authors: David Starkey
Six Wives (20 page)
Her father could not of course be left entirely in the dark and on 27 May she wrote him a letter. 'Some days before' she had miscarried of a daughter. 'That her child was still born is considered to be a misfortune in England.' Hence the delay in her letter and hence the fact that she would allow no one else to write.
Clearly this version of events was severely edited. Catherine postdates her miscarriage by almost four months. And she makes no mention of her subsequent false pregnancy nor of the fact that she had taken to her Chamber. Yet there can be no doubt that these events had happened. For, behind her back and to cover theirs, both Fray Diego and Caroz sent full accounts to Spain. Their motives were different: Fray Diego wrote to exonerate Catherine; Caroz to undermine Fray Diego. Nevertheless their accounts are mutually complementary. They are also confirmed by the English records of the preparations for Catherine's lying-in.
So Catherine had lied to her father. And earlier, she had deceived her husband about her phantom pregnancy, or at least had acquiesced in the deceit and muddle. In both cases, she acted out of fear and desperation. She was desperate to fulfil the pressure on her to have children. And she was fearful of the consequences when she failed. Do not 'be angry with her', she begged her father, 'for it has been the will of God'.
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But Catherine had more to fear than her father's wrath. There was her position in England to consider. Her marriage was contentious. Her first pregnancy had been a debacle. Her husband had quarrelled with her and he had an eye for another woman.
Fortunately, at this moment, Catherine's luck turned. When she was in labour on 31 January, Catherine had vowed to present one of her richest headdresses to the Spanish shrine of St Peter the Martyr of the Order of Franciscan Friars. One prayer at least was answered. For, even as she wrote her muddled, half-truthful excuses to her father, she was
again pregnant. Henry must have slept with her up to the last moment before she had taken to her Chamber.
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again pregnant. Henry must have slept with her up to the last moment before she had taken to her Chamber.
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This time surely she would carry the baby to term. This time surely it would be a boy.
24. A son
D
espite its extraordinary beginnings, Catherine's second pregnancy was smoother than her first. The King went on a summer Progress to the south of England. But wisely Catherine opted out of part of it and spent July with her ladies at Eltham. By the end of October the couple were back at Richmond, where they were to remain. In November, the formal preparations for the lying-in and birth began and the Prior of Canterbury, who kept the great silver font which was used for royal christenings, was warned that it would shortly be needed again. Catherine took to her Chamber before the Christmas festivities and, on New Year's Eve, went into labour. The Gentlemen of the Chapel Royal sang prayers for her safe delivery and, at 1.30 in the morning of New Year's Day, her child was born. It was a boy.
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espite its extraordinary beginnings, Catherine's second pregnancy was smoother than her first. The King went on a summer Progress to the south of England. But wisely Catherine opted out of part of it and spent July with her ladies at Eltham. By the end of October the couple were back at Richmond, where they were to remain. In November, the formal preparations for the lying-in and birth began and the Prior of Canterbury, who kept the great silver font which was used for royal christenings, was warned that it would shortly be needed again. Catherine took to her Chamber before the Christmas festivities and, on New Year's Eve, went into labour. The Gentlemen of the Chapel Royal sang prayers for her safe delivery and, at 1.30 in the morning of New Year's Day, her child was born. It was a boy.
1
* * *
The King and England went mad with joy. Two hundred and seven pounds of gunpowder was spent firing salute after salute in the Tower. Bonfires burned; fountains ran with wine and processions of thanksgiving wound through the streets of London. For greater ceremony, the christening was 'deferred' until Sunday the 5th. It took place in the church of the Observant Friars (Catherine's favourite Order) at Richmond Palace. Rails and posts were erected from the Great Hall to the church to make a processional way, twenty-four feet wide. This was gravelled and hung with tapestry. Inside the church, the great silver font stood on a high, stepped platform. The boy's godfather was King Louis XII of France and his godmother the Archduchess Margaret. And he was christened Henry. The heralds cried his name and titles – 'Prince Henry, first son of our sovereign lord King Henry VIII' – and the proud father rewarded them with the extravagantly large sum of £20.
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As protocol dictated, neither Catherine nor Henry was present at the christening. Instead, Catherine remained within her Chamber. After the christening, her son was brought back to her in procession, preceded by his baptismal gifts. These were carried in the order of the rank of the giver and were headed by the magnificent presents from his godfather, Louis XII: a great salt, weighing fifty-one ounces, and a cup, weighing forty-eight ounces, both of fine gold. The gifts and the child were presented to the Queen by her ladies.
But the reunion between mother and son was brief. Immediately, as protocol again dictated, the child was borne to the nursery and handed over to the Lady Mistress, Elizabeth Denton, and the wet-nurse, Elizabeth Poyntz. The latter was clearly Catherine's own choice. The husband of the wet-nurse was John Poyntz, the second son of Sir Robert Poyntz of Iron Acton in Gloucestershire. Sir Robert was Catherine's Vice-chamberlain and John had followed him into the Queen's service. The French ambassador, D'Arizolles, who was in charge of distributing Louis XII's largesse at the christening, was clearly surprised at Elizabeth's social standing. He had been told, he reported, 'that it would be well to present a chain of 200 crowns [£40] to the Prince's nurse, and tell her that the King prays her to nurse well his godson. She is a gentlewoman of good house.'
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Meanwhile, Henry also left Catherine, to go on a pilgrimage of thanksgiving to the Shrine of Our Lady at Walsingham. Walsingham, on the north Norfolk coast, is a round trip of over two hundred miles from London. Henry set out from the Tower on the 12th and took about ten days to reach his goal. At Walsingham he said his prayers, kissed the relic of the Virgin's milk and made offerings of £1 13s and 4d. On the way back, he sent a messenger to Catherine, with a present of two does, which he had probably killed en route. He arrived back at the Tower on the 31st and rejoined his wife at Richmond at the beginning of February.
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Henry's absence on pilgrimage had, happily, coincided with the boring aftermath of Catherine's pregnancy. This was now out of the way. Catherine was churched and out of her confinement and back in his bed. And it was almost time for the celebratory jousts. Henry had proclaimed these on the day of the christening itself. The King, with three aides, challenged all comers to meet him at Westminster on 12 and 13 February. The tournament was the most splendid of Henry's reign and it is recorded, uniquely, by a sixty-foot-long illuminated vellum roll. Here the various scenes of the pageant are represented in vivid colour and burnished gold-leaf.
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The roll begins with the mounted procession to the lists on the second day of the tournament. First comes the Master of the Armoury, with his staff on foot carrying the lances; then follow the trumpeters and the gallants of the Court. The trumpeters puff out their cheeks and the gallants preen. More sober are the heralds, who are in charge of both the ceremony and the sport. They directly precede the King's three aides, each of whom rides under a canopied pavilion. Their pavilions are magnificent. But they pale before the splendour of the King's, which is made of broad strips of cloth of gold alternating with blue velvet. The blue velvet is thickly strewn with golden letters of 'K' for Catherine.
The central portion of the roll shows Henry jousting before Catherine. Catherine is housed in a grandstand, which is elaborately painted and gilded with royal badges and livery colours. She sits under a canopy of cloth of gold, with Henry's sister Mary next to her. The Queen's face is notably plumper and her figure full and maternal. She applauds enthusiastically as Henry breaks his lance on his opponent's helmet, jerking the head sharply backwards and upwards. The trapper of Henry's horse is also made of blue velvet, sprinkled with more golden 'K's. As well, there are large golden hearts and, along the lower border, other golden letters spell out 'Loyall'. This is Henry's chivalric name for the tournament: he is Catherine's 'Coeur Loyal', 'Sir Loyal Heart'.
Never, I believe, had Henry been so in love with Catherine as at that moment; never would he be so fully again.
Never, I believe, had Henry been so in love with Catherine as at that moment; never would he be so fully again.
For, ten days later, on the 22nd, Prince Henry was dead. The baby was brought from Richmond and buried in state at Westminster Abbey on the 27th. Catherine was heartbroken: 'like a natural woman, [she] made much lamentation'. According to the chronicler, Henry took it like a man, concealing his feelings the better to comfort his wife. But D'Arizolles tells a different story. He had been advised by the Council, he reports, not to present Louis XII's letters of condolence on the death of the Prince, 'or say a word about it at present, as it would only revive the King's grief '.
25. War
S
o far, Catherine had failed at making love – or, rather, at making babies. Would she be any more successful at making war? For war was the reason that Ferdinand had emptied his coffers to pay the last instalment of her marriage portion. Two decades previously, he had signed the Treaty of Medina del Campo with Henry VII, King of England, in order to complete the encirclement of his enemy, France. Now, with his daughter's marriage to the younger Henry safely accomplished at last, he had brought the scheme to fruition. Catherine was its symbol: she was also expected to play an active part in unleashing war.
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o far, Catherine had failed at making love – or, rather, at making babies. Would she be any more successful at making war? For war was the reason that Ferdinand had emptied his coffers to pay the last instalment of her marriage portion. Two decades previously, he had signed the Treaty of Medina del Campo with Henry VII, King of England, in order to complete the encirclement of his enemy, France. Now, with his daughter's marriage to the younger Henry safely accomplished at last, he had brought the scheme to fruition. Catherine was its symbol: she was also expected to play an active part in unleashing war.
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Ferdinand was quite open about this. Caroz, the Spanish ambassador in England, was instructed to do everything he could to get Henry VIII to declare war on France. If he failed, he was to invoke Catherine 'and ask her to persuade her husband'. And if Catherine were sufficiently unfilial to prefer peace to war, then Caroz was to use Fray Diego to persuade Catherine to persuade Henry. Ferdinand even wrote directly to Fray Diego, to promise him favour and preferment in the Church.
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Ferdinand's willingness to resort to the black arts against even his own child is characteristic. But it proved unnecessary. Catherine was Isabella's daughter: she had practically been born in camp and she felt at home there. War was her element and showed her at her best. Nor did Henry take any persuading to fight the French. Instead, he began his reign with a calculated gesture of bellicosity. The French ambassador, the corpulent Abbot of Fécamp, arrived to thank Henry VIII for his letter proposing the continuation of Henry VII's policy of peace and friendship between the two countries. The new young King was outraged. 'Who wrote this letter?' he demanded fiercely. '
I
ask peace of the King of France, who dare not look me in the face let alone make war on me!' And yet the letter proposing the renewal of peace
had
been written. And, despite Henry's protestations, the peace
was
renewed. For though the King wanted war, the members of an important party on his Council were determined to maintain peace.
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I
ask peace of the King of France, who dare not look me in the face let alone make war on me!' And yet the letter proposing the renewal of peace
had
been written. And, despite Henry's protestations, the peace
was
renewed. For though the King wanted war, the members of an important party on his Council were determined to maintain peace.
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It was Catherine's first responsibility – and one which was congenial to her – to stiffen Henry's determination to over-ride the peace party. Thereafter, she had a choice. She could remain the tool of Ferdinand's schemes, as her father hoped and intended. Or she could work with her husband to the glory and benefit of England. Catherine never hesitated: had not her father told her that she must become English?
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Ferdinand's first use of Catherine was indirect. Her letters home had told her father, excitedly, how much she was enjoying the endless round of entertainment laid on for her by Henry. In one of his first despatches, Caroz went into greater detail. He was especially struck by the twiceweekly foot combats with javelin and sword that were known as fighting at the barriers. They had been instituted, he solemnly informed Ferdinand, 'in imitation of Amadis and Lancelot, and other knights of olden time, of whom so much is written in books'. Many young men of the Court excelled in this sport. 'But the most conspicuous . . . the most assiduous and the most interested [combatant] . . . is the King himself '. There was much froth and nonsense about such Court tournaments – as when, on one memorably absurd occasion, Henry made his entrance sitting, fully armed, in the middle of a fountain fashioned out of precious fabric that spouted real water through eight gargoyles. But there was high chivalric purpose and seriousness as well.
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Ferdinand decided to exploit this latent idealism for his own ends. In February 1511 he sent letters asking the English to help him launch a crusade against the Moors in North Africa. The bait was obvious. You all take part, Ferdinand told the young men of England, in mock combats fought on fictional grounds. Now fight, he challenged them, a real war for a real reason: 'against the Infidels, enemies of Christ's law'. Thomas, Lord Darcy, immediately volunteered to lead the expedition, and chose as his provost-marshal 'a lusty young man and well beloved of the King', Henry Guildford, whose father, Sir Richard, had died, within sight of Jerusalem, on pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
Darcy's troops sailed to Cadiz, only to be told on arrival that Ferdinand had been forced to abandon the crusade against the Moors because of the threat from nearer home of the King of France. Darcy returned to England not best pleased.
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But Guildford, determined to extract some adventure from the affair, rode to Ferdinand's Court at Burgos. There the Spanish King knighted him in the names of Saint James and Saint George, the patron saints of Spain and England. He also gave him an augmentation or addition to his coat of arms of 'a canton of Granada': that is, of a pomegranate on a silver square at the 'dexter chief ' or top left of his shield. The pomegranate was Catherine's badge, and Guildford was to remain loyal through good times and bad to the daughter of the King who had knighted him.
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Ferdinand's efforts to involve England in war were also helped, unwittingly, by the intended target, the King of France. Pope Julius II and Louis XII had been allies. But they had quarrelled over the division of the spoils of their successful war on the Republic of Venice, and Julius had attacked the French armies in Italy. Stung, Louis decided to turn the tables. If the Pope could use secular weapons, he, the Most Christian King of France, would riposte with spiritual ones. He summoned a Council of the Church to Pisa, and threatened to depose Julius. But the manoeuvre backfired since it enabled the opponents of France – in particular Ferdinand and the Pope – to present Louis as the common enemy of Christendom, who would reopen the wounds of the Great Schism which had torn the Church apart in the fifteenth century. This line found an especially ready hearing in England, where Henry and Catherine outdid each other in conspicuous piety.
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