To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York (45 page)

There were so many things in Henry’s mind. His spirits would have been considerably lifted if he could have found a bride. He missed Elizabeth more than he had thought possible. She had been so docile, never complaining, accepting his superior wisdom in all things. Having enjoyed the company of such a wife it was not surprising that he missed it and desperately longed to replace her.

The country was prospering as never before and his ministers thought it rather foolish of him to be so constantly worrying about a claimant to the throne springing up. It was due to those alarming insurrections of Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck . . . and of course the continued fears concerning the Princes in the Tower. They had colored his outlook to such an extent that there were times when they dominated all else.

But his ministers were right. He had nothing to fear. Nevertheless he would do what he could to cultivate Philip’s friendship, and he would seek a bride and remarry, which would remind himself that he was young yet. He would watch over the development of young Henry and mold him as the king he would one day be. And as for his son’s marriage, well, if an opportunity turned up he was free to take it. He kept telling himself that he was in no way bound to the marriage with Katharine of Aragon.

But the woman was an incessant nuisance. She was constantly grumbling and even now that she had free quarters at Court she went round like a messenger of doom trying to win the sympathy of those about her.

She had no money to buy clothes; she could not pay her servants; the few women who were left to her could not marry because she could not provide them with dowries; her undergarments had been mended so many times that there was nothing left of them but patches.

She was in a sorry state and worst of all she did not know whether she was the prospective Princess of Wales or not.

“We are not committed,” said the King. “Let her understand that.”

He had little thought to waste on her; he was wondering how he could best cultivate the friendship of Philip.

Then fate played into his hands.

That January the greatest storm the English ever remembered struck the island; the gale raged all through the day and night; even in London roofs blew from houses and it was unsafe to be in the streets. Among other buildings St. Paul’s Cathedral was damaged, but all this was nothing compared with the fury of the gale along the coasts.

It so happened that Philip with his wife Juana was at this time on the high seas. They were on their way to claim the crown of Castile and were making the journey by sea because the King of France would not permit them to cross his land.

So Philip had set sail from the Netherlands with his army and was in the English Channel when the full force of the storm struck his fleet. It was scattered; ships were sunk and some were washed ashore along the English coast.

With Philip was his wife Juana whom he would have preferred to be without. Philip was twenty-eight years old; he had already earned the title of Philip the Handsome and it fitted him. His long golden hair and fine features gave him the appearance of a Greek god and his large blue eyes and skin were fresh and healthy. If he was not tall, he was not short—perhaps slightly above medium height. Perhaps if he were older those perfect features might have been spoiled by marks of debauchery, but at this time, in spite of the life he led, they remained unsullied.

He had married Juana for Castile and he always said they might have lived together in reasonable harmony if she had not become so enamored of him that she could not bear him out of her sight and when they were together she could not prevent herself showing in every possible way her passionate devotion to him. As she was more than a little unbalanced, this passion for her husband—particularly in view of the life he liked to lead—assumed violent demonstrations. The incident of the cropped-haired mistress was but one. Her desire for Philip was insatiable and the stronger it grew so did his revulsion for her.

It was a very unhappy state of affairs, but on this occasion he had to endure her company for they were on their way to Castile where she would have to claim the crown of Castile.

He had often wondered whether he could put her away. That she was mad, many would be ready to admit if they dared. But surely, as admitting it was so would please him very much, they need have little fear from that. He always had to remember though that the crown came through her. She would be ready to give him all power in Castile but in exchange she would want him with her night and day.

It is too big a price to ask, he thought, even for Castile.

The marriage had been fruitful so Philip had done his duty by the woman. Their son Charles would be one of the most powerful men in Europe one day but his father would take that role before him. On the death of the Emperor, now that he had Castile as well, much of Europe would fall into Philip’s hands.

He had thought that once Juana had children he would be able to escape from her wearying passion. It was not so. She was proud of them, of course, loved them in fact, but she made it clear that all her passionate desire was still concentrated on her husband.

Of course he was attractive—one of the most desirable men in the world, and he had evidence of that for he could not remember one woman who had denied him once he made his wishes known. But Juana’s passion for him, to which her madness seemed to add a dangerous fuel, did not abate. He had begun to fear it never would.

Ever since they had left the land he had had to endure her company. Wherever he went she was after him and it was not easy to hide oneself on board a ship. He had consoled himself: soon we shall be in Castile. Soon the crown will be handed to her. He could already feel it on his head.

And now . . . this storm. Was it the end? He had been a fool to bring his army to sea. But what else could he do? He did not want to appear without it . . . and Ferdinand had no right to make treaties with the King of France, allying himself with France through that marriage with the French King’s niece. Artful old devil, thought Philip. He would probably be delighted if they perished at sea. Then he would get his hands on the baby Charles and bring him up as he thought he should be.

God forbid!

Once Juana had the crown perhaps he could put her away. Heaven knew, her conduct should not make that difficult.

But now all his plans were to come to nothing. Here he was at sea, and with every passing moment the storm was rising.

He was shouting orders to his men. They were afraid, he knew that. Only those who knew the sea could understand how terrible it could be. Philip was brought face-to-face with that knowledge and he could only fear that he had come to the end.

Someone had brought him an inflated jacket. It might be necessary to leave the ship, my lord, he was told.

“Leave the ship? I never will. Where are my other ships?”

“They are no longer with us, my lord. Some may have been lost . . . others blown to land somewhere. We are in the English Channel. Thank Heaven the English coast cannot be far away.”

Juana came rushing up to him. She was dressed in a furred robe and about her was strapped a purse.

She laughed at him and held out her arms. “We shall die together, my beloved,” she cried. “I ask nothing more.”

She would embrace him, but he threw her aside.

“This is no moment,”he said. “We have to be prepared. We may have to abandon ship.”

“Ah, for the sea’s embrace,” cried Juana. “I trow it will be a little more welcoming than yours, my cruel lord.”

“Try to be sensible,” said Philip angrily. “At such a time . . . have you no sense?”

“None at all,” she cried. “None where you are concerned, most beautiful and cruel of men.”

He had turned away. “What now?” he said to the men who, in spite of the situation, could not help gazing at Juana in astonishment. “Could we land?” asked Philip.

“We could try. If the ship will hold out long enough. . . .”

“England,” said Philip. “Well, better than a watery grave mayhap.”

Juana had flung herself at him once more and was clinging to him.

“Let us die together, sweet husband,” she cried dramatically, and again he flung her from him.

“Death!” he cried in a fury. “At least it would be escape from you.”

Then he had left her and staggered onto the deck.

Juana who had fallen, partly due to Philip’s rough treatment and partly due to the violent movement of the ship, half-raised herself and sat rocking to and fro.

“Oh my love . . . my love!” she cried. “Will you ever love me? I will stay with you forever. You will never be rid of me never . . . never.”

Her women were running round her. They were frightened out of their wits—not by her strangeness, they were accustomed to that—but at the prospect of death at sea.

The thunder roared and the lightning was terrifying.

“Philip,” screamed Juana. “Where are you, my love, my husband. Come to me. Let us die in each other’s arms.”

One of her women knelt beside her.

“You are frightened, woman,” said Juana. “You tremble. We are going to die are we not? I wonder what it is like to drown. Death comes quickly some say and in this sea surely so. I am not afraid of dying. There is only one thing in this world that I am afraid of . . . losing him . . . losing my beloved. . . .”

She looked at them . . . these women who were clustering round her. They were in greater need of comfort than she was. She spoke truthfully when she said she was not afraid. If she could be with Philip that was all she asked.

The ship was lurching violently and as Juana tried to get to her feet, she heard a voice crying out: “Land! Land. The lord be praised, it’s land.”

Philip shouted: “Can we make it?”

“We have to, my lord. This ship can’t carry us farther . . .It’s land or death in the sea.”

“Go for the land then,” said Philip.

He was thinking that he would have to throw himself on the hospitality of Henry. Was that wise? Most unwise, he thought. He would be more or less Henry’s prisoner. Here he was with only a few seamen at the mercy of one who might befriend him if it were expedient to do so.

But it was that or death by drowning, so there was only one course to take.

Juana was on her feet. She staggered on deck and stood beside Philip. She looked incongruous in her fine gown with her purse of gold strapped about her waist and her long hair flying in the wind. She was beautiful; there was no denying that and in her wildness she was like some sea goddess rather than a normal woman. Philip looked at her in momentary admiration. She had shown less fear than any of them at the prospect of drowning.

“Philip,” she cried. “We are together . . . We have come through this.”

She clasped his arm and he did not throw her off. Perhaps it was too solemn a moment and he was too relieved that land was in sight and that death was not imminent.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that we may be safe.”

As they came nearer to the land they saw that people were waiting there. In the early morning light this was a frightening sight, for some of those people carried bows and arrows and others had farming instruments which they could be intending to use as weapons. They looked menacing.

The ship had ground to a halt and some of the men were wading ashore.

Philip heard one shout, “This is the Archduke of Austria and King of Castile, with his Duchess and Queen. We beg for refuge.”

There was a chorus of “Come ashore.”

We must, thought Philip wryly. There is nothing else we can do.

It was not long before, with Juana beside him, he was standing on dry land.

One man had put himself in front of the crowd and it was clear that he was a person of some authority.

“I am Sir John Trenchard,”he said. “Squire of these lands. I welcome you ashore.”

“Thank you,” said Philip. “Tell me where we are?”

“You have landed at Melcombe Regis . . . you just missed Weymouth. All along the coast your ships have been watched. There’ll not be many which have escaped the storm I fear, my lord Archduke. I thank God that you are safe. My house and household will be at your service and I doubt not you would wish to come with me right away.”