The Queen had chosen those who would accompany the cortège to England.
‘What do you know of the King’s squire, Owen Tudor?’ she asked Bedford.
He had never heard of the man but would discover since he had caught the Queen’s interest.
Bedford was clearly wondering why the young squire had done this, and she answered quickly: ‘He seemed greatly moved by the King’s death. I have a feeling that he was a loyal servant.’
Bedford came back with the information: ‘A Welshman of obscure origins. Grandson of Sir Tudor Vychan ap something. These Welsh have unpronounceable names. I gather the father disgraced himself in some way and was outlawed.’
‘Don’t let us blame the son for his father’s sins,’ she said.
‘Nay, he pleased my brother. He was on the field at Agincourt and so distinguished himself that in spite of his youth he was made squire of the King’s body.’
‘I had a feeling that he had served the King well.’
‘How did he come to your notice?’
‘’Twas nothing. He brought my horse. I spoke to him and I was impressed by his … feeling for the King.’
‘Henry had a way with him,’ said Bedford. ‘He could bind men to him. It was one of his qualities as a leader. They would have followed him to hell if need be.’
The Queen showed signs of being overcome by emotion and Bedford hastened to discuss further details of the progress to England.
Before they left Katherine gave orders that Esquire Owen Tudor was to be among those who escorted the cavalcade to England.
So they set out and the Queen with her retinue followed the chariot containing the King’s corpse, accompanied by all the princes and lords of the King’s household and a few of his squires. At Abbeville they paused, where masses were sung for the repose of the King’s soul. It was an impressive sight and people waited along the roadside to catch a glimpse of it as it passed. The banners of the saints were held by the Duke of Exeter and the Earl of March and with them was Sir Louis Robsart, the Queen’s own knight, among numerous knights and nobles. Four hundred men-at-arms in black armour surrounded the bier; very sombre they looked, as befitted the occasion, their horses barbed black and their lancets held with the points downwards. At dusk, when the torches were lighted and they sang a dismal dirge as they walked, it was even more impressive – a solemn and fearful sight.
In every town through which they passed, masses were sung. They went through Montreuil to Boulogne and then on to Calais where vessels from England were waiting to carry the King’s body home.
It was a calm crossing and soon the white cliffs were in sight. Crowds of sorrowing people were waiting on the beaches and when the Queen stepped ashore she was greeted by fifteen bishops, and abbots and priests who were too numerous to be counted.
Katherine looked very young and desolate and won the sympathy of the people. They cheered her fervently. ‘Long life to the Queen,’ they cried. ‘God bless her and our baby King.’ She lifted her hand as she passed along in acknowledgement of their feeling for her but she was longing now for the dreary business to be over.
She wanted to be at Windsor, to see her baby, to assure herself of his well-being. She who had lived through the troubled reign of her father knew that she would have to be very careful now.
But for the time being she would go to Windsor. They would not attempt to stop her doing that. First she must see her little son, hold him in her arms. She must never forget that although he was only a baby – and very much like all other babies – he was the King of England. She was apprehensive. To be nine months old and King, surrounded by ambitious men, was a matter to be regarded very seriously; and although the baby sleeping in his cot was unaware of this … just yet … understanding would soon come to him.
In the meantime there was his mother to fight for him.
She was deeply moved as the castle came in sight. She had always loved it best of all her homes. To her it represented peace and security and her early life had instilled in her a need for both. The castle, grand and imposing with its Round Tower standing on an artificial mound surrounded by the deep fosse, the strong stone walls and battlemented towers, filled her with pleasure as she advanced. She could see the great forest nearby in which she and Henry had hunted together – not often for he had rarely time for such pursuits, but those great oaks had been the background of her first weeks in England when she had been so happy and young and innocent enough to believe that life would go on like that forever.
It was in that castle that her baby had been born and when she thought of that she felt a qualm of uneasiness for Henry had expressed the wish that his son should be born anywhere but at Windsor. Why had the impulse come to disobey him? She could not be sure, but it had been irresistible.
He had said: ‘I do not wish our child to be born at Windsor.’
‘Windsor is a beautiful castle,’ she had replied.
‘Ah, you love it well and that pleases me. I too have a fondness for the place.’
‘It should be the birthplace of kings,’ she had said.
Then he had taken her hands and looked very serious. ‘Not for our child, Kate. Not Windsor.’
No more had been said and they had revelled in the beauties of the forest and returned to the castle and partaken of the fine buck which they had proudly brought back with them. And they had laughed and frolicked together while briefly he forgot to think of war.
And when her time was near she had been at Windsor. I must leave here, she had told herself. It is the King’s wish. But she delayed leaving and the snow came. There were high snowdrifts everywhere and ice on the road. ‘It is no time for travelling, my lady,’ said her women.
And she was only too ready to agree. Henry would not wish her to take to the roads now. Who knew what would happen to a pregnant woman on a journey fraught with the dangers of winter travel?
It had been just a whim; she had always been one to shrug aside that which was unpleasant. It had been the only way to live through a childhood such as hers had been.
So in Windsor Castle her little Henry had been born.
With what joy she had sent messengers to France. How delighted Henry would be to learn that he had a son. And when the messenger returned to her she had sent for him and eagerly had asked: ‘How was the King? What said he to the news that he has a son?’
‘My lady,’ was the answer, ‘first he shouted his delight. He said it was the happiest moment of his life. And then …’
‘And then?’ she had asked. ‘What then?’
‘He wished to know where the child had been born, my lady.’
‘Oh!’ Her hand had flown to her throat and she had said quietly: ‘And what said he when you told him?’
The messenger had hesitated and she had gone on quickly: ‘Tell me.’
‘He turned pale. Then he said a strange thing, my lady.’
‘Yes, yes?’
‘’Twas something like this:
‘“I Henry born at Monmouth
Shall small time reign and much get
But Henry of Windsor shall long reign and lose all.”
‘Then my lady, he added with great melancholy, “But as God will, so be it.”’
For a while she had been uneasy but she refused to be depressed. It was only now and then that she remembered; but as she rode towards Windsor it came into her mind again more forcibly than ever, because the first part of the prophecy had come true. Henry had gained much and reigned such a short time. Henry the Sixth would reign long. Yes, he should; she would cherish him and love him, and see that no harm came to him.