We were young. Twenty-one or -two is the age for gaiety and romance. Two people as we were, put together, with similar tastes, must be attracted to each other…and such attraction could quickly strengthen into something deeper.
Yes. I was in love with Owen Tudor, if being in love means a lifting of the spirits when a certain person appears, of wanting to be with him above all else, of feeling completely at one with him, wanting to reach out and touch him, to be close to him and never go away.
Yes, that summed up my feelings—but I was the Queen and he was a humble soldier from the remote country of Wales.
Guillemote was right. I should be watchful of myself. More than that…a wise woman would send him away…right away…out of Windsor…out of the household.
Send him away! Give the impression that I no longer wanted him in my household, when he had made Windsor such a happy place for me!
Of one thing I was certain. Wise or not, I was not going to send Owen away.
In the meantime I had to consider the journey to London. I was afraid. They would realize that Henry was growing up and that it was time they took him out of his mother’s care.
He was my child. I had borne him. Why should I allow them to wrest him from me? I wanted to keep him with me. I wanted to keep Owen with me…to go on as we had been.
We left on Saturday, November 13. I remember the day—dark, gloomy, typical November with a mist in the air. I always felt there was something ominous about mists. I remembered the last occasion. The weather had been similar then.
Henry was quite happy. He was with me and was interested in everything he saw.
I think he was forward for his age. He babbled a lot and could say a few words, and one of these was a decisive “no” when something was done which he did not like.
But he enjoyed the journey, sitting on my lap as we rode along.
We spent the first night at Staines, and he awoke next morning in a bad mood. Where were his familiar surroundings? Where was Guillemote?
I said: “We are going to have a great deal of fun. We are going to open Parliament.”
He was dressed with difficulty, protesting all the time, and when he was taken out to the litter, in which we were to make the journey to London, he screamed and kicked out at everyone who approached him, except me. And me he regarded with reproachful eyes.
“No, no, no,” he said emphatically.
He kicked and struggled when it was attempted to lift him into the litter.
We could not very well travel through the villages where the people would come out to see him and discover that their little King was a bawling and protesting child.
There was a hurried conversation. It was decided that it would be better not to leave and that we should, therefore, stay another day in Staines.
One of the guards came to me and said: “My lady, it is the Sabbath Day. We believe it is because of this that the King refuses to travel.”
I stared at him in amazement. Could he really believe that Henry was aware of what day it was?
He said: “They are saying, my lady, that he is going to be a great and pious king and as such he will believe in keeping the Sabbath holy.”
My scowling and red-faced infant looked anything but pious to me; but I was glad they had construed his behavior in this way and thought it better not to raise contradictions.
So that day was spent at Staines. I was dreading the next for fear of more tantrums, but Henry awoke in a sunny mood. He chuckled with glee when he was being prepared, and his mood did not change when it was time for him to get into the litter with me. He held my hand firmly and allowed himself to be placed in it, smiling the while.
His demeanor confirmed the belief that his anger had been because they were trying to make him travel on the Sabbath Day; and thus the rumor of his pious destiny was first founded.
The rest of the journey was uneventful. He was interested in everything. He laughed and I taught him to wave at the people, which naturally delighted them.
We had another stop at Kennington, and it was Wednesday when we rode to Parliament. Henry was dressed in a gown of crimson velvet and wore a cap of the same material. On the cap was set a crown—very small, to fit his little head. He was very interested in this and kept putting up a hand to touch it proudly. They had given him a tiny scepter to hold, which drew his attention from the crown.
The occasion was a great success. He played his part well, showing an interest in the people and now and then saying a word or two in his baby language. He raised his hand in acknowledgment of the cheers and waved to the people.
They adored him.
“God bless our little King!” they shouted; and even his father, returning as the triumphant conqueror, could scarcely have received a more enthusiastic welcome from the citizens of London.
This impeccable behavior continued throughout the ceremony.
He appeared to listen to the speeches with great solemnity, staring at the faces of the speakers and now and then giving a little grunt or crow as though in acquiescence.
He was a great success and I was proud of him, though at the same time very uneasy. They would be more than ever reminded that he was growing up, and that was what I most dreaded.
Soon after the opening of Parliament we left Westminster. I was conducted to Waltham Palace, where I stayed for a few days and nights and from there went to Hertford. It was not Windsor, but it was almost as good, or I found my household assembled there waiting to welcome me. And among them was Owen.
When they all greeted me, he looked at me with such love and longing in his eyes that I could no longer be blind to his feelings for me; and my own response would have told me—if I had not known already—that I returned his love.
We were to spend Christmas at Hertford, which was an indication of what was to come, for this had already been decided for us and was not of my choosing. I knew that those who had chosen would now determine how and where the King should be brought up and were reminding me that they had not forgotten their duty.
I felt a certain feverish excitement that Christmas, I was on the brink of change. Poor Guillemote, she would suffer with me. We had to console ourselves. I would not think beyond this Christmas.
Guillemote said: “They may take him away, yes. But we shall still see him. You are his mother. He will ask for us…he will cry for us. They cannot deny the King his wishes. This has happened to all queens. They are never allowed to bring up their children after the manner of humble women.”
“The fact that it has happened before and to us all does not make it any easier to bear, Guillemote.”
She shook her head sadly. Then she looked intently at me. She knew me so well, and knew that I could not help thinking of Owen.
It was then that the thought came into my mind: I will not lose everything.
James of Scotland joined the household with the Duchess of Clarence and her daughter Jane. We were all caught up in the excitement of the coming wedding. The lovers lived in a dream of happiness which was wonderful to share in. And I did share it. I was uplifted by the knowledge that I too was loved.
I said to James: “How well everything has turned out. It is like a miracle.”
He agreed. “It was worth being a captive all those years to come to this. For think you, if it had not been so, I should never have met Jane.”
“And that makes everything that has gone before worthwhile for you?”
He looked at me, astonished that I could ask such a question.
“But indeed it does. To think that, if I had not been taken a prisoner by the English all those years ago, I might well have been in Scotland now, separated from Jane by hundreds of miles…never knowing the one woman in the world for me existed. Can you imagine a greater tragedy?”