Birth and Death
“He has enough anxieties apart from worrying about me,” she confided to her sister, Lady Katharine Courtenay, who had troubles of her own for her husband had been in the Tower in captivity since his complicity in the Suffolk case.
“There seems to be nothing but anxieties,” agreed Katharine. “It has always been so with us. Sometimes I think it must be a great comfort to be poor and of no consequence at all.”
“I daresay the poor have their trials,” said Elizabeth. “I think I have been fortunate. I have a good husband and a fine family. They bring their sorrows though. I don’t think I shall ever get over the death of Arthur.”
“Poor boy. He was always ailing.”
“My firstborn, Katharine, and I will say to you what I would say to no one else . . . my favorite.”
“Perhaps it is a lesson to us. We should not have favorites among our children.”
“It may well be. I shall be losing Margaret soon to Scotland. Then it will be Mary.”
“You will have Henry and the children he will have. Be thankful for that, Elizabeth.”
“I am. Life did not turn out so badly for us, did it? When you think of all the twists and turns of fate it is amazing that we have come out of it all so satisfactorily. On our father’s death . . .”
Katharine laid a hand over her sister’s. “Let us not brood on it. It is so long ago. Here we are now. You are the Queen, you have a kind husband and children of whom you can be proud. It would be hard to find three more handsome and lively children than your Henry, Margaret and Mary.”
“I agree. I agree. I trust the new one will be a son. It is what the King wants. I know we have Henry and he is strong and healthy, but ever since the death of Arthur the King has had this fear.”
“Henry is too fearful. I suppose it is inevitable that he should worry about the succession when . . . but no matter. I wonder what will happen to the Spanish Princess now. Poor child. It has been a tragedy for her. I believe she was very fond of Arthur.”
“Who would not be fond of Arthur? He was such a gentle person. Oh it is cruel . . . cruel . . . to take him from us.”
“Hush sister. You must not upset yourself. Remember the child.”
Remember the child. Elizabeth had been remembering the child all through her married life it seemed. No sooner was one pregnancy over than there must be another. It was necessary to fill the nurseries and when children died it was a great tragedy. She had lost little Edmund and Elizabeth . . . but that Arthur should be taken from her was the greatest tragedy of her life. Arthur who had grown to matcurity, who had been a husband though in name only.
She was thinking of that other Katharine, the little Princess from Spain, and she was filled with pity.
While the sisters were talking the King arrived at Richmond. There was the usual flurry of excitement which his presence engendered and when he made his way to the Queen’s apartments Elizabeth wondered what had brought him to her at this time of day. It must be something of importance, she was sure.
He came to her apartments and Lady Courtenay bowed as he entered and looked askance at the Queen who glanced at the King. He nodded and Lady Katharine slipped away.
“It is rare that I see you at such an hour,” said the Queen. “I trust all is well.”
“I am a little concerned. It is about the Spanish Princess. I think you could be of help in a . . . somewhat delicate matter.”
The Queen waited.
“I believe you have sent an invitation to her to visit you here?”
“I thought it the best. Poor child, she must be feeling desolate.”
“Poor child indeed. And I know you will do everything possible to cheer her up.”
“I shall try. I have had a litter made for her by my tailor and I thought that Croydon Palace would be a good residence for her. She will be most unhappy if she stays on at Ludlow.”
“So you will soon see her.”
“In a day or so I believe. As soon as she has made the journey.”
The King was thoughtful. “It has thrown so much into confusion. . . .The position of the Princess here . . .”
“Yes, I suppose Ferdinand and Isabella will expect her to go back to Spain now.”
“That is what I want to avoid. If they take her back they will want her dowry, too.”
“I see.”
“I have no mind to part with so much.”
The Queen was about to interject when she thought better of it. It was unwise to argue about money and possessions with Henry; he had a great reverence for them and regarded them with the utmost seriousness.
“I have been turning over in my mind . . . and discussing the matter with my ministers. There is a way to keep the dowry in the country.”
She looked at him questioningly. Was he going to suggest keeping it now that it was in his hands? Surely he could not be so unscrupulous.
But of course that was not it. Henry would always have a clever reason why things should be as he wanted them to be.
“We must keep Katharine in the country. There is one way of doing this and that is to marry her to Henry.”
“Henry? But that is surely not possible?”
“Why not?” asked the King with a coldness in his voice, which she had rarely heard. That was because she questioned his actions so infrequently.
“Well,” she stammered. “He is five years younger.”
“Five years younger? What has that to do with the matter? I have never yet known a matter of five years prevent a marriage which will bring great good to all parties.”
“She was married to Henry’s brother. It would not be considered legal.”
“A dispensation would settle that.”
“And you think the Pope would give it?”
“The Pope will do what seems best for him. You may depend upon that.”
“But is it not against the laws of the Church for a woman to marry her husband’s brother?”
“If the marriage was not consummated I see no reason that this should be so.”
“But the marriage was very likely consummated. They were two young people . . . together . . . fond of each other.”
“I think it most unlikely that it was consummated. I gave orders that it should not be and Arthur would never disobey me.”
The Queen realized that the King was faintly irritated because she showed signs of disagreeing with him. She was amazed that she had done so, though mildly; perhaps it was because the idea was repugnant to her and she felt sorry for the young Princess who was being bandied from the dead brother to the living one.
“What is the delicate matter you wish me to do?”
“Find out from Katharine’s own lips whether or not the marriage was consummated.”
“And if it were not?”
“Then, as I see it, there is no obstacle to the marriage of Katharine and Henry. You will ask her this question and if the answer is no, then we may go ahead with negotiations.”
“And if it has been?”
“Then we will keep the matter to ourselves. I shall consider what can best be done.”
“I see you are determined that she shall have Henry.”
“I see no other way of keeping her dowry in the country,” said the King with a wry smile.
Katharine was indeed in an unhappy state. She was feeling quite bewildered. It seemed strange that a short while before she had been the wife of the heir to the throne, queen-to-be and now she was a widow . . . a stranger in a strange country and she did not know what would become of her.
Her great hope was that she would go home. They would make another match for her, of course, but at least for a while she would be with her mother. She did not want another match. She had realized how lucky she had been to come to Arthur who was so kind and whom she had grown to love during the short time they had been together.