Arthur

Chapter 13

Elizabeth of York; London, England. December 1501.

A little before Christmas Eve I received a letter from Lady Margaret Pole, my cousin, reassuring me she would be in Ludlow Castle on the first week after New Year. That thought made me a little less worried, but even with Margaret being close to my son and Catalina, I decided to go ahead with my other plan.

My husband seemed to be indifferent to the fact our eldest son was now away from us with a wife to care for and a principality depending entirely on him. He was too busy arranging the marriage of our daughter Margaret with the Scottish King, so he paid no attention on anything else. My daughter was proud and happy now that the Spanish Infanta was gone and she no longer had competition on being the eldest princess in the court, or, as I knew it very well, she no longer had to compete with Catalina’s beauty, grace and fortune.

God knows I tried to educate Margaret well. When she was born, I had hoped we would be as close as my mother and I used to be when I was young. However, my husband’s mother gave me little freedom to educate my own children, and spoiled them. Margaret was a greedy, selfish and futile girl. I was happy, though, that Arthur had grown up to be a sensitive, intelligent man. Harry was too sweet to have his nature spoiled, though his self-pride was something I tried hard to change. And my youngest girl, Mary, was still sweet and innocent, but so distant from me, as her grandmother decided I wasn’t fit to educate her myself and filled my four-year old daughter with classes and duties.

My Harry also looked extremely happy, and I knew it wasn’t because the Christmas was coming, but because he was, again, the only prince at court. I shook my head when my husband gave him a new horse, since Arthur had also been given one. Harry always wanted to match whatever was given to Arthur.

“My son, soon you will be of age to leave us too.” I said the night before Christmas Eve to Harry. I had invited him to my rooms to read with me and have some tea. A rare moment I could spend with him without his father or grandmother.

He looked at me a bit confused, his round face almost comical. “Beg your pardon, Lady Mother?”

“You do know your father has plans for you.” I replied. “You’re going to the Church, remember?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He replied. “Anything His Grace, my father orders, I shall do his bidding.”

I wanted to smile at the pomposity of my eleven-year old. But I simply nodded and sipped my tea. “In one year you will be leaving to Church. How do you feel about that?”

“If it is what you and father wish, I will obey…”

“Henry, I asked how you feel.”

He grinned. “I suppose it’s alright. I can be an Archbishop. Or even a Cardinal!”

“Cardinal Henry Tudor…” I said, smiling and shaking my head. “Are you already aiming that high?”

“Well, to be a Pope you must be a Cardinal before, and…”

“Oh, so you’re thinking about being the Pope?”

He smiled, but did not reply.

“My son, I’ve told you before, do not leave aside your modesty.”

“But Lady Mother,” he looked at me “I’m a Tudor. A son of the King of England. People love me. I’m important, and I am aware of that. Shouldn’t I try to be the best I can be?”

“Oh, one thing is to try to be the best you can be. A different thing is to feed the sin of pride. I hope you keep the fine line between those two intact, my dear.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Lady Mother!”

I looked at my son, my precious little Henry, who knew so little about life. He was a joyful child, a precious young boy, and I had always hoped a bright future for him. However, as I stared at him, I saw a shadow surrounding him, dancing around my son and splitting into six bright shapes grabbing his arms in despair. I saw a dark shape surrounding his head, like a crown, and from afar, a sad, melancholic song from the waters. Not a lament, but a plead, a desperate cry.

“Lady Mother? Are you alright?” His voice awoke me from the vision. I believe I had turned pale and looked ill, for my boy seemed rather worried.

“I am alright, Harry. I believe I need some rest.” I replied, smiling to him. “Why don’t you go see the preparations for the Christmas ball?”

He seemed excited with the idea but unsure on if he should leave me alone.

“Are you sure you are alright, mother?”

“I am. I will read a bit now. You should go, I heard your father ordered special desserts.”

It was the right thing to say; his face brightened up with the idea of sweets, and he kissed my hand and left. I watched as my youngest son left, and as the door closed, I went to my oratory and knelt down.

“God, please, protect my sons. Protect my Arthur, who is so far away from me now, and is still a child with a man’s duty; protect my Henry, who needs guidance. Protect my boys, keep them safe from the danger my brothers went through… Please, God, protect my sons…”