Jean Plaidy (44 page)

“The confession of a man just before death will convince them that you speak the truth.”

“How can I be sure that my son’s life will be saved?”

“The King is not a bloodthirsty man. He does not like to shed men’s blood and only does so when it is for the good of the country.”

“And mine is for the good of the country?”

“Traitors cannot be allowed to live.”

“I took no part in Suffolk’s rebellion.”

“You are judged guilty.”

“Not for this … for another crime of which I was only an instrument used to carry it out.”

“The death of the two young boys in the Tower doubtless saved a civil war which could have cost the country thousands of lives … and its prosperity. That has been avoided. And no one must be allowed again to rise in their name.”

“Ah,” said Tyrrell. “I begin to understand. When it is proved that they are dead none will rise in their name, and I can prove that they are dead by telling the truth.”

“What you consider to be the truth would not save your son.”

“It would prevent men from impersonating the Princes.”

“You know what is required. It is for you to choose.”

“I will make the confession.”

“As is desired?”

“As is desired,” said Tyrrell.

The next day Sir James Tyrrell was taken out to Tower Green and his head laid on the block. He died with the comfort of knowing that he had saved his son’s life.

The following day Thomas Tyrrell was found guilty of treason but his sentence was delayed and finally he was freed and his estates were not confiscated.

John Dighton, who had been named as one of the men who had taken an active part in that mysterious murder, was not hanged but kept in the Tower. After a while he was freed although he too was alleged to have confessed to his share in the murder of the Princes.

Nothing had been written down about the confession, but a few weeks after the death of Tyrrell the King let it be known that Sir James Tyrrell had made a confession that the Princes had been murdered in the Tower on the orders of Richard the Third and that Tyrrell and his manservants had played a part in it.

The news was gradually allowed to seep out, almost as though no great effort was made to bring it to the notice of the people.

John Dighton, who had made a lucky escape from death, was one of those chosen to circulate the story, which he did.

Lord William de la Pole and Lord William Courtenay remained the King’s prisoners; but Suffolk, the leader of the hoped-for insurrection, was merely exiled to Aix.

The King liked it to be known that he was not vindictive. It was not the will of a just king to shed blood in anger. He wanted all men to know—and this was an obvious truth—that he only did so when expediency demanded that he should. If a person was a menace to the Crown—and the Crown of course meant Henry—then it was often wiser to remove that man. He did not want revenge. He wanted peace and prosperity during his reign. It was what he strove for. He wanted a secure throne for his House and that was the best thing possible for England.

In time people began to accept the story of the death of the Princes in the Tower. They had been murdered by Richard the Third who was emerging as something of a monster. It was amazing how little interest people felt for what did not actually concern themselves. No one picked up any discrepancies in the story. No one asked for instance why that good honest man Brackenbury, who was alleged openly to have refused to help his master commit murder, should have continued to be the friend of the King whom he had admired and beside whom he died fighting at Bosworth. No one asked why Tyrrell should have been the one to lose his head when he had played no part—at the least a very small one—in Suffolk’s treason and why Suffolk should get off with exile.

Nobody cared very much. Nobody wanted risings and rebellions. The Princes were dead. Murdered by their wicked uncle. It had all happened long ago and most people who were concerned in it were dead.

Birth and Death

he Queen was feeling ill. She was pregnant and although she would not admit this to anyone she was dreading her confinement. Only those in her intimate circle must know how weak she was, and she was particularly anxious that the King should not be told.

“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.”