Jean Plaidy (58 page)

First of all he must make Philip his friend. Young, good-looking, susceptible to flattery, it should not be difficult. Young Henry was very useful. The two of them went hawking and hunting the wild boar together; they seemed to understand each other very well. The Prince of Wales had grown up in the last few months. Fifteen this year. A little young for marriage perhaps, but it might be that he and Philip could discuss the boy’s marriage. After all Philip was not on the best of terms with Ferdinand even though he was his father-in-law; and he certainly showed no sympathy for Katharine. There were numerous possibilities and the King decided to try them all.

First he was going to bestow on the Archduke the greatest honor he possibly could. He was going to create him a Knight of the Garter.

Philip was enchanted, and ready to discuss all that Henry wished and proved himself to be very ready to concede the King’s requests.

He would be delighted, he said, for Henry to have his sister Margaret Archduchess of Savoy and he believed she would be overjoyed to come to England.

“I am sure that Maximilian would never allow his daughter to come without a dowry.”

“My father would insist on giving her a dowry worthy of her rank.”

Henry’s eyes gleamed. He could not resist tentatively suggesting a figure.

“Somewhere in the region of thirty thousand crowns,” he murmured.

Philip did not flinch. It seemed to him a likely figure, he said.

Oh yes, surely such a guest was worthy of the Garter.

In St. George’s Chapel the ceremony took place and young Henry had the honor of fastening the insignia about Philip’s leg; and the friendship was sealed more firmly when the marriage contract between Henry and the Archduchess Margaret was signed.

It had indeed been a memorable visit.

But there was one question which Philip evaded; and that was the return of the Earl of Suffolk.

It was a matter he would have to discuss with the Emperor, he said.

“Oh my lord,” laughed Henry, “it is you who would have the last word, eh?”

Philip hated to admit that this was not so.

“It is for you to say,” went on Henry. “We know that your word is law. Suffolk is a traitor. I would have him here under lock and key.”

Philip appeared to consider and a vague look came into his eyes. At length, he said lightly, “I have no doubt, my lord, that you could persuade Suffolk to return.”

“I’ll swear he would wish to come back. To be exiled from one’s country … unable to return …” Henry paused significantly. “Well, you are here now … held by the bonds of friendship and you can well imagine how you would feel if for some reason you could not return to your country.”

Philip was alert immediately. He had long realized that Henry was a sly old fox. Was there a hint behind that bland expression? What did all this friendship mean? Philip had never had any great illusions about it. He had been delighted by his reception because he had known that it meant Henry regarded him as a great power in Europe. But he could change. Philip saw himself held here for ransom. How much would his father be prepared to pay to rescue him? A great deal no doubt, and Henry had a reputation for loving money more than he loved most things.

Philip appeared to consider. He said slowly: “Well, I have no doubt that something could be done about that. Suffolk was my father’s guest. He found it hard to refuse him refuge … but I have no doubt whatsoever …”

“It would be pleasant to have this little matter settled once and for all. I always did abhor a traitor.”

Which, thought Philip, is exactly what King Richard would have called you.

But that was long ago. Henry had the power to hold him here and Philip was counting on leaving England very soon. His ships were made ready. The pleasant interlude was coming to an end and now the Tudor was beginning to show himself other than the kindly host.

What did Suffolk matter? Let him take his chance. Philip could feel cold with fear at the prospect of being a prisoner here.

He had given way to the marriage, although he could imagine his sister would probably refuse her aging suitor. What did that matter; he had said he would arrange the settlement. He could do no more than that. And now Suffolk.

“I’ll swear,” he said, “that if you would promise to spare his life he would not try to escape when we told him he was no longer welcome.”

Henry smiled. He did not wish publicly to execute Suffolk. He wanted the man here in England under lock and key. To have him a prisoner in the Tower would do very well to begin with.

“I’ll strike a bargain,” said Henry. “I will promise to spare his life. But I want him here.”

“I am sure that could be arranged,” said Philip.

“My good friend, I knew I could rely on you.”

Philip said the friendship must grow stronger between them and he was happy to say that he and the Prince of Wales had been on the best of terms from the very beginning of their acquaintance. It would grieve him greatly to leave these friendly shores but Henry would understand a man in his position could not neglect his duty however strong the temptation to do so.

With the coming of the better weather Philip made his preparations to depart; Henry had given him a written promise that Suffolk’s life should be spared, and Philip sent emissaries on ahead to deal with the matter.

At the end of March Suffolk returned to England and Henry had him paraded through the streets of London on his way to the Tower. He wanted to impress on the people that it was folly to attempt to revolt against a strong king.

When Suffolk was safe in the Tower he sent for the Prince of Wales and talked to him alone.

“Another enemy safe under lock and key,” he said, “or as safe as lock and key can be.”

“Only when a man has lost his head can he cease to be a menace,” said young Henry, his lips tightly pursed. He was always deeply concerned about anyone who had attempted to take the crown.

“I have given my promise that he shall live,” said the King. “Philip insisted.”

“I suppose he had promised safe conduct to Suffolk.”

Henry was simple in a way, thought the King. He was unaware as yet of the deviousness of men. He had set Philip up as a hero and that meant that he could not suspect him of acting dishonorably in any way. It was a pleasant trait in some respects and he would learn and grow out of it. At the moment it was endearing and perhaps should be allowed to persist … for a while. Let the boy learn his own bitter lessons.

“I gave him my promise,” said the King. “My promise … but
you
have made no promises.”

The Prince was a little puzzled. The King hated to refer to his own death but there were times when it was necessary and when it must be impressed on young Henry that one day he would take over the reins of government.

“It is never wise to leave those living who imagine they have a claim to the throne—especially when they are related to a royal house as Suffolk is.”

“You mean …”

“I have given my promise. You have not given yours… . If it should be a matter for you to decide … Henry, my son, try to rid yourself of any who can make a nuisance of themselves and so obstruct the path to good government.”

Henry nodded slowly. What his father was saying was: when I am dead and you are King get rid of Suffolk … and anyone who through royal blood thinks he or she has a claim to the thone.

The End of a Reign

ife had returned to normal for Katharine. The hopes which had arisen with the visit of Philip and Juana to England had come to nothing. The only consolation was that prevailing conditions could not last much longer. The Prince of Wales was now fifteen—an age when he could be expected to marry. If he married someone else what would she do? What could she do? She imagined that all that would be left to her would be to go into a convent and give herself up to prayer and meditation.

Devout as she was, she did not want that. She wanted children, a happy married life, and she knew that her only hope was the Prince of Wales.

Whenever she saw him he was aware of her; he smiled at her possessively but she fancied there was that in his eyes which demanded gratitude. She
was
grateful, for she knew that by being kind to her he went against his father’s wishes; but common sense told her that even the Prince of Wales must know that he would marry her only if some other irresistible project did not turn up. She had heard it whispered that Eleanor of Castile was being suggested for him.

The only consolation was that she would know soon.

Then came the terrible news from Spain. Philip and Juana had arrived in Castile where the Cortes had accepted Juana as the Queen; Philip was given the rank only of consort, which would not please him. In vain had he protested that Juana was mad; the people of Castile accepted her as the daughter of the great Queen Isabella, their true Queen. Philip had to realize, Archduke of Austria that he was, that he was only the consort of the Queen of Castile.

There was another menacing figure in the background too. That was Ferdinand. Henry had often smiled to himself as he contemplated his old enemy. How did Ferdinand feel—he who, through Isabella, had been King of Castile, and now found himself only King of Aragon?

Philip undoubtedly had his enemies, and tragedy struck him at Burgos. No one was quite sure how it happened, but it was believed that it started at a ball game—at which Philip excelled. Being hot from the game, he called for refreshment and drank very deeply from the cup which was brought to him. Soon afterward he began to feel ill, and when people asked each other who had brought that cup to him, no one could remember. Philip was very ill and remained so for some days. Juana herself had nursed him. Katharine heard that she had changed during that time of sickness. Intense as her anxiety was, yet she grew calm and nursed Philip night and day allowing none but herself to supervise the preparation of his food. In spite of her care, one morning she discovered black spots on his body and during that day he died.

They said he had died of a fever but everyone suspected poison. The matter was not investigated very thoroughly because it was remembered that Ferdinand’s envoy had been in Burgos at that time; and with Philip dead, Charles a child, and Juana mad, Ferdinand would become Regent of Castile.

King Henry was astounded by the news. The Prince of Wales shed tears. Philip had been so young, so handsome, so vital, that it was impossible to think of him dead … and almost certainly by poisoning. Young Henry wanted to go to Burgos to sift the matter, to find the murderer and inflict terrible tortures on him. “He was my friend,” he said. “We loved each other.”

Charles Brandon was a little cynical, but he did not voice his thoughts. People were beginning to be careful what they said to the Prince.

The King was thinking: that schemer Ferdinand will be in control now. And he wondered what would happen about those plans he had discussed with Philip during his enforced stay in England. What of the bonds of friendship; what of the marriage with Archduchess Margaret?

He was soon to hear that Margaret did not wish to marry the ageing King of England, and he was sure that the proposed marriage between Eleanor of Castile and young Henry would be pushed aside now that Ferdinand would be in control.

What had come out of all the lavish entertainments given to Philip? Henry groaned at the thought of the cost. And what had been gained? He had spent so much time, energy and above all money cultivating the friendship of a man who had died before the year was out.

It seemed that all the good that had come out of that visit was the return of Edmund de la Pole, who was now the King’s prisoner in the Tower.