To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York by Jean Plaidy

Author:Jean Plaidy
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307450173
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2008-10-06T23:00:00+00:00

He was excited when a short while after he was summoned to his father’s apartment.

When he arrived his mother was already there.

He went forward and bowed as he had been taught to do. He noticed his mother’s eyes on him with a certain pride and satisfaction which pleased him.

“Henry,” said the King, “there are going to be some splendid celebrations. This marriage with Spain is very dear to my heart and to that of your mother.”

The Queen nodded in agreement. She would always agree with her husband.

“Your brother Arthur is a very fortunate young man,” said the King.

Henry smiled almost imperceptibly. Arthur was in Wales and Henry wondered how he would receive the news of his good fortune. He was now fifteen, pale and more like his father than his mother; he was gentle, hated great ceremonies in which he had to play a part, and he would be very apprehensive about those which would inevitably be the result of his “good fortune.”

“The Infanta is on our shores. There can be no hitch now. The marriage will most certainly take place and when it does we shall have a powerful ally. This is a happy time for us all.”

“Henry will have his part to play,” said the Queen, smiling at him.

The color rose to Henry’s cheeks touching the normal healthy pink to rosy red—the color of a Lancaster rose. His eyes sparkled. He was going to enjoy these celebrations if he could forget that they were for Arthur’s wedding, for Arthur’s bride, and that Arthur would be at the center of them.

“And,” went on the Queen, still smiling, “I am sure he will play it well.”

“What must I do?” asked Henry eagerly.

“I have decided that you shall bring the Infanta into London. You shall be her escort companion when she enters the capital.”

“Oh thank you, my lord.”

“You are pleased?” said the King.

“Oh yes, indeed I am. I would I could do more.”

“That will be enough,” said his father. He was trying not to compare the boy with Arthur. Henry was tall for his age and he had bulk too. His skin was glowing with health; he was vigorous and excelled at games, archery, horsemanship; and Skelton said he was good with his books too. He should have been the firstborn, of course. But they had Arthur. The King was fond of his eldest son in a way which he had not believed he could be fond of anyone. Arthur was so vulnerable. In Arthur he saw something of himself. Long ago Henry had dreamed of kingship. In his Welsh stronghold his uncle Jasper had primed him, and the thought had been constantly with him in exile: “One day you will be King.” It had seemed the ultimate goal, the end of the road. Now it was here he was tortured by anxieties, not knowing from one day to the next when some Pretender would arise to claim the crown on which he seemed to have such a light hold. Arthur was uneasy too.

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