York however was pretending to be on terms of great friendship. Could he really want peace? Had he really given up his ambitions to wear the crown?
She could not believe it.
The whole thing was a farce.
It pleased Henry, though. Poor simple soul, he believed these people when they said there should be peace. He used himself as a pattern and seemed to think that everyone had the same motives, and was as direct and honest as himself. Poor foolish Henry! How he needed a woman to look after him. And this new mood was faintly alarming.
So they went into the cathedral and the service began.
Afterwards there were bonfires in the streets and the people danced merrily round them. Troubles were all over, they believed. The enemies were now friends. Recompense had been made to those who had suffered.
It was called Love Day. The day when the wearers of the red and white roses became friends.
THE KING-MAKER
Henry was delighted to receive Jasper Tudor, the Earl of Pembroke, who was in good spirits. His brother Edmund, Earl of Richmond – a title, like that of Jasper, owed to the goodwill of the King, for if he had not recognized them they would have no titles and very few possessions – was unable to attend.
He had not been well of late. If he had he would have hastened to tell the King of his good fortune. His wife, Margaret Beaufort, whom the King had so obligingly arranged for him to marry, was pregnant and there was great joy in the family.
‘It is wonderful news,’ cried Henry, always delighted in other people’s good fortune. ‘And how is Margaret?’
‘Margaret is well and so much looking forward to the event.’
‘She is a little young to bear a child.’
‘She is not quite fourteen,’ said Jasper. ‘Young, yes, but she is mature enough. They are very happy together and this child will bless their union. My father, I and our sister are full of delight. We hope for a boy, of course.’
‘I understand that but I doubt not you will be grateful for whatever the Lord sends you.’
‘Indeed yes. Margaret is young. It is good that she has proved so soon that she is fruitful.’
When Jasper had left, Henry told the Queen the good news. Margaret could understand their delight in the coming of a child. She herself had waited a long time and now her boy was the joy of her life. She was a little irritated by the Tudors though because some of the titles Henry had bestowed on them had been taken from her. The Pembroke estates in particular had at first been assigned to her and she had not at all liked giving them up for Jasper. Having had little in her youth and been the daughter of a man who was constantly in debt she cherished her possessions with something like fanaticism. Still, the Lancastrian cause needed men like the Tudors. All their blessings came from Henry, their benefactor as well as their half-brother, and so she did not openly show her resentment over the Pembroke estates, but welcomed the Tudors whenever they came to Court. She showed an interest in their affairs, and now rejoiced with Henry in their good fortune.
I trust all will go well with Margaret,’ said Henry, ‘She is really nothing but a child herself
‘She will be all right,’ said Margaret lightly. Other people’s difficulties were always light-weight in her opinion.
Henry said: I have asked to have news of the birth as soon as it happens.’
‘Well, we shall expect messengers from Wales with the good news.’
It was a grey November day when the messengers came. They clearly did not bring good news.
When Henry heard they had arrived he was filled with apprehension. It was not yet time for the birth, for he had understood it was to be in January.
It was Owen Tudor himself who came. Bad news indeed.
‘My dear Owen,’ cried the King, ‘what is it? Not Margaret? Oh, I feared she was too young.’
‘Margaret is sick with sorrow, my lord.’ Owen seemed unable to go on.
‘My dear Owen,’ began the King, ‘she is young...There will be more.’
Owen shook his head. ‘It is my son, your half-brother...Edmund.’
‘Edmund? What of Edmund?’
‘He is dead, my lord.’
‘Dead? Edmund? But how...? Killed...? Murdered?’
‘Nay, my lord. It was some malady. It attacked him suddenly and...’
‘But he is so young.’
‘Twenty-six, my lord.’ Owen turned away. He was remembering the day Katherine had told him that she was going to have a child and how their delight had mingled with their apprehension when they had arranged for the reluctant priest to marry them. It was all long ago...twenty-six years... those happy days which he often looked back to. He remembered so much of them...the quietness of life at Hadham; the peace of the gardens...the happiness of obscurity. What fools they had been—what idyllic fools, to think that a Queen could ever be left in peace.
‘My dear Owen, this is such sorrow. I will pray for his soul. Poor Edmund. And poor Margaret.’
‘The child is due in two months’ time.’
‘Yes, I know. I trust this will do no damage.’
‘Jasper has taken charge of her. That is why he is not here with me. He has taken her to Pembroke Castle. He will keep her there until the child is born.’
‘Jasper is a good man.’
‘He was devoted to his brother. We are a devoted family, my lord.’
‘I thank God for it.’
‘There is nothing we can do now but wait for the birth of the child.’
‘Go back now to Pembroke, Owen. Convey my regrets to Margaret. Tell her my thoughts are with her and I shall remember her in my prayers.’
‘That will comfort her, I know.’
After Owen had left Henry thought a great deal about the sad young girl who was about to become a mother. He mentioned her in his prayers whenever he prayed and as he was constantly engaged in prayer that meant very frequently.
Poor young girl, he thought. But Jasper is a good man. He will look after the child for the sake of his brother if nothing else.
It was January when the news came from Pembroke.
It was good news this time. Margaret had been safely delivered of a boy.
Owen himself rode over soon after the messenger had brought the news and Henry received him with open arms and embraced him warmly.
‘So you are a grandfather, eh, Owen?’
‘I am proud to be,’ said Owen.
‘It is the best news. Margaret has come through safely in spite of her youth and the terrible shock she has suffered.’
‘And the child is a fine healthy boy.’
‘God has sent him to comfort her.’
‘She is happy in the child, and she has been most touched by your concern for her. I have given her all your tender loving messages and I am sure they were of great help. She wanted only one name for the child. It is Henry.’
The King laughed. ‘So he is my namesake. God bless little Henry Tudor.’
Ever since the Love Day celebration Margaret had been very restive. Considering her present situation and consulting with her closest adherents, those nobles whom she thought of as the leaders of the Court party such as young Somerset. Egremont, Clifford, Northumberland, Exeter and Rivers, she had come to the conclusion that Warwick was an even greater enemy than York.
There was some charismatic aura about Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick. He was the sort of man whom nature seemed to have destined to play an important part in the affairs of a nation. Who was he? In the first place son of the Earl of Salisbury, and he would have been of no great importance while his father lived. But what should he do but marry Anne Beauchamp, daughter of the Earl of Warwick. Yet at the time of the marriage two lives stood between him and possession of the Warwick title and the vast estates that went with it. Nature conveniently removed those obstacles and on the death of the Earl, Richard Neville took the title.