16.

"Enduring Evil Things"

The year 1502 was to prove Elizabeth's annus horribilis. In 1500, after the elimination of Warwick and Warbeck, a Milanese envoy had observed of Henry VII: "From this time forward, he is perfectly secure against Fortune."1 Alas, that prediction was shortly to be confounded, for now "there suddenly came a lamentable loss and mischance to the King, the Queen, and all the people."2 "The Shrovetide following the marriage [the week ending February 8, 1502, which was Shrove Tuesday], Prince [Arthur] began to decay and grow feeble in body," so the Duke of Suffolk recalled in 1529. He had heard the details from Maurice St. John, who was of the opinion that the prince's illness was the result of too much indulgence in the marriage bed. This testimony chimes with that of Sir Anthony Willoughby, who had "heard say" that the prince and princess "lay at Ludlow together the Shrovetide next following";3 and it is supported by the contemporary account in The Receyt of the Lady Katherine, which dates Arthur's decline "from the Feast of the Nativity of Christ unto the solemn feast of the Resurrection, at the which season grew and increased upon his body, whether it was by surfeit or cause natural, a lamentable and most pitiful disease and sickness."

News of Arthur's illness reached the court within days, and must have occasioned the royal parents much concern. But that was not all they had to worry about, for there was a new threat to the Tudor throne. The King had restored the attainted Lincoln's younger brother, Edmund da la Pole, to the peerage, but only to the extent of making him Earl of Suffolk-not duke, like his late father. Suffolk's resentment had smoldered. He was after all regarded by some malcontents as the rightful Yorkist claimant to the throne. A bold, rash man, he had murdered "a mean person in rage and fury" the previous year. Henry VII pardoned him but had long distrusted him, and with good reason. In the summer, Suffolk, provocatively calling himself "the White Rose," and his brother Richard had fled, with the aid of Sir James Tyrell, to the court of Maximilian of Austria, now Holy Roman Emperor. This had rightly been viewed by an alarmed Henry VII as a new threat to his security. It "vexed and misquieted" him, making him anxious lest "some tumultuous business should be begun again," for Suffolk's claim to the throne was arguably better than his own. On February 22, 1502, Suffolk was publicly condemned in a sermon preached at Paul's Cross, and excommunicated.4 Suffolk was Elizabeth's first cousin, and he had played a prominent part at her coronation and in court ceremonials. He was part of a circle that included her brother-in-law, William Courtenay, and her kinsman, Henry Bourchier, Earl of Ess.e.x.5 She was close to his mother, her aunt Elizabeth, d.u.c.h.ess of Suffolk, and possibly to him too, so his defection must have come as a shock to her.

Numerous people suspected of being in contact with the de la Poles had been under surveillance in recent months, and Henry learned that Courtenay had banqueted and dined with Suffolk just prior to his defection. The King's agents also uncovered disquieting intelligence that Courtenay had corresponded with Suffolk, and he was suspected of having invited the de la Poles to invade England in the West, where his family had their power base.

That was enough for Henry. Late in February, Courtenay was suddenly seized-taken without night clothing, body linen, or cloaks6-and imprisoned in the Tower on charges of conspiracy. But as Hall makes clear, Courtenay was "rather taken of suspicion and jealousy than for any proved offense or crime." Probably he was dealt with severely because he was married to a Yorkist princess and might conceivably have had designs on the throne; Katherine, his wife, was said to have disparaged Henry VII's claim to the throne,7 but this seems unlikely.

Courtenay was to be attainted for treason in 1503, and his estates given to his father, after whose death they were to revert to the crown. He escaped the death penalty, perhaps because the King did not want his brother-in-law made a public spectacle on the scaffold.8 But for Katherine his imprisonment was cataclysmic. She had as yet no guarantees that Henry would spare her husband. Impoverished by the confiscation of his property, with her children likely to be disinherited, the depths of her distress can be imagined. Despite her own trials, Elizabeth offered strong support to her sister during the coming difficult months, unhesitatingly welcoming Katherine into her household and succoring her both emotionally and financially.9 We know this from entries in Elizabeth's account book for the period March 24, 1502, to March 15, 1503, which survives in the National Archives and has many pages checked in her own hand.10 It contains details of purchases made by her during that time, from minor items such as a pair of small enameled knives, to payments to French embroiderers working all hours on hangings for her great bed of state. During this period, Elizabeth kept herself solvent, which had not always been the case. Her chamber receipts amounted to 3,585.19s.10d. [1,743,150], and her expenditure was 3,411.5s.9d. [1,658,230]. Most fascinating of all, these accounts give us invaluable and detailed insights into the last months of her life and the daily existence of a queen.11 Elizabeth was already paying Katherine a pension of 50, but she now augmented that with gifts.12 She must have had some warning of Courtenay's arrest-proof that Henry did confide some state secrets to her-because on February 1, nearly a month beforehand, she had taken charge of the Courtenay children, Henry, Edward, and Margaret, paying for them to be brought from Devon and installed in Sir John Hussey's country seat, Dagenham's Manor, a pretty moated courtyard house not far from the royal manor of Havering, Ess.e.x. There, Elizabeth established a nursery household under the care of a governess, Margaret, Lady Cotton, with nurses and rockers for Edward and Margaret, two women servants, and a groom. Lady Cotton was already in charge of a child the Queen had taken under her wing, one Edward Pallet, whose schooling, diet, and clothing Elizabeth funded; he was a companion for the Courtenay children. In June 1502 the Queen's accounts show that she was providing 4s.4d. [110] a week for the children's food and servants, and that month she paid 4s. [100] to her tailor for making two coats of black camlet (a valuable fabric woven from goat's hair) for her young nephews, and the same amount for velvet ones.13 How Elizabeth felt about the King's decision to imprison Courtenay and so plunge her sister into deep trouble when she herself was anxious about Arthur's health is unrecorded, but her kindness to all the Courtenays implies that she felt sympathy for her brother-in-law. Such charitable acts were expected of a queen, in emulation of Christ's exhortation to comfort those in prison, but-as subsequent events tend to suggest-Elizabeth may have resented Henry allowing mere suspicion to subvert family loyalties.

Sir James Tyrell was charged with treasonably corresponding with the disaffected Edmund de la Pole. Tyrell had prospered under Richard III, and at the time of Bosworth had been serving abroad as Governor of Guines in the English-held Pale of Calais; but soon afterward he was deprived of his offices and estates by Henry VII. However, in 1486 he received two pardons and was reappointed to his former post and given land in Calais, where he remained for the next sixteen years. Vergil suggests that Tyrell aided Edmund de la Pole, Edward IV's nephew, out of guilt at having murdered Edward's sons, the Princes in the Tower, whom he could easily, "without danger to his own life, have spared, and carried to safety."

Tyrell refused to obey the order recalling him to England in 1502 for questioning about his a.s.sociation with the de la Poles. At length he was lured out of Guines Castle on the promise of a safe conduct, but arrested once he had boarded ship. On arrival in England he was hauled off to the Tower.

Later evidence that will shortly be discussed shows that Prince Arthur's health was now in serious decline, and bulletins on his progress must have been sent to the King and Queen. In March, Elizabeth paid two priests, Sir William Barton and Sir Richard Milner, to make pilgrimages and offerings on her behalf at no fewer than thirty-five important religious shrines.14 The number of intercessions they were to make to the Virgin Mary, patron of mothers, bears testimony to the Queen's desperate fears for her son's health.

Barton was sent to "Our Lady and St. George" and "the holy Cross"-the "Cross Gneth," said to be a splinter of the True Cross-in St. George's Chapel, Windsor, and to the tomb of Henry VI, who had a reputation for saintliness and whose tomb was already visited by many pilgrims. Barton's pilgrimage continued to the college of "Our Lady of Eton," and the "Child of Grace" of Reading Abbey, an ancient image of the infant Christ given by Henry I in the twelfth century, of which it was said that "everyone who prostrates himself in its chapel always obtains by the grace of G.o.d the fulfillment of his devout prayer in any trouble."15 Barton also offered at the ancient, silver-plated image of Our Lady of Caversham; Our Lady of c.o.c.kthorpe;16 the shrine of the Holy Blood at Hailes Abbey, Gloucestershire; "Prince Edward," meaning the grave of Henry VI's son, Edward of Lancaster, at Tewkesbury Abbey; Our Lady's shrine in Worcester Cathedral; the Holy Rood-a cross said to have been found buried at the site of the Crucifixion-in St. Gregory's Church, Northampton; the image of Our Lady of Grace in the church of the Austin Friars, Northampton; Our Lady of Walsingham, where the largest offering, 6s.8d. [160] was made, demonstrating that shrine's importance to the Queen; Our Lady's shrine in the chapel of the College of St. Gregory, Sudbury; the popular image of Our Lady of Woolpit, Suffolk; Our Lady of Grace of Ipswich; and the chapel of the Blessed Virgin in the College of Stoke-by-Clare, which was under the patronage of the queens of England. It took Barton twenty-seven days to visit all these shrines.17 At this time, Henry VII was doing his best to have Henry VI canonized. Elizabeth's offerings at Eton College, Henry VI's own foundation, St. George's Chapel, his burial place, and Tewkesbury Abbey, where his son's tomb was also attracting pilgrims at this time, were an acknowledgment of the legitimacy of the Lancastrian line that her husband represented, and a tribute to the sanct.i.ty of her father's rival. Ten years earlier, Caxton had included an oration to Henry VI in his book, The Fifteen Oes, commissioned by Elizabeth and Margaret Beaufort.18 Elizabeth, suffering anxiety and fear over her son's health, was perhaps haunted by thoughts of the last Lancastrian heir, who had met his untimely death at eighteen.

Father Milner spent thirteen days visiting the shrine of Our Lady of Crowham; the mechanically moving Rood of Grace in Boxley Abbey, Kent; the shrine of the martyred St. Thomas Becket at Canterbury Cathedral, to whom, as we have seen, Elizabeth's devotion had been fostered in childhood by her mother; Our Lady of the Undercroft at Canterbury Cathedral; the shrines of St. Augustine and St. Adrian in St. Augustine's Abbey, Canterbury; St. Mary de Castro in Dover Castle; the great rood over the north door of St. Paul's Cathedral, London; the image of Our Lady of Grace in St. Paul's; images of St. Ignatius, St. Dominic, St. Peter of "Melayn," and St. Francis at unidentified locations in or near London; St. Saviour's Abbey, Bermondsey; Our Lady of the Pew in Westminster Abbey; Barking Abbey, Ess.e.x; and the shrine of the Black Madonna in St. Mary's Church, Willesden (now in northwest London),19 which had been founded in 938 by the Saxon king Athelstan. This image had been famed since before 1249 for working miracles, and was a popular destination of pilgrims throughout the later Middle Ages.20 One day, less than forty years hence, Henry VIII would sweep away these shrines to which his mother had been so devoted, and in which she had invested so much faith.

Arthur was well enough to wash the feet of fifteen poor men on Maundy (or "shire") Thursday, which fell on March 24, 1502,21 but thereafter his deterioration was rapid. Elizabeth must have been in torment when, on Maundy Thursday, at Westminster, she partic.i.p.ated in the usual ceremonies, giving money and 105 yards of cloth to thirty-six poor women, to the number of her years. Bowls, baskets, and flowers were bought for this occasion. Payment for the material was made on December 1, and for three yards of cloth delivered on an unspecified date "by the commandment of the Queen to a woman that was nurse to the prince, brother to the Queen's Grace"-probably Richard, Duke of York. Again, the untimely death of a royal heir was in Elizabeth's troubled mind. She was at Greenwich on Good Friday when she made her offering in the chapel, and at Richmond for Easter Sunday. Who knows with what fervency she offered to the Cross on the high altar after Ma.s.s?22 On Monday, March 28, she paid the gifted composer, Dr. Robert Fairfax, the princely sum of 1 [490] "for setting an Anthem of Our Lady and St. Elizabeth,"23 which would invoke not only the protection of the Virgin Mother but, unusually, also that of the mother of the Virgin. Fairfax was the organist of St. Alban's Abbey, and also the first Oxford scholar to obtain a doctorate in music; he had been a member of the Chapel Royal since 1497. The anthem, or votive antiphon, he composed for the Queen was a five-part motet ent.i.tled Eterne laudis lilium, in which the name Elizabeth features prominently, while the first letter of each line spells out the name elisabetha regina anglie.24 That same day, Elizabeth set out from Greenwich to stay for a few days at the Thames-side manor house of Hampton Court,25 owned by the military Knights Hospitalers of St. John of Jerusalem. It was on this site that Cardinal Thomas Wolsey would later build Hampton Court Palace. The Order of St. John, founded to succor wounded crusaders and protect the Holy Land from the Turks, had grown very wealthy. In the twelfth century the Hospitalers maintained an agricultural estate office at Hampton, selling produce to increase revenue. The manor house had been built before 1338, and was now a substantial property in the middle of an eight-hundred-acre estate growing crops and supporting two thousand sheep. From the fourteenth century it served as a grand guest house for visitors to the court at Sheen and, later, Richmond, and also provided accommodation for royal pensioners.

The Hospitalers' house stood in a walled enclosure surrounded by a rectangular moat. It boasted a great hall (traces of which remain beneath Henry VIII's great hall of the 1530s), a chamber block with a tower lodging, and a separate chapel; it also had a garden and a pigeon house. In 1494 the house was leased to Henry VII's loyal chamberlain and friend, the powerful Giles, Lord Daubeney, who had been in exile with his master and fought valiantly for him at Bosworth. The lease gave Daubeney the right to "take, alter, transpose, break, change, make, and new build," and immediately he started converting Hampton Court into a great courtier house, making extensive changes. He erected a new courtyard range, a gatehouse, and a great hall, all of brick. North of the hall he built a new kitchen with a ma.s.sive fireplace, which survives today as the Great Kitchen at Hampton Court Palace. By the time Henry VII visited in October 1500 and July 1501, the house was a fashionable mansion sufficiently grand for entertaining royalty. Elizabeth had probably accompanied the King on these visits, and evidently she enjoyed the hospitality of Lord Daubeney, whose epitaph in Westminster Abbey describes him as "a good man, prudent, just, honest, and loved by all."26 Elizabeth seems also to have regarded Hampton Court as a place of spiritual refuge, one to which she could retreat at times of trial, for it still retained aspects of its monastic past. Daubeney was required by the Knights Hospitalers to appoint a priest to "sing and minister divine service" in the chapel on their behalf (the bell from the chapel tower is probably the one that survives today in Hampton Court's inner gatehouse). In 1503, Elizabeth would retreat into a cell at Hampton for eight days, the word "cell" then meaning a room in the monastic sense. It is likely that she went for the same purpose in 1502, so she could pray for her son's restoration to health.

During her stay, Elizabeth received visitors, and rewarded a poor woman who gave her some almond b.u.t.ter,27 a gift given during Lent, when animal fats were eschewed by the devout.28 She left Hampton Court on April 2, when Lewis Walter, her bargeman, rowed her to Greenwich. Even at this anxious time Elizabeth was thinking of others. On Friday, April 4, she sent John Duffin, her groom of the chamber, to the d.u.c.h.ess of Norfolk "to warn her to receive [Margaret Scrope] the wife of Edmund de la Pole, late Earl of Suffolk." She also sent her barge to collect her gentlewoman, Elyn Brent, from Hampton Court, and row her to London. Possibly Mrs. Brent had remained behind to pack up some of the Queen's stuff. On May 12 payment was made to two men sent from Richmond to Hampton Court to collect Mrs. Brent, which took two days.29 This suggests that more of the Queen's belongings remained to be fetched. The delay is accounted for by the dreadful news that arrived during the night of April 4.

"In all the devices and conceits of the triumphs of [Prince Arthur's] marriage," there had been "a great deal of astronomy," with jubilant predictions that the prince would emulate his ill.u.s.trious forebear, "King Arthur the Briton. But," reflected Bacon, "it is not good to fetch fortune from the stars," for between six and seven o'clock on April 2,30 Arthur's "lively spirits finally mortified," and "the young prince that drew upon him the hopes and affections of his country" commended "with most fervent devotion his spirit and soul to the pleasure and hands of Almighty G.o.d," aged fifteen years and seven months. "His celebrated virtue equaled, if not surpa.s.sed, the fame of all former princes," lamented Bernard Andre. "If only the Fates had granted him a longer stay in this world."

It was said that Arthur expired "of a malign vapor that proceeded from the const.i.tution of the air." A Spanish contemporary, Andres Bernaldez, curate of Los Palacios, wrote in his ma.n.u.script chronicle of the reigns of Ferdinand and Isabella that "Prince Arthur died of the plague a little while after his nuptials, at a place they call Pudlo [sic]. In this house was Dona Catalina left a widow, when she had been married scarcely six months." Arthur had not mentioned his wife in the will drawn up just before he died, in which he left all his robes and household stuff to his sister Margaret. This suggests that he and Katherine were never close.

The contemporary herald's account in The Receyt of the Lady Katherine describes the prince as suffering from "the most pitiful disease and sickness that with so sore and great violence had battled and driven in the singular parts of him inward; that cruel and fervent enemy of nature, the deadly corruption, did utterly vanquish and overcome the pure and friendful blood, without all manner of physical help and remedy."

In favor of the plague theory is the fact that Katherine fell ill too at this time, although she later recovered. But if Arthur had died of the plague, or the rarer but equally feared "sweating sickness," there would surely be other reports of it.

In 1502 there are references to an epidemic in some parts of the country, but it is unlikely that this was the dreaded sweating sickness, because people regarded that as distinct from plague. The sweating sickness was a highly virulent disease that manifested itself in England in a series of epidemics between 1485 and 1551. The cause of it is still uncertain, but its onset was sudden and dramatic, unlike Arthur's illness, and it struck with deadly force: it was said that anyone who survived the first twenty-four hours would recover. Usually death occurred within hours; one could be "merry at dinner and dead at supper."31 But Arthur was ill for over seven weeks, and had been ailing for up to two months before that; there had been concerns about his frailty as far back as July 1500. Even without that new evidence, modern writers who state that his illness was sudden and brief have overlooked the testimony of Suffolk and St. John in 1529, that the prince had fallen sick at Shrovetide after sharing a bed with Katherine, and the account in The Receyt that he was in decline since Christmas. All were quite specific, and Suffolk and St. John's evidence could have been corroborated-or disputed-by other witnesses who remembered Arthur's death. The prince's capacity to bed his bride might have been exaggerated in 1529, but Suffolk had no reason to lie about the long duration of his final illness-rather the opposite, for it was in his, and his master Henry VIII's, interests to show that Arthur was romping in bed with Katherine throughout the five months of his marriage.

There was no epidemic of the sweating sickness in 1502, but there was a "great sickness" in the Ludlow area,32 thought by some historians to have been plague. Although the great plague of 14991500 was over, evidence from local wills shows that, between harvest 1501 and harvest 1502, mortality was above average in the diocese of Hereford, with the most deaths-fifteen-occurring at Ludlow; the figures are even higher for the following year.33 The onset of the plague was sudden too. There were three types: bubonic, pneumonic, and septicemic. The latter two developed rapidly and invariably proved fatal. Few recovered from the commonest form, bubonic plague, either: untreated, its victims usually died within five days; even today, eighty percent of patients who do not receive antibiotics die within eight days. It was caused by the bite of an infected flea, or by contact with another sufferer. A disease of the lymphatic system, it first manifested itself by a headache, weakness, high fever, confusion, aches, and chills. By the third day the lymph nodes in the neck and armpit would swell painfully, ooze pus, and bleed. This was followed by gangrene of the fingers, toes, nose, and lips, which turned black; it was this that gave bubonic plague its more common name, "the Black Death." The victim suffered pain, muscle cramps, seizures, and lung infections, which might cause them to vomit blood incessantly; in the final stages, they lapsed into delirium and a coma as the nervous system collapsed. Death often occurred with terrifying suddenness.

There was no effective treatment. All the doctors could do was helplessly prescribe rest, good diet, and a move to cleaner air. A fortunate few did survive; if they lived past the tenth day, they had a good chance of recovering. Nonfatal cases could last up to a month. There is one doc.u.mented case of a fourteenth-century physician, Guy de Chauliac, suffering an attack of plague that lasted six weeks,34 but he recovered, so for much of that period he would have been convalescent.

Arthur doesn't fit the pattern. His illness began with a decline, not a sudden escalation of symptoms like plague. Plague was a disease that manifested itself in warm weather and was largely absent in the winter months. We know that as late as April 1502, the weather was cold and windy. Thus plague is unlikely.

Possibly it was an influenza-type virus that raged in the region and proved fatal to the prince, especially if he was already ailing. The herald who wrote an account of his funeral states that very few citizens were present in Worcester Cathedral because of the great sickness that prevailed in those parts.35 The fact that Arthur's body was buried at Worcester, and not taken back to London for burial in Westminster Abbey, strongly suggests that he was thought to have died of something contagious and that it was felt his body should be buried as soon as possible.

The most convincing theory is that Arthur had "a consumption," or tuberculosis, perhaps contracted from his father, who would die of it at the age of fifty-two. In the nineteenth century there evolved the perception that this disease was the scourge of three young Tudor males; almost certainly it killed Arthur's nephew Edward VI, who was also fifteen when he died in 1553. But it did not kill another nephew, Henry VIII's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond, who was evidently quite healthy until an acute pulmonary infection carried him off in 1536, aged seventeen.

Katherine's physician, Dr. Alcaraz, later explained that she was still a virgin because "the prince had been denied the strength necessary to know a woman, as if he was a cold piece of stone, because he was in the final stages of phthisis [consumption]. Dr. Alcaraz said his limbs were weak and that he had never seen a man whose legs and other bits of his body were so thin."36 This might explain Henry VII's anxiety about allowing the couple to live together. Yet if Arthur had then been in such a decline, and so obviously weak and emaciated, it is surprising that no one else commented on it, and that the marriage was allowed to go ahead. Had he been in that state before his departure for Ludlow, it is unlikely the King would have allowed him to go so far from London, and equally unlikely that the Spanish amba.s.sadors would not have known about his condition, or failed to warn the Spanish sovereigns about it.

The symptoms of pulmonary tuberculosis include coughing b.l.o.o.d.y sputum, breathing difficulties, fatigue, loss of appet.i.te and weight, night sweats, and chest pain. There was no treatment because antibiotics had yet to be invented. In the late medieval period the disease was common and Dr. Alcaraz would easily have recognized it, so his diagnosis is almost certainly reliable. It is often contracted in childhood, from prolonged exposure to people with active tuberculosis, and symptoms may not appear for some years, if at all; but statistics show that once symptoms do manifest themselves, death occurs after about three years in untreated cases. The disease can also spread rapidly through both lungs and prove fatal, accounting for the short duration of Arthur's last illness, which might have been exacerbated by making the long journey from London in the depths of winter. Dr. Alcaraz's report probably relates to the period between Christmas and April, when the prince's decline would have been most evident. He must have known that Arthur and Katherine had not consummated their marriage prior to arriving at Ludlow, and it was probably obvious afterward that Arthur was already too ill to play the husband.

An interesting theory has been put forward that he died of a less common form of the disease, testicular tuberculosis, which causes a fibrous ma.s.s that can mimic a cancerous tumor. The disease increases libido but inhibits s.e.xual performance, which would explain why he was unable to consummate his marriage.37 That Arthur's illness affected his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es has been inferred from the description of his sickness affecting "the singular parts of him inward"-which could mean any organ, however-and it has also been suggested that he died of testicular cancer, which can spread quickly in young victims.38 Diabetes, asthma, or pneumonia are other theories.39 The weight of evidence favors tuberculosis. The chances are that Arthur, a premature baby, had a weak const.i.tution from birth, which made him susceptible to infection. Henry VII was already anxious about his health when he sent him to Ludlow, but maybe he did not suspect the nature of what ailed his heir; maybe he was in denial; probably Arthur did not show any alarming symptoms or lose weight so dramatically until he was at Ludlow.

According to an anonymous herald's account preserved by John Leland, "immediately after [Arthur's] death, Sir Richard Pole, his chamberlain, wrote and sent letters to the King and council at Greenwich, where His Grace and the Queen lay, and certified him of the prince's departure." The Privy Council received the terrible news first, during the night, and "discreetly sent for the King's ghostly father" and confessor, an Observant Friar, "to whom they showed this most sorrowful and heavy tidings, and desired him in his best manner" to break it to their master. In the morning, the friar went to the King, arriving "before the time accustomed," and knocked on the door of his chamber. On being admitted, he asked for everyone in attendance to be dismissed, and when he was alone with Henry, "after due salutation," he gently quoted Job in Latin: Si bona de manu Dei suscipimus, mala autem quare non sustineamus? ("If we receive good things at the hands of G.o.d, why may we not endure evil things?") Then he "showed His Grace that his dearest son was departed to G.o.d."

For the stricken father, this was a devastating blow, and Henry VII must have struggled to confront the fact that his dream of a new Arthurian age lay in ruins. "When the King understood these sorrowful, heavy tidings, he sent for the Queen, saying that he and his wife would take their powerful sorrow together." Thus it was that Elizabeth heard the shattering news every parent dreads to hear, that her child was dead in the flower of his youth.

It is on this occasion that we are afforded a rare and touching glimpse of the private relationship between Henry and Elizabeth. The matrimonial career of Henry VIII had not yet made royal marriages legitimate objects of intense diplomatic interest, and information about the private lives of earlier kings and queens is often spa.r.s.e. This account of the royal couple sharing their grief and striving to comfort each other gives one of the best insights into their relationship and shows them, after sixteen years of marriage, to have been loving, caring, and mutually supportive. It shows Elizabeth taking the initiative in intimate matters and being quite firm with her husband, although even in private she still addressed him formally. And it reveals that she drew on an inner strength that enabled her selflessly to put his needs first, even at such a time. She would have been painfully aware that he had lost not just his son but also his heir and all the hopes he had invested in him, and that only one young life now stood between him and the loss of everything he had striven so carefully to build. Henry was now forty-five, well into middle age by Tudor standards, and may have feared he would not live to see his remaining heir grow to maturity, let alone a son born now, and he and Elizabeth had good reason for anxiety about the future, for no one knew better what could happen to child kings. And so, setting aside her own grief, Elizabeth hastened to comfort him.

"After she was come and saw the King her lord in that natural and painful sorrow, she, with full great and constant and comfortable words, besought His Grace that he would first, after G.o.d, consider the weal of his own n.o.ble person, of the comfort of his realm, and of her."

"And remember," she said, "that my lady your mother had never no more children but you only, yet G.o.d, by His Grace, has ever preserved you and brought you where you are now. Over and above, G.o.d has left you yet a fair prince and two fair princesses; and G.o.d is still where He was, and we are both young enough. As the prudence and wisdom of Your Grace [is] sprung all over Christendom, you must now give proof of it by the manner of taking this misfortune." Considering that her life had been feared for in her last pregnancy, it must have taken courage to a.s.sure Henry that they could have more heirs, but no doubt that was a bravado born of the need to console him-and herself.

Henry thanked Elizabeth for "her good comfort." But when she returned to her own chamber, she collapsed. The "natural and motherly remembrance of that great loss smote her so sorrowfully to the heart that those who were about her were fain to send for the King to comfort her. Then His Grace, of true, gentle, and faithful love, in good haste came and relieved her, and showed her how wise counsel she had given him before; and he for his part would thank G.o.d for his son, and would [that] she would do in like wise."40 Elizabeth rallied. On April 6, when she must have felt raw with grief, she paid for two of William Courtenay's former servants to ride to the West Country to see his father, the Earl of Devon,41 no doubt to inform him of the tragic news, and perhaps to ask him to send her sister Katherine immediately to court, so that they could comfort each other.

Elizabeth's mourning attire conformed to the ordinances laid down by the King: "The Queen shall wear a surcoat with a train before and behind, and a plain hood, and a tippet [shoulder cape] at the hood, lying a good length upon the train of the mantle. And after the first quarter of the year is past, if it be her pleasure, to have her mantle lined; it must be with black satin or double sarcanet; and if it be furred, it must be with ermine, furred at her pleasure."42 On April 19, Richard Justice, page of the robes, was paid for mending a gown of black velvet. On May 2 black tinsel (taffeta) satin was purchased as edgings for another and a gown of crimson velvet. On June 7 six yards of black velvet for a gown and a yard of black buckram for stiffening the bodice were delivered for the Queen, and two days later Henry Bryan, a London mercer, supplied eight yards of black damask for a cloak, black sarcenet for the lining, and black velvet for the edging. The bodice of a gown of black velvet of Princess Margaret's was relined, and "a black satin gown for my Lady Mary." On June 21 more black damask was bought for a gown for the Queen, and on August 2 payment was made for a black velvet mourning gown with wide sleeves lined with sarcenet.43 In November we find Elizabeth ordering sixty yards of blue velvet for her own use; this seems to have been for "the covering of a litter of blue velvet lined with sarcanet and bordered with satin figure[s] that was given to a lady of Spain," probably a member of Katherine of Aragon's household. Cushions of blue damask were made for the same litter. Elizabeth also bought seven yards of black velvet for a gown, and thirteen yards of black satin for a riding gown, as well as black velvet for the border and cuffs, black sarcenet for the "vents" (slashes), and black buckram and canvas for the lining; she sent Richard Justice to fetch a gown of blue velvet and seven yards of black damask. In December she bought eight and three-quarter yards of black velvet, and at the end of January 1503 blue worsted. Around that time she had a kirtle of black satin lined and hemmed. To pay for these and other items, she had once more to p.a.w.n her plate, and the King was obliged to give her money.44 The Queen remained in mourning for Arthur for most of 1502, although on state occasions she wore her normal queenly attire.45 A contemporary composer, John Browne, wrote a Latin antiphon, Stabat iuxta Christi crucem, which speaks of the grief of the Virgin Mary for her crucified Son, evidently drawing a parallel with Elizabeth's grief for her own son.46 Elizabeth's health-she was reportedly well before the tragedy47-was undermined by the shock of Arthur's death. The first indication of this comes on April 29, when she paid John Grice, her apothecary, the huge amount of 9.13.4d. [4,700] for "certain stuff of his occupation."48 What he supplied was clearly more than something to dull unbearable grief or help her to sleep. Given the other references to Elizabeth's poor health in the months to come, it would seem there was some more fundamental medical problem.

"The calamity and the pitiful misfortune" of Arthur's unexpected death had "touched the entire kingdom."49 It would have long-reaching repercussions that no one could have envisaged. He had been "the delight of the Britons," "the glorious hope of the realm," and "the most renowned heir of our magnanimous King," but now he was no more, and England had perforce to weep "since your hope now lies dead."50 Arthur's corpse-disemboweled, boiled, cered, and spiced51-lay in state in the great hall of Ludlow Castle until it was carried with mournful pageantry to St. Laurence's Church nearby on April 20. The prince's heart and viscera are said to have been buried in the church, where his coffin lay before the altar for three days, but there is no contemporary evidence for this, and heart burial had been in decline in England since 1300.52 On St. George's Day, conducted by a vast cortege headed by Sir William Uvedale and Sir Richard Croft, Arthur's body was conveyed to Worcester Cathedral. Katherine did not attend the funeral, as custom would not have allowed the widow to be present, and she was too ill anyway; neither did the King and Queen, Henry represented by Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, as chief mourner. The black-draped hea.r.s.e rested at Tickenhill Palace, Bewdley, on the way, brought there on "the foulest cold windy and rainy day," and the escort was "in some places fain to take oxen to draw the chair, so ill was the way."

At his father's wish, the prince was buried "with great funeral obsequies"53 on the right-hand side of the chancel. Gruffydd ap Rhys was chief mourner; he would later be buried near his young master. There was "weeping and sore lamentation as Prince Arthur was laid to rest." Thomas Writhe, Wallingford Pursuivant, "weeping, took off his coat and cast it along over the chest right lamentably."54 A beautiful chantry chapel was erected over Arthur's plain granite tomb, but Elizabeth did not live to see it built. Half a century after her death, her grandson Edward VI ordered it to be despoiled along with the other chantries that were swept away by the Reformation; but among the ruined stone carvings that remain can be seen Tudor roses, Beaufort portcullises, Katherine of Aragon's pomegranate, and the Yorkist falcon and fetterlock. The arms of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York appear on the south screen of the chantry.

The reaction of Arthur's siblings to his death is not recorded. Margaret was to name one of her sons after him, in the year when he would have succeeded his father to the throne. Possibly Henry did too: the names of two short-lived boys borne by Katherine of Aragon are unrecorded. But Henry cannot but have found some satisfaction in the knowledge that, with Arthur gone, he was now, as his father's next and only surviving son, heir to the throne. He was not immediately given his brother's t.i.tles since it was not yet known whether Katherine of Aragon was with child.55 It is unlikely that the two boys had known each other well, or were close, as they had grown up apart, with Arthur at Ludlow and Henry usually at Eltham.

Cardinal Pole, the son of Margaret of Clarence, was later to claim that Henry VII disliked his second son intensely, "having no affection or fancy unto him."56 Pole had little that was good to say about Henry VIII, so this may be an exaggeration, but Pole's mother had known both kings, so there may be some truth in what he wrote. But in 1502 young Henry was barely eleven, and may not yet have aroused the antipathy of his father-unless Henry VII resented him for being alive when Arthur, in whom so many of his ambitious hopes had been vested, was dead.

Arthur's death did have an unfortunate consequence for his younger brother. The previous summer the King had considered giving young Henry his own household at Codnore Castle, Derbyshire (then vacant due to the death of its owner, Henry Grey), once Arthur was married,57 which would have given him a degree of independence. The King, perhaps having the boy's measure, may also have reasoned that, living so far from court, his younger son would pose less of a threat to Arthur. What Elizabeth thought of this beloved child being sent to live such a distance from her is not recorded. But now the boy, the sole heir, would stay at court, or with his sisters, heavily protected, even isolated, and would not enjoy any independence while his father lived.

There were the garter ceremonies to get through; the annual calendar of the court did not allow for private grief. Elizabeth paid "Friar Hercules" 5 for golden fabric and silk from Venice, and gold damask, which he made into laces and b.u.t.tons for the King's garter mantle.58 On April 27 she left Greenwich by barge for the Tower, where she lodged for five days. During her visit she was in contact with Alice FitzLewes, Abbess of the Minoresses' convent at Aldgate; Alice had been a nun at "the Minories" since about 1493, and was elected abbess by 1501.59 On May 1, Elizabeth rewarded her with 6s.8d. [160] for sending a present of rosewater. She also gave 11s. [270] for the succor of "Dame Katherine and Dame Elizabeth, nuns of the Minories in almshouse, and to an old woman servant to the abbess and a daughter of William Crowmer, also a nun there."60 During her sojourn at the Tower, Elizabeth may well have met with the abbess, whose convent was a stone's throw away; this was probably how she learned of these needy cases. They must have known each other already, because Alice FitzLewes was cousin to Elizabeth's aunt, Mary FitzLewes, Lady Rivers, the widow of Anthony Wydeville, and Elizabeth appears to have been close to her aunt, who is known to have attended her on several occasions. Interestingly, the abbess's mother, Joan FitzSimon, widow of Philip FitzLewes, was a cousin of Sir James Tyrell, the man named by More as the murderer of the Princes in the Tower, who was then in the Tower awaiting trial for abetting the de la Poles.61 It seems significant that the Queen chose to visit the Tower at this time. The rosewater and the charitable gifts may have been genuinely intended, but they might also have been the cover for something of far greater import, because residing in a house within the precincts of the Minories at that time were several ladies who were well placed to know the truth about the fate of Elizabeth's brothers. Elizabeth Talbot, d.u.c.h.ess of Norfolk and mother-in-law of Richard, Duke of York, the younger of the Princes in the Tower, lived there until her death in 1506. With her was Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Robert Brackenbury, Constable of the Tower at the time of the princes' disappearance, whose will of 1514 provides for her burial there; Mary, sister of Sir James Tyrell; and one of Tyrell's cousins, the daughter of John Tyrell.62 Also living in the house was Joyce Lee, a widow who took the veil and was interred in the church of the Minories in 1507. Her brother Edward later became Archbishop of York, and he was friends with Thomas More; their families lived in the same London parish, and More was to dedicate a book to Joyce Lee in 1505.63 It is conceivable that More visited her at the Minories when he was a young lawyer living at Bucklersbury in London, and that it was there he first heard the truth about the fate of the princes from people who had the means of knowing what had happened to them. Alice FitzLewes must have known Joyce Lee and all the other ladies in the house in the close. She could perhaps have told the Queen much about the fate of her brothers. But Elizabeth was probably at the Tower for another reason entirely.

She was back at Greenwich on May 2; the next day, Ascension Day, she made her offering at the altar.64 During that first week of May those accused of conspiring treason with Edmund de la Pole were arraigned at Guildhall and condemned for "matters of treason." Sir James Tyrell was beheaded on May 6, 1502, on Tower Hill.65 Vergil observed that "he paid by his own death the appropriate penalty for his previous crimes."

Afterward Henry VII "gave out" that, while in the Tower, Tyrell was "examined, and confessed" to murdering the princes nineteen years earlier.66 Either he let slip something compromising or he was already suspected of having been involved, although Henry was reluctant to believe any ill of him.67 If the King gave out such information, it was probably by a proclamation68 that does not survive. Of the sixty-two extant proclamations of Henry VII, some are lost,69 notably the one proclaiming his accession. Others that are missing are referred to in contemporary doc.u.ments, such as one issued in 1496 for expanding legislation on conditions of work for laborers;70 no one has ever disputed its existence, although rivers of ink have been spilt in denying that Tyrell's confession was ever the subject of a proclamation. It is true that no written confession or deposition by Tyrell survives, but that is not unusual or necessarily significant in Tudor treason cases.

It does seem more than coincidental that Elizabeth had chosen to make a brief visit to the Tower at this particular time, just before Tyrell's trial; it was perhaps significant too that she was in touch with the Abbess of the Minories during her stay. It is possible that her presence in the Tower had something to do with Tyrell's confession. Perhaps he made it to her in person, or the King and his examiners deemed it useful to confront Tyrell with the sister of the princes. Or Tyrell, knowing he almost certainly faced death, asked if he could see the Queen, to confess to her his involvement in the death of her brothers-perhaps insisting he would speak to no other.

Conceivably, Elizabeth's involvement, or perhaps her reaction, was the reason why Henry VII did not make more of the confession. Henry would surely have done much to secure confirmation that the princes really were dead, and would have sympathized with Elizabeth's need to know the truth about her brothers. He may have thought it fitting that she was the one to hear the truth. We know she had advance warning of Courtenay's arrest in February, indicating that the King entrusted her with matters of state that affected her; he might therefore secretly have involved her in this delicate matter too. It does seem significant that Elizabeth had dealings with the Abbess of the Minories, Tyrell's cousin, who was sheltering his sister and a mutual cousin; possibly they were all linked to her visit in some way, even if it was only in their need for rea.s.surance that Tyrell had at last unburdened his conscience before facing divine judgment.

This is all purely hypothetical, of course. We will probably never know the truth of the matter, although Elizabeth's presence in the Tower at this particular time is surely grounds for speculation. More wrote that Tyrell's horse keeper, John Dighton, one of the murderers, had also been examined and confessed to the murder, while Bacon states that Dighton corroborated Tyrell's confession. More, whose account was partly based on Tyrell's confession, probably tracked down and spoke with Dighton later on, for around 1513 he was able to state that "Dighton yet walks on alive, in good possibility to be hanged"-an incorrigible criminal.

It has been argued that Henry's announcement of Tyrell's confession was a fabrication, or that the confession was forced. Certainly it was timely, especially in the wake of Prince Arthur's death, for a confession that the princes had indeed been murdered must have undermined any new claims by would-be pretenders against Henry's sole remaining heir; and certainly no other pretenders claiming to be the sons of Edward IV emerged after this time. It is also true that Tyrell was dead, and could not refute what the King "gave out"; Dighton, who escaped unpunished, was unlikely to talk. But if the confession was an invention, why had Henry waited until now, and not come up with something of the kind years earlier, when he was under threat from first Simnel, and then Warbeck, or even in 1499, after the execution of Warwick? It is not beyond the bounds of probability that a man facing death would want to lay bare his guilt in regard to such a crime.71 Then there is the evidence of More, who stated that he had learned about the murders from "them that much knew and had little cause to lie"-a description that fits Tyrell and Dighton. If the story had not been true, what cause had Dighton to incriminate himself? And what cause had More-no yes-man of the Tudors-to make any of this up?

It is clear, though, that the bodies of the princes were not found in the wake of Tyrell's confession, and that may have been the consequence of a deception. More, probably basing his tale on what Tyrell and Dighton confessed, wrote that the murderers had buried the corpses "at the stair foot, meetly deep in the ground, under a heap of stones"-which is precisely where a chest containing the skeletons of two children who were almost certainly the princes was found in 1674 during demolition of a staircase in the entrance forebuilding to the White Tower. But More then says that Richard III had the bodies dug up and "secretly interred" elsewhere, and that he had taken the knowledge of the location to the grave with him. Tyrell, being close to Richard, might well have heard that, and disclosed it in 1502.

But the story was a fabrication: if they were those of the princes, the bodies had not been moved at all. Without them Henry could not have proceeded against Dighton, for there was a legal presumption of "no body, no murder" until the twentieth century. Bacon says that Dighton, "who it seemeth spake best for the King, was forthwith set at liberty, and was the princ.i.p.al means of divulging this tradition"-which, again, explains how More got much of his information.

If Tyrell's confession was genuine-and there seems no good reason to doubt it-Elizabeth was probably shaken by it, whether she heard it in person or not. Discovering the grim truth about how her brothers had met their end would have been traumatic, especially at a time when she was grieving for her own son (who had not been much older than Edward and Richard) and coping with the tragedy that had overtaken her sister. Was this the reason she sent for her confessor on May 17?72 We can only speculate as to her frame of mind when she was rowed two days later to Richmond, where her lodgings had been made ready "against the coming thither of the amba.s.sadors of Hungary." That day Richard Justice brought to her gowns of russet and purple velvet and a stole covered with scarlet;73 it is unlikely that she was ready to put off her mourning garb so soon, and possible that these garments were to be lent to one of her sisters or ladies for the reception of the amba.s.sadors.

In addition to Elizabeth's other burdens, she was concerned for her daughter-in-law, and seems to have felt-as the Spanish sovereigns would when they heard the news of Arthur's death-that Katherine of Aragon "must be removed without loss of time from the unhealthy place where she is now."74 To this end Elizabeth had sent an escort to bring the bereft and isolated young widow back to London as soon as she was well enough to travel, and she herself provided a litter to convey her convalescent daughter-in-law. Her keeper of the beds, John Coope, had covered it with black velvet and black cloth, and fringed it with black valances, with the two headpieces bound with black ribbon and fringed with black cloth.75 In this mournful equipage Katherine was brought to Richmond, where the Queen evidently received her with much kindness. Queen Isabella told Ferdinand, Duke of Estrada, that she and King Ferdinand knew very well that, wherever King Henry and Queen Elizabeth were, their daughter "would not lack either father or mother."76 After a short stay with the King and Queen, Katherine was given the choice of two residences: Durham House, the Bishop of Durham's palace on London's Strand, and Croydon Palace, the Archbishop of Canterbury's residence in Surrey. By May 24 she had taken up residence at Croydon.77 The Queen was perhaps again unwell, for on that day her attendant Eleanor Ratcliffe, Lady Lovell, was dispatched from Richmond to the City to a "Dr. Lathis"; a London surgeon, John Johnson, also attended Elizabeth at Richmond on May 28.78 Katherine of Aragon was in the Queen's thoughts at this time, and she sent Edward Calvert, her page, to Croydon,79 possibly to check on the princess's health, and perhaps discreetly to ask her servants if there were any signs of a pregnancy. That there were not was soon to become clear.

On April 15, unaware of the tragedy that had overtaken their daughter, Ferdinand and Isabella had written to Puebla of how glad they were "to hear that the King and Queen of England, with the Prince and Princess of Wales, are in good health." When they heard of Arthur's death they were quick to write again, telling Puebla that the news had caused them "profound sorrow," painfully calling to mind "the affliction caused" by the recent losses of their own son and eldest daughter. But, they added piously, "the will of G.o.d must be obeyed."80 The Spanish sovereigns were concerned, naturally, about their daughter. On May 10 they sent another amba.s.sador to England with instructions to preserve the alliance and ask for the immediate return of Katherine and her dowry. "We cannot endure that a daughter whom we love should be so far away from us in her trouble," they wrote, adding that, if possible, Puebla was to secure Katherine's betrothal to the new heir, Prince Henry,81 who, at nearly eleven, was five and a half years her junior. Everyone was aware that, if Arthur and Katherine had consummated their marriage, her union with Henry would be incestuous and contravene canon law. Katherine's chaplain, Alessandro Geraldini, informed the Spanish amba.s.sador that the marriage had been consummated; but Dona Elvira, Katherine's duenna, was adamant that it had not, and wrote to Queen Isabella insisting that the princess remained a spotless virgin. Immediately Geraldini was recalled to Spain. In July, Isabella informed Henry VII that the princess remained a virgin.82 But although he too wished to preserve the Spanish alliance, Henry was hesitant. Months-and momentous events-would pa.s.s before he reached a decision on the proposed betrothal between Katherine and his heir. Meanwhile, it had become clear that Katherine was not pregnant with Arthur's child,83 and by June 22, when he was made keeper of the forest of Galtres, young Henry Tudor was being styled Prince of Wales.

17.

"The Hand of G.o.d"

Elizabeth had told Henry that they were still young enough to have other children, and he took her at her word. It was probably at Richmond, around the third or fourth week of May, that she conceived again, not two months after the death of Prince Arthur. At the time she had pressing concerns on her mind. On May 30, doubtless responding to Katherine Courtenay's worries, she paid Ellis Hilton, her groom of the robes, for warm clothing she had commanded be made for William Courtenay: Holland cloth for shirts, fox fur to line a gown of russet, and a night bonnet. She also paid out for black satin of Bruges and black velvet for covering Katherine Courtenay's saddle and sable trappings for her horse.1 The King and Queen were at Richmond for the feast of Corpus Christi, which fell on June 5 that year, and for the celebrations to mark it Elizabeth came briefly out of mourning, sending Richard Justice, her page of the robes, to London to fetch a cloth-of-gold gown trimmed with fur.2 The next day the court moved to Westminster. The Queen had bought orange sarcenet sleeves to enliven her daughter Mary's mourning gown, and clearly they were a favorite with the child. When it was found that the little princess had left them behind at Baynard's Castle, Elizabeth sent her page of the robes from Westminster to collect them. Just before she departed from Westminster, she made an offering at the shrine of St. Edward the Confessor in Westminster Abbey, kneeling beside the tombs of her dead infants; she also made offerings in the chapel of Our Lady of the Pew at Westminster and at the Norman shrine of Our Lady of Bow in London.3 Elizabeth was back at Richmond on July 11, when there was a disguising at court. Her accounts record 56s.8d. [1,380] paid to William Antyne, coppersmith, for "spangles sets, square pieces, star drops, and points after silver and gold for garnishing of jackets against the disguising." This may have been "the disguising in the year last past" for which Elizabeth provided coats of sarcenet in the Tudor colors of white and green for the King's minstrels and trumpeters, which were not paid for until December.4 By June 17 the Queen was at Windsor, having distributed alms on her journey there, as seems to have been her custom when she traveled. On St. John's Eve, June 23, she gave money to her grooms and pages for making the traditional bonfires. She made her offerings on St. John's Day itself, and on July 5 she and her daughter Margaret made offerings before the Holy Cross, St. George, and Henry VI's tomb in St. George's Chapel. The next day she sent 66s.8d. [1,600] to the Abbess of Dartford "toward such money as the abbess hath laid out toward the charges of my Lady Bridget there." An identical sum was also sent to Bridget herself. During her stay at Windsor, Elizabeth enjoyed an outdoor banquet in the "little park," where a "harbor" had been made specially for her, and the King's painters were employed "for making divers beasts and other pleasures for the Queen at Windsor."5 That year the King's mason, Robert Vertue, was building a "new platt [plan] of Greenwich which was devised by the Queen."6 She wanted a separate brick, battlemented residence for herself on the waterfront, with a great tower in the center, a gallery, a privy kitchen, and a garden and orchard, and building it would cost 1,330 [650,000] over the next six years.7 She would not, however, live to occupy it. Her involvement in the project probably reflects her love for Greenwich and an interest in Burgundian architecture and court culture that had no doubt been fostered by her father-but it may have had more significance than that.

Throughout her married life Elizabeth had frequently resided with the King and accompanied him on his travels; apart from going on pilgrimage, there is no evidence for her traveling alone unless there was a pressing reason. Their mutual distress at being apart from each other had been a factor in bringing Henry home from a campaign in France. Yet on July 12, 1502, Elizabeth left Windsor in company with her sister Katherine for the royal palace of Woodstock in Oxfordshire, on the first leg of a solo progress that would take her on a roundabout route to Wales-and away from Henry for much of the coming summer.8 Had we her privy purse expenses for earlier years we might find details of other solo progresses, yet this is unlikely, as there would probably be some other evidence, however fragmentary, for them.

It is astonishing that a gravid woman in uncertain health, whose life had been despaired of in her previous pregnancy, should decide to travel so far at such a time, especially as it would mean being apart from her husband for two and a half months. It is possible that Elizabeth was not only unwell but in some distress of mind. Maybe Tyrell's confession had impacted badly on her, especially in the wake of Arthur's death. Her own loss must vividly have brought home to her what her mother had suffered after her brothers disappeared, while her ever-present grief for Arthur may have prompted a need to get away on her own for a time. Even so, to embark on such an arduous progress and thereby risk her uncertain health and that of her precious unborn child seems strange indeed.

Possibly there had been a rift between her and Henry. Her plans for a house for herself may reflect a need to have a residence where she could live apart from him. Grief may have led her to blame him for sending their son to Ludlow when he was ailing, although it is inconceivable that Henry would have done so had he known that Arthur was seriously ill. What is likely is that Elizabeth was finding it hard to forgive Henry for the devastation he had wrought upon her sister's life, for no apparent good reason-and at such a time. It is conceivable that the closeness husband and wife displayed in their shared grief had been fatally undermined by the continued imprisonment of Courtenay and the subsequent plight of Katherine of York-and by the King's harsh treatment of another of Elizabeth's sisters.

Sometime after May 13, 1502 (when Elizabeth repaid money Cecily had lent to her), Cecily made an illicit third marriage to an obscure man of low degree, Thomas Kyme (or Kymbe, or Keme) of Lincolnshire or the Isle of Wight. The date of their marriage is not recorded, and it is not until January 1504 that Cecily is first referred to as Kyme's wife, in the Parliament Roll of 150304.9 As a princess of the blood, Cecily was not supposed to marry without the King's permission, still less disparage the royal lineage by throwing herself away on a mere esquire; and unsurprisingly, when Henry discovered what she had done, he banished her from court and angrily confiscated the Welles lands, in which she had a life interest. The fact that Margaret Beaufort, who was sympathetic toward Cecily in her plight, began taking a busy interest in those lands from 1502 strongly suggests the marriage took place that year, after May 13.10 There is no record of Elizabeth interceding with the King on her sister's behalf, but such a conversation would surely have taken place in private, and if it did, then her pleas fell on deaf ears. It may be that she was as shocked and angered at the marriage as the King, and that she did not intercede at all, but this seems out of character; the fact that Margaret Beaufort, who had often worked in concert with Elizabeth, was not afraid to help Cecily, suggests not only that she was fond of her, but also that she knew she was better placed than Elizabeth to help her. Elizabeth was grieving for her son; she was pregnant and her health was precarious; she already had troubles enough with one sister's misfortune, and her marriage may have been under strain as a result of that, so she was probably not in the best position to help.

Margaret offered Cecily and Kyme shelter at Collyweston. From 1502 she took steps to a.s.sess the value of the Welles lands and drew up agreements with Cecily. By January 1504 she had negotiated a settlement with the King, whereupon Parliament restored Cecily's life interest in the Welles inheritance.11 Aside from resenting Henry's impoverishment of her sisters, there is the possibility Elizabeth was aware of his fancy for Katherine Gordon and that this was another cause of distancing herself. Further than this we cannot speculate. The marriage of Henry and Elizabeth has always been seen as one of fidelity and mutual support, and there is no evidence that the King's interest in the beautiful Katherine went beyond chivalrous appreciation in Elizabeth's lifetime. But if that was as plain to his wife as it was to observers, then she had cause to feel threatened, and that could only have added to her resentment.

Elizabeth and her sister first traveled to Colnbrook, where Elizabeth rewarded a poor man who had guided them to St. Mary's Chapel so they could make an offering to Our Lady; she also gave alms to a hermit there. Then they boarded the ferry across the Thames at Datchet and rode northward via Wycombe, arriving that night at Notley Abbey, an Augustinian monastery by Thame, Buckinghamshire;12 their mother, Elizabeth Wydeville, had once owned lands nearby. The abbot's house, where they lodged, still survives; its magnificent timber roof was recently revealed. While they were there, a messenger caught up with them with a letter from Lady Cotton at Havering bearing news of the sudden death of little Lord Edward Courtenay on June 13, and seeking to know the Queen's pleasure as to where her nephew should be buried; that same day Elizabeth wrote to the Abbot of Westminster. Later she paid for the child's funeral and gifts for his nurse and his rocker.13 On July 14, Katherine having probably gone to Havering, Elizabeth rode northeast via Boarstall to Woodstock, where soon afterward she fell "sick."14 It is possible that she was suffering the discomforts of the early months of pregnancy, but this might have been a continuation of her illness of the spring, exacerbated by her condition; there is evidence to suggest that she did not enjoy good health through her pregnancy, and we know there were fears that she would not survive her previous confinement. Either way, her malady may have been aggravated by grief for Arthur, revelations about her brothers' fate, and stress over her sisters' plight.

It has credibly been suggested that she was suffering from iron-deficien