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To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York - Jean Plaidy
- Дата:26.06.2024
- Категория: Разная литература / Прочее
- Название: To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York
- Автор: Jean Plaidy
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Аудиокнига "To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York" от Jean Plaidy
👑 В аудиокниге "To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York" вы окунетесь в захватывающий рассказ о короле Генрихе VII и Елизавете из Йорка. Эта история о любви, интригах и борьбе за власть перенесет вас в средневековую Англию, где каждый шаг королей и их наследников был пропитан политическими заговорами и семейными интригами.
🏰 Главный герой книги, король Генрих VII, стремится удержать корону и укрепить свою династию Тюдоров. Его жена, принцесса Елизавета из Йорка, становится для него опорой и союзницей в борьбе за власть. Их история полна испытаний, но их любовь и верность друг другу помогают преодолеть все трудности.
🎧 Автор аудиокниги, Jean Plaidy, виртуозно воссоздает атмосферу средневековой Англии, оживляя исторические факты и персонажей. Ее книги погружают слушателей в мир старинных замков, дворцовых интриг и рыцарских турниров.
📚 Jean Plaidy - псевдоним популярной британской писательницы Элинор Бёртон, которая специализировалась на исторических романах. Ее произведения пользуются огромной популярностью у любителей истории и романтики.
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“My late husband’s revenues have not come to me. The King has taken them. I have nothing but the King’s small allowance. I must do something. When I am married to the Prince I shall be able to redeem the jewels.”
Doña Elvira shrugged her shoulders.
It was all very bewildering and it was true that Katharine must find money somewhere.
It will pass, thought Katharine. In two . . . perhaps three years I shall be married. Then all will be well. As my mother says I must be patient.
I will, she thought. I can be because I know that she is there . . . always loving and kind and watching over me.
De Puebla called at Durham House. Looking very somber he asked for an immediate audience with the Princess.
As soon as he came into her presence Katharine was filled with a terrible fear.
“What is wrong?” she cried.
“News from Spain,” he said.
“My mother . . .”
He nodded and was silent.
“News? What news? Tell me quickly.”
“My dear lady, you must prepare yourself for a great shock.”
“Is it my mother . . . my father . . . ?”
Again that nod and silence. It was more than Katharine could endure.
“It is my mother,” she said blankly. “She is ill. . . .”
He looked at her beseechingly. It was odd to see the sly de Puebla so moved.
Then he said clearly and with the greatest compassion in his voice: “Queen Isabella is dead, my lady.”
“Dead!”
She was trying to grasp what this meant and at the same time trying not to, for she could not bear to contemplate a world without her mother.
De Puebla was saying: “She had been ill for some time. The tertian fever it was said . . . and dropsy. Her last thoughts were for you . . . and your sisters.”
“Dear mother,” murmured Katharine. “It cannot be . . . it must not be. . . .”
“One of the last things she did was to have the Bull of Dispensation brought to her. She wanted to see it for herself. She wanted to assure herself that your betrothal to the Prince of Wales would go forward and none could dispute it.”
Katharine covered her face with her hands.
“I will send for your ladies,” said de Puebla. “My lady, it grieves me to have to bring you such news.”
“I know,” said Katharine. “Leave me . . . please. I would be alone.”
Alone! she thought. That is what I am now. She is gone. Alone . . . yes, alone in a hostile world.
Katharine was not the only one to be deeply affected by the death of Isabella. The King immediately realized what a difference this could make to his own position.
Without delay he sent for Empson and Dudley, those two who because of their wizardry with figures were more in his confidence than any others.
“I had thought, naturally,” he said to them when the three of them were alone, “that Ferdinand’s power would have been increased by the death of his wife.”
“Isabella was a shrewd woman. She loved Ferdinand as a husband—strange that such a woman could have such a feeling for her family—but as a ruler she was fully aware of his deficiencies.”
Henry nodded. “And now Ferdinand has lost a great deal of that power, which was his when his wife was alive.”
“For all her devotion to her family, she was always the one who held the power. She never forgot her position and was determined that it should not be passed on to Ferdinand.”
“Well, let us look at the facts,” said Henry. “She is dead and she has appointed her daughter Juana Queen Proprietor, and Castile is settled on her and Philip her husband.”
“One can be sure that the Archduke will take every advantage of the position.”
“She does say until the majority of her grandson Charles.”
“That is some time yet. He cannot be more than four years old.”
“The Lady Katharine is not such a good match as we had first thought,” mused the King.
“No, her position has changed considerably. It is a pity that she is betrothed to the Prince.”
Henry was thoughtful. “Oh,” he said, “there are loopholes. I saw to that. I have a feeling that that marriage may not take place. I agreed to the ceremony, yes . . . because the Sovereigns were getting restive and there was the dowry to be considered, but it must necessarily be some time before a marriage could take place and a great deal can happen in that time. See how the position has changed now with the death of Isabella.”
“My lord, what is to be done?”
“I have no doubt,” said the King, “that we shall put our heads together and discover how best to settle that matter. In the meantime I have decided that the Prince of Wales shall not go to Ludlow.”
His ministers looked at him in surprise. It was customary for the Princes of Wales to reside at Ludlow. The people of Wales expected it.
“I have decided,” went on the King, “that there is much that the Prince of Wales must learn and he will do that best at my side. I want him to learn the art of kingship. I think he will learn well enough . . . in the right environment.”
The ministers nodded.
“And the commitment to the Lady Katharine?”
“Of that more later.”
The King sent for his son. Young Henry was not very pleased with his father. He had greatly looked forward to setting up his own household at Ludlow and he had been curtly informed that he was not to go there; his father believed that he could be more profitably engaged at his side. This was all very well, but at Ludlow Henry could have played at being king; at his father’s side he was always of secondary importance and the King had a way of treating him as though he were still a boy—and was not always careful of his manner toward his son in the presence of others.
It seemed that the older he grew the more he chafed against the restraints of youth. He was nearly fourteen and two years had passed since his formal betrothal to Katharine of Aragon. He had been very interested in her naturally as she was his future wife, but he was not sure whether he was pleased about that or not. Sometimes he was, and sometimes he was not. He liked women very much. He talked about them incessantly with Charles Brandon and Lord Mountjoy. He had joined them in certain adventures—most illuminating and gratifying. There were many beautiful ladies at the Court and he liked to write verses about them and sometimes set them to music and strum them on his lute. All those about him declared he had a wonderful talent and he liked to think he had.
Well, he would be married very soon now—a year or two. Perhaps when he was fifteen. That would be an experience. He was not sure whether he wanted to marry Katharine or not. At times he did very much, when he thought of her poor and rather lonely, perhaps longing for the day when he would release her from her poverty and loneliness. He liked to think of coming to her rescue—true knight that he was—and in spite of the temptations of so many beautiful women—who were all eager to be honored by the Prince of Wales, he would marry her. “I gave you my promise,” he said in his fantasies about himself, “and I will remain steadfast to you.”
Therefore when he heard what proposition the King had to lay before him, he was astonished and completely taken off his guard.
“My son,” said the King, “you are aware of the change in Spanish affairs.”
“Yes, my lord,” answered the Prince.
“Ferdinand does not hold the same power since Queen Isabella died. When your brother married Katharine it was indeed the best of matches. Times change.”
The Prince listened intently. He knew that his father had behaved in a very parsimonious manner toward Katharine; he knew that she was always short of money. That was part of another of his fantasies. He had imagined himself showering riches on her at which she cried: “You are the most wonderful of beings. I am the luckiest Princess in the world and quite unworthy of your greatness.” He was rather glad therefore that she was in this position. It made his gesture all the more wonderful.
“It is fortunate,” went on the King, “that it was not in fact a true ceremony that was held in the Bishop’s house.”
“But . . . it was like a marriage ceremony. We signed our names.. . .”
“Henry, you must be able to adjust your thoughts. That is what being a good king means. If a marriage such as this one could bring no good to our country . . . and might bring harm . . . then the best thing possible is to repudiate it.”
“But how can we repudiate that which has in fact taken place, when there is evidence to prove it?”
“You have to disregard such sentiments if you are to keep the country prosperous and the crown on your head. This Spanish marriage is no longer necessary nor desirable to us.”
“But if it has already taken place.”
“It has not taken place. You are not married to the Lady Katharine and we are going to have another ceremony in which you repudiate that previous one.”
“My lord, it seems to me that in all honor . . .”
“What it seems to you, my son, is not important. She will understand for I believe her to be a sensible girl. Moreover she will know nothing of it . . . yet.”
“To repudiate a promise, my lord, and particularly one given so solemnly seems to me not to be in keeping with knightly honor.”
“Henry, you are obtuse. No more of this, you will obey my orders.”
“My lord . . .”
“Silence. Don’t show your childishness.”
Henry disliked his father at that moment, for he knew that he would have to obey. He would have to do as they wanted. It was a reminder of his youth.
“We will settle this matter without delay,” said the King.
“You mean there will not be a ceremony like that other . . .”
“Of course there will not be. This is a secret matter. The Bishop of Winchester awaits us below.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Henry sullenly.
“You will not have to learn your words. They will be handed to you. You will read them and then they will be signed in the presence of the Bishop.”
“I like it not . . .”
“It is not for you to like or dislike. You must make it clear now that you do not consider the contract with Katharine of Aragon valid and you will make a statement to this effect.”
Henry, his mouth tight and sullen, his little blue eyes veiled, followed his father down from the apartments to a room below the kitchens. There was no window in this room and Henry realized at once that the King was determined they should not be seen.
There were present Richard Bishop of Winchester, Giles Daubeney, Charles Somerset, Earl of Worcester, and the King’s secretary.
They were all men, the Prince noticed, who had served his father well and before he came to the throne. Therefore he would be sure of their loyalty.
“Are we ready?” said the King.
It was agreed that they were.
Henry was told to stand before the company and a paper was thrust into his hand.
“Read,” commanded the King.
Henry started: “before you reverend lord and father in Christ, Richard Lord Bishop of Winchester, I Henry, Prince of Wales . . . declare that while of tender years and being to all knowledge below the age of manhood contracted a de facto marriage with her most Serene Highness Katharine daughter of the King of Spain and although that contract, because of my minority, is in itself already invalid, imperfect and of no force or effect nevertheless . . . I being on the verge of manhood declare that I do not intend in any way to approve validate or ratify that pretended contract . . . Now in this present document induced by no force, trickery or prayer but willingly and freely and in no way compelled, I denounce the contract and dissent therefrom. . . .”
He went on reading and his heart was saying: but I was forced. I was told I must do this. It is not my fault that I am breaking vows . . .
He had come to the end. The paper lay on a table and under the King’s scrutiny they all signed after Henry had done so.
They came out into the sunshine. Young Henry was resentful. He did not feel that he had acted as a chivalrous knight.
Henry had lost a certain pleasure in himself. The perfect knight had broken his vows; he had acted in a way which the laws of chivalry would have condemned as debasing; and he had acted so because he had been afraid to do otherwise. He could not forget Katharine in her well-worn gowns looking to him, he fancied, with an appeal in her eyes. She had looked to him as her savior and he had repudiated her.
It was not the role in which he saw himself. Usually he could lead his mind away from thoughts of disloyalty to himself. But there was the evidence in very fact; he had signed his name to that paper indicating that he did not consider himself bound to Katharine.
It was policy. His father had insisted and he had to obey his father who was more than an ordinary father; he was the King. A true knight obeyed his king without question. No, not when the case was a dishonorable one. Then a good and true knight rebelled. He served God first, the King second. Whichever way Henry looked at it he came up against his conscience.
It was the first time in his life that he realized what a strong force that was with him. He wanted to be above all other men and recognized to be so. He had little patience with the saints. He wanted to be a man. He must be the superior every time—in stature, in looks, in skill both mental and physical. He must excel at the joust; he was always to be the victor; he must win every battle against his adversaries. He must possess the best qualities of all his most illustrious ancestors. He must tower above them all in every way.
He wanted people to admire him. To look up to him. To say: There is a king victorious always, never failing in war . . . in peace . . . in honor.
There was the rub. He had gone through what was tantamount to a marriage ceremony with Katharine; and now he had denied it; and he knew why. It was because her mother was dead and the Kingdom of Castile had not passed to Katharine’s father Ferdinand (which would have meant Katharine remained an important factor in policy making), but had gone to Isabella’s sister who had an ambitious husband. Therefore Katharine was no longer to be considered so the King had forced his son most cynically to repudiate her.
And I did it, thought Henry.
Katharine was never far from his thoughts. He was ashamed of his action and as it was against his policy ever to be in the wrong he began to look for excuses for his conduct. It was no use telling himself that his father had forced him to do it, because it destroyed his image of himself if he allowed himself to be forced. That was why the matter was so disturbing. There had to be a reason why he had done what he had and it had to be a good one. His conscience demanded that.
It came in due course.
It was Charles Brandon who found it for him—not that Charles knew it. Charles was a gossip and took great delight in gathering the secrets of those about him. He had always been particularly interested in Katharine not only because she was affianced to Henry and was destined to become the future Queen, but because she belonged to one of the most important Houses in Europe.
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