She gave a cry of joy and ran forward to embrace her.
The young Queen was almost in tears.
“Dear mother,” she said. “I am so happy to see you. I trust you are well.”
The Queen Dowager said that she was well indeed, and would be quite fit to travel when the time came.
“Dear lady,” said the Queen, “I would speak with you alone.” She signed to her attendants to fall back, which they did, and Elizabeth Woodville took her daughter to her apartments. There she dismissed her servants and the two Queens sat down to talk.
The young Elizabeth seemed as though she did not know where to begin and her mother said: “Have you news of Cecilia?”
“Only that she is well and happy and enjoying life in the country.”
“She has been fortunate in escaping the wrath of the King. Not like her poor mother. It was a very rash and reckless thing she did.”
“But it harmed no one,” said the young Queen firmly. “Dear lady, there is news from Scotland and that is why I felt I must come to you with all speed.”
News from Scotland. James was waiting for her. How soon could she set forth? In a week. . . . Not less, she supposed.
“Well?” she prompted, for her daughter seemed to find it difficult to proceed.
“James is dead, my lady. He was killed in battle.”
“God has indeed deserted me.”
“Oh my dear mother, did you so long to go to Scotland?”
“Who does not wish to escape from prison?”
“But you have your comforts here.”
“I lack freedom, my daughter.”
“It will not always be so.”
“Have you spoken to the King?”
“He believes that it is for your own good to be here.”
“Henry believes what is for his good is always so for that of other people.”
“You must not talk thus of the King. You will want to hear of the sad end of the King of Scotland?”
“Slain in a battle, you say?”
“Yes . . . in a way. There was a revolt of the feudal houses.”
“There were always revolts.”
“I fear so. There were powerful men in this one . . . Angus, Huntly, Glamis. . . . They met the King’s forces and defeated him. He was in retreat with a few of his followers and went to a well for water. While they were there a woman came with her bucket and James could not resist saying to her: ‘This morning I was your King.’ He told her that he was wounded and wanted to confess his sins to a priest. He begged her to find one and send the man to him, and she promised to do this. But what she did was to inform the townsfolk that the King was at the well and wanted a priest. There were some of the enemy forces in the town and one of these disguised himself as a priest. James was waiting at the well when the bogus minister arrived. The King fell on his knees and entreated the priest to shrive him, whereupon the man drew his sword and saying, ‘I will give you short shrift’ slew the King. That is the story, my lady.”
“So I have lost my King,” said Elizabeth Woodville.
“Dear lady, do not be so sad. You never knew him.”
“He was to be my salvation.”
“Oh come, dear mother. If you truly repent of what you did I am sure the King will forgive you. You are happy here. Why you live as luxuriously as you would at Court. It may be that in time the King will find another noble husband for you. But it will not be Scotland now.”
“Adieu Scotland,” said the Queen Mother slowly. “Adieu my King whom I never knew.”
She looked about her apartments.
“I have a feeling that I shall end my days here,” she said.
The King was feeling a little melancholy. He had just received the members of the embassy he had sent to Spain; they had been cheerful, optimistic, certain that their efforts would bear fruit, but Henry had never been one to deceive himself. He knew that whatever compliments had been paid and promises hinted at, nothing had really been achieved. He knew the reason why and it was that reason which he found so disturbing.
Arthur was at the very heart of his safety. He had thought himself the luckiest man in England when he had defeated Richard at Bosworth—or at least his armies had. Henry himself was no great general. His strength lay in his ability to govern rather than wield a sword—which men of good sense should know was more important for a king. They did not seem to, though—and if the time came for him to protect his kingdom he would need to shine on battlefields as well as in council chambers. That was what he dreaded.
He was never sure from one moment to the next whether someone might leap out to kill him. Every rustle of a curtain set him wondering; every time there was a knock on his door he wondered who would enter. It would get better when he felt more secure on his throne. It must be thus with all those who are not strictly in the line of succession.
