The Queen asked questions about what they did. Margaret tried to talk all the time but Henry was not having that. There was quite a little babble about the Queen, which was different from what was happening with the King and Arthur who seemed to find it difficult to keep their conversation going.
Finally that ceremony was over and the King and Queen went to their apartments while the children returned to the nurseries, there to wait the next summons, which would be for dinner; as they would take this with their royal parents their mentors hoped they would remember all they had been taught about the washing of hands and the correct method of eating.
Arthur was given precedence of course; he it was who held the basin while the King’s hands were washed; then he sat beside the King and there was more of that uneasy talk. Poor Arthur, he was wishing that the ordeal was over.
They were all glad when the tumblers who traveled with the King and performed for his entertainment were brought in. The King’s stern face relaxed into a smile as he watched them and young Henry was so excited he leaped up and tried to imitate them, which caused a great deal of amusement and even made the King laugh aloud.
Then there was the King’s fool called Patch who said a lot of things to make them all laugh and was really quite disrespectful to the King, which Henry could not understand until he learned afterward that this was a special privilege for fools whom nobody took seriously.
If I were a king, he thought, I wouldn’t allow anyone to speak disrespectfully of me, fool or no.
Ever since he had overheard that conversation he was thinking more and more of what he would do if he were king.
He was surprised when the King told him to come and sit beside him. His father studied him very carefully.
“You may have been wondering why the Queen and I have come to Eltham.”
“To see me . . . and Arthur and Margaret.”
“Yes, that is so. But there is a rather special reason and it concerns you, my son.”
Henry’s eyes were bright with excitement; his little mouth turned up in a smile.
“I am going to honor you, Henry. I am going to give you a title. You must be worthy of it.”
“I will, my lord,” said Henry firmly.
“I believe you will. You are going to be the Duke of York.”
“Couldn’t I be Prince of Wales?”
“What do you mean? Arthur is the Prince of Wales.”
“He doesn’t like being Prince of Wales very much. I should . . .”
The King’s smile was a little wintry. “You must not say such things. There is a Prince of Wales and he will remain Prince of Wales until he becomes the King. You will have to understand these matters. You will be Duke of York, which is next in rank and honor to the Prince of Wales.”
Henry was subdued. He had betrayed his dreams, That was silly.
Although he hoped that one day he would be the King, he knew that
he must never tell anybody.
“What must I do, my lord?” he asked.
“You will be told and have time to learn what you have to do. It is a most important ceremony and I want you to be worthy of it.”
Henry nodded gravely.
“There, my son,” said his father, “that is the purpose of our visit . . . to honor you.”
That was very pleasant, but for just a fleeting moment Henry wished that his parents had come to
The King dismissed him and he went back to his place beside the Queen. Margaret was watching him jealously, and he could not resist crying out: “I’m going to be Duke of York. I’m going to be honored.”
He looked up at his mother. On impulse he buried his face in her skirts. He felt cool hands taking hold of him. It was one of the carvers. His mother was smiling but she made no attempt to touch him. Margaret was looking pleased, which meant that he had behaved in a manner which was quite incorrect. The King was pretending not to see what he had done, but the King saw everything. He would hear more of this.
His pleasure was dampened. He knew then that he wanted his mother to ruffle his hair as Anne Oxenbrigge did, to pick him up and hold him against her breast, to tell him that for all his impudence he was only a baby.
He was glad when the tumbling and antics of the fool ceased and he could go to the nurseries. Anne was there waiting. He ran to her and caught her by the knees.
“Anne, Anne, I’m going to be Duke of York!”
He was picked up, held in the strong arms. He buried his face into her large soft breasts.
“Well, well,” she said, “you’ll have to mind your manners, won’t you?”
She was laughing. He said: “Are you glad, Anne? Are you pleased?”
She was silent for a while. Then she said: “No . . . I expect I want you to stay my baby. . . .”
Then he put his head down on her breast again and clung to her. He was comforted.
