king, which was strange because to Henry that seemed the ultimate achievement—that was happiness and contentment.
The King acted very strangely now and then. Henry remembered something, which had happened not very long ago, which gave him a certain insight into his father’s nature.
It had happened at the arena. The King kept a large menagerie and he was very fond of sports in which the animals took part. Young Henry believed that his father was always trying to make the people like him. He showed them how lenient he was to his enemies; they were always present at tournaments and shows in the arena. But he always looked so stern and he rarely smiled. If only he would smile, speak to some of them in a friendly way, he would have been liked so much more than he was because he forgave Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck too . . . for a very long time. If I were the King . . . Henry thought. It was a recurring observation.
But on this day in the arena the King’s lion was brought out. He was a fierce and splendid animal and when the dogs were set on him he was always the victor. His name was Rex, which meant he was the King.
On that day four mastiffs were set against him. Never had the dogs beaten Rex, but they did that day. Young Henry loved the dogs and they put up a magnificent fight against old Rex. They were battered and wounded . . . but the dogs won in the end and it was Rex who lay dying in the center of the arena.
Young Henry’s impulse had been to shout with excitement but he had caught the stern looks of his father, and his mother, who sat beside the King, was watching Henry and her look begged him to restrain his high spirits. Then he realized that the King saw something significant in this episode. The King had been set on and killed. Poor Rex was king of the animals no more.
It was a symbol. These mere dogs had set on the king of the beasts and killed him. Rex was the King. Henry saw it clearly when John Skelton pointed it out to him.
The King had left the arena in silence. People had thought it was because he had loved his lion. But it was more than that. Before sunset those four victorious mastiffs were brought out from the kennels and hanged on gibbets in the arena. Their bodies dangled there for two days so that all might see them.
It was a symbol and a warning to all would-be traitors. The mastiffs had killed the king of the beasts. Therefore they were traitors.
Henry was a little bewildered. He talked over it with Skelton.
“But it wasn’t the fault of the dogs. They were put in the arena to fight Rex,” he pointed out.
Skelton said: “One does not have to be at fault to be hanged as a traitor.”
“Then how can they help it?”
“They cannot. Young Warwick couldn’t help it, could he? He was born to what he was . . . so he was a potential traitor if another should take over the throne.”
“Warwick wanted to take my father’s place,” said Henry.
Skelton bowed low. “Ah, the noble Tudors. Bless me, I had forgot. They have a right to the throne. The rank of Lancaster! Of course. Of course. York must stand aside for the Tudors.”
Henry laughed as he often did at Skelton. But he would not repeat quite a lot of what Skelton said because he knew that if he did he would his lose his tutor and who knew—his tutor might lose his head. But he did know, through Skelton’s innuendos, that his father was very much afraid that someone would rise up and take the throne from him.
There was another occasion when the King had one of his best falcons killed. This amazed young Henry. He loved his own falcons and he could not understand why the very best one of all should be destroyed.
The falcon had matched itself with an eagle, he was told. And it had bettered the eagle. All knew that the eagle was the king of the birds as the lion was the king of the beasts.
The King had said: “It is not meet for any subject to offer such wrong to his lord and superior.”
Henry was bewildered. He came to Skelton for explanation.
“It’s a parable, my lord. Your noble father is fond of parables. That is because he sees himself as our god. He wishes it to be remembered that he will brook no traitors. Any who threaten his throne will go the way of the mastiffs and the falcon. Poor innocent creatures who must be so sadly used in order that the King’s human subjects be provided with a lesson.”
“I would never destroy my best falcon,” said Henry.
“Let us hope, dear lord, that if you should attain the throne you would never find it necessary to teach us all such a lesson.”
“I should just wait until I had real traitors and then cut off their heads.”
“Ah, if my Prince ever came to the throne then the heads would begin to roll, would they?”
“Traitors’ heads would.”
“And traitors would be any who opposed my lord’s will. Ah, but such talk is treason . . . to our lord the King and to the Prince of Wales. I must take care or I shall find myself hanging beside the mastiffs.”
“I would prevent that, good Skelton,” said Henry.
Skelton laughed and coming close to Henry whispered in his ear: “Ah, but my lord Prince, you are not the King . . . yet.”
“You say yet . . . good Skelton as though . . . as though . . .”
Skelton laughed. “Life is full of chances,” he said. “You are at the moment second in line. . . .”
“Skelton, have you been seeing the soothsayers and wise men?”
Skelton shook his head. “The wisdom comes from inside this head, my lord. And it tells me that . . . there is a chance . . . Of course when our Prince of Wales has sons . . . then, my lord of York, your chances fade with the birth of each one.”
