When he arrived his mother was already there.
He went forward and bowed as he had been taught to do. He noticed his mother’s eyes on him with a certain pride and satisfaction which pleased him.
“Henry,” said the King, “there are going to be some splendid celebrations. This marriage with Spain is very dear to my heart and to that of your mother.”
The Queen nodded in agreement. She would always agree with her husband.
“Your brother Arthur is a very fortunate young man,” said the King.
Henry smiled almost imperceptibly. Arthur was in Wales and Henry wondered how he would receive the news of his good fortune. He was now fifteen, pale and more like his father than his mother; he was gentle, hated great ceremonies in which he had to play a part, and he would be very apprehensive about those which would inevitably be the result of his “good fortune.”
“The Infanta is on our shores. There can be no hitch now. The marriage will most certainly take place and when it does we shall have a powerful ally. This is a happy time for us all.”
“Henry will have his part to play,” said the Queen, smiling at him.
The color rose to Henry’s cheeks touching the normal healthy pink to rosy red—the color of a Lancaster rose. His eyes sparkled. He was going to enjoy these celebrations if he could forget that they were for Arthur’s wedding, for Arthur’s bride, and that Arthur would be at the center of them.
“And,” went on the Queen, still smiling, “I am sure he will play it well.”
“What must I do?” asked Henry eagerly.
“I have decided that you shall bring the Infanta into London. You shall be her escort companion when she enters the capital.”
“Oh thank you, my lord.”
“You are pleased?” said the King.
“Oh yes, indeed I am. I would I could do more.”
“That will be enough,” said his father. He was trying not to compare the boy with Arthur. Henry was tall for his age and he had bulk too. His skin was glowing with health; he was vigorous and excelled at games, archery, horsemanship; and Skelton said he was good with his books too. He should have been the firstborn, of course. But they had Arthur. The King was fond of his eldest son in a way which he had not believed he could be fond of anyone. Arthur was so vulnerable. In Arthur he saw something of himself. Long ago Henry had dreamed of kingship. In his Welsh stronghold his uncle Jasper had primed him, and the thought had been constantly with him in exile: “One day you will be King.” It had seemed the ultimate goal, the end of the road. Now it was here he was tortured by anxieties, not knowing from one day to the next when some Pretender would arise to claim the crown on which he seemed to have such a light hold. Arthur was uneasy too. Prince of Wales . . . accepted successor . . . and the longer Henry remained on the throne the more firm his seat would be. But he could see that Arthur was afraid of the future, even as he was. Arthur did not want this grand marriage; he did not want the crown.
Had it been young Henry, how different it would have been.
“Very well my son,” said the King, “you must prepare yourself for this duty. You will have to ride through the streets of London with the Infanta. I know you can manage your horse as well as our best knights. But it will be more than that. You will have to treat her with the utmost courtesy. Remember she is a Princess of Spain and she will be one day Queen of England. Now you will show her the utmost respect. I do not know yet how you conduct yourself with the ladies.”
“I am very gallant with them, my lord.”
The Queen’s lips curved in a smile but the King regarded his son sternly.
“You have a good opinion of yourself, Henry.”
“One must have, my lord, for if one has not a good opinion of oneself who else would have one?”
That was pure Skelton. It amused the Queen but the King showed no sign of mirth.
“A little more than gallantry will be required,” said the King. “I will have you taught what you should do. The Infanta has to come from Plymouth. That is a long way off so you will have plenty of time to learn how to conduct yourself. Now you may go. We have matters to discuss which do not require your presence.”
He left a little dispirited in spite of the prospect ahead.
He went to the nurseries. His sisters Margaret and Mary were there. Margaret was drawing and Mary, watching her, was saying it was beautiful and Margaret was very clever.
Mary was so young and naively admired her brother and sister so much because they could do things which she could not.
Margaret said: “Have you seen the messenger?”
“I have been with our father,” replied Henry grandly.
“Oh Henry . . . have you really!” cried Mary. “What did you talk about?”
“This coming marriage,” said Henry importantly. “The Infanta is at Plymouth. She will have to be met and brought to London. I suppose I shall have to lead her into the city.”
“A little boy of ten!” cried Margaret.
“I tell you I am going to do it. I have just told our father that I will.”
“She is grown up. She is sixteen . . . even older than Arthur. You will look such a baby beside her.”
There were times when he would have liked to strike Margaret. There would be terrible trouble if he did. It would be quite against the rules of chivalry. They might even prevent him from taking part in the wedding
