have lived in peace. He could not say the same of his family’s arch enemy, Edward the Fourth, for he had fought only when war was forced upon him, when he had to make it or risk losing his crown. Henry could understand that a crown was something well worth fighting for.
When he was nine years old William Herbert had come and taken the castle of Harlech for the Yorkists—and young Henry with it. Then Henry had a new guardian and he was amazed that he could quickly grow fond of the Herberts, particularly Lady Herbert who treated him as he had never been treated before—as a child. Oddly enough he enjoyed that. She scolded him and looked to his comforts and was as affectionate toward him as though he were her own son. Lord Herbert had been given the title of Earl of Pembroke for this had been taken away from Jasper. Henry and young Maud Herbert did their lessons together, rode together, quarreled together and in truth found each other’s company very agreeable. Lady Herbert watching, thought that one day they might enter into an even closer relationship. Then there had been a new development in the war. Fortunes had been reversed. The newly created Earl of Pembroke was killed in battle, the Lancastrians were restored to power, Edward the Fourth fled the country, and Uncle Jasper returned.
That had been a very important time in young Henry’s life because he was taken to London and there presented to King Henry the Sixth, his father’s half-brother, who welcomed him warmly, complimenting him on his handsome looks and musing in his somewhat absentminded way that it might well be that in time a crown would grace that head.
That was when young Henry first began thinking of the possibility of becoming a king. He had noticed the deference bestowed on the King; he was delighted to hear that he was related to him; he went back to Wales and read more and more of Arthur and Cadwallader. He was one of them. He could one day be a king.
Uncle Jasper had been full of high hopes at that time. The King was gracious to his Tudor kinsmen. It was clear that he had been impressed—as far as his addled mind could let him be—and had been struck by the looks and learning of young Henry.
“If he stays secure on the throne,” said Jasper, “there will be a high place for you at Court, my boy.”
But poor mad Henry did not stay secure on the throne and it was not long before the mighty Edward returned to claim the crown and hold it with such firmness of purpose which, combined with the will of the people who had always loved him, showed quite clearly that York would be triumphant as long as the magnificent Edward was there to make it so.
Edward was shrewd. He did not like the thought of that boy being nurtured in Wales.
“It is clear that we are unsafe here,” said Uncle Jasper.
So they had left intending to go to France but a strong wind had blown them onto the coast of Brittany where they were cordially received by the Duke, Francis the Second.
It became obvious that it had been a wise action when Edward asked the Duke of Brittany to deliver young Henry Tudor to him. “I do not intend to make him a prisoner,” Edward had declared. “I would like to arrange a match for him with one of my daughters.”
Jasper had laughed aloud at that and decided they would stay in Brittany until what he called a more healthy climate prevailed in England.
Henry had often thought that one of the saddest things that could happen to a man or woman was to be an exile from his or her own country. Pray God it never happened to him again.
He would not be here this day if it were not for John Morton. What a good friend he had been—one who was ready to work for a cause and place his life in jeopardy! He had come through some difficult times, had John Morton. In spite of his Lancastrian leanings he had managed to win the confidence of Edward the King. What fools some men—even great men—were. Both Edward and Richard, whom he was ready to concede were wise in many ways, had been fools. They never seemed to doubt the loyalty of those about them; it appeared to be good enough for a man to profess friendship, for these Kings to accept his word. King Henry the Seventh would never be caught like that. He would trust no one who had not proved his worth—even then not too deply. His mother he would trust with his life; and Morton, yes, but not even him completely. He would always remember Richard’s trust in Stanley. How could he have been such a fool! That act of folly had lost him his crown—or contributed to it.
So Edward had trusted Morton and made him an executor of his will, and as Bishop of Ely Morton had been in a strong position when Edward died. Yet Richard had suspected him. Had he not been arrested at that famous council meeting in the Tower when Hastings had lost his head? But what had Richard done? Put the Bishop in the care of Buckingham. How could Richard have trusted Buckingham as long as he did!
The more he looked back to the past the more he saw that a king must be wary; he must be suspicious of all and he must not weaken in his vigil and his purpose and those who stood between him and the throne must in due course be eliminated. Not only for the sake of Henry Tudor but for the peace and prosperity of the land.
Be watchful then even of good friends like Morton who had once saved his life. He would never forget it; he would reward Morton; but he would be watchful of all men.
Yes, even Morton, though it was he who had sent warning to him when Richard was planning to capture him in Brittany, and so enabled him to escape to France in time. He owed his life to Morton. From Buckingham’s care Morton had escaped to Ely and from there to Flanders where he had joined Henry with plans for the landing, for the conquest which should give Henry the Kingdom.
And now here he was . . . married to Elizabeth, heiress of York, awaiting the birth of his son.
Who knew, at this moment the child might have arrived.
He spurred his horse and rode with all speed to Winchester.
The Queen lay back exhausted and triumphant. It was over. She had heard the cry of her child, and the Countess of Richmond was at her bedside holding the infant.
“A boy!” she cried. “Healthy enough . . . though small, as to be expected coming a month too soon.”
“A boy,” said the Queen, holding out her arms.
“Just for a few moments, my dear,” said the Countess. “You must not tire yourself. We are going to get you well as soon as we can. That would be the King’s command.”
“Where is the King?”
