Jean Plaidy - To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York

Tyrrell called to his horsekeeper, John Dighton, to give his personal attention to their guest’s stabling and Dighton, red-faced, big and broad and clearly capable, immediately set about doing his master’s bidding.

Sir James then took the Earl into the castle and sent his son to give orders that nothing should be spared in providing the utmost comfort for their guest.

Then he settled down to hear an account of the Earl’s abrupt departure. When he had explained, Suffolk reviled the King and brought up the old grievance of the King’s taking from him the major part of his inheritance, and then giving him back a portion for which he had to pay.

“Oh the King is most gracious,” said Suffolk sarcastically. “He has given me a period of time to pay him for my own estates. Did you ever hear of such conduct, James? And that the old miser should dare to behave so to a member of the House of York, angers me beyond description.”

“His treatment of you is because you are of the House of York,” said Tyrrell. “It was a sad day for us when the Tudor came and killed good King Richard.”

“I know you served him well. Rest assured that this King of ours sleeps uneasily in his bed. He is constantly on the lookout for someone to thrust a dagger into his heart or stretch out rightful hands to take the crown. You, my friend, were always loyal to our House of York.”

“King Richard’s reign was too short, alas. He was our rightful King.”

“I often wonder how much truth there was in that story of Edward’s precontract to Eleanor Butler,” went on Suffolk.

“There is one mystery which will never be solved.”

“And there is another. Those two little boys . . . Kings both of them if the story be true that the elder died before the younger. King Edward the Fifth and King Richard the Fourth. They were pleasant boys. I saw them now and then when I was young. ‘Tis a strange story. I wonder the King does not sift the matter, for if one of those little boys still lives he is indeed the true King. Henry cannot pronounce them bastards for if they are, so is his Queen—and how could the King of England marry a bastard!”

“’Tis a long-ago mystery,” said Tyrrell, staring straight ahead. “Too far back in time to be settled now.”

“But one which must haunt the King . . . unless he knows the answer.”

“It may be that he does know the answer.”

“You think he may?”

Tyrrell was silent then he said, almost as though speaking to himself, “Oh it is long ago. But you, my lord, what plans have you?”

“To rest here for a while and see how the land lies.”

“My son and I will make you welcome here for as long as you wish to stay.”

“I must not stay long. By doing so I should compromise you with the King.”

“He knows I have no plans to rise against him.”

“Then you should not be too friendly with those who have a reason for doing so.”

Tyrrell looked at Suffolk with something like wonderment.

“You, my lord . . . how?”

“Why should I not discover? It may well be that I have friends on the Continent. As for you, James, you might do well not to connect yourself too openly with me . . . until such time as it will be safe to do so.”

Tyrrell’s face hardened: “I do not fear the King,” he said.

“No, you are well away. He has been a good friend to you . . . in a manner of speaking. After all you were a strong supporter of King Richard.”

“Oh yes . . . I must say that I was forgiven my allegiance to the House of York. He made me Sheriff of Glamorgan and Morgannock and gave me the Constableship of Cardiff Castle for life with a salary of one hundred pounds a year.”

“Generous treatment for a miser. There was something behind it all. There must have been.”

“Yes,” said Tyrrell, “there must have been.”

“The Tudor always has his reasons and he is not accustomed to giving something for nothing. He must have had a great opinion of you, James. He must have thought very highly of your services. And now you have Guisnes. Almost as though he wanted you out of the country. It shows he trusts you.”

“Yes, I think he trusts me.”

“Then you should keep it that way . . . until such a moment as you decide it is no longer necessary. One must be wily when dealing with the Tudor.”

“You are right there. Have a care, my lord.”

“You may trust me to do that.”

Shortly afterward Suffolk left Guisnes. Tyrrell was relieved to see him go.

He had good reason to know how ruthless Henry Tudor could be.

It was then that Henry’s spies on the Continent brought him news that Suffolk had stayed awhile in the company of Sir James Tyrrell at Guisnes Castle. This increased Henry’s uneasiness, and he decided that Suffolk must be brought back to England and if it was not possible to persuade him to come back then it would be necessary to use force.

“I will offer him a pardon to return,” said Henry to Dudley. “I will imply that this unfortunate killing will be forgotten.”

“You think it wise, my lord?”

Henry was thoughtful. There were matters of which even Dudley knew nothing. He spoke firmly: “Yes, I think it wise. I want Suffolk in England where we can keep our eyes on him.”

When Suffolk received the King’s messengers who arrived with the pardon, he decided that his best course was to return. So far he had committed no sin against the Crown and he knew that that was what Henry really feared.

So he returned and was received by the King.

Henry studied him warily, wondering about his activities on the Continent. Enemies of the House of Tudor abounded there, but he was not unduly disturbed about Suffolk’s attempts to raise an army against him. He believed that would meet with little success. He did wonder though what Suffolk and Sir James Tyrrell had talked about when they were together.

“Well,” said Henry affably, “that matter of affray in which a man was killed . . . we will choose to forget it.”

“I am glad of that. There was nothing else I could have done. I was insulted.”

“These moments arise and in the heat of them . . . well, it is understandable.”

Suffolk thought: Cold-blooded fish. Who could imagine his ever being caught up in the heat of any passion? His eyes were a cold pale blue—how different from Edward who would have blazed out, shouted and then in a short time they would have been laughing and drinking one another’s health. A man knew where he was with Edward. With the Tudor he could never be sure.

“So you visited Tyrrell at Guisnes,” said the King quietly.

“It was the first port of call, my lord.”

“And how was the custodian of that castle?”

“In good health, I think. His son is with him—a fine upstanding young man.”

“Yes, yes. It is good to have sons. Is he content with his life there?”

“It would appear so.”

“You must have had a great deal to talk of. I know what it is when a man meets someone from home. Did he talk of England . . . of his past life here?”

“Not much. We were not together very long.”

Henry was trying to probe the thoughts of the other. Had Tyrrell said anything? Of course he hadn’t. He wouldn’t be such a fool.

He changed the subject. He did not want Suffolk to suspect he was overinterested in James Tyrrell.

He brought the meeting to a close. It was significant now that the rift between Henry and Suffolk was over, but with each a little wary of the other.

That had happened just before the young Duke of Warwick was brought to the block and beheaded. Shortly before Perkin Warbeck paid the penalty for his recklessness.

After Warwick’s execution Suffolk became uneasy. Warwick had died because of his claim to the throne. His, Suffolk’s, was not so strong but it existed; and he had already shown his antipathy to Henry Tudor.

He thought it might be wise to slip out of the country again with his friends. In secret he had discussed his dissatisfaction with the Tudor rule and it had been suggested to him that the Emperor Maximilian would delight in the discomfiture of the English King and it seemed feasible that he might be ready to help in his downfall.

Suffolk thought: Why should not I be the one to bring about this happy result? I am of the House of York. Ours is the true reigning house.

Moreover Henry Tudor might be a good administrator but he was no soldier. He might know how to fill the exchequer by taking those goods and lands which belonged to others but he would not find it easy to raise an army of inspired men, to be that leader whom people admired and followed without question.

It was not long before the Earl of Suffolk was at the Court of Maximilian where to his great delight he was received as an honored guest and listened to most sympathetically.

This was not quite the same as providing an army, which was what Suffolk had hoped for, and although Maximilian would like to see Henry discomfited, when it came to providing the necessary arms and men that was another matter.

Maximilian sighed and prevaricated. It would be most difficult for him to do anything at the moment. Then he had an idea. He would invite the Count of Hardeck to meet the Earl.

“There is a man who loves causes . . . if they appeal to him,” said Maximilian. “He will be sympathetic to you, I am sure, and if that sympathy goes deep enough . . . well, Hardeck is a man with the means.”

Hardeck was young and enthusiastic. He listened to Suffolk’s account of how Henry had robbed him of his estates, and how England was groaning under the taxes imposed by Dudley and Empson; he was appalled by the subjugation of the noble House of York and that the Queen was not given her true rights and must always be subjected to the will of Lancaster.

The young Count would lend Suffolk twenty thousand gulden and this could be paid back with interest when Suffolk had achieved his goal.

“You should return to England,” Maximilian advised the Earl. “Find out how many men will be ready to stand with you. Find out whether if you raise an army the Tudor could stand against you.”

Suffolk decided he would do so. Hardeck would be repaid, he promised him, and his payment would be double that which he had lent; and as surety Hardeck’s son should go with Suffolk to England.

This was success such as Suffolk had scarcely dared hope for. Hardeck had come in at the right moment when Maximilian was slipping away.

So, with his friends, he came to England.

Had he been wiser he would have known that Henry would not be ignorant of what was going on. The King did in fact know every twist and turn of the negotiations with Maximilian and was amused at Suffolk’s temerity and naivety in imagining that the Emperor would involve himself in such a hopeless cause. On the other hand Suffolk had found support and that must not be lightly shrugged aside.

It was not really Suffolk with whom he was concerned. Suffolk was a fool and could easily be dealt with. As soon as he stepped on English soil he was arrested on a charge of plotting treason and in a short time he was lodged in the Tower. With him were arrested his brother Lord William de la Pole and Lord William Courtenay, another Yorkist who had married one of the daughters of Edward the Fourth.

That attempted revolt was stifled almost before it had begun and the King had cause for gratification.

But the idea which had come to him when he had heard Suffolk had called at Guisnes Castle was still with him. It had obsessed him and he saw a way of bringing about that satisfaction which he had long sought.

He sent for Sir Richard Guildford, his master of ordnance, and with him came Richard Hatton a man whom he had reason to trust.

“I want you to bring Sir James Tyrrell and his son and his master of horse John Dighton to England,” he said. “It will be necessary to practice a little deception because I want them to come willingly.”

“Your orders shall be carried out, my lord,” promised Guildford.

“As soon as they are safely in the country, they are all three to be immediately lodged in the Tower. It may be necessary to tell Tyrrell that I wish to speak with him on a matter which is too secret to be imparted to anyone. I think that will bring him without delay. Let it appear that I am indeed his friend and wish to reward him, and make sure that he brings with him his horsekeeper and his son, who is at present in residence in the castle.”

The men departed and Henry, trying to curb his impatience, eagerly awaited their arrival.

Tyrrell was wary. Suffolk had been arrested. He was glad he had not been involved in that. Suffolk was hot-headed, impulsive, not the man who should attempt to pit his wits against shrewd Henry Tudor. His planned insurrection had been doomed to failure before it had begun. How wise he had been to keep clear of that! It was a pity that Suffolk had visited him—but his stay had been brief and he could prove that nothing treasonable had happened between them.

When he wakened one morning to find the castle surrounded, he was horrified. It could mean only one thing. He was about to be arrested and the only reason could be implication with Suffolk. When he saw the Calais garrison were stationed outside the castle, his first thought was that he would hold out. He had the necessary stores, men and arms to withstand a long siege and he would do so until he knew why his castle was being besieged.

He did not have to wait long. A messenger came to tell him that Sir Thomas Lovell, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, was aboard the ship, which lay at anchor, and he wished to have a private word with Sir James Tyrrell. He came from the King and he was in fact commanding Sir James to come to meet him.

It was no use asking the messenger for what purpose, but he had brought with him a safe conduct.

Tyrrell guessed that the King had discovered what Suffolk was doing and that he was going to be accused of complicity. He sent for his son.

“Thomas,” he said, “this messenger comes from Sir Thomas Lovell, who wishes to have speech with me.”

“You should not go, Father. You should not leave the castle.”

“I shall, my son. I have safe conduct and while I am gone I leave you in charge of the castle. Hold the siege and take no orders that do not come from me. Do you understand?”

Thomas said he did.

So Sir James left with the messenger and went aboard to meet Sir Thomas Lovell.

As soon as he was ushered into his presence he knew he had been foolish to come, for Lovell lost no time in accusing Tyrrell, in the name of the King, of high treason.

“This is monstrous,” said Tyrrell. “I am entirely guiltless.”

“It will be necessary for you to return to England with me.”

“I was promised safe conduct. I am not afraid of answering my accuser but I shall go back to the castle to put my affairs in order there. Then I will return to England to answer these false charges.”

“You will at once send a message to your son. The castle is to be surrendered without delay.”

“I shall send no such message.”

“I think you will, Sir James. If you do not you will be promptly thrown into the sea.”