1498

Harry enjoys a spring ride with his brother Arthur and an enlightening conversation with both his father and brother. He then enjoys a summer at Leeds and discovers the depth of his power.

April 15, 1498

Windsor Castle, London

 

            It was finally spring and today was a grand day. After the destruction of the Palace of Sheen, my father began designing and raising funds for a new royal palace, more grand and beautiful than any in London. He decides to name the new palace Richmond and when my brother Arthur arrives from Wales in his retinue of household servants and retainers, he declares that the three Tudor men will go to the construction site and bless his project.

            It was a beautiful retinue, my father readying the royal barge with roses, white and red, and a beautiful golden silk set of curtains to show off our grand Tudor monarchy. My brother and I, dressed in matching red leather, golden silk robes, and great feathered caps sat beside my father on the barge as the crowds gathered on the banks of the Thames. We waved, nodded, and smiled at the cheering crowds that gathered to watch the king and two princes pass by.

            When we arrived at the old river stairs of Sheen, we could see that all of the charred rubble and wood was gone and in the old stone courtyard stood piles and piles of white granite and finely polished stone bricks. The workers, already covered in white powder from their labors, saw us and stopped their chiseling, hammering, and hauling to stop and make a path up the walk. Our guards lead the way, the Tudor banner flying, the royal flag of England also waving in the early spring winds.

            We move through the crowd of plainly dressed workers, their heads down and their eyes low as we passed. The foreman of the project, a dirty but more finely dressed man stands, bowing low, up the small hill near the base layer of the grand new hall. There is a ceremonial red silk sash laying over a single stone that sits atop a wagon and there beside it stands a priest, his purple robes and hat vibrant in the simple white and gray of the courtyard. He blesses us as we approach and when all three of us line up before him he speaks loudly, and in Latin.

            He blesses the king, his sons, the queen and the princesses and then he speaks of the great legacy of the Tudors and their Plantagenet ancestors. He speaks of the fire, the lost souls within the rubble, and the mercy of God. Then, with leave from my father, he blesses the stone before him and takes the sash, wrapping it around a large hammer.

            “Come!” he echoes across the courtyard, the crowds outside the walls and down the street watching as my father steps forward. Two masons grabbed the stone and placed it in the final open slot of the low wall, standing aside so that my father could approach. He took the hammer in this hands, swung it over his head, and smacked the stone into place, an eruption of cheers overtaking the courtyard. He handed the mallet to the mason next to him, turned, and with a nod he made his way back down the street toward the barge. He waved, as did both Arthur and I and for the most part we seemed like a well ordered, vibrant, group of Tudor men. However, it was when we got back to the palace that my brother took me aside, bidding my father farewell.

            I rarely spent time with my brother. He was sent to Wales the year I turned four and I haven’t seen him much since. He was a tall blonde boy with some slight muscles and a gaunt look in his cheeks. His nose, like my fathers, was long and straight and he had a soft smile on his face when he pulled me aside.

            “Harry,” he said, smiling down at me. “How should you like to go riding with me? I feel like it is a waste to not enjoy this beautiful day.” He could see the confusion and uncertainty in my face and he quickly knelt down, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Harry… this isn’t anything official. I’m your brother. I want to spend some time with you. How does a picnic sound?”

            I only nodded, hesitant to say anything to defy him. He smiled wider, stood up, and motioned for my page and his to come forward. “We need a basket of food, some wine, and milk. We’re riding out past the walls and having a picnic. Round up six guards to escort the us.” Both page boys nodded, turned from us, and made their way towards the stables and kitchen.

            “Come,” my brother offered. “Let us get our riding clothes on.” He then took my hand, walked through Saint George’s gate and into the castle.

            After dressing and meeting back in the courtyard, a single horse saddled, we heard someone call my name. I turned as one of the soldiers escorting us lifted me into the saddle in front of Arthur. It was my grandmother, quickly gliding toward us. Her face seemed pleasant but I could see the flare in her eyes.

            “Your highness,” she breathed, bowing to my brother as he sat atop our horse. “Please, it is not wise to go out riding today. I beg you to reconsider your plans.”

            “I have guards and I would like to spend time with my brother Henry, Duke of York,” my brother said, as if realizing it himself for the first time. “So I shall find you later, dear lady grandmother, for prayer and good company.” And without so much as another word he spurred his horse forward and we went clacking off through the Norman gate, down the long cobblestone way to the tower hill and out the castle gates. The guards clacked along behind us and we rode quickly, skirting the river and following the road to the game forest that father kept stock all summer. We rode freely, followed by one page on horseback who held our goods.

            It was quite fun and along the way my brother made silly jokes and whispered about the exciting books he’d received for Christmas. We laughed about the boys running naked through the forest, fresh from a spontaneous bath in the river no doubt and we yelled and hooted at their bare bottoms. It was more fun than I ever remember having and when we had ridden for almost an hour through the expansive acres of forest and field, we stopped atop a hill. The page quickly jumped down, grabbed the both horse’s reins, and offered us the satchel of water in his hand. Arthur took it, offered me some which I happily took, my face stinging with wind and excitement. He then took a big drink himself and handed the skin back.

            The page then moved around the side of the horse, offering his arms for me to get down. I slid into them and he lowered me to the side, still holding tightly to the horse’s reins. My brother swung down quickly, waving at my approaching page. “Thank you Charles,” Arthur said, waving the tall dark haired boy away, his muscles much more developed than my brother. The page bowed and pulled our horses along to the tree near the bottom of the hill to tie him up.

            “His name is Charles Brandon,” Arthur said, noting my curiosity. “He is the son of father’s banner-man who died at Bosworth. He will be my squire soon.”

            “He is a strong boy,” I admit, looking back at my brother. “Is he your friend?”

            “The best I have,” he chuckled. “But come, let us sit in the grass and enjoy the blue sky and warm spring breeze.”

            We sat there, basket open and food spread on dishes all about the fine sewn rug under us. We drank and ate and laughed about my studies, Arthur’s duties, and his dreams for the future. He was, as I had heard him to be, a thoughtful and gallant prince. He spoke of making charitable donations to educational foundations, improvements to the quality of life of our people, including greater London, and he even spoke of the restoration of many of our run-down and underfunded abbeys and monasteries.

            “I want our people to be happy in a true renaissance, much like what has taken place all over Italy. Great masters of arts, sciences, philosophy, and theology all coming together to share ideas and knowledge. A great rebirth for England!” He took a drink of his wine now, grinning up at the sky. “If it be God’s will.”

            “Nothing, I am sure, would please God more,” I say, eating the last of the fruit filled cakes. “After the uncertainty that she has endured, and her fall from grace after the 100-year war, it would certainly be God’s agenda to send us a great king with such noble and pure ideas to rule over mother England.”

            “God works in the most mysterious ways Harry,” Arthur whispered, his eyes flitting over the swaying grass. He looked deep in thought and as we both sat there, I could hear him humming a folksy tune, something rhythmic but whimsical. He then turned back to me and with the most serious of tones, spoke. “Do you understand God, Harry?”

            “Sometimes,” I say hesitantly, my eyes darting about. Brandon was sitting near the base of the hill with my page while the soldiers rested with their lunch down near the horses.

            “Don’t be afraid of what you see,” he advises, his eyes turning toward the sky again. “The world is full of mystery and wonder and I, as your older brother, have given you the opportunity to explore it. Being second born, destined for the church, you could easily take a pilgrimage, perhaps follow the road of the famous Marco Polo in the east?”
            “And leave you all, England?” I asked, my eyes wide with wonder. “It is my duty to rise high in the church here in England, to aid your reign and help advise your prince and heir one day. Why would I run away from such a fate?”

            “You could,” he merely replied, looking back at me. “I’m just saying that you could whereas I… cannot.”

            I thought about that for a moment, the finality of it stunning me. I knew what my brother was in store for, even if I didn’t fully understand yet. I knew the horrible danger of the court, the risk he would be putting himself, his family, and his heirs in. I understood, like we all did, the uncertainty of allies and the power the nobles held with their vast private armies. Everything was dangerous and ever since I could read, I was schooled in history and governance.

            “Don’t look so sad,” my brother said, his hand going out to touch my face. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, like a noble knight Harry. It is a good thing you are dedicating yourself to God. No need for a mask.”

            “You say such serious things,” I sigh, looking away from him. “What do you expect me to learn from it all?”

            “Only that I care for you,” he smiled, nodding at me. “I may be slight and I may be more of a priest than a warrior but I assure you, brother, England will shine under my reign and you, no matter where you are, will be loved dearly.”

            “Perhaps I will see Rome,” I comment, smiling at him. “It is the eternal city. Surely the Holy Father would see me if I made the pilgrimage.”

            “And then what, surely Rome is not it?”

            “Constantinople,” I smirk, looking out into the distance as if it stood upon the horizon. “And further south to Jerusalem where I would hear the very voice of God.”

            “What a beautiful thought,” my brother sighed, leaning back and staring up at the clouds.

            “And then perhaps further south, into Egypt to see the great pyramids and the river Nile. I would love to sail in a grand ship up the Nile to discover all the treasures of such an ancient forgotten world,” I continue, my voice hazy and my mind awash with the options. “Or maybe further east, to the great Himalayas and the even greater expanse of the Chinese continent.”

            “Ah, the famous lands of Marco Polo,” Arthur nods, a sense of nostalgia behind his voice. “What a beautiful green world it would be. So foreign but so exotically beautiful. Tell me, has there ever been an alliance between a western and eastern king?”

            “I’ve not heard of one,” I said, thinking a moment. “Only for trade purposes and nothing more. Perhaps if we count Russia and their Czars…”

            “They are quite foreign,” he chuckled. “But no, I mean the far east. India, China, and that island nation, Japan? Surely there could be great benefits to a unification between east and west?”

            “It is bold,” I say, shrugging. “But if it could be done, I would support you. I doubt, however, the holy father would.”

            “This Pope, this Borgia, is open to quite a few things I hear,” he smirks wickedly. “I hear he is a Murano, a Spanish Jew, and is open to many cultures and important works to spread Christianity.”

            “Grandmother said he is God’s chosen vessel and that no matter the rumors, he is our holy father,” I say, mimicking her tight and serious tone.

            “Oh, indeed,” Arthur laughed, ruffling my hair. “One day you will travel, see the world and not be stuck here, in England, like poor ole me.”

            “And what of this new world, discovered by the Italian Columbus?” I ask, remembering of the continent newly discovered in the west.

            “A world unlike any other, perhaps the garden of Eden itself,” Arthur suggested, sitting up again. “But Harry, I do need to talk to you about one thing, something quite important that I feel it is my right to talk to you about.” I straightened up, looking up at him curiously. He simply sighed, smiling at me before folding his hands in his lap and speaking with a steady but quiet voice.

            “As of right now, I am the heir to the throne and you, being the Duke of York, are my heir,” he began, looking over the fields again. “It is important to understand that your role right now is understated. I don’t think you’re sure how serious this is.”

            “I don’t,” I admit, sure that I was not in any sort of immediate need or that I needed to know more than I already did.

            “I mean, if something were to happen to me, before father dies or before I have a male heir, the crown gets passed to you,” he said, his voice quite serious. “And I need to know if you can accept that, if you can pick up that mantle?”

            “Is that what the talk of a pilgrimage was about? So that I may see the world before I am confined to England?” I asked, my eyes finding his with quick certainty. Much like my mother, my brother Arthur spoke of deeper meanings. “Do you fear something? Can you… see things too?” I whisper that last part so quietly that I am afraid he does not hear me.

            “I see some things,” he confesses, looking back at the sky. “But as for my future, I see nothing.”

            “Then all will be well,” I say, shaking my head. “There is no need for me to think of such a fate.”

            “But all the same,” Arthur insists. “Could you do it? Could you temper your emotion, be impartial, and think of the greater good of an entire realm? Could you work with and against the snakes at court to secure this realm against all enemies? I need to know this…”

            “I would try,” I say, gallantly placing my hand over my heart. “If ever God calls me to such a station, I will endure it with humility and decisiveness.”

            “Good,” Arthur smiles, waving for Charles and my page, John, to come over. “We’re heading back. It is getting late and we are expected.” He then stands up and within a few minutes we are on the move, horse galloping along the path towards the great gates of Windsor. It was a pleasant but slow ride back, my eyes watching the sinking sun. It was nice to hear my brother’s stories about Wales, about his sailing trips down river, and I liked when he spoke of taking a bride one day, a beautiful Spanish princess if father has his way.

            When we entered the gate into the main courtyard we saw a servant already waiting, torch alight in the golden light of the lowering sun. He came forward, took the reins, and offered the block for me to step down on. After we left the horse and entered the castle we could hear two sets of shoes approaching us down the stairs. When we looked up to see who it was I could see the glimpse of a grin on Arthur’s face.

            “Arthur, Henry,” came my grandmother’s voice, her eyes harsh as she approached. Next to her, silent as usual, was our mother, a smile on her face.

            “My boys,” mother said, placing a hand on each of our heads as we knelt for her blessing. “Come inside, wash and change for we are having a feast. Your father has ordered it and you shall know why when you attend. Come.” She then turned, before my grandmother could object, and stalked back up the stairs, her long golden hair hanging from her headdress.

            It was only an hour later that we were back in the entry way to the large hall, finely dressed and standing in front of our grandmother and sister. The door before us was open and within people were laughing and talking, drinking and dancing and the curtains that hung over the lintel swayed with guests flooding in and out. After a few moments the curtains were pulled aside completely and the caller at the entry banged his staff on the wooden floor with a loud clack.

            “Majesties, Arthur Prince of Wales, Henry Duke of York, Mother of the King Lady Margaret Beaufort, and the royal princess Margaret Tudor!”

            As we walked through the hall the way parted before us and everyone bowed deeply, their eyes averted but many glanced at our lavish outfits, hats, shoes, and our beautifully noble faces. We were like a prized parade to the nobles and priests at court and we must do our part. What this feast is for I could not guess.

            “My children! My lady mother!” came our father’s voice as we approached the great raised table at the head of the hall. “Come, Prince of Wales and Duke of York, sit to my left. And my lady mother and beautiful daughter may sit next to my queen, on my right.” He bows to us from the table and we mirror him, moving to our designated spots. It was very odd to have the entire family in the same room, feasting and presiding over a grand dinner. Our father motioned for us to sit but he remained standing, looking over the hall with a smile.

            “There is two pieces of news that I would like to share with you all! One, concerns the Prince of Wales!” He raises his hands at the applause. “It is with pleasure that I announce, to my council and to my court, that we are in preliminary negotiations with the Emperor King Ferdinand of Spain for the hand of his youngest daughter, lady Catherine of Aragon.”

            There was an eruption of applause and I joined in, smiling up at my brother knowingly. He couldn’t help but grimace back at me. “And secondly!” my father continued, looking over the table at all of us before continuing. “News has come from France! After his unholy conquest of Italy, Rome, and Naples, the tyrant King Charles of France is dead! So let us celebrate!” He raised his glass now, smiling about the room. “To England and Saint George!”

            “To England and Saint George!” we all repeated, taking drinks from our cups. It was then that the dozen serving boys all came bustling out, offering the dishes to my father first, so he may pass dishes off to his favorites. The night wasn’t too long but I felt weary from such a long day and within the hour I felt myself fading over my meat pies and hot baked lamb. Just then my brother nudged me and I saw that my father was looking at us both with a smile.

            “Come,” he said, moving to stand. “I must speak with you before you sleep.” He stood up and everyone mirrored him, his hand going up to dismiss the deed. “As you were everyone. Enjoy the food, music, and wine. I shall be back momentarily.” He then nods for us to follow him behind the raised table toward a paneled door behind the curtains. We went into his private study and he offered us chairs near the fire. We all sat about the fireplace and when the servant had offered us drink or food my father dismissed him, turning soberly to us.

            “Now, I will not take up much time. I can see you are both weary from the day’s events and I am eager to return to the celebrations,” he began, looking between us. “I must insist on the importance of this event. With Charles’ death it leaves France wide open for the next king, a Valois who hates our family. He will make sure to use any advantage he can against us. Do you both understand that?”

            We nodded in unison and my father smiled. “I need you to know that his alliance with Spain is important for that very reason. It will provide us a backup and a strong ally against France, whom Spain hates anyway. So, we must be decisive and we must keep an eye on the libertarian monarchs in France.”

            “We know this all father,” Arthur concedes, bowing his head. “We’ve always known this.”

            “But there is something more,” my father said, smiling between us. “If Arthur is married to Spain we can strengthen our influence in France as well. I was considering a marriage between Margaret and the new king Louis who is fervently seeking a divorce from Pope Alexander. Tell me, did you know that as well?”

            “Margaret will be pleased,” I commented quietly, looking away when my father turned back to me, a grin on his face.

            “You think so?” he asked, his hands coming together to contemplate the matter. “Personally, I want good relations with both monarchs and our allies in the low countries would benefit from more open trade routes in the channel and North Sea. But tell me, young Henry, what do you think of marriage?”

            “If it pleases you, father,” I say, bowing my head. “Grandmother has always said I was meant for a life dedicated to God but if it is your will that I marry then I will comply.”

            “How very noble of you Harry,” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I only meant to ask you how you feel about the marriages in general, how you feel about allying ourselves with both France and Spain?”

            “I think it wise,” I corrected, feeling a blush on my cheek. “Pleasant relations with both monarchs would put England between the two countries if they were to go to war.”

            “And, since King Ferdinand only has daughters, the husband that remains will be King of Spain and, if God wills it, England,” my father smirks at Arthur. “Do you understand?”

            “Ferdinand has four daughters, two of which are already married to the son of Emperor Maximillian and the other to Emanuel of Portugal,” Arthur comments. “And Ferdinand’s only son and heir just died this past year. Who, then, is the successor?”

            “Isabella of Portugal,” my father nodded. “She is the eldest.”

            “And Catarina,” Arthur continued. “Is the youngest. What chance do I have?”

            “Isabella is heavy with child,” my father nods. “If she delivers a boy, Ferdinand has his heir. If she does not, he will pass over her I am sure.”

            “And what of Joanna?” my brother asked. In all honesty, I was trying to keep up with their plotting and scheming, trying to understand all of their dealings.

            “Ferdinand deems her insane,” my father replied lowly, shrugging his shoulders. “She will never inherit.”

            “But what of her and Phillip’s son? If he inherits he will be the Holy Roman Emperor and Emperor of Spain.”

            “The greatest monarch in all of Europe,” my father nods. “So we must interfere now, throw England’s hat into the ring.”

            “Maria is older than Catarina,” Arthur said, thinking on this. “What possible advantage could the younger sister give me?”

            “Ferdinand is already considering a French marriage for Maria,” my father admits. “The very marriage that I want for Margaret.”

            “Then we must act quickly,” I nodded, looking between my father and brother. I understood the significance of bringing them both to the table and I could only think of one way to do so. “Approach both kings with our plan at the exact same time, force them to deal with us first before they deal with one another.”

            “Excellent idea Harry,” Arthur smiled, placing a hand on my shoulder. “An elegant but sneaky move.” Arthur begins to chuckle now, squeezing my shoulder. “Look at us, the three Tudor men discussing the fate of Europe. This is truly wonderful.”

            “I agree,” my father nodded, leaning forward again. “I shall send emissaries and gifts right away. We will approach this new king Louis and old king Ferdinand. Perhaps we can distract them long enough to halt their wars in Italy.”

            “I have heard rumor,” Arthur admits, his eyes drifting to the fire. “The bonfire of the vanities, the disdain and infighting over the Pope, the warlike imaginings of his son, Cardinal Cesare Borgia, and the all-out war between France and Spain over Naples and Milan frightens me. If such violence can splinter the very foundations of our faith, what is to stop it from spreading to England?”

            “The two of you,” my father replies, as if it were obvious to both of us. We exchange looks and hear my father breathe a slight sigh of laughter. “Do you not see? One son King, one son Archbishop… together you will control all of England. Peace, I believe, will be maintained so long as your love one another. Surely, that cannot be hard?”

            “Not at all,” Arthur smiles, placing a hand over my shoulders. “Just today Harry and I were riding out laughing and talking. Though I have not seen him since he was fresh out of the crib, I still missed and loved him. He is, after all, my baby brother.”

            “My uncle Jasper spoke about his brother often,” my father remarked, his voice distant as if summoning the memories from the past. “His elder brother Edmund, my father, loved him like no other. I never had brothers or sisters, family to grow up with. It was a hard time for me but seeing the love that my sons share makes me think of my father and uncle. Times spent, joys shared…”

            “I would do anything to protect my little brother, to protect our Tudor dynasty,” Arthur assured, ruffling my hair with his fingers. “And Harry here is most loyal and honest. He won’t be much competition at card playing but he will be a crucial player in my court.”

            “I am loyal,” I say, nudging him playfully. “And lying is a sin. I would never lie to myself or my family, no matter what the advantage.”

            “You sound like your grandmother,” my father laughs, playfully ruffling my hair as well. “My boys,” he sighs, pulling us both into his arms, our chins resting on his shoulders. We could hear him breathe, the heaving of his slim but toned chest pressing us as his arms tightened. “Of all my great deeds, you two are my greatest. Don’t forget that.” We hold each other for a moment before my brother places a hand on my father’s head, kissing his temple.

            “You are our father, the most wonderful and powerful man in the world,” Arthur assures, his eyes much like my fathers, twinkling and dark. “We will always remember.” My father only smiled down at us, kissing our foreheads gently before loosening his grip. He then lets us go, stood up, and strode from the room, a nod in our general direction as he fixed the elaborate Crown Royale on top of his head.

            After a few moments Arthur turned to me, his face somewhat faded and the smile that was once on it gone. He looked about to make sure no one was close enough to hear and then spoke in a low tone. “Father frightens me sometimes,” he admits, the corners of his mouth twitching with a grin. “But only because he seems not to know us that well.”

            “Perhaps that can change,” I say, looking over toward the door he just left through. “Perhaps father would enjoy a hunting trip with the two of us. We can go out for a night and enjoy some real time with one another. Father, I believe, would come to know us then.”

            “If he had the time,” Arthur sighed, standing up as well. “He is king, bound to maintain a vigilant watch over his kingdom and subjects. He doesn’t have much time for sport and when he does, he dares not hide away from his lords. The crucial unspoken rule of being king Harry; always allow the nobles into your inner circle. Best to keep an eye on them and keep them loyal.”

            “I see no reason to play nice with them,” I admit, shrugging my shoulders. “They are set below the king, therefore they should adhere to the king’s rules and demands.”

            “You may be right,” Arthur noted, offering for me to follow him back into the grand hall. “But history has shown you what happens when a monarch does as he pleases. I personally don’t want to end up like poor old King Henry VI or disgraced Richard III.”

 

            The rest of the spring, summer, and fall slip by me so fast I can hardly believe it. I am finally seven years old and my brother, staying at court with us all spring and then joining us in the country for the summer, played with us every day. On hot days we’d all strip down to our linens and take a swim in the nearby stream or pond at Eltham. Or, for the whole month of August, father took us to Leeds, a castle set on two islands in the middle of a great lake. It was beautiful and we swam, drank, danced, hunted, and ate away the summer, the entire Tudor family.

            I felt blessed to have my two sisters, my eldest brother, my mother and father, and grandmother all under the same roof to celebrate our family and our happiness. It was also nice to escape court life and, for just a few weeks, feel like a normal country family, busy with all sorts of simple tasks and jobs. Of course, as she promised, mother took me aside every day for two hours to teach me the basics of herbs. She taught me when to plant them, where they best grow, how to use the leaves, roots, stems, and flowers of the plants, and how to procure their oils and other compounds for medicines and ointments. Of course Margaret never paid attention. Mary, being barely three, wasn’t able to understand but enjoyed the pretty flowers and dirt which she could toddle around in freely. The nanny had quite a runner on her hands.

            After a lesson one day, when Margaret left to try on a new summer dress, did my mother pull me aside. “Come,” she whispered, pulling me into the shed that was attached to the large storehouse behind the kitchens. She led me into the shed and shut the door behind me, a maid and a candle lit inside. There were two small windows in the shed but mother had hung some heavy linen over them and I turned to see, in the very dim light, a mirror. It wasn’t too big but was propped on what looked like an artist’s easel. A bench sat before it and she motioned for me to take a seat.

            “I only wish to see if you are able to see things at will,” she explains, seeing my frightened face. “I will be right here the whole time. I promise you Harry.”

            “It feels wrong,” I say, looking about the small room. I could now smell that a bundle of sage had been lit, the maid walking around the room to fill it with hazy smoke. “I don’t want to do this.”

            “Harry,” she said, kneeling down. “You are afraid and I understand but the only reason you are afraid is because you don’t know anything. The goddess is not here to harm you; she is here to guide you. She is here to help her mortal children in times of need. Please, just look into the mirror and tell me what you see.”

            “It is sin…”

            “It is not sin,” she said harshly, her eyes focused on mine. “Listen to me. Your grandmother has poisoned you against the old ways, calling it paganism and devil worship but that is far from truth. It is the reverence of nature, of the unexplained magic in this world, that we believe in. Why can there not be both father and mother? God and Goddess?”

            “Thou shalt not have no other Gods before me,” I repeated, refusing to look at the shiny surface of the mirror.

            “Gods,” she repeats, a smile on her face. “Not Goddesses.”

            “It is implied,” I say, looking into my mother’s eyes again. “I don’t want this gift; I don’t want these visions.”

            She places a hand on my shoulder, caressing my cheek with the other hand. “Harry,” she sighs, seeing the panic and tears welling up in my eyes. “You are not cursed, this gift is not a bad thing, and I swear that you will not be harmed. God knows who we are, who our ancestor is, and still he brought us to the throne. How, my loving son, do you explain this?”

            I could not explain this and though I thought long and hard on it I couldn’t reply. She simply sighed when I remained silent, wiping my eyes and smiling down at me. “Come,” she urged, stepping aside. “Just take a glimpse. I’ll be right here and if it is too much, just call out to me.”

            I nodded and slowly, frightfully, I looked up at the mirror. I scared myself when I saw my reflection, sunken and sallow and I thought for sure I was having a vision already. But, when I looked harder it was only me, in my simple clothes and my face and hands speckled with dirt. I looked carefully, waiting for some vision or some window to appear but after five whole minutes of silence and staring, nothing came.

            “I don’t think it is working,” I admit, looking up at my mother. “Did it take you this long?”

            “Longer,” she smiled. “I was raised in a royal household and was never able to freely practice my skills. I, for all the danger it brought, never believed in the goddess.”

            “I don’t see the point,” I said, glancing back at the mirror. “Magic is illegal anyway; if the church found out the royal family of England was practicing it…”

            “They won’t,” she smiled, shaking her head. “The royal family has been practicing it since the reign of Henry V. My grandmother, Jacquetta, was the second wife of his brother after all.”

            “I just don’t think I can control it,” I sighed, staring into the mirror intently. “My visions just come, in dreams and randomly. I can’t just see something at will.”

            “I only meant to test your vision,” she smiled, shaking her head. “But perhaps we will try some other time?”

            I nodded and was about to look away from the mirror when it became foggier and I realized that it wasn’t just fog. No, the mirror was glazed with a thin layer of ice now, the image within it striking. Though the frame of the great mirror had iced over, within it stood the horrifying angel of death, her wings spread wide and smoldering over her head. In her hand was a crown and in the other appeared to be the handle of a sword. I looked closer, the image becoming more unclear as it faded. I realized, when the image had grown dark and the horrifying angel with red eyes disappeared, that it was not the handle of a sword. It was a cross, broken and charred that was clutched in the long fingers of the demonic angel. I flinched at the idea of her coming through the glass and pulling me in but the image was gone and my breath, coming in heaves, formed a slight fog as I exhaled.

            Mother noticed immediately and came to my side, my brow white with horror, my eyes wide with disbelief. “Harry,” came her voice, her warm hand taking my wrist. She nearly pulled back at the touch; I was cold as ice. “Harry!” she said, wrapping her shawl around me so that I would look at her.

            “Mother,” I whispered, my eyes still distant. “Mother, it was her again…”

            “Shh…” she said, pulling me up off the stool before the unassuming mirror. “Come, let’s warm ourselves in the sun.”

            “It was her though,” I said, moving with her out of the small shed and into the blinding light of day. “The angel of death.”

            “And did she speak?” my mother asked, escorting me along the rows of herbs and boxes of flowers.

            “No,” I replied, my voice trembling. “She had a crown in one hand and a broken cross in the other. She watched me, looking right through me but I heard no voice.”

            “Be not afraid,” my mother said, her hands rubbing my arms as we walked around the grove of trees and into the yard which sparkled with light. “Was there anything else?”

            “What does it mean, mother?” I asked, my eyes wide now. “Am I to die?”

            “Everyone is to die,” she reminded me, moving to sit on a stone bench near the high trimmed garden walls. “But this vision, I do not think, is meant for you. I believe she tells of another’s future.”

            “Have you seen it too?” I asked, looking up at her as I sat down.

            “I have seen her,” she smiles. “In many forms but this form, I have only seen once.”

            “When?” I asked, my eyes wide.

            “Many years ago,” she shuddered, her eyes distant as she recalled. “I was in sanctuary with my mother and my sisters. I saw her image in my mirror, her red flaming eyes speaking to me as the rain poured down outside. She also had a crown in her hand but the cross was a simple white rose, the rose of York.”

            “What did it mean?” I asked, still staring up at her fair face. The sun danced off her golden hair and pale brow to create a small halo, a beam of light surrounding her.

            “I always believed, even then when the goddess had meant nothing to me, that this was the angel’s way of telling me that my brother, the heir to the throne of York, was dead.”

            “Then I am to die,” I said, my eyes wide. “The cross, the broken cross… it symbolizes my destiny in the church. I will die before I am able to fulfill my destiny. I will be gone before my brother has the chance to rule.”

            “No,” my mother said, taking my shoulders in her hands. “This vision, Henry, is not for you. No, I believe that it symbolizes a greater loss, one that I have feared for years.”

            “Greater?” I ask, my eyes wide. “Greater than the loss of your son?” She could hear the tone of offense in my voice and shook her head, placing her palm on my cheek.

            “Not like that,” she sighed. Her face looked long and weary and I could see the hesitancy in her blue-gray eyes. “I mean, ever since your brother Arthur was born I’ve always known him to be a slight sickly boy. He never got the York vigor or the Tudor spirit and in you, I see a passionate mixture of both. I fear that, before he is able to be crowned and before he is able to produce an heir, my son Arthur will die.”

            “Do not think that mother,” I urged, shaking my head, my hands coming together in prayer. “No, God has put us Tudor’s on the throne for a reason.”

            “And I fear that the vengeance of the goddess, the curse spoken without care,” she says distantly, her eyes looking off into the sky. She remained silent a moment, observing the beauty of the rolling clouds and the slowly moving sun. Then, as if she remembered I was there and where we were she sat up straight again, turning to me. “I never meant to hurt you or frighten you Harry. No, it has been some time since my gifts have stirred and I only meant to learn more. Unfortunately, I selfishly pressured my son into being my seer, my oracle. Please, forgive me?”

            “Nothing to forgive,” I replied, my eyes low. “But Arthur is so healthy, so vibrant and smart. Surely he will become king.”

            “His health has improved,” she replied, smiling slightly. “But perhaps I should urge your father more quickly into this marriage with Spain. Arthur needs an heir.”

            “I believe that this alliance with Spain is an ideal strategy,” I suggested, trying to change the subject to happier things. The eyes of that demon still peered at me behind my lids and I wanted to do anything to banish her from my thoughts. “Arthur will get a grand marriage to the youngest, and most favorite, Spanish princess and Margaret will finally be a Queen in her own right, to the new King Louis of France. In so doing an intricate familial bond will sustain our three countries in peace. Rather clever…”

            “As are you, my little rose,” she smirked, ruffling my hair. “Clever and at such a young age. Tell me, how should you like to learn Greek and Italian?”

            “I know little Italian,” I replied, looking up at her. “But I have mastered French and Latin. Surely they cannot be so hard.”

            “Perhaps Spanish then? Considering the origin of your brother’s bride?”

            “I would enjoy it very much,” I nodded, smiling up at her.

            “My Harry,” she cooed, pushing a lock of hair from my brow. “Come, let us go inside and get changed. Your father will be back from his hunting trip soon and I expect he’ll want to eat yesterday’s prize at dinner.”

Author's Note

A little longer chapter but hope it is interesting.