Only a short chapter this time, but this was too important a scene not to let it stand on its own. Enjoy!
Part VI
England, May 1486
"Have you seen the latest dispatch from Burgundy?" Margaret Beaufort slammed open the door of her son's private chambers, her hawkish eyes flashing like steel in the sun as she snarled the words out.
Guards, alarmed at her fury, moved towards her, but the King held up a hand to halt them in their tracks before dismissing them with a look. Pushing back his chair, he turned in his seat to face her.
"Good Morrow to you too, Lady Mother," he said dryly, extending his hand to her.
Recalled to herself, even if only briefly, Margaret dipped down into a slight curtsy and kissed Henry's hand, before straightening up and slapping an unrolled sheaf of parchment down in front of him.
"Have you seen this?" She repeated, "The Dowager Duchess has had her niece and nephew paraded through Bruges, and proclaimed the boy Richard IV of England. On St George's Day, no less!"
Henry skimmed the closely-written lines and then lifted his shoulders in his characteristic Gallic shrug.
"To be quite frank, Lady Mother, I can't see why you're so worried."
"Can't see…" Margaret spluttered in shock, "Henry, the woman is openly challenging your right to the throne! Her words are treason against you. And, if my spies are to be believed, she's already offered young Richard's hand to the Bretons for their heiress. I tell you, she's trying to set up an alliance to help her take England back!"
"The Bretons will never accept the Duchess's matchmaking," Henry said flatly, "Never. Young Lord Richard is far too young for Lady Anne. He's not even out of swaddling clouts yet, and she's half a lady. Besides, even if the Bretons were inclined to accept, do you really think King Louis would be willing to sit back and allow Brittany and Burgundy to enter into an alliance? No. Of course he wouldn't. That alliance could far too easily be turned on him, if they wanted it to be. The Spider King will never stand for that kind of threat on his borders. I assure you, Lady Mother, whatever she may think, Margaret of York's would-be entente is dead in the water. Don't give it another thought."
"And Lady Margaret's proclamation of her nephew as Richard IV? Are you going to tell me not to give that another thought either? How can you take this so calmly? Can you not see that boy is going to grow up to be a threat to you, if he isn't already?"
"Mother, please. Calm yourself and think for a moment," Henry raised his voice above his mother's rant. Not much, but enough to make her pause.
"So there's one of Richard of Gloucester's whelps in Burgundy. What does that matter, really? Did I not take King Edward IV's eldest daughter as my bride? Did Richard of Gloucester himself not once swear to uphold the rights of his brothers' daughters to the throne above his own? No one in their right mind would say the younger son's line should come before the eldest's line. More, need I remind you that Bess's belly is even now swelling with my child? It is merely a matter of time before I have a son to secure the Tudor line. And, with only a year between them, which loyal Englishman would choose to honour the claim of a Burgundian-born Lord of Gloucester over that of a Prince of Wales born in the country's ancient capital of Winchester?"
"Jock of Lincoln. Francis Lovell, Humphrey Stafford," Margaret retorted, but the tension in her face and shoulders lessened even as she spoke. Henry rose and put his hand to her cheek.
"Lowborn traitors and exiles, the lot of them," he said quietly, his lips twitching up into a smile, "No one we need worry about if Bess gives me a son."
Several seconds passed. Margaret dropped her head into a nod, "As you say, Your Grace. I apologise for disturbing you with my womanly concerns."
Henry exhaled, shaking his head, "There is no need to apologise, Lady Mother. I know you care for me deeply and your concern does you great credit," he said softly, bending his head to kiss her temple affectionately, "But be of good cheer, Lady Mother, and have faith, for I am confident all will yet be well. After all, the Lord kept me safe all those years in exile and brought me safely through Bosworth Field, so why would He desert us now? I repeat, have faith, for all will yet be well."