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

And now . . . this storm. Was it the end? He had been a fool to bring his army to sea. But what else could he do? He did not want to appear without it . . . and Ferdinand had no right to make treaties with the King of France, allying himself with France through that marriage with the French King’s niece. Artful old devil, thought Philip. He would probably be delighted if they perished at sea. Then he would get his hands on the baby Charles and bring him up as he thought he should be.

God forbid!

Once Juana had the crown perhaps he could put her away. Heaven knew, her conduct should not make that difficult.

But now all his plans were to come to nothing. Here he was at sea, and with every passing moment the storm was rising.

He was shouting orders to his men. They were afraid, he knew that. Only those who knew the sea could understand how terrible it could be. Philip was brought face-to-face with that knowledge and he could only fear that he had come to the end.

Someone had brought him an inflated jacket. It might be necessary to leave the ship, my lord, he was told.

“Leave the ship? I never will. Where are my other ships?”

“They are no longer with us, my lord. Some may have been lost . . . others blown to land somewhere. We are in the English Channel. Thank Heaven the English coast cannot be far away.”

Juana came rushing up to him. She was dressed in a furred robe and about her was strapped a purse.

She laughed at him and held out her arms. “We shall die together, my beloved,” she cried. “I ask nothing more.”

She would embrace him, but he threw her aside.

“This is no moment,”he said. “We have to be prepared. We may have to abandon ship.”

“Ah, for the sea’s embrace,” cried Juana. “I trow it will be a little more welcoming than yours, my cruel lord.”

“Try to be sensible,” said Philip angrily. “At such a time . . . have you no sense?”

“None at all,” she cried. “None where you are concerned, most beautiful and cruel of men.”

He had turned away. “What now?” he said to the men who, in spite of the situation, could not help gazing at Juana in astonishment. “Could we land?” asked Philip.

“We could try. If the ship will hold out long enough. . . .”

“England,” said Philip. “Well, better than a watery grave mayhap.”

Juana had flung herself at him once more and was clinging to him.

“Let us die together, sweet husband,” she cried dramatically, and again he flung her from him.

“Death!” he cried in a fury. “At least it would be escape from you.”

Then he had left her and staggered onto the deck.

Juana who had fallen, partly due to Philip’s rough treatment and partly due to the violent movement of the ship, half-raised herself and sat rocking to and fro.

“Oh my love . . . my love!” she cried. “Will you ever love me? I will stay with you forever. You will never be rid of me never . . . never.”

Her women were running round her. They were frightened out of their wits—not by her strangeness, they were accustomed to that—but at the prospect of death at sea.

The thunder roared and the lightning was terrifying.

“Philip,” screamed Juana. “Where are you, my love, my husband. Come to me. Let us die in each other’s arms.”

One of her women knelt beside her.

“You are frightened, woman,” said Juana. “You tremble. We are going to die are we not? I wonder what it is like to drown. Death comes quickly some say and in this sea surely so. I am not afraid of dying. There is only one thing in this world that I am afraid of . . . losing him . . . losing my beloved. . . .”

She looked at them . . . these women who were clustering round her. They were in greater need of comfort than she was. She spoke truthfully when she said she was not afraid. If she could be with Philip that was all she asked.

The ship was lurching violently and as Juana tried to get to her feet, she heard a voice crying out: “Land! Land. The lord be praised, it’s land.”

Philip shouted: “Can we make it?”

“We have to, my lord. This ship can’t carry us farther . . .It’s land or death in the sea.”

“Go for the land then,” said Philip.

He was thinking that he would have to throw himself on the hospitality of Henry. Was that wise? Most unwise, he thought. He would be more or less Henry’s prisoner. Here he was with only a few seamen at the mercy of one who might befriend him if it were expedient to do so.

But it was that or death by drowning, so there was only one course to take.

Juana was on her feet. She staggered on deck and stood beside Philip. She looked incongruous in her fine gown with her purse of gold strapped about her waist and her long hair flying in the wind. She was beautiful; there was no denying that and in her wildness she was like some sea goddess rather than a normal woman. Philip looked at her in momentary admiration. She had shown less fear than any of them at the prospect of drowning.

“Philip,” she cried. “We are together . . . We have come through this.”

She clasped his arm and he did not throw her off. Perhaps it was too solemn a moment and he was too relieved that land was in sight and that death was not imminent.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that we may be safe.”

As they came nearer to the land they saw that people were waiting there. In the early morning light this was a frightening sight, for some of those people carried bows and arrows and others had farming instruments which they could be intending to use as weapons. They looked menacing.

The ship had ground to a halt and some of the men were wading ashore.

Philip heard one shout, “This is the Archduke of Austria and King of Castile, with his Duchess and Queen. We beg for refuge.”

There was a chorus of “Come ashore.”

We must, thought Philip wryly. There is nothing else we can do.

It was not long before, with Juana beside him, he was standing on dry land.

One man had put himself in front of the crowd and it was clear that he was a person of some authority.

“I am Sir John Trenchard,”he said. “Squire of these lands. I welcome you ashore.”

“Thank you,” said Philip. “Tell me where we are?”

“You have landed at Melcombe Regis . . . you just missed Weymouth. All along the coast your ships have been watched. There’ll not be many which have escaped the storm I fear, my lord Archduke. I thank God that you are safe. My house and household will be at your service and I doubt not you would wish to come with me right away.”

“There is nothing I should desire more,” said Philip.

“Then let us go. We are close by. You can have food and shelter at least.”

The manor house was warm and cozy after the rigors of the night and Philip could not feel anything but relief and an overpowering joy that his life had been saved. The savory smells of roasting meat filled the hall and he gave himself up to the pleasure of taking advantage of the comforts his host had to offer.

Lady Trenchard was giving urgent orders in the kitchens and throughout the household, while her husband dispatched a messenger to Windsor that the King might know without delay what an important visitor Sir John had in his house.

The King received the news with an excitement so intense that for once he felt unable to hide it. Philip in England! Shipwrecked! At his mercy in a way. Fortune could not have been more favorable.

The weather was bad; the heavy rain was causing floods all over the country and although the violent wind had abated a little it was still wreaking damage throughout the land.