Henry VIII - Memories of Youth - Chapter Two

Chapter Two

My life changed from that moment on, for I was now the heir to the throne, and thus my importance grew. However, this importance, which I relished, was short lived. My mother, whom I loved above all others, died in childbed shortly after Arthur, and I mourned her death greatly.

I remember this time in my life without favour or love, for it was a most torturous period. I was confused and often afraid, for I was the heir and future King, but had I gained this right by wishing for my brother’s death? And if so, had my beautiful mother suffered for this wish? Was her death my punishment? I would dance, sing, joust and study joyously with my great friends, Charles Brandon, and my greatest friend, John St John. And for a few hours I would be the blessed heir, but then, when alone, the fear and guilt of what my wish may have caused, would weigh down heavily upon me, and I would weep in despair.

It was a day such as this, when Charles happened to stumble upon me, whilst returning to my bed chamber with the evidence of a child’s tears still fresh upon my cheek.

“My Prince, what ails you?” He asked with real concern evident in his voice.

“It is nothing Charles…” I answered, albeit, that my voice held a sob and the tone was that of a boy.

“Are you in pain?” He continued.

I wanted to be strong and to pretend that all was fine, but was unable, and so, finally I admitted to him of my sin.

“But, this is not so my Prince…” Charles stated when I had finished recounting to him my woes.

“Why do you appease me, Charles?” I sobbed, “Can you not see that I am to blame for my brother and my mother’s deaths?”

“No, my Prince, I cannot!” Charles stated firmly. “As you know I was one of Arthur’s greatest friends and I studied with him throughout my childhood.”

I inclined my head by way of a reply, for it was common knowledge that Charles was Arthur’s, greatest friend.

“Arthur was ill for very many years, and he grew weaker. So weak, in fact, that it seemed, for a while, that his marriage to the Princess Katherine was to be postponed. It was not common knowledge my Prince, but your brother Arthur, was dying for very many months before he was wed.”

“Is this really the truth, Charles?” I yelled as I jumped up from the floor from which I lay.

“Yes it is the truth. I swear it upon my honour!” Charles replied with great earnest.

“So you see it is not possible that you caused the death of your brother, for he was dying long before you laid eyes on the Princess Katherine, and made your wish.”

I smiled; I believe the first real smile since the passing of my brother. “And so that means that my mother was not taken from me as a punishment?”

“Yes my Prince…your mother died in childbed, just like so many women before her.” Charles smiled his roguish smile in response to my own.

“Well this is great news Charles!” I exclaimed. “Call the others, for I feel like singing and merriment.”

The smile on Charles’ face died as he softly said, “But that I would, but alas, your father his majesty, as summoned for you to join him immediately at court.”

“Whatever for?” I asked sharply, but Charles simply shrugged in response.

“So we leave tonight?” I asked, to which Charles replied, “Yes my Prince.”

Thus, we rode to Whitehall, and to a time in my life, which for me, will always be remembered as hell.

Henry VIII - Memories of Youth - Chapter One

To be a King

The story of Henry the VIII

(In his own voice)

Chapter One

I lie here, and although my head tells me I am young and fearless, my poor bloated body tells me otherwise. Oh, how I wish I could ride and dance, or make love to a maid. All of the pursuits of my youth, which I did not know pertained to youth alone; for if I did, I would have savoured them the more. And yet, I still glance at the passing maids and imagine what their youthful flesh will feel like under my soft touch. And I still feel my foot tap to the sound of the lute, although the movement sharply reminds me of the poison canker which was once my strong and sturdy leg. The pain alone is enough to make me weep. And yet lately, it is the thought of all that I have lost, and that which I will never regain, which causes tears to sting my eyes. Of course, I never show this weakness. I am the King, I am above the law, I rule over my empire, and I am the protector of the faith. I cannot, and will not, allow my weakness to become apparent. And so I must sit in pain; a young man locked inside an old man’s body, and suffer in devout silence. Thus, I must find solace in my memories. They are the memories of man, but above a man - a King.

Where do I start? I cannot start on the day of my birth, the day my father, King Henry the VII; got his spare, for that is how it is termed is not – ‘An heir and a spare’. Well I was that spare. I was the second son; a bonus, but not entirely essential. Thus, I will start by way of the event that changed me, and installed in me the want to be King, igniting within me, a vexing jealousy towards my brother Arthur.

I was but twelve years old, albeit, that I was a mature and handsome boy, and already apt to fondle the young maids of Eltham. It had been decided that I would escort Arthur’s betrothed, Katherine of Aragon, into London and deposit her at the Bishops Palace. This order gave me a feeling of importance. For up until this time my life mostly consisted of lessons with my mentor, Lord Mountjoy. I was rarely allowed to visit court, or mother and father, and so it is not difficult to imagine the excitement this task aroused in me.

However, I had not planned on my reaction to Katherine of Aragon. She was beautiful and regal, and I instantly desired her. Her hair, which shone dark with a shimmering red hue, captivated me. Her eyes were a huge and dark, and startling in comparison to the milky white flesh of her face and bosom. And she was plump, but small and delicate. To me, she was the perfect vision of womanhood – and I wanted her. But, of course, I could not have her, for she was to wed my brother in two days hence. How I hated him at that time. So much so, that I prayed for his death. It is a prayer which haunts me until this very day, because just five short months later, my brother Arthur was dead.

However, on that day I did not know that my wish would come true. And so instead the jealousy, which I have since discovered to be the vilest emotion in the world, took over my life. Even when I returned to Eltham, my head was filled with visions of Katherine’s loveliness. And I think it was at this time that the real understanding of what it meant to be the second son, struck me. I realised that as long as Arthur was alive I would always be the one who was overlooked, and the realisation evoked a feeling of bitterness to rise within me. Thus, I knew that to be noticed that I must be the best, and so I studied, rode and jousted, harder than I ever did before. I was determined that the next time she was to see me, Katherine of Aragon, would regret that she married the prince Arthur, and not the dashing, and much more handsome, Prince Henry. But the truth was that when I met the princess Katherine again, it was not to dance and sing, but to be in attendance at my brother’s funeral.