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

King Henry the Eighth

hey were all coming to pay homage to the new King.

He detained Katharine for he said he would speak with her. She thought how handsome he was with his newly acquired dignity and his endearing delight in it.

He took her hands and kissed them.

“I had always intended that you should be my Queen,” he said.

Waves of gladness swept over her. It was truly so. He was smiling, well pleased, loving himself as well as her. She thought how charming he was . . . how young. All the miseries of the last years were falling away from her. This young man with those few words and looks of tenderness in his eyes had brushed them aside.

She would never forget. She would be grateful forever.

There were tears in his eyes. He saw them and they pleased him. He was the perfect chivalrous knight rescuing the lady in distress. It was a role he loved so well and had often played it in his imagination.

“That pleases you?” he asked.

She turned her head away to hide her emotion; and he liked that too.

He put his arms about her and kissed her.

“I shall never forget this moment,” she said. “I shall love you until the day I die.”

She heard a chaffinch sing in the gardens. Then the bells were pealing. In the streets the people were waiting to see him and his chosen bride.

“The King is dead,” they would say. “Gone is the old miser and in his place this handsome young man, this golden boy, every inch of him a king.”

Already they were proclaiming him.

“God bless the King. God save King Henry the Eighth.”