colourful silk banners; on one, a huge red Welsh dragon spouted flames of fire into the water as people gathered on the banks to watch. On another sat Elizabeth and her ladies, dressed in all their jewels, furs and finery. It must have been an impressive sight, even for a city that was used to pageantry. Music would have wafted downstream on the autumnal air and into London homes and streets, heralding their soon-to-be queen’s approach. She passed that night in state at the Tower, then set out the following day to travel the short distance to Westminster Abbey, reclining on downy cushions in a litter of cloth-of-gold of damask, carried by Knights of the Bath. On her head was a circlet of gold set with precious stones – which would later be exchanged for the crown – and her kirtle and mantle of purple velvet were fronted with lace. The previous day’s warnings had been heeded; the packed streets, thronging with Londoners in all their finery, were decorated with rich cloths and banners that hung from the houses along her route. As she passed along the special ‘ray cloth’ of striped wool, leading from her litter into the abbey, the crowd surged up behind to seize pieces of this carpet, which was thought to have magical properties. Their enthusiasm was so great that riots broke out but the great doors were quickly closed upon the rabble outside, allowing the important business of state to proceed. According to tradition, Elizabeth was anointed twice, once on the chest and once on the head before receiving a ring for the fourth finger of her right hand, a gold crown, sceptre and rod of gold. Onlookers were then cleared from Westminster Hall to make way for the guests: Lords, bishops and abbots; barons, knights and nobles, beside London’s mayor, alderman, merchants and distinguished citizens, were seated either side of the dais on which Elizabeth would be served her celebratory banquet. No doubt the food was as sumptuous and plentiful as it had been at her wedding. After the feasting, the Garter King of Arms led the heralds and officers in proclaiming her queen and offering her their sincere gratitude and thanks. If any doubts had lingered about Elizabeth’s validity as queen, the birth of her son and her splendid coronation reaffirmed the strength of the Tudor dynasty and the royal marriage. As a young, fertile woman, regularly sharing her husband’s bed, expectations for an imminent second pregnancy would have been high.
Yet two and a half years would pass before Elizabeth would conceive again. Given the royal couple’s ages and regular periods spent together, as well as the rapidity of Arthur’s conception, this represents a significant interval. Easily long enough to suggest fertility issues in a modern couple, it may well have given the royal pair and their physicians cause for concern. Yet such situations were not uncommon among European royalty. Isabella of Castile’s seven-year interval between her first and second child puzzled the Spanish court and all her physicians, yet she then went on to deliver a son and three more daughters. Catherine de Medici would be married to Henri II of France for a decade before conceiving the first of eleven offspring. Even after the arrival of their healthy son Arthur, the Tudor imperative for heirs was still strong, as a royal family’s future strength lay partly in its size. It must be assumed, therefore, that Henry and Elizabeth were still actively trying to conceive during these years. Political threats and strains would have proved an unwelcome distraction, though, which could affect fertility and performance. 1487 had brought difficult challenges, with Yorkist claimant Lambert Simnel threatening to invade and usurp the throne. His coronation as Edward VI in Dublin that May had forced Henry again into battle, defeating his enemies at Stoke. It had been a powerful reminder that one little boy in his nursery at Farnham was not sufficient guarantee of the Tudor lineage,
Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins