Patience, Princess Catherine (3 page)

I bowed my head. I did not like Doña Elvira. She was harsh and tyrannical. But I would not go against my mother's will. I said nothing, keeping my head lowered so that she would not notice my distress. "We shall write one another often, shall we not?" I murmured, trying unsuccessfully not to weep.

"Of course we shall send letters, dear Catalina, and I shall always be happy to hear news of your life. I have great faith that the training I have given you and the advisers I am sending with you will provide the wisdom and sensibility you will require as wife, mother, and queen. In difficult times bring to mind my words and the sound of my voice. In that way, I shall always be present for you." Then my mother gave me her blessing, kissed my forehead, my eyelids, my lips, and turned away. "Go, Catalina," my mother said in a shaking voice. "Go now, and quickly."

I was weeping so hard I could scarcely find my way from her chamber. But I knew I must dry my tears and calm myself. When I felt able, I knelt before my father, the king, who showed as little feeling as the stones of the ancient citadel. He seldom did, though I believed I knew what was in his heart—I had always been his favorite daughter. I took his hand in both of mine and kissed it. My father merely frowned and made the sign of the cross over me.

Mounted on a mule in a red saddle-chair, I rode for the last time through lush gardens of jasmine and oleander, passed by the groves of almond, lime, and fig, and soon left behind the shade of the tall cypress trees of Andalucía. Now that the anguish of the parting was over, my thoughts turned toward the future. I was excited to be on my way, eager to begin my new life as the future queen of England.

The long procession—noblemen and churchmen, my maids of honor, tutors, chaplain, treasurer, equerry, majordomo, and duenna, plus innumerable knights and archers, countless cooks and bakers, servitors and muleteers, minstrels, and fools—stretched farther than I could see. Day after day, as the procession wound over rugged mountains and plodded across the stark and dusty plains of Castilla, we endured searing heat and sudden downpours. My ladies took turns riding with me in the royal litter, borne by sure-footed mules and curtained with silks to protect us from the dust and the relentless sun. Each night we stopped at convents where I and my attendants were accommodated. Our servants camped in the open fields.

On those nights when sleep would not come, I lay in my bed and practiced a few useful phrases Padre Alessandro had taught me:
Good day, my lord
and
Good evening, my lady, If it please you, sire
and
Thank you, madam.

"You will learn quickly once you are living among the English," the chaplain assured me. I could only hope that he was right.

"They probably will not call you Catalina," he had said as we prepared for the journey.

"What will they call me then?"

"Catherine is, I believe, the closest the English will come to it.
C-A-T-H-E-R-I-N-E
."

So I was to lose my name! The same had happened to my sister, Juana, when she married Philip of Burgundy and went to live in the Netherlands. Juana became
Joanna
—not a pretty name, I thought, and so difficult for the Spanish tongue to pronounce.

"Catherine,
" I whispered in the darkness. No more Catalina.
Catherine.

 

Waiting for me in Plymouth and the first to welcome me in my own tongue was Pedro de Ayala, my parents' ambassador to Scotland. I had expected to be met by the ambassador to England, Rodrigo Gonzales de Puebla, who had negotiated my marriage contract and stood in my stead at the betrothal ceremony years ago. But when I inquired about him, the elegantly dressed Ayala merely waved his hand dismissively. "Don Rodrigo will, no doubt, greet you in London," he said, explaining that he, Ayala, had decided to leave Scotland for England. "Life here is so much more pleasant than up north."

Later I learned that each of the two ambassadors harbored a deep dislike for the other, and Ayala had managed to outwit his rival by riding out to Plymouth when he heard that my ships were bound there. Puebla had been left behind in London, unaware of my arrival.

After a few days of rest in Plymouth—to give the royal couriers time to carry the news to the king—my company set out for London.

"It will be a slow journey with numerous stops along the way," explained Ayala, "to allow my lady princess time to regain her strength. Also," he added, "we shall give the English an opportunity to see for themselves the woman who shall one day be their queen."

We rode in a light drizzle to our first stop, a country manor in Exeter where our host had prepared an elaborate feast. With a great flourish the lord of the manor presented me with a silver goblet filled to the brim with a golden liquid that smelled unpleasantly sour. He proposed a toast.

"Their finest English ale," Ayala murmured close to my ear.

I raised the goblet to my lips and tried to drink. The bitterness brought tears to my eyes. "This must be what was offered on the sponge to our Lord on the cross," I whispered to Ayala. As good manners required, I drained the goblet to the last drop to the cheers of those around me.

After a fortnight in Exeter we continued our journey eastward. We rode on mules brought from Spain; I seated in my red saddle-chair. Doña Elvira insisted that my face remain veiled, as befitted a royal maiden. A number of English ladies rode with us on horseback, dressed in bright velvets, their faces bared to anyone who cared to look. Here I discovered another odd custom: English ladies mounted their sidesaddles from the left while Spanish ladies mounted from the right. They sat on opposite sides of their horses and often rode facing away from one another.

How different it all was from Spain! The great procession moved past dark, forbidding forests and open fields, past green pastures crowded with grazing sheep and cows, past the thatched cottages of the country folk. The roads were no more than rough paths worn by sheep and cows, and the mud was already deep on my mule's withers. The ever present mist clung to my skin like wet silk, and at the end of each day's travel my gown was sodden.

I struggled to wrap my tongue around the strange names of the towns and villages through which we passed: Crewkerne, Sherborne, Shaftesbury. Such tumult greeted me! Cheering crowds surged around us, bells rang clamorously, men tossed their caps into the air, and women held aloft their little ones to give the children a glimpse of me.

From the center of each village rose a church steeple, and close by stood the sumptuous manor houses of noblemen who welcomed us graciously and served us banquets and more ale.

At each stop additional knights joined the procession. Commoners, too, often accompanied us, walking from one village to the next and then returning home to their labors. I found them a boisterous lot, the women as noisy as their husbands, and saw that they could be easily roused to brawling among themselves. Still, I sensed their goodwill.

As we made our way toward London, I thought constantly about Prince Arthur and wondered anxiously what he would think of me. The more I saw of English ladies in their bright colors and unveiled faces, the more I worried that my future husband would not find me to his liking. I was not tall, but I was well formed with a long, graceful neck and a narrow waist; the journey had been so arduous that I was no longer so plump as when I left Granada. I had my mother's wide gray eyes, bright smile, and pale, unblemished skin. The English ladies covered their hair with headdresses, but Spanish ladies took pride in their tresses. Bright as copper, lustrous as silk, falling nearly to my waist, my hair was my glory.

Each night I prayed earnestly for wisdom and patience and humility. I prayed that I would be a dutiful wife to Arthur, an obedient daughter to the king and queen, and an agreeable sister to the prince's younger brother and sisters. After I had prayed for the health and well-being of my family in Spain and for all of those who traveled with me, I allowed myself to make one small, personal request: I prayed that Arthur would find me appealing. I dreaded looking into his eyes and finding disappointment rather than delight as he lifted my wedding veil and gazed at my face for the first time.

I thought again of the letters Prince Arthur had written me during our long betrothal. In the small hours of the night before we were to arrive in Dogmersfield, our last stop before London, I crept from my bed—taking care not to waken Doña Elvira, who snored nearby—and opened the leather and silver case in which I kept Arthur's letters. Unfolding the last one I had received, I held the parchment close to a candle flame and read his words again:
Let your coming to me be hastened that instead of being absent we may be present with each other, and the love conceived between us and the wished-for joys may reap their proper fruit.

Perhaps they were not his own words, but surely they expressed the true feelings of his heart. Or so I promised myself, before I returned the letter to its case and returned myself to my bed.

Richmond Palace, November 1501

 

Every day a mud-splattered messenger galloped to the palace to inform King Henry of the Spanish princess's progress toward London.

But the king was restless, dissatisfied. He questioned the messengers closely: "What does the princess look like? How does she appear to you? Is she comely? Is she in good health? Is her neck plump, her skin white and unblemished? Her breath sweet?"

The messengers could reply only that they themselves had not seen the princess, who was being kept in strict seclusion by her governess and appeared in public with her face hidden beneath a veil.

After three weeks of impatient waiting, the king an
nounced to his privy council, "I shall go and see the princess for myself"

A messenger was dispatched to Ludlow, informing the prince of Wales that he and his gentlemen were to rendezvous with the king and his council at Dogmersfield, where the Spanish princess was resting. Once they had assembled, they would proceed to the bishop's palace to call upon her and her retinue.

Henry observed all of this, speculating with Brandon what the bride might be like. "I wish that I could have a look at her first, before Arthur does."

"Why?" asked Brandon. "You are not the one who is marrying her."

"Because I am curious," Henry had explained, adding with a wicked grin, "and because it always upsets Arthur when I am ahead of him at anything."

When he believed the time was right, Henry appealed to his father. "And I, Father my lord? Am I to accompany you?"

The king replied gruffly, "No, York. You shall stay here with your mother and sisters and prepare to greet the princess when she arrives in London."

"Yes, my lord." Henry managed to hide his anger and disappointment and bowed deeply, kneeling three times as he backed out of his father's privy chamber.

In a foul mood, he went in search of Brandon and found him waiting for him in the courtyard. "I have in mind a game of tennis," Henry said. "Perhaps today I shall show myself to be the better player."

"Perhaps, my lord," said Brandon, smiling.

Still angry at his father for not taking him to Dogmersfield, Henry smashed shots wildly in all directions and threw down his racquet in a temper. He hated to lose, even to Brandon, but he was not jealous of Brandon, as he was of Arthur. Brandon did not even have a title, so what was there to envy?

 

N
EARLY A MONTH AFTER
I
STEPPED ASHORE AT
P
LYMOUTH
, my rain-soaked entourage reached the village of Dogmersfield. For the past several days I had abandoned my mule for the shelter of my litter.

The archbishop of Bath had invited us to lodge at his palace. I was no sooner settled into the royal apartments, my ladies drying out in their chambers, and Doña Elvira quartered within hearing of my every word and movement, than the king's messenger arrived. I broke the royal seal and swiftly read the letter: King Henry was at that very hour on his way to the bishop's palace, accompanied by his privy council and his son, the prince of Wales! I read the message a second time, scarcely believing the words. Surely, I must have time to make myself ready! I passed the letter to Doña Elvira even before she could insist upon it and began to think how I might best prepare for the meeting.

I felt happily excited, but my duenna was aghast. "Absolutely not!" she exclaimed. "Has the king taken leave of his senses? It is the custom of our people that neither the bridegroom nor his father may lay eyes upon the bride until the archbishop pronounces the benediction at the end of the marriage ceremony! I gave my solemn word to your parents that you would be treated with the respect due the daughter of the kings of Spain. King Henry shall not see you, nor shall Prince Arthur."

Before I could reply, Doña Elvira summoned the ambassador. Ayala entered my chambers looking drowsy, as though his sleep had been interrupted. When the duenna thrust the king's letter into his hands, Ayala merely yawned, shrugged, and returned the letter to me with a lazy smile.

"Doña Elvira, what seems to you an outrage is, to our friend the king of England, an entirely justifiable request. The English set great store by the beauty of women, and King Henry no doubt wishes to assure himself that the mother of future kings of the realm is not only strong and healthy but comely as well."

"That is an outrage!" Furiously, Doña Elvira stamped her foot. "An insult to our lady princess!" Once Doña Elvira began her tirade, complaining in her strident voice about the abominable manners of the barbarous English, there was no stopping her. I paced distractedly, not knowing what to do. The two were still arguing when a page announced that King Henry and his retinue were entering the gates of Dogmersfield.