Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 (18 page)

He took her hand. ‘No, no. Don’t be angry with me,’ he soothed her. ‘I am saying that we have and we hold what we claim. I am saying that we make our own inheritance. We claim what we want, we say that we are Prince of Wales, Queen of England. That we decide the name and the title we go by. Just like everyone else does.’

‘You are wrong,’ she said. ‘I was born Infanta of Spain and I will die Queen of England. It is not a matter of choice, it is my destiny.’

He took her hand and kissed it. He saw there was no point pursuing his belief that a man or a woman could make their own destiny with their own conviction. He might have his doubts; but with her the task was already done. She had complete conviction, her destiny was made. He had no doubt that she would indeed defend it to death. Her title, her pride, her sense of self were all one. ‘Katherine, Queen of England,’ he said, kissing her fingers, and saw her smile return.

I love him so deeply, I did not know that I could ever love anyone like this. I can feel myself growing in patience and wisdom, just through my love for him. I step back from irritability and impatience, I even bear my homesickness without complaint. I can feel myself becoming a better woman, a better wife, as I seek to please him and make him
proud of me. I want him always to be glad that he married me. I want us always to be as happy as we are today. There are no words to describe him…there are no words.

A messenger came from the king’s court bringing the newlyweds some gifts: a pair of deer from the Windsor forest, a parcel of books for Catalina, letters from Elizabeth the queen, and orders from My Lady the King’s Mother who had heard, though no-one could imagine how, that the prince’s hunt had broken down some hedges, and who commanded Arthur to make sure that they were restored and the landowner compensated.

He brought the letter to Catalina’s room when he came at night. ‘How can she know everything?’ he demanded.

‘The man will have written to her,’ she said ruefully.

‘Why not come direct to me?’

‘Because he knows her? Is he her liege man?’

‘Could be,’ he said. ‘She has a network of alliances like spider threads across the country.’

‘You should go to see him,’ Catalina decided. ‘We could both go. We could take him a present, some meat or something, and pay what we owe.’

Arthur shook his head at the power of his grandmother. ‘Oh yes, we can do that. But how can she know everything?’

‘It’s how you rule,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it? You make sure that you know everything and that anyone with a trouble comes to you. Then they take the habit of obedience and you take the habit of command.’

He chuckled. ‘I can see I have married another Margaret Beaufort,’ he said. ‘God help me with another one in the family.’

Catalina smiled. ‘You should be warned,’ she admitted. ‘I am the daughter of a strong woman. Even my father does as he is bid by her.’

He put down the letter and gathered her to him. ‘I have longed for you all day,’ he said into the warm crook of her neck.

She opened the front of his nightshirt so she could lay her cheek against his sweet-smelling skin. ‘Oh, my love.’

With one accord they moved to the bed. ‘Oh, my love.’

‘Tell me a story.’

‘What shall I tell you tonight?’

‘Tell me about how your father and mother were married. Was it arranged for them, as it was for us?’

‘Oh no,’ she exclaimed. ‘Not at all. She was quite alone in the world, and though God had saved her from Don Pedro she was still not safe. She knew that her brother would marry her to anyone who would guarantee to keep her from inheriting his throne.

‘They were dark years for her, she said that when she appealed to her mother it was like talking to the dead. My grandmother was lost in a world of her own sorrow, she could do nothing to help her own daughter.

‘My mother’s cousin, her only hope, was the heir to the neighbouring kingdom: Ferdinand of Aragon. He came to her in disguise. Without any servants, without any soldiers, he rode through the night and came to the castle where she was struggling to survive. He had himself brought in, and threw off his hat and cape so she saw him, and knew him at once.’

Arthur was rapt. ‘Really?’

Catalina smiled. ‘Isn’t it like a romance? She told me that she loved him at once, fell in love on sight like a princess in a poem. He proposed marriage to her then and there, and she accepted him then and there. He fell in love with her that night, at first sight, which is something that no princess can expect. My mother, my father, were blessed by God. He moved them to love and their hearts followed their interests.’

‘God looks after the kings of Spain,’ Arthur remarked, half-joking.

She nodded. ‘Your father was right to seek our friendship. We are making our kingdom from al Andalus, the lands of the Moorish princes. We have Castile and Aragon, now we have Granada and we will have more. My father’s heart is set on Navarre, and he will not stop there. I know he is determined to have Naples. I don’t think he will be satisfied until all the south and western regions of France are ours. You will see. He has not made the borders he wants for Spain yet.’

‘They married in secret?’ he asked, still amazed at this royal couple who had taken their lives into their own hands and made their own destiny.

She looked slightly sheepish. ‘He told her he had a dispensation, but it was not properly signed. I am afraid that he tricked her.’

He frowned. ‘Your wonderful father lied to his saintly wife?’

She gave a little rueful smile. ‘Indeed, he will do anything to get his own way. You quickly learn it when you have dealings with him. He always thinks ahead, two, perhaps three, steps ahead. He knew my mother was devout and would not marry without the dispensation and
ole! –
there is a dispensation in her hand.’

‘But they put it right later?’

‘Yes, and though his father and her brother were angry, it was the right thing to do.’

‘How could it be the right thing to do? To defy your family? To disobey your own father? That’s a sin. It breaks a commandment. It is a cardinal sin. No Pope could bless such a marriage.’

‘It was God’s will,’ she said confidently. ‘None of them knew that it was God’s will. But my mother knew. She always knows what God wills.’

‘How can she be so sure? How could she be so sure then, when she was only a girl?’

She chuckled. ‘God and my mother have always thought alike.’

He laughed and tweaked the lock of her hair. ‘She certainly did the right thing in sending you to me.’

‘She did,’ Catalina said. ‘And we shall do the right thing by the country.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have such plans for us when we come to the throne.’

‘What shall we do?’

Arthur hesitated. ‘You will think me a child, my head filled with stories from books.’

‘No I shan’t. Tell me!’

‘I should like to make a council, like the first Arthur did. Not like my father’s council, which is just filled with his friends who fought for him, but a proper council of all the kingdom. A council of knights, one for each county. Not chosen by me because I like their company, but chosen by their own county – as the best of men to represent them. And I should like them to come to the table and each of them should know what is happening in their own county, they should report. And so if a crop is going to fail and there is going to be hunger we should know in time and send food.’

Catalina sat up, interested. ‘They would be our advisors. Our eyes and ears.’

‘Yes. And I should like each of them to be responsible for building defences, especially the ones in the north and on the coasts.’

‘And for mustering troops once a year, so we are always ready for attack,’ she added. ‘They will come, you know.’

‘The Moors?’

She nodded. ‘They are defeated in Spain for now, but they are as strong as ever in Africa, in the Holy Lands, in Turkey and the lands beyond. When they need more land they will move again into Christendom. Once a year in the spring, the Ottoman sultan goes to war, like other men plough the fields. They will come against us. We cannot know when they will come, but we can be very certain that they will do so.’

‘I want defences all along the south coast against France, and against the Moors,’ Arthur said. ‘A string of castles, and beacons behind them, so that when we come under attack in – say – Kent, we can know about it in London, and everyone can be warned.’

‘You will need to build ships,’ she said. ‘My mother commissioned fighting ships from the dockyard in Venice.’

‘We have our own dockyards,’ he said. ‘We can build our own ships.’

‘How shall we raise the money for all these castles and ships?’ Isabella’s daughter asked the practical question.

‘Partly from taxing the people,’ he said. ‘Partly from taxing the merchants and the people who use the ports. It is for their safety, they should pay. I know people hate the taxes but that is because they don’t see what is done with the money.’

‘We will need honest tax collectors,’ Catalina said. ‘My father says that if you can collect the taxes that are due and not lose half of them along the way it is better than a regiment of cavalry.’

‘Yes, but how d’you find men that you can trust?’ Arthur thought aloud. ‘At the moment, any man who wants to make a fortune gets himself a post of collecting taxes. They should work for us, not for themselves. They should be paid a wage and not collect on their own account.’

‘That has never been achieved by anyone but the Moors,’ she said. ‘The Moors in al Andalus set up schools and even universities for the sons of poor men, so that they had clerks that they could trust. And their great offices of court are always done by the young scholars, sometimes the young sons of their king.’

‘Shall I take a hundred wives to get a thousand clerks for the throne?’ he teased her.

‘Not another single one.’

‘But we have to find good men,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You need loyal servants to the crown, those who owe their salary to the crown and their obedience to the crown. Otherwise they work for
themselves and they take bribes and all their families become over-mighty.’

‘The church could teach them,’ Catalina suggested. ‘Just as the imam teaches the boys for the Moors. If every parish church was as learned as a mosque with a school attached to it, if every priest knew he had to teach reading and writing, then we could found new colleges at the universities, so that boys could go on and learn more.’

‘Is it possible?’ he asked. ‘Not just a dream?’

She nodded. ‘It could be real. To make a country is the most real thing anyone can do. We will make a kingdom that we can be proud of, just as my mother and father did in Spain. We can decide how it is to be, and we can make it happen.’

‘Camelot,’ he said simply.

‘Camelot,’ she repeated.

It snowed for a sennight in February, and then came a thaw and the snow turned to slush and now it is raining again. I cannot walk in the garden, nor go out on a horse, nor even ride out into the town by mule. I have never seen such rain in my life before. It is not like our rain that falls on the hot earth and yields a rich, warm smell as the dust is laid and the plants drink up the water. But this is cold rain on cold earth, and there is no perfume and only standing pools of water with dark ice on it like a cold skin.

I miss my home with an ache of longing in these cold dark days. When I tell Arthur about Spain and the Alhambra it makes me yearn that he should see it for himself, and meet my mother and father. I want them to see him, and know our happiness. I keep wondering if his father would not allow him out of England…but I know I am dreaming. No king would ever let his precious son and heir out of his lands.

Then I start to wonder if I might go home for a short visit on my own. I cannot bear to be without Arthur for even a night, but then I think that unless I go to Spain alone I will never see my mother again, and the thought of that, never feeling the touch of her hand on my
hair or seeing her smile at me – I don’t know how I would bear to never see her again.

I am glad and proud to be Princess of Wales and the Queen of England-to-be, but I did not think, I did not realise – I know, how silly this is of me – but I did not quite understand that it would mean that I would live here forever, that I would never come home again. Somehow, although I knew I would be married to the Prince of Wales and one day be Queen of England, I did not fully understand that this would be my home now and forever; and that I may never see my mother or my father or my home again.

I expected at least that we would write, I thought I would hear from her often. But it is as she was with Isabel, with Maria, with Juana; she sends instructions through the ambassador, I have my orders as a princess of Spain. But as a mother to her daughter, I hear from her only rarely.

I don’t know how to bear it. I never thought such a thing could happen. My sister Isabel came home to us after she was widowed, though she married again and had to leave again. And Juana writes to me that she will go home on a visit with her husband. It isn’t fair that she should go and I not be allowed to. I am only just sixteen. I am not ready to live without my mother’s advice. I am not old enough to live without a mother. I look for her every day to tell me what I should do – and she is not there.

My husband’s mother, Queen Elizabeth, is a cipher in her own household. She cannot be a mother to me, she cannot command her own time, how should she advise
me?
It is the king’s mother, Lady Margaret, who rules everything; and she is a most well-thought-of, hard-hearted woman. She cannot be a mother to me, she couldn’t be a mother to anyone. She worships her son because thanks to him she is the mother of the king; but she does not love him, she has no tenderness. She does not even love Arthur and if a woman could not love him she must be utterly without a heart. Actually, I am quite sure that she dislikes me, though I don’t know why she should.

And anyway, I am sure my mother must miss me as I miss her? Surely, very soon, she will write to the king and ask him if I can come home for a visit? Before it gets much colder here? And it is terribly cold and wet already. I am sure I cannot stay here all the long winter. I am sure I will be ill. I am sure she must want me to come home…

Catalina, seated at the table before the window, trying to catch the failing light of a grey February afternoon, took up her letter, asking her mother if she could come for a visit to Spain, and tore it gently in half and then in half again and fed the pieces into the fire in her room. It was not the first letter she had written to her mother asking to come home, but – like the others – it would never be sent. She would not betray her mother’s training by turning tail and running from grey skies and cold rain and people whose language no-one could ever understand and whose joys and sorrows were a mystery.

She was not to know that even if she had sent the letter to the Spanish ambassador in London, then that wily diplomat would have opened it, read it, and torn it up himself, and then reported the whole to the King of England. Rodrigo Gonsalvi de Puebla knew, though Catalina did not yet understand, that her marriage had forged an alliance between the emerging power of Spain and the emerging power of England against the emerging power of France. No homesick princess wanting her mother would be allowed to unbalance that.

‘Tell me a story.’

‘I am like Scheherazade, you want a thousand stories from me.’ ‘Oh yes!’ he said. ‘I will have a thousand and one stories. How many have you told me already?’

‘I have told you a story every night since we were together, that first night, at Burford,’ she said.

‘Forty-nine days,’ he said.

‘Only forty-nine stories. If I was Scheherazade I would have nine hundred and fifty-two to go.’

He smiled at her. ‘Do you know, Catalina, I have been happier in these forty-nine days than ever in my life before?’

She took his hand and put it to her lips.

‘And the nights!’

Her eyes darkened with desire. ‘Yes, the nights,’ she said quietly.

‘I long for every nine hundred and fifty-two more,’ he said. ‘And then I will have another thousand after that.’

‘And a thousand after that?’

‘And a thousand after that forever and ever until we are both dead.’

She smiled. ‘Pray God we have long years together,’ she said tenderly.

‘So what will you tell me tonight?’

She thought. ‘I shall tell you of a Moor’s poem.’

Arthur settled back against the pillows as she leaned forwards and fixed her blue gaze on the curtains of the bed, as if she could see beyond them, to somewhere else.

‘He was born in the deserts of Arabia,’ she explained. ‘So when he came to Spain he missed everything about his home. He wrote this poem.

“A palm tree stands in the middle of Rusafa,
Born in the west, far from the land of palms.
I said to it: How like me you are, far away and in exile
In long separation from your family and friends.
You have sprung from soil in which you are a stranger
And I, like you, am far from home.”’

He was silent, taking in the simplicity of the poem. ‘It is not like our poetry,’ he said.

‘No,’ she replied quietly. ‘They are a people who have a great love of words, they love to say a true thing simply.’

He opened his arms to her and she slid alongside him so that they were lying, thigh to thigh, side to side. He touched her face, her cheek was wet.

‘Oh my love! Tears?’

She said nothing.

‘I know that you miss your home,’ he said softly, taking her hand in his and kissing the fingertips. ‘But you will become accustomed to your life here, to your thousand, thousand days here.’

‘I am happy with you,’ Catalina said quickly. ‘It is just…’ Her voice trailed away. ‘My mother,’ she said, her voice very small. ‘I miss her. And I worry about her. Because…I am the youngest, you see. And she kept me with her as long as she could.’

‘She knew you would have to leave.’

‘She’s been much…tried. She lost her son, my brother, Juan, and he was our only heir. It is so terrible to lose a prince, you cannot imagine how terrible it is to lose a prince. It is not just the loss of him, but the loss of everything that might have been. His life has gone, but his reign and his future have gone too. His wife will no longer be queen, everything that he hoped for will not happen. And then the next heir, little Miguel, died at only two years old. He was all we had left of my sister Isabel, his mother, and then it pleased God to take him from us too. Poor Maria died far away from us in Portugal, she went away to be married and we never saw her again. It was natural that my mother kept me with her for comfort. I was her last child to leave home. And now I don’t know how she will manage without me.’

Arthur put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. ‘God will comfort her.’

‘She will be so lonely,’ she said in a little voice.

‘Surely she, of all women in the world, feels God’s comfort?’

‘I don’t think she always does,’ Catalina said. ‘Her own mother was tormented by sadness, you know. Many of the women of our family can get quite sick with sorrow. I know that my mother fears sinking into sadness just like her mother: a woman who saw things so darkly that she would rather have been blind. I know she fears that she will never be happy again. I know that she liked to have me with her so that I could make her happy. She said that I was a child born for joy, that she could tell that I would always be happy.’

‘Does your father not comfort her?’

‘Yes,’ she said uncertainly. ‘But he is often away from her. And anyway, I should like to be with her. But you must know how I feel. Didn’t you miss your mother when you were first sent away? And your father and your sisters and your brother?’

‘I miss my sisters; but not my brother,’ he said so decidedly that she had to laugh.

‘Why not? I thought he was such fun.’

‘He is a braggart,’ Arthur said irritably. ‘He is always pushing himself forwards. Look at our wedding, he had to be at the centre of the stage all the time, look at our wedding feast when he had to dance so that all eyes were on him. Pulling Margaret up to dance and making a performance of himself.’

‘Oh no! It was just that your father told him to dance, and he was merry. He’s just a boy.’

‘He wants to be a man. He tries to be a man, he makes a fool of all of us when he tries. And nobody ever checks him! Did you not see how he looked at you?’

‘I saw nothing at all,’ she said truthfully. ‘It was all a blur for me.’

‘He fancies himself in love with you, and dreamed that he was walking you up the aisle on his own account.’

She laughed. ‘Oh! How silly!’

‘He’s always been like that,’ he said resentfully. ‘And because he is the favourite of everyone he is allowed to say and do exactly as
he wants. I have to learn the law, and languages, and I have to live here and prepare myself for the crown; but Harry stays at Greenwich or Whitehall at the centre of court as if he were an ambassador; not an heir who should be trained. He has to have a horse when I have a horse – though I had been kept on a steady palfrey for years. He has a falcon when I have my first falcon – nobody makes him train a kestrel and then a goshawk for year after year, then he has to have my tutor and tries to outstrip me, tries to outshine me whenever he can, and always takes the eye.’

Catalina saw he was genuinely irritated. ‘But he is only a second son,’ she observed.

‘He is everyone’s favourite,’ Arthur said glumly. ‘He has everything for the asking and everything comes easily to him.’

‘He is not the Prince of Wales,’ she pointed out. ‘He may be liked; but he is not important. He only stays at court because he is not important enough to be sent here. He does not have his own Principality. Your father will have plans for him. He will probably be married and sent away. A second son is no more important than a daughter.’

‘He is to go into the church,’ he said. ‘He is to be a priest. Who would marry him? So he will be in England forever. I daresay I shall have to endure him as my archbishop, if he does not manage to make himself Pope.’

Catalina laughed at the thought of the flushed-faced blond, bright boy as Pope. ‘How grand we shall all be when we are grown up,’ she said. ‘You and me, King and Queen of England, and Harry, archbishop; perhaps even a cardinal.’

‘Harry won’t ever grow up,’ he insisted. ‘He will always be a selfish boy. And because my grandmother – and my father – have always given him whatever he wanted, just for the asking, he will be a greedy, difficult boy.’

‘Perhaps he will change,’ she said. ‘When my oldest sister, poor Isabel, went away to Portugal the first time, you would have thought her the vainest, most worldly girl you could imagine. But when her
husband died and she came home she cared for nothing but to go into a convent. Her heart was quite broken.’