Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 (23 page)

‘But wasn’t she next heir to the throne anyway?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘Since it was her father who had been King Edward? And her uncle who had died in the battle, and her brothers were dead?’

He nodded. ‘She was the oldest princess.’

‘So why didn’t she claim the throne for herself?’

‘Aha, you are a rebel!’ he said. He took a handful of her hair and pulled her face towards him. He kissed her mouth, tasting of wine and sweetmeats. ‘A Yorkist rebel, which is worse.’

‘I just thought she should have claimed the throne for herself.’

‘Not in this country,’ Arthur ruled. ‘We don’t have reigning queens in this England. Girls don’t inherit. They cannot take the throne.’

‘But if a king had only a daughter?’

He shrugged. ‘Then it would be a tragedy for the country. You have to give me a boy, my love. Nothing else will do.’

‘But if we only had a girl?’

‘She would marry a prince and make him King Consort of England, and he would rule alongside her. England has to have a king. Like your mother did. She reigns alongside her husband.’

‘In Aragon she does, but in Castile he rules alongside her. Castile is her country and Aragon his.’

‘We’d never stand for it in England,’ Arthur said.

She drew away from him in indignation. She was only half-pretending. ‘I tell you this, if we have only one child and she is a
girl then she will rule as queen and she will be a queen as good as any man can be king.’

‘Well, she will be a novelty,’ he said. ‘We don’t believe a woman can defend the country as a king needs to do.’

‘A woman can fight,’ she said instantly. ‘You should see my mother in armour. Even I could defend the country. I have seen warfare, which is more than you have done. I could be as good a king as any man.’

He smiled at her, shaking his head. ‘Not if the country was invaded. You couldn’t command an army.’

‘I could command an army. Why not?’

‘No English army would be commanded by a woman. They wouldn’t take orders from a woman.’

‘They would take orders from their commander,’ she flashed out. ‘And if they don’t then they are no good as soldiers and they have to be trained.’

He laughed. ‘No Englishman would obey a woman,’ he said. He saw by her stubborn face that she was not convinced.

‘All that matters is that you win the battle,’ she said. ‘All that matters is that the country is defended. It doesn’t matter who leads the army as long as they follow.’

‘Well, at any rate, my mother had no thought of claiming the throne for herself. She would not have dreamed of it. She married my father and became Queen of England through marriage. And because she was the York Princess and he was the Lancaster heir my grandmother’s plan succeeded. My father may have won the throne by conquest and acclaim; but we will have it by inheritance.’

Catalina nodded. ‘My mother said there was nothing wrong with a man who is new-come to the throne. What matters is not the winning but the keeping of it.’

‘We shall keep it,’ he said with certainty. ‘We shall make a great country here, you and me. We shall build roads and markets,
churches and schools. We shall put a ring of forts around the coastline and build ships.’

‘We shall create courts of justice as my mother and father have done in Spain,’ she said, settling back into the pleasure of planning a future on which they could agree. ‘So that no man can be cruelly treated by another. So that every man knows that he can go to the court and have his case heard.’

He raised his glass to her. ‘We should start writing this down,’ he said. ‘And we should start planning how it is to be done.’

‘It will be years before we come to our thrones.’

‘You never know. I don’t wish it – God knows, I honour my father and my mother and I would want nothing before God’s own time. But you never know. I am Prince of Wales, you are Princess. But we will be King and Queen of England. We should know who we will have at our court, we should know what advisors we will choose, we should know how we are going to make this country truly great. If it is a dream, then we can talk of it together at nighttime, as we do. But if it is a plan, we should write it in the daytime, take advice on it, think how we might do the things we want.’

Her face lit up. ‘When we have finished our lessons for the day, perhaps we could do it then. Perhaps your tutor would help us, and my confessor.’

‘And my advisors,’ he said. ‘And we could start here. In Wales. I can do what I want, within reason. We could make a college here, and build some schools. We could even commission a ship to be built here. There are shipwrights in Wales, we could build the first of our defensive ships.’

She clapped her hands like the girl she was. ‘We could start our reign!’ she said.

‘Hail Queen Katherine! Queen of England!’ Arthur said playfully, but at the ring of the words he stopped and looked at her more seriously. ‘You know, you will hear them say that, my love. Vivat! Vivat Catalina Regina, Queen Katherine, Queen of England.’

It is like an adventure, wondering what sort of country we can make, what sort of king and queen we will be. It is natural we should think of Camelot. It was my favourite book in my mother’s library and I found Arthur’s own well-thumbed copy in his father’s library.

I know that Camelot is a story, an ideal, as unreal as the love of a troubadour, or a fairy-tale castle or legends about thieves and treasure and genies. But there is something about the idea of ruling a kingdom with justice, with the consent of the people, which is more than a fairy tale.

Arthur and I will inherit great power, his father has seen to that. I think we will inherit a strong throne and a great treasure. We will inherit with the goodwill of the people; the king is not loved but he is respected, and nobody wants a return to endless battles. These English have a horror of civil war. If we come to the throne with this power, this wealth, and this goodwill, there is no doubt in my mind that we can make a great country here.

And it shall be a great country in alliance with Spain. My parents’ heir is Juana’s son, Charles. He will be Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain. He will be my nephew and we will have the friendship of kinsmen. What a powerful alliance this will be: the great Holy Roman Empire and England. Nobody will be able to stand against us, we might divide France, we might divide most of Europe. Then we will stand, the empire and England against the Moors, then we will win and the whole of the East, Persia, the Ottomans, the Indies, even China will be laid open to us.

The routine of the castle changed. In the days which were starting to become warmer and brighter the young Prince and Princess of
Wales set up their office in her rooms, dragged a big table over to the window for the afternoon light, and pinned up maps of the Principality on the linenfold panelling.

‘You look as if you are planning a campaign,’ Lady Margaret Pole said pleasantly.

‘The princess should be resting,’ Dona Elvira remarked resentfully to no-one in particular.

‘Are you unwell?’ Lady Margaret asked quickly.

Catalina smiled and shook her head, she was becoming accustomed to the obsessive interest in her health. Until she could say that she was carrying England’s heir she would have no peace from people asking her how she did.

‘I don’t need to rest,’ she said. ‘And tomorrow, if you will take me, I should like to go out and see the fields.’

‘The fields?’ asked Lady Margaret, rather taken aback. ‘In March? They won’t plough for another week or so, there is almost nothing to see.’

‘I have to learn,’ Catalina said. ‘Where I live, it is so dry in summer that we have to build little ditches in every field, to the foot of every tree, to channel water to the plants to make sure that they can drink and live. When we first rode through this country and I saw the ditches in your fields, I was so ignorant I thought they were bringing water in.’ She laughed aloud at the memory. “And then the prince told me they were drains to take the water away. I could not believe it! So we had better ride out and you must tell me everything.’

‘A queen does not need to know about fields,’ Dona Elvira said in muted disapproval from the corner. ‘Why should she know what the farmers grow?’

‘Of course a queen needs to know,’ Catalina replied, irritated. ‘She should know everything about her country. How else can she rule?’

‘I am sure you will be a very fine Queen of England,’ Lady Margaret said, making the peace.

Catalina glowed. ‘I shall be the best Queen of England that I can
be,’ she said. ‘I shall care for the poor and assist the church, and if we are ever at war I shall ride out and fight for England just as my mother did for Spain.’

Planning for the future with Arthur, I forget my homesickness for Spain. Every day we think of some improvement we could make, of some law that should be changed. We read together, books of philosophy and politics,
we
talk about whether people can be trusted with their freedom, of whether a king should be a good tyrant or should step back from power. We talk about my home: of my parents’ belief that you make a country by one church, one language, and one law. Or whether it could be possible to do as the Moors did: to make a country with one law but with many faiths and many languages, and assume that people are wise enough to choose the best.

We argue, we talk. Sometimes we break up in laughter, sometimes we disagree. Arthur is my lover always, my husband, undeniably. And now he is becoming my friend.

Catalina was in the little garden of Ludlow Castle, which was set along the east wall, in earnest conversation with one of the castle gardeners. In neat beds around her were the herbs that the cooks used, and some herbs and flowers with medicinal properties grown by Lady Margaret. Arthur, seeing Catalina as he walked back from confession in the round chapel, glanced up to the great hall to check that no-one would prevent him, and slipped off to be with her. As he drew up she was gesturing, trying to describe something. Arthur smiled.

‘Princess,’ he said formally in greeting.

She swept him a low curtsey, but her eyes were warm with pleasure at the sight of him. ‘Sire.’

The gardener had dropped to his knees in the mud at the arrival of the prince. ‘You can get up,’ Arthur said pleasantly. ‘I don’t think you will find many pretty flowers at this time of year, Princess.’