Philippa Gregory - The Constant Princess

“As you wish, sire,” she said steadily.

“Tell me! Would you like to go to Ludlow with Arthur, or would you rather stay here with me?”

She smiled faintly and would not be drawn. “You are the king,” she said quietly. “I must do whatever you command.”

Henry knew he should not keep her at court beside him but he could not resist playing with the idea. He consulted her Spanish advisors, and found them hopelessly divided and squabbling among themselves. The Spanish ambassador, who had worked so hard to deliver the intractable marriage contract, insisted that the princess should go with her new husband and that she should be seen to be a married woman in every way. Her confessor, who alone of all of them seemed to have a tenderness for the little princess, urged that the young couple should be allowed to stay together. Her duenna, the formidable and difficult Doña Elvira, preferred not to leave London. She had heard that Wales was a hundred miles away, a mountainous and rocky land. If Catalina stayed in Baynard’s Castle and the household was rid of Arthur, then they would make a little Spanish enclave in the heart of the City, and the duenna’s power would be unchallenged, she would rule the princess and the little Spanish court.

The queen volunteered her opinion that Catalina would find Ludlow too cold and lonely in mid-December and suggested that perhaps the young couple could stay together in London until spring.

“You just hope to keep Arthur with you, but he has to go,” Henry said brusquely to her. “He has to learn the business of kingship and there is no better way to learn to rule England than to rule the principality.”

“He’s still young, and he is shy with her.”

“He has to learn to be a husband too.”

“They will have to learn to deal together.”

“Better that they learn in private then.”

In the end, it was the king’s mother who gave the decisive advice. “Send her,” she said to her son. “We need a child off her. She won’t make one on her own in London. Send her with Arthur to Ludlow.” She laughed shortly. God knows, they’ll have nothing else to do there.”

“Elizabeth is afraid that she will be sad and lonely,” the king remarked. “And Arthur is afraid that they will not deal well together.”

“Who cares?” his mother asked. “What difference does that make? They are married and they have to live together and make an heir.”

He shot her a swift smile. “She is only just sixteen,” he said, “and the baby of her family, still missing her mother. You don’t make any allowances for her youth, do you?”

“I was married at twelve years old, and gave birth to you in the same year,” she returned. “No one made any allowances for me. And yet I survived.”

“I doubt you were happy.”

“I was not. I doubt that she is. But that, surely, is the last thing that matters?”

Doña Elvira told me that I must refuse to go to Ludlow. Father Geraldini said that it was my duty to go with my husband. Dr. de Puebla said that for certain my mother would want me to live with my husband, to do everything to show that the marriage is complete in word and deed. Arthur, the hopeless beanpole, said nothing, and his father seems to want me to decide; but he is a king and I don’t trust him.

All I really want to do is to go home to Spain. Whether we are in London or whether we live in Ludlow it will be cold, and it will rain all the time—the very air feels wet—I cannot get anything good to eat, and I cannot understand a word anybody says.

I know I am Princess of Wales and I will be Queen of England. That is true, and it will be true. But, this day, I cannot feel very glad about it.

“We are to go to my castle at Ludlow,” Arthur remarked awkwardly to Catalina. They were seated side by side at dinner, the hall below them, the gallery above, and the wide doors crowded with people who had come from the City for the free entertainment of watching the court dine. Most people were observing the Prince of Wales and his young bride.

She bowed her head but did not look at him. “Is it your father’s command?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I shall be happy to go,” she said.

“We will be alone, but for the warden of the castle and his wife,” Arthur went on. He wanted to say that he hoped she would not mind, that he hoped she would not be bored or sad or—worst of all—angry with him.

She looked at him without a smile. “And so?”

“I hope you will be content,” he stumbled.

“Whatever your father wishes,” she said steadily, as if to remind him that they were merely prince and princess and had no rights and no power at all.

He cleared his throat. “I shall come to your room tonight,” he asserted.

She gave him a look from eyes as blue and hard as the sapphires around her neck. “Whatever you wish,” she said in the same neutral tone.

He came when she was in bed, and Doña Elvira admitted him to the room, her face like a stone, disapproval in every gesture. Catalina sat up in bed and watched as his groom of the bedchamber took his gown from his shoulders and went quietly out, closing the door behind him.

“Wine?” Arthur asked. He was afraid his voice quavered slightly.

“No, thank you,” she said.

Awkwardly the young man came to the bed, turned back the sheets, got in beside her. She turned to look at him, and he knew he was blushing beneath her inquiring gaze. He blew out the candle so she could not see his discomfort. A little torchlight from the guard outside flickered through the slats of the shutters, and then was gone as the guard moved on. Arthur felt the bed move as she lay back and pulled her nightdress out of the way. He felt as if he were a thing to her, an object of no importance, something she had to endure in order to be Queen of England.

He threw back the covers and jumped from the bed. “I’m not staying here. I’m going to my room,” he said tersely.

“What?”

“I shan’t stay here. I’m not wanted…”

“Not wanted? I never said you were not—”

“It is obvious. The way you look—”

“It’s pitch black! How d’you know how I look? And anyway, you look as if someone forced you here!”

“I? It isn’t me who sent a message that half the court heard, that I was not to come to your bed.”

He heard her gasp. “I did not say you were not to come. I had to tell them to tell you—” She broke off in embarrassment. “It was my time…you had to know…”

“Your duenna told my steward that I was not to come to your bed. How do you think that made me feel? How d’you think that looked to everyone?”

“How else was I to tell you?” she demanded.

“Tell me yourself!” he raged. “Don’t tell everyone else in the world.”

“How could I? How could I say such a thing? I should be so embarrassed!”

“Instead it is me who is made to look a fool!”

Catalina slipped out of bed and steadied herself, holding the tall carved bedpost. “My lord, I apologize if I have offended you, I don’t know how such things are done here…. In future I will do as you wish….”

He said nothing.

She waited.

“I’m going,” he said and went to hammer on the door for his groom to come to him.

“Don’t!” The cry was forced out of her.

“What?” He turned.

“Everyone will know,” she said desperately. “Know that there is something wrong between us. Everyone will know that you have just come to me. If you leave at once, everyone will think…”

“I won’t stay here!” he shouted.

Her pride rushed up. “You will shame us both!” she cried out. “What do you want people to think? That I disgust you, or that you are impotent?”