Philippa Gregory - The Constant Princess

“Does the Spanish ambassador not advise you?”

Catalina made a little face. “He is the king’s own man,” she said. “No help to me. I don’t like him. He is a Jew, but converted. An adaptable man. A Spaniard, but he has lived here for years. He is become a man for the Tudors, not for Aragon. I shall tell my father that he is poorly served by Dr. de Puebla, but in the meantime, I have no good advice, and in my household Doña Elvira and my treasurer never stop quarreling. She says that my goods and my treasure must be loaned to the goldsmiths to raise money; he says he will not let them out of his sight until they are paid to the king.”

“And have you not asked the prince what you should do?”

Catalina hesitated. “It is a matter between his father and my father,” she said cautiously. “I didn’t want to let it disturb us. He has paid for all my traveling expenses here. He is going to have to pay for my ladies’ wages at midsummer, and soon I will need new gowns. I don’t want to ask him for money. I don’t want him to think me greedy.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Margaret asked, smiling, and watched the younger woman’s face light up.

“Oh yes,” the girl breathed. “I do love him so.”

The older woman smiled. “You are blessed,” she said gently. “To be a princess and to find love with the husband you are ordered to marry. You are blessed, Catalina.”

“I know. I do think it is a sign of God’s especial favor to me.”

The older woman paused at the grandness of the claim, but did not correct her. The confidence of youth would wear away soon enough without any need for warnings. “And do you have any signs?”

Catalina looked puzzled.

“Of a child coming? You do know what to look for?”

The young woman blushed. “I do know. My mother told me. There are no signs yet.”

“It’s early days,” Lady Margaret said comfortingly. “But if you had a child on the way I think there would be no difficulty with a dowry. I think nothing would be too good for you if you were carrying the next Tudor prince.”

“I ought to be paid my allowance whether I have a child or not,” Catalina observed. “I am Princess of Wales, I should have an allowance to keep my state.”

“Yes,” said Margaret drily. “But who is going to tell the king that?”

“Tell me a story.”

They were bathed in the dappled gold of candlelight and firelight. It was midnight and the castle was silent but for their low voices, all the lights were out but for the blaze of Catalina’s chambers where the two young lovers were resisting sleep.

“What shall I tell you about?”

“Tell me a story about the Moors.”

She thought for a moment, throwing a shawl around her bare shoulders against the cold. Arthur was sprawled across the bed but when she moved he gathered her to him so her head rested on his naked chest. He ran his hand through her rich red hair and gathered it into his fist.

“I will tell you a story about one of the sultanas,” she said. “It is not a story. It is true. She was in the harem—you know that the women live apart from the men in their own rooms?”

He nodded, watching the candlelight flicker on her neck, on the hollow at her collarbone.

“She looked out of the window and the tidal river beneath her window was at low ebb. The poor children of the town were playing in the water. They were on the slipway for the boats and they had spread mud all around and they were slipping and sliding, skating in the mud. She laughed while she watched them and she said to her ladies how she wished that she could play like that.”

“But she couldn’t go out?”

“No, she could never go out. Her ladies told the eunuchs who guarded the harem and they told the grand vizier and he told the sultan, and when she left the window and went to her presence chamber, guess what?”

He shook his head, smiling. “What?”

“Her presence chamber was a great marble hall. The floor was made of rose-veined marble. The sultan had ordered them to bring great flasks of perfumed oils and pour them on the floor. All the perfumiers in the town had been ordered to bring oil of roses to the palace. They had brought rose petals and sweet-smelling herbs and they had made a thick paste of oil of roses and rose petals and herbs and spread it, one foot thick, all across the floor of her presence chamber. The sultana and her ladies stripped to their chemises and slid and played in the mud, threw rose water and petals and all the afternoon played like the mud larks.”

He was entranced. “How glorious.”

She smiled up at him. “Now it is your turn. You tell me a story.”

“I have no stories like that. It is all fighting and winning.”

“Those are the stories you like best when I tell them,” she pointed out.

“I do. And now your father is going to war again.”

“He is?”

“Did you not know?”

Catalina shook her head. “The Spanish ambassador sometimes sends me a note with the news, but he has told me nothing. Is it a crusade?”

“You are a bloodthirsty soldier of Christ. I should think the infidels shake in their sandals. No, it is not a crusade. It is a far less heroic cause. Your father, rather surprisingly to us, has made an alliance with King Louis of France. Apparently they plan to invade Italy together and share the spoils.”

“King Louis?” she asked in surprise. “Never! I had thought they would be enemies until death.”

“Well, it seems that the French king does not care who he allies with. First the Turks and now your father.”

“Well, better that King Louis makes alliance with my father than with the Turks,” she said stoutly. “Anything is better than they are invited in.”

“But why would your father join with our enemy?”

“He has always wanted Naples,” she confided to him. “Naples and Navarre. One way or another he will have them. King Louis may think he has an ally but there will be a high price to pay. I know him. He plays a long game but he usually gets his own way. Who sent you the news?”

“My father. I think he is vexed not to be in their counsel. He fears the French worse only than the Scots. It is a disappointment for us that your father would ally with them on anything.”

“On the contrary, your father should be pleased that my father is keeping the French busy in the south. My father is doing him a service.”

He laughed at her. “You are a great help.”

“Will your father not join with them?”

Arthur shook his head. “Perhaps, but his one great desire is to keep England at peace. War is a terrible thing for a country. You are a soldier’s daughter and you should know. My father says it is a terrible thing to see a country at war.”

“Your father only fought one big battle,” she said. “Sometimes you have to fight. Sometimes you have to beat your enemy.”

“I wouldn’t fight to gain land,” he said. “But I would fight to defend our borders. And I think we will have to fight against the Scots unless my sister can change their very nature.”

“And is your father prepared for war?”

“He has the Howard family to keep the north for him,” he said. “And he has the trust of every northern landlord. He has reinforced the castles and he keeps the Great North Road open so that he can get his soldiers up there if needs be.”

Catalina looked thoughtful. “If he has to fight he would do better to invade them,” she said. “Then he can choose the time and the place to fight and not be forced into defense.”

“Is that the better way?”

She nodded. “My father would say so. It is everything to have your army moving forwards and confident. You have the wealth of the country ahead of you, for your supplies; you have the movement forwards: soldiers like to feel that they are making progress. There is nothing worse than being forced to turn and fight.”