Philippa Gregory - The Constant Princess

“Her confessor says that she is with child,” he remarked.

For the first time in days King Henry felt his heart lighten. “Good God, if that were so, it would change everything.”

“Please God it is so. I should be glad of it,” de Puebla agreed. “But I cannot guarantee it. She shows no sign of it.”

“Could be early days,” Henry agreed. “And God knows, and I know, a child in the cradle is not a prince on the throne. It’s a long road to the crown. But it would be a great comfort to me if she was with child—and to the queen,” he added as an afterthought.

“So she must stay here in England until we know for sure,” the ambassador concluded. “And if she is not with child, we shall settle our accounts, you and I, and she shall go home. Her mother asks for her to be sent home at once.”

“We’ll wait and see,” Henry said, conceding nothing. “Her mother will have to wait like the rest of us. And if she is anxious to have her daughter home she had better pay the rest of the dowry.”

“You would not delay the return of the princess to her mother over a matter of money,” the ambassador suggested.

“The sooner everything is settled the better,” the king said smoothly. “If she is with child then she is our daughter and the mother of our heir; nothing would be too good for her. If she is not, then she can go home to her mother as soon as her dowry is paid.”

I know that there is no Mary growing in my womb, there is no Arthur; but I shall say nothing until I know what to do. I dare say nothing until I am sure what I should do. My mother and father will be planning for the good of Spain, King Henry will be planning for the good of England. Alone, I will have to find a way to fulfill my promise. Nobody will help me. Nobody can even know what I am doing. Only Arthur in heaven will understand what I am doing, and I feel far, far away from him. It is so painful, a pain I could not imagine. I have never needed him more than now: now that he is dead, and only he can advise me how to fulfill my promise to him.

Catalina had spent less than a month of seclusion at Croydon Palace when the king’s chamberlain came to tell her that Durham House in the Strand had been prepared for her and she could go there at her convenience.

“Is this where a Princess of Wales would stay?” Catalina demanded urgently of de Puebla, who had been immediately summoned to her privy chamber. “Is Durham House where a princess would be housed? Why am I not to live in Baynard’s Castle again?”

“Durham House is perfectly adequate,” he stammered, taken aback by her fervor. “And your household is not diminished at all. The king has not asked you to dismiss anyone. You are to have an adequate court. And he will pay you an allowance.”

“My jointure as the prince’s widow?”

He avoided her gaze. “An allowance at this stage. He has not been paid your dowry from your parents, remember, so he will not pay your jointure. But he will give you a good sum, one that will allow you to keep your state.”

“I should have my jointure.”

He shook his head. “He will not pay it until he has the full dowry. But it is a good allowance, you will keep a good state.”

He saw that she was immensely relieved. “Princess, there is no question but that the king is respectful of your position,” he said carefully. “You need have no fears of that. Of course, if he could be assured as to your health…”

Again the shuttered look closed down Catalina’s face. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said shortly. “I am well. You can tell him that I am well. Nothing more.”

I am buying time, letting them think that I am with child. It is such agony, knowing that my time of the month has come and gone, that I am ready for Arthur’s seed, but he is cold and gone and he will never come to my bed again, and we will never make his daughter Mary and his son Arthur.

I cannot bear to tell them the truth: I am barren, without a baby to raise for him. And while I say nothing, they have to wait too. They will not send me home to Spain while they hope that I might still be My Lady the Mother of the Prince of Wales. They have to wait.

And while they wait, I can plan what I shall say and what I shall do. I have to be wise as my mother would be and cunning as the fox, my father. I have to be determined like her and secretive like him. I have to think how and when I shall start to tell this lie, Prince Arthur’s great lie. If I can tell it so that it convinces everyone, if I can place myself so that I fulfill my destiny, then Arthur, beloved Arthur, can do as he wished. He can rule England through me, I can marry his brother and become queen. Arthur can live through the child I conceive with his brother. We can make the England we swore that we would make, despite misfortune, despite his brother’s folly, despite my own despair.

I shall not give myself to heartbreak, I shall give myself to England. I shall keep my promise. I shall be constant to my husband and to my destiny. And I shall plan and plot and consider how I shall conquer this misfortune and be what I was born to be. How I shall be the pretender who becomes the queen.

London,

June 1502

THE LITTLE COURT MOVED TO DURHAM HOUSE in late June and the remainder of Catalina’s court straggled in from Ludlow Castle, speaking of a town in silence and a castle in mourning. Catalina did not seem particularly pleased at the change of scene, though Durham House was a pretty palace with lovely gardens running down to the river, with its own stairs and a pier for boats. The ambassador came to visit her and found her in the gallery at the front of the house, which overlooked the front courtyard below and Ivy Lane beyond.

She let him stand before her.

“Her Grace, the queen your mother, is sending an emissary to escort you home as soon as your widow’s jointure is paid. Since you have not told us that you are with child she is preparing for your journey.”

De Puebla saw her press her lips together as if to curb a hasty reply. “How much does the king have to pay me, as his son’s widow?”

“He has to pay you a third of the revenues of Wales, Cornwall and Chester,” he said. “And your parents are now asking, in addition, that King Henry return all of your dowry.”

Catalina looked aghast. “He never will,” she said flatly. “No emissary will be able to convince him. King Henry will never pay such sums to me. He didn’t even pay my allowance when his son was alive. Why should he repay the dowry and pay a jointure when he has nothing to gain from it?”

The ambassador shrugged his shoulders. “It is in the contract.”

“So too was my allowance, and you failed to make him pay that,” she said sharply.

“You should have handed over your plate as soon as you arrived.”

“And eat off what?” she blazed out.

Insolently, he stood before her. He knew, as she did not yet understand, that she had no power. Every day that she failed to announce that she was with child her importance diminished. He was certain that she was barren. He thought her a fool now: she had bought herself a little time by her discretion—but for what? Her disapproval of him mattered very little; she would soon be gone. She might rage but nothing would change.

“Why did you ever agree to such a contract? You must have known he would not honor it.”

He shrugged. The conversation was meaningless. “How should we think there would ever be such a tragic occurrence? Who could have imagined that the prince would die, just as he entered into adult life? It is so very sad.”

“Yes, yes,” said Catalina. She had promised herself she would never cry for Arthur in front of anyone. The tears must stay back. “But now, thanks to this contract, the king is deep in debt to me. He has to return the dowry that he has been paid, he cannot have my plate, and he owes me this jointure. Ambassador, you must know that he will never pay this much. And clearly he will never give me the rents of—where?—Wales and, and Cornwall?—forever.”