Katharine of Aragon (115 page)

The gatekeeper told her that none could be admitted to the Castle unless carrying a written permission from the King to do so; but the woman wept and begged him not to leave her without shelter in this bitter January night.

The gatekeeper was touched by the piteous spectacle the travellers presented, and consented to allow their leader to see Sir Edmund Bedingfeld whom the King had appointed steward to Katharine, but who was in fact her jailor.

When the woman was in his presence, her hooded cloak wrapped tightly about her shivering body, she entreated him to allow her to warm herself at a fire, and she was taken into the hall of the Castle.

“Tell me,” she said as she stretched her white hands to the blaze, “is the Princess Dowager still alive?”

“She is,” was the answer.

“I had heard that she was dead,” said the woman sombrely. “I fear she soon may be.”

“I pray you let me see her.”

“Who are you?”

“I have letters to prove my identity.”

“Then show them to me.”

“This I will do in the morning. They are now in the possession of my women.”

“I should need to see them,” said Bedingfeld, “before I could allow you to visit the Princess Dowager.”

The woman went to her two servants who were standing some distance away, but instead of speaking to them she suddenly ran to the staircase and began to mount it.

Bedingfeld was so astonished that he could only stare after her, and in those few seconds she took the opportunity to get well ahead.

“Who is your mistress?” he demanded of the women; but they shook their heads and would not answer; and by that time the woman was at the top of the first flight of stairs and had come upon one of the Queen's maids.

“Take me to the Queen. I am a friend whom she will wish to see.”

Bedingfeld cried: “Halt, I say.”

The maid did not listen to him and turning began to run, while the visitor followed her.

The door of Katharine's bedchamber was thrown open and the maid cried: “Your Majesty, Lady Willoughby has come to see you.”

Then the Queen tried to raise herself, and Maria de Salinas ran to the bedside, threw herself on her knees and embraced her.

When Bedingfeld entered the room he saw the two women in each other's arms. He saw the tears on the Queen's wasted cheeks; he heard her say: “So Maria, you came to me; so I am not to die alone. I am not abandoned like some forgotten beast.”

The Queen's eyes met his over the head of her faithful Maria, and she said: “Leave us. My dear friend has braved much to come to me. I command you to leave us together.”

And Bedingfeld turned quietly and shut the door.

THERE WERE NOT MANY
days left; and Maria de Salinas did not leave the Queen's bedside. She told Katharine of how she had made the perilous journey unknown to anyone, because she had determined to be with her mistress.

“Oh Maria, how happy you have made me,” sighed the Queen. “The pity of it, there is little time left for us to be together.”

“Nay,” cried Maria, “you will get well now that I am here to nurse you.”

“I am beyond nursing,” replied the Queen; “yet not so far gone that I cannot rejoice in your dear presence.”

Maria refused to leave the Queen's bedchamber, and during the days that followed she it was who nursed her and sat by her bed talking to her.

There were times when Katharine forgot that she was in her bed in dreary Kimbolton, and believed that she was in the Alhambra at Granada, that she wandered through the Court of Myrtles, that she looked down from her window on to the Courtyard of Lions; and that beside her there was one, benign and loving, her mother Isabella. Maria sitting at her bedside could speak of those days and, with Maria's hand in hers, they spoke the language of their native Castile; and it seemed to Katharine that the pains of her body and the sorrows of her life in England slipped away from her. Here was sunshine and pleasure amid the rosy towers, she saw the sign of the pomegranate engraved on the walls—the symbol of fertility which she had taken as her own, she forgot with what irony, because the years had slipped away and she was young again.

Maria watched her with startled eyes, for she knew that Katharine's life was ebbing away.

She sent for the priests and Extreme Unction was given. And at two o'clock in the afternoon of the 7th of January 1536 Katharine died.

WHEN THE NEWS
was brought to Henry he was jubilant.

“Praise be to God,” he cried. “We are delivered from the fear of war. Now I shall be able to treat with the French; for they will be fearful that I shall make an alliance with the Emperor.”

There was another reason for his pleasure. She had been a perpetual embarrassment to him while there were men to believe she was still his wife.

He dressed himself in yellow from head to foot and wore a waving white plume in his cap, declaring that the revelries were to continue because there should be no period of mourning for a woman who had never been his wife.

Queen Anne followed his example and dressed in yellow. Like the King she was relieved by the death of Katharine; but there was a shadow across her relief. She was aware—as were many at Court—how the King's eyes would light with speculation as they rested on a certain prim but sly maid of honor whose name was Jane Seymour.

Now there was a feverish gaiety about the King and his Queen. Death was waiting round the corner for so many. But through the Court strode the King, the little Elizabeth in his arms, demanding admiration for his daughter. Some wondered what the fate of that other daughter would be, remembering a time when he had walked among them with Mary in his arms.

“On with the dance!” cried the King; and the musicians played while the company danced with abandon.

Queen Katharine was dead; More was dead; Fisher was dead. They formed part of the procession of martyrs.

Dance today! was the order of the Court, for who could know what tomorrow would hold? Whose turn would come next?

Mattingly Garrett
Catherine of Aragon

Anthony Froude James
The Divorce of Catherine of Aragon

Anthony Froude James
History of England

Strickland Agnes
The Lives of the Queens of England

Fisher H. A. L.
The Political History of England (1485–1587)

Hickman Smith Aubrey William
The National and Domestic History of England

Pollard A. E.
Henry VIII

Chamberlin Frederick
The Private Character of Henry VIII

Hume Martin
The Wives of Henry VIII

S. MacNalty Sir Arthur
Henry VIII: A Difficult Patient

Hackett Francis
Henry the Eighth

Lord Herbert Edward
History of England under Henry VIII

Wade John
British History

Salzman L. F.
England in Tudor Times

Stephen Sir LeslieSir Sidney Lee
The Dictionary of National Biography

Timbs JohnGunn Alexander
Abbeys, Castles and Ancient Halls of England and Wales

Cavendish
Life of Wolsey

Sampson Ashley
Wolsey
(Great Lives)

JEAN PLAIDY
is the pen name of the late English author Eleanor Hibbert, who also wrote under the names Philippa Carr and Victoria Holt.

Born in London in 1906, Hibbert began writing in 1947 and eventually published more than two hundred novels under her three pseudonyms. The Jean Plaidy books—ninety in all—are works of historical fiction about the famous and infamous women of English and European history, from medieval times to the Victorian era. Hibbert died in 1993.

When Catalina, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, sets sail to England, she leaves her beloved homeland forever to become Katharine, wife of Prince Arthur and future Queen of England. But when her sickly husband dies before the marriage has been consummated or the full dowry paid, Katharine finds herself stranded in England, a hostage to negotiations between her parents and King Henry VII. After years in England, her household is impoverished and their future uncertain as they hope for the one event that will restore Katharine's honor and position: marriage to Henry, Arthur's younger brother and heir to the throne of England. Finally, the willful Henry chooses Katharine as his bride, saving her from poverty and despair—as he will remind her throughout their marriage.

The marriage and reign of Katharine and Henry starts full of hope and pageantry, as Henry indulges his love of sport and masques and affectionately dedicates all to his bride. Katharine shows herself to be a wise and capable Queen, responding expertly to Henry's moods and leading his armies as regent during his absence. But as Katharine's numerous pregnancies yield only a single surviving daughter, Henry sees her failing at her most important task: to produce healthy male heirs. Meanwhile Henry, who prides himself on his virtuous life, begins to make excuses for extramarital dalliances, and the aging Katharine must compete with younger and gayer ladies of court.