Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 (46 page)

Partly, it is his desire to have me, and he wants me as I was when he first saw me: a virgin in bridal white. Partly it is to disprove everyone who warned him against the trap that I had set for him. But more than anything else: he hated and envied my beloved Arthur and he wants me just because I was Arthur’s bride, and – God forgive him for a spiteful, envious, second son – he wants me to tell him that he can do something that Arthur could not do, that he can have something that Arthur could not have. Even though my beloved husband is cold under the nave of Worcester Cathedral, the child that wears his crown still wants to triumph over him. The greatest lie is not in telling Harry that I am a virgin. The greatest lie is in telling him that he is a better man, more of a man than his brother. And I did that too.

In the dawn, while he is still sleeping, I take my pen-knife and cut the sole of my foot, where he will not notice a scar, and drip blood on the sheet where we had lain, enough to pass muster for an inspection by My Lady the King’s Grandmother, or any other bad-tempered, suspicious enemy who might still seek to discomfort me. There is to be no showing of the sheets for a king and his bride; but I know that everyone will ask, and it is best that my ladies can say that they have all seen the smear of blood, and that I am complaining of the pain.

In the morning, I do everything that a bride should do. I say I am tired, and I rest for the morning. I smile with my eyes looking downwards as if I have discovered some sweet secret. I walk a little stiffly and I refuse to ride out to hunt for a week. I do everything to indicate
that I am a young woman who has lost her virginity. I convince everyone. And besides, no-one wants to believe anything other.

The cut on my foot is sore for a long, long time. It catches me every time I step into my new shoes, the ones with the great diamond buckles. It is like a reminder to me of the lie I promised Arthur that I would tell. Of the great lie that I will live, for the rest of my life. I don’t mind the sharp little nip of pain when I slide my right foot into my shoe. It is nothing to the pain that is hidden deep inside me when I smile at the unworthy boy who is king and call him, in my new admiring voice: ‘husband’.

Harry woke in the night and his quiet stillness woke Catalina.

‘My lord?’ she asked.

‘Go to sleep,’ he said. ‘It’s not yet dawn.’

She slipped from the bed and lit a taper in the red embers of the fire, then lit a candle. She let him see her, nightgown half-open, her smooth flanks only half-hidden by the fall of the gown. ‘Would you like some ale? Or some wine?’

‘A glass of wine,’ he said. ‘You have one too.’

She put the candle in the silver holder and came back to the bed beside him with the wine glasses in her hand. She could not read his face, but suppressed her pang of irritation that, whatever it was, she had to be woken, she had to inquire what was troubling him, she had to demonstrate her concern. With Arthur she had known in a second what he wanted, what he was thinking. But anything could distract Harry, a song, a dream, a note thrown from the crowd. Anything could trouble him. He had been raised to be accustomed to sharing his thoughts, accustomed to guidance. He needed an entourage of friends and admirers, tutors, mentors, parents. He liked constant conversation. Catalina had to be everyone to him.

‘I have been thinking about war,’ he said.

‘Oh.’

‘King Louis thinks he can avoid us, but we will force war on him. They tell me he wants peace, but I will not have it. I am the King of England, the victors of Agincourt. He will find me a force to be reckoned with.’

She nodded. Her father had been clear that Harry should be encouraged in his warlike ambitions against the King of France. He had written to her in the warmest of terms as his dearest daughter, and advised her that any war between England and France should be launched, not on the north coast – where the English usually invaded – but on the borders between France and Spain. He suggested that the English should reconquer the region of Aquitaine which would be glad to be free of France and would rise up to meet its liberators. Spain would be in strong support. It would be an easy and glorious campaign.

‘In the morning I am going to order a new suit of armour,’ Harry said. ‘Not a suit for jousting, I want heavy armour, for the battlefield.’

She was about to say that he could hardly go to war when there was so much to do in the country. The moment that an English army left for France, the Scots, even with an English bride on their throne, were certain to take advantage and invade the north. The whole tax system was riddled with greed and injustice and must be reformed, there were new plans for schools, for a king’s council, for forts and a navy of ships to defend the coast. These were Arthur’s plans for England, they should come before Harry’s desire for a war.

‘I shall make my grandmother regent when I go to war,’ Harry said. ‘She knows what has to be done.’

Catalina hesitated, marshalling her thoughts. ‘Yes indeed,’ she said. ‘But the poor lady is so old now. She has done so much already. Perhaps it might be too much of a burden for her?’

He smiled. ‘Not her! She has always run everything. She keeps the royal accounts, she knows what is to be done. I don’t think
anything would be too much for her as long as it kept us Tudors in power.’

‘Yes,’ Catalina said, gently touching on his resentment. ‘And see how well she ruled you! She never let you out of her sight for a moment. Why, I don’t think she would let you go out even now if she could prevent you. When you were a boy, she never let you joust, she never let you gamble, she never let you have any friends. She dedicated herself to your safety and your wellbeing. She could not have kept you closer if you had been a princess.’ She laughed. ‘I think she thought you were a princess and not a lusty boy. Surely it is time that she had a rest? And you had some freedom?’

His swift, sulky look told her that she would win this.

‘Besides,’ she smiled, ‘if you give her any power in the country she will be certain to tell the council that you will have to come home, that war is too dangerous for you.’

‘She could hardly stop me going to war,’ he bristled. ‘I am the king.’

Catalina raised her eyebrows. ‘Whatever you wish, my love. But I imagine she will stop your funds, if the war starts to go badly. If she and the Privy Council doubt your conduct of the war they need do nothing but sit on their hands and not raise taxes for your army. You could find yourself betrayed at home – betrayed by her love, I mean – while you are attacked abroad. You might find that the old people stop you doing what you want. Like they always try to do.’

He was aghast. ‘She would never work against me.’

‘Never on purpose,’ Catalina agreed with him. ‘She would always think she was serving your interest. It is just that…’

‘What?’

‘She will always think that she knows your business best. To her, you will always be a little boy.’

She saw him flush with annoyance.

‘To her you will always be a second son, the one who came after Arthur. Not the true heir. Not fitted for the throne. Old people cannot change their minds, cannot see that everything is different
now. But really, how can she ever trust your judgement, when she has spent her life ruling you? To her, you will always be the youngest prince, the baby.’

‘I shall not be limited by an old woman,’ he swore.

‘Your time is now,’ Catalina agreed.

‘D’you know what I shall do?’ he demanded. ‘I shall make you regent when I go to war! You shall rule the country for me while I am gone. You shall command our forces at home. I would trust no-one else. We shall rule together. And you will support me as I require. D’you think you could do that?’

She smiled at him. ‘I know I can. I won’t fail,’ she said. ‘I was born to rule England. I shall keep the country safe while you are away.’

‘That’s what I need,’ Harry said. ‘And your mother was a great commander, wasn’t she? She supported her husband. I always heard that he led the troops but she raised the money and raised the army?’

‘Yes,’ she said, a little surprised at his interest. ‘Yes, she was always there. Behind the lines, planning his campaigns, and making sure he had the forces he needed, raising funds and raising troops, and sometimes she was in the very forefront of the battles. She had her own armour, she would ride out with the army.’

‘Tell me about her,’ he said, settling himself down in the pillows. ‘Tell me about Spain. About what it was like when you were a little girl in the palaces of Spain. What was it like? In – what is it called – the Alhambra?’

It was too close to what had been before. It was as if a shadow had stretched over her heart. ‘Oh, I hardly remember it at all,’ she said, smiling at his eager face. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘Go on. Tell me a story about it.’

‘No. I can’t tell you anything. D’you know, I have been an English princess for so long, I could not tell you anything about it at all.’

In the morning Harry was filled with energy, excited at the thought of ordering his suit of armour, wanting a reason to declare war at once. He woke her with kisses and was on her, like an eager boy, while she was waking. She held him close, welcomed his quick, selfish pleasure, and smiled when he was up and out of bed in a moment, hammering at the door and shouting for his guards to take him to his rooms.

‘I want to ride before Mass today,’ he said. ‘It is such a wonderful day. Will you come with me?’

‘I’ll see you at Mass,’ Catalina promised him. ‘And then you can breakfast with me, if you wish.’

‘We’ll take breakfast in the hall,’ he ruled. ‘And then we must go hunting. It is too good weather not to take the dogs out. You will come, won’t you?’

‘I’ll come,’ she promised him, smiling at his exuberance. ‘And shall we have a picnic?’

‘You are the best of wives!’ he exclaimed. ‘A picnic would be wonderful. Will you tell them to get some musicians and we can dance? And bring ladies, bring all your ladies, and we shall all dance.’

She caught him before he went out of the door. ‘Harry, may I send for Lady Margaret Pole? You like her, don’t you? Can I have her as a lady-in-waiting?’

He stepped back into the room, caught her into his arms and kissed her heartily. ‘You shall have whoever you want to serve you. Anyone you want, always. Send for her at once, I know she is the finest of women. And appoint Lady Elizabeth Boleyn too. She is returning to court after her confinement. She has had another girl.’

‘What will she call her?’ Catalina asked, diverted.

‘Mary, I think. Or Anne. I can’t remember. Now, about our dance…’

She beamed at him. ‘I shall get a troupe of musicians and dancers and if I can order soft-voice zephyrs I will do that too.’ She laughed at the happiness in his face. She could hear the tramp of his guard coming to the door. ‘See you at Mass!’

I married him for Arthur, for my mother, for God, for our cause, and for myself. But in a very little while I have come to love him. It is impossible not to love such a sweet-hearted, energetic, good-natured boy as Harry, in these first years of his reign. He has never known anything but admiration and kindness, he expects nothing less. He wakes happy every morning, filled with the confident expectation of a happy day. And, since he is king, and surrounded by courtiers and flatterers, he always has a happy day. When work troubles him or people come to him with disagreeable complaints he looks around for someone to take the bother of it away from him. In the first few weeks it was his grandmother who commanded; slowly, I make sure that it is to me that he hands the burdens of ruling the kingdom.