He bowed and gave her the letter he was carrying in the hidden pocket in his sleeve. She did not snatch it from him like a child and open it, then and there. She nodded her head in thanks and held it.

“Do you not want to open it now? Do you not want to reply?”

“When I have written my reply, I will send for you,” she said simply, asserting her power over him. “I shall send for you when I want you.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.” He smoothed the velvet nap of his black breeches to hide his irritation but inwardly he thought it an impertinence that the Infanta, now a widow, should command where before the Princess of Wales had politely requested. He thought he perhaps did not like this new, finer Catalina, after all.

“And have you heard from Their Majesties in Spain?” she asked. “Have they advised you as to their wishes?”

“Yes,” he said, wondering how much he should tell her. “Of course, Queen Isabella is anxious that you are not unwell. She asked me to inquire after your health and to report to her.”

A secretive shadow crossed Catalina’s face. “I shall write to the queen my mother and tell her my news,” she said.

“She was anxious to know…” he began, probing for the answer to the greatest question: Was there an heir? Was the princess with child?

“I shall confide in no one but my mother.”

“We cannot proceed to the settlement of your jointure and your arrangements until we know,” he said bluntly. “It makes a difference to everything.”

She did not flare up as he had thought she would do. She inclined her head, she had herself under tight control. “I shall write to my mother,” she repeated, as if his advice did not much matter.

He saw he would get nothing more from her. But at least the chaplain had told him she could be with child, and he should know. The king would be glad to know that there was at least a possibility of an heir. At any rate she had not denied it. There might be capital to make from her silence. “Then I will leave you to read your letter.” He bowed.

She made a casual gesture of dismissal and turned to look at the flames of the little summertime fire. He bowed again and, since she was not looking at him, scrutinized her figure. She had no bloom of early pregnancy, but some women took it badly in the first months. Her pallor could be caused by morning sickness. It was impossible for a man to tell. He would have to rely on the confessor’s opinion and pass it on with a caution.


I open my mother’s letter with hands that are trembling so much that I can hardly break the seals. The first thing I see is the shortness of the letter, only one page.

“Oh, Madre,” I breathe. “No more?”

Perhaps she was in haste, but I am bitterly hurt to see that she has written so briefly! If she knew how much I want to hear her voice she would have written at twice the length. As God is my witness, I don’t think I can do this without her; I am only sixteen and a half, I need my mother.

I read the short letter through once, and then, almost incredulously, I read it through again.

It is not a letter from a loving mother to her daughter. It is not a letter from a woman to her favorite child, and that child on the very edge of despair. Coldly, powerfully, she has written a letter from a queen to a princess. She writes of nothing but business. We could be a pair of merchants concluding a sale.

She says that I am to stay in whatever house is provided for me until I have had my next course and I know that I am not with child. If that is the case I am to command Dr. de Puebla to demand my jointure as Dowager Princess of Wales and as soon as I have the full money and not before (underlined so there can be no mistake), I am to take ship for Spain.

If, on the other hand, God is gracious, and I am with child, then I am to assure Dr. de Puebla that the money for my dowry will be paid in cash and at once, he is to secure me my allowance as Dowager Princess of Wales, and I am to rest and hope for a boy.

I am to write to her at once and tell her if I think I am with child. I am to write to her as soon as I am certain, one way or the other, and I am to confide also in Dr. de Puebla and to maintain myself under the chaperonage of Doña Elvira.

I fold the letter carefully, matching the edges one to another as if tidiness matters very much. I think that if she knew of the despair that laps at the edges of my mind like a river of darkness, she would have written to me more kindly. If she knew how very alone I am, how grieved I am, how much I miss him, she would not write to me of settlements and jointures and titles. If she knew how much I loved him and how I cannot bear to live without him, she would write and tell me that she loves me, that I am to go home to her at once, without delay.

I tuck the letter into the pocket at my waist, and I stand up, as if reporting for duty. I am not a child anymore. I will not cry for my mother. I see that I am not in the especial care of God since he could let Arthur die. I see that I am not in the especial love of my mother, since she can leave me alone, in a strange land.

She is not only a mother, she is Queen of Spain, and she has to ensure that she has a grandson or, failing a grandson, a watertight treaty. I am not just a young woman who has lost the man she loves. I am a Princess of Spain and I have to produce a grandson or, failing that, a watertight treaty. And, in addition, I am now bound by a promise. I have promised that I will be Princess of Wales again, and Queen of England. I have promised this to the young man to whom I promised everything. I will perform it for him, whatever anyone else wants.


The Spanish ambassador did not report at once to Their Majesties of Spain. Instead, playing his usual double game, he took the chaplain’s opinion first to the King of England.

“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.