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 judgment, 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 armor, 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 armor, 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.

The Privy Councilors learn to come to me to ascertain what the king would think. It is easier for them to present a letter or a suggestion, if he has been prepared by me. The courtiers soon know that anything that encourages him to go away from me, anything that takes the country away from the alliance with Spain will displease me, and Harry does not like it when I frown. Men seeking advantage, advocates seeking help, petitioners seeking justice—all learn that the quickest way to a fair, prompt decision is to call first at the queen’s rooms and then wait for my introduction.

I never have to ask anyone to handle him with tact. Everyone knows that a request should come to him as it were fresh, for the first time. Everyone knows that the self-love of a young man is very new and very bright and should not be tarnished. Everyone takes a warning from the case of his grandmother who is finding herself put gently and implacably to one side, because she openly advises him, because she takes decisions without him, because once—foolishly—she scolded him. Harry is a king so careless that he will hand over the keys of his kingdom to anyone he trusts. The trick for me is to make sure that he trusts only me.

I make sure that I never blame him for not being Arthur. I taught myself—in the seven years of widowhood—that God’s will was done when He took Arthur from me, and there is no point in blaming those who survive when the best prince is dead. Arthur died with my promise in his ears and I think myself very lucky indeed that marriage to his brother is not a vow that I have to endure but one I can enjoy.

I like being queen. I like having pretty things and rich jewels and a lapdog, and assembling ladies-in-waiting whose company is a pleasure. I like paying María de Salinas the long debt of her wages and watching her order a dozen gowns and fall in love. I like writing to Lady Margaret Pole and summoning her to my court, falling into her arms and crying for joy to see her again, and having her promise that she will be with me. I like knowing that her discretion is absolute; she never says one word about Arthur. But I like it that she knows what this marriage has cost me and why I have done it. I like her watching me make Arthur’s England even though it is Harry on the throne.

The first month of marriage is nothing for Harry but a round of parties, feasts, hunts, outings, pleasure trips, boating trips, plays, and tournaments. Harry is like a boy who has been locked up in a schoolroom for too long and is suddenly given a summer holiday. The world is so filled with amusement for him that the least experience gives him great pleasure. He loves to hunt—and he had never been allowed fast horses before. He loves to joust and his father and grandmother had never even allowed him in the lists. He loves the company of men of the world who carefully adapt their conversation and their amusements to divert him. He loves the company of women but—thank God—his childlike devotion to me holds him firm. He likes to talk to pretty women, play cards with them, watch them dance and reward them with great prizes for petty feats—but always he glances towards me to see that I approve. Always he stays at my side, looking down at me from his greater height with a gaze of such devotion that I can’t help but be loving towards him for what he brings me and in a very little while, I can’t help but love him for himself.

He has surrounded himself with a court of young men and women who are such a contrast to his father’s court that they demonstrate by their very being that everything has changed. His father’s court was filled with old men, men who had been through hard times together, some of them battle-hardened; all of them had lost and regained their lands at least once. Harry’s court is filled with men who have never known hardship, never been tested.