"Perhaps, my lord," said Brandon, smiling.
Still angry at his father for not taking him to Dogmersfield, Henry smashed shots wildly in all directions and threw down his racquet in a temper. He hated to lose, even to Brandon, but he was not jealous of Brandon, as he was of Arthur. Brandon did not even have a title, so what was there to envy?
NEARLY A MONTH AFTER I STEPPED ASHORE AT PLYMOUTH, my rain-soaked entourage reached the village of Dogmersfield. For the past several days I had abandoned my mule for the shelter of my litter.
The archbishop of Bath had invited us to lodge at his palace. I was no sooner settled into the royal apartments, my ladies drying out in their chambers, and Doña Elvira quartered within hearing of my every word and movement, than the king's messenger arrived. I broke the royal seal and swiftly read the letter: King Henry was at that very hour on his way to the bishop's palace, accompanied by his privy council and his son, the prince of Wales! I read the message a second time, scarcely believing the words. Surely, I must have time to make myself ready! I passed the letter to Doña Elvira even before she could insist upon it and began to think how I might best prepare for the meeting.
I felt happily excited, but my duenna was aghast. "Absolutely not!" she exclaimed. "Has the king taken leave of his senses? It is the custom of our people that neither the bridegroom nor his father may lay eyes upon the bride until the archbishop pronounces the benediction at the end of the marriage ceremony! I gave my solemn word to your parents that you would be treated with the respect due the daughter of the kings of Spain. King Henry shall not see you, nor shall Prince Arthur."
Before I could reply, Doña Elvira summoned the ambassador. Ayala entered my chambers looking drowsy, as though his sleep had been interrupted. When the duenna thrust the king's letter into his hands, Ayala merely yawned, shrugged, and returned the letter to me with a lazy smile.
"Doña Elvira, what seems to you an outrage is, to our friend the king of England, an entirely justifiable request. The English set great store by the beauty of women, and King Henry no doubt wishes to assure himself that the mother of future kings of the realm is not only strong and healthy but comely as well."
"That is an outrage!" Furiously, Doña Elvira stamped her foot. "An insult to our lady princess!" Once Doña Elvira began her tirade, complaining in her strident voice about the abominable manners of the barbarous English, there was no stopping her. I paced distractedly, not knowing what to do. The two were still arguing when a page announced that King Henry and his retinue were entering the gates of Dogmersfield.
The duenna's usually pale face flushed bright red and then turned deathly white, as though she might faint. Thinking of my mother and her unwavering calm in difficult situations, I summoned my courage and instructed Ayala to delay the king as long as possible.
"Tell the king that the princess is resting and can see no one. From what you say, he will no doubt insist. You must protest, the king will press harder, and by then I shall be ready." Doña Elvira, who had collapsed onto a bench, seemed unable to object.
Quickly I called for my maidservants to dress me. From the courtyard came the clatter of horses' hoofs and the blare of trumpets announcing the king's arrival. Doña Elvira recovered herself and watched, shocked into silence but glowering her disapproval, as my women hastily laced up my red satin gown overlaid with black lace. Inez brushed my hair until it gleamed, and Maria de Salinas clasped a necklace of rubies and diamonds about my neck.
I stole quietly to the oaken doors leading into the Great Hall of the palace and listened through the crack as the ambassador delivered the message to the king. The king replied in words I could not understand, though his commanding tone was clear enough. Ayala repeated loudly in our language, "Tell the lady's governess that the king of England will see the princess, even if she is in her bed."
He is a bully, I thought, and my courage nearly failed me. I heard Doña Elvira suck in her breath. My ladies, eyes round with excitement, draped a veil of finest gossamer silk over my head and face. My legs trembling, and showing more confidence than I felt, I signaled for the doors to be opened. As the guards swung them back, I paused to give the king an opportunity to look at me before I slowly lifted the veil to reveal my face. I was at once engaged by King Henry's intense blue-gray eyes, eyes that showed intelligence, shrewdness, and perhaps a streak of cruelty. For a moment I stared into those arresting eyes. Then, I threw back my veil entirely and smiled.
The king, regal even in robes that were caked with mud, returned my smile. I curtsied deeply. The king bowed low and kissed my hand. We greeted one another, I in Spanish and the king in English, and though neither of us understood the words of the other, we understood the meaning: He found me pleasing, and I found him pleased.
But where was the prince? It was Arthur I most wished to see! My eyes searched the crowded hall for some sign. Then, even as I wished it, trumpets proclaimed the arrival of the prince of Wales. My heart began to pound as the doors opened and into the Great Hall walked a pretty blond boy, a slender youth with delicate features.
I hesitated. Who—?
The boy smiled and stepped forward. Arthur!
He is little more than a child, I thought, struggling to conceal my surprise; a beautiful boy. Nearer he came, his face alight with pleasure. The vast hall had fallen silent, as though every breath were drawn and held. The prince knelt before me on one knee. I bent my trembling knees in a curtsy. The boy reached for my hand and raised it to his lips. Our eyes met. I returned his smile. The assembled company, English and Spanish, broke into cheers.
Both the prince and his father made formal speeches in English, which were repeated in Latin by one of the English bishops. I could have easily replied in Latin, but it would have been unseemly for me to show myself more eloquent than the king. And so I delivered my responses in Spanish and allowed the Spanish bishops to turn them into Latin phrases more pompous and ornate than any I would have thought to utter.
As my future husband and I stood side by side during the speeches of welcome, our hands barely touching, I realized Arthur had to look up at me—I was nearly half a head taller. When it was our turn to speak to one another, Prince Arthur made a little speech, welcoming me as his most beloved wife. I grasped only a little of what he said, for though the Latin words poured easily from his lips, his manner of speech sounded strange to my ears. And his voice! It was the voice of a boy who had not yet become a man. Still, I smiled as though these were the most delightful words that had ever fallen upon my ears. And when I replied, I could read the look of perplexity on his face: My Latin words were as strange to him as his were to me.
The speeches were done at last. I invited the English company to join me and my people at a reception, after they had had a chance to refresh themselves and to change their wet and muddy garments.
As soon as they had gone, I began to give orders for the reception. We would have a supper, I decided, less sumptuous than a banquet, as there was no time to prepare for that. Then I would call upon my minstrels to play, and we would have dancing.
Doña Elvira continued to frown, cluck her tongue, and mutter darkly, "Highly improper! Their majesties, the kings of Spain, would certainly not approve."
But I believed that my mother most certainly would approve— When in doubt, behave like a queen, with authority! she had taught me—and my plans were set in motion.
As the palace bustled with activity, I turned to Maria and Inez and Francesca, who fluttered around me, their excitement barely contained. "Tell me, please," I begged them, "which gown I should wear this evening to show me off to best advantage to the young man I shall soon marry!"
They offered their opinions—each different—but I could see they were more concerned about what they themselves should wear for this first introduction to the young Englishmen.
At last I settled upon a gown of tawny velvet bordered in black and silver, the sleeves lined in pale yellow silk. Doña Elvira insisted that I must again wear a
veil. I protested that English women did not practice this custom, and perhaps I should begin to conform to their foreign ways.
"Absolutely not!" my duenna cried, her voice harsh as a crow's. "You will disgrace yourself and the good name of your most honorable parents!" To mollify her, I chose a mantilla of sheerest black lace. Besides, a mantilla always made a woman more beautiful.
I longed to sit beside the prince, to converse quietly with him without dozens listening, to puzzle out together the meaning of his words, to learn more about this pretty young boy. But that was out of the question. Custom required me to sit with Doña Elvira and my ladies at one end of the hall and the king, the prince, and their gentlemen at the opposite end.
When the remains of the meal had been cleared away, I clapped my hands to summon our minstrels. Playing upon flutes, vihuelas, and other stringed instruments, the musicians began a stately zarabanda. My ladies and I took our places and began the dance, my feet moving deftly through steps I had rehearsed since childhood. I hoped that my skill and grace would make a favorable impression upon Arthur and his father, whose faces remained hidden in shadow.
Then King Henry called upon his musicians. Prince Arthur led out one of the English ladies, a portly woman, heavily powdered and rouged. He danced well, I thought, but I could see that their stately dances varied greatly from ours. One day soon, I promised myself, I would master these English dances, and the language, too. But for the moment I was content.
The evening passed more swiftly than I could have imagined, alternating between Spanish and English music and dance, both growing more and more lively as the hours sped by. Without looking in the direction of Doña Elvira—I knew well what her expression would be—I threw back my veil as we began one of our most energetic dances. When we had finished and returned breathless to our seats, Inez leaned close and whispered, "He cannot help but adore you, my lady princess. You are as flushed and lovely as a summer rose!"
Long after midnight, when the torches were smoking and the candles had burned low on their prickets, we called an end to the entertainments and withdrew to our chambers.
But I was far too excited to sleep. I desired nothing so much as to talk about Arthur, and I refused to give my ladies permission to retire to their beds until they had rendered their opinions: What did they think of the prince? Did they find him handsome? Could they see kindliness in his face?
"His blond curls," Inez said thoughtfully. "I think them his best feature."
"His blue eyes are merry!" offered Maria. "And yes, Catalina, I believe I saw kindliness in them."
"Intelligence and good humor," Francesca added.
"But do you not agree that he appears to be—perhaps of a delicate constitution?" I ventured. "He looks so young, yet I am less than a year older. He reminds me of Prince Juan."
We were all quiet for a moment, remembering my dead brother. Inez had opened her mouth to reply when Doña Elvira swooped down upon us, black eyes glinting fiercely. "Such idle gossip is unworthy of ladies of good breeding," she scolded. "Better that you were at your prayers."
My ladies bowed their heads, but when I glanced toward Francesca, I saw that she had her lips pursed tight, as though she were tasting a lemon fresh from the tree. I was forced to turn away lest I laugh and cause the duenna even greater anger.
After my ladies had retired, I lay in my bed, waiting for sleep and thinking of the events of the day. I remembered my mother's oft repeated story of her first meeting with my father. Disguised as a mule driver, he had ridden from his kingdom in Aragón to marry the princess of Castilla—in defiance of her brother, King Enrique. When Prince Ferdinand arrived at the castle where she awaited him in secret, it was long past midnight. She wore a gown of lavender silk and a ruby necklace and stood bathed in the glow of dozens of candles. As the prince entered her chambers, she exclaimed, "It is he! And all that I could wish!"
When I closed my eyes, Prince Arthur's face appeared, pale and shining, nearly ethereal. It is the face of an angel, I thought, drifting off to sleep. Not a child—an angel I And all that I could wish.
***
The next day our goods were again loaded into carts or heaped on the backs of mules. The pelting rain slackened and stopped at last. A little thin sunshine leaked through the fleecy blanket of clouds as I climbed into my litter for the final stage of my journey toward London.
CHAPTER 4
The Princess Bride
Richmond Palace, November 1501
King Henry returned from Dogmersfield in a state of elation. "I have met the Spanish princess, and I am well satisfied," the king informed his wife and daughters, his mother, and his younger son.
"What does she look like?" Princess Margaret wanted to know, but the king merely frowned at her and turned his attention to the duke.
"York," he said, "I have decided that you shall be the princess's official escort throughout all of the ceremonies. You shall greet her at Kingston-upon-Thames and ride with her into London for the welcoming ceremonies. And you shall be at her side from that time on. You are capable of that, I trust?"
"I am, my lord," Henry replied, delighted to have been given a major role. He enjoyed these elaborate ceremonies, and he loved being the center of attention—not like Arthur, who seemed to shrink from it. Henry would put on his best performance in honor of the Spanish princess.
"Buckingham will accompany you. He will make sure you get things right."
As though I need Buckingham's help, Henry thought, annoyed that his father felt he needed instruction. But the duke merely bowed to his father and said nothing.
MY ENTOURAGE, A BEHEMOTH SWELLING IN SIZE WITH every passing hour, crawled slowly toward Kingston-upon-Thames. The ambassador rode beside me, mounted on a fine gray gelding, keeping me informed of what I should expect.
"King Henry is set to make a splendid show of this," Ayala said, stroking his perfumed beard. "And for a monarch as penurious as he, such extravagance must be painful! This English king does not ever spend a farthing unnecessarily. He is fond of keeping the gold in his own coffers—even fonder than your esteemed father, my lady! But since you are to be the wife of a king and the mother of the future kings of the realm, King Henry has determined that this shall be a sumptuous affair, unequalled in splendor. He is said to be sparing no expense."
Naturally I was curious about plans for the wedding, but when Ayala offered no details beyond "costly," I let my thoughts stray while his sonorous voice glided over me. Occasionally, I caught glimpses of the River Thames, where small boats darted back and forth between north bank and south and larger boats moved with the tide. Flotillas of snowy white swans drifted majestically beneath gray clouds heavy with rain. I missed the sparkling azure of Spanish skies and wondered if there would ever be a time when English skies would be so intensely blue as those in Granada.
Crowds lined the roads, straining for a glimpse of the great procession. Everyone, from humble peasant to most richly accoutered noble, gazed at me with open curiosity. Before I left Spain, my mother had ordered for me a fine wardrobe: elegant gowns made of satins and silks and trimmed with lace and elaborate embroidery; richly furred robes; and costly gems set in ornate necklaces, bracelets, and coronets.
"You must show the people that you are their future queen," my mother had advised me. "I might sleep in a tent and eat humble rations like the soldiers in the field, but I always appear before my people dressed as a queen."
As we neared Kingston-upon-Thames, two young pages—one in black and red livery, one in green and white—approached my litter and announced the arrival of the dukes of Buckingham and York. I looked anxiously to Ayala for an explanation. "Green and white are the Tudor colors. Henry, duke of York, is the prince's younger brother. Edward Stafford, duke of Buckingham, is the highest ranking nobleman of England and the king's chamberlain. I believe they have been instructed to escort you into the city."
I sighed, knowing that the leisurely journey from Plymouth was at an end. Throughout the c
oming weeks, my days would be filled from morning until night with ceremony. I hoped that I would have the strength to endure it.
The procession ground slowly to a standstill, and I climbed down from my litter. I had dressed for this occasion in the pale blue gown and darker blue robe that my duenna had selected. Now she tied a large red hat with lace of gold over my hair, which streamed long and loose down my back. Two black plumes fluttered from the hat. I had observed that none of the English ladies wore hats, and this troubled me. Again I feared that I would appear strange.
My ladies reassured me. "You are every inch a queen," Maria said. "And a beauty," added Francesca, nodding.
Mounting a handsome mule of gleaming black, I rode slowly to the head of my vast procession, which by then numbered several hundred. Approaching from the opposite direction were two richly dressed noblemen, accompanied by their gentlemen-at-arms. Their combined retinues were as large as mine. Ayala, riding by my side, told me what I might expect.
"The king and Prince Arthur are traveling by royal barge from Richmond to Bayard's Castle, where you shall meet the rest of the royal family after the wedding ceremony." The ambassador counted them off on his plump, jeweled fingers: "You have already made the king's acquaintance. His queen, Elizabeth of York, is called Elizabeth the Good by her adoring subjects. The king's mother, Margaret Beaufort, countess of Richmond and Derby, rules the family with an iron fist. I pity the queen, having to put up with such a mother-in-law. I expect you will find a companion, for a short time at least, with Arthur's sister, Margaret, said by all to be her father's favorite. She is just eleven, but he intends to marry her off as soon as possible to James of Scotland. What a lot of barbarians she will find up north! The queen has lost three children in infancy. The youngest surviving is Mary, a child of six."
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