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April 2, In the Year of our Lord 1502

Nightfall had come. A cold, blustery wind swept around Ludlow Castle. Candles and lamps and fireplaces had been lit, and yet the whole place seem shrouded in gloom.

The castle's small chapel was dimly lit by flickering candles. Katherine had been on her knees for an hour, praying to Mary and all the Saints to save her beloved husband Arthur. For while it was true that her marriage was arranged for political reasons, she did indeed love her gentle and bookish husband and the thought of losing him to the sweating sickness was almost more than she could bear. She begged the blessed Virgin to intercede with Christ to save her husband. She would devote herself to God's service as much as a woman could who had not entered the convent if Arthur would live.

But it was looking hopeless. The doctors had done all they could do in these two weeks as Arthur, Prince of Wales, grew sicker and weaker. The bleedings had not let out the ill humours plaguing his body. He lay nearly silently in his bed now, his face as white as that of a statue saint. The life ebbed slowly out of him. It would appear that when his father the King went to his own heavenly reward (and may God preserve the King!), then his younger, very different brother would assume the throne.

Jesus Christ on his cross seemed to gaze personally at Katherine. At least, that is what she felt. She knew she would feel God's comfort in her hour of trial. But was it the comfort of pain and sorrow that her Lord would share with her ... for surely to walk in the steps of pain was to walk in the very steps of Christ himself, and could there be a better consolation in this life? Or, would God grant her the consolation of her husband somehow surviving the sweating sickness?

Suddenly Katherine felt a urge to rise and go to her husband. It was almost a compulsion she could not refuse. Her heart beat more quickly. She was not sure why she was going to the Prince's bedchamber. Was it to see him awake or to slip away into the final sleep? She almost ran down the gloomy corridor leading to his chamber. She entered and crossed over to his bed and knelt beside it. His chamber had several physicians and servants present.

Arthur hardly seemed to breathe at all. His skin was waxen. Katherine dreaded the thought of losing him but also gave thanks to God that she could be present when he drew his last breath.

Arthur's chest rose and then fell ...

And then he opened his eyes.

"Catherine?" he asked.

And Catherine of Aragon, daughter of their most Catholic majesties Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, knew that God had spared Arthur, Prince of Wales, eldest son of Henry VII of the House of Tudor ...
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