Greenwich, October 1517
Catalina sat on her husband’s bed, fiddling with the embroidered edge of her chemise sleeve. On the other side of the room, Henry was tugging at his doublet and breeches, clearly agitated. Normally he would have a groom to help him with such things, but he had shooed everyone else out of the room in a huff as soon as Catalina had arrived at his chambers. She wasn’t sure what had happened to disrupte her husband so, and she was nervous of finding out.
Finally Henry collapsed on the bed, his breeches off but the lacing on his doublet only half undone.
“Mary has a son,” he said simply, “He was born a week ago. She named him Henri, after me.”
Catalina closed her eyes, wanting to savor her husband confiding in her for once, “That is wonderful news. Are you happy for her?”
Henry stood up abruptly, “Of course. I love Mary, why should I not be happy for her? She and Antoine deserve a son and heir.”
“I know,” Catalina nodded, “It’s just-”
“We don’t have one yet? I assure you, I am aware of our lack of a son.”
Catalina gulped, but didn’t say anything. Henry resumed tugging at the laces of his doublet, eventually loosening them and slipping it off over his head. Catalina couldn’t help but watch as he did so, noticing the way that the muscles on his back moved under his thin linen undershirt and flushing at the unexpected desire that it stirred in her. The feeling was tinged with sadness, though, as she knew that his desire for her had been gone for some time. Catalina knew that she had grown plump and her face was creased with worry. She knew that he was frustrated with her inability to bear a son.
“Mary has invited me to come to Nancy,” Henry said after a moment, “She wants me to be a sponsor to little Henri and asks that I be present for the christening. King François has already given his consent to my travel through his domains.”
Another minute of silence followed before Catalina responded, “And you are going?”
“Yes,” Henry turned around, looking at Catalina for the first time, “Wolsey is to have the powers of the regency.”
Catalina felt as though all the breath had been knocked out of her. Wolsey was to be regent. Not her. How different things were from four years ago! Henry had loved and trusted her then, even if their relationship had its struggles. Now she was just the woman who had failed five times now to give him the son he desired, giving him only daughters instead. Daughters he seemed increasingly disinterested in, save for Elizabeth and perhaps Mary too on occasion.
“And what of me?” Catalina said, “Did you not consider me in planning this? Why call me at this late hour only to tell me that I have been cast aside?”
Henry’s gaze fell intensely on her, “Are you truly that naïve? I called you here, Katherine, because I plan on you being pregnant with our Duke of Cornwall by the time we leave.”
With that, Henry leaned over and kissed Catalina more deeply and fiercely than he had in years, stifling her gasp of surprise at both her husband’s intentions for their evening and the trip to the Continent. As Henry lifted up her chemise, she sent up a prayer that the first part of his declaration would ring true and she would soon be with child again - and this time, finally, with a son.
Extremadura, October 1517
Tears pricked at the corner of Fernando de Austria’s eyes. He reached up and swiped at them angrily. How dare this happen. He was a king now, since the death of King Fernando II two days earlier, and kings did not cry. Had his
abuelo ever cried? Fernando thought maybe, when his
abuela Isabel la Católica had died or when Prince Juan, his baby uncle, had died. And surely as a young boy in Aragón, he had cried. Fernando though could not recall ever actually seeing his
abuelo with tears in his eyes.
The door to the chambers that Fernando currently occupied opened, and he turned around from looking out the window over the hills of Extremadura to see Queen Germana, his
abuelo’s second wife, enter. She was clothed in yellow, the traditional color of mourning in Spain, and dressed simply, with no jewels or ermine.
“Oh,
querido, are you alright?” Germana, a friendly and affectionate woman, said, coming over to Fernando and wrapping him in a hug, clearly sensing his distress, “I know you must miss the King already.”
Fernando nodded glumly. He did miss his
abuelo, but it was more than that. He wasn’t ready to rule yet, even though his
abuelo’s will had declared him to be of age at 13 so that there would not have to be a regency. He didn’t feel ready either to marry Infanta Isabel of Portugal, his cousin and, as of a few months ago, his betrothed. She would turn 14 soon…
Germana reached down and gave his hand a squeeze, drawing him back to the physical world, “You should tell me, Fernando, if you are worried. Remember though, your
abuelo taught you well. I have no doubt that you will be ready for this.”
“What if I’m not?” Fernando said softly, “What if I end up like Don Pedro
el Cruel? Or my
abuela’s brother,
el Impotente?”
“You won’t,” Germana’s voice was gentle but firm, “I know you won’t. You are a smart boy, a clever boy. You do well at your lessons and I’ve seen how much you learned from the old King. I am sure that you will be a good king.”
Fernando looked at his step-grandmother with skepticism, “Is that all it takes to be a ruler? To do well at your lessons and learn from the old King?”
“Of course not. It takes many things. Why don’t we go pray your
abuelo in the chapel and then we’ll discuss,
comprendido?”
Fernando nodded, “
Si, that sounds good.”
I’ll make you proud, abuelo, you and abuela, you’ll see. Your kingdoms will prosper because of me, Fernando thought later as he knelt next to Germana in the chapel, clutching a pater noster. He would rule wisely and justly, and be a good husband to Infanta Isabel. Of those two things he was determined.
