The Constant Princess. Philippa Gregory

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      She noticed that Arthur was very restrained in his greeting when he met the Scots lords at dinner at the Palace of Westminster.

      ‘The Scots are our most dangerous enemies,’ Edward Stafford, the Duke of Buckingham, told Catalina in whispered Castilian, as they stood at the back of the hall, waiting for the company to take their seats. ‘The king and the prince hope that this marriage will make them our friend forever, will bind the Scots to us. But it is hard for any of us to forget how they have constantly harried us. We have all been brought up to know that we have a most constant and malignant enemy to the north.’

      ‘Surely they are only a poor little kingdom,’ she queried. ‘What harm can they do us?’

      ‘They always ally with France,’ he told her. ‘Every time we have a war with France they make an alliance and pour over our northern borders. And, they may be small and poor but they are the doorway for the terrible danger of France to invade us from the north. I think Your Grace knows from your own childhood that even a small country on your frontier can be a danger.’

      ‘Well, the Moors had only a small country at the end,’ she observed. ‘My father always said that the Moors were like a disease. They might be a small irritation but they were always there.’

      ‘The Scots are our plague,’ he agreed. ‘Once every three years or so, they invade and make a little war, and we lose an acre of land or win it back again. And every summer they harry the border countries and steal what they cannot grow or make themselves. No northern farmer has ever been safe from them. The king is determined to have peace.’

      ‘Will they be kind to the Princess Margaret?’

      ‘In their own rough way.’ He smiled. ‘Not as you have been welcomed, Infanta.’

      Catalina beamed in return. She knew that she was warmly welcomed in England. Londoners had taken the Spanish princess to their hearts, they liked the gaudy glamour of her train, the oddness of her dress, and they liked the way the princess always had a smile for a waiting crowd. Catalina had learned from her mother that the people are a greater power than an army of mercenaries and she never turned her head away from a cheer. She always waved, she always smiled, and if they raised a great bellow of applause she would even bob them a pretty little curtsey.

      She glanced over to where the Princess Margaret, a vain, precocious girl, was smoothing down her dress and pushing back her headdress before going into the hall.

      ‘Soon you will be married and going away, as I have done,’ Catalina remarked pleasantly in French. ‘I do hope it brings you happiness.’

      The younger girl looked at her boldly. ‘Not as you have done, for you have come to the finest kingdom in Europe, whereas I have to go far away into exile,’ she said.

      ‘England may be fine to you; but it is still strange to me,’ Catalina said, trying not to flare up at the rudeness of the girl. ‘And if you had seen my home in Spain you would be surprised at how fine our palace is there.’

      ‘There is nowhere better than England,’ Margaret said with the serene conviction of one of the spoiled Tudor children. ‘But it will be good to be queen. While you are still only a princess, I shall be queen. I shall be the equal of my mother.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Indeed, I shall be the equal of your mother.’

      The colour rushed into Catalina’s face. ‘You would never be the equal of my mother,’ she snapped. ‘You are a fool to even say it.’

      Margaret gasped.

      ‘Now, now, Your Royal Highnesses,’ the duke interrupted quickly. ‘Your father is ready to take his place. Will you please to follow him into the hall?’

      Margaret turned and flounced away from Catalina.

      ‘She is very young,’ the duke said soothingly. ‘And although she would never admit to it, she is afraid to leave her mother and her father and go so far away.’

      ‘She has a lot to learn,’ Catalina said through gritted teeth. ‘She should learn the manners of a queen if she is going to be one.’ She turned to find Arthur at her side, ready to conduct her into the hall behind his parents.

      The royal family took their seats. The king and his two sons sat at the high table under the canopy of state, facing out over the hall, to their right sat the queen and the princesses. My Lady, the King’s Mother, Margaret Beaufort, was seated beside the king, between him and his wife.

      ‘Margaret and Catalina were having cross words as they came in,’ she observed to him with grim satisfaction. ‘I thought that the Infanta would irritate our Princess Margaret. She cannot bear to have too much attention shown to another, and everyone makes such a fuss over Catalina.’

      ‘Margaret will soon be gone,’ Henry said shortly. ‘Then she can have her own court, and her own honeymoon.’

      ‘Catalina has become the very centre of the court,’ his mother complained. ‘The palace is crowded out with people coming to watch her dine. Everyone wants to see her.’

      ‘She’s a novelty only, a seven-day wonder. And anyway, I want people to see her.’

      ‘She has charm of a sort,’ the older woman noted. The groom of the ewer presented a golden bowl filled with scented water and Lady Margaret dipped her fingertips and then wiped them on the napkin.

      ‘I think her very pleasing,’ Henry said as he dried his own hands. ‘She went through the wedding without one wrong step, and the people like her.’

      His mother made a small, dismissive gesture. ‘She is sick with her own vanity, she has not been brought up as I would bring up a child of mine. Her will has not been broken to obedience. She thinks that she is something special.’

      Henry glanced across at the princess. She had bent her head to listen to something being said by the youngest Tudor princess, Princess Mary; and he saw her smile and reply. ‘D’you know? I think she is something special,’ he said.

      The celebrations continued for days and days, and then the court moved on to the new-built, glamorous palace of Richmond, set in a great and beautiful park. To Catalina, in a swirl of strange faces and introductions, it felt as if one wonderful joust and fete merged into another, with herself at the very centre of it all, a queen as celebrated as any sultana with a country devoted to her amusement. But after a week the party was concluded with the king coming to the princess and telling her that it was time for her Spanish companions to go home.

      Catalina had always known that the little court which had accompanied her through storms and near-shipwreck to present her to her new husband would leave her once the wedding was done and the first half of the dowry paid; but it was a gloomy couple of days while they packed their bags and said goodbye to the princess. She would be left with her small domestic household, her ladies, her chamberlain, her treasurer, and her immediate servants, but the rest of her entourage must leave. Even knowing as she did that this was the way of the world, that the wedding party always left after the wedding, did not make her feel any less bereft. She sent them with messages to everyone in Spain and with a letter for her mother.

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