The Tudor Princess. Darcey Bonnette

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СКАЧАТЬ favour … and Mary is favoured by everyone. I pale under the glory of her sun. She is the flawless little Tudor rose and I am the thorn they long to cut out,’ I pouted.

      ‘So intense!’ Arthur cried, sitting up and putting his book aside.

      ‘But since it would be unseemly to cut the thorn they shall send her to the land of the thistles – to Scotland!’ I cried, scowling. ‘Can you believe it, Arthur? Scotland? They may as well be sending me to hell!’

      Arthur chuckled, but I took no pleasure in the handsome sound. It mocked my misery and my brow ached from furrowing it at him. ‘So that is what this display is about,’ he said. ‘Come here, darling girl.’ He held out his arm and I scooted in next to him. He gathered me close, stroking my hair. ‘We are special people, Margaret,’ he told me. ‘Special people with very special responsibilities. You know well; your whole life has been preparing you for this zenith. It seems unfair; princes are allowed to stay in their native countries for the most part while our sacred princesses must scatter to the four winds, their sacrifice in order to secure sound alliances for the countries to which they are bound. We are God’s chosen, though, my dearest. Chosen to lead His people, chosen to defend them and honour them. You are going to be a queen, Margaret. An anointed queen. No one can ever take that away from you. You have the power to do so much good. I know Scotland is not the land you dreamed of spending your life in. They are very different from us; but Father would not send you if he thought you would come to harm. He longs to bring about a good alliance between our two countries. Think of the role you can play in securing that glorious peace! Think of the legacy you will leave! The mark you will make! Margaret, there has not been peace between our two countries in one hundred and seventy years. You have the opportunity of setting things right.’

      ‘I don’t want to set anything right! I don’t want to go away! I want to stay with you!’ I cried, burying my head in his chest.

      Arthur chuckled again. ‘You must be brave, lass, brave. Take heart and look sharp! A thistle can outlast a thousand roses. Father sends his little thorn to the wilds of Scotland because he knows she is strong enough to bear it.’

      I pulled away, looking into his face. ‘It is just so very far, Arthur. When will I see you and Mother? What if they don’t like me there?’

      ‘Not like you?’ Arthur cried, as though this was impossible to conceive. ‘Why, no one can resist you.’

      I brightened at this.

      ‘The Scots will fall madly in love with you,’ he went on. ‘And, think, pretty one, of all the clothes and jewels you will have as queen. There are going to be songs written about you, poems dedicated to you … there is so much to look forward to!’

      ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that!’ I cried, envisioning bolts of velvet and silk, kirtles of cloth of gold, and kid gloves. ‘I suppose I will be able to eat whatever I want all the time, too.’

      ‘All the time,’ he assured me. ‘Just mind that you don’t become fat. Nobody likes fat queens!’

      I laughed. ‘Oh, no, I shall not! I’ll be a beautiful queen and will set a new standard of elegance for the Scots. All the ladies will want to dress like me—’

      ‘That’s the spirit!’ he cried, slapping me on the back as though I were one of the lads.

      I seized my brother’s slim hands. ‘And you’ll write me all the time?’

      ‘All the time,’ he said, chucking my chin.

      ‘No one loves me like you do,’ I said in a small voice as I regarded my one true champion.

      He waved a dismissive hand, flushing. ‘Nonsense. Everyone loves you.’ He smiled. ‘Now, enough of this fretting. You act as though you’re the only one to have a foreign prince inflicted on you. As yet you’ve expressed no sympathy regarding my suit.’

      I cocked my head, puzzled.

      ‘Have you forgotten my marriage to the infanta, Catalina of Aragon?’ he asked.

      I shook my head. ‘Oh, no. But at least she’s coming to you. And I hear she’s very fine and sweet.’

      ‘And I hear the King of Scots is lusty and robust!’ he returned. ‘We’ll do fine, Sister, you’ll see. We’ll usher our European brothers into a New Age!’

      ‘A New Age …’ I repeated, enchanted by the concept of being a luminary. ‘Do you think we can?’

      ‘I know we can!’ he cried. ‘Now! Enough. Sit with me and I’ll read you a story to divert you. “The Miller’s Tale” …’

      I laughed at the thought of hearing the scandalous tale that Grandmother said was a sin to even listen to. Knowing this made me want to hear it all the more.

      I covered up with one of the furs and warmed myself by the fire, enveloped in the solace and reassurance I had been seeking, knowing that there was none luckier than I, to have such a sweet brother as Arthur, Prince of Wales.

      

2

       The Song of Loss

      Oh, it was going to be a wonderful year! I was twelve then and beautiful – everyone told me so. Though I was tiny and lacked the curves of some of my contemporaries, I was assured that my daintiness evoked just as much admiration. The worst part about entering womanhood, however, was the menses – how I hated it!

      ‘I do not understand its necessity!’ I once confessed to the old archbishop. ‘There is no fairness in it.’

      ‘Things would be different had Eve not led Adam into sin,’ he explained, bowing his head to conceal his flushing face.

      ‘So Adam did not have a mind of his own?’ I cried. ‘If he was witless enough to yield to Eve’s temptation then it is his stupidity that warrants the curse!’

      ‘Madam, you tread on blasphemy!’

      ‘Oh, you don’t want to hear it,’ I lamented. ‘You are on his side.’

      And so there was nothing to do but bear it. Fortunately, there were plenty enough diversions to occupy me. The Princess Catalina had arrived! Oh, but she was lovely, so fair and sweet. How I pitied her when her name had to be anglicised. Now she would be forever known as Catherine of Aragon. How much a princess gave up when leaving her home – her family, her customs, her way of life, even her very name.

      I was at least fortunate to be removing to an English-speaking country, for the most part, and would keep possession of my name.

      I tried my best to offer friendship to my future sister-in-law. She was all Spanish; it oozed from her, reflected in her piety, her thick accent, and her manner of dress. Father was disappointed.

      ‘Guide her, Margaret,’ he told me. ‘Show her СКАЧАТЬ