As for my husband-to-be – oh! – he has made a very different first impression. He is so handsome! I did not expect him to be so handsome! He is so fair and slight, he is like a page boy from one of the old romances. I can imagine him waking all night in a vigil, or singing up to a castle window. He has pale, almost silvery skin, he has fine golden hair, and yet he is taller than me and lean and strong like a boy on the edge of manhood.
He has a rare smile, one that comes reluctantly and then shines. And he is kind. That is a great thing in a husband. He was kind when he took the glass of wine from me, he saw that I was trembling, and he tried to reassure me.
I wonder what he thinks of me? I do so wonder what he thinks of me?
Just as the king had ruled, he and Arthur went swiftly back to Windsor the next morning and Catalina’s train, with her litter carried by mules, with her trousseau in great travelling chests, her ladies-in-waiting, her Spanish household, and the guards for her dowry treasure, laboured up the muddy roads to London at a far slower pace.
She did not see the prince again until their wedding day, but when she arrived in the village of Kingston-upon-Thames her train halted in order to meet the greatest man in the kingdom, the young Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, and Henry, Duke of York, the king’s second son, who were appointed to accompany her to Lambeth Palace.
‘I’ll come out,’ Catalina said hastily, emerging from her litter and walking quickly past the waiting horses, not wanting another quarrel with her strict duenna about young ladies meeting young men before their wedding day. ‘Dona Elvira, say nothing. The boy is a child of ten years old. It doesn’t matter. Not even my mother would think that it matters.’
‘At least wear your veil!’ the woman implored. ‘The Duke of Buck … Buck … whatever his name, is here too. Wear your veil when you go before him, for your own reputation, Infanta.’
‘Buckingham,’ Catalina corrected her. ‘The Duke of Buckingham. And call me Princess of Wales. And you know I cannot wear my veil because he will have been commanded to report to the king. You know what my mother said: that he is the king’s mother’s ward, restored to his family fortunes, and must be shown the greatest respect.’
The older woman shook her head, but Catalina marched out bare-faced, feeling both fearful and reckless at her own daring, and saw the duke’s men drawn up in array on the road and before them, a young boy: helmet off, bright head shining in the sunshine.
Her first thought was that he was utterly unlike his brother. While Arthur was fair-haired and slight and serious-looking, with a pale complexion and warm brown eyes, this was a sunny boy who looked as if he had never had a serious thought in his head. He did not take after his lean-faced father, he had the look of a boy for whom life came easily. His hair was red-gold, his face round and still baby-plump, his smile when he first saw her was genuinely friendly and bright, and his blue eyes shone as if he was accustomed to seeing a very pleasing world.
‘Sister!’ he said warmly, jumped down from his horse with a clatter of armour, and swept her a low bow.
‘Brother Henry,’ she said, curtseying back to him to precisely the right height, considering that he was only a second son of England, and she was an Infanta of Spain.
‘I am so pleased to see you,’ he said quickly, his Latin rapid, his English accent strong. ‘I was so hoping that His Majesty would let me come to meet you before I had to take you into London on your wedding day. I thought it would be so awkward to go marching down the aisle with you, and hand you over to Arthur, if we hadn’t even spoken. And call me Harry. Everyone calls me Harry.’
‘I too am pleased to meet you, Brother Harry,’ Catalina said politely, rather taken-aback at his enthusiasm.
‘Pleased! You should be dancing with joy!’ he exclaimed buoyantly. ‘Because Father said that I could bring you the horse which was to be one of your wedding-day presents and so we can ride together to Lambeth. Arthur said you should wait for your wedding day, but I said, why should she wait? She won’t be able to ride on her wedding day. She’ll be too busy getting married. But if I take it to her now we can ride at once.’
‘That was kind of you.’
‘Oh, I never take any notice of Arthur,’ Harry said cheerfully.
Catalina had to choke down a giggle. ‘You don’t?’
He made a face and shook his head. ‘Serious,’ he said. ‘You’ll be amazed how serious. And scholarly, of course, but not gifted. Everyone says I am very gifted, languages mostly, but music also. We can speak French together if you wish, I am extraordinarily fluent for my age. I am considered a pretty fair musician. And of course I am a sportsman. Do you hunt?’
‘No,’ Catalina said, a little overwhelmed. ‘At least, I only follow the hunt when we go after boar or wolves.’
‘Wolves? I should so like to hunt wolves. D’you really have bears?’
‘Yes, in the hills.’
‘I should so like to hunt a bear. Do you hunt wolves on foot like boar?’
‘No, on horseback,’ she said. ‘They’re very fast, you have to take very fast dogs to pull them down. It’s a horrid hunt.’
‘I shouldn’t mind that,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind anything like that. Everyone says I am terribly brave about things like that.’
‘I am sure they do,’ she said, smiling.
A handsome man in his mid-twenties came forwards and bowed. ‘Oh, this is Edward Stafford, the Duke of Buckingham,’ Harry said quickly. ‘May I present him?’
Catalina held out her hand and the man bowed again over it. His intelligent, handsome face was warm with a smile. ‘You are welcome to your own country,’ he said in faultless Castilian. ‘I hope everything has been to your liking on your journey? Is there anything I can provide for you?’
‘I have been well cared for indeed,’ Catalina said, blushing with pleasure at being greeted in her own language. ‘And the welcome I have had from people all along the way has been very kind.’
‘Look, here’s your new horse,’ Harry interrupted, as the groom led a beautiful black mare forwards. ‘You’ll be used to good horses, of course. D’you have Barbary horses all the time?’
‘My mother insists on them for the cavalry,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ he breathed. ‘Because they are so fast?’
‘They can be trained as fighting horses,’ she said, going forwards and holding out her hand, palm upwards, for the mare to sniff at and nibble at her fingers with a soft, gentle mouth.
‘Fighting horses?’ he pursued.
‘The Saracens have horses which can fight as their masters do, and the Barbary horses can be trained to do it too,’ she said. ‘They rear up and strike down a soldier with their front hooves, and they will kick out behind, too. The Turks have horses that will pick up a sword from the ground and hand it back to the rider. My mother says
