De Puebla folding his hands together, looked down at them gravely.
“The ruling was that it should remain the property of the Princess of Wales for one year after the celebration of the nuptials.”
“I know. I know . . . but in view of the fact that it is her dowry . . . which comes to me . . . to the Prince, why should we wait this year?”
De Puebla looked sly. “My lord King,” he said, “you know full well that I have always sought to be your friend, and that has not always been easy.”
The King nodded.
“This matter of the dowry now . . . Am I correct in thinking you would prefer one hundred thousand crowns to the jewels and the furniture?”
“You are right.”
“It is no use trying to get the Sovereigns to pass the goods to you. They will never do that. But what if the Princess were to wear the jewels . . . use the furniture . . .”
“Why should she? She has plenty of those.”
“If she had her own Court she would need these things and the jewels are part of her state regalia.”
“What do you suggest, my friend?”
De Puebla was thoughtful. He guessed that the marriage had not been consummated. The Sovereigns would be angry if they knew this. They were as anxious as Henry was to get an heir from the union. De Puebla knew that much as Henry wanted an heir he was terrified that sexual exertion would rob Arthur of what little strength he had. De Puebla was mischievous by nature. He liked to be the innocent party who stirred up the waters in the pond and made them troubled and then run away and disclaim all knowledge of what he had done. That was how he had always worked. De Ayala despised him; well, he despised de Ayala, that cultured gallant diplomat. His methods were no way to make history.
The royal pair had not consummated the marriage because Henry did not want it consummated yet and the only reason was that he was afraid for his son’s health. Let the boy take his chance, thought de Puebla, and if making love was too much for him then there would be further interesting situations to amuse de Puebla. Get the pair away from the anxious parental eye . . . and then they would see.
“Since you do me the honor of asking my opinion,” said de Puebla, “I will give it. This is between ourselves, Highness. Send the Prince and Princess away to a Court of their own . . . Wales, say. The people love the Prince there. They will love the Princess too. Let them hold Court, let the Princess wear the jewels . . . use the articles of the dowry . . . then when the time comes to hand them over you will say you cannot accept second-hand goods. The furniture will have suffered, the arras . . . the tapestries will be a little worse for wear. You can then demand one hundred thousand crowns, the first half of the dowry.”
“H’m,” said the King. “You are a devious thinker, my lord.”
“In the service of Your Highness.”
“And of your Sovereigns?”
De Puebla moved an imperceptible step nearer to the King. “My lord, I have had good friendship from you,” he said. “Better than . . .”
He did not finish and the King did not ask him to.
“I will think about this matter,” said the King.
A few days later it was announced that the Prince and Princess of Wales would reside for a while in Ludlow.
They were approaching the castle—Katharine with those who were left to her of the Spanish retinue she had brought with her, headed by Doña Elvira, and Arthur with a group of advisers who had been chosen by the King.
The castle was built high on a headland, its foundations grafted into the gray rock, and guarded by a deep and wide fosse. There was a vast early Norman square tower and impressive battlements, which gave it a comforting air of impregnability. It was set in beautiful country overlooking the town of Ludlow; on all sides was the green countryside—woods, hills and fields rolling on to the horizon.
Katharine thought it very beautiful; she loved the greenness of everything, which she had noticed on her arrival in England. She thought she would be very happy here, for she was happy with Arthur. They were good companions; they studied together; she was learning to speak English and was teaching him Spanish. She was always careful never to tire him and he was grateful because she did so unostentatiously.
The Welsh accepted them and liked them. The chieftains called at the castle. One of them brought his son hoping that he would learn to be a squire in the Prince’s household. Arthur accepted him and Griffith ap Rhys became a friend of both Arthur and Katharine, greatly to the delight of the boy’s father and the people of Wales.
Such happy days they were! Katharine had almost ceased to think of Spain and the longing to be with her mother was less than she had thought it possible to be.
Arthur’s health seemed to improve a little. He could ride for longer hours and he and Katharine tried out a few dances together. He was so grateful because if he became breathless she always made some excuse to stop.
They were ideal companions and Arthur was deeply contented with his marriage. He was able to explain to her how he dreaded having to take part in ceremonial and she understood.
“If I am ever king I shall dispense with a great deal of it,” he told her. “It is not necessary, you know. It does not make a good king because he has to dance and make good speeches. . . .”
Katharine agreed with him.
“When we are the King and Queen we will live at Ludlow . . . oh, I know, not for all the time. But we could come here often could we not?”
“We will,” said Arthur.
He could talk to Katharine as he had never been able to talk to anyone before. To her he confided that he had always thought he should have been born second, Henry first. “Henry would have made such a good king and I should have been well enough in the Church.”
“You would not have married me,” she reminded him.
“Ah,” said Arthur. “You are right. Then I would not have anything other than it is.”
News came from the Court. There was to be a grand celebration for Arthur’s sister Margaret was to be betrothed to the King of Scots. The news threw a certain gloom over the household at Ludlow. The thought of having to leave his newly found peace for the ceremonies of Court depressed Arthur.
Katharine comforted him but his depression frightened her a little. Surely their future life when Arthur was king would be a continuation of such occasions.
She would have to talk to him of this; she would have to stand beside him, help him to overcome his shyness. She was confident that together they would face whatever lay before them.
And then the good news. The King thought it was not necessary for the Prince of Wales to come to Court. His brother Henry would play his part in the ceremonies and Arthur should stay at Ludlow.
Arthur was overcome with joy and Katharine was delighted to see him so relieved; but afterward she thought of the matter and she knew that the reason his father had not wished him to be present was because he feared the journey to Richmond would be too strenuous for him and might have a damaging effect on his health.
She was very anxious when he looked so tired, but she assured herself that he was better since they had lived quietly at Ludlow. All was going to be well. She would look after him, make sure he did not exert himself and in time, she assured herself, his health would improve.
She must count her blessings. She was lucky. She only had to look back a little way to remember how she had been dreading her marriage; and here she was with the gentlest of husbands, who was kind and clever, interesting and tender. What good fortune was hers! She would write home and tell her mother how happy she was.
Another ceremony! How young Henry loved them—particularly, as on this occasion, when his brother was not present. That gave him added importance. He walked beside the King and was accorded the homage which would have been Arthur’s if he had been present, so that he could imagine that he was the Prince of Wales—king-to-be.