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So Many Things I Wish To Know; Catherine of Aragon
Topic Started: Dec 15 2011, 12:04 PM (351 Views)
Mary Tudor
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early January, 1513

Everything was perfect. The room in which she usually entertained guests had been set up with a table for two … seemingly dwarfed in such a large area that easily hold twenty diners. Mary could have used one of her smaller, more intimate chambers, but she wanted music, and this room held a hidden alcove where the musicians could be heard and not seen … far enough away that their tunes would be muted in order to provide a background of ambiance that could be either heeded or ignored.

The table settings were not as elaborate as usual, for they did not need to be. She was not hosting a group whom she wished to impress with the artistry and opulence of a English princess. Her guest would be her dear friend Catherine, and while she did always wish to impress the woman she had idolized since she was a child, it was not her extravagance she wanted to prove.

Catherine was the epitome of beauty, grace, and refinement. She was the one woman that Mary felt inferior to in those regards, as well as intelligence, maturity, serenity and … oh, too many attributes to count. Ever since the older woman had arrived in England, Mary had longed to be like her … even to the extent that she had followed her around and tried to imitate her every move. She had never asked Catherine what she had thought of her childish antics, for in truth, she was a bit embarrassed about them now. Her adoration of the Spanish princess remained, though, and she doubted that would ever change.

It had been quite some time since she had visited with Catherine alone, as she had been occupied with the Christmas celebrations, taking the place of a queen since Harry had not yet remarried. And she hoped he remained single for quite some time, for she had quite enjoyed herself and believed that despite her youth, she had acquitted herself admirably. Mary wished to play “queen” until she was betrothed … hopefully to the intriguing Francois. It was good practice for her and she had found the planning to her liking and the attention even more so.

She had also been spending a fair amount of time with the tall French prince. The more she learned of him, the more she liked him. Oh, he was pretentious to a fault, but she actually found that quality endearing, perhaps because it was a trait he shared with her beloved brother. A king should have an air of superiority or he wasn't fit to rule. She did wish they were not always so closely chaperoned, for she would love to be able to converse with him without having to cloak their flirtations behind clever double entendre. Yet protocol must be followed and she understood that it was mostly for her own protection. It was just frustrating for an infatuated young princess who wished to be alone with the man who had captured her affections.

With a soft little sigh, Mary turned from the room and strolled back into her presence chamber, alighting on a chair while she waited for her friend to arrive. She had given her ladies the evening to themselves, and only her servants were there to attend her. One of them had instructions to go to the kitchens and have them bring the food she had ordered prepared earlier in the day as soon as Catherine arrived. The musicians had shown up about ten minutes earlier and she could hear them tuning their instruments in the little alcove.

It wasn't long before she heard the door to her entrance chamber open and a servant came in and announced the presence of her friend. After receiving permission to allow her guest into her chambers … oh how the young princess hated such pointless formality ... the maidservant curtsied respectfully and disappeared. Mary stood up and when Catherine was shown in. Strolling over to her, a warm smile turned up the corners of her lips. Taking both of the woman's hands in hers, she squeezed them gently. “Catherine, how wonderful it is to see you again! How have you been faring since last we spoke?”
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Catherine of Aragon
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"Dear Mary," came the warm, rich response to the buoyant greeting, the hands of one Princess holding to another, cool and firm to answer the squeeze of those fingers. There was no need to express her fondness for the younger woman aloud, those bright blue eyes that held to Mary's full of admiration as much as pleasantness, esteem to match the honest friendship that had grown between the two over the years. "Someday, I think I will stop being surprised that you are a woman grown and not a little girl any more. But not today. Thank you so much for making time for me, I think I have missed you more than I realized until now that I see you before me."

Stepping back, she held the younger woman at arm's length, drawing the held hands up and out just enough that she could take in the whole of Mary in a look, shaking her head at the pretty, well-mannered woman that had blossomed in the place of the eager, bright-faced little girl. A little girl that had been such a bright place in the dark days following Arthur's death, like a daisy blooming in a snowfield, and now she was no longer the daisy, though certainly there was a reason that Catherine could not help thinking of her in terms of some pretty, sweet-smelling, vibrant-hued little flower. She pushed away the thought hurriedly, before the term 'plucked' had a chance to manifest in her mind.

Yes, Catherine could still spot that cheery little child even in the nearly-grown woman before her, and it was to that child that she smiled with soft, affectionate indulgence. "I have been well and safe and happy, my dear, and I am not selfish enough to ask God for more than he has already given me." Not out loud, certainly. "But you, Mary!" There was cheerful admiration in that comment, for the little girl that stood in the shadow of the woman before her. "You have done well." It was a simple enough comment, true, but it conveyed a wealth of admiration for the way the Princess had served in a Queen's stead, for the welcome she had shown to guests - regardless of how Catherine herself felt about those guests. She released the fine, white hands she held in her own, letting her fingers relax amid the folds of her skirts, wearing the smile that best suited her often hard features, the one that softened them into something warm and engaging.

"I hope you have not gone to so much trouble on my account?" she added, hearkening to the sound of music, the setting of the table. Though she would demure, as was proper, the notion of any outlay of effort on her part, Catherine was nevertheless pleased to be near enough in Mary's heart to have earned the special treatment. In this day, in the wake of a Spanish betrayal, she had few enough friends that she was grateful for those who remained loyal.

Even if they had all the makings of the future queen of France, ahem.
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Mary Tudor
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Catherine was always so gracious, yet another attribute Mary wished she possessed. And every word that came out of her mouth was so perfect, so eloquent. The young princess was certain that her adoration of the older woman must be apparent in her soft gray eyes, just as it had been when she had been that child that Catherine spoke of. And in a way, she was that child when she was with her friend, for even though they were not all that far apart in age, they were worlds apart in maturity, and there were many things that Mary could still learn from Catherine … most notably how to be a proper queen, for the Spanish princess was far more queenly in both manner and bearing than Mary felt that she would ever be.

Everything Catherine did and said … even the tone of her voice … bespoke of confidence, and that was something that Mary wished could rub off on her, as if it were possible for those traits she most admired to be transferred to her by the gentle squeeze of their hands.

How easy that would be! Learning such things by trial and error was much more difficult and infinitely more frustrating.

“I have missed you as well,” Mary said, with a genuine smile. “We should really spend more time together. And I always have time for you, dear Catherine. You don't have to wait for an invitation to visit my apartments. They will always be open for you.”

And she was so humble, professing to be happy with her lot in life. And perhaps she was, but Mary was not. Only in the past two years had she come to understand the enormity of Catherine's situation, and it did not please her. By now, a suitable husband should have been found for her, and instead it seemed as if she had just been abandoned in a land not her own and left to fend for herself. Her friend had handled it as admirably as she had handled everything else and it was probably even more difficult now with Spain currently in disfavor. Many courtiers probably looked upon her with suspicion, even though Mary herself knew that she would never even contemplate any misdeeds against England.

In truth, the young princess believed Catherine should be Harry's queen, and she had no idea why her brother … who had an eye for beautiful women … had overlooked such an exquisite creature. Perhaps she should bring the princess to his attention the next time they spoke … or maybe that would make things worse for the other woman. Harry was unpredictable and even she … who knew him better than almost anyone … could never anticipate his actions.

Mary very rarely blushed, but her dear friend's praise brought a soft hint of color to her alabaster cheeks … and also made her heart swell with pure happiness. “Do you think so?” she asked as Catherine let her hands go. “I confess that sometimes I felt so overwhelmed, as if I were much too young and inexperienced for such a responsibility. I think that you would have done a much better job.”

Mary led her into her dining chamber. “It was no trouble at all,” she said. “Just a little bit of organization, which I am finding that I rather enjoy. Please sit down. The food should arrive soon. I had the kitchens prepare some of the dishes I know that you enjoy.”

As soon as the two royals were seated, a servant stepped forward and set two crystal chalices before them and filled them with wine, before bowing and moving to stand by the wall, ready whenever they should need their glasses refilled. The musicians were now playing softly, and to Mary, everything seemed perfect.

“I do hope you find everything to your satisfaction.” Taking a generous sip of her wine, she tried to figure out how best to broach the subject that was foremost on her mind. The young princess was not nearly as eloquent with words as her friend was, nor was she always as tactful as she should be. “I'm sure you have heard that I might soon be betrothed to the heir to the French throne,” she said. “He is a very intriguing man … and handsome.” Another blush touched her cheeks, and her infatuation with the prince in question was written all over her young face. “I think I will be happy with him. But I am a bit apprehensive about leaving everything I have ever known to move to a foreign land. If you don't mind my asking, did you feel the same way when you were in my position?”

Immediately, her expression turned apologetic. “If you don't wish to talk about it, Catherine, then I understand,” she added with a remorseful little smile. How selfish she sounded! And she should never just have blurted it all out the way she had. It would have been better to build up to the subject gradually, but now it was done. Catherine would have known exactly what to say. Oh how she wished she could be more like her friend!
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Catherine of Aragon
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Her nod answered well enough for her agreement - they should spend more time together, yes, but where did two such women find the time? Catherine herself may have fewer demands placed upon her, with no household to run and no husband to appease, but that didn't mean she sat idle; charity and prayer, study and quiet filled the long hours of otherwise empty days, so that - even if she was not called upon for affairs of state such as was the Princess Mary - she at least didn't feel that she dawdled, felt herself worthy of the care and consideration given to her by the King. That he hadn't found time to arrange a new and suitable match for her was certainly a thorn in her side, but it was one that Catherine had long ago grown accustomed to.

Catherine of Aragon would maintain her queenly demeanor whether or not a crown graced her brow. She sat, now, across from her friend with all the grace of a woman enthroned, the napkin across her lap in time for the pouring of the wine, which she welcomed with a slight nod to the servants that poured it. Even they, in their simple positions, were not so low as to be unworthy of her gratitude. She could appreciate servants who were attentive without being obsequious, and she filed away the knowledge as a further compliment to their young mistress, to have found those who could serve without subservience.

Tasting the wine, Catherine began a breath that would have lead into talk of no more consequence than her appreciation for the drink, the food, and the music, but there was no time for her words before Mary introduced a subject of considerably more weight. There was a long pause - not a painful one, only a contemplative one - while the Spanish princess looked across at the English one, while the wife of a dead heir spoke to the future wife of a living one, and Catherine answered the abrupt apology first. "Please, Mary, do not think you must apologize to me. I would have you always be open and speak your mind. If you cannot ask such questions as these of your friends, then to whom can you look for counsel? But you ask of things that happened long ago, it seems."

As though inspiration might be found in the color of wine, in the cut of crystal, Catherine lowered her eyes to the base of her glass and let them linger there while she ordered her thoughts. Speaking slowly, as if through the haze of all the years since that blighted journey from Spain to England, she answered, "I confess, I was very afraid to go to this new country. It is no small thing to leave the people who know you and love you and go to a place where you will be always a foreigner. It is no more than natural to be afraid to leave home and become a bride. But you must consider your blessings, my dear Mary." Now she lifted her eyes to meet those of her friend once more, the smile coming back into place.

"I came here not knowing my poor husband at all, not knowing if he would even care for me a little. As you say, you already know that you find the Duke to be intriguing and handsome, and all the ladies say that he is very taken with you." But that smile did not touch her eyes, and Catherine did not try to force it there. Any happiness she had on Mary's behalf was tainted, and it showed. "That should bring your heart much happiness, to know that you will not go to a hateful marriage?"
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Mary Tudor
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It seemed odd to Mary how her natural confidence completely disappeared whenever she was with Catherine. It was if she was that little girl again … awkward and unpolished … and while those feelings were not exactly welcome, they did serve to remind her that she was not perfect, that there was still room for improvement in her poise and demeanor. Not yet seventeen, she still had a lot to learn before she was ready to become the queen of any country.

She watched her friend as she sat down ... her bearing always more regal than Mary's own could ever be ... and accepted the chalice of wine that a servant handed to her with a nod of gratitude. Catherine actually acknowledged the servants, something that rarely crossed the young princess' arrogant mind. To her, they were basically non-entities whose sole purpose was to make her life more comfortable. They did not deserve her thanks. Yet there was something in that servant's eyes that told her that she appreciated Catherine's simple gesture. Perhaps she should try to be more gracious to the servants from now on.

Her friend said nothing for a few short moments, and Mary found herself holding her breath, wishing that she had not broached the subject at all. The death of Arthur had also meant the death of the future that Catherine had been groomed for all of her life and now Mary was asking her relive a time when that future had been secure. Surely she would be angry at the young English princess for reminding her of what she had lost.

Yet she was told that there was no need to apologize, and suddenly she could breathe again. Catherine didn't seem to mind her questions and she understood the reason for Mary's inquisitiveness. The younger princess was pleased that she was willing to speak of her past, as it was quite similar to what Mary herself would eventually face.

It seemed that she had been frightened of leaving her home as well, and indeed it must have more difficult for her than it would be for Mary. Catherine had not met her betrothed and had not even spoken the English language well. And she had been younger than Mary was now. Spain was also farther from England than France and would not be as easy to visit.

The young princess wondered what her friend had thought of Arthur when they had first met. Had it been love at first sight? Or had they not cared for each other at all? Her own memories of her eldest brother were vague, and even though she knew now that he had always been weak and sickly, to her he had been tall and strong … able to throw her up in the air and take her on piggy-back rides. What more could a little girl want?

Catherine must have viewed him quite differently, though, and while she was curious, Mary knew that was something she could never ask. It was much too personal even for friends who were quite like sisters. If the older princess wished to speak of it, she would do so in her own time, and Mary would be more than pleased to listen. She imagined that Catherine would have been as fearful as she had been when she had found out she might be marrying the King of France. Mary had been terrified of being thrown into a foreign land and forced to marry a man nearly old enough to be her grandfather. Francois was a much better choice for her.

She did not miss the disapproval in Catherine's eyes as she spoke of the French prince. Mary knew well her dislike of France and did not blame her for it. Yet the princess was not in control of her own destiny; she could not choose whom she was to marry. Her friend would certainly understand that and hopefully it would not affect the friendship that she had come to treasure.

“Yes, it pleases me that the Duke and I get along so well. And I do have the extra advantage of speaking French as fluently as a native.” She remembered with fondness how she had tried to help Catherine with her English, and how her friend had taught her a bit of Spanish in return. “But I am apprehensive about being thrust into a culture so foreign from my own. From the stories I have been told, the French court bears little resemblance to its English counterpart. Did it take you long to adjust to life here? And how were you treated? Were you accepted at once or did you have to earn the respect of your new family and the English people?”
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Catherine of Aragon
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What could she say that was neither obvious nor untoward? She had been a terrified child-bride in a country whose language she did not know, setting forth to meet a man upon whom she had never laid eyes. She had nearly been drowned at sea, had to turn back, and finally set forth again for a journey that seemed endless. Through the lens of hindsight, Catherine might have realized that this marriage, this move to England, this life in its entirety was doomed. She should have stayed in Spain. She should have gone on living where she was happy and loved and at home.

But that was not the fate of a princess, of any princess, even the one before her now. She might have loved Arthur on sight, and she might have hated him immensely; it didn't matter then and it didn't matter now, years later. So, with a calm smile, Catherine answered for the younger woman's fluency with an approving, "Indeed, and I am sure that your ability to speak French will serve you well, with your future husband and his people. No doubt, it will do much to ease the loneliness which will come when you are far from your home." Not 'might come,' not 'must be fought to avoid,' but 'will come.' "And you must bring with you such ladies as will give you good cause for gaiety, such members of your household as will bring you cheer and good memories."

With a small laugh, with her fingertips tracing the edge of her wine glass while she contemplated, the Infanta asked back across the table, "And what makes you think even now that I have adjusted to life here in England? After all these years, even with my country being but little loved at the moment, I still sometimes must remind myself that it is long since I have been considered Spanish, that I must think of myself as English now. But there is no sin in that, I think, to love your former home so long as you can find a place in your heart for a new one as well." In many women, it might have been a coy comment, asking for approval, to be told that she was right, but Catherine sought little in the way of outward acceptance. If it was right in her heart and it was not against the teachings of the Church, then how could it be wrong?

"As for that, I was treated well and welcomed heartily. I truly believed that, had all gone as it was planned, I would have been a happy wife to your brother and Queen for England. That is all that you must do, dear Mary. Do not worry yourself over becoming like the French. Stay true to who you are, and all will be well, I know it in my heart."
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Isabel Leigh
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Virtue alone is invincible.
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