Rosamund (26 page)

“Push, lass,” Maybel instructed her. “You have to push the bairn from your body.”

“I cannot,” Rosamund wailed. Her brow was dotted with perspiration, and she could hardly catch her breath now.

“You must!”
Maybel said fiercely.

The long spring twilight turned into blackest night. The night wore on, and Rosamund grew more tired and weaker as she labored to bring forth her child, the heir to the Friarsgate inheritance. Owein stayed by her side, encouraging her, moistening her dry lips with a rag soaked in wine, smoothing her now lank auburn hair from her moist forehead.

Finally, as the sky began to lighten with a new day, Maybel cried out, “ ’Tis almost done, lass! The bairn is almost here. With the next pain you must push with every bit of strength in you!”

And Rosamund clutched the arms of the chair, gritting her teeth and grunting as she pushed with all of her might. A cry rent the dawn, and Maybel on her knees before the birthing chair drew the howling infant the last bit from its mother’s body.

“ ’Tis a lass!” Maybel cried, “and every bit as pretty as you were when you were born!”

“But I wanted a son!” Rosamund wailed.

“Next time,” Owein said, his hazel eyes shining as he looked upon his daughter for the first time.

“
Next time?
You must be mad,” Rosamund told him, but Owein and Maybel only laughed.

“What shall we name her?” he asked his now exhausted wife.

“What is the day?” Rosamund replied, feeling so very tired and almost unable to keep her eyes open now.

“April the twenty-ninth,” he said.

“Tomorrow is my birthday. I shall be fifteen. Today, however, is St. Catharine’s Day. We will name her after my mother, the saint, and the Queen of the Scots,” Rosamund decided.

Maybel had finished cleaning off the child, whose previously loud cries were now subsiding. She wrapped the baby in clean swaddling clothes and handed her to her mother. “She has your auburn hair, lass.”

Rosamund looked down at her firstborn. “Welcome to the world, Philippa Catharine Margaret. We almost shared a birthday,” she said, and then she laughed as her daughter yawned and closed her eyes in sleep, as if to say,
Well now that that’s settled we can get some rest.

Owein’s slender finger touched the infant’s silken cheek. “Our daughter,” he murmured softly.

“I am sorry, my lord,” Rosamund told him. “I did try to make you a son.”

“She is perfect,” he responded. “I could not be happier, lovey.”

“Truly?” She searched his handsome face.

“Truly,” he replied. “Now I have two beautiful women to love and to spoil.”

I
f there was one thing Rosamund had learned in her brief stay at court, it was the value of having connections with important people. She had not considered the lesson seriously until the birth of her daughter. For now Philippa was the heiress to Friarsgate, but even when she was supplanted by a brother, she would still be the sister of the heir. Rosamund knew that in their sparsely settled region good matches were difficult to make. Her daughter’s dowry, looks, and connections would all be taken into account. Philippa was not of noble birth, but neither was she a peasant. Consequently, it was up to her parents to maintain their fragile ties with the Tudor court if only for their children’s sakes.

Rosamund wrote to the Venerable Margaret and to her former companion Margaret, Queen of Scotland, announcing the birth of her daughter. As an afterthought she also wrote to Katherine of Aragon who would probably one day be Queen of England. It could be extremely useful to be acquainted with a queen. To Rosamund’s delight, correspondence arrived from all three women. The king’s mother sent her congratulations along with a small broach of emeralds and pearls for Philippa. The Queen of the Scots sent with her correspondence twelve silver spoons and a gossipy letter written in her own hand. The widowed Katherine’s missive had been dictated to a secretary, for her English was still poor. In it the Spanish princess sent her loving wishes for Philippa’s good health and apologized that her gift, a small leather-bound missal, could not be more grand. Her funds, she explained, were low, and the king would not help her.

Rosamund was appalled, but Owein was not in the least surprised. He explained to his wife that Henry Tudor would not feel responsible for Katherine until she was wed to his younger son. He would consider it her father, King Ferdinand’s, obligation to support his daughter. While it was expected that this new match would eventually take place, Prince Henry was still too young to be married. There might possibly be a more advantageous match for the heir to England’s throne, and until the king could decide one way or another, he would retain custody of the Spanish princess.

The gentle and obedient princess was now at the mercy of both her father and her father-in-law, neither of whom considered that Katherine needed funds to pay her servants, to clothe and feed and house them. Her own garments, the magnificent wardrobe she had brought with her when she had first come to England several years ago was now beginning to show wear. She possessed only two damask gowns still in good condition. And, too, the unfortunate princess was suffering from poor health. She had grown pale, wan, and listless, she wrote to Rosamund. The doctors claimed it was her inability to adjust to English food and the English climate.

“I wonder if that is so,” Rosamund said to her husband, “or if it is her fears for her future that trouble her. She was not ill before Prince Arthur died, or indeed after it, while she was with us. She had been at Greenwich but now says they have brought her to Fulham Palace in the countryside, but even there she is worse rather than better.”

Rosamund wrote the princess back. She would pray for Kate’s health. She wrote about Philippa, and how each day brought about new changes in her baby daughter. How her daughter would, when she had grown enough to understand the honor done her, cherish the beautiful little leather missal. And the lonely Katherine of Aragon responded, and thus was their correspondence born. The pope, Kate wrote, had given the dispensation for her marriage to Prince Henry. It would take place when he was fourteen and she nineteen.

When Philippa Meredith was seven months old, Queen Isabella of Spain died. Her youngest daughter in England was devastated by the loss of her mother. What she was not aware of was that her social position had changed drastically with the death of her mother. Isabella had been the
Queen of Castile in her own right. Her husband, the King of Aragon, had only been the consort. Between them, however, they had ruled almost all of Spain. It was her oldest daughter, Juana, who was the wife of Philip the Fair, Archduke of Austria, who inherited her mother’s throne. When Juana became the Queen of Castile, her youngest sister’s social status was greatly diminished, for now Katherine was merely the daughter of the King of Aragon, and not the offspring of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain. Henry Tudor began to seriously reconsider the marriage between his surviving son and the princess. And Katherine, being no fool, was suddenly very aware of her now precarious position.

It seems,
she wrote to Rosamund,
that there is no one to champion me any longer. How I wish I had a strong arm like that of your good Sir Owein. While I am grudgingly housed and fed at the court, I have no monies for the bare necessities now. My father and King Henry haggle over the matter while my poor servants grow more shabby with each passing day. The king barely acknowledges me, and though I have petitioned my father’s ambassador, Dr. de Puebla, to intercede for me, he is a useless creature, only interested in feathering his own nest. I have written to my father of this, but he does not address it in his correspondence to me.

I am very displeased with my duenna, Dona Elvira. Here I am in financial straits, yet she fusses and harries me about my decorum. Having tasted the freedom of Englishwomen, I can never again be truly Spanish. Yet this meddlesome creature went and wrote to my father that my behavior was not that befitting a princess of Spain. My father in his turn wrote to King Henry, and now I am told I must obey my father’s wishes. I am forbidden from such small pleasures as singing and dancing with others of the court. I would send the old witch back to Spain if I but could!

“Poor Kate,” Rosamund said to Owein as she finished reading this particular letter. “Would she be offended if we sent her a purse to sustain herself? I cannot bear to think of Kate being so mistreated.”

“I agree,” Owein said, “but let me think on the proper amount, lovey. We do not wish to offend the princess, for she is a proud lady.”

Owein did not tell his wife that he had heard from old friends at court that the king had entered into secret negotiations with the new King and Queen of Castile, for a marriage between Prince Henry and their daughter, six-year-old Princess Eleanor, whose social standing was now greater than that of her nineteen-year-old aunt. Everyone was whispering about it, though it was certainly not public knowledge.

Though the prince had turned fourteen in June, the marriage between him and Katherine had not been celebrated, nor had it even been mentioned. Katherine of Aragon was beginning to realize her situation. She understood that her father’s failure to hand over the second installment of her dowry might very well be a sticking point, and she wrote him to that effect, begging him to substitute a payment of gold for the plate and jewels in her possession, which were meant to have been the final payment to Henry Tudor. Ferdinand promised his daughter he would send the remainder of her dowry.

By the spring the payment had not arrived, and the English king began to complain publicly and bitterly. Katherine’s position at court grew even more precarious. Ferdinand was technically within his rights to refuse payment until the marriage had been formally celebrated and consummated. But unless it was formally celebrated it would not be consummated, and it would not be consummated until the Tudor king had all of the princess’ dowry in his hands.

Rosamund birthed a second daughter in March of fifteen hundred and six. Her new daughter was christened Banon Mary Katherine. Banon had been her husband’s mother’s name. It meant
queen
in the Welsh tongue. Mary was for the Blessed Virgin, and Katherine for the Princess of Aragon who was asked, and agreed, to be Banon’s godmother. It was quite a coup and an honor for Friarsgate.

As they sat in their hall one spring night Rosamund said to her husband, “You must go to see the princess. And you will bring her the small purse we discussed to help defray her expenses. She is very poor right now, and it is not right. I do not understand why her marriage has not taken place. Prince Henry is old enough.”

“It is a long way to court,” Owein reminded his wife. He had chosen not to tell Rosamund of Henry Tudor’s duplicity.

“But riding alone you can reach the south far quicker than when you had to escort me,” Rosamund reasoned. “We cannot trust this matter to a stranger, Owein. I cannot bear the thought that someone as kind and gentle as Kate is so abused. Please go. If not for her sake then for mine. If I am distressed, my milk will not flow, and surely you do not want me to put Banon out with a wet nurse.”

“ ’Tis spring. There is planting to be done and lambs to be culled, and the manor court must be held soon now that winter is over,” he told her with a small smile.

“Edmund will see to the planting and the lambs and all the other things that need doing. And I oversee the manor court, my lord, as you well know. Go south for me,
please
.”

He agreed, though reluctantly, for he had grown comfortable with his life at Friarsgate, with Rosamund, and with their family. Owein Meredith had to admit to himself that he was happier now than at any other time in his life. Still he rode south, finding the princess at Greenwich and seeking an audience with her. She received him immediately, for few people but her creditors sought her out.

“Sir Owein, I am happy to see you again, and looking so well,” Katherine of Aragon said slowly in her careful but accented English.

He bowed and kissed the outstretched hand, noting that it was thin, almost bony, and ivory in color. “I have brought you a small gift,” he said, tendering the small leather bag. “I am happy to tell you that your goddaughter thrives, and like her sister and her mother, has auburn hair.” He smiled at the princess as Dona Elvira discreetly took the pouch from him.

“Sit down, Sir Owein, and tell me everything,” Katherine of Aragon said, ignoring the scandalized look that Dona Elvira shot her. “How is Rosamund? And does her beloved Friarsgate thrive?”

“She is well, your highness. Indeed, she blooms more with each child she bears. And Friarsgate, I am pleased to say, is prosperous. Our wool and our cloth, particularly the special blue we make, is greatly sought after by both English mercers and those from the Low Countries who come to Carlisle.”

“God has blessed you, Sir Owein. I hope you realize it and give thanks to our dear Lord, and his Blessed Mother,” Katherine said piously.

“We do, your highness,” he assured her. “Indeed, our priest, Father Mata, says the mass daily, and twice on special feast days. We make certain that each babe born at Friarsgate is baptized immediately, and we send alms to the bishop at Carlisle regularly.”

The princess smiled. “I am pleased to know that your household is a good Christian one, Sir Owein.” Then she turned to Dona Elvira, saying, “Fetch some refreshment for us. Would you have Sir Owein say I am a poor hostess when he has come so far to see me?”

“And leave you alone with a man?” the duenna said furiously in their native Spanish. “Are you mad?”

“Maria is with us, duenna,” the princess replied in the same tongue. “Now go and do as I have instructed you.”

With a swish of her black skirts Dona Elvira stamped from the room.

“She pretends to have no knowledge of English,” the princess said, “but she understands the language perfectly even if she does not speak it any better than I. First I would thank you for the purse. I will not dissemble with you. I am in desperate need.”

“We wish it could be more, your highness,” Owein said, noting that the princess’ sleeve cuffs were badly worn. “If I would not offend you, could you send one of your people to us in the autumn? If you do, we will see he returns with another small purse for your highness.”

“Maria, see it is so, and do not tell the old dragon,” Katherine of Aragon said.

“I will arrange it, your highness,” Maria de Salinas, the princess’ close companion, responded.

“Poor Maria,” the princess told Sir Owein. “Her family had arranged a marriage for her with a wealthy Fleming, but it was my responsibility to dower her, and I could not. I hope one day to be able to make it up to her.” She sighed deeply. “Tell me what you hear, Sir Owein.”

“Madame, I live in Cumbria. I hear little of the court,” he replied.

“You have friends, and they write, I know. What is being said about my marriage to Prince Henry? I have not seen him in many months now, though we both live at court.” Her fingers nervously plucked at her dark claret silk skirts.

He hesitated, but then decided that the truth was best in this difficult situation. “There is a rumor come to my ears in the north, and mind you, as far as I know it is just a rumor. It is said that the king considers another alliance for his son.”

“With whom?” she queried.

“Your niece, Princess Eleanor,” he replied.

Katherine of Aragon shook her head in despair. “She is a child, God help her. But how like my brother-in-law to even involve himself in such a negotiation. I knew he hated my father, but I did not think he hated him enough to harm me. And Juana! My poor mad sister! She is so jealous of Philip that she has driven him away with her suspicions. A wife must overlook her husband’s peccadilloes no matter her own pride. My sister does not understand that being the archduke’s wife makes her important, and no mistress can take that away from her. Do you know if anything has been signed?”

“Not to my knowledge, your highness, but they can sign nothing unless your own betrothal to Prince Henry is repudiated,” Owein reminded her hopefully.