Chapter Five

Queen Katharine of Aragon knelt, head bowed, in front of the marble statue of the Virgin Mary, clutching her pearl Rosary, a gift from her mother, Isabella of Castile, in her hands desperately. She needed the strength from both God and the spirit of her mother now more than ever.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus…,” she murmured in Latin, her eyes downcast. Please St. Mary, guide myself and my husband now more than ever. I fear he strays from me, as all husbands are wont to do, but I beg of you to give me the womanly courage to bear his infidelity with grace and poise, she prayed in her heart, while her fingers steadily moved along the white beads, praying the Hail Mary or Our Father where appropriate.

As she finished, she gathered her black velvet skirts about her and stood, crossing herself solemnly. Leaving her private prayer chamber, she felt her arm quickly taken up. Turning her head to rebuke whichever lady had taken such a liberty with her, a smile spread across her face when she saw the familiar profile of her oldest friend, Lady Willoughby.

“Maria!” she exclaimed with girlish happiness that was unusual for the sedate, pious queen. “It has been months since we saw you last. We miss you when you are not at Court.”

“Your Majesty, I am pleased to see you again, as well.”

“Oh, Maria, I have told you several times to stop using such formal titles with me. We were closest companions when I was merely an Infanta of Spain, and the best of childhood friends when my position as the Princess Dowager seemed hopeless. You, before anyone save my husband, have permission to call me Katharine,” the queen said, while still walking regally in the direction of her bedchamber.

Lady Willoughby, the former Maria de Salinas, could not help but smile. Katharine always had to give her a similar speech when they had been separated for an extended period of time. It was refreshing for her to be in her queen’s presence after so long of an absence.

As the pair entered Katharine’s innermost chamber, the queen waved a hand to dismiss her ladies and servants, leaving her alone with Maria. She sat on a straight-backed chair of purple satin, embroidered with the entwined initials of H and K, and gestured for her friend to sit in a matching chair beside her. Maria obeyed, glancing seriously at Katharine’s face.

“I expect you have heard the rumors, and so returned to Court to comfort me?” Katharine asked, keeping her voice low as she stared at her folded hands in her lap. Her cheerful demeanor was changed greatly now that they were in private.

“Yes, I have,” Maria replied, sighing. “I wish I were here on a better occasion, but I am afraid not.”

Katharine looked up at her friend, and Maria was taken aback at the new lines that marred the aging face of the once beautiful queen. “Henry no longer visits my bed at night, not even sporadically as he had when taken up with other mistresses,” she confessed.

Maria hesitantly took Katharine’s hand in her own, and squeezed it softly. “Mary Boleyn is a silly creature. He will undoubtedly tire of her soon and return to you, his always faithful wife.”

Eyes dry in resignation, for all her tears had been spent earlier, Katharine simply shook her head. She placed her free hand on her stomach. “I am past childbearing, Maria. I can feel it. My womb has not quickened in over two years. And I will never give Henry the son he wants.”

Grasping her hand more firmly, Maria tried her best to reassure her friend. “You still have the Princess Mary. She dainty and precocious and intelligent, and she will be a good and just monarch of England one day.” She gave Katharine a cautious smile. “She has the blood of Isabella of Castile in her veins,” she said, referring to Katharine’s warrior mother, a queen in her own right.

Katharine smiled, matching Maria’s. It was not a smile of happiness or joy, but of hope. “She will be a great Catholic sovereign, one to rival any foreign king who would otherwise have her as his consort.”

Maria nodded encouragingly. “Your daughter is the heir to the throne, and you are the Queen of England, and no bastard child or silly mistress will ever be able to change that.”

“Gracias, Maria,” Katharine said suddenly, reverting impulsively to their native Spanish. She leaned her head against her friend’s shoulder and placed a tentative arm around her. “Thank you for coming to see me. I was in great need of it.” She pulled away, her face realigning itself in its usual solemn pattern. Not allowing Maria to respond to her moment of vulnerability, she rang a small golden bell and sat up straighter.

A flurry of pretty, well-bred ladies entered the chamber, linen skirts rustling against each other. They fell into deep, matching curtsies, waiting for their queen’s command.

Katharine ignored the majority of them, looking over their headdresses for the bowed head of Mary Boleyn, who lingered near the back of the group. “Mistress Carey,” she said primly, using the girl’s new married name. “Go down to the kitchens and bring up some refreshment for our guest,” she commanded her in a soft tone.

Mary Carey sighed almost inaudibly, and Katharine would have boxed her ears for it if she had not been of such a peaceful nature. “Yes, Your Majesty,” Mary murmured obediently enough, backing out of the room.

Katharine gripped the armrest on her chair tighter and raised her head higher, sweeping a stern gaze over her ladies-in-waiting. “The rest of you are dismissed.” The women obligingly swept out of the room to return to their sewing and fine embroidery in the outer chamber, and her shoulders lost some of their tension.

She glanced at Maria triumphantly, picking up a shirt of Henry’s she was in the midst of mending. As an addition to it, Katharine had embroidered a small pomegranate on the corner of it, her own badge.

Mary Carey may warm his bed, but I will always be the king’s lawful wife, and her ruling sovereign. The thought comforted Katharine immensely as, with thread of gold, she began to embroider a small H and K symbol, letters entwined, onto her beloved husband’s shirt.

…..

A/N: A quick switch back to Katharine before we return to Anne’s side of the story. I also switched this story to the Historical genre, because, whereas I formerly planned on having romance as the central theme, I think I’m going to change my plans for this story’s focus, with the intention of making Anne an overall stronger character. I always appreciate constructive criticism to make my writing better.