The Spanish Duchess

Chapter One

                                                                                                            Disaster

Ludlow Castle 1502

Her husband is dead. Catherine watches as Arthur's heart is cut out from his chest, placed into a delicately carved jar. He is laid on his back on the bed, a white sheet covering his body, a dark red line of blood stains the crisp white linen.
"This isn't real", Catherine barely registers her mother in law's voice. Or is she my former mother in law now? At this moment however, Catherine isn't sure it mattered at all. Her husband is dead and she is a widow. It was is than likely, almost certain in fact, that her mother will demand her return to Spain.
"We will return to London on the morrow", it is the king who speaks this time. Catherine glances at him, his hand is resting at the base of his wife's back, he grips the bed post with the other. He is a grieving man, his son is gone now and I am a burden to him.
The physicians lift the white sheet over Arthur's head and the reality of the situation finally hits her and Catherine cannot stop the strangled sob that escapes her.
"Arthur!" Catherine covers her mouth as her vision blurs. She sinks to the floor hunching over knees as she sobs again. No one touches her as she weeps. The queen, she knows, already holds nothing for her but disscontempt, but the king on the other hand only seems to see her as a burden to his country, even if her union with his son was a strategic advantage to his country. She is alone now and she has no one, no family, no friends and no allies. Catherine knows that she is entirely alone. She did not love Arthur, at least not in the way the a woman is supposed to love her husband, but she cared for him deeply, he was good and kind, and over time, Catherine was sure that she would have found love with him, had he lived longer, she thinks.
She suddenly becomes aware of somebody's hand gripping her arm and Catherine allows herself to be pulled to her feet. She looks up at Sir Richard Pole as he releases her, "Princess Catherine , we must him leave now" he tells her gently.
"No", she whispers, "no I cannot", her voice cracks as she moves away from him. She sits on he edge of the bed, gripping the sheet with her hands. "Please Princess, you must not liner any longer. It is not safe", it is Margaret Pole who speaks to her this time, she reaches out and takes her hand, "Arthur would not want this for you", Margaret says, her fingers press gently over her own and Catherine looks up at her through her tears. She knows that Margaret is right and, with one final look over her shoulder at Arthur's body, shrouded under the white sheet, Catherine stands and leaves the room.

The burial ceremony is a quiet affair, the sky dark and threatening, Catherine stands beside the king, hands clasped in front of her, silent tears sliding down her cheeks as she watches as Arthur's heart is placed in a hollow underneath a great willow tree and buried beneath the soil. "Whilst his body is buried in London", Elizabeth of York's voice is hollow as she speaks, "his heart will remain here".
He loved it here, he would have wanted it this way, Catherine thinks as she swallows a sob. Beside her, Henry speaks, inclining his head to speak to her, "we will return to London, and we will see if you are with child", and then he's marching away, his arm around his wife, and Catherine burns with anger. His son has just died and that is all he can think about? She thinks incredulously.
The small crowed slowly starts to deplete until Catherine stands in solitude, staring wordlessly at the small pile of soil at the base of the tree where her husband's heart had been hidden away.
Catherine lingers and remains silent and unmoving where she stands. "Princess?", Catherine does not respond to Richard Pole unwilling to turn away and interrupt the silence, "Princess Catherine?", she closes her eyes tightly and shakes her head. "Please leave me Sir Richard", Catherine tries to remain strong and stoic but her voice cracks. "Princess Catherine, please come inside. You will catch a chill if you remain out here in the rain", sir Richard speaks gently as he moves to stand beside her and she looks up at him . "It is raining?", she asks looking up at the man. He smiles grimly, folding his hands behind his back as he nods.
And then Catherine's heart gives a painful squeeze as she is cast back to her first meeting with Arthur, as he had mildly teased her for her distaste for the rain and his schooling her of the many forms of rain in England.
Catherine hesitates before she turns her back to the tree, and she has to steel herself before she moves again. "Inside then Sir Richard?", she says, inclining her head to the man as she speaks. He smiles kindly and moves to join her. Together they walk silently back to the castle.
They walk slowly, and Catherine lifts her chin and closes her eyes briefly, letting the rain cool her face and wash away the stains her tears have left. When she opens her eyes again and turns to look at Sir Richard, she sees that he too is as grief stricken as she is, though he hides it well. His mouth is set in a hard line but his brow is furrowed and in his eyes are barely concealed tears. It does not surprise her in the least, though Catherine knows little of this strange country, she'd known that Arthur had spent many years under the care of Richard and Margaret Pole since he was a boy. So it does not surprise her that this man is hurt by her husband's death as much as she is. She opens her mouth to speak, to say something, anything that might console this kind man, but there are no words that she can think to say that would ease his pain. But no words arise and Catherine elects to remain silent.
Sir Richard escorts her to the small hall where the king, queen and Margaret eat at a table in silence. "Princess Catherine, Sir Richard" Henry, stands, and smiles kindly at her, "please, come and join us."
Catherine hesitates for a moment before she moves forward, to sit down beside the king, the queen watches her, Catherine cannot look at her. She cannot.
The food is tasteless as she eats. There is a heavy silence, only interrupted with scrape of knife against plate or the gentle thump of cups hitting the table as the small party eats and drinks.  Nobody says anything.
They remain in silence.