Arthur

Chapter 34

Arthur, Prince of Wales. Ludlow, Wales, England. March of 1502.

As it happened, Catalina fell ill.

Maria de Salinas went to my office to inform me that the Princess had a fever and strong cough, and that she shouldn’t leave her private chambers until she recovered.

“What is it?” I asked, alarmed. “What did the doctor say?”

“He is still examining the Princess, Your Grace.” Maria replied, calmly. “I am sure it is nothing serious.”

“It might as well be. There have cases of ague around Wales.”

Maria’s face went pale. “It surely cannot be that, the Princess is always in the castle –”

I ran to my wife’s rooms, that was already filled with curious people; her ladies-in-waiting whispering nervously on the corners, squires and pageboys sent by their lords to spy and noblemen trying to know what was happening. Doña was standing by the closed door of Catalina’s private chamber, trying to keep them from disturbing the Princess.

“Leave us.” I ordered, and everyone obeyed, despite the contradiction. “Lady Maria, Donã Elvira: please stay.”

The two women curtseyed, and I waited until everyone had left to speak.

“What happened?” I looked at Doña Elvira.

“The Princess has a high fever and a cough. She was well yesterday, but as she woke up this morning, I noticed her forehead was unusually warm as I tried to brush her hair. In a few minutes, she fell on the floor.” The women replied, looking genuinely worried; I had my dislikes regarding Doña Elvira, but I knew she loved Catalina as a daughter of her own.

“Fell on the floor?”

“Her head was spinning, or so she said.”

“We believed she could be with child, but then she started to cough. We immediately called the physician to examine her.”

“You did well.” I said. “Could she be with child?”

“We are not sure. But if she is, then she surely needs more care, for she’s definitely ill.”

Before I could say anything else, the physician left the room. I rushed to him without waiting for him to bow.

“How is she?”

“I have left her with Lady Margaret Pole, Your Grace. ” He said. “We must keep watching the Princess.”

“What does she have, Doctor?” I interrupted.

“We cannot be sure yet, Your Grace, but we believe she will recover. The fever has gotten better and she is less tired.”

“Could the Princess be with child?” I asked.

The physician shook his head. “No, I do not believe she is. I daresay it is a late reaction of the weather. The Princess has not yet gotten used to it.”

Feeling as if a great weight was suddenly removed from my chest, I smiled. “May I see her?”

“Yes, but not for too long, Your Grace. She must rest, and also, as we are still watching her to be sure it is not anything serious. Therefore we urge that your visits are brief.”

“I just want to see my wife.” I said.

“Very well, Your Grace.” The physician made a sign to the door and stepped aside.

My wife was laying in bed, pale and weak, but she still smiled as she saw me entering the room. Lady Margaret was devotedly by her side, holding a wet piece of cloth on her forehead.

“Do not come to close, Arthur.” Catalina warned me. “I would not forgive myself if you fall ill as well.”

“Nevermind this.” I said carelessly, approaching her and kissing her warm cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“It is nothing, it is nothing.” She smiled. “I am fine. It is just a small discomfort. Do not be distressed.”

“Of course I am distressed, Catalina, you are my wife.”

She smiled and tapped my hand. “I know. But try not to worry too much. God will protect me.”

“Your Grace, the Princess needs rest.” Lady Margaret said, gently. “You can come visit her later. But I believe now, she needs some sleep.”

She was right; I noticed the shadows under my wife’s eyes, the ghostly appearance of her face, and even her once shiny and lustrous auburn hair had become darker and lifeless.

“I will come back later.” I kissed her hand. “Please get well.”

“I shall.” She promised, closing her eyes. Lady Margaret’s nod was my sign to leave.

I had barely left Catalina’s rooms when a messenger approached me, looking deeply worried. I sighed, thinking of the innumerous spies from my grandmother and my father that surely had already informed them about my wife’s sickness.

“Yes?”

“I have a private message for the Prince of Wales.” He whispered. “From the Queen.”

“My mother?” I was surprised; I had expected that my grandmother’s messengers would arrive first.

“Is there anywhere we can talk in private?” He asked; there was no one around us, but I knew how the walls had ears wherever I went. I nodded, and he followed me to my own office.

“The noblemen are gathered in the Great Room, waiting for me.” I said. “And the ladies-in-waiting are in the Princess’ office. I believe you can speak freely. There is no one to bother us now. But be quick, if you may.”

The man bowed. “Your Lady Mother has sent me to deliver a letter to your hands, and she asked me to be present as you read it and see it destroyed after you are done.”

He took a sealed letter from his pocked, and handed it to me; the circumstances were rather unusual. I had never in my life gotten a secret letter from my mother. I took it and opened, feeling slightly bothered by the man watching me and wishing he would at lease turn around.

As I read my mother’s words, I forgot about the messenger, the noblemen waiting for me, even about Catalina; those words had such impact on me, on my life, on everything I believe that I felt as if the world around me was falling apart. I read the whole letter once, twice, three, four times, until I finally understood its meaning. Still, I could not believe.

“Your Grace?” The messenger called me. For the first time in my life, I felt it was wrong to answer for that style.

“Yes?” I whispered, finding my voice surprisingly weak.

“We must burn it.” He reminded me.

“Yes… yes.” I said. “Yes. It will be done.”

I threw the paper in the fireplace, and we both watched it burn; my instinct was to let it burn, as if I could erase it from existence, both the letter and the truth written in it. The messenger looked at me, very seriously, as if he knew what I was thinking.

“May its content not be ashes for you, Your Grace.”