Arthur

Chapter 1

Elizabeth of York; October 1501. London, England,

“The Infanta of Spain will be arriving next week.” My husband informed me.

I knew that day would come. I smiled at Henry, quietly.

“She will arrive on the next 4th of November.”

“That is lovely.” I replied. “I presume Arthur was already given order to come to court?”

“Yes, he will come to court tomorrow.”

I exulted, happy to know I would see my son. The day Henry had carefully planned since my boy was born would finally come. His bride, the Spanish Infanta, would finally arrive and fulfill the promise of marrying him.

She was carefully chosen; there was no more desirable bride in the whole Europe. Catalina was the youngest daughter to Ferdinand of Aragón and Isabella of Castile, the Catholic Monarchs. Their fortune, acquired from the conquer of the Moors, was incalculable. Therefore, the Infanta would come with a great dower. In my heart, I had the feeling she would be a good wife for my son. She was only a few months older than him, but that did not matter too much. My own boy was just fifteen. They would learn together the duties of a married couple, and of a King and a Queen. She was educated in the strict household of Queen Isabella, in the marvelous and legendary Alhambra. That girl was born in war and raised in Paradise; she was a tough and spoiled princess, surely well-mannered, refined and aware. Surely would be a great Queen to England.

“I asked my mother to start the preparations. It must, and will be, the most remarkable wedding England had ever seen.” He said, dreamily.

I wanted to laugh at that; he had not been present in my parents’ wedding. Their wedding had mobilized the whole country. Everyone wanted to see the beautiful Lancastrian girl who had stolen the heart of the handsome York King. The only royal wedding he had attended was our own, which was a great ceremony of a great importance. It symbolized the union of the two English royal houses, the two roses of York and Lancaster finally in peace after a century of war. Henry wished our son’s wedding to be greater; after all, it was my husband’s doing. And my son was the union or marriage symbolized.

But I refrained from laughing; he had once again put his mother in precedence. I was never fond of Margaret Beaufort, and she was always clear about what she thought of me and my family. I had promised she would never sit in my presence again, and she did not. I was the Queen. But she was the first lady in the court. The wedding of my son should be something I would be arranging, not her.

“Is there anything wrong?” Henry asked.

“Not at all. I am positive that your Lady Mother will do a fine job.” I replied. “But not as fine as the job I would do.” I thought.

“She has experience in such things.” My husband nodded.

Experience… That old crone had no experience whatsoever. She was just an unimportant lady born to a Lancastrian family. Sadly, she had the odds at her favour. She succeeded to put her Tudor son in the throne of England, after destroying my own family.

“I am sure the job will be splendid.” I said. “Now, my lord, I wonder, what can I do to help? I would so love to help in whatever is needed.”

“If my Lady Mother needs help, she will come to you.”

“Not in a thousand years, not if the Heavens fall down on our heads.” I thought bitterly, but simply nodded. I never confronted Henry regarding his mother. I never complained. We developed a mutual understanding and a good relationship over the years. Even after the Perkin Walberk situation, that ultimately ended whatever respect and relation I had with Margaret Beaufort, Henry and I were a relatively happy couple.

Henry kissed my hand and left my chamber. I was ready to be bombarded by the ladies-in-waiting, who would surely be eager to know why the King had visited me so early in the morning if he had not spent the night in my rooms the previous night. But I had other things to do.

I entered my room, and inside my jewelry box, I found a black locket, gift from my mother. I opened it, and found it empty. I knew it had not always been empty, and it was about time for me to put something inside.

I tore a piece of a note sent by Margaret Beaufort, and wrote her name on it. After carefully folding it, I locked it inside. “May she know the pain of being a nullity in her own kingdom.” I cursed. “Hear me, Melusina.”

I hated the fact that I was just like my mother in such way; if I had the strength to never again seek for Melusina’s help, I would do so gladly. But I knew I had allowed her too much for too long.

I hid the locket in the bottom of the jewelry box and put on my usual smile, allowing my maids to come inside and start their daily routine of pretending to wait on me and love me, when in fact I knew most of them were nothing but little spies of my mother-in-law, watching every single step I gave and reporting it to her before I could notice.