“Keep it,” Logan Hepburn said, wiping his eyes of the tears that his laughter had brought forth. “Each time, lady of Friarsgate, that I think you are as meek and mild as the lambs dotting your hillside, you surprise me with your claws, which are still very sharp. You are a most worthy opponent.” He bowed to them both. “I know my way out. I shall take the animal with me if you will prepare the bill of sale.”
“Edmund Bolton will see that you have it,” Owein said shortly.
The Hepburn of Claven’s Carn bowed again. “I will bid you both a good day then. I look forward to our next encounter, lady.” Then, with a wave, he was gone from their hall.
“I am beginning to understand your dislike of the man,” Owein said through gritted teeth. “He looks at you as if you were the next meal he anticipated devouring.”
Now it was Rosamund who laughed. “Are you jealous, my lord?” she teased him, stroking his clenched jaw. “He did not cheat us, Owein. He paid full price for the beast and a bit more. We shall send it south with Kate’s man when he visits us this autumn. I am content, and I would have you be, too.”
He bent and kissed her hard. “Aye, I find I am jealous, lovey. Each time we meet I remember that Logan Hepburn wanted you for his wife before we wed. He has not yet married I am told.”
“But you are wed, and to me, my lord. Let us put this rude borderer from our minds, and enjoy each other,” she said softly, seducing him with a smile and a caress.
He nodded. “Aye, lovey. I must remember. I have you. He doesn’t.”
Chapter 12
Rosamund received but one letter from Katherine of Aragon after the summer of fifteen hundred and six and Owein’s visit to court. In it Kate began joyously writing that the king was permitting her to spend more time with Prince Henry. It would appear the difference in their ages was smoothing itself away as he grew into manhood. The prince was attentive. He was kind, the princess wrote, continuing to refer to her in public as “my most dear and beloved consort, the princess, my wife.” The bond of affection began to grow between Katherine of Aragon and young Prince Henry Tudor. The king, however, seeing what was happening, decided to separate the couple, for he had still not determined that the marriage take place.
I believe,the princess continued,that he now thinks the marriage between his son and I will not take place. I have been sent to Fullham Palace again, although the king has said if I prefer any other of his houses I may have it. I cannot afford to maintain Fullham, and have so written to the king. Why does he not understand my plight? I am now told I will return to court come autumn. Oh, Rosamund, what will happen to me? I am beginning to be afraid, but I must trust more in God and his Blessed Mother to protect me and keep me from all harm. Of late I have felt my faith wavering and must make amends for it lest I be punished.
“It is intolerable that they play this game of cat and mouse with her,” Rosamund said indignantly.
Then in November a messenger arrived from the Princess of Aragon with stunning news. Kate’s brother-in-law, Archduke Phillip, had died suddenly at the age of twenty-eight. Her sister, Juana, the Queen of Castile, was devastated. Never stable, Juana had collapsed, resolutely refusing to believe that her husband was dead. She would not, at first, allow his body to be buried, opening the coffin and kissing the decomposing remains passionately before falling into great bouts of hysteria and weeping. Finally her attendants were able to convince her to permit her husband a decent Christian burial.
King Ferdinand immediately moved to take possession of Castile, as it was very obvious to everyone that Queen Juana, never strong under the best of circumstances, would not ever again be entirely sane. She could not govern, and her eight-year-old son Charles was declared Carlos I of Castile, his grandfather of Aragon acting as regent for the boy. Now Ferdinand had all of Spain back in his hands. It did not, however, help Katherine’s position, as her nephew should one day be ruler of Castile.
Rosamund and Owein gave the princess’ man the proceeds from the sale of Tatamount and enclosed a loving letter of support with the instructions to have the messenger return in the spring with news and they would try to help further.
“We will sell lambs,” Rosamund said, determined. “Oh, Owein, that I were a wealthy heiress with bags of gold in my vault! But I am just the lady of Friarsgate. My wealth is in my lands, my flocks, and my herds. Do you think poor Kate will ever be Queen of England now?” She sighed. “Poor lass for all her fine title.”
In the late spring of fifteen hundred and seven Rosamund’s two daughters celebrated birthdays. They were, to their parents’ relief, strong and healthy little girls. Wherever Philippa would go, Banon was sure to be found toddling on fat baby legs right behind her. By late summer Rosamund knew she was once again with child, and she despaired.
“Another daughter, I am certain of it!” she wailed. “Why can I not make you a son, Owein?”
“You cannot know until the bairn is born,” he said, “and if it another lass I shall be content as long as you are both safe and well. Besides, it will give me great pleasure to match my girls while your uncle Henry sits by gnashing his teeth that I overlook his sons.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Aye, it will drive him quite wild to see my female progeny inheriting Friarsgate,” Rosamund agreed. “I hear that Mavis has whelped another bastard, although my uncle must claim it as his own.”
“What shall we name another daughter, if indeed it be a lass?” he asked her.
“Well,” Rosamund considered, “we have named the first after my mother and the second after your mother. I think I shall call this one after the king’s late wife, Queen Elizabeth, who was so good to me when I first arrived at court. It is a lass, Owein. I quicken the same way as with the others and am as healthy as a sow.” She sighed, then said with a grin, “We do have a great deal of fun producing these daughters of ours. Yet we must be doing something wrong. After I have birthed Bessie we must consider it well, for I will have a son, dammit!”
Rosamund birthed her third daughter, Elizabeth, on May the twenty-third fifteen hundred and eight. The child was also given the names of Julia, for her birth date was the saint’s day, and Anne, for the mother of the Blessed Virgin, who was said to be the patron of expectant mothers. Like her sisters, Bessie was a strong and healthy child, but unlike them she had blond hair like her father, and Owein was visibly pleased.
The princess’ messenger arrived from Greenwich and was filled with gossip. Rosamund insisted upon being carried into the hall so she might greet him and learn all the news. It was not good. The Princess of Aragon’s few remaining servants were the joke of the king’s court. Those proud Spaniards walked about now, their clothing and livery virtually in rags. Not only that, but the king was in negotiations with Emperor Maximilian of the Holy Roman Empire, to betroth the emperor’s grandson, Archduke Charles, the mad queen of Castile’s son, with his youngest daughter, Princess Mary. As the boy archduke was heir to the Low Countries, this would very much be to England’s advantage regarding the wool and cloth trade it had with that part of the world. It would also act as a counterbalance to a surprising political alliance only recently made between King Ferdinand and France.
The English king had decided that Ferdinand was no longer necessary to his plans. The Princess of Aragon was made very aware of Henry Tudor’swant of love for heras she delicately put it. She had written to her father, begging him for aid. Her few remaining servants were her responsibility, she pointed out again. She was not asking for luxuries, but the simple ability to sustain them. Like all the women of her family, Katherine had been taught from the cradle to submit to the men in her life. Hence she would not criticize, but she would beg. Yet her great pride sustained her somehow, especially when she was being constantly dunned by her creditors. They were aware of the gossip regarding the king’s manner toward the Spanish princess. They feared she would be removed to Spain before they might be paid what was owed them. They did not understand that even a princess may be destitute.
Rosamund wept at her friend’s plight, but as Owein wisely pointed out to her, there was nothing more she could do for Katherine than she was already doing. These were the affairs of the mighty, not of a small landowner in Cumbria. The coins they sent to the princess were great for them, although they would probably sustain the lady for little more than a few days, and poorly at that. Still Rosamund set aside what she could to send to Katherine of Aragon whenever her messenger came to Friarsgate.
The princess’ messenger did not return to Friarsgate for over a year, but when he came the tale he told was worthy of a bard. King Henry Tudor had gotten it into his head that he would marry the mad Queen Juana of Castile. Her mental state meant little to him. What counted was that she was a breeder of healthy children. The king suddenly decided he must have more heirs. Katherine favored the plan, for she was wise enough to realize her own future depended on it. She had managed to convince her father to recall his ambassador, Dr. de Puebla, who was now ill. King Ferdinand, his conscience finally troubling him, sent his daughter two thousand ducats and appointed her his ambassador until he could send another man. The sum of money was not great, but it did allow Katherine to clear many of her more serious debts, pay her servants, and see to their welfare. Her new ranking as ambassador from Spain again increased her status with Henry’s court. She found herself briefly in favor once more.
Good-hearted and loyal and lacking in malice, the princess had finally learned the hard lesson that the morality practiced by men good or bad was far different from that practiced by women. She grew more assured in her dealings with the king, charming him one moment, learning how to look at him directly and lie facilely. The king even began paying the princess a small allowance once again, but the goodwill did not last long.
Henry Tudor quickly realized that King Ferdinand had no intention of giving up Castile, or Juana, who was totally mad now and confined. He began casting about for another wife. Katherine’s star once more descended into the depths. The king again attempted to make a match for Prince Henry with Eleanor of Austria, but the negotiations quickly collapsed.
Now he turned to France for a bride for his son, but as the year fifteen hundred and nine began, the king was growing sicker. A group of his nobles approached him to beg that he honor the match with Katherine. The last of her dowry was finally ready for payment. He was ill. They feared for the succession if the prince were not quickly wedded and bedded and producing heirs for England. Convinced by his mother, the Venerable Margaret, that he was growing sicker by the day, the king agreed to consider it. But now there was serious talk of Katherine returning to Spain to await another match. She was twenty-three, a bit long in the tooth to begin breeding heirs according to the standards of their day.
