Catherine, Beloved Queen II

Despite its aching emptiness, Catalina's stomach heaved yet again, the princess collapsing back into the arms of Dona Elvira. Catalina- both eyes now shut- concentrated hard upon the touch of comfort given by a damp cloth scented with lemon and cloves, lifting a hand to clear away the annoyance of a stray tendril of hair that found its way to her mouth.

The horse litter swayed, rocking side to side, jerking backwards and forward- its movement never seemed to come to a stop. As her head pounded with a savage beat, Catalina thought, 'My life -dear God- has it been anything other than this unceasing journey to England?'

Only a couple months younger than the princess, and given the same first name in honour of the royal birth near to sixteen years ago, Catalina's other attendant quickly re-veiled herself to clean the bowl just used by Catalina. Reaching for the large ceramic flask filled with sour wine, the girl opened the heavy layers of drapery dividing the three of them from the outside world. Close to the edge of the litter, she diligently rinsed the silver bowl, letting loose the liquid to pour onto the dusty ground, peering at the strong escort of horse-riders up ahead.

With their regular clip-clop drumming, horses' hoofs churned up the ground, lifting red swirls of heavy dust. The girl glanced with envy at the proud riders on their Arabrian horses, if only custom allowed them to travel thus. Both the princess and herself were expert horse-women, Dona Catalina benefiting from the same training as the princess. This included training by the best horse-masters the Queen could find, brought to court for the royal children's tutorage. But then, all the teachers of the children of Isabella and Ferdinand were famous throughout the land.

Finished washing the bowl- tired and feverish too- Dona Catalina paused, kneeling upright as she gazed on the rocky landscape passing her by. While the girl watched, a long sigh of fresh air dared its way inside, exploring the litter's cramped confines. Even so, the air- with its hints of an early morning shower- soon languished, becoming one with the heat and stuffiness found within.

Dona Elvira still sat at the top of the pallet, mopping beads of sweat from her princess' brow. The middle-aged woman leant against the thickly padded frame of the litter; her own ample body the cushion for Catalina's head and upper torso. The other girl returned to fan the princess, but almost fell across her when the litter gave a sudden lurch. A weak moan slipped involuntarily from Catalina's lips.

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