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Page 2
Mary, as young or even younger than the princess contemplating her, appeared startled, alarmed to be told of impending, virginal motherhood.
Just as alarmed, Catalina thought, as I feel about the prospect of going to a husband and prince I have never met.
This thought, breaking through to her consciousness - unbidden, undesired, not in any way wanted - froze her. She gazed right and left, feeling as if the words were still somehow there, ringing loud in the air. A weight of guilt bowed her head. Forgive me, dear God, for my ungratefulness, the disrespect to my parents. It must be because of my illness that I think such things. And I do know Arthur - I do! How could I not know him when Arthur and I have been betrothed since we were both in swaddling clothes? And we have exchanged letters over the last three years, many, many letters. With a deep sigh, she closed the book, placing it on a nearby stool, and walked over to the arched, colonnaded entrance to the garden. Here garden sounds intermingled. Running water from water fountains poured continuously into the long, rectangle pool where scolding birds dipped in for an evening drink and stayed to splash in play. They had been in Santiago de Compostela for five days now, and this was the first day that Dona Elvira deemed her princess well enough to be allowed out of bed. Catalina - with all the resilience of youth - now found it hard to believe she had ever been ill, the last two days had seen the return of most of her strength. Picking a half-open red rose, growing upon a tall bush in a large ceramic rose pot, Catalina closed her eyes, her thick eyelashes shadowing faint half-moons on her cheeks, as she inhaled its scent. The rose's fragrance added to the already heady bouquet of other perfumes found in these well kept remains of a garden once Moorish, a garden now securely in the royal catholic possession of Catalina's parents. Strolling alongside the water pool - the central feature of the garden - Catalina experienced a moment of deep thankfulness that her journey had been brought to a halt, even if the stop promised to be but a brief one. Not long ago, the priest selected by the Queen to accompany Catalina to England had confessed her, and said the eventide prayers with her. With his departure, she had chosen not re-summon her attendants to resume their vigilant care. Catalina desired to be alone, and claim a few precious minutes where she could hear herself think.
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