Rosamund (27 page)

Katherine shook her head sadly. “I am in such difficult straits,” she said. “King Henry regards me as bound, but his son as free. I do not know what I shall do if I am cast off.”

“You will not be!” Owein Meredith said strongly. “It is your sister who inherited Aragon, not Archduke Philip, your highness. Your father will find a way to make this satisfactory. He can surely reason with Queen Juana in this matter. Everything will be all right, your highness. I am certain of it! We pray for you at Friarsgate, and we will continue to pray for you.”

“How odd,” the princess said softly, “that an unimportant girl from Cumbria and her knightly husband should be my champions. I have few friends here, Sir Owein. I am content to know that you are on my side, though you be far away.”

“You will be Queen of England one day, your highness,” he told her quietly. “A Tudor queen. From the age of six I have served the Tudors, and I will serve you, too, as will Rosamund.” He knelt and kissed her hand
once again. “King Henry can be hard, and I know from my friends that he is not well. But he is no fool. The match he made with your parents will stand in the end, your highness. Of that I am certain.” He arose. “With your permission I will withdraw from you now. I have had a long journey, and I should like to see some of my friends before I must return home to Friarsgate.” He bowed to her.

“See me one more time before you go,” she said, and he nodded.

He left the princess’ apartments and sought out some of his former companions. They were pleased to see him, and teased him that he had sired only daughters so far. Over their wine cups, however, they were filled with gossip, and Owein learned it was even worse for the poor princess than he had imagined. Katherine of Aragon was virtually destitute. The king had stopped her allowance entirely. She lived with the court because she could no longer afford to live at Durham House, which belonged to the Bishop of London.

Before she had been forced to give up her house she had been driven to economize to such an extent that her servants had to buy day-old fish, bread, and vegetables in the market. Many of the young women who had come with her from Spain in hopes of making good English marriages had been sent home because the princess could not afford to keep them, let alone dower them. Maria de Salinas had refused to leave her friend, however. Katherine was in debt to several London merchants who were not in the least shy of dunning her. Katherine, it was said, disliked Dr. de Puebla, the Spanish ambassador. She preferred the other envoy from Spain, Hernan Duque de Estrada, who was
simpatico
toward the princess and wrote the king on her behalf, though it did absolutely no good.

The princess, Owein’s friends told him, was constantly ill now with one complaint or another. She suffered from tertian fevers, an irregular flux, and headaches that left her so weak she was often unable to arise from her bed or leave her chamber for days at a time. Her nerves were not good, and she was suffering depression. Feeling alone and virtually friendless, she was frequently near collapse. Owein’s friends wondered aloud to him if she were indeed the right wife for Prince Henry.

“Will a girl of such delicate sensibilities be able to make princes for
England?” one said bluntly. “And she is no spring chicken any longer at nineteen. Perhaps the king is correct when he seeks a younger girl.”

“Princess Katherine will make England a fine queen one day,” Owein said loyally. “She is yet young enough, and I suspect the prince will do better with a wife a bit older than he.”

“You should see him,” another knight said. “He has grown from a big boy into a large man. Why, Owein, he stands at least six feet four inches in height, and has limbs like tree trunks. He has a man’s body, but yet a boy’s mind. The king hardly allows him any chance to rule. At least they sent poor Arthur, God assoil his soul, to Wales to learn kingship. The king will not part with Prince Hal though. He keeps a tight rein upon the lad.”

“Not so tight that the prince doesn’t get to lift a few skirts now and again,” said a third man with a chuckle. “He’s got a satyr’s appetite for female flesh, he does. If the princess does wed him, she’ll have to look the other way when his highness’ eye begins to roam, as it undoubtedly will.”

“It is to be hoped that Prince Hal will not make a public spectacle,” Owein noted. “The princess is a proud girl.”

He remained drinking and learning the court gossip with his friends until they all bedded down in the king’s hall for the night. In the morning, his head a bit the worse for wear, he again sought out Princess Katherine and bid her farewell.

“Please tell Rosamund to continue to correspond with me, Sir Owein,” the young woman said. “I like her letters so filled with your domestic details, the news of Friarsgate, and your daughters. And you will pass on to me any information that you learn from your friends here.”

“I am your highness’ loyal servant,” Owein Meredith said, bowing as he kissed the regal hand a final time and then withdrew.

He hurried his horse northward over the next few days. The spring sunshine cheered him as he rode and thought of Rosamund. He could scarce wait to tell her all the news. She would be distressed by Katherine of Aragon’s pitiful plight, but they would continue to aid the princess as best they could. Owein firmly believed that Katherine would one day be England’s queen, and she was not a woman to forget her friends.

Finally he sat his horse above the hills overlooking Friarsgate. The lake below was a bright blue in the late May sunshine. The green hills were dotted with their sheep, and the pastures were filled with the cattle and horses. He could see the folk working in the fields, tending the new crops of grain and vegetables. He moved his mount slowly down the hill road, knowing that his wife and children awaited him this day and was very glad to be home once again.

A stable lad came to take his horse as he dismounted.

“Give him a good brushing, Tom, and an extra measure of oats. He has traveled a long way and back these last two weeks,” Owein instructed. “And turn him loose in his own pasture to run and graze afterward.”

“Aye, m’lord,” the stable lad said, “and welcome home!”

Owein nodded at the boy’s greeting, and hurried into the house.

Alerted by a servant, Rosamund ran to greet him, flinging her arms about his neck and kissing him with great enthusiasm.

Laughing, Owein picked her up and carried her into the hall, setting her down gently as he said, “God’s blood, lady, ’tis a goodly greeting you give me. Have I been missed that much?” But he was pleased, for it was the first time since their marriage that they had been separated.

She looked up into his face, her eyes shining with her love for him. “Aye, sir, you have been very missed!” she assured him.

“Papa! Papa!”
He felt the insistent tug at his doublet.

Looking down, he saw Philippa. He bent down and picked her up with a smile. “How is papa’s precious princess?” he asked her and he kissed her rosy cheek. “Have you been a good lass, Philippa, and helped mama with your baby sister?”

Philippa looked at her father and lisped, “Yeth.” Then her brow furrowed. “Bannie stinkth,” she told him.

“Bairns sometimes will,” he agreed, “but your sister doesn’t always smell, does she? Be truthful now.”

“Nay,” Philippa said reluctantly.

Owein put his daughter down. “Rivalry already?” he asked his wife, as Philippa toddled off with a twinkle in her eye, satisfied to have been noticed and fussed over by her father.

“We need another,” Rosamund said. “That will put an end to it.” She smiled seductively at him. “And did you miss me, sir?”

“The bairn is scarce out of your belly and you want another, madame?” he teased her. “I think we should wait a bit.”

“We need a son,” Rosamund reminded him.

“In God’s good time,” he answered her. “Now, woman, where is my supper? I have eaten little but swill since I departed here. I am tired and I am ravenous.”

“At once, sir,” she replied, calling to the servants to bring the food. “And you will tell me of all you have seen and heard after you have eaten your fill.”

He nodded and then sat himself down at the high board.

They brought him a capon, roasted golden and stuffed with bread, apples, onions, and celery. A fine trout, sliced, set upon a bed of bright green watercress. There was a bowl of mutton stew, the chunks of meat swimming in a cream gravy with pearls of barley and slices of carrot and sweet leeks. There was fresh warm cottage loaf, a crock of sweet butter, and a wedge of yellow cheese. They both ate heartily, mopping the gravy from the stew with pieces of the bread. They drained several cups of ale. And when they were sated with their supper a servant appeared to place a bowl of strawberries and another bowl of clotted cream upon the high board.

“Now,” he said, dipping a berry into the cream and popping it into his mouth, “I will tell you all, my love.” And he did.

Rosamund listened, not interrupting him until he had finally concluded his recitation. Then she said, “Poor Kate has even less control over her life than we do. She is a princess, and I should not have thought such a thing possible. I cannot believe the king so cruel. What kind of example does that set for the prince?”

“He is not being cruel deliberately,” Owein explained. “He and King Ferdinand play a game of power. It is something like chess. Unfortunately, the princess is their only pawn, and she suffers for it.”

“We must continue to help her, Owein. We have so much, you and I, here at Friarsgate. She has little but her hopes,” Rosamund told him. “I know we have not a great deal of coin, for we country folks live by barter and trade,
but we must find the coin to send her when we can. Please do not deny me this, my lord.” She looked anxiously at him.

“You are the lady of Friarsgate, lovey, and I but your husband,” he told her. “Still, we are of one mind in this matter, Rosamund. Sometime in the autumn there will be a visitor from Princess Katherine. We will send him back with what we can.”

“Aye! We can sell some lambs or two young heifers. There is a yearling in the pasture not yet gelded that will give us a profit, for he was sired by ShadowDancer, the best sire of warhorses in all the north of England. I call him Tatamount, for he is his sire’s twin. If we put it out that we have him for sale, we can take the monies from such a sale and send them to Princess Katherine,” Rosamund said enthusiastically. “He should bring us a pretty penny.”

“Let him remain the summer in our pastures, fattening,” Owein suggested. “We shall sell him after Lammastide.”

She nodded. “ ’Tis a good plan, my lord.” Then she said, “You must have a bath, sir, for you stink right well of the road. I shall go and prepare it now. Maybel will come for you.”

“Perhaps you will join me, madame?” he said softly. “That fine new tub the cooper made for us has seen little of us in these last months. Now that Banon is safely born we must put it to good use again.” He heard her laugh softly as she ran from the hall. His eyes now strayed to his daughters. Philippa played on the floor beneath the watchful eye of her nursemaid. She was well past two now, and very active. She had Rosamund’s auburn hair, but her baby-blue eyes had darkened to his own hazel green. By the fire the rocker’s foot moved rhythmically as she gently agitated Banon’s cradle. There was little he knew of this second daughter yet but that her look was lively.

Rosamund seemed to be a good breeder. Her confinements appeared easy, with little sickness. She birthed her children readily and without great difficulty. The bairns seemed healthy. But she wanted to give him a son, and the truth was that he longed for a son. But he would never admit to it, for he knew his wife well by now. Rosamund loved him every bit as much as he loved her. If he announced he wanted a lad, she would keep
trying to birth a son until she either had one or could no longer conceive. Owein Meredith was no fool. He knew that too many bairns could kill a woman. His own mother had died that way. He should rather have his sweet Rosamund than a son any day.

Maybel interrupted his thoughts. “Your bath is ready, my lord,” she said. “I have not yet had the opportunity to welcome you home, but I do so now.”

“Maybel,” he said bluntly, “how do you keep a woman from conceiving a bairn?”

“My lord! Such a thing is forbidden,” she told him.

“Aye, but there are ways, I know, and I suspect that you know them, too. Listen to me. Rosamund wants to give me a son, but I think to have another bairn so soon after Banon might harm my wife. Can you help me, Maybel?”

“You’ll not refrain from your passions, I know,” Maybel said quietly, but there was a twinkle in her eyes.

“The lass will not leave me in peace,” he chuckled, “and I am weak where she is concerned. I admit it.”

Maybel laughed, but then she grew serious. “My lord, do not be angry, I beg of you, but I have already taken the matter in hand. I did after Philippa was born. Rosamund does not know, but she must rest between her confinements, and she will not if given the choice. Each day I bring her a
strengthening
drink that she drinks down because she trusts me. It is actually a brew I make from the seed of the wild carrot and a bit of honey to take away the bitterness. This should allow your seed to fall on unfallow ground, my lord. A child every two years or more is enough. We must have a son for Friarsgate one day.”

“Agreed, but not too soon.” He smiled at the older woman. “I will go to my bath now easy in the knowledge that we are free to love each other, for my lass will not be denied, wicked wench that she is.”