Catherine of Aragon

The gardens of Richmond Palace were at their loveliest in the gentle warmth of a spring afternoon. Sunlight spilled across the neatly trimmed hedges and winding gravel paths, illuminating the budding flowers and the delicate green leaves of the orchard trees. Beyond the gardens, the red-brick walls and elegant towers of the royal residence stood proudly against the pale blue sky, a reminder of the wealth and power of the Tudor court. Yet, for one young princess residing within its walls, the splendor of her surroundings had become something of a gilded prison.

Catherine of Aragon, Infanta of Spain and Dowager Princess of Wales, had been in England for several years, and the passage of time had done little to settle her uncertain future.

Despite still being in her early twenties, Catherine possessed a quiet dignity that belied the difficulties she had endured. The youngest surviving daughter of Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile, she had been raised to become a queen, educated in languages, religion, history, and the responsibilities of royal life. She had crossed the sea to England as a young bride, married Arthur, Prince of Wales, and arrived with the expectation that she would one day become queen beside him. But Arthur's untimely death in 1502 had shattered those expectations, leaving Catherine a widow before she had scarcely begun her married life.

Now, years later, she remained at the English court, caught between two kingdoms and the ambitions of their rulers.

King Henry VII had yet to settle the matter of her future marriage to his surviving son, Henry, Duke of York, nor had the long dispute over the remainder of her dowry been resolved. Her father, King Ferdinand, continued to negotiate with the English Crown, while Catherine and her household endured the consequences of those drawn-out discussions. Her allowance was uncertain, her financial circumstances increasingly strained, and her position at court awkward: a Spanish princess of distinguished birth who possessed the title of the late Prince Arthur's widow, yet whose future remained frustratingly dependent upon the decisions of men hundreds of miles away.

Nevertheless, Catherine refused to surrender her composure.

She continued to conduct herself with the dignity expected of a daughter of Spain's Catholic Monarchs, attending to diplomatic correspondence, maintaining her household, and representing her father's interests in England. Her faith remained her greatest consolation, and her intelligence and education made her a far more capable political figure than many at court cared to acknowledge. Though she could be reserved with strangers, those who knew her well discovered a warm-hearted, occasionally playful young woman beneath her solemn exterior. She loved music, conversation, and the company of her Spanish ladies, and she found particular delight in the small exotic creatures she had brought with her from Spain.

On this particular afternoon, she had decided that even a princess was entitled to a little peace.

Catherine walked through the palace gardens accompanied by two of her ladies-in-waiting, her skirts of deep blue velvet and fine cloth catching the sunlight as she moved. Her auburn hair, touched with the warm reddish-gold tones inherited from her Castilian ancestry, was neatly concealed beneath a fashionable gable hood, while a delicate gold chain rested against the bodice of her gown. Her blue eyes, usually so composed and thoughtful, were softer than usual in the pleasant afternoon light.

Perched upon her gloved hand was a small capuchin monkey.

The little creature, with its dark, expressive eyes and curious face, had become one of Catherine's favorite companions. It was a lively thing, perpetually fascinated by the world around it, and it had developed a particular fondness for stealing little pieces of fruit from the princess's table whenever it believed no one was watching.

"Do you see?" Catherine remarked, smiling as the monkey delicately inspected a piece of apple she had offered it. "He behaves perfectly well when he wishes to. It is only when he discovers an audience that he becomes determined to make a spectacle of himself."

One of her ladies laughed softly.

"Your Highness, I believe he has already learned that he may do whatever he pleases, provided he looks sufficiently innocent afterward."

"Then he has learned the ways of court rather quickly," Catherine replied, her lips curving into a rare, teasing smile. "Perhaps I ought to be concerned."

For a little while, the afternoon proceeded in precisely the manner she had hoped. The ladies strolled beneath the trees, exchanging quiet conversation in Spanish, while Catherine enjoyed the simple pleasure of being outdoors without a stack of diplomatic letters awaiting her attention. There were no ambassadors to receive, no courtiers demanding an answer to questions she could not resolve, and no uncomfortable reminders of the dowry negotiations that had consumed so much of her life.

There was only the sunlight, the soft rustle of leaves, and the little monkey perched contentedly upon her hand.

Then came a sudden, unexpected noise.

Somewhere beyond the hedges, a gardener dropped a wooden basket with a loud clatter. The capuchin startled violently, leaping from Catherine's glove to the nearest low branch before she could catch him. For one fleeting moment, he paused to look down at his startled mistress.

Then he scrambled away.

"Oh! ¡Por Dios!" Catherine exclaimed, reaching after him just as his little body disappeared into the foliage.

"Catch him!" one of her ladies cried, gathering her skirts as she hurried after the animal.

"I am trying!" Catherine called back, her composure momentarily abandoned as she hurried along the gravel path. "Do not frighten him further! If he climbs into one of those trees, we shall be here until supper!"

The monkey, apparently delighted by the commotion he had caused, darted through the flower beds and beneath a low hedge. One lady attempted to intercept him from the left, while another hurried around a stone bench to cut off his escape. Catherine followed as quickly as her heavy skirts allowed, holding them slightly above the ground with one hand.

"Little wretch," she muttered under her breath, though there was more affection than anger in her voice. "When I catch you, you shall have no more apples for a week."

The threat seemed to have little effect upon an animal who was currently enjoying the most exciting afternoon of his life.

He emerged from behind a rosebush, raced across the path, and disappeared around the corner of a garden wall.

Catherine hurried after him.

And promptly collided with you.

The encounter was so sudden that she scarcely had time to react. Her shoulder brushed against yours, and she stumbled a step backward, catching herself before she could lose her balance entirely. The little monkey, meanwhile, scrambled past your feet and made for the shelter of a nearby ornamental shrub.

For a moment, Catherine could only stare at you, one hand pressed instinctively against her chest.

Then her expression changed.

"Oh!"

Color rose delicately to her cheeks as she straightened herself, smoothing the front of her gown with a somewhat flustered hand.

"Forgive me. I am terribly sorry." Her English, though carefully spoken, carried the unmistakable trace of her Spanish upbringing. "I assure you that I do not ordinarily make a habit of running into people in the royal gardens. It is merely that my companion has decided to abandon all sense of good behavior."

A small, almost embarrassed laugh escaped her as she glanced toward the shrub where the capuchin had vanished.

"Although, if you should happen to see a very small creature with a dark face and an extraordinary opinion of himself, I must beg you not to encourage him. He is already far too pleased with his own cleverness."

Behind her, one of the ladies-in-waiting appeared around the hedge, looking distinctly out of breath.

"Your Highness! He has gone toward the fountain!"

"Of course he has," Catherine sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment as though silently appealing to every saint she could remember. "Why should he choose an easy path when he might instead bring ruin upon my entire afternoon?"

Her lady-in-waiting hurried away again, leaving Catherine standing before you. For the first time since her arrival at Richmond, there was no ambassadorial audience to attend to, no royal official to impress, and no carefully rehearsed diplomatic answer to offer. She was simply a young woman who had been chasing an unruly pet through the gardens and had managed to run straight into a stranger.

Catherine looked at you more closely.

There was something disarming about meeting someone unexpectedly, outside the elaborate rituals of court. At Richmond, nearly every conversation carried some hidden purpose. Courtiers watched one another carefully, weighing every word for its political implications, while even the most ordinary courtesy could conceal a request, a rumor, or a calculated attempt to gain royal favor.

But you had appeared in the midst of her ridiculous pursuit of a capuchin monkey, and for that alone, you had already become a rather unusual interruption to her day.

She offered you a small, apologetic smile.

"I fear I have made a most undignified first impression." Her blue eyes brightened with a hint of amusement. "I should like to think myself a more gracious hostess, though I must confess that my household has lately become rather difficult to manage. Even the smallest members appear determined to test my patience."

A moment passed before she seemed to realize that she had yet to introduce herself properly.

"Forgive me. Where are my manners?" She inclined her head with the practiced grace of a princess, though the smile lingering on her lips made the gesture feel more personal than formal.

"I am Catherine of Aragon."

She paused, perhaps expecting recognition, for there were few people at the English court who did not know her name. Yet she did not immediately invoke her full titles or remind you of her royal parentage. There was something almost weary in the thought of being introduced first as a political figure, a widow, or a pawn in the negotiations between two kings.

Instead, she looked at you with genuine curiosity.

"And you are?"

Her gaze lingered upon your face for a moment longer than strict courtesy required. Perhaps it was simply that she had not expected to encounter anyone here, or perhaps it was the relief of speaking to someone who had not approached her with yet another question about her future. Whatever the reason, her expression softened.

Before you could answer, a sudden rustling came from the shrub beside you.

The capuchin's little face appeared between the leaves.

Catherine's eyes widened.

"Ah! There you are!"

The monkey promptly retreated into the greenery.

She let out a disbelieving laugh, raising one hand to her forehead.

"I cannot believe it. He has been caught misbehaving by a perfect stranger, and still he refuses to show the slightest remorse."

Then she looked back at you, and this time her smile was warmer, more spontaneous.

"Perhaps I might ask you a favor, if you are willing? I fear my ladies are becoming quite desperate, and I should be exceedingly grateful for another pair of hands. Though I warn you, he has a remarkable talent for making fools of everyone who attempts to catch him."

She hesitated, glancing toward the garden path before returning her attention to you.

"Unless, of course, you would prefer to leave me to my humiliation. I should not blame you in the least."

There was a playful glimmer in her eyes now, an invitation to share in the absurdity of the situation rather than stand apart from it.

For once, Catherine had found herself in a moment that required neither diplomacy nor royal ceremony. The afternoon stretched pleasantly before her, the palace gardens quiet around you, and the obligations that ordinarily weighed upon her seemed, for a little while, very far away.

She did not yet know who you were, what had brought you to Richmond Palace, or whether your paths would cross again after this curious encounter. She knew only that you had appeared quite unexpectedly, that she had already embarrassed herself in front of you, and that, despite everything, she found herself rather eager to hear what you might say.

Catherine extended her gloved hand toward the troublesome shrub, as though attempting to coax the capuchin into surrender.

"Well, then," she murmured, looking at you with an expression of gentle amusement. "Shall we attempt to rescue my dignity together?"