Three May Days – Three Queens of Henry's heart
AN: I had this idea for a series of three one-shots, and I couldn't resist so here they are. I don't own the Tudors, or the 2008 film of the Other Boleyn Girl so please don't sue when you come to that scene. I hope you enjoy! R and R!
Catalina de Aragón - May Day 1509
The jousting was done, and England's new King, young Henry, or rather, Harry, Tudor, had excelled at the Tilt, besting every challenger who rode against him until even Charles Brandon dared not take up another lance against him, for fear of losing.
Harry, flushed with triumph at the success of his exertions, rode a lap of honour with his love's favour, the favour of the Spanish Princess, Catalina, clear for all to see.
He rode up to the stands, leapt off his horse down into the Royal Pavilion, grabbed his sweetheart tightly by the waist, and pressed a hard passionate kiss on to her lips, not caring that they were in public. Catalina, for her part, giggled and blushed like a love-struck maiden, despite the fact that she was five years Harry's senior. She kissed him back, murmuring "So you are back, mi querido. Back safe in my arms. Shall we have a banquete to celebrate?"
"A banquet, Catalina? Wouldn't it be a shame to waste this glorious day, my love?" Harry looked puzzled, for in her excitement, Catalina had reverted to her native tongue of Castilian, saying banquete instead of its English equivalent. Now she wrinkled her brow and struggled for the English.
"No, no un banquete, un picnic. Un Picnic en el bosque. In the woods, Harry. A picnic in the woods."
"Yes! What a wonderful idea! A picnic it is, Catalina." The young King was mighty pleased with the idea, and within the hour, the King, with the future Queen riding pillion behind him, had set out on his favourite hunter, galloping for the hidden clearing that had been designated as the picnic spot on this particular trip.
Fifty favoured courtiers thundered behind them, listening to the Spanish Princess's stifled shrieks of delight with knowledgeable, indulgent smiles.
They feasted on quails, on rabbits, on swan and on salmon, before moving on to the sweetmeats – the sugared plums, the honeycakes, the freshly ripe peaches fresh from Her Highness's homeland of Granada, and the almonds bound together with honey and icing sugar, another Spanish dish.
Then Harry, with a nod to the musicians, leapt to his feet, and held out his hand to the Spanish Princess, requesting the honour of a dance.
"Naturalmente, su Majestad. I mean, certainly, Your Majesty." The Princess stumbled over the words, before flushing crimson. Harry laughed at her discomfort, and led her to the centre of the floor, where they began to dance together, an intricate country dance where they went hand to hand and stood close together, his arm around her waist as their legs flicked in and out, crisscrossing their own and each other's.
As the last notes died away, Harry pulled Princess Catalina back to lean against his chest and murmured "Happy May Day, Catalina. My Catalina. My Queen of the May."
In a delicious moment for her, Catalina found the lover's response. "I am no Queen, Harry. No tiene una corona. I have no – no crown."
"Then we must give you one." Harry leant down and picked up a clumsily woven crown of daisies and cherry blossoms. He removed her hood, set it on her head and kissed her lightly.
"Happy, Queen Catalina?" he asked her, and she nodded, eyes dancing with mirth, as he picked her up and twirled her around, whispering "I love you, Catalina. I loved you the first time I set eyes on you, remember? When I came to escort you to London for my brother's wedding. I loved you then and I love you now. One day, one day soon, we will be married, won't we?"
"Yes, but Harry?"
"Yes, Catalina? What is it?"
"Can you teach me your native language?"
Catalina flushed a deep shade of crimson. Harry chuckled fondly.
"Yes, Catalina. When we are married, I shall teach you English myself, and we shall love each other for eternity, shall we not?"
"Yes. Yes! Para todo el tiempo." She promised, and he laughed at her exuberance, and swept her off the dance floor, back towards the horses.
The last anyone saw of the King and the Spanish Princess that night was their silhouettes, as they rode their horse away through the trees, galloping into the rapidly deepening dusk.
