January 28
Whitehall Palace, London
In bed, a great King lay broken.
I was this King. Once upon a time, I recalled, I'd been a golden youth- strong, charming, athletic. "Prince Henry has the common touch," people had whispered. Ladies would swoon as I walked by. None did now.
My infected leg ulcers brought me great pain. My muscles felt like water, they were so limp and weak. My gums ached. The old jousting wound in my head was the source of a pounding headache. I was weak and pale, all by myself in my chambers, and as I closed my eyes, longing for an escape from my pain, I drifted into a restless sleep.
"Husband?" whispered a voice I could never forget. "Henry, do you remember me?" "Cate?" I whispered, and I turned to see her- Catherine of Aragon, looking as young and radiant as she had when we first married in that rosy summer of 1509. Her elegant round face, her fair skin and sapphire blue eyes, the long curls of her reddish-gold hair... I could almost remember why I once loved her. She was dressed in rich fabrics and jewels and wore the Spanish fashion of a high-necked gown and gable hood.
I forced myself to picture the stout, defiant woman who had given me so many years of grief with her stubbornness. I realized she still wore the Crown. "Catherine? Is that you? How can this be?" She watched him with sad, round eyes as he paced. "I have come to see you, husband." She reached for my hand, but I snatched it away. "Remember our daughter, Mary?" Catherine pleaded. "We were married for 24 years, Henry. You were the only man I ever loved." "And what of Arthur? The brother that made our marriage incestuous?" "Still, Henry?" Her eyes steeled. "Still you hold to this conviction that only occurred to you when I no longer aroused your lust?"
"I had no choice but to settle my conscience with God!" I cried. Saddened, she shook her head. "You broke my heart when you cast me aside. You took my child from me. I died alone in Kimbleton Castle." "You had your ladies." I refused to pity her. "But what good are ladies when you don't have your husband?"
"Cate..." I forced myself to say the words, "I apologize. I should not have treated you or Mary so very cruelly, but I needed a son, an heir, and you could not give me one." "My mother, Queen Isabella, led armies. Mary could do the same. She is a true princess of England who could rule this land with wisdom and justice, if you gave her the chance." "She would restore the false religion!" I spat. "Even you think she is Mary the Bloody and not Mary the Catholic," Catherine said sadly. "Mary is a bastard! She has no right to the throne." I clenched my jaw. "She is a traitor to me and the church of England. She will never be queen."
"Henry! You defied the Pope and the law of God. You made yourself the head of a new church borne of lust and corruption. You married five women after me, but you never had the peace that you sought." "I have time yet!" I yelled. "You killed two wives," she murmured. "Innocents. You have sown the seeds of discord in this realm. You have brought ruin upon this dynasty."
"Enough, Catherine! Leave me alone. You are a powerless figment of imagination." "But I do have power," Catherine murmured, "For I love you still, despite all you have done. I will pray for your soul, Henry. I will see you soon."
"Catherine!" I yelled. Ruin upon my dynasty? My voice broke, and suddenly, I missed my mother, Elizabeth of York. I needed warm arms around me right now.
A high, sparkling voice rang out behind me. "Henry?"