Excerpt of The Constant Princess by Philippa Gregory
(Page 2 of 13)
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The five-year-old child watched her mother's determination conquer
fire itself, her queenly certainty douse panic, her belief in success
overcome the reality of disaster and defeat. The little girl perched on
one of the treasure chests, tucked her nightgown around her bare toes,
and waited for the camp to settle.
When the mother rode back to her daughter, she found her dry-eyed and
"Catalina, are you all right?" Isabella of Spain dismounted and
turned to her youngest, most precious daughter, restraining herself from
pitching to her knees and hugging the little girl. Tenderness would not
raise this child as a warrior for Christ, weakness must not be
encouraged in a princess.
The child was as iron-spined as her mother. "I am all right now," she
"You weren't afraid?"
"Not at all."
The woman nodded her approbation. "That is good," she said. "That is
what I expect of a princess of Spain."
"And Princess of Wales," her daughter added.
This is me, this little five-year-old girl, perching on the treasure
chest with a face white as marble and blue eyes wide with fear, refusing
to tremble, biting my lips so I don't cry out again. This is me,
conceived in a camp by parents who are rivals as well as lovers, born in
a moment snatched between battles in a winter of torrential floods,
raised by a strong woman in armor, on campaign for all of my childhood,
destined to fight for my place in the world, to fight for my faith
against another, to fight for my word against another's: born to fight
for my name for my faith and for my throne. I am Catalina, Princess of
Spain, daughter of the two greatest monarchs the world has ever known:
Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon. Their names are feared from
Cairo to Baghdad to Constantinople to India and beyond by all the Moors
in all their many nations: Turks, Indians, Chinamen; our rivals,
admirers, enemies till death. My parents' names are blessed by the Pope
as the finest kings to defend the faith against the might of Islam; they
are the greatest crusaders of Christendom as well as the first kings of
Spain; and I am their youngest daughter, Catalina, Princess of Wales,
and I will be Queen of England.
Since I was a child of three, I have been betrothed in marriage to
Prince Arthur, son of King Henry of England, and when I am fifteen I
shall sail to his country in a beautiful ship with my standard flying at
the top of the mast, and I shall be his wife and then his queen. His
country is rich and fertile -- filled with fountains and the sound of
dripping water, ripe with warm fruits and scented with flowers; and it
will be my country, I shall take care of it. All this has been arranged
almost since my birth, I have always known it will be; and though I
shall be sorry to leave my mother and my home, after all, I was born a
princess, destined to be queen, and I know my duty.
I am a child of absolute convictions. I know that I will be Queen of
England because it is God's will, and it is my mother's order. And I
believe, as does everyone in my world, that God and my mother are
generally of the same mind; and their will is always done.
In the morning the campsite outside Granada was a dank mess of
smoldering hangings, destroyed tents, heaps of smoky forage, everything
destroyed by one candle carelessly set. There could be nothing but
retreat. The Spanish army had ridden out in its pride to set siege to
the last great kingdom of the Moors in Spain, and had been burned to
nothing. It would have to ride back again, to regroup.
Copyright © 2005 by Philippa Gregory Limited. Reproduced by permission of Simon & Schuster Publishing.