About Me
The youngest surviving daughter of the two "Spanish Kings"--Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon--I was born 16 December 1485. As was customary at the time, arrangements for my marriage commenced almost as soon as I was born, and by the time I was three, I was betrothed to Prince Arthur of England--who was barely two at the time. As per Spanish custom, I grew up very sheltered and with extreme piety--though with an excellent education--virtually hidden from males, but with great pride in my family, my county, and myself. After all, Henry VII sought a Spanish alliance to lend credibility to the dynasty he was founding upon the ashes of the Plantagenets. When I was fifteen, I and a small household took ship for England, weathering several storms on the three month journey, and arrived in Plymouth on 2 October. Prince Arthur and I were married scarcely six weeks later in November. After the wedding and celebrations, Arthur and I moved our combined households to Ludlow Castle on the Welsh border, so that we might grow accustomed not only to each other, but to running our court. Six months later, Arthur died. Since the English King Henry VII was desirous of retaining my dowry (some of which had not yet been paid), arrangements were made for me to marry the new heir to the throne, Henry. A Papal dispensation was granted, and I began a patient wait for Prince Henry to reach manhood. However, when Prince Henry came of age, King Henry was no longer so keen on a Spanish alliance, and at his behest, Prince Henry repudiated the betrothal. The next four years of my life were not pleasant. I lived in poverty. The Spanish ambassador was forced to buy my necessities and I was unable to pay her attendants. I was in a political limbo. But King Henry VII died in 1509, and one of Henry VIII's first actions as King was to marry me--not soley for my dowry, but for love as well--and I was at last crowned Queen of England in June of 1509. My troubles, alas, were not over. Though I quickly became pregnant, my first delivery was of a stillborn daughter. The next year I bore Prince Henry, a fine strapping heir for the throne, but he suddenly died after only fifty-two days on this earth.His death was followed by a miscarriage and a another short-lived son before Princess Mary, my only living child, was born into this world. Though we continued to try, I had two more failed pregnancies, leaving my Lord frustrated, particularly when his mistress Bessie Blount easily conceived of a healthy son, named Henry FitzRoy. He then carried on with Mary Boleyn, who was quickly married off, though many believe her first two children were my Lord's. But by 1526, another interest had sparked: Anne Boleyn.As Queen, I had overlooked my husband's peccadillos, no matter how they hurt, especially now that I felt sure I could never conceive again, and discretion had been a watchword in my court. But this Anne Boleyn bewitched my Lord, leading him by the nose and parading him for all to see, even before me, whom she supposedly served as a Maid of Honour! (Though Henry avoided my company, he was scrupulous about attending official functions with me.)I knew him for truly bewitched when I was told that he no longer felt our marriage legitimate--despite a Papal dispensation!--due to a passage in Leviticus. Then the unthinkable happened: Henry broke with the Church and declared himself the Supreme Head of the English Church. What would become of my daughter and me?
