How bitter I became later and it was small wonder. In fact, he did not wish me to go because in his heart he was already wondering whether the match would ever take place and whether he should soon reverse his loyalties and it would be the French for whom he would show friendship, which could mean offering up his daughter on a different sacrificial altar.

But at that time I lived in my dreams, and I must obey the rules which Vives had drawn up and submitted to my parents. I must be governed by these rules, and there must be no divergence from them. Then he said I should remember my mother's domestic example of probity and wisdom and, except if all human expectations fail, I should be holy and good by necessity.

My mother had been brought up most virtuously, but she had had sisters and a brother, and I used to long for some of my own. If only I had a sister—someone to play with, to share things with. I knew enough to realize that I was echoing the wishes of my parents.

I had been rather fond of stories of romance and chivalry. It had been pleasant after lessons and outdoor exercise to settle down and read with the Countess or perhaps Margaret Bryan.

When Vives heard this he was shocked. “Idle books!” he declared. “There shall be an end to this. If there are stories for recreation, they must be from the Bible, though the classical and historical might be permitted occasionally.”

Everything I did must be with the object of improving my mind. Fiction was out of the question. No more romances, such as Lancelot du Lac and Pyramus and Thisbe. I might read the story of the patient Griselda, for this would strengthen my character.

Card-playing was definitely forbidden. I must not preoccupy myself with finery of any sort. Instead of gloating over silks and fine brocades, I should commit to memory certain Greek and Latin passages which would be set for me; and I was recommended to repeat them at night until I was word perfect. Only then could I go to bed with the knowledge that I had earned my rest.

I was spending a great deal of time at my desk. I had always been a studious child and fond of learning, but I did want a chance to be out of doors, to train my goshawk, perhaps to play games with other children. I grew rather pale. I was already a little thin.

The Countess was worried. She had long conversations with my mother. “The Princess is but a child,” she said. “There is too much work and too little play.”

“She has to be trained for a great role,” explained my mother. “Johannes Ludovicus Vives is one of the greatest living scholars. We must keep to his rules or he will turn his back on us and go back to Spain.”

“Better that than the Princess's health should suffer.”

My mother began to worry about my health but she felt that Vives must not be offended.

The Countess was adamant. There were occasions when she remembered that she was a Plantagenet, and this was one of them. She declared that she would not be responsible for my health if the rules were not relaxed a little.

“It is true that the Princess must study,” she said, “but she is already beyond the standard expected of a princess of her age. There should be leisure in everyone's life, particularly for the young.”

She so thoroughly alarmed my mother that I did study less. Sometimes I think they were right to drive me, for although my health has at times been frail, I was always able to enjoy the company of some of the wisest men in the kingdom, which must have been due to my excellent education.

When the question of my being overstrained was brought to the notice of Vives, he pointed out that the daughters of Sir Thomas More were examples of educated women, and they could be regarded as a lesson to all. Sir Thomas's daughter Margaret was the most highly educated woman of the time and she was in good health. When I learned something of the More household, I realized that in such a happy family, which was full of fun and laughter, learning had been something to be enjoyed; and Sir Thomas would never force his children to do what they did not wish to. It was not that I did not want to learn. I did. It was just that I was often so tired and in danger of falling asleep at my desk.

All the time I thought of the Emperor Charles. I built up a picture of a hero in my mind. My mother, the Countess and all the women of the household constantly told me how much I loved my future husband. He was always in my thoughts. When I read my books, when I translated my Latin passages, I thought of him and how proud he would be of me.

THIS STATE OF AFFAIRS continued for two years, until I was nine years old. It was the year 1526—an eventful one for me because, I suppose, during it I grew up. I ceased to be an innocent child, for many things were revealed to me.

I had been vaguely aware that a great deal had been happening in Europe during that time. I had known that my father and my beloved Emperor were friends and allies and that we were at war with that wicked man of Europe whose evil schemes the heroes were determined to suppress. That was François Premier.

One day I saw my mother in a state of great excitement. It was good news, she told me. The war would soon be over. François, attempting to take Pavia, had been captured and was now the Emperor's prisoner in Madrid.

It was wonderful. It was good triumphing over evil, which I believed to be always the case in the end.

“Your father and the Emperor will now jointly invade France, and between them they will share that land.”

I listened, starry-eyed.

The Cardinal came to see me. I was not sure that I liked him. He was always rather unctuous but at the same time giving an impression that it would be unwise to cross him.

He kissed my hand with reverence and asked after my health. Then he told me he had brought something to show me. He opened a case and in it was a magnificent emerald ring.

“It is very beautiful,” I said.

“His Grace, your father, and I believe it is time you showed the Emperor your true feelings for him. I know you regard him with great tenderness.”

“Yes, my lord Cardinal.”

He smiled at me. “That is well. Did you know that the emerald is often a gift bestowed by lovers? It is said that the brilliant green will fade if the lover who receives it is unfaithful. Would you not like to send this to the Emperor as a token of your love for him?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “Yes, I should like to do that.”

He smiled benignly. “I have written a letter telling him that your love for His great Eminence has raised such a passion in you that it is confirmed by jealousy, which is the first sign and token of love.”

“Perhaps one should not say that, there being no cause for jealousy.”

“Ah, but you would be jealous if there was a cause.”

“Oh … mayhap,” I agreed.

“Then it shall be sent. I am sure the emerald will retain its brilliant green for many a year.”

So the emerald was sent and the Cardinal visited me again to tell me that when the Emperor received the ring he had said he would wear it for the sake of the Princess. Those were his very words.

The Cardinal seemed very satisfied, smiling inwardly, it seemed to me, by which I mean not at me but at his secret thoughts.

I wondered why, after so many years, I should have been given this emerald to send to my betrothed. Why so suddenly? But then he had said he would wear it for my sake, and that warmed my heart.

I was to learn later. It was all part of the rude awakening.

Everything began to go wrong in that year. Perhaps it was because I was getting to an age of understanding. I had not seen the evil which existed all around me. Perhaps I should have noticed my mother's tragic looks, the furtive glances which members of my household gave each other; perhaps I should have noticed the whispering in the corners. I was so immersed in my studies that I had no time to observe what was going on.