In the Falling Pomegranate Seeds Duology, readers are transported to the rich historical tapestry of 15th and 16th-century Europe, where the lives of remarkable women unfold against the backdrop of political upheaval and personal struggles.
In the first book, beginning in 1490 Castile, Doña Beatriz Galindo, a passionate and respected scholar, serves as an advisor to Queen Isabel of Castile. Beatriz yearns for a life beyond the constraints imposed on women, desiring to control her own destiny. As she witnesses the Holy War led by Queen Isabel and her husband, King Ferdinand of Aragon, Beatriz dedicates herself to guiding Queen Isabel's youngest child, Catalina of Aragon, on her own path. Beatriz's role as a tutor and advisor becomes instrumental in shaping Catalina's future as she prepares to become England's queen.
Fast forward to the winter of 1539 in the second book, where María de Salinas, a dear friend and cousin of Catalina (now known as Katherine of Aragon), pens a heartfelt letter to her daughter, the Duchess of Suffolk. Unable to make the journey from her London home due to illness, María shares her life story, intricately woven with her experiences alongside Catalina. Their friendship has endured through exile and tumultuous times. María seeks to shed light for her daughter on the choices she has made in a story exploring themes of friendship, betrayal, hatred, and forgiveness.
Through María's narrative, the eternal question Will love ultimately triumph?
With difficulty María held her tongue as Catalina dictated the letter to the king.
My Lord and Dear Husband,
I commend me unto you. The hour of my death draweth fast on, and my case being such, the tender love I owe you forceth me, with a few words, to put you in remembrance of the health and safeguard of your soul, which you ought to prefer before all worldly matters, and before the care and tendering of your own body, for the which you have cast me into many miseries and yourself into many cares.
For my part I do pardon you all, yea, I do wish and devoutly pray God that He will also pardon you. For the rest I commend unto you Mary, our daughter, beseeching you to be a good father unto her, as I heretofore desired. Lastly, do I vow, mine eyes desire you above all things.
Katherine, Queen of England
María had been in Catalina’s chambers for two days. She had given those in the castle no choice about the matter. As soon as they had opened the doors to her, she had gone in search of Catalina with her saddle bag filled with a lifetime of medical knowledge. By the end of the first day, she had realised she could do little for Catalina. All she could do was to help Catalina’s physician ease the final hours of her friend’s life. With each breath, Catalina struggled to surmount terrible pain. She slept only with the aid of poppy.
After a horrible night of fretful sleep, Catalina had asked to write a letter to her husband and check her will one last time. The letter done, Francisco Felipez, her secretary, read her will to her. Debts had been paid, servants rewarded, her personal jewellery and valuable furs bestowed to her daughter.
Listening, María gulped down a bitter laugh. English custom prevented a woman from writing a will while her husband lived. Trust Catalina to use the king’s denial of their marriage as a way to ask him to do right by their daughter and her servants. How I hate Henry Tudor. She should not spend these last hours worrying for others. But Catalina is as stubborn as ever. More so in these final days. She insists on doing what she thinks is right even if it increases her pain.
Wiping away her tears, María twisted towards the fire. The blue sea coal flared and crumbled, begging for replenishment. She gritted her teeth, angry once more, and shovelled a few precious pieces of coal onto the burning embers. There was very little fuel left to warm this freezing room.
“The letter to my husband and my will are finished.” Catalina outstretched a shaking hand. “Francisco, with my whole heart, I thank you.”
Francisco raised his head, his face strained and tired. He stood from his chair and came to Catalina’s side, sheltering her hand in both of his. “Noble queen, serving you…” His Adam’s apple moved up and down. He released her hand and rubbed at his face with ink-stained fingers. “It has been the greatest honour of my life.” He bowed low to her. Catalina smiled gently at him, settling against the pillows of her daybed.
Francisco stood, gazing down at Catalina. “Madam – I…” He looked desperately over to María, his dark eyes alight with unshed tears.
Catalina kneaded the sides of her temples. Recognising her friend’s distress, María signalled him to go, fearing his naked grief would at last break apart Catalina’s determination to remain stoic, and calm.
He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, tidied up his inkpots before lifting his head. “I’ll never forget you, my queen.”
Catalina smiled a little, and licked her bloodless, cracked lips. “God speed, Francisco,” she said. María rose to fetch her some water, wincing when she heard Catalina say, “Pray… for me.”
Francisco bowed low again. “I will, my queen. Farewell, may the good God keep you in his care, Your Majesty.” He turned on his heel, rushing to the door.
María shut the door and returned to Catalina with a goblet of watered-down wine and waited for Catalina to finish drinking. She took the goblet and replaced it on the table by the pitcher of water. She turned back at the same time Catalina reached for her comb on the small table beside her. Her eyelids fluttering, Catalina panted; even such a small exertion caused her to struggle to breathe. Her skin waxen, her whole being possessed the translucence of the dying.
Rushing back to her side, María picked up the comb. “Let me. Please.” She started to comb Catalina’s grey, thin hair and remembered the thick golden-red hair of Catalina’s youth. Her throat constricted. Despite her gentleness, with each stroke of the comb, more of Catalina’s hair came away. Catalina shut her eyes and groaned, the lines of age carved deep into her face.
María froze the comb in mid-air. “Did I hurt you?”
Catalina moved her head. “No, not you, my sister.”
“Are you feeling worse?”
“No… no… Thank the good Lord… I am… a little better today, thanks to your care. But the pain’s a wolf, waiting outside… outside the door. When the door opens, it tears me with its teeth.” She breathed out a ragged breath.
María rested her hand on Catalina’s shoulder. Her friend had lost so much flesh, her body seemed no more than loose skin on bird-like bone. “Try not to talk. It tires you too much. Do you want me to make you another mixture of poppy?
Catalina shook her head again. “It only makes me sleep.… I don’t want to sleep… not yet… Time enough for that soon… Pray, don’t argue with me. The end is coming. Let me talk, while I can…”
María bowed her head. “I don’t want to think of you gone from me.” She swallowed, tottering so close to losing control.
Catalina reached for her hand. She held it weakly for a moment, then dropped it. “Sister, only gone… from this world… Be happy I go to God. All my troubles over. At peace, María, at peace…”
María tidied what she could of Catalina’s dishevelled locks, tucking strands behind her ears.
Time stopped still. She sighed, laying her fingers on either side of Catalina’s clammy forehead.
“Do you remember the queen, your mother, combing your hair before we left Castile?”
Catalina smiled, and held María’s hand for a moment. “Do you ever forget love?”
