Falling Pomegranate Seeds: The Duty of Daughters (The Katherine of Aragon Story Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

game.”
    Prince Juan screwed up his face and rolled his eyes. “Not for the first time. My father is right. I dream too much.”
    Catalina bounded off her stool. “Can I play against Ahmed next?”
    Rising from the chess table, Prince Juan gazed towards his harp. He coughed again – and took a deep breath, as if fighting it. The prince was unwell so often Beatriz kept a well-stocked supply of soothing mixtures of horehound, honey and lemon for his coughs. But hating his times of weakness, Prince Juan worked hard at hiding any sign of illness from everyone, especially his parents.
    The prince wiped his mouth. “Take over the game, Uno Piqueño. I have a tune in my head I cannot silence.” He dipped his head to Prince Ahmed. “Do you mind? Catalina will give you a better game than me, especially today.”
    Prince Ahmed gestured to the empty seat across from him. “Come, Uno Piqueño. Let’s see if you can gain victory.”
    Watching Catalina consider her move, Beatriz put her hands in the deep pockets of her gown and drew them out again in disappointment. Staring down at empty hands, she sighed. Usually, she had small books in her pockets to read at times like these. Now she prepared for boredom. Maria too shifted from foot to foot, but then Prince Juan turned and spoke. “Maria. My guitar is still unpacked. Take it up, cousin, and sit by me. I need your help with my song.”
    Happiness lighting up her face, Maria grabbed the guitar next to Juan. She gazed at him with joy, with worship, as if unable to believe he trusted her with one of his most loved musical instruments, let alone believe he asked her aid to make music. The prince had played guitar for years and Maria only for the last nine months since companioning Catalina.
    Knowing the gentle prince would not expect her to ask permission in his private rooms, Beatriz settled on a stool, words of Aristotle coming to mind:
    ... shall we rather suppose that music tends to be productive of virtue, having a power, as the gymnastic exercises have to form the body in a certain way, to influence the manners so as to accustom its professors to rejoice rightly? Or shall we say, that it is of any service in the conduct of life, and an assistant to prudence? for this also is a third property which has been attributed to it.
    Beatriz turned to the window, and began planning her next lesson for the girls.
    ···
    Later that day Prince Ahmed plopped down next to Beatriz on the stone seat built as part of the protruding oriel window. The boy gazed down at the steep, rocky cliff-face that defended one side of the queen’s alcázar just as surely as did her soldiers, maybe more so, as it was difficult to imagine any – friend or foe – surmounting the sheer, inhospitable cliffs. Ahmed turned, commanding, “Tell me of my mother.”
    Her mind distracted by wondering how long it would take the royal court to reach their next palace, Beatriz laughed, shut the book she was reading and placed it on her lap. “Again, my prince?”
    “Pray, one more time,” Ahmed flashed a wide smile of perfect white teeth. “Until I ask the next time.”
    Beatriz settled against the cushions, preparing to tell the oft-told story. “She was a daughter of a famous general who spent his fortune in defence of your father’s kingdom. In gratitude, your father, my prince, showered a constant stream of titles upon him: Alcaide of Loja, Lord of Xagra, Mayor of the Alhambra and Sheriff of the Kingdom of Granada. With such a renowned father, it is not then not too surprising your mother became the wife of the king.” She smiled a little, knowing she had reached Ahmed’s favourite part. “I saw her once with you... Your mother held you in her arms before surrendering you for your father’s freedom. The veil on her face did not hide her unforgettable eyes. How piteous they looked when she passed you, her infant son, to the queen’s chamberlain.”
    Ahmed yanked the sleeve of his white shirt. Edged