The picture made him very excited. It was nonsense, of course, just a dream, a fantasy; but it was very enjoyable.
And oddly enough he could not dismiss it from his mind.
When the Spanish Infanta stepped ashore at Plymouth with her duenna beside her, she was warmly received by the dignitaries of Plymouth. They had been warned of her arrival and had been awaiting it for several days and when the ship appeared on the horizon the call had gone up: “The Spanish Princess is here.”
The King had given orders that she was to be royally entertained. He would be sending Lord Brook the steward of the royal palace to look after her; he himself could not be expected to make the three-week journey to Plymouth, but he was determined that she should be entertained in accordance with her rank and that her parents should have nothing to complain of in the treatment she received in her new country.
Catalina herself was bewildered. It had been a frightening journey although she had set off from Granada in May and had not embarked at Corunna until August; but even then the ship in which she had set out had been forced back to the coast of Castile because of gales and storms. She had been so ill when she landed that she had not been able to set out again until September. Then her father had ordered that the finest ship he owned—one of three hundred tons—should be put at her disposal. This was a great deal more comfortable than the previous vessel and on the second of October when Plymouth was sighted, Catalina felt that she had been traveling for months.
“Catalina,” her mother had said, “you will have to learn the language of your new country and you will no longer be called Catalina. In English it is Katharine. But what is a name? You will still be my good Catalina whatever they call you.”
Was it so important to change a name? Only because it was a symbol. Everything would be different now. She had to learn. She had to be a credit to her parents. She had been told that often enough.
How desolate she had been when she stood on deck watching the green land come nearer! Only her strict upbringing had prevented her from turning to Doña Elvira Manuel and begging to be taken home to her mother.
What foolishness that had been! She had left Spain forever. Whatever anyone had said to comfort her she knew that and the fear that she might never see again her beloved mother was what hurt her most.
She had known for a long time—since she was ten years old and she was now sixteen—that it had had to happen. A similar fate had overtaken her sisters Maria and Juana. They had left Spain—lost to their home forever. Her eldest sister Isabella and her adored brother Juan had been even more irrevocably dealt with for Death had taken them.
How often had she asked herself during that long and exhausting journey why life had to be so cruel. If only time could stand still, and they remain children, all happy together, for they had been such a happy family and it was their mother who had made them so. She had loved them all dearly and if they had—every one of them—been in awe of her, they had loved her with a devotion which had made them desperately unhappy to leave her.
People were crowding round her. They were speaking and she could not understand what they were saying, but she knew these smiling cheering crowds were telling her that they liked her and that she was welcome on their shores.
She was taken into a small mansion and there conducted to an apartment where she might wash and rest before food was served. What she wanted more than anything was to be alone, but she knew that she could not hope to be without her duenna.
“I am thankful we have come through the journey safely,” said Doña Elvira. “I thought it was the end for us . . . but the saints preserved us and before anything else we should give thanks to them.”
Queen Isabella had chosen Doña Elvira to conduct her daughter to England because she had faith in her trustworthiness and religious principles. Elvira watched with hawklike eyes and Catalina knew that if she did anything which was not correct according to strict Spanish etiquette, her mother would hear of it.
“You look too sad,” said Doña Elvira. “You must not look so. It is not good manners. You must show these people that you are happy to be here.”
“But I am not, Doña Elvira. I am most unhappy. I hope the Prince doesn’t like me . . . and sends me home.”
Doña Elvira clicked her tongue in exasperation. “And what grief would that cause your gracious mother? And your father would be angry and only send you back again and then we should have to face those terrible seas once more.”
“It is just that I keep thinking of the past . . . when I was little . . . when we were in the nursery together . . . Juan, Maria and Juana . . .”
“Childhood does not last forever.”
“They have all gone, Doña Elvira. . . . My dear dear brother . . .”
“He is with the saints. . . .”
“And Isabella . . . She didn’t want to go back to Portugal. She had married once for state reasons. That should have been enough. It was strange how she was so unhappy about going to Portugal but she loved her husband in time. I think she was fond of both her husbands, though she loved Alfonso most. But Emmanuel was very kind to her and she was grateful for that.”
“That is how it should be. That is how it will be with you, my lady Catalina. But I must call you Katharine now. . . . It is not so easy to say. But we must all learn to change.”
“If that were the only thing one had to learn it would be easy. Katharine seems different. Catalina was the girl who was so happy. When we were young I was so proud, Doña Elvira . . . proud to be the daughter of the Sovereigns who had driven out the Moors and united Castile and Aragon . . .”
“So you should have been . . . and still should be. Never forget who you are, Catalina . . . Katharine.”
“But we soon learned that Spain was more important than any of us. The greatness of Spain. The glory of Spain. That was what mattered. That was why Isabella had to go back to Portugal and marry Emmanuel. . . .”
“Who had loved her ever since she set foot on Portuguese soil to marry Alfonso, and was a good husband to her.”
“But she didn’t want to go back. I remember her sadness so vividly. I was only ten at the time . . . but I remember. They sent her back and she died . . . and now Maria has had to go to marry Emmanuel . . . because friendship with Portugal is important to Spain.”
“Perhaps you should rest. You are talking too much.”
“It relieves me to talk. I must talk to you. These people here don’t speak our language. I wonder what Arthur will be like.”
“He is to be your husband. You will love him because it will be your duty to do so.”
“I wonder if Juana loves her husband.”
“There has been enough of this talk. Now you are going to lie down for twenty minutes. I shall awaken you at the end of that time and you must prepare yourself to meet the important people whom the King will send.”
“Will the King come himself?”
“Of course the King will come. He will want to show how grateful he is to be able to welcome the daughter of the Sovereigns of Spain.”
“I hope they will like me.”
“What nonsense is this! How could they fail to like the daughter of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella? Now rest. You are wasting the time in idle talk.”
She allowed her veil to be taken off and lay back on the cool cushions. She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the future by looking back over the past.
Did Juana love her husband? She couldn’t stop thinking of her. The truth about Juana had come to her suddenly. It was after one of those distressing scenes in the nursery when Juana had suddenly begun to dance wildly around and climbed onto the table and danced and when their governess tried to stop her she had clung to the arras hanging on the walls, swinging there. Their mother had been called and she had ordered that Juana be seized but none could take her because she kicked at them as they tried, and all the time she was laughing wildly.