Then Queen Isabella had said, “Juana, listen to me.”
And that had made Juana stop laughing.
“Come,” the Queen had gone on quietly. “Come down to me, my darling.”
Then Juana had come down and flung herself into her mother’s arms and her wild laughter was substituted by sobbing, which was as wild.
The Queen had said quietly, “I will take the Infanta to her apartments. Bring one of her potions.” She had led Juana away, but as she left, the Queen had seen the wide frightened eyes of Catalina. She touched her on the head caressingly and passed on.
It had been later when the Queen had sent for her. They were alone together. Those had been the occasions which meant so much to Catalina. Then Queen Isabella was not so much the great Sovereign—greater even than Ferdinand, many said—she was the fond mother.
“Come to me, Catalina,” she had said, holding out her hand and the child had run to her, clinging to her. The Queen had lifted her youngest daughter onto her lap and said: “You were frightened, my child, by what you saw today. Juana is not to blame. She is not wicked. She does not do these things to grieve us. She does them because they are a compulsion . . . do you understand? Sometimes there is a little seed in families which is passed on . . . through the generations. Be kind always to Juana. Do not provoke her. Juana is not the same as we are. My mother suffered from the same affliction. So you see what has happened to Juana has come to her through me. You understand why I wish us to be very, very kind to Juana.”
She had nodded, happy to be nestling close to that great queen who was also her dear mother.
She had never forgotten that. She had never provoked Juana, and had always tried to follow her mother’s wishes and keep Juana quiet.
But even if Juana had been different from the others she still had to play her part. Insane or not she must marry for the glory of Spain; and a grand match indeed had been found for her—no less than the heir of the Hapsburgs, Philip son of Maximilian—and so she would unite the houses of Hapsburg and Spain.
It had been a match which made King Ferdinand’s eyes sparkle, and the alliance had been even stronger when Margaret, Maximilian’s daughter, married Juan.
Dear, dear Juan, who had been so beautiful and so good. No wonder they said of him that he was too good for long life. The angels wanted him for themselves, that was what Catalina had heard someone say. And there had been that terrible time at Salamanca when the town was en fête to welcome Juan and Margaret his bride and the news that Juan was dead had come to them. There seemed no reason . . . except, as they said, that the angels wanted him in Heaven.
Catalina remembered her mother’s grief. She suspected that loving all her children as the Queen did, Juan was her favorite, her beloved son, her only son. That was a melancholy time of mourning. Margaret his new wife was heartbroken because, being Juan, he had already charmed her.
Doña Elvira was at the side of her couch.
“Is it time then?” she said.
“I gave you a little longer, so we must hurry now.”
It was no use thinking of the past. She had to face the future. Catalina was left behind in Spain. Katharine was here . . . in England.
It seemed that they were not to meet the King and Prince Arthur at this stage, but were to begin the journey to London without delay. Doña Elvira was a little put out. She thought that the bridegroom at least should have been waiting at Plymouth to greet his bride.
“I am not sorry,” said Katharine. “It will give me time to know a little of this land . . . and to see the people. . . .”
She was feeling better as the effects of the sea journey were wearing off, and was making an effort to stop grieving for her family and feel an interest in the new sights which presented themselves.
How green was the grass! What a number of trees there were! “It is a beautiful green country,” she said to Elvira. She liked the villages through which they passed—the gabled houses which clustered round the church, the village greens. “Always green,” she said. “It is the color of England.”
It was only when they came to Exeter that she saw crowds again. They had come to look at her, the Spanish Princess, the Queen-to-be. “She is so young,” they said. “Only a child. Well, Arthur is the same. It is better for him to have someone of his own age.”
But they were disappointed because she was veiled and they could not see her face clearly.
“Is there something wrong that we are not allowed to see her?” Her hair was beautiful—long and luxuriant, hanging down her back, and there was a glint of red in it.
At Exeter Lord Willoughby de Broke was waiting to greet her.
He was charming. The King would soon be on his way, he told her. In the meantime he had the King’s express command to make sure that everything which could be done to make her comfortable was done.
She thanked him and said she had been made very welcome.
“You will discover how delighted we are to have you with us,” he told her. “I am the High Steward of the King’s Household and he has sent me from Westminster to make sure that nothing is left undone. The Spanish ambassadors are here in Exeter and they will be calling upon you soon, I doubt not. They will want to make sure that you are well cared for and if there is anything that does not please you, you must tell me and I promise you it shall be rectified.”
Katharine assured Lord Willoughby de Broke that she was well cared for. He was able to speak a little of her language and she was grateful for that. She realized that she would have been wiser to have spent the time when she was waiting to come to England in learning the English language. It was going to be very difficult for her to understand and make herself understood. She wondered why her parents had not insisted that she learn English and could only assume that her father might have been unsure that the match would take place and she be whisked off to some other country for the interest of Spain.
Almost immediately she was told that Don Pedro de Ayala had called to see her.
She was delighted to meet one of her own countrymen and asked that he be sent to her immediately.
Don Ayala was elegant and gallant and he reminded her so much of home when he spoke to her in Castilian. She felt comforted to have him at her side.
“The King is eager for you to arrive in the capital as soon as possible,” he said. “There the marriage will take place without delay. The King will meet you near London that you may be escorted there with all the deference due to an Infanta of Spain.”
“I had thought the King might have come to Plymouth,” she said.
“It is three weeks’ journey from London, Infanta.”
“It does not seem that he is eager to meet me.”
“He is eager, I promise you. This is a fortunate day for you, my lady, for England and for Spain. This marriage is one of the finest things that has happened since the expulsion of the Moors from our country.”
“Surely not as important as that. I should have thought my brother’s and sisters’ marriages were more important than mine.”
“Nay. We need the friendship of this island. Your father-in-law is a shrewd man. He is making England a country to be reckoned with. You may find it necessary to speak with me from time to time. You may think that there are certain matters which would interest your mother and your father.”
“Am I to be a spy in my new husband’s household?”
“Never that. Just a good friend to England and perhaps an even better one to Spain.”
“I cannot say,” she answered coolly. “There is so much I have to learn.”
Dr. de Puebla was announced while de Ayala was with her.
De Ayala’s face crinkled in distaste.
“Must you see this man, Highness?” he asked.