Katharine, The Virgin Widow - Plaidy Jean (книга регистрации .txt) 📗
He was saying now: “Highness, I have done everything I can. Believe me, I will not spare myself…”
Katharine shook her head and murmured: “Mayhap you do your best, but I like not the way these matters go. You may retire now. Should you become further acquainted with the King’s mind, I pray you come to me, for I am anxious.”
Puebla shuffled out, and he was surprised, when he had left her presence, to find his cheeks were wet.
I am worn out, he said to himself, with all the work which has come to nothing. I suffer pain; I can no longer amuse and entertain. I have outlived my usefulness. That is why old men shed tears.
And, left alone, Katharine wrote to her father. She told him that his ambassador in England was no longer able to work for her good or the good of Spain. She implored him to give this matter his attention and appoint a new ambassador to the Court of the Tudor King, for the sake of Spain and for his daughter, who was beside herself with misery.
* * *
EAGERLY SHE AWAITED news from her father. Each day during that summer seemed more trying than the last. The maids of honor did not attempt to hide their dissatisfaction. They were continually longing to be back in Spain.
There were perpetual quarrels in the household, and Katharine almost wished that Dona Elvira was back with them to keep them all in order. Francesca was more restless than the others and she seemed to find a wicked delight in accusing each member of the household of intriguing to keep them in England. There could be no greater sin in the eyes of Francesca.
The fact is, thought Katharine, they need to be married. If Arthur had lived, they would all have worthy husbands now, and rich, full lives.
It seemed to her that each month it was necessary to rifle her store of jewels and plate. She felt guilty when she sold or pawned these pieces, but what could she do? Her expenses had to be met, and disposing of her plate and jewellery was the only means of doing this.
At last news came from Spain, and when she read of the death of Philip she could not help but rejoice.
He was my father’s enemy, she told herself; he turned him from Castile and he would have taken the crown from Juana. She is miserable now, but it is a good thing that he has gone.
She imagined her father’s secret delight, for if Juana were incapable of ruling it was certain that Ferdinand would come back to Castile and the Regency.
She realized what this would mean. Ferdinand would be of more account in Europe than previously, and the manner in which the King of England treated her depended largely on what was happening to her father.
So could she consider this sudden and mysterious death of her handsome brother-in-law good news? She believed she could.
There was a letter from her father in answer to that which she had sent asking for a new ambassador.
“Why should you not be my ambassador?” wrote Ferdinand. “You have been at the English Court for some years. You know their ways; you speak their language. In due course I will send you an ambassador, but in the meantime you may consider yourself as such. Listen to Puebla; he is a clever man, perhaps cleverer than you realize. Be guided by him. He has worked well for Spain and will, I hope, continue to do so.”
When Katharine had stopped reading there was a faint color in her cheeks. She felt more cheered than she had for a long time. Now she would have an interest in life; now she would have more power, and she would try to serve her father faithfully and at the same time bring about a happier state for herself. And how could she achieve such a state? There was one answer: Only by marriage to the Prince of Wales.
* * *
THE KING OF ENGLAND requested the pleasure of her company. She went to his apartments, her hopes high, wondering what news he had to impart to her.
He was alone and he received her with graciousness, as though, she believed, he considered her of greater importance than he had when they had last met.
When she had been formally greeted she was allowed to sit in his presence and, cupping his face in his hands, the King said: “This is a matter which I believe I can entrust to your hands more readily than I could to any other.”
“Your Highness delights me,” she answered.
Henry nodded, his lower lip protruded, his expression more pleasant than usual.
“I shall never forget the day when your sister, the Queen of Castile, arrived at Windsor. What grace was hers! What charm!”
Katharine was puzzled. She too would never forget that day, but had been struck more by Juana’s melancholy than her grace and charm.
“I have not forgotten her from that day to this,” said the King. He paused and then went on: “You now act as your father’s ambassador, so I am going to entrust this matter to you. I want you to tell your father that I am asking for the hand of the Queen of Castile.”
Katharine caught her breath in astonishment. Juana…the wife of the King of England! She, who had adored that handsome, golden-haired philanderer, to become the wife of this ageing man with the cold, hard face and the uncertain temper! It was impossible.
But was it? Royal marriages could be incongruous. And if this one were to become fact, she would have her sister in England, the Queen of England. Surely the sister of the Queen of England could not be humiliated. Surely she would be able to live in a state worthy of her relationship to the Queen.
And what joy to have her own sister in England!
Katharine’s busy thoughts were halted suddenly. But to be married to the King. She remembered her own feelings when it had been suggested that he should be her next bridegroom. She had shuddered with distaste, and yet she had felt delighted at the thought of Juana’s taking the place she despised.
But this could not be. Juana was mad. She had begun to believe that there was little doubt of this, since she had heard further rumors of her sister’s strange behavior.
The King was watching her intently. She must learn to guard her expression. She hoped that she had not allowed distaste to show itself.
He seemed not to have noticed and was smiling almost vacuously, as a country yokel might smile at the prospect of a bride. It was almost as though he had fallen in love with Juana. Oh no, no! Henry VII could never fall in love…except with a crown. That was the answer. He was falling in love with the crown of Castile.
She must be wily. She must not tell him that she thought this marriage would be quite distasteful because he was an old man and her sister was mad.
If she listened to his plans, if she worked with him, he might be prepared to reward her in some way. She was not a foolish young girl any more. She was a woman who had suffered great hardship and deep humiliation, and there was little that could make an Infanta of Spain suffer more.
She said calmly: “I will inform my father of your request.”
Henry nodded, still smiling that smile which sat so oddly on his harsh features.
“You should write to your sister and tell her of the delights of the English Court. Tell her that I have been a faithful husband to one Queen and would be so to another. You will plead my cause; and from whom could that plea come more effectively than from her sister?”
So Katharine, in her new role of ambassadress, prepared herself to open the courtship between that incongruous pair—Henry Tudor, King of England, and Juana, Queen of Castile, who was now becoming known as Juana the Mad.
The Strangeness of Juana
WHEN JUANA RECEIVED THE INVITATION TO STATE HER views as to a marriage with Henry Tudor she shrugged her shoulders and immediately dismissed the matter from her mind. She was concerned only with one thing, which was to keep Philip with her now that he was dead.
She would sit for hours alone in her darkened room, wearing the mourning garments which were like a nun’s and included a great cowl, the purpose of which was to hide as much of her face as possible.
