Katharine of Aragon

by Jean Plaidy

  AS THE PARTY RODE towards Richmond, people stopped to stare at it.

  “Spaniards!” they whispered. They knew, for they had seen Spaniards in plenty since the Infanta had come to England.

  Something was afoot. Perhaps the gentleman who rode at the head of that party of foreigners had come to take the widowed Infanta back to Spain.

  The party was riding towards the Palace where the King was in residence.

  Hernan Duque de Estrada was thoughtful; he did not notice the attention he and his party attracted. He had a difficult task before him, which he did not relish; and it was going to be made doubly difficult because of his imperfect knowledge of the English language.

  Beside him rode Dr. de Puebla—a man whom he could not like. How was it possible for an Asturian nobleman to have a fondness for a marrano! The fellow might be clever—it was clear that the Sovereigns thought so— but his appearance and his manners were enough to make a Spanish nobleman shudder.

  Ayala was of a different kind. A nobleman to his fingertips, but lightminded. Hernan Duque was not very happy with his two colleagues.

  “There lies the Palace of Richmond,” said Ayala, and Hernan Duque saw the line of buildings, the projecting towers, the far from symmetrical turrets. He, who had come hot-foot from the Alhambra, was not impressed by the architecture of the country, and he forgot momentarily that the beautiful building with which he was comparing this Palace was a masterpiece of Arabic, not Spanish, architecture.

  “The King is often at Richmond,” Ayala explained. “He has a feeling for the place. It may well be that he likes to be near the river, for Greenwich is another favorite residence.”

  Puebla put in: “And so we are to obey you without question.”

  “The express orders of the Sovereigns,” Hernan Duque replied.

  “It seems strange,” grumbled Puebla. “We, who have been here so long, understand the situation so much better than anyone in Spain possibly could.”

  “I have their Highnesses' instructions. It would go ill with you if you did not do all in your power to help me carry them out.”

  Puebla tossed his head. “I do not envy you your task. You will find the Tudor is not an easy man with whom to drive a bargain.”

  “It is so unfortunate that the death of the Prince occurred at this time.”

  “What is your first move?” Ayala asked.

  Hernan Duque looked over his shoulder.

  “Let us ride on ahead,” said Ayala. “It is better to be absolutely sure. Although it is doubtless safe enough to talk. The English cannot learn the languages of others. Their secret belief is that all who do not speak English are barbarians and that foreigners deserve the name in any case.”

  “An insular people,” murmured Duque. “I pity our Infanta.”

  “Why should you? Do you not carry orders from their Highnesses that she is to return to Spain?”

  “I brought three documents with me. You have seen the first… that which commanded you to obey me in all matters concerning this affair. The second and third are for the eyes of the King. But he will not see the third until he has digested the second. Nor shall he know at this stage that it exists.”

  “And the second?” asked Puebla.

  “It demands the return of the hundred thousand crowns, the first half of the dowry, which has already been paid.”

  “Do you wish to break the heart of the King of England?” demanded Ayala.

  “He will not relish this, I know.”

  “Relish it!” screamed Ayala. “The King loves those hundred thousand crowns more than he loved his son. You cannot deal him another blow—one so close on the other.”

  “I shall do more. I shall demand those revenues which the Prince of Wales promised to his wife on the day of their marriage.”

  “The King will never consent to that.”

  “I shall then ask for the return of the Infanta to Spain.”

  “With the spoils,” put in Ayala, laughing. “Not so bad—the dowry, one third of the revenues of Wales, Chester and Cornwall, and our Infanta, virginity intact. A pleasant little adventure for the Infanta, and a remunerative one for the Sovereigns. Ah, do you think the King of England will agree?”

  “He will not like this, I know,” said Duque. “He will refuse, for I doubt not that he will never be induced to part with the money. Yet what alternative has he except to incur the displeasure of the Sovereigns of Spain? That is why the third document is of such great importance.”

  “And this third document?” Puebla asked eagerly.

  Duque looked once more over his shoulder. “The King has a second son,” he said quietly.

  “Ah!” whispered Ayala.

  “Dangerous!” Puebla put in. “He is her brother by marriage. Are we not told in Leviticus that a man is forbidden to marry his brother's widow?”

  “The Pope would give the dispensation. He gave it to Emanuel of Portugal when he married the Infanta Maria on the death of her sister Isabella.”

  “That was the dead wife's sister.”

  “The situation is similar. There will be no difficulty if the Pope will give the necessary dispensation. And as it is said that the marriage was never consummated, that should simplify matters.”

  “I should like to make sure on that point,” said Puebla. “It is important.” Ayala looked scornfully at the Jew. “Your lawyer's mind boggles at unimportant details. Rest assured that if the Sovereigns want the dispensation they will get it. Spain is great enough to make sure of that.”

  “At first I shall say nothing of this suggested marriage. I wish to alarm the King by demanding the return of the dowry and the transfer of the goods which the Infanta has inherited by her marriage. That will put him into a mood to agree to this second marriage—and it is the wish of the Sovereigns that it should take place.”

  “I thought,” said Ayala, “that the Queen would have wished to have her daughter back.”

  “She wishes it most fervently, but duty comes before her own personal desires as always. There is another matter. Her health has declined rapidly during the last months. You, who have not seen her for so long, would scarcely know her. I do not think Isabella of Castile is long for this world. She knows it, and she wishes to see her youngest daughter happily settled, with a crown in view, before she departs this life.”

  “She need have no fear. Henry will agree to this marriage,” smiled Ayala. “It is the way out for him. He would never allow anyone to take one hundred thousand crowns from him.”

  They had reached the gates of the Palace.

  With Puebla on one side and Ayala on the other, Hernan Duque rode in; and shortly afterwards Puebla and Ayala presented him to the King, who was very ready to conduct him to a small chamber where they might discuss this matter of the Infanta's future in private.

  IN THE SECLUSION of Durham House, Katharine had no idea that her parents' envoy had arrived in England with such important documents affecting her future.

  She felt at peace, for she was certain that very soon now she would be preparing to make the journey back to Spain. In her apartments, the windows of which overlooked the Thames, she could almost believe she was back in Spain. Here she sat with three of her maids of honor, all of whom were dear to her, and they stitched at their embroidery as they would in their own country.

  She could almost believe that at any moment there would be a summons for her to go to her mother's apartment in this very palace, and that if she looked from the window she would not see the lively London river with its barges, its ferries, its watermen all shouting to each other in the English tongue, but the distant Sierras of Guadarrama or the crystal-clear waters of the Darro.

  In the meantime she could live in Durham House as though she were in a Spanish Alcazar and wait for the summons to return home.

  Maria de Rojas had grown even prettier in recent weeks. Maria was in love with an Englishman. Francesca de Carceres was only pretending to sew, because she hated to sit quietly and was not fon
d of the needle; she found life at Durham House irksome, longed for gaiety, and it was only the thought that soon they would be returning to Spain that made it possible for her to endure it. Maria de Salinas worked quietly. She too was happy because she believed they would soon be leaving for Spain.

  Francesca, who could never contain her thoughts for long, suddenly burst out: “Maria de Rojas wishes to talk to Your Highness.”

  Maria de Rojas flushed slightly, and Maria de Salinas said in her quiet way: “You should not hesitate. Her Highness will help you, I am sure.”

  “What is this?” asked Katharine. “Come along, Maria, tell me.”

  “She is in love,” cried Francesca.

  “With Don Iñigo?” Katharine asked.

  Maria de Rojas flushed hotly. “Indeed no.”

  “Ah, then it is with the Englishman,” said Katharine. “He returns your affection?”

  “He does indeed, Highness.”

  “And you wish to marry him?”

  “I do, Highness; and his grandfather is willing that we should marry.”

  “The consent of the King of England would be necessary,” said Katharine, “and of my parents.”

  “Maria is thinking,” Maria de Salinas said, “that if Your Highness wrote to the King and Queen of Spain, telling them that the Earl of Derby is a great English nobleman and his grandson worthy of our Maria, they would readily give their consent.”

  “And her dowry also,” put in Katharine. “You may depend upon it, Maria, that I shall write immediately to my parents and ask them to do what is necessary in the matter.”

  “Your Highness is good to me,” murmured Maria gratefully. “But it will then be necessary to have the consent of the King of England as well.”

  “That will easily be obtained,” answered Francesca, “if the Countess of Richmond is approached first. Her opinion carries more weight with the King of England than anyone else's.”

  “You must ask your lover to arrange the English side of the project,” said Katharine. “As for myself, I will write to my parents without delay.”

  Maria de Rojas sank to her knees and taking Katharine's hand kissed it dramatically.

  Francesca laughed and Maria de Salinas smiled.

  “What a wonderful thing it is to be in love,” cried Francesca. “How I wish it would happen to me! But there is one thing I should welcome more.”

  “And that?” asked Katharine, although she already knew the answer. “To return home, Highness. To leave this country and go home to Spain.”

  “Ah yes,” sighed Katharine. “Which of us does not feel the same—except Maria, who has a very good reason for wishing to stay here. Prepare my writing table. I will write at once to my parents and ask for their consent.”

  Maria de Rojas obeyed with alacrity, and the three maids of honor stood about Katharine's table as she wrote.

  “There!” said Katharine. “It is ready. As soon as the messenger leaves for Spain he shall take this with him among other important documents.”

  “None is as important as this, Highness,” cried Maria de Rojas, taking the letter and kissing it.

  “So when we leave for Spain we shall leave you behind,” said Katharine. “We shall miss you, Maria.”

  “Your Highness will be so happy to return home—and so will the others— that you will all forget Maria de Rojas.”

  “And what will she care?” demanded Francesca. “She will be happy with her English lord whom she loves well enough to say goodbye to Spain and adopt this country as her own for ever more.”

  “That,” answered Katharine soberly, “is love.”

  DR. DE PUEBLA called at Durham House. The Infanta had no wish to see him. She found him quite distasteful, and although she was always pleased to see Ayala the little marrano irritated her, and because she knew that he was ridiculed throughout the English Court she felt ashamed of him.

  Puebla was well aware of this, but he was not unduly put out; he was accustomed to being scorned and he had an idea that he would remain at his post longer than Don Pedro de Ayala, for the simple reasons that he was more useful to the Sovereigns and that the King of England believed he was as good a friend as any foreign ambassador could be.

  His lawyer's outlook demanded that he know the truth concerning the Infanta's marriage. Whether or not the marriage had been consummated seemed of enormous importance to him because, if it had not been, it would be a far simpler matter to get the dispensation from the Pope. He was determined to find out.

  And who would be more likely to know the truth than Katharine's confessor? So when Puebla arrived at Durham House it was not to see Katharine that he came, nor yet Doña Elvira, but Katharine's confessor—Father Alessandro Geraldini.

  Geraldini was delighted to be sought out by Puebla. He pretended, with everyone else, to despise the man, but he knew the power of Puebla and he felt, when the ambassador came to see him, that he was becoming of great importance. Had not Torquemada begun as confessor to a Queen? And look what power he had held! Ximenes de Cisneros was another example of a humble Friar who became a great man. Ximenes was reckoned to be the most powerful man in Spain at this time—next to the Sovereigns, of course.

  So Geraldini was proud to receive Puebla.

  The cunning Puebla was well aware of the feelings of the Friar, and decided to exploit them.

  “I would ask your opinion on a very delicate matter,” Puebla began.

  “I shall be delighted to give it.”

  “It is this matter of the Infanta's marriage. It seems a very strange thing that two young people should be married and not consummate.”

  Geraldini nodded. “As the King forbade consummation it is almost certain that the Infanta would have mentioned in her confessions to her priest if she and her husband had defied the King's wish.”

  Geraldini looked wise.

  “A confessor is the one confidant to whom it is possible to tell that which one keeps secret from the world. Is that not so?”

  “It is indeed so.”

  “Therefore if anyone knows what happened on the Infanta's wedding night, that person is most likely to be yourself.” The little priest could not hide the pride which showed in his eyes. “In the name of the Sovereigns, I ask you to tell me what happened.”

  Geraldini hesitated. He knew that if he told the truth and said he did not know, he would cease to be of any importance to Puebla; that was something he could not endure. He wanted to see himself as the Infanta's confidant, as a man destined to play a part in Spanish politics.

  “You see,” went on Puebla, noticing the hesitancy, “if the marriage was consummated and this fact was kept hidden the bull of dispensation from the Pope might not be valid. It is necessary to lay all the facts before his Holiness. We must have the truth, and you are the man who can give it. You know the answer. Your peculiar position enables you to have it. I pray you give it to me now.”

  As it was more than Geraldini could bear to admit ignorance, why should he not make a guess? The young couple had spent the wedding night together according to custom. Surely they must have consummated their marriage. It was but natural that they should.

  Geraldini paused only one second longer, then he leaped.

  “The marriage has been consummated,” he said. “It is likely that it will prove fruitful.”

  Puebla left Durham House with all speed. He first dispatched a letter to the Sovereigns and then sought out members of the King's Council.

  This was what he had hoped. He liked clean-cut facts. If the Infanta carried the heir of England in her womb then there could be no more doubt of her position in Henry's realm.

  The belief that the marriage had not been consummated was highly dangerous. It was a matter about which there would continue to be conjecture.

  Puebla was therefore very happy to let it be known that Arthur and Katharine had cohabited and that there might be a hope that their relationship would be a fruitful one.

  DOÑA ELVIRA WAS HOLDING in her hand
a letter which she had taken from a drawer of her table, where a short while before she had hastily placed it.

  The courier had left and was now well on his way to the coast with the letters he was carrying from England to Spain.

  “And this,” said Elvira to herself, “will not be one of them.”

  She was going to burn it in the flame of a candle as soon as she had shown it to Iñigo, and made him aware that he would have to move faster. He was evidently slow in his courtship if he had allowed Maria de Rojas to prefer this Englishman to himself.

  How had the Englishman been in a position to pay court to Maria de Rojas, she would like to know! Clearly there were traitors in the household. She, Doña Elvira Manuel, and she alone, should rule; and if her rule had been absolute, Maria de Rojas would never have exchanged anything but glances with her Englishman.

  She suspected three people of seeking to wean Katharine from her. The first was that pernicious little priest, who recently had given himself airs; the second was Don Pedro Ayala whose cynicism and riotous living had earned her disapproval; and of course, like everyone else of noble blood, she disliked Puebla.

  She would send for Iñigo. She would show him the letter in Katharine's handwriting, asking for a dowry for Maria de Rojas; and she would have him know that a son of hers must not allow others to get ahead of him.

  She called to one of the pages, but even as she did so the door was flung open and her husband Don Pedro Manrique came into the room. He was clearly distraught, and temporarily Doña Elvira forgot Maria de Rojas and her love affair.

  “Well,” she demanded, “what ails you?”

  “It is clear that you have not heard this rumor.”

  “Rumor! What is this?”

  “It concerns the Infanta.”

  “Tell me at once,” demanded Doña Elvira, for she expected immediate obedience from her husband as she did from the rest of the household.

  “Puebla has told members of the Council that the marriage was consummated and that there is every hope that the Infanta may be with child.”

  “What!” cried Elvira, her face growing purple with rage. “This is a lie. The Infanta is as virgin as she was the day she was born.”