by Jean Plaidy
She had either forgotten the Friar's prophecy or given up all hope of its coming true, for it was almost with relief that she prepared to go.
She had no wish to see the sun, she said. She was a widow and her life would therefore in future be lived in darkness. She would travel only by night and by the light of torches, and wherever she went there would her husband go with her.
In vain did those who cared for her comfort seek to dissuade her; any opposition to her will sent her into paroxysms of rage. She would be obeyed. She would have them remember that, although she was the most unfortunate widow in the world, she was their Queen, and from them she expected obedience.
So once more the cortège set out. Beside her went the hearse so that she never lost sight of Philip's coffin. They travelled by the light of torches and the going was rough and very slow. The choristers sang their dismal funeral dirges as they went; and Juana, riding or carried in her litter, travelled always in melancholy silence.
It was at Tortoles that Ferdinand and his daughter came face to face.
When Ferdinand saw her, he was horrified. It was years since they had met, but the lapse of time did not entirely account for the great change. It was almost impossible to believe that this sad woman, with the melancholy eyes in which madness lurked, was his gay daughter who had often shocked her mother by her wildness.
Juana also was not unmoved. She found herself in those first moments of reunion remembering the days of her childhood, when she, her brother, sisters, father and mother had all been together.
She went on her knees and gripped her father's hands, while Ferdinand, astonished at his emotion, knelt too and, putting his arms about her, held her tenderly.
“My daughter, my daughter,” he murmured, “what has happened to bring you to this?”
“Oh, my father,” she murmured, “I have suffered as few are called upon to suffer. I have lost all that I love.”
“There are your children. They can bring great comfort.”
“They are his children too,” she said, “but when he died the sun went from life. Now there is only darkness, for it is perpetual night.”
Ferdinand rose from his knees, his emotion evaporating. If Juana was really as mad as she seemed, then the way would be easy. He could now be sure of taking the Regency.
“I will care for you now,” he said, and she did not notice the glint in his eyes; nor did she see any hidden meaning in his words.
“It is a joy to me that you have come,” she said.
Ferdinand pushed back the black hood and kissed her brow.
He thought: She is indeed mad. There can be no doubt of it. Regent of Castile until Charles is of age! There were many years of government ahead of him.
“We cannot stay here in Tortoles,” said Ferdinand. “We should travel to a place where we can live and discuss matters of state in comfort.”
She did not demur and he was delighted that she appeared ready to agree with everything he said; but he soon discovered how stubborn she could be.
“I only travel by night,” she told him.
He was astonished.
“Travel by night! But how is that possible? The journey would take four times as long.”
“That may be so, but I am in no hurry. I am shut away from the sun and the light of day. My life from now on will be lived in darkness.”
“Certainly we cannot travel by night. You must end this foolishness.”
Then he saw it, the flash of obstinacy, and he remembered that she was Isabella's daughter. Similar conflicts came to his mind; he remembered how often his will had pulled against that of Isabella, and how Isabella had invariably won because she was the Queen of Castile and he but her consort. Now here was Isabella's daughter reminding him that she was the Queen of Castile and he but her father.
Ferdinand determined then that all Castile must know that Juana suffered from periodic insanity, that she could not be relied upon; and the only way in which Castile could be satisfactorily ruled was by a Regent while the Queen spent her life in seclusion.
Let her travel by night. Let her carry the coffin of her husband about with her; let her fondle the corpse when she liked. All this would enable the people to understand that the Queen was in truth a madwoman.
So Ferdinand travelled by day, and Juana by night; and when Juana realized that they were taking the route to Burgos, that town full of the most poignant memories—for it was there that Philip had died—she refused to travel further.
She stopped at Arcos and took up her residence there. In vain did her servants protest that she had chosen the most unhealthy spot in Spain. She retorted that she did not care for the weather. The cold meant nothing to her; she no longer felt anything but sorrow.
Ferdinand made no protest. He could wait.
She was making it easy for him to convince the people that their Queen was mad, and then he would cease to fear anything she might do. With great vigor he set about putting his affairs in order.
He read the dispatches from Puebla. Puebla was growing old; he would send a new ambassador to England; he must try once more to bring about the marriage of his youngest daughter with the Prince of Wales.
Fuensalida at the King's Court
IT WAS A BLEAK FEBRUARY DAY AND A CHILLY MIST ENVELOPED the countryside. The elegant foreigner clearly found the weather distasteful, and his retinue, being fully aware of his choleric temper and his habit of speaking his mind, whispered together that it was to be hoped the weather improved before they reached London.
The journey from the coast had taken them several days and they had come to rest for the night in an inn still some miles from the capital. Their coming had aroused a certain flutter of excitement within the hostelry, for it was known that the party must be on their way to the King's Court, and there was speculation even among the scullions as to whether this meant a marriage for the Prince of Wales with his brother's widow, and perhaps a bride for the King.
This was not the first party of Spaniards they had seen; but the nobleman who was clearly the most important member of the party was certainly a very touchy gentleman. He complained of this and that, and although he was too haughty to speak to them they were fully aware of his fastidiousness.
Don Gutierre Gomez de Fuensalida was however in far from an ill mood. The weather might be distasteful and he hated the discomforts of travel, but he was quite certain that he was going to complete a mission, over which that fool Puebla had been stumbling for so many years, and complete it to such satisfaction to his master that great honors would be showered upon him.
The futility, he said to himself, of allowing such a man as Puebla to handle these delicate matters! A Jew of no standing! Diplomacy should be conducted only by members of the nobility.
Don Gutierre was complacent. He himself belonged to a family which could trace its glorious ancestry back through the centuries; he was wealthy; he was not in the diplomatic service of his country for financial gain but for honors. He had recently come from the Court of Philip the Handsome, and previously he had represented Ferdinand at that of Maximilian. He was fully aware of the intrigues of traitors such as Juan Manuel and he had never swerved from the cause of Ferdinand. Now that Philip was dead and Juana recognized almost universally as mad, Gutierre Gomez de Fuensalida was coming into his own; his would be the rewards of fidelity and, when he had satisfactorily arranged the marriage between Ferdinand's daughter and the Prince of Wales, Ferdinand would indeed be grateful to him.
While he mused thus a visitor arrived at the hostelry; he came riding in with a few servants and asked immediately of one of Gutierre's servants if he might be taken to his master.
“I have ridden from London,” he said, “for the sole purpose of greeting Don Gutierre Gomez de Fuensalida and that I might have the pleasure of returning with him to the capital.”
Gutierre, delighted when he heard that a gentleman of distinction had called to see him, although it was no more than courtesy demanded and it was certain
ly what he expected, ordered that the visitor should be brought to him immediately.
“I am Dr. Nicholas West, Bishop of Ely,” Gutierre was told. “I heard that you had arrived and have come to usher you into Court circles, on the express command of His Highness the King.”
“It gives me great pleasure to meet you,” answered Gutierre.
The innkeeper, a little flustered by such distinguished guests, provided a private room in which refreshment was served to the two gentlemen.
And when they had talked of the perils of sea journeys and the weather in England, they reached the real purpose of the meeting.
“The King has not enjoyed such good health during this winter as he has hitherto,” explained Dr. West. “Indeed, his physicians are in constant attendance.”
“What ails His Grace?”
“He has been plagued by pains in his body for some years, and his limbs have become so stiff that it is often painful for him to put foot to the ground. These pains are always more severe during the winter months. But this winter he has suffered more than usual. He has had rheums and coughs which have kept him to his bed for many weeks. His physicians do not allow him to spend long at a time with his ministers, and there are days when they implore him not to see them at all.”
“I understand,” said Gutierre. “This will mean that there may be some delay in his receiving me?”
“It may well be so.”
“Then I must perforce wait until he commands me to his presence. In the meantime I will call on the Infanta. I doubt not she will be eager to have news of her father.”
“That is something of which I must warn you. It is the etiquette of the Court that ambassadors should not visit anyone belonging to the royal household until they have been received by the King.”
“Is that so? That is going to make my position somewhat difficult… unless I have an early interview with the King.”
“You may rest assured that as soon as His Grace's health has improved he will receive you. He is eager to have news of his friend and brother, King Ferdinand.”
“He cannot be more eager for these negotiations than my master is.”
“Had you any plans as to where you would lodge?”
“Yes. I thought of staying awhile in the house of Francesco Grimaldi, who, as you know, is the London agent of the Genoese bank.”
Dr. West nodded. He understood that this was significant. There was no doubt in his mind that Ferdinand was now preparing to pay the remainder of Katharine's dowry and that Grimaldi would be called in to conduct the business.
“I cannot think of a more satisfactory arrangement,” he said.
The conversation continued in the pleasantest manner. Dr. West informed the new Spanish ambassador of affairs at Court. He spoke of the popularity and charm of the Prince of Wales, who was becoming more and more important to the people as his father grew more infirm.
The eyes of the Spanish ambassador glinted with pleasure.
There could be no doubt that his main purpose in coming to London was to bring about the marriage of his master's daughter and the Prince of Wales.
FRANCESCO GRIMALDI was delighted to welcome the Spanish ambassador. Grimaldi was well past middle-age, but he lived well and he was fond of gaiety, and any form of excitement was welcome. He was an astute business man who had built up a considerable fortune, and was therefore able to entertain Don Gutierre Gomez de Fuensalida in a manner to which even he was accustomed.
Excellent food and wines were served at Grimaldi's table, and Gutierre was not the most discreet of men.
So the dowry which had brought so much trouble to the Infanta was at last to be paid? How many years was it since she had arrived in England a hopeful bride? It must be nearly seven. And what a sad life the poor lady had led since the death of Prince Arthur!
Gutierre found Grimaldi not only entertaining but useful, for he was able to supply that kind of Court gossip which never appeared in the state papers.
He did not see why he should change his lodgings since he was perfectly comfortable in the house of Grimaldi, which was within easy reach of the Court.
On the day of his arrival in the banker's house a young man called to see him. He humbly announced himself as the son of Dr. de Puebla, who deeply regretted that he was unable to call on the ambassador as he was confined to his bed with an attack of gout.
Gutierre looked down his long aristocratic nose at the humble son of a humble father. He was eager to show these people that he, Knight Commander of the Order of Membrilla, scion of an ancient house, was quite determined not to listen to the babbling of upstarts, who were of humble origin and marranos at that.
“Give your father my regrets and wishes for his speedy recovery,” he said coldly.
“My father hopes you will call on him at the earliest time Your Excellency finds agreeable. He wishes me to say to you that this matter, which is the reason for your coming to England, is a very complicated one and, as the English are extremely shrewd, he would like to make you acquainted with all details as soon as possible.”
Gutierre bowed his head and murmured that he would bear the matter in mind.
He would make no appointment to call at the residence of his fellow ambassador, and the young man was forced to retire in some bewilderment.
When he had gone, Gutierre let his anger burst forth.
Does that Jew think that he can teach me Court manners? he asked himself. He would show Dr. de Puebla—and their master, Ferdinand—that the only ambassadors worthy of the name were those of noble blood.
THE NEWS WAS brought to Katharine that her father's ambassador was in England, and she rejoiced. She was optimistic. Her father's affairs were becoming prosperous once more and she knew that, on the rise and fall of her father's power, her own future prospects would fluctuate.
She wept bitterly when she heard the news of Juana's strange conduct and of how she kept the dead body of her husband with her and refused to relinquish it. She had become accustomed to hearing her sister referred to as the mad Queen; but she was still endeavoring to bring about a marriage between Juana and Henry because Henry so desired it and, she told herself, if Juana were to come to England, I could help to look after her; and surely she could not bring the body of her dead husband here. Katharine believed that once Juana could be persuaded to bury Philip, she would begin to regain her sanity.
She was not unconscious of the fact that, as a result of Juana's madness, Ferdinand was a greater power in Spain than he would be if Juana were sound in mind and able to rule; and, since it was due to the rising power of Ferdinand that she herself was treated with more respect, she could not help reflecting sadly that they appeared to be a house divided against itself, since Juana's misfortune could work to her, Katharine's, good.
She was all eagerness to meet Gutierre Gomez de Fuensalida, for she would be delighted to dispense with the services of Puebla.
Her maids of honor—and Francesca de Carceres in particular—were continually complaining about the little man. They were sure it was due to his mismanagement of affairs that they were still living in this unsatisfactory way, while the years passed, they grew older, and no husbands were found for them.
Francesca was particularly bitter, as she loved gaiety more than did the others. Maria de Salinas and Inez de Veñegas were resigned, and she believed these two very dear friends of hers suffered more on her account than on their own.
Katharine lost no time in telling them of the arrival of the new ambassador.
Francesca was frankly delighted. “And Don Gutierre Gomez de Fuensalida!” she cried. “He is a very grand gentleman. He will know how to deal with your father-in-law, Highness.”
“I do not believe my father-in-law will care whether he has to deal with the nobleman or the lawyer Jew. His great concern will be the payment of the dowry.”
“I shall make our sad state known to the new ambassador,” declared Francesca. “Something must be done for us before we are too old to be
married at all.”
Poor Francesca! thought Katharine. How she longed for marriage! She should be the mother of several children by now.
“I am a little anxious,” she said. “I am wondering what will happen when my plate and jewels are valued. The value will be found to be a great deal less than when I arrived. And these were to be part of the dowry.”
“But what could Your Highness do?” demanded Maria de Salinas. “You had to live.”
“There are times,” Katharine murmured, “when I believe that kings and ambassadors do not think that it is necessary for a princess and her household to eat. She is merely a figure to be used when the state needs her. She can marry. She can bear children. But eat! That is not considered at all necessary.”
Maria de Salinas was startled to hear the bitterness in Katharine's voice. It was well, she reflected, that the new ambassador was here and that it was possible he would bring the negotiations, which had been going on for so many years, to a satisfactory end.
WHEN HENRY RECEIVED the Spanish Ambassador, the King was wrapped in a long robe and sat huddled near a blazing fire.
“My dear Ambassador,” said Henry with more warmth than he usually displayed. “You find me in ill health. I cannot move easily, so you must sit beside me and give me news of my dear brother, the King of Aragon.”
“My master sends his greetings to Your Grace,” answered Fuensalida, bowing with courtly grace.
“I pray you be seated,” said Henry; and, his alert eyes looking out from the wrinkles which pain had set about them, he summed up the character of the new ambassador. Here was one of the Spanish grandees, a man with a great opinion of himself. That was not displeasing. Henry liked weakness in the ambassadors of other countries.
When Fuensalida was seated, Henry said: “I know that you have come to see me on two matters of great importance and interest to me. They are also matters of great happiness: marriages. How much better it is for Kings to unite through such alliances than to quarrel together! What news do you bring me of Queen Juana?”
“There is no King to whom Ferdinand would rather see his daughter married than yourself.”
