‘It will not be so long,’ declared Ferdinand. ‘Henry is an impatient man. He might even ask that she be educated over there. He’ll be wanting to turn her into a little Englishwoman at the earliest possible moment.’
Isabella felt the tremor run through her daughter’s body. She wondered what she could do to appease her. That it should have been broken like this! There were times when she had to restrain her anger against this husband who could be so impetuous in some matters, so cold blooded in others.
Could he not see the stricken look in the child’s face now? Could he not understand its meaning?
‘I have a little matter to discuss with your mother,’ he went on. ‘You may all leave us.’
The children came forward in order of seniority and took their leave of their parents. The coming of Ferdinand into the apartment had brought with it the return of ceremony.
Little Catalina was last. Isabella leaned towards her and patted her cheek. Those big dark eyes were bewildered; and the fear was already beginning to show in them.
‘I will come to you later, my child,’ whispered the Queen, and for a moment the fear lifted. It was as it had been in the days of the child’s extreme youth when she had suffered some slight pain. ‘Mother will come and make it well.’ It was always so with Catalina. Her mother’s presence had such an effect on her that its comfort could always soothe her pain.
Ferdinand was smiling the crafty smile which indicated that he had some fresh scheme afoot and was congratulating himself on its shrewdness.
‘Ferdinand,’ said Isabella when they were alone, ‘that is the first indication that Catalina has had that she is to go to England.’
‘Is that so?’
‘It was a shock to her.’
‘H’m. She’ll be Queen of England one day. I can scarcely wait to get those marriages performed. When I think of the great good which can come to our country through these alliances I thank God that I have five children and wish I had five more. But it was not of this that I came to speak to you. This man Ximenes … this Archbishop of yours …’
‘And yours, Ferdinand.’
‘Mine! I’d never give my consent to setting up a humble monk in the highest office in Spain. It has occurred to me that, as a humble man who will suddenly find himself a very rich one, he will not know how to manage great riches.’
‘You can depend upon it, he will not change his mode of life. He will give more to the poor, I’ll swear, and I believe it has always been a great dream of his to build a University at Alcalá and to compile a polyglot Bible.’
Ferdinand made an impatient gesture. There came into his eyes that acquisitive gleam which Isabella now knew so well and which told her that he was thinking of the rich revenues of Toledo, and she guessed that he had some scheme for diverting them from the Archbishop to himself.
‘Such a man,’ said Ferdinand, ‘would not know what to do with such a fortune. It would embarrass him. He prefers to live his hermit’s life. Why should we prevent him? I am going to offer him two or three cuentos a year for his personal expenses, and I do not see why the rest of the revenues of Toledo should not be used for the good of the country generally.’
Isabella was silent.
‘Well?’ demanded Ferdinand impatiently.
‘Have you put this matter before the Archbishop?’ she asked.
‘I thought it would be wiser if we did so together. I have sent for him to come to us. He should be here very shortly. I shall expect you to support me in this.’
Isabella did not speak. She was thinking: I shall soon need to oppose him with regard to Catalina. I shall not allow him to send my daughter away from home for some years. We must not continually pull one against the other. The Archbishop, I am sure, is more able to fight his battles than my little Catalina.
‘Well?’ repeated Ferdinand.
‘I will see the Archbishop with you and hear what he has to say on this matter.’
‘I need money … badly,’ went on Ferdinand. ‘If I am going to pursue the Italian wars with any success I must have more men and arms. If we are not to suffer defeat at the hands of the French …’
‘I know,’ said Isabella. ‘The question is, is this the right way to get the money you need?’
‘Any way to get the money for such a purpose is the right way,’ Ferdinand sternly told her.
It was shortly afterwards when Ximenes came to the apartment.
‘Ah, Archbishop!’ Ferdinand stressed the title almost ironically. Anyone looking less like an Archbishop there could not possibly be. Why, in the day of Mendoza the title had carried much dignity. Isabella was a fool to have bestowed it on a half-starved holy man.
‘Your Highnesses,’ murmured Ximenes, making obeisance before them.
‘His Highness the King has a suggestion to make to you, Ximenes,’ said the Queen.
The pale eyes were turned on Ferdinand, and even he felt a little disturbed by their cold stare. It was disconcerting to come face to face with someone who was not in fear of one. There was nothing this man feared. You could strip him of office and he would shrug his shoulders; you could take him to the faggots and set them alight and he would delight in his agony. Yes, it was certainly disturbing for a King, before whom men trembled, to find one so careless of his authority as Ximenes.
‘Ah,’ Ferdinand was blustering in spite of himself, ‘the Queen and I have been speaking of you. You are clearly a man of simple tastes, and you find yourself burdened with great revenues. We have decided that you shall not be burdened with these. We propose to take them from you and administer them for the good of the country. You shall receive an adequate allowance for your household and personal expenses …’
Ferdinand stopped, for Ximenes had lifted a hand as though demanding silence; he might have been the sovereign and Ferdinand his subject.
‘Your Highness,’ said Ximenes, addressing himself to Ferdinand, for he knew that this was entirely his idea, ‘I will tell you this. It was with great reluctance that I accepted my Archbishopric. Nothing but the express orders of the Holy Father could induce me to do so. But I have accepted it. Therefore I will do my duty as I see it should be done. I know that I shall need these resources if I am to care for the souls in my charge. And I must say this without more ado: If I remain in this post I and my Church must be free; and what is mine must be left to my jurisdiction, in much the same way as Your Highness has charge of your kingdoms.’
Ferdinand’s face was white with anger. He said: ‘I had thought that your mind was on holy matters, Archbishop, but it seems it is not unaffected by your revenues.’
‘My mind is on my duty, Your Highness. If you persist in taking the revenues of Toledo you must also remove its Archbishop from his post. What has Her Highness the Queen to say of this matter?’
Isabella said quietly: ‘It must be as you wish, Archbishop. We must find other means for meeting the requirements of the state.’
Ximenes bowed. ‘Have I your leave to retire, Your Highnesses?’
‘You have our leave,’ answered Isabella.
When he had gone she waited for the storm to break. Ferdinand had gone to the window; his fists were clenched and she knew that he was fighting to control his anger.
‘I am sorry, Ferdinand,’ she said, ‘but you cannot rob him of his rights. The revenues are his; you cannot take them merely because he is a man of holy habits.’
Ferdinand turned and faced her. ‘Once again, Madam,’ he said, ‘you give an example of your determination to thwart and flout me.’
‘When I do not fall in with your wishes it is always with the utmost regret.’
Ferdinand bit his lips to hold back the words which were struggling to be spoken. She was right, of course. She was indeed happy when they were in agreement. It was her perpetual conscience which came between them. ‘Holy Mother,’ he murmured, ‘why did you give me such a good woman for my wife? Her eternal conscience, her devotion to duty, even when it is opposed to our good, is the cause
of continual friction between us.’
It was no use being angry with Isabella. She was as she always had been.
He said in such a low voice that she could scarcely hear him: ‘That man and I will be enemies as long as we live.’
‘No, Ferdinand,’ pleaded Isabella. ‘That must not be. You both wish to serve Spain. Let that be a bond between you. What does it matter if you look at your duty from different angles when the object is the same?’
‘He is insolent, this Archbishop of Toledo!’
‘You must not blame Ximenes because he was chosen instead of your natural son, Ferdinand.’
Ferdinand snapped his fingers. ‘That! That is forgotten. Have I not grown accustomed to seeing my wishes disregarded? It is the man himself … the holy man, who starves himself … and walks the Palace in his grubby serge. I think of Mendoza’s day …’
‘Mendoza is dead now, Ferdinand. This is the day of Ximenes.’
‘The pity of it!’ murmured Ferdinand; and Isabella was wondering how she was going to keep her husband and her Archbishop from crossing each other’s paths.
But her mind was not really on Ximenes, nor on Ferdinand. From the moment Catalina had left the apartment with her brother and sisters she had been thinking of the child.
She must go to her without delay. She must explain to her that marriage into England was a long way off.
‘I do not believe,’ said Ferdinand, ‘that you are giving me your attention.’
‘I was thinking of our daughter, of Catalina. I am going to her now to tell her that I shall not allow her to leave us until she is much older.’
‘Do not make rash promises.’
‘I shall make none,’ said Isabella. ‘But I must comfort her. I know how badly she needs such comfort.’
With that she left him, frustrated as he so often was, admiring her as he had such reason for doing, realising that although she often exasperated him beyond endurance he owed a great deal to her of what was his.
He thought ruefully that she would seek to protect Catalina from his marriage plans in the same way as she had stubbornly refused to give Toledo to his son Alfonso. Yet he was bound to her as she was to him. They were one; they were Spain.
Isabella was thinking only of her daughter as she hastened to the children’s apartments. It was as she had expected: Catalina was alone. The child lay on her bed and her face was buried in the pillows as though, thought Isabella tenderly, by hiding her eyes she need not see what was too unpleasant to be borne.
‘My little one,’ whispered the Queen.
Catalina turned, and her face was illumined with sudden joy.
Isabella lay down and took the child in her arms. For a few moments Catalina clung childishly to her mother as though by doing so she could bind them together for ever.
‘I did not mean you to know for a long, long time,’ whispered the Queen.
‘Mother … when shall I go away from you?’
‘My dearest, it will not be for years.’
‘But my father said …’
‘Oh, he is an impatient man. He loves his daughters so much and is so happy in the possession of them that he longs to see them with children of their own. He forgets how young you are. A little girl of ten to be married!’
‘Sometimes they are taken away from their mothers to live in foreign courts … the courts of their bridegrooms.’
‘You shall not leave me for many years. I promise you.’
‘How many, Mother?’
‘Not until you are grown up and ready for marriage.’
Catalina snuggled closer to her mother. ‘That is a long, long time. That is four years, or five years perhaps.’
‘It is indeed. So you see how foolish it would be to worry now over what may happen in four or five years’ time. Why, by then you will be almost a woman, Catalina … wanting a husband of your own perhaps, not so eager to cling to your mother.’
‘I shall always cling to my mother!’ Catalina declared passionately.
‘Ah,’ sighed Isabella, ‘we shall see.’
And they lay silently side by side. Catalina was comforted. To her, four or five years seemed an eternity. But to her mother it seemed a very little time.
But the purpose was achieved, the blow was softened. Isabella would talk to her young daughter about England. She would discover all she could about the Tudor King who, some said, had usurped the throne of England. Though of course it would be well if the child did not hear such gossip as that. She would talk to her about the King’s children, the eldest of whom was to be her husband … a boy a year younger than herself. What was there to fear in that? There was another boy, Henry; and two girls, Margaret and Mary. She would soon learn their ways and in time forget about her Spanish home.
That was not true, she knew. Catalina would never forget.
She is closer to me than any of the others, I believe, thought Isabella. How happy I should be if this English marriage came to nothing and I were able to keep my little Catalina at my side until the day I die.
She did not mention such a thought. It was unworthy of the Queen of Spain and the mother of Catalina. At this time it seemed that Catalina’s destiny lay with the English. As a daughter of Spain, Catalina would have to do her duty.
Chapter II
XIMENES AND TORQUEMADA
The cavalcade had come to rest at last in the port of Laredo which stood on the eastern borders of the Asturias. During the journey from Madrid to Laredo the Queen’s anxieties had kept pace with her daughter’s increasing excitement.
Isabella had determined to remain with Juana until that moment when she left Spanish soil. She would have liked to accompany her all the way to Flanders, for she was very fearful of what would await her wild daughter there.
Isabella had left her family and her state duties to be with her daughter, and during that long and often tedious journey she had never ceased to pray for Juana’s future and to ask herself continually: What will become of her when she reaches Flanders?
Isabella had spent a night on board that ship in which Juana would sail. She now stood on deck with her daughter, awaiting the moment of departure when she must say farewell to Juana. About them was a fine array of ships, a fleet worthy of the Infanta’s rank which would carry her to Flanders and bring back the Archduchess Margaret to be Juan’s bride. There were a hundred and twenty ships in this magnificent armada, some large, some small. They carried means of defending themselves, for they had been made ready to fight against the French. Ferdinand, however, had been willing to put them to this use, because in conveying his unstable daughter to Flanders they were prosecuting the war against the French as certainly as if they went into battle.
Ferdinand himself was not with them on this occasion. He had gone to Catalonia to make ready for an attack on the French. Isabella was rather pleased that she was alone to say goodbye to Juana. So great were her anxieties that she could not have borne to see the pleasure which she knew would shine from her husband’s eyes as he watched their daughter’s departure.
Juana turned to her mother, her eyes sparkling, and cried: ‘To think that all that is for me!’
Isabella continued to look at the ships, because she could not bear to look into her daughter’s face at that moment. She knew that she was going to be reminded of her own mother, who was living out her clouded existence at the castle at Arevalo, unable to distinguish between past and present, raging now and then against those who were long since dead and had no power to harm her. There had been times when Isabella had dreaded her mother’s outbreaks of violence, even as she now dreaded those of her daughter.
How will she fare with Philip? was another question she asked herself. Will he be kind to her? Will he understand?
‘It is a goodly sight,’ murmured the Queen.
‘How long before I reach Flanders, Mother?’
‘So much will depend on the weather.’
‘I hope there will be storms.’
‘Oh, my c
hild, no! We must pray for calm seas and a good wind.’
‘I should like to be delayed a little. I should like Philip to be waiting for me … rather impatiently.’
‘He will be waiting for you,’ murmured the Queen.
Juana clasped her hands across her breasts. ‘I long for him, Mother,’ she said. ‘I have heard that he is handsome. Did you know that people are beginning to call him Philip the Handsome?’
‘It is pleasant to have a handsome bridegroom.’
‘He likes to dance and be gay. He likes to laugh. He is the most fascinating man in Flanders.’
‘You are fortunate, my dear. But remember, he is fortunate too.’
‘He must think so. He shall think so.’
Juana had begun to laugh; it was the laughter of excitement and intense pleasure.
‘Soon it will be time to say goodbye,’ said the Queen quickly. She turned impulsively to her daughter and embraced her, praying as she did so: ‘Oh God, let something happen to keep her with me. Let her not go on this long and hazardous journey.’
But what was she thinking! This was the grandest marriage Juana could have made. It was the curse of Queens that their daughters were merely lent to them during their childhood. She must always remember this.
Juana was wriggling in the Queen’s arms. It was not her mother’s embrace that she wanted; it was that of her husband.
Will she be too eager, too passionate? wondered the Queen. And Philip – what sort of man is he? How I wish I could have met him, had a word with him, warned him that Juana is not quite like other girls.
‘Look!’ cried Juana. ‘The Admiral is coming to us.’
It was true. Don Fadrique Enriquez, Admiral of Castile, had appeared on deck and Isabella knew that the moment was at hand when she must say goodbye.
‘Juana,’ she said, grasping her daughter’s hands and forcing the girl to look at her, ‘you must write to me often. You must never forget that my great desire is to help you.’
‘Oh no, I will not forget.’ But she was not really listening. She was dreaming of ‘Philip the Handsome’, the most attractive man in Europe. As soon as this magnificent armada had carried her to Flanders she would be his wife, and she was impatient of everything that kept her from him. She was already passionately in love with a bridegroom whom she had never seen. The desire which rose within her was driving her to such a frenzy that she felt that if she could not soon satisfy it she would scream out her frustration.
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