Falling Pomegranate Seeds: The Duty of Daughters (The Katherine of Aragon Story Book 1) (14 page)

“My son went, my good lord. We were with others, but they feared to wait for us when the wagon broke. This path took us too close to the alcázar of the queen and none of our company could help us, for none possessed a spare wheel.” Fingernails broken and dirty, the old woman twisted her gnarled, bare hands. “They wanted us to leave all our belongings and walk behind them, but this is all we have. Young lord, I am old, and my son’s wife is weary and ill with child. We cannot carry much.”

Catalina stepped in closer. “Tell us what my brother and I can do. Our mother teaches us the meaning of charity.”

The old woman gave an almost toothless smile. “God bless her good heart, and you and your noble brother. Sweet children you both are, that I can see. A shame others do not teach their children like your lady mother.”

Fidgeting, Prince Juan fingered the dagger tucked in his belt and the sun glinted off the rubies embedded in its hilt. He studied his feet before gazing again at the women. “Are you Jews?”

The girl cowered, and moaned softly. The old woman tightened her mouth. “Be calm, Raquel, and don’t carry on! You’re overly taxed, that’s why you are having some pain. The babe’s months away yet.”

The woman held out her other sleeve. Sewn upon it was the badge all Jews wore.

“My poor dead husband called us God’s elect.” Her face crumbled. “God’s accursed more like. I give thanks that death came for him before he saw his whole life’s work sold for little more than a song and his wife and son driven from their homes, with nowhere to go. It would break his heart to see his first grandchild born in the open, as is now like to happen.”

The girl rested her head on the woman’s shoulder.

One of the prince’s companions brought his horse closer to us. “My lord prince, more Jews approach.”

The woman’s eyes opened wide, her face blanched grey. Juan’s eyes met hers. His mouth pursed and he nodded, holding out hands palms up, as if showing them empty of weapons. Beatriz’s heart missed a beat.
He came in peace? The prince came in peace? Is this what he is trying to
say?

Bewildered by his action, she felt cast adrift in dense fog. When Juan and the old woman gazed silently at one another, Beatriz felt more than simply adrift. All the tales of sailing to the end of the world became all at once true. Tottering on its edge, she couldn’t see what lay beyond it, but she knew, whatever it was, something slithered and hissed, hissed of everything in this world that was evil.

Trembling, Beatriz shook herself, mentally stepping away from her dark thoughts. She returned to the bright, hot day, only to be reminded of the reason for the darkness. She gazed at the path winding and cutting its way up the hill. Some distance away two young men and a far older one strode fast towards them. The two younger men dragged behind them a frame made of tree limbs with a wheel and saddlebags roped to it.

Hand to her belly, the girl lumbered weakly to her feet. Her face lost all colour. She moaned louder this time, half bending forward. The other woman’s eyes narrowed in concern. Getting her breath again, the girl straightened and rubbed the sides of her belly. “David,” she called.

Beatriz stared at the girl’s slender hips, remembering the queen’s arguments one year ago when the king wanted to finalise Juana’s marriage. “Do you want to give us cause for uncalled grief? Husband, she is barely flowered. Speak to your mother if you need to, but I don’t need a midwife to tell me we’d see our Juana dead within the year if we give her to her husband now. She’s still only a child. Have you noticed her hips? Narrow like our son’s.”

Just like this girl in front of her, who now shielded her eyes with her right hand. Beatriz sucked in her top lip, disquieted. Her eyes searched the track. A young man hollered, trying to enunciate his words over the distance. One man waved. They quickened their stride, almost to a run. The girl stepped forward as if to go to them, but the woman grabbed her back.

“Wait! They’re almost here. I beg you, Raquel, let us not have any more mishaps we can avoid by patience.”

The girl bowed her head like a censured child, returning to her mother-in-law’s side. Once there, she squeezed shut her eyes and groaned again. The older woman’s mouth pursing into fine wrinkles, she looped her arm around the young girl’s shoulders, hugging her. She looked towards their menfolk, swallowing hard.

“See, Raquel. I told you all will be well. David would never abandon us. And look! He brings back my brother and his son.” She glanced at the prince, her head dipping in acknowledgement. “My lord prince, I thank and bless you for all your help. God will remember your charity. But please leave us now. Go in good conscience.” A smile burst across her lined face, hinting at the once handsome woman of long ago. “My son returns, and we must be on our way.”

Catalina stood, shaking dust and leaves off the bottoms of her skirts. She gazed at her brother, but he refused to meet her questing eyes. Wringing her hands, she faced the old woman. “You don’t want us to find you a place to give you shelter? Your son’s wife looks in sore need of it.”

The girl’s eyes opened, her pupils so large they made her eyes seem black. Her tears welling, she bit her lower lip.

Juan took his sister’s arm. “Come away, Catalina. Their men are almost here. I promised our lady mother I would have us both home before it becomes too hot. We best go.”

Confusion clouded Catalina’s eyes. “My brother, the girl’s in pain!”

Prince Juan looked helplessly at the woman. She smiled gently, then lowered her gaze to Catalina. “Good Dońa, we cannot stay. Our broken wagon has forced us to tarry overlong. By nightfall, we must journey as far as we can while we still have our donkey –” She glanced at the beast pulling up grass near the cart. “At the border we must give him up, too, God help us...”

Another groan came from the girl. Breathing hard, her face frightened, she crumbled against the cart’s frame. Beatriz saw her stare ahead, her youth leaching away to nothingness. The woman gripped the girl’s shoulder and turned to Prince Juan. His eyes glimmered bright in his white face.

“My lord prince, take your sister away. We’ll look after our own, but I beg you, take your men and the two little maids from here now. Our fates rest in the hand of the good God.”

Only a short distance away their men strode toward them. Seeing fear stamped on their faces, Beatriz tightened her grip on Maria’s hand and stepped over to Catalina. Sunlight turned tears on the girl’s eyelashes into tiny diamonds. Taking her hand, Beatriz walked with the girls back to their horses. She gazed at the two women and then more searchingly at Juan. He marched swiftly away from his small sister, his back rod-straight and his hands at his sides in tight fists. A grey, large cloud covered the sun, dimming the colour of the day.

“I don’t understand,” Catalina whispered.

Beatriz licked her dry lips. “Your mother may know the reason for it.”

She looked back. The woman crooned, cradling the girl’s head on her lap. The girl writhed and moaned, her legs continually bending, unbending. In the dark earth, rivulets of blood gushed from underneath the girl’s skirts. Utterly chilled despite the afternoon’s heat, Beatriz felt touched by a finger of death. She gazed at the girl. No – death touched not her.

Beatriz met Catalina’s terrified eyes. Si – childhood ends so quickly. One moment a rabbit bounces and leaps, unaware, free, heading for the safety of its hole, weaving a streak of amber life through the long, green grass. The next moment, it is only torn flesh, blood and bone. Just a memory of blithe beauty glimpsed and then, like a falling star, gone forever. Beatriz took the child’s arm and quickened her pace to their horses. Nothing remained of the day’s joy.

The beginning of health is to know the
disease
~ Castilian proverb

R
iding with Maria behind Catalina, Beatriz pondered about Prince Juan’s behaviour. Meeting those poor Jews had left him unnaturally silent and brooding. The change altered him so much from his usual companionable self. Juan rode slouched in the saddle, as if a great weight burdened his spirit. Catalina questioned him, trying to untangle her knot of bewilderment. Over and over she asked her brother for answers until he swung around, blue eyes blazing, and snapped, “This is none of your concern.” Savagely, he dug his heels hard into his horse, making it protest and half-rear before it bounded away, leaving those behind in the wake of its dust. Soon, only two of his companions remained with them, the rest galloping after their prince. In silence, they herded Beatriz and her two small charges back the way they came such a short time ago.

At the entrance of the alcázar, Beatriz saw Juana and her sister Maria. Juana, white-faced and eyes glittering, stalked up and down the hallway. Their duena stood some distance away, as if she sought to stay away from the infanta. The infanta Maria watched on, her face tense and unhappy.

Seeing them enter the alcázar, Juana rushed over. “Why did you not tell me you were going riding with Juan?”

Catalina blinked. “You didn’t tell me when you went with him yesterday.”

Juana grabbed her sister’s arm, shaking Catalina so hard her wide sun hat, with its loosened ribbons, fell to the ground. Her fine dark hair loosening from its net, Juana wiped tears from her eyes. “And I would have gone today too, if you sent me word. What right have you to ride alone with him? He is closer to me than you.”

Their eyes locked. Whatever Catalina saw there made her lower her head. She attempted to free herself from her sister’s hold. “Stop it, you’re hurting me.”

Flinging Catalina away, Juana burst into passionate tears and ran in the direction of her bedchamber.

Taking the hand of one charge, Beatriz hurried over to the other. Catalina rubbed her arm and wiped her eyes. Beatriz wound her arm around her in sympathy. Nearby, the infanta Maria fanned out her fingers on either side of her wide girdle, staring after Juana. She stepped towards them, picking up Catalina’s hat. Frowning, she handed the hat back to her sister, her long fingers fluttering up and down Catalina’s arm, as if not daring to touch. Hooding her eyes, she heaved a long, sad sigh.

“Uno Piqueño...” She sighed again, and eyed her sister. “Juana sometimes thinks Juan belongs only to her and that he should never give any mind to his other sisters; especially on a day when our father lashes her with his tongue. She does not mean it, my sister. She strikes out only because she is hurting.” Maria touched the child’s wet cheek. “Do you want me to tell Mother?”

Catalina lifted and dropped her shoulders. “I don’t know...”

Maria shuffled her slippered feet and frowned. Disquiet darkened her eyes. “When Father shouts at her like today, calling our sister unworthy of both him and our royal lady mother, Juana turns into another person. Sister, it might be best to tell her when you next ride with Juan. While Juana loves him dearly, as we all do, she fears making him angry too. Thus, she accepts it when Juan tells her she’s not included.” Maria frowned and bit her bottom lip. “I will go to her now. I’ll get her to apologise to you.”

Juan rarely asked his sister Maria to accompany him on his daily ride. Less pretty than her sisters, and often taken for granted by many – sometimes even by her own mother – Maria shone with an inner sweetness and truly deserved her nickname of Joy. Bestowed with common sense, content with her lot in life, her calmness offered others a green oasis of peace in the midst of a family made up of emotive and complicated individuals.

Catalina stood on tiptoes, kissing her sister’s cheek. “Thank you. I’ll remember. Is Mother busy?”

Starting down the corridor, the infanta chuckled over her shoulder. “Mother is always busy, but she sees us even so.”

Catalina chewed her thumb, watching Maria stride away. “Is this a good time, do you think?”

Beatriz pushed back strands of hair from her forehead. “I cannot say. No time is ever a good time when you are a queen –”

Catalina took her hand. “But Mother will speak to me.”

Beatriz nodded, taking Catalina and Maria’s hands. They slipped through the stone arch into the Court of the Lions, edging close to the narrow path of water dividing the court. Twelve stone lions supported alabaster basins, into which crystal jets of water poured and sparkled.

East, west, south and north, triangles of well-tended flowerbeds marked the corners of the courtyard. Fronds from various climbing plants festooned their own nimble design. Slender columns of the purest white marble supported archways of open filigree. Delicate fretwork covered the walls.

Wherever Beatriz looked, light dappled and water sparkled in a constant exchange between one and the other, the exquisite art of nature adding to the fine art as man had ever wrought. The Alhambra, Heaven reflected on Earth. Surely little in their mortal world compared with the beauty found here?

Beatriz’s pace slowed, drawn again by the seductive beauty of this place. Catalina grabbed her, heading into the Hall of the Two Sisters, going straight to its secret staircase taking them to the queen’s chamber in the highest tower.

Out of breath by the time she entered, Beatriz covered her surprise at finding Prince Juan also there. He sat at his mother’s feet, in front of her high-backed chair, arms around one bent leg, leaning his chin upon his well-formed knee. Seeing Catalina, he blanched, straightened his shoulders, looking up at the queen. “Mother, I tried to tell her it was none of her concern. Still, my sister must know everything. Isn’t that right, Uno Piqueño?”

Stepping out of the grey shadows in a window embrasure, Princess Isabel padded over to the rear of her mother’s chair, garbed in one of the black habitos she wore, day after day. The coarse fabric left behind patches of red, irritated skin. Hollows pushed deep into her cheeks and dark rings circled her huge eyes. Some days, especially when she fasted overlong, her grief ate away at her – soul and flesh. Those days the princess seemed a beautiful rose placed in a dark place, wilting for lack of sun and water. Then they needed to beware her thorns.

Mouth hard, nose pinched, Isabel glared at Beatriz. “Go. My sister must speak to the queen. Alone.”

Beatriz faltered. She felt struck. Once she had thought of Isabel as a friend.

Starting to leave, Beatriz saw the queen shake her head at her, gesturing to her to halt, her grim eyes on her youngest daughter. “Latina will stay, Isabel,” the queen said. “She can take Catalina back to her chamber once I finish speaking with her.”

Looking at her youngest daughter, the queen’s face wore almost the same expression as when she had scolded Gonzalo, one of her most powerful grandees. “Stop squandering all the honour you earned through your victories by misgoverning,” she had told him. The queen’s words reduced him to abjection and fervent apology.

As if fighting against a sea rip, Queen Isabel’s confessor, Hernando de Talavera, trudged his way through the deep gloom of the recesses bordering the queen’s chamber. His head popped out from the cowl of his dark monk’s mantle. Beatriz took hold of Maria and led her back a few steps. The grim atmosphere in the room entangled her tighter in its net. She sought refuge in humour, remembering the turtles Prince Juan had received from his father on his last birthday. Re-emerging to the world after being frightened, their heads popped out of their shells in almost the same manner as the queen’s confessor. But her refuge crumbled when she noticed the red eyes of the cardinal. Mouth trembling, tears still dripped down his winkled, hollowed cheeks. Bowing very low, the priest fell to his knees, clutching to his breast his heavy, gold crucifix, a recent gift from Queen Isabel. “My noble queen, pray, I beg you. This a great sin and an act of infamy. I agree with Abravanel, your grace, what you and the lord king now do risks divine punishment. Your Majesty, ’tis not too late, I beg you, withdraw the order.”

The queen rounded on her priest. Beatriz shivered at seeing her white, stark face.

“Dare you question us, my lord cardinal?” She spoke a voice Beatriz rarely heard from her – soft but threatening, underlined with steel. “Did you not once advise me to be a model to my subjects in the service of God? I remember your words, even if you do not. I need your prayers and support, confessor, not your ill-considered doubts. God gave me this crown, and I mean to do what I believe is right.”

Queen Isabel swung a scorching glance at Beatriz. “Bad enough that Latina argues with me too.”

Beatriz looked down at the floor, feeling like a roped felon. She gazed over her shoulder at the arches opening to views of the palace grounds. Up high, engraved in the delicate stone-work, were the words:
I am in this garden, an eye filled with joy.
In this sunlit room, there was nothing of joy.

“My queen,” pleaded the cardinal, “I once also told you that you were an eagle, placed on the peak of honours and sublime dignities.” The priest choked and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Never would I believe the eagle capable of ripping and tearing her kingdom to shreds.”

The queen lifted her chin. “I vowed to my first confessor, Torquemada, to devote myself to the extirpation of heresy. I must do what I must. Enough, I say. I have heard enough.” Furious, her eyes glittering like aquamarine stones, Queen Isabel rounded on Beatriz. “I’ve changed my mind. Go with Maria and I will send my daughter back to you once I speak to her. Leave us.”

Relieved at the queen’s dismissal, Beatriz re-clasped Maria’s hand and curtseyed as she backed to the door. Before she closed it behind her, she made another curtsey, a curtsey that almost buckled when she saw Catalina’s wide, scared eyes. She couldn’t smile at her, couldn’t offer her any comfort. She could do nothing but leave her all alone to face whatever this was, what the priest called an act of infamy.

Trembling outside the chamber door, Beatriz found herself weeping with Maria. Drying her own tears, she took the child in her arms, giving her the comfort that she couldn’t give to her other charge. Sweating now in the mounting heat, she led Maria to the infanta’s bedchamber, and they waited for her. Maria too upset for lessons, Beatriz took up a book to read while the child took up her sewing.

For once even Aristotle could not hold Beatriz’s interest, and her threads of thought unravelled. So much stayed knotted and tangled like the uneven stitches Maria now needed to unpick and redo. The hours passed, the bright afternoon light growing dim and grey, as day approached night.

Drawing the curtains on the remains of the day, Beatriz lit the candles in the room. She sat on the red velvet-covered stool closest to the unused fireplace, near Maria. From the open wicker basket at her feet, the child picked up a small canvas frame. She rummaged in her basket, and then settled back on the stool and sewed, more clumsily than ever. She dropped the frame to the floor and took out from the basket a small square of saffron silk. Traced on the silk there was a small, wine-red butterfly, with half of one wing still unstitched. Maria started sewing again and gave a cry of dismay when she stabbed her finger, soiling the embroidery with blood. The wide, terrified eyes of the girl they met today flashed in Beatriz’s mind, a terrified child-woman feeling birth pangs upon her. She remembered the prince almost breaking down before them. How the old woman had looked at him – full of... knowing... forgiveness... compassion... pity.

Maria sewed a loop and pulled too hard, puckering up the scrap of saffron silk. The butterfly wing close to ruin, the child looked about to burst into tears. She tossed the silk onto the already abandoned canvas. The silver needle spun in the air, a filament of candlelight caught it and glittered it with light.

The child picked up the precious piece of silk again and smoothed it out on her lap.
Such awkward stitching for a girl with a mother and grandmother who sewed with such great skill
. Beatriz almost smiled at the girl’s look of tragic despair. Maria was yet to learn that to capture beauty was the work of a lifetime. She too yearned to hold beauty in her hands, make it stay for more than just a heartbeat, a breath of time.

The eyes of the old woman flashed in Beatriz’s mind. They merged with Catalina’s, the gaze turned towards her when she closed the door of her mother’s chamber. She trembled, chilled, the afternoon’s heat all gone. She knelt on the floor and threw kindling into the fire’s hearth and started to ready it for lighting. She heard the door open and close. Catalina leaned against the door, her eyes and hair lit by the light of candles.

The child released a moan, odd and ragged as if contained over-long, and ran over to Beatriz and into her waiting arms. Maria came to join them. “You’ve been so long!” she said. Beatriz shook her head at her, hoping she would not ask any questions. The distress on Catalina’s face slammed the door upon that.

Catalina reached out and clasped Maria’s hand. Beatriz studied their interlaced fingers – chubby and thin, one hand with broken fingernails, showing evidence of morning gardening, the other the well-kept hand of royalty, both hands still those of children. She sighed.

“I’ve been praying with my mother. We all were.” Catalina swallowed, chewing at her bottom lip.

Maria stared, her eyes wide in her pale face. Time for prayer came for the girls from morning to night, but they had never prayed away a whole afternoon. Lowering her eyes, Catalina pulled at her riding gown, straightening its folds.

“I am not allowed to ride with Juan until Mother tells me.” She shook her head a little as if to clear it. “I am not allowed to go riding. I mean, we’re not. We’re to stay inside, unless told otherwise.”

Maria blinked. “But why? Did we do something wrong?”

“Not us. We’ve done no wrong...”

“Then why can we not ride?”

“We’re in danger from the Jews...”

The two girls looked up at Beatriz. They looked more lost than ever. Beatriz rubbed the side of her face, uncertain of what to say. “Did the queen tell you this” she asked Catalina.