Katharine of Aragon (12 page)

The Queen bowed her head. It was no use pleading with her husband. She would not be able to comfort the young girl, to treat her as she would a sorrowing daughter. The King would have the Sovereigns of Spain know that the death of the Prince of Wales had put their daughter in a precarious position.

KATHARINE WAS SORRY
that she could not stay with the Court at Richmond, but she believed this to be only a waiting period, for she was certain
that, as soon as her parents heard the news, they would give orders that she return to Spain. But it would take a little time for the message to reach Spain and for the Sovereigns' orders to be sent to England.

It would have been pleasant to have had the company of Henry and Margaret. Margaret herself was in need of comfort, for she was soon to depart to Scotland as a bride.

But this could not be and, after a brief stay at Richmond, Katharine and her household were removed to a turreted house with the church opposite, and Doña Elvira took charge of all household arrangements.

It was soon decided that the palace of the Bishop of Durham, which was situated on the Strand, would be a more suitable dwelling for the Infanta; and so to Durham House she went.

Elvira was delighted with this seclusion because it meant that, removed from the Court as they were, she was in charge of the entire household. Her husband, Don Pedro Manrique, and her son, Don Iñigo, held high posts in Katharine's household and Elvira was ambitious for them. She had determined that Maria de Rojas should be betrothed to Iñigo; she believed that Maria's dowry would be a large one.

Elvira often thought of her brother, Don Juan Manuel, whose service to the Sovereigns should not go unrewarded. Isabella, she knew, thought highly of him and he should have had more honors than he had so far received. Elvira guessed that it was Ferdinand who barred his way to success, for Ferdinand was constantly seeking favors for his illegitimate children and, although the Queen insisted on having her way, Ferdinand was full of cunning and often scored in spite of his wife.

If there were no King Ferdinand, Elvira often thought, Juan would receive his dues.

She wished sometimes that she were in Spain; she felt sure that she would have been able to expedite Juan's rise to favor in the same efficient way in which she was able to look after Iñigo's in London.

But for the moment she was contented. The Infanta had reverted to her care, and as she was now a widow in a difficult situation, she relied on Elvira. Isabella would soon be sending instructions, and those instructions would come to Elvira.

So life in Durham House took on the pattern of that of a Spanish Alcazar. The English tongue was rarely heard; the English nobles who had held places in the entourage of the Prince and Princess of Wales disappeared, and their places were taken by Spaniards. Don Pedro Manrique was once more the first Chamberlain; Don Juan de Cuero was treasurer; Alessandro Geraldini remained the Infanta's confessor; and Don Iñigo was at the head of
her pages. Elvira ruled the household; but that did not mean that the animosity, which she had engendered in the heart and mind of Geraldini, was abated. Rather it had intensified.

Puebla remembered insults which the duenna did not cease to heap upon him.

Ayala watched mischievously, fearing that soon he might be recalled to Spain and so miss the fun which, he felt sure, must be lurking in such a delicate situation.

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 fond 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.