Daughters of Spain (8 page)

'Isabella, do you think Juana will be happy in Flanders?'

'I do not think Juana will be happy and contented anywhere.'

'Poor Juana. She believes she will live happily for ever when she is married to Philip. He is so handsome, she says. They even call him Philip the Handsome.'

'It is better to have a good husband than a handsome one.'

'I am sure Prince Arthur is good. He is only a boy yet. It will be years before he marries. And Emanuel is good too, Isabella.'

'Yes,' agreed Isabella, 'Emanuel is good.'

'Are you going to marry him?'

Isabella shook her head and turned away.

'I am sorry I mentioned it, Isabella,' said Catalina. 'It reminds you, doesn't it?'

Isabella nodded.

'Yes,' said Catalina, 'you were happy, were you not? Perhaps it was better to have found Alonso such a good
husband even though he died so soon ... better than to have married a husband whom you hated and who was unkind to you.'

Isabella looked thoughtfully at her young sister. 'Yes,' she said, 'it was better than that.'

'And you have seen Emanuel. You know him well. You know he is kind. So, Isabella, if you should have to marry him, perhaps you will not be so very unhappy. Portugal is near home ... whereas ...'

Isabella suddenly forgot her own problems and looked into the anxious eyes of her little sister. She put her arm about her and held her tightly.

'England is not so very far away either,' she said.

'I have a fear,' Catalina answered slowly, 'that once I am there I shall never come back ... never see you all again. That is what I think would be so hard to bear ... never to see you and Juan, Maria and our father ... and mother ... never to see
Mother
...'

'I thought that. But, you see, I came back. Nothing is certain, so it is foolish to say "I shall never come back." How can you be sure?'

'I shall not say it. I shall say: "I
will
come back," because only if I did could I bear to go.'

Isabella put her sister from her and went to the window. Catalina followed.

They saw two men riding fast up the slope to the Palace.

Catalina sighed with disappointment, because she knew they were not of the Queen's party.

'We shall soon discover who they are,' said Isabella. 'Let us go to Juan. The messengers will have been taken to him if they have important news.'

When they reached Juan's apartments, the messengers had already been conducted to him and he was ordering that they be taken away and given refreshments.

'What is the news?' Isabella asked.

'They come from Arevalo,' said Juan. 'Our grandmother is very ill and calls constantly for our mother.'

The Queen entered the familiar room, the memory of which she felt would haunt her with sadness for as long as she lived.

As soon as she had arrived at Madrid she had set out for Arevalo, praying that she would not be too late and yet half hoping that she would be.

In her bed lay the Dowager Queen of Castile, Isabella's ambitious mother, that Princess of Portugal who had suffered from the scourge of her family and whose mental aberrations had darkened her daughter's life.

It was because of her mother that Isabella felt those shocks of terror every time she noticed some fresh wildness in her daughter Juana. Had this madness in the royal blood passed one generation to flower in the next?

'Is that Isabella ...?'

The blank eyes were staring upwards, but they did not see the Queen, who leaned over the bed. They saw instead the little girl Isabella had been when her future was the greatest concern in the world to this mother.

'Mother, dear Mother. I am here,' whispered Isabella.

'Alfonso, is that you, Alfonso?'

One could not say: Alfonso is dead, Mother ... dead these many years. We do not know how he died, but we believe he was poisoned.

'He is the true King of Castile ...'

'Oh, Mother, Mother,' whispered Isabella, 'it is all so long ago. Ferdinand and I rule all Spain now. I became more than the Queen of Castile.'

'I do not trust him ...' the tortured woman cried.

Isabella laid a hand on her mother's clammy forehead. She called to one of the attendants. 'Bring scented water. I would bathe her forehead.'

The sick woman began to laugh. It was hideous laughter, reminding Isabella of those days when she and her young brother, Alfonso, had lived here in this gloomy palace of Arevalo with a mother who lost a little more of her reason with the passing of each day.

Isabella took the bowl of water from the attendant.

'Go now and leave me with her,' she said; and she herself bathed her mother's forehead.

The laughter had lost its wildness. Isabella listened to the harsh breathing.

It could not be long now. She would call in the priests who would administer the last rites. But what would this sadly deranged, dying woman know of that? She had no idea that she was living through her last hours; she believed that she was a young woman again, fighting desperately for the throne of Castile that she might bestow it upon her son Alfonso or her daughter Isabella.

Still it was just possible that she might realise that it was Extreme Unction that was being administered; she might for a few lucid seconds understand the words of the priest.

Isabella stood up and beckoned one of the attendants who had been hovering in a corner of the apartment.

'Your Highness ...' murmured the woman.

'My mother is sinking fast,' said Isabella. 'Call the priests. They should be with her.'

'Yes, Highness.'

Isabella went back to the bed and waited.

The Dowager Queen Isabella was lying back on her pillows, her eyes closed, her lips moving; and her daughter, trying to pray for her mother's soul, could only find the words intruding into her prayers: 'Oh God, You have made Juana so like her. I pray You, take care of my daughter.'

Catalina was eagerly awaiting the return of her mother from Arevalo, but it was long before she could be alone with her.

Since the little girl had learned that she was to go to England she could not spend enough time in her mother's company. Isabella understood this and made a point of summoning Catalina to her presence whenever this was possible.

Now she dismissed everyone and kept Catalina with her; the joy on the face of the child was rewarding enough; it moved Isabella deeply.

Isabella made Catalina bring her stool and sit at her feet. This, Catalina was happy to do; she sat leaning her head against her mother's skirts, and Isabella let her fingers caress her youngest daughter's thick chestnut hair.

'Did it seem long that I was away then?' she asked.

'So long, Mother. First you went away with Juana, and then as soon as you had returned you must leave for Arevalo.'

'We have had little time together for so long. We must make up for it. I rejoiced to be with my mother for a little while before she died.'

'You are unhappy, Mother.'

'Are you surprised that I should be unhappy now that I have no mother? You who, I believe, love your own mother, can understand that, can you not?'

'Oh yes. But your mother was not as
my
mother.'

Isabella smiled. 'Oh, Catalina, she has caused me such anxieties.'

'I know it, Mother. I hope never to cause you one little anxiety.'

'If you did it would be solely because I loved you so well. You would never do aught, I know, to distress me.'

Catalina caught her mother's hand and kissed it fiercely. Such emotion frightened Isabella.

I must strengthen her, this tender little child, she thought.

'Catalina,' she said, 'you are old enough to know that my mother was kept a prisoner, more or less, at Arevalo because ... because her mind was not ... normal. She was unsure of what was really happening. She did not know whether I was a woman or a little girl like you. She did not know that I was the Queen but thought that my little brother was alive and that he was the heir to Castile.'

'Did she ... frighten you?'

'When I was young I was frightened. I was frightened of her wildness. I loved her, you see, and I could not bear that she should suffer so.'

Catalina nodded. She enjoyed these confidences; she knew that something had happened to make her relationship with her mother even more poignantly precious. This had taken place when she had discovered she was destined to go to England; and she believed that the Queen did not want her to go as an ignorant child. She wanted her to understand
something of the world so that she would be able to make her own decisions, so that she would be able to control her emotions - in fact, so that she would be a grown-up person able to take care of herself.

'Juana is like her,' said Catalina.

The Queen caught her breath. She said quickly: 'Juana is too high spirited. Now that she is to have a husband she will be more controlled.'

'But my grandmother had a husband; she had children; and she was not controlled.'

The Queen was silent for a few seconds, then she said: 'Let us pray together for Juana.'

She took Catalina's hand and they went into that small anteroom where Isabella had set up an altar; and there they knelt and prayed not only for the safe journey of Juana but for her safe and sane passage through life.

Afterwards they went back to the apartment and Catalina sat once more on her stool at the Queen's feet.

'Catalina,' said Isabella, 'I hope you will be friends with the Archduchess Margaret when she comes. We must remember that she will be a stranger among us.'

'I wonder whether she is frightened,' Catalina whispered, trying not to think of herself setting out on a perilous journey across the sea to England.

'She is sixteen years old, and she comes to a strange country to marry a young man whom she has never seen. She does not know that in our Juan she will have the kindest, dearest husband anyone could have. She has yet to learn how fortunate she is. But while she is discovering this I want you and your sisters to be very kind to her.'

'I shall, Mother.'

'I know you will.'

'I would do anything you asked of me ... gladly I would do it if you commanded me.'

'I know it, my precious daughter. And when the time comes for you to leave me you will do so with good courage in your heart. You will know, will you not, that wherever I am and wherever you are, I shall never forget you as long as I live.'

Catalina's lips were trembling as she answered: 'I will never forget it. I will always do my duty as you would have me do it. I shall not whimper.'

'I shall be proud of you. Now take your lute, my dearest, and play to me awhile; for very soon we shall be interrupted. But never mind, I shall steal away from state duties and be with you whenever it is possible. Play to me now, my dearest.'

So Catalina brought her lute and played; but even the gayest tunes sounded plaintive because Catalina could not dismiss from her mind the thought that time passed quickly and the day must surely come when she must set out for England.