by Jean Plaidy
But where was Juana now?
There was a scratching at her door and a young girl came in. This was the Princess Mary—the King’s youngest daughter who was some ten years old. Mary had become very beautiful—perhaps the most beautiful of all the King’s children. That beauty had come down through the House of York and with it a vitality, which had shown itself in Henry, Margaret and Mary.
Mary was tenderhearted, more affectionate than her sister Margaret had been and she had shown friendship for Katharine for whom she was vaguely sorry—mainly because she never had any new clothes and she was in some sort of disgrace it seemed to Mary—disgrace which was not of her own making.
Now Mary was very excited. “They’re here,” she cried. “There is to be a grand banquet. I am to go. I have my father’s permission. I shall play the lute and the clavichord and everyone will say how clever I am. Perhaps I shall dance. Perhaps Henry will dance with me.”
Mary was silent. She had been tactless again. She shouldn’t have mentioned Henry because Katharine wanted to marry him and she was not sure that he wanted to marry her and there was a lot of fuss about some dowry, which upset Katharine a great deal.
“I was hoping to see my sister,” said Katharine. “She is not with the party?”
“Oh, Queen Juana . . .” Mary was just about to say Mad Juana and remembered in time that she was Katharine’s sister. “She is staying behind . . . She has to rest. . . .”
Mary’s voice trailed off. Then she was at the window.
“They look very dull,” she said, “except my father . . . and Henry of course . . .”
Katharine was thinking: What if I am invited to the banquet? Is my ruby brooch big enough to hide the darn in my velvet gown?
But she was not thinking very seriously about what she would wear. The one thought which kept hammering in her mind was: Where is Juana?
The King led his guest into the castle. As they walked he congratculated the Archduke on his escape and assured him of his own delight in the outcome.
“I have long desired to talk with you, my lord Archduke, and now fate in this rather churlish way has gratified my desire.”
Philip replied as graciously. He could only rejoice in his shipwreck since it had brought about this happy meeting.
The state apartments of the castle were magnificent and Philip admired them. Then Philip was conducted to the most splendid apartment of them all, hung with cloth of gold and crimson velvet, and as it was lavishly decorated with Tudor roses Philip realized that the King was giving up the royal bedchamber to him.
It had been the custom of kings during the ages when they wished to show especial honor that they gave up this most intimate of their apartments. In medieval times often the guest had been expected to share the King’s bed. Later this custom had been altered a little and now it was customary to relieve the guest from sharing and offer only the bedchamber.
But it was indeed the ultimate honor and Philip was delighted.
The King had realized that it would not be possible to exclude Katharine from the celebrations; but the fact that her sister Juana had been left behind to follow later was an indication that he need not worry too much about the treatment the Princess had received in England.
With his usual shrewdness he had summed up Philip. Ambitious, wily to an extent, luxury loving, something of a libertine, a young man whom it should not be difficult for such as himself to handle, and he intended to get the most advantage from the visit.
Young Henry had already succumbed to the visitor’s charm. There had been no need to warn him to flatter the young man; he was doing that unconsciously. The King thought uneasily: there is a similarity between them. Will Henry be like Philip when he comes to the throne?
But that was a long way ahead, the King hoped, although his rheumatism was dreadfully painful particularly in such inclement weather as this. But he had time ahead of him; if he could get a wife he would feel renewed.
Katharine received the message. She was to appear at the banquet.
Her hopes were raised by Henry’s changed attitude toward her when she was presented to her brother-in-law; Philip embraced her and those hopes soared. She wondered when she would have an opportunity to talk to him.
She was grateful that she still had some jewels out of pawn and she had managed to keep one black velvet dress in moderately good condition. When she was dressed in it and put on her jewels she believed she successfully hid her poverty.
Henry proudly presented his daughter Mary to the Archduke, and even his expression softened a little at the sight of the delightful creature. He could not help being proud of his children. The urge was strong in him to get more. Perhaps he could talk to Philip about a bride. Philip’s sister Margaret’s name had been mentioned before. Perhaps he could get the matter settled quickly for it would be an ideal match.
He was affable to Katharine, calling her his daughter, which all about him noticed and they wondered whether this was an indication that there was still a possibility of her marriage with the Prince of Wales or whether it was merely done for Philip’s benefit.
So the banquet began and conversation flowed with the utmost affability between Philip and his attendants and the King and the Prince of Wales and all those nobles who were fully aware of the King’s desire for friendship with the visitor.
The Princess Mary enchanted the company with her lute and clavichord as she had said she would; and she danced to the admiration of all. The King suggested that Katharine dance one of her Spanish dances and that one of her ladies should accompany her in the dance.
It was like those pleasant days of long ago for Katharine when she was treated according to her rank.
Mary had come to her after the dance and taking her hand led her to the dais at the end of the hall on which the royal party were seated. The King made no objection but included her in the smile he bestowed on his daughter.
Young Henry smiled at her, almost possessively and perhaps with real love. She was happier than she had been for a long time.
She sat beside Philip and her heart beat fast with hope. He was smiling at her in a rather vague way as though his thoughts were elsewhere.
“I was dismayed not to see my sister,” she said.
His voice was cold. “She was indisposed after such an ordeal. I was concerned for her health and insisted that she rest before making the journey.”
It sounded as though he cared very much for Juana, and Katharine warmed toward him.
“I shall look forward to seeing her. I doubt not she will join us soon.”
“It will be so, doubtless,” he said.
She thought: if I could speak to him in secret. If I could ask him to convey a message to my father . . . one which the King might not know of. Perhaps he could bring me some relief. If my father knew how short of money I am kept . . .
She would try. But how to speak to him alone? In the dance, perhaps?
“My lord Archduke,” she said quietly, “I should be greatly honored if you and I could dance together.”
He turned to her; his eyes were cold. “My lady, I am but a plain sailor. You would not have me dance with you!”
There was a brief silence. Katharine felt the blood rush into her face. It was an insult—and deliberately given.
The silence on the dais was brief. The Prince of Wales looked dismayed. He felt protective toward Katharine; on the other hand he was completely fascinated by his new friend. Katharine should not have asked him to dance; she should have waited for Philip to ask her. Henry preferred to forget the incident.
The King had been very much aware of it. It told him a good deal. Philip had escaped from Juana; he had treated Katharine as though he regarded her as of little importance.
That was revealing. Then he need not be too careful of her either and he was glad of that. He had been a little uneasy about what the sisters might discuss if they were together. He believed now that there would be no protest from Philip if he sent Katharine awa
y. But perhaps he should allow her the briefest encounter with her sister.
On the following day the Princess Mary came to Katharine’s apartments. She was pouting slightly and Katharine wondered what had offended her, for she was inclined to be spoiled at the Court—like her brother and elder sister Margaret, she was fond of her own way. Now something had upset her and clearly she had come to tell Katharine about it.
Soon it came out. “I am to leave for Richmond at the end of the week.”
“Oh . . . but you love Richmond.”
“I love Richmond, but not when there is all this entertainment going on at Windsor. The Archduke will be here and there will be balls and banquets and all sorts of exciting things going on and I shall not be here to enjoy them.” She looked quickly at Katharine. “And,” she added, “nor will you.”
Katharine looked at her in amazement.
“Because,” went on Mary, “you are to come with me. We are to leave together . . . for Richmond.”
“But who has said this?”
“It is my father’s wish that we should go.”
“But . . . my sister will be coming . . .”
“I know. But we are to go. Perhaps your sister will come to Richmond to see you.”
“She will come here . . . and I shall not be here to see her. Oh, it is so unfair. Why is everything done to hurt me?”
Mary came to Katharine and put her arm round her.
“I don’t want to go to Richmond either,” she said.
Katharine looked at the beautiful little pouting face. No, Mary did not want to miss the balls and banquets. But I shall not see my sister, thought Katharine.
Then a horrible suspicion came to her that it had been planned because the King did not wish her to see her sister. He would know how bitterly she would complain. Had she not on many occasions brought her sorry condition to his ears? Not that he had listened.
Oh, life was cruel. It could not be that now she was going to be denied a meeting with Juana.
A few days passed in the most lavish revelry and still Juana did not come. Philip’s servants had certainly respected his wishes that Juana’s journey to join him should be a very slow one. She did not arrive until the day before Katharine and Mary were to leave for Richmond.
Fortune is a little on my side at last, thought Katharine. At least I shall see her.
With great joy she greeted her sister.
They looked at each other for some time in astonishment. They had both changed a good deal since they had last met. Katharine noticed the wildness in Juana’s eyes. She had seen it before but now it was more marked. Her sister had aged considerably. Of course she would change; she had been a young girl when she had left home to marry Philip.
Juana saw a new Katharine too. Was this Catalina, the rather quiet little sister who had always been so terrified of the future which would take her away from her mother’s side? Poor sad little widow! She really did look as though she were in mourning.
“We must be together . . . we must talk,” said Katharine. “There is so much I have to say to you. You will be going to Castile.”
“Yes,” said Juana. “We are going to claim the crown which is now mine.”
“You are Queen of Castile, Juana, as our mother was. It is hard to imagine anyone in her place.”
“Our father has replaced her in his bed,” said Juana with a laugh. “They say his new wife is young and beautiful and he is rather a doting husband.”
Katharine shivered.
“I wish him joy of her,” cried Juana. “I have the crown. He cannot take that.”
“Juana, when you see our father I want you to speak to him for me.”
“What think you of Philip?” said Juana. “Did you ever see a man so handsome?”
“He is certainly very good-looking. You see, Juana, I have no state here. They say I am to marry the Prince of Wales. We have gone through a ceremony . . . but shall I? What does our father say of this matter?”
“He has said nothing as far as I know.”
“But . . . I am his daughter.”
“I think he is not pleased that I have the crown. He always wanted it, you know. He married our mother for it. But I have it now . . . and I have Philip. Philip loves me . . . because I have the crown of Castile.” She caught Katharine’s arm and held it tightly. “If I did not have the crown of Castile he would cast me off tomorrow.”
“Oh no. . . .”
“Yes, yes,” cried Juana. The wildness in her eyes was very evident. “Oh he is so beautiful, Katharine. He is the most beautiful creature on Earth. You have no idea. What have you known of men such as he is? Your Arthur . . . what sort of man was he?”
“He was good and kind,” said Katharine quickly; she was becoming alarmed by this wildness in Juana. She always had been. When they were in the royal nurseries in their childhood their mother would come when the attacks started. She was always able to soothe Juana.
“I am not to be lightly set aside,” said Juana. Then she began to tell Katharine how she had cut off Philip’s mistress’s golden hair. She began laughing immoderately. “I shaved her head. You should have seen her when we had finished with her. We bound her hand and foot. Her shrieks were such as would have led anyone to believe we were cutting off her head instead of her hair. She looked so odd . . . when we’d finished. We shaved it all off. Oh, it was so funny. . . .”
“Juana, Juana, do not laugh so loudly. Juana, be calm. I want to talk to you. I want you to speak to our father . . . I want him to know how I live here. I cannot go on like this . . . He must do something. Help me, Juana. Help me.”
A dreamy expression had come into Juana’s eyes. “He will not escape me,” she said. “He cannot, can he? Not while I have the crown of Castile. He threatened me. Oh little Catalina, you have no idea . . . he would put me away . . . if he could. He will try to . . . but I won’t let him. I am the Queen of Castile. I . . . I . . . I . . .”
Katharine closed her eyes; she did not want to look at her sister. She knew that it was hopeless to look for help from her. Perhaps it was as well that the next day she would be leaving for Richmond.
The King was relieved to see Katharine depart. He did not think there was much danger to be expected from her but he was a cacutious man and he did not take risks. Philip was clearly not inclined to listen to her complaints and as for her sister she was not in a state to. Still it was as well not to have her at Court. She was an embarrassment in any case; and her clothes were decidedly shabby. He did not want unpleasant questions raised.
There were other things to discuss. He did not see why Philip should not make some definite matrimonial arrangements for him before he left. Philip had a rich sister Margaret. Her name had been mentioned before but there had been the usual prevarications. Then there was another matter. Even more important. He would not really feel at ease until Edmund de la Pole was safe in the Tower. It was alarming to have him wandering about on the Continent. One could never be sure who would rally to his cause if he attempted to get back and claim the throne.
A heaven-sent opportunity had brought Philip to these shores. He would not have been Henry Tudor if he had not made the most of that good fortune.
First of all he must make Philip his friend. Young, good-looking, susceptible to flattery, it should not be difficult. Young Henry was very useful. The two of them went hawking and hunting the wild boar together; they seemed to understand each other very well. The Prince of Wales had grown up in the last few months. Fifteen this year. A little young for marriage perhaps, but it might be that he and Philip could discuss the boy’s marriage. After all Philip was not on the best of terms with Ferdinand even though he was his father-in-law; and he certainly showed no sympathy for Katharine. There were numerous possibilities and the King decided to try them all.
First he was going to bestow on the Archduke the greatest honor he possibly could. He was going to create him a Knight of the Garter.
Philip was enchanted, and ready to discu
ss all that Henry wished and proved himself to be very ready to concede the King’s requests.
He would be delighted, he said, for Henry to have his sister Margaret Archduchess of Savoy and he believed she would be overjoyed to come to England.
“I am sure that Maximilian would never allow his daughter to come without a dowry.”
“My father would insist on giving her a dowry worthy of her rank.”
Henry’s eyes gleamed. He could not resist tentatively suggesting a figure.
“Somewhere in the region of thirty thousand crowns,” he murmured.
Philip did not flinch. It seemed to him a likely figure, he said.
Oh yes, surely such a guest was worthy of the Garter.
In St. George’s Chapel the ceremony took place and young Henry had the honor of fastening the insignia about Philip’s leg; and the friendship was sealed more firmly when the marriage contract between Henry and the Archduchess Margaret was signed.
It had indeed been a memorable visit.
But there was one question which Philip evaded; and that was the return of the Earl of Suffolk.
It was a matter he would have to discuss with the Emperor, he said.
“Oh my lord,” laughed Henry, “it is you who would have the last word, eh?”
Philip hated to admit that this was not so.
“It is for you to say,” went on Henry. “We know that your word is law. Suffolk is a traitor. I would have him here under lock and key.”
Philip appeared to consider and a vague look came into his eyes. At length, he said lightly, “I have no doubt, my lord, that you could persuade Suffolk to return.”
“I’ll swear he would wish to come back. To be exiled from one’s country . . . unable to return . . .” Henry paused significantly. “Well, you are here now . . . held by the bonds of friendship and you can well imagine how you would feel if for some reason you could not return to your country.”