“A confessor is the one confidant to whom it is possible to tell that which one keeps secret from the world. Is that not so?”
“It is indeed so.”
“Therefore if anyone knows what happened on the Infanta’s wedding night, that person is most likely to be yourself.” The little priest could not hide the pride which showed in his eyes. “In the name of the Sovereigns, I ask you to tell me what happened.”
Geraldini hesitated. He knew that if he told the truth and said he did not know, he would cease to be of any importance to Puebla; that was something he could not endure. He wanted to see himself as the Infanta’s confidant, as a man destined to play a part in Spanish politics.
“You see,” went on Puebla, noticing the hesitancy, “if the marriage was consummated and this fact was kept hidden the bull of dispensation from the Pope might not be valid. It is necessary to lay all the facts before his Holiness. We must have the truth, and you are the man who can give it. You know the answer. Your peculiar position enables you to have it. I pray you give it to me now.”
As it was more than Geraldini could bear to admit ignorance, why should he not make a guess? The young couple had spent the wedding night together according to custom. Surely they must have consummated their marriage. It was but natural that they should.
Geraldini paused only one second longer, then he leaped.
“The marriage has been consummated,” he said. “It is likely that it will prove fruitful.”
Puebla left Durham House with all speed. He first dispatched a letter to the Sovereigns and then sought out members of the King’s Council.
This was what he had hoped. He liked clean-cut facts. If the Infanta carried the heir of England in her womb then there could be no more doubt of her position in Henry’s realm.
The belief that the marriage had not been consummated was highly dangerous. It was a matter about which there would continue to be conjecture.
Puebla was therefore very happy to let it be known that Arthur and Katharine had cohabited and that there might be a hope that their relationship would be a fruitful one.
* * *
DOÑA ELVIRA WAS HOLDING in her hand a letter which she had taken from a drawer of her table, where a short while before she had hastily placed it.
The courier had left and was now well on his way to the coast with the letters he was carrying from England to Spain.
“And this,” said Elvira to herself, “will not be one of them.”
She was going to burn it in the flame of a candle as soon as she had shown it to Iñigo, and made him aware that he would have to move faster. He was evidently slow in his courtship if he had allowed Maria de Rojas to prefer this Englishman to himself.
How had the Englishman been in a position to pay court to Maria de Rojas, she would like to know! Clearly there were traitors in the household. She, Doña Elvira Manuel, and she alone, should rule; and if her rule had been absolute, Maria de Rojas would never have exchanged anything but glances with her Englishman.
She suspected three people of seeking to wean Katharine from her. The first was that pernicious little priest, who recently had given himself airs; the second was Don Pedro Ayala whose cynicism and riotous living had earned her disapproval; and of course, like everyone else of noble blood, she disliked Puebla.
She would send for Iñigo. She would show him the letter in Katharine’s handwriting, asking for a dowry for Maria de Rojas; and she would have him know that a son of hers must not allow others to get ahead of him.
She called to one of the pages, but even as she did so the door was flung open and her husband Don Pedro Manrique came into the room. He was clearly distraught, and temporarily Doña Elvira forgot Maria de Rojas and her love affair.
“Well,” she demanded, “what ails you?”
“It is clear that you have not heard this rumor.”
“Rumor! What is this?”
“It concerns the Infanta.”
“Tell me at once,” demanded Doña Elvira, for she expected immediate obedience from her husband as she did from the rest of the household.
“Puebla has told members of the Council that the marriage was consummated and that there is every hope that the Infanta may be with child.”
“What!” cried Elvira, her face growing purple with rage. “This is a lie. The Infanta is as virgin as she was the day she was born.”
“So I had believed. But Puebla has told members of the Council that this is not the case. Moreover he has written to the Sovereigns to tell them what, he says, is the true state of affairs.”
“I must see Puebla at once. But first…let the courier be stopped. It is a lie he is carrying to the Sovereigns.”
“I will dispatch a rider to follow him immediately, but I fear we are too late. Nevertheless I will see what can be done.”
“Hurry then!” Doña Elvira commanded. “And have Puebla brought to me immediately. I must stop the spread of this lie.”
Her husband retreated in haste, leaving Doña Elvira to pace up and down the apartment.
She was certain that Katharine was still a virgin. She would have known if it had been otherwise. There had been only the wedding night when they had been together, and they were both too young, too inexperienced…Beside, the King had made his wishes known.
If what that miserable Puebla was saying was true, if Katharine carried a child within her, then she would no longer be exiled to Durham House; she would be at Court, and that would be the end of the rule of Doña Elvira.
“She is a virgin,” she cried aloud. “Of course she is. I would swear to it. And if necessary there could be an examination.”
* * *
DR. DE PUEBLA STOOD before Doña Elvira and her husband. He was a little disturbed by the fury of the woman. She was formidable, and moreover he knew that Queen Isabella regarded her highly.
“I want to know,” she shouted, “why you have dared to tell this lie to members of the Council here, and write it to the Sovereigns.”
“What lie is this?”
“You have declared that the marriage was consummated. Where were you on the wedding night, Dr. de Puebla? Peering through the bed curtains?”
“I have it on good authority that the marriage was consummated, Doña Elvira.”
“On whose authority?”
“On that of the Infanta’s confessor.”
“Geraldini!” Elvira spat out the word. “That upstart!”
“He assured me that the marriage had been consummated and that there was hope of issue.”
“How had he come into possession of such knowledge?”
“Presumably the Infanta had confessed this to him.”
“He lies. One moment.” Elvira turned to her husband. “Send for Geraldini,” she commanded.
In a few minutes the priest joined them. He was a little pale; like everyone in the household he dreaded the fury of Doña Elvira.
“So,” cried Elvira, “you have informed Dr. de Puebla that the marriage between our Infanta and the Prince of Wales was consummated, and that England may shortly expect an heir.”
Geraldini was silent, his eyes downcast.
“Answer me!” shouted Elvira.
“I…I did verily believe…”
“You verily believed indeed! You verily guessed. You fool! Do you dare then dabble in matters which are so far above you! You should be in your monastery, babbling your prayers in your lonely cell. Such as you have no place in Court circles. Confess that the Infanta never told you that the marriage was consummated!”
“She…she did not tell me, Doña Elvira.”
“Yet you dared tell Dr. de Puebla that you knew this to be so!”
“I thought…”
“I know! You verily believed. You knew nothing. Get out of my sight before I order you to be whipped. Begone…quickly. Idiot! Knave!”
Geraldini was relieved to escape.
As soon as he had gone Elvira turned to Puebla. “You see what this meddling has done.
If you wish to know anything concerning the Infanta, you must come to me. There is only one thing to be done. You agree now that this man Geraldini has led you completely astray?”
“I do,” said Puebla.
“Then you should write to the Sovereigns immediately, telling them that there is no truth in the news contained in your previous document. If you are quick, you may prevent that first letter from reaching their Highnesses. Let us pray that the tides are not favorable for a few hours. Go at once and set right this matter.”
Although Puebla resented her high-handed manner, he could not but agree that he must do as she said; and he was indeed eager to write to the Sovereigns, rectifying his mistake.
He bowed himself out and set about the task immediately.
When she was alone with her husband Doña Elvira sat at her table and began to write. She addressed her letter to Her Highness Queen Isabella, and she told of the mischief Father Alessandro Geraldini had wrought against the Infanta. She added that she believed Don Pedro de Ayala’s presence in England to be no longer necessary to the welfare of Spain. She hesitated, considering Puebla. He had been docile enough and ready to admit his mistake. She decided that she might be served worse by any other ambassador the Sovereigns saw fit to send. Too many complaints could give the impression that she was hard to please. If because of this matter she could rid the household of Geraldini she would be satisfied.
As she sealed the letter, she remembered that other letter which had angered her before she heard of Geraldini’s gossip.
She took it up and thrust it into her husband’s hands.
“Read that,” she said.
He read it. “But you had decided…” he began.
She cut him short. “I wish Iñigo to see this. Have him brought here immediately, but first have this letter dispatched to the Sovereigns. I should like it to reach them if possible before they receive Puebla’s.”
Don Pedro Manrique obeyed her as, during their married life, he had grown accustomed to; and in a short time he returned to her with their son.
“Ah, Iñigo,” she said, “did I not tell you that I had decided a match with Maria de Rojas would be advantageous to you?”
“You did, Mother.”
“Well then, perhaps you would be interested to read this letter which the Infanta has written to her parents. It is a plea that they should give their consent to the marriage of Maria de Rojas with an Englishman and provide her with a dowry.”
“But, Mother, you…”
“Read it,” she snapped.
Young Iñigo frowned as he read. He felt himself flushing. It was not that he was so eager for marriage with Maria, but that he feared his mother’s wrath, and it seemed as though she were ready to blame him—though he could not quite understand why.
“You have finished it?” She took it from him. “We must not allow others to step ahead of us and snatch our prizes from under our noses, must we?”
“No, Mother. But she wishes to marry the Englishman, and the Infanta supports her.”
“It would appear so.” Elvira was thoughtful. “We shall do nothing yet.”
“But in the meantime the Sovereigns may provide the dowry and the consent.”
“Why should they,” said Elvira, “if they do not know it has been asked for?”
“But it is asked for in the Infanta’s letter,” her husband pointed out.
Elvira laughed and held the letter in the flame of the candle.
The Passing of Elizabeth of York
THE LONG DAYS OF SPRING AND SUMMER PASSED uneventfully for Katharine. Always she was awaiting the summons to return home.
This did not come, although others had been summoned back to Spain. One was Father Alessandro Geraldini; another was Don Pedro de Ayala.
Doña Elvira had explained their departure to Katharine. Don Pedro de Ayala, she said, was unworthy to represent Spain in England. He led too carnal a life for an ambassador, and a bishop at that. As for Geraldini, he had whispered slander against the Infanta herself, and for such she had demanded his recall.
“Her Highness your mother declares that he is indeed unworthy to remain a member of your household. I thank the saints that I was shown his perfidy in time.”
“What did he say of me?” Katharine wanted to know.
“That you were with child.”
Katharine flushed scarlet at the suggestion, and Elvira felt very confident that, if it should ever come to the point when there must be an examination, her pronouncement would be vindicated.
“I had hoped my mother would send for me,” said Katharine mournfully.
Elvira shook her head. “My dear Highness, it is almost certain that there will be another marriage for you in England. Had you forgotten that the King has another son?”
“Henry!” she whispered; and she thought of the bold boy who had led her to the altar where Arthur had been waiting for her.
“And why not?”
“He is but a boy.”
“A little younger than yourself. When he is a little older that will be of small account.”
Henry! Katharine was startled and a little afraid. She wanted to escape from Elvira, to think about this project.
That night she could not sleep. Henry haunted her thoughts and she was not sure whether she was pleased or afraid.
She waited for more news of this, but none came.
It was so difficult to know what was happening at home. There were only fragments of news she heard now and then. The war for Naples, in which her parents were engaged against the King of France, was not going well for them. That, she believed, was why the King of England was hesitating over her betrothal to his son. If the Sovereigns were in difficulties he could make a harsher bargain with them. He did not forget that only half her dowry had been paid.
So the months went by without much news. She found that she had very little money—not even enough to pay her servants. She was worried about Maria’s dowry, for there was no news from Spain about this.
The King of England said that she had no right to a third of the property of her late husband, because the second half of her dowry had not been paid. She needed new dresses, but there was no money to buy any. There was her plate and jewels, which represented thirty-five thousand crowns; could she pawn these? She dared not do so because she knew that they had been sent from home as part of her dowry; but if she had no money, what could she do?
There were times when she felt deserted, for she was not allowed to go to Court.
“She is a widow,” said the King of England. “It is well that she should live in seclusion for a while.”
Henry had his eyes on the Continent. It might be that, as the French seemed likely to score a victory over the Spaniards, a marriage for his son with France or with the House of Maximilian might be more advantageous than one with Spain.
Meanwhile, living in England was the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand—a Princess, but penniless, a wife but no wife, virtually a hostage for her parents’ good behavior.
It was no concern of his that she suffered poverty, said the King. He could not be expected to pay an allowance to the woman whose dowry had not been paid.
Puebla came to see her, shaking his head sadly. He also had received no money from Spain. It was fortunate that he had other means of making a living in England.
“They are using every maravedi for the wars, Highness,” he said. “We must perforce be patient.”
Katharine sometimes cried herself to sleep when her maids of honor had left her.
“Oh, Mother,” she sobbed, “what is happening at home? Why do you not send for me? Why do you not bring me out of this…prison?”
* * *
IT WAS ALMOST CHRISTMAS. A whole year, thought Katharine, since she had come to England, and during that time she had married and become a widow; yet it seemed that she had been a prisoner in Durham House for a very long time.
She was not to join the Court at Richmond for the Christmas celebrations:
She was a widow, in mourning. Moreover the King of England wished the Spanish Sovereigns to know that he was not showering honors on their daughter, since half her dowry was still owing to him and he was not very eager to make a further alliance with their House.
Maria de Rojas was fretful. “No news from home?” she was continually demanding. “How strange that the Queen does not answer your request about my marriage.” Maria was anxious, for shut up in Durham House she had no opportunity of seeing her lover. She wondered what was happening to him and whether he was still eager for the marriage.
Francesca declared that she would go mad if they had to remain in England much longer; even gentle Maria de Salinas was restive.
But the days passed, all so like each other that Katharine almost lost count of time except that she knew that with each passing week she owed the members of her household more and more, and that Christmas was coming and they would have no money for celebrations, for gifts or even to provide a little Christmas cheer for their table.
It was in November that Queen Elizabeth came to Durham House to call on Katharine.
Katharine was shocked when she saw Elizabeth, because she had changed a great deal since they had last met. The Queen was far advanced in pregnancy and she did not look healthy.
The Queen wished to be alone with Katharine, and as they sat together near the fire, Elizabeth said: “It distresses me to see you thus. I have come to tell you how sorry I am, and have brought food for your table. I know how you have been placed.”
“How kind you are!” said Katharine.
The Queen laid her hand over the Infanta’s. “Do not forget you are my daughter.”
“I fear the King does not think of me as such. I am sorry the dowry has not been paid. I am sure my parents would have paid it, if they were not engaged in war at this time.”
“I know, my dear. Wars…there seem always to be wars. We are fortunate in England. Here we have a King who likes not war, and I am glad of that. I have seen too much war in my life. But let us talk of more pleasant things. I could wish you were joining the Court for Christmas.”
Katharine, the Virgin Widow Page 10