Katharine, the Virgin Widow

by Виктория Холт

  “Our father was not always faithful to our mother. It grieved her, I know. But she did not let it interfere with the affection she bore him.”

  “Our mother! What did she know of love?”

  “She knew much of love. Do you not remember her care for us? I verily believe that, when we left her, she suffered even more than we did.”

  “Love!” cried Juana. “What do you know of love? I mean love like this which I have for him. There is nothing like it, I tell you.” Juana had stood up; she began beating her hands against her stiffly embroidered bodice. “You cannot understand, Catalina. You have never known it. You have never known Philip.”

  “But why are you so unhappy?”

  “Do you not know? I thought the whole world knew. Because of those others. They are always there. How many women have shared his bed since he came to England? Do you know? Of course you do not. Even he will have forgotten.”

  “Juana, you distress yourself.”

  “I am in continual distress…except when he is with me. He says he does his duty. I am often pregnant. I am happiest when I am not, because he always remembers that I should become so.”

  Katharine covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Juana, please do not talk so.”

  “How else should I talk? He went on in advance of me. Can you guess why? Because there were women with whom he wished to amuse himself. I tell you, I hate women…I hate…hate…hate women.”

  Juana had begun to rock herself to and fro, and Katharine was afraid her shouts would be heard in those apartments of the Castle near her own.

  She tried to soothe her sister; she put her arms about her, and Juana immediately clung to her, rocking Katharine with her.

  “Why, Juana,” whispered Katharine, “you are distraught. Would you like to lie on your bed? I would sit beside it and talk to you.”

  Juana was silent for a while, and then she cried out: “Yes. Let it be so.”

  Katharine took her sister’s arm and together they went to Juana’s bedchamber. Some of her attendants were waiting there, and Katharine knew from their expression that they were prepared for anything to happen.

  “The Queen wishes to rest,” said Katharine. “You may go. I will look after her.”

  The women retired, leaving the sisters together, and Katharine realized that Juana’s mood had changed once more. Now she had sunk into melancholy silence.

  “Come,” said Katharine, “lie down. Your journey must have been very tiring.”

  Still Juana did not answer but allowed herself to be led to the bed and covered with the embroidered coverlet.

  Katharine sat by the bed and reached out for the white ringed hand. She held it, but there was no response to her tenderness from the hand which lay listlessly in hers.

  “There is so much we have to say to each other,” said Katharine. “You shall tell me your troubles and I shall tell you mine. Oh, Juana, now that I have seen you I know how wretched I have been in England. Imagine my position here. I am unwanted. When our mother was alive I longed to return to Spain. Now that she is gone I do not know what I want. I do not understand the King of England. His plans change abruptly, and a marriage is planned one day and forgotten the next. You must see how poor I have become. Look at this dress.…”

  She stood up and spread her skirt, but Juana was not even looking at her.

  She went on: “I suppose my only hope is marriage with the Prince of Wales. If that should take place, at least I should be accorded the dignity due to my rank. But will it ever take place? He is much younger than I and they say he is to marry Marguerite of Angoulême, but the King has arranged something other with your husband.”

  At the mention of Philip a faint smile touched Juana’s lips.

  “They say he is the handsomest man in the world, and they do not lie.”

  “He is indeed handsome, but it would have been better if he had been kind,” said Katharine quickly. “While you are here, Juana, cannot you do something to alleviate my poverty? If you would speak to King Henry…”

  The door opened and Philip himself came into the room. He was laughing and his fair face was slightly flushed.

  “Where is my wife?” he cried. “Where is my Queen?”

  Katharine was surprised at the change which came over Juana. She had leaped from the bed, all melancholy gone.

  “Here I am, Philip. Here I am.”

  Without ceremony she flung herself into his arms. It nauseated Katharine to see her sister clinging to this man, who stood, his arms limp at his sides, while he looked over Juana’s head at Katharine.

  “I see,” said Philip, “that you have an august visitor.”

  “It is Catalina…only my little sister.”

  “But I disturb you. And it is so long since you have met. I must leave you together.”

  “Philip, oh Philip…do not go. It is so long since we have been alone together. Philip, stay now…”

  Katharine stood up. She could bear no more.

  “Pray give me leave to retire,” she said to her sister.

  But Juana was not looking at her; she was breathless with desire and completely unaware of her sister’s presence.

  Philip smiled at her sardonically; and she saw that he was not displeased. Was he showing her how abject the Queen of Castile could become in her need for the comfort only he could give? Was he telling her that the present King of Castile would be very different from the previous one? Ferdinand had been a strong man, but his wife had been stronger. Juana would never be another Isabella of Castile.

  Katharine went swiftly to her own apartments. What will become of her? she asked herself. What will become of us all?

  So this was the meeting for which she had longed. There would be no time for more meetings, because she was to leave Windsor for Richmond tomorrow. There were no concessions for Katharine from the King of England, any more than there were for Juana, Queen of Castile, from her cruel careless husband, Philip the Handsome.

  She did not even listen to what I was telling her, thought Katharine. She completely forgot my existence, the moment he entered the room.

  * * *

  THERE WAS LITTLE TO DO, with the Court at Richmond, but sit and embroider with her maids of honor and listen to their laments for Spain. The Princess Mary was with her often. She would sit at Katharine’s feet playing her lute, listening to her comments and being instructed by them, for Katharine herself excelled with the lute. Sometimes they sang together the old songs of Spain, but more often the songs of England. “For,” complained Mary, “your songs are sad songs.”

  “They sound sad,” Katharine told her, “because I sing them in a strange land.”

  Mary scarcely listened; she was too absorbed by her own affairs; but Katharine enjoyed the company of this light-hearted, beautiful child who was the favorite of everyone at Court.

  She had seen nothing of the King or the Prince since she had left Windsor; she knew that the fleet of ships which had been in difficulties in the Channel were now being refitted and made ready for the journey to Spain. With the coming of spring they would sail away again.

  I shall never see Juana again, thought Katharine. And if I did, what could we have to say to each other?

  In April, Philip and Juana embarked at Weymouth and on a calm sea they set out for Spain.

  Katharine remembered all the hopes that had come to her when Doña Elvira had first suggested such a meeting. How different the reality had been!

  She knew, as she had never known before, that she was alone, and her future lay not with her own people but the English rulers.

  Philip and Ferdinand Meet

  NEWS WAS BROUGHT TO FERDINAND THAT HIS SON-IN-LAW had landed at Corunna.

  This was disquieting news. Ferdinand knew he had good reason to mistrust Philip and that his son-in-law’s intention was to drive him out of Castile, become King himself and reduce Ferdinand to nothing but a petty monarch of Aragon.

  This Ferdinand would fight against with all his might.


  He was not an old man, he reminded himself. He felt younger than he had for many years. This was doubtless due to the fact that he had acquired a new wife, his beautiful Germaine.

  Many eyebrows had been raised when Germaine had arrived at Dueñas, close by Valladolid, for there, thirty-seven years before, he had come in disguise from Aragon for his marriage to Isabella.

  There were many people in Castile who looked upon Isabella as a saint, and they were deeply shocked that Ferdinand should consider replacing her; and to do so by a young and beautiful girl seemed double sacrilege; moreover as any fruit of the union might result in the breaking up of Spain into two kingdoms, this was not a popular marriage.

  Ferdinand was realizing how much of his popularity he had owed to Isabella. Yet he had lost none of his ambition; and he was ready enough to end his six weeks’ honeymoon with the entrancing Germaine in order to go forward and meet Philip, to match his son-in-law’s rashness with his own experience and cunning.

  There was one man in Spain whom he heartily disliked but who, he knew, was the country’s most brilliant statesman. This man was Ximenes, whom, against Ferdinand’s advice, Isabella had created Archbishop of Toledo and Primate of Spain. Ferdinand summoned Ximenes to his presence and Ximenes came.

  There was a faint contempt in the ascetic face, which Ferdinand guessed meant that the Archbishop was despising the bridegroom. This was a marriage which would seem unholy to Ximenes, and when he received him Ferdinand was conscious of a rising indignation. But he calmed himself. Ferdinand had learned to subdue his hot temper for the sake of policy.

  “You have heard the news, Archbishop?” he asked when the Archbishop had greeted him in his somewhat superior manner, which Ferdinand thought implied that he, Ximenes, was the ruler.

  “I have indeed, Highness.”

  “Well?”

  “It will be necessary to walk carefully. There should be a meeting between you and the Archduke, and it should be a peaceful one.”

  “Will he agree to this?”

  “He will if he is wise.”

  “He is young, Archbishop. Wisdom and youth rarely go together.”

  “Wisdom and age mate almost as rarely,” replied the Archbishop.

  That allusion to the marriage made the hot blood rush to Ferdinand’s cheeks. He had often advised Isabella to send the insolent fellow back to his hermit’s cell. But he was too useful. He was too clever. And he was ready to devote that usefulness and cleverness to Spain.

  “What in your opinion should be done in the matter?” asked Ferdinand shortly.

  The Archbishop was silent for a while; then he said: “As husband of the Reina Proprietaria, Philip has a stronger claim to the Regency than Your Highness. Yet since you are a ruler of great experience and this is a young man who has had a greater experience of light living than of serious government, it might be that the grandees of Spain would prefer to see you as Regent rather than your son-in-law.”

  “And you would support my claim?”

  “I would consider Your Highness the more likely to do good for Spain, and for that reason I would give you my support.”

  Ferdinand was relieved. Much depended on the Archbishop. It was fortunate that Philip’s reputation for licentious behavior had travelled ahead of him; it would not serve him well with Ximenes.

  “Philip is now in Galicia,” said Ferdinand. “It will take a little time for us to meet; and in the meantime, I understand that many of the grandees are flocking to him, to welcome him to Spain.”

  Ximenes nodded. “I fear the recent marriage has not endeared Your Highness to many of the late Queen’s subjects.”

  “She would not have wished me to remain unmarried.”

  “One of her most proud achievements was the union of Castile and Aragon under one crown.”

  Ferdinand’s brows were drawn together in a frown and he needed a great deal of restraint not to send this insolent fellow about his own business. But this was his business. Ximenes was Primate of Spain and he was not a man to diverge from what he considered his duty, no matter whom he upset by doing it. Such a man would go cheerfully to the stake for his opinions.

  One should rejoice in him, thought Ferdinand grudgingly. He seeks no honors for himself. He thinks only of Spain; and because he believes I shall make a better Regent than Philip he will support me.

  “There must be a speedy meeting between Your Highness and your sonin-law.”

  “Should I go cap in hand, across a country which I have ruled, to implore audience of this young man who has no right to be here except for the fact that he is married to my daughter?”

  Ximenes was silent for a few seconds; then he said: “I myself could go to him as your emissary. I could arrange this meeting.”

  Ferdinand studied the gaunt figure of the Archbishop in those magnificent robes of office which he wore carelessly and under protest. It was only an order from the Pope which had made him put on such vestments, and Ferdinand knew that beneath them he would be wearing the hair shirt, and the rough Franciscan robe. Such a man would surely overawe any—even such as Philip the Handsome.

  Ferdinand knew he could trust this affair in such hands. He was greatly relieved and it occurred to him in that moment that Isabella had been right when she had insisted on giving this man the high office of Archbishop of Toledo, even though Ferdinand had wanted it for his illegitimate son.

  It seemed that, now she was dead, Ferdinand was continually discovering how right Isabella had so often been.

  * * *

  IN THE VILLAGE of Sanabria, on the borders of Leon and Galicia, Ferdinand met Philip. Philip came at the head of a large force of well-armed troops, but Ferdinand brought with him only some two hundred of his courtiers riding mules. On the right hand of Philip rode Juan Manuel, but on the right hand of Ferdinand rode Ximenes.

  The meeting was to take place in a church and, when Philip entered, only Juan Manuel accompanied him; and Ximenes was the sole companion of Ferdinand.

  Ximenes studied the young man and found that he did not despise him as he had thought he would. Philip was not merely a philanderer and seeker after pleasure. There was ambition there also. The mind of this extraordinarily handsome young man was light, and he had never learned to concentrate on one subject for long. He had been born heir to Maximilian; and consequently all his life he had been petted and pampered. But there was material there, mused Ximenes, which could be molded by such as himself; once this young man had realized the brief satisfaction which the indulgence of his sensuality could bring him, a ruler of significance might emerge.

  As for Ferdinand, he and Ximenes had never been friends. It was the Queen whom Ximenes had served from the time Isabella had brought him from his hermit’s hut until her death, when he had occupied the highest position in Spain; and although Ximenes had not—so he assured himself—ever sought such honors, since they were thrust upon him he had done all in his power to deserve them. The welfare of Spain was of the utmost importance to him. He would serve Spain with his life; and now he was ranged on the side of Ferdinand, and his great desire was to prevent civil strife between these two.

  He did not like Juan Manuel—a troublemaker and a self-seeker, decided Ximenes. His presence would hamper the proceedings greatly, for it was clear to Ximenes that Philip relied on the man.

  Ximenes turned to Juan Manuel and said: “Their Highnesses wish to speak in private. You and I should leave them for a while. Come.”

  He took Juan Manuel’s arm and with him went from the church.

  Juan Manuel was so overcome by the personality of this strange man that he obeyed without question; and when they were outside the church, Ximenes said: “Ah, but there should be someone to guard the door. It would not be well if their Highnesses were interrupted. As a man of the Church I will undertake this task. Return to your army and I will send for you immediately your presence is required.”

  Juan Manuel hesitated, but when he looked into those deep-set eyes he felt th
at he was in the presence of a holy man and dared not disobey. So he left Ximenes, who returned to the church, which he entered, thus joining Philip and Ferdinand.

  Ferdinand was asking Philip why his daughter had not accompanied her husband to this meeting place, for she was in truth the ruler of Castile; and Philip was explaining that his wife, alas, was not always in her right mind. There were occasions when she was lucid enough, but there were others when it was necessary to put her under restraint.

  Ferdinand accepted this. It suited him, no less than Philip, that Juana should be at times sane and at others insane. Her unbalanced state was a matter which men such as her husband and father would use according to their needs.

  It soon became clear that the advantages were all in Philip’s hands and he was not going to relinquish them. Juana was Queen of Castile; her son Charles was heir to the crowns both of Castile and Aragon. Therefore as husband of Juana and the father of the heir he had a greater right to govern Castile as Regent.

  There was nothing Ferdinand could do about that and Ximenes was aware of this. Ferdinand must sign those documents required of him; he must surrender the entire sovereignty of Castile to Philip and Juana, and all that was left to him were the grand masterships of the military orders and those revenues which Isabella had left to him in her will.

  Thus Ferdinand, in the village of Sanabria, lost all that he had so longed to hold. He was merely King of Aragon; and there was a Regent of Castile. It seemed as though the provinces were once more divided and Isabella’s dream of a united Spain might be in danger of destruction.

  Ximenes agreed that this was the only course. In any case to have refused to accept it would have meant civil war in Spain, and that was unthinkable. The Archbishop therefore decided that it was his duty to attach himself to Philip. He did not trust the young man and he felt a great desire to guide him. Moreover, as Archbishop of Toledo his place was with the ruler of Castile. But he knew how Isabella would have been saddened by this scene in the church; and Ximenes was determined that he would watch the interests of Isabella’s husband.