* * *

The ceremonies both at Toledo and Saragossa had passed without a hitch. The people of Saragossa had accepted Juana without protest. She already had her son Charles, and it was unlikely that he would not be of an age to govern by the time Ferdinand was ready to pass on the Crown to him.

Isabella was delighted that the ceremonies had passed so smoothly. She had been terrified of an outburst from Juana.

On the other hand she knew that Philip had ordered his wife to behave with decorum. Perhaps no one else had noticed the glance of triumph that Juana had given her husband once during the ceremony, but Isabella had seen it. It touched her deeply; it was almost like a child’s saying: See how good I am.

So much she would do for him. What he could do for her if he would! She loved him with such abandon; if he were only good and kind he could save her from disaster.

Perhaps if Juana remained in Spain it might be possible to nurse her back to health. Isabella had been untiring in her watchfulness over her own mother. She had paid frequent visits to Arevalo to make sure that all that could be done was being done for that poor woman. If she had Juana with her she would watch over her even as she had watched over her mother.

She would suggest this at an appropriate time, but she did not believe for one moment that Philip would remain in Spain; and how could she persuade Juana to stay if he did not?

She tried to think of more pleasant matters. Soon she would have her little Catalina home. Negotiations were now going on with England. Half of Catalina’s dowry had been paid, but Ferdinand had refused to pay the other half. Why should he when Catalina was now a widow and was coming home to her family?

Oh, to have her back! What joy that would be! It would compensate a little for all this trouble with Juana.

Perhaps good fortune is coming to me at last, thought the Queen. If I can keep Juana with me, if Catalina comes home, I shall have regained two of my daughters.


* * *

There was news from England. Isabella and Ferdinand received it together.

As Isabella read the letter a great depression came over her, but Ferdinand’s expression was shrewd and calculating. The news in the letter, which filled Isabella with sadness, was to him good news.

‘Why not?’ cried Ferdinand. ‘Why not? What could be better?’

‘I had hoped to have her home with me,’ sighed Isabella.

‘That would be most unsettling for her. It is great good fortune that Henry has a second son. We must agree at once to this marriage with young Henry.’

‘He is years younger than Catalina. Arthur was her junior by one year.’

‘What matters that? Catalina can give Henry many children. This is excellent.’

‘Let her come back home for a while. It seems to me somewhat indecent to talk of marrying her to her husband’s brother almost before he is cold in his grave.’

‘Henry is eager for this marriage. He hints here that, if we do not agree to Catalina’s union with young Henry, it will be a French Princess for the boy. That is something we could not endure. Imagine! At this time. War over the partition of Naples pending, and who can know what that wily old Louis has up his sleeve! The English must be with us, not against us … and they would surely be against us if we refused this offer and young Henry married a French girl.’

‘Agree to the marriage, but let there be an interval.’

‘Indeed yes, there must be an interval. It will be necessary to get a dispensation from the Pope. He’ll give it readily enough, but it will take a little time.’

‘I wonder what our Catalina thinks of this?’

Ferdinand looked at his wife slyly. Then he took another letter from his pocket.

‘She has written to me,’ he said.

Eagerly Isabella seized the letter. She felt a little hurt because, on this important matter, Catalina had written to her father, but immediately she realised that it was the seemly thing to do. In this matter of disposing of his daughter it was Ferdinand, the father, who had the right to make the final decision.

‘I have no inclination for a further marriage in England,’ wrote Catalina, ‘but I pray you do not take my tastes or desires into your consideration. I pray you act in all things as suits you best …’

Isabella’s hand shook. She read between the lines. My little daughter is homesick … homesick for me and for Spain.

It was no use thinking of her return. Isabella knew that Catalina would not leave England.

She had a premonition then that when she had said goodbye to her daughter at Corunna that was the last she would see of her on Earth.

Almost immediately she had shaken off her morbid thoughts.

I am growing old, she told herself, and the events of the last years have dealt me great blows. But there is much work for me to do; and I shall have her letters for comfort.

‘There should be no delay,’ Ferdinand was saying. ‘I shall write to England immediately.’


* * *

These journeys through Spain with the Court, that they might be acclaimed Heir and Heiress of Castile, quickly became irksome to Philip; and because he made no secret of his boredom this affected Juana also.

‘How sickened I am by these ceremonies,’ he exclaimed petulantly. ‘You Spanish do not know how to enjoy life.’

Juana wept with frustration because her country did not please him. She too declared her desire to go back to Flanders.

‘I will tell you this,’ Philip said; ‘as soon as all the necessary formalities are over, back we shall go.’

‘Yes, Philip,’ she answered.

Her attendants, some of whom were her faithful friends, shook their heads sadly over her. If only, they said to each other, she would not betray the depth of her need for him. He cared nothing for her and did not mind who knew it. It was shameful.

None felt this more deeply than the Queen. Often she shut herself in her apartments, declaring that matters of State occupied her. But when she was alone she often lay on her bed because she felt too exhausted to do anything else. The slightest exertion rendered her breathless, and her body was tortured by pain. She did not speak to her doctors about this, telling herself that she was merely tired and needed a little rest.

She prayed a great deal in the quietness of her apartments; and her prayers were for her children, for little Catalina who, with the serenity which she had learnt must be the aim of an Infanta of Spain, was accepting her betrothal to a boy who was not only five years her junior but also her brother-in-law. Isabella was glad that young Henry would not be ready for marriage for a few years.

She felt that Catalina would look after herself. The discipline of her childhood, the manner in which she had learned to accept what life brought her, would stand her in good stead. It was Juana who frightened her.

One day Juana burst in upon her when she was at prayer. She rose stiffly from her knees and looked at her daughter, who was wild-eyed and excited.

‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I pray you sit down. Has something happened?’

‘Yes, Mother. It has happened again. I’m going to have another child.’

‘But this is excellent news, my darling.’

‘Is it not! Philip will be pleased.’

‘We shall all be pleased. You must rest more than you have been doing.’

Juana’s lips trembled. ‘If I rest he will be with other women.’

Isabella shrugged aside the remark as though she believed it was foolish.

‘We must be more together,’ she said. ‘I feel the need to rest myself and, as you must do the same, we will rest together.’

‘I do not feel the need of rest, Mother. I’m not afraid of childbirth. I’ve grown used to it, and my babies come easily.’

Yes, thought Isabella. You who are unsound of mind are sound enough of body. It is your children who are born strong, and those of darling Juan and my dearest Isabella who die.

She went to her daughter and put her arm about her. Juana’s body was quivering with excitement; and Isabella knew that she was not thinking of the child she would have, but of the women who would be Philip’s companions while she was incapacitated.


* * *

By December of that year Juana, six months pregnant, was growing large. Philip shuddered with distaste when he looked at her, and made no secret of his boredom.

He told her casually one day: ‘I am leaving for Flanders next week.’

‘For Flanders!’ Juana tried to imagine herself in her condition making that long winter journey. ‘But … how could I travel?’

‘I did not say you. I said I was going.’

‘Philip! You would leave me!’

‘Oh come, you are in good hands. Your sainted mother wishes to watch over you when your child is born. She does not trust us in Flanders, you know.’

‘Philip, wait until the child is born, then we will go together.’

‘It’s due in March. By God, do you expect me to stay in this place three more months? Then it will be another month or more before you are ready to leave. Four months in Spain! You couldn’t condemn me to that. I thought you loved me.’

‘With all my heart and soul I do.’

‘Then do not make trouble.’

‘I would give you everything I had to give.’

‘No need to part with that, my dear. All you have to do is say a pleasant goodbye to me next week. That is what I want from you.’

‘Oh Philip … Philip …’ She sank to her knees and embraced his legs. He threw her off, and she lay sprawling on the floor, grotesque in her condition.