Ayala nodded. He was secretly amused; he liked to contemplate strife between the domineering duenna and the ambitious priest.

“The sooner our Infanta is free of such supervision the better, I say,” continued Geraldini. “And the sooner this marriage becomes a real marriage the better pleased will be our Sovereigns.”

“I see that you are in their Highnesses’ confidence,” said Ayala with a smile.

“I think I know my duty,” answered Geraldini sharply. “Could not their Highnesses be persuaded that it is dangerous to Spanish policy if the marriage remains unconsummated?”

“Tell me how you see such danger in our Infanta’s virginity.”

The priest grew pink. “It is…not as it should be.”

“I will pass on your comments to the Sovereigns,” Ayala told him. Geraldini was not satisfied. He went to Puebla. Like most of the Infanta’s household he had come to despise Puebla, who was often disparagingly referred to as the marrano. Christianized Jews were people of whom the Inquisition had taught Spaniards to be wary.

As for the English, they had found Puebla parsimonious and, although this was a trait they had to accept in their King, they did not like it in others. Therefore Geraldini was less careful of offending Puebla than of offending Ayala.

“The marriage should be consummated,” he said at once. “It is our duty as servants of their Catholic Highnesses to see that this unsatisfactory state of affairs is ended.”

Puebla eyed the priest speculatively. He knew of Geraldini’s influence with Katharine.

“It is the wish of the Infanta?” he asked.

Geraldini made an impatient movement. “The Infanta is innocent. She expresses no opinion. How could she, knowing little of such matters? Yet she holds herself willing to obey the command of her parents.”

Puebla was thoughtful, wondering how best he could ingratiate himself with the English King. He believed that England was to be his home for a long time, and that pleasing the King of England was as important a matter—if not more so—as pleasing the Spanish Sovereigns. Yet the consummation of the Infanta’s marriage seemed to him of small importance compared with the matter of her dowry.

Even as he listened to Geraldini he was wondering what he could do to please the King of England in this matter without displeasing the Spanish Sovereigns. The dowry had been agreed on as two hundred thousand crowns, one hundred thousand of which had been paid on the wedding day. Fifty thousand more were due in six months’ time and another fifty thousand within the year. The plate and jewels, which Katharine had brought with her from Spain and which were to form part of the payment, were valued at thirty-five thousand crowns. This was important to Henry because the plate and jewels were actually in England. For the remainder of the dowry he had only the word of Isabella and Ferdinand to rely on. Why should not Henry take the plate and jewels now? They were in England, so protests from Spain would be fruitless. Henry had already shown when he had seen the Infanta before her wedding that in England he was determined to have his way.

So Puebla was of the opinion that the consummation of the marriage was of far less importance than the Infanta’s dowry.

“It is always the King of England who will decide,” he said.

“Then I think we should let it be known that the Sovereigns of Spain expect consummation without delay.”

Puebla lifted his shoulders and Geraldini could see that, like Ayala, he was indifferent.

But the fact that Geraldini had approached both ambassadors in the matter was brought to the notice of Doña Elvira, and she immediately realized that the officiousness of the priest was directed against her own authority.

Doña Elvira was never a woman to consider whether or not she offended others.

She asked Geraldini to come to her apartments and, when he arrived, she went straight into the attack.

“It appears, Father Geraldini, that you choose to forget that I am in charge of the Infanta’s household!”

“I did not forget.”

“Did you not? Then it seems strange that you should go about explaining that it is the wish of their Catholic Highnesses that the marriage should be consummated.”

“Strange, Doña Elvira? It is common sense.”

“You are in the Sovereigns’ confidence?”

“I…I am the Infanta’s confessor, and as such…”

Doña Elvira’s eyes narrowed. And as such, she thought, you enjoy too much of her confidence. I shall remedy that.

She interrupted coldly: “Queen Isabella put me in charge of her daughter’s household, and until she removes me from that position, there I shall remain. It is for the good of all that as yet the marriage shall remain unconsummated. Our Infanta is as yet too young and her husband even younger. I will thank you, Father, not to meddle in affairs which are no concern of yours.”

Geraldini bowed to hide the hatred in his eyes, but Doña Elvira made no attempt to hide that in hers.

There was war between them, and Doña Elvira would not be satisfied until she had arranged for the insolent priest’s recall to Spain.


* * *
* * *
* * *

HENRY CAME RUNNING into his brother’s apartments, his eyes blazing with excitement.

Arthur was stretched out on a couch looking very pale.

“Are you sick, Arthur?” asked Henry, but he did not wait for an answer. “I have just seen a strange thing, brother. Our father has done to death his best falcon, and for no other reason than that it was not afraid to match itself with an eagle.”

“Is that so?” said Arthur wearily.

“Indeed it is so. Our father ordered the falconers to pluck off its head, and this was done.”

“I understand why,” said Arthur, “because I remember how he hanged the mastiffs.”

“Yes,” said Henry. “I remembered too. Our father said: ‘It is not meet for any subject to attack his superior.’”

“Ah,” mused Arthur, “our father is fond of these little parables, is he not?”

“But his best falcon! And all because the bird was game enough to show no fear of the mighty eagle. I should have treasured that falcon. I should have been proud of him. I should have used him continually. I should not have plucked off his head for bravery.”

“You are not King.”

“No—that is not for me.” Arthur noticed the sullen lines about the little mouth.

“It is unfortunate. You would have made a much better King than I, Henry.”

Henry did not deny this. “But you are the elder. It is the Church for me. And you already have a wife.”

Arthur flushed. He was a little ashamed of being a husband and yet no husband. It was embarrassing to know that there was a great deal of talk about whether or not the marriage should be consummated. It made him feel foolish.

Henry was thinking of that now. His face was as usual expressive, and Arthur could always guess at his thoughts.

Henry strutted about the apartment, imagining himself as the husband. There would be no question of the consummation then.

“You find her comely?” he asked slyly.

“She is very comely,” answered Arthur.

“And she brings you much enjoyment?”

Arthur flushed. “Indeed yes.”

Henry rocked on his heels and looked knowledgeable. “I have heard that the Spaniards are a passionate people, for all their solemn dignity.”

“Oh, it is true…it is true…” said Arthur.

Henry smiled. “It is said that you and she are not husband and wife in truth. I’ll warrant those who say that do not know the real truth.”

Arthur began to cough to hide his embarrassment; but he did not deny Henry’s suggestion.

Henry began to laugh; then suddenly he remembered the falcon. “If I were King,” he said, “I do not think I should have to hang my bravest dogs and destroy my most gallant falcon to warn my subjects that they must obey me.”

Henry was looking into the future, and once more Arthur guessed his thoughts. Do I look so ill then? he wondered. And he knew that he did, and that the chances were that he would not live, nor beget children, to keep Henry from the throne.


* * *
* * *
* * *

IT WAS TIME that Arthur returned to the Principality of Wales and the question had arisen as to whether Katharine should accompany him.

The King was undecided. Each day it seemed to him that Arthur looked weaker.

Puebla had been to him and, in an endeavor to assure Henry that he, Puebla, in reality served the King of England even though he was supposed to be the servant of the Spanish Sovereigns, he suggested that Henry should immediately take possession of Katharine’s plate and jewels.

“They will, of course, be Your Grace’s at the end of the year, but why should you not take them now?”

Henry considered the value of the plate and jewels—some thirty-five thousand crowns, according to the valuation made by the London goldsmiths—and when he contemplated such wealth his fingers itched to take possession of it. A year was a long time to wait. Anything could happen in a year, particularly as Arthur was not strong. But once the plate and jewels were in his possession there they should remain.

He sent therefore to Katharine’s treasurer, Don Juan de Cuero, and asked that the plate and jewels be handed to him.

This Don Juan de Cuero refused to do.

“Nay,” he told Henry’s messenger, “I am in charge of the Infanta’s revenues, and it was the express command of the Sovereigns of Spain that the plate and jewellery should remain the property of their daughter until the time was ripe for the payment of the second half of the dowry.”