She wrote many letters to Charles—cautiously worded—for she could not be sure that they would reach him. A little spice was added to those dreary days by this game of outwitting the Cardinal, whom she had now begun to regard as her greatest enemy.

And one day in the spring of that long year a letter from her nephew was smuggled to her and she felt a great triumph, as at least one of hers had reached him. That made her feel that she had some friends at the English Court.

Charles wrote that he was sending a new ambassador to England, Don Iñigo de Mendoza, who would be travelling through France and should arrive in England not long after she received this letter. He knew, of course, that Wolsey was doing his utmost to make a French alliance for Mary and that Katharine would agree with him that such an alliance would be fatal to their interests. He believed that she would find Mendoza more to her liking than ambassadors from Flanders, and it was for this reason that he was sending a Spaniard to England.

When Katharine read this letter she felt the tears of joy rushing to her eyes. Mendoza was coming. A Spaniard, one with whom she could converse in her native tongue. She even knew Iñigo. He had been her mother’s favorite page, and she had seen him often riding in the entourage when Isabella had gone from town to town visiting her dominions, her family with her, as she had insisted whenever possible. Perhaps they would talk of Granada and Madrid, of the days of Isabella’s greatness.

Katharine closed her eyes and thought of her early life in Spain, when she had never been forced to suffer the humiliation she had endured since coming to England, when she had been surrounded by the love of her family and, most of all, that of her mother.

“Oh Holy Mother,” she murmured, “how sad life becomes when the greatest joy it has to offer is in remembering the past.”


* * *

THROUGH THE SPRING and summer Katharine awaited the arrival of Mendoza in vain. A little news did seep through to her and eventually she discovered that the French were determined to delay the arrival of the Spanish ambassador in England until a French embassy had been able to arrange for the marriage of Mary with the Duc d’Orléans.

They had promised Mendoza free passage through France, but shortly after he had set foot on that land he was arrested as a foreign spy and put into prison where he remained for months without trial.

Katharine was in despair because plans for the French marriage were going forward, although she did console herself that the matter could not be viewed with any certainty. François had been released from his prison in Madrid but he had only been allowed to go home if he promised on oath to send his two sons to Madrid as hostages for his good faith in carrying out the terms Charles had imposed on him. Thus the little boy who was betrothed to Mary was now the Emperor’s prisoner in his father’s stead.

Katharine was reminded now of those days between the death of her first husband, Arthur, and her marriage with Henry, when she lived through the uneventful yet dangerous months. Unable to be lulled by a false feeling of security and with dreadful premonition always in her mind that a storm was soon to break about her, she waited, knowing that when it did come it would contain an element of the unexpected, to face which she would need every scrap of courage she possessed.

It was December of that year when Mendoza arrived in London, but by that time she knew it was too late to stop the negotiations with France.

The first action of Mendoza was to beg an audience of the Queen. This she granted and he came speedily to her apartments.

She received him with emotion because of the memories of early and happier days he brought with him.

“It gives me great pleasure to see you,” she told him.

“I cannot express to Your Grace my pleasure in being here. I have found the delay almost intolerable.”

She looked at him closely and saw what those months in a French prison must have done to him; but, of course, when she had seen him in her mother’s entourage he had been nothing but a boy. She was forgetting how many years ago that was.

This was not the time to waste on reminiscences and she said: “There is much we have to say to each other. I am seriously alarmed about the relations between my nephew and this country.”

“The Emperor greatly desires to put them back on a friendly footing.”

“The King is incensed on account of his treatment of Mary.”

“Your Grace is also displeased.”

“It was of course a bitter disappointment to me.”

“The Emperor was pressed hard by the people of Spain, and he needed money from Portugal.”

“I know…I know. But let us talk of what we shall do to put matters right between Spain and England. I must tell you that the Cardinal is my most bitter enemy. I am surrounded by his spies and I know not whom I can trust. You will know that he is the most powerful man in England.”

Mendoza nodded. “We shall have to make sure that he cannot interfere with our correspondence as he did with de Praet’s.”

At that moment a page appeared at the door. Katharine looked at him in surprise, because she had given orders that she was not to be disturbed.

The page’s look was apologetic, but before he could speak he was thrust aside and a red-clad figure came into the room.

“My lord Cardinal!” cried the Queen.

“Your Grace…Your Excellency…I come on the King’s orders.”

“What orders are these?” demanded Katharine haughtily.

“He requests the Imperial Ambassador to come to his apartment without delay.”

“His Excellency called to see me…,” the Queen began.

The Cardinal smiled at her whimsically. “The King’s command,” he murmured.

“His Excellency will call on the King within an hour.”

“The King’s orders are that I shall conduct him to his presence with all speed.”

Katharine felt exasperation. She turned to the Ambassador and said rapidly in Spanish: “You see how it is. I am constantly overlooked.”

But there was nothing to be done and the Ambassador must leave at once for the King’s apartment, having achieved nothing by his visit to the Queen.

Katharine, with resignation, watched him go, knowing that future meetings between them would be difficult to arrange, and that when they talked together they would never be sure who overheard them; they must remember that anything they wrote to the Emperor would almost certainly be first censored by the Cardinal.


* * *

TWO WONDERFUL EVENTS befell the Princess Mary.

It was strange, she reflected afterwards, that she should have waited for these things to happen and that they should have followed so swiftly on one another.

She was in one of her favorite haunts on a tower looking out over the battlements. The country was so beautiful that she found great peace merely by looking at it. She enjoyed riding in the woods with a party from her suite; during the warm days they had picnicked on the grass, and that was pleasant; but one of the most pleasurable occupations was kneeling up here on a stone seat inside the tower and looking out over the hills. This was her favorite view, for below in all its beauty was the valley of the Teme with the Stretton Hills forming a background.

She had been here so long that she was beginning to believe she would never leave the place; and yet every day she awoke with the thought in her mind: Will it be today?

Sometimes she let her fancy wander, imagining that a party of riders appeared in the valley, that she watched as they came nearer; and seeing the royal standard, knew that her mother had come.

It was nearly eighteen months since they had been parted.

How fortunate that I did not know how long it would be! she thought. If I had, I should never have been able to endure it.

But all through those months hope had been with her, and she often prayed that whatever happened to her she would always be able to hope.

She had grown considerably in the months of separation. Her mother would see a change. She had learned a great deal; she could write Greek and Latin very well now, and could compose verses in these two languages. As for her music, that had improved even more.

One day, as she knelt in her favorite position, she did see a party of riders in the valley. She stared, believing in those first moments that she was dreaming, so often she had imagined she saw riders.

She kept her eyes on the party and as it came nearer she saw that it was a group of men and that they were making straight for the Castle. She watched until they were within its walls before she turned from the battlements and went to her own apartments, knowing that she would soon be told who the newcomers were.

It was the Countess herself who came into Mary’s apartment and, in all the eighteen months during which they had been in Ludlow Castle, Mary had never seen the Countess so radiant.

“Your Highness,” she cried, “I have wonderful news. There is someone who is most eager to meet you. I want your permission to present him to you at once.”

And there he was, in the room; tall, handsome, obviously of the nobility, austerely dressed though not in clerical robes, he seemed godlike to Mary.

“My son Reginald,” went on Margaret, “who is also your humble servant.”

He knelt before Mary and she smiled at him as she bade him rise. “Welcome,” she said. “I feel I know you already because we have talked of you so often, your mother and I.”

“Yes,” agreed Margaret. “Her Highness insisted on hearing tales of my family.”