went on Philip.
It was not quite true but Philip could not resist dramatizing the story for such an entranced listener.
“Heaven intervened,” said Henry piously.
“That is so, my Prince. We came ashore although I must confess that the inhabitants looked a little fierce at first.”
“They should be punished for it,” said Henry, his little mouth hardening.
“Nay, nay. They were protecting the shores of their country. How were they to know that I was a friend? I could have been an invader. Do not blame your good people, my lord Prince. Rather thank them. They would guard your island well. And the best gift a ruler can have from his people is loyalty.”
“I think the people will be loyal to me.”
Philip laid his hand on the boy’s arm. “You have the makings of a great ruler. That is clearer to me than is this goblet of wine.”
How Henry glowed! How he admired the Archduke! He was so good-looking, so charming, and Henry was glad to know although he himself was not yet fifteen and could be expected to put on a few more inches, he was already as tall as Philip.
He asked about Juana. Philip explained that she was suffering from exhaustion and that he had insisted that she remain behind for a while and take the journey to Windsor more slowly.
Henry said: “I look forward to meeting the lady Katharine’s sister.”
“Ah . . . indeed yes.”
Henry shut his lips firmly together. He had been warned by his father not to speak of Katharine. These were her close relations and the subject of her treatment in England could be a dangerous one.
Henry wondered fleetingly what the King intended to do about Katharine; but he was too involved with this fascinating companion to let her intrude into the conversation. Besides she was a forbidden subject. But the very fact of that made him feel he wanted to talk of her.
“Your wife has brought you great possessions,” said Henry; and it occurred to him that if Katharine had been the elder she could have brought Castile to him. He was sure then there would not have been all this uncertainty about his marriage.
At length they retired for the night for they were to leave early next morning. By that time the excellent camaraderie between them was noted by all around them.
It was as though the Archduke of Austria and the Prince of Wales had been friends all their lives and none would have guessed that they had met for the first time only the day before.
It was a pleasant journey. They were both young and healthy enough not to be disturbed by the wintry weather and as they approached Windsor they perceived King Henry with a magnificently attired entourage riding toward them.
King Henry, regal in purple velvet, made a striking contrast to the black-clad Archduke and his rather somber attendants. The King swept off his cap and was glad that he had taken the precaution of wearing a hood with the cap on top so that it could be removed leaving his ears covered, for the icy wind was penetrating and he was plagued by many rheumatic aches and pains these days.
“It is too cold to linger here,” he said to Philip, “but I would say to you that I rejoice to see you. You are as welcome as my son here. He, I and my whole kingdom are at your service.”
Philip replied that he was deeply moved by such a touching welcome and taking his place between the King and the Prince of Wales he rode with them toward the castle.
From a window Katharine was watching. She had hoped to be there in the great hall to greet her sister and her husband but it had not been suggested that she should, so fearing a rebuff she had remained in her apartments.
But I shall see Juana, she told herself. Something must come of that.
She looked from the window. She saw the three men. But where was Juana? She was terribly afraid. Why was it that people always whispered about her sister? She knew Juana was wild. She had always been so. Only their mother had known how to deal with her. But there were times when Juana had been a loving sister, kind and even gentle, always ready to listen to other people’s problems.
But where was Juana now?
There was a scratching at her door and a young girl came in. This was the Princess Mary—the King’s youngest daughter who was some ten years old. Mary had become very beautiful—perhaps the most beautiful of all the King’s children. That beauty had come down through the House of York and with it a vitality, which had shown itself in Henry, Margaret and Mary.
Mary was tenderhearted, more affectionate than her sister Margaret had been and she had shown friendship for Katharine for whom she was vaguely sorry—mainly because she never had any new clothes and she was in some sort of disgrace it seemed to Mary—disgrace which was not of her own making.
Now Mary was very excited. “They’re here,” she cried. “There is to be a grand banquet. I am to go. I have my father’s permission. I shall play the lute and the clavichord and everyone will say how clever I am. Perhaps I shall dance. Perhaps Henry will dance with me.”
Mary was silent. She had been tactless again. She shouldn’t have mentioned Henry because Katharine wanted to marry him and she was not sure that he wanted to marry her and there was a lot of fuss about some dowry, which upset Katharine a great deal.
“I was hoping to see my sister,” said Katharine. “She is not with the party?”
“Oh, Queen Juana . . .” Mary was just about to say Mad Juana and remembered in time that she was Katharine’s sister. “She is staying behind . . . She has to rest. . . .”
Mary’s voice trailed off. Then she was at the window.
