Did Juana love her husband? She couldn’t stop thinking of her. The truth about Juana had come to her suddenly. It was after one of those distressing scenes in the nursery when Juana had suddenly begun to dance wildly around and climbed onto the table and danced and when their governess tried to stop her she had clung to the arras hanging on the walls, swinging there. Their mother had been called and she had ordered that Juana be seized but none could take her because she kicked at them as they tried, and all the time she was laughing wildly.
Then Queen Isabella had said, “Juana, listen to me.”
And that had made Juana stop laughing.
“Come,” the Queen had gone on quietly. “Come down to me, my darling.”
Then Juana had come down and flung herself into her mother’s arms and her wild laughter was substituted by sobbing, which was as wild.
The Queen had said quietly, “I will take the Infanta to her apartments. Bring one of her potions.” She had led Juana away, but as she left, the Queen had seen the wide frightened eyes of Catalina. She touched her on the head caressingly and passed on.
It had been later when the Queen had sent for her. They were alone together. Those had been the occasions which meant so much to Catalina. Then Queen Isabella was not so much the great Sovereign—greater even than Ferdinand, many said—she was the fond mother.
“Come to me, Catalina,” she had said, holding out her hand and the child had run to her, clinging to her. The Queen had lifted her youngest daughter onto her lap and said: “You were frightened, my child, by what you saw today. Juana is not to blame. She is not wicked. She does not do these things to grieve us. She does them because they are a compulsion . . . do you understand? Sometimes there is a little seed in families which is passed on . . . through the generations. Be kind always to Juana. Do not provoke her. Juana is not the same as we are. My mother suffered from the same affliction. So you see what has happened to Juana has come to her through me. You understand why I wish us to be very, very kind to Juana.”
She had nodded, happy to be nestling close to that great queen who was also her dear mother.
She had never forgotten that. She had never provoked Juana, and had always tried to follow her mother’s wishes and keep Juana quiet.
But even if Juana had been different from the others she still had to play her part. Insane or not she must marry for the glory of Spain; and a grand match indeed had been found for her—no less than the heir of the Hapsburgs, Philip son of Maximilian—and so she would unite the houses of Hapsburg and Spain.
It had been a match which made King Ferdinand’s eyes sparkle, and the alliance had been even stronger when Margaret, Maximilian’s daughter, married Juan.
Dear, dear Juan, who had been so beautiful and so good. No wonder they said of him that he was too good for long life. The angels wanted him for themselves, that was what Catalina had heard someone say. And there had been that terrible time at Salamanca when the town was en fete to welcome Juan and Margaret his bride and the news that Juan was dead had come to them. There seemed no reason . . . except, as they said, that the angels wanted him in Heaven.
Catalina remembered her mother’s grief. She suspected that loving all her children as the Queen did, Juan was her favorite, her beloved son, her only son. That was a melancholy time of mourning. Margaret his new wife was heartbroken because, being Juan, he had already charmed her.
Dona Elvira was at the side of her couch.
“Is it time then?” she said.
“I gave you a little longer, so we must hurry now.”
It was no use thinking of the past. She had to face the future. Catalina was left behind in Spain. Katharine was here . . . in England.
It seemed that they were not to meet the King and Prince Arthur at this stage, but were to begin the journey to London without delay. Dona Elvira was a little put out. She thought that the bridegroom at least should have been waiting at Plymouth to greet his bride.
“I am not sorry,” said Katharine. “It will give me time to know a little of this land . . . and to see the people. . . .”
She was feeling better as the effects of the sea journey were wearing off, and was making an effort to stop grieving for her family and feel an interest in the new sights which presented themselves.
How green was the grass! What a number of trees there were! “It is a beautiful green country,” she said to Elvira. She liked the villages through which they passed—the gabled houses which clustered round the church, the village greens. “Always green,” she said. “It is the color of England.”
It was only when they came to Exeter that she saw crowds again. They had come to look at her, the Spanish Princess, the Queen-to-be. “She is so young,” they said. “Only a child. Well, Arthur is the same. It is better for him to have someone of his own age.”
But they were disappointed because she was veiled and they could not see her face clearly.
“Is there something wrong that we are not allowed to see her?” Her hair was beautiful—long and luxuriant, hanging down her back, and there was a glint of red in it.
At Exeter Lord Willoughby de Broke was waiting to greet her.
He was charming. The King would soon be on his way, he told her. In the meantime he had the King’s express command to make sure that everything which could be done to make her comfortable was done.
She thanked him and said she had been made very welcome.
“You will discover how delighted we are to have you with us,” he told her. “I am the High Steward of the King’s Household and he has sent me from Westminster to make sure that nothing is left undone. The Spanish ambassadors are here in Exeter and they will be calling upon you soon, I doubt not. They will want to make sure that you are well cared for and if there is anything that does not please you, you must tell me and I promise you it
