Katharine, The Virgin Widow - Plaidy Jean - Страница 7

His talk was gay and scandalous, but Katharine felt it was what she needed, and she looked forward to these conversations.

“You must be wary of the King,” he told her. “Have no fear of Arthur. Arthur is as mild as milk. You will be able to mold that one to your way…have no fear of that. Now, had it been Henry, that might have been another matter. But, praise be to the saints, Henry is the second son and it is Arthur for Your Highness.”

“Tell me about Arthur.”

Ayala lifted his shoulders. “Imagine a young boy, a little nervous, pink and white and golden-haired. He is half a head shorter than you are. He will be your slave.”

“Is it true that he does not enjoy good health?”

“It is. But he will grow out of that. And he seems the weaker because he is compared with robust young Henry.”

Katharine was relieved; she was delighted with the idea of a gentle young husband. She had already begun to think of him as her brother Juan, who had been as fair as an angel and gentle in his manner.

“You said I must beware of the King.”

“The King is quiet and ruthless. If he does not like you he will have no compunction in sending you back to Spain.”

“That would not greatly distress me.”

“It would distress your royal parents. And think of the disgrace to Your Highness and the House of Spain.”

“Is the King very formidable?”

“He will be gracious to you but he will never cease to watch. Do not be deceived by his mild manners. He fears all the time that some claimant to the throne will appear, and that there will be supporters to say such a claimant has a greater right. It is not always comfortable to wear the crown.”

Katharine nodded; she thought of the strife which had marred the earlier years of her parents’ life together, when Isabella had been engaged in the bitter War of the Succession.

“There is a mystery surrounding the death of the Queen’s two young brothers, the elder of whom was King Edward V and the younger the Duke of York. Many say they were murdered in the Tower of London by their wicked uncle, the crook-backed Richard, but their bodies were never discovered and there are many rumors concerning those deaths of which it would be unwise even to think, Highness.”

Katharine shivered. “Poor children,” she murmured.

“They are now past all earthly pain, and there is a wise King sitting on the throne of England. He married the Princes’ sister, and so joined the two warring factions. It might be wise not to dwell on the past, Highness. There have been two pretenders to the throne: Perkin Warbeck and Lambert Simnel. Simnel, who pretended he was Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick and nephew of Richard III, is now serving as a scullion in the King’s household. He was obviously an impostor; therefore the King sent him to the kitchens—a sign of the King’s contempt—but Warbeck was hanged at Tyburn. This King is fond of showing examples to his people, because he lives in perpetual terror that someone will try to overthrow him.”

“I hope I shall find favor in his sight.”

“Your dowry has already found favor with him, Highness. As for yourself, you will please him too.”

“And the Queen?”

“Have no fear of the Queen. She will receive you kindly. She has no influence with the King, who is eager to show her that he owes no part of the throne to her. He is a man who takes counsel of none, but if he could be said to be under the influence of any, that one is his mother. You must please Margaret Beaufort Countess of Richmond if you will please the King—and all you need do is to provide the royal house with heirs, and all will go merrily.”

“I pray that God will make me fruitful. That, it seems, is the prayer of all Princes.”

“If there is aught else Your Highness wishes to know at any time, I pray you ask of me and ignore the Jew.”

Katharine bowed her head. And so the journey progressed.

* * *

* * *

* * *

THE KING SET OUT from Richmond Palace. He had become impatient. He was all eagerness to see the Spanish Infanta who had taken so long in reaching his country.

Arthur had been on pilgrimage to Wales—as Prince of Wales he was warmly greeted there and the King wished his son to show himself now and then in the Principality. Arthur had received word from his father that he was to come with all speed to East Hampstead, where he would greet his bride.

Henry disliked journeys, for he was not a man of action and they seemed to him an unnecessary expense.

“But on the occasion of my son’s wedding,” he grumbled to Empson, “I daresay we are expected to lay out a little.”

“That is so, Sire,” was the answer.

“Let us hope that we shall have the revenues to meet this occasion,” sighed the King; and Empson decided that he would raise certain fines to meet the extra expense.

Henry smiled wryly, but he was in fact delighted because his son was acquiring one of the richest Princesses in Europe. It was a good thing that this little island should be allied to the greatest power in the world, and what better tie could there be than through marriage?

Heirs were what were needed and, once this girl provided them, all well and good. But he was a little anxious about her. Her brother, the heir of Spain, had died shortly after his marriage. Exhausted by being a husband, it was said in some quarters. He hoped Katharine was of stronger health. And if she were…what of his own Arthur? Arthur’s cough and spitting of blood denoted weakness. They would have to take great care of Arthur, and he was not yet fifteen. Was it too young to tax his strength with a bride?

He had not consulted his physicians; he consulted no one; he and he alone would decide whether the marriage should be consummated immediately, or whether the royal couple should wait for a few months, or perhaps a year.

Young people, he mused, might indulge unwisely in the act of love. They might have no restraint. Not that he believed this would be the case with Arthur. Had it been Henry, it would have been another matter; but then there would have been no cause for anxiety on that account where Henry was concerned. But what of the Infanta? Was she a lusty young woman? Or was she sickly like her elder sister who had recently died in childbirth?

The more the King pondered this matter, the more eager he was to meet the Infanta.

* * *

* * *

* * *

THERE WAS consternation in the Infanta’s party.

A message had been brought to Ayala stating that the King was on his way to meet his son’s bride, who had stayed that night at the residence of the Bishop of Bath in Dogmersfield and was some fifteen leagues from London Bridge.

Ayala did not pass on the news to Puebla. Indeed he was determined to keep it from the man—not only because he disliked him and never lost an opportunity of insulting him, but because he really did believe that Puebla was more ready to serve Henry VII of England than Isabella and Ferdinand of Spain.

Instead he sought out Elvira Manuel.

“The King is on his way to meet us,” he told her abruptly. “He wishes to see the Infanta.”

“That is quite impossible,” retorted Elvira. “You know the instructions of their Highnesses.”

“I do. The Infanta is not to be seen by her bridegroom or anyone at the English Court until she is a wife. She is to remain veiled until after the ceremony.”

“I am determined,” said Elvira, “to obey the commands of the King and Queen of Spain, no matter what are the wishes of the King of England.”

“I wonder what Henry will say to that.” Ayala smiled somewhat mischievously, for he found the situation piquant and amusing.

“There is one thing that must be done,” said Elvira. “To prevent discord, you should go ahead and explain to the King.”

“I will leave at once,” Ayala told her. “In the meantime you should warn the Infanta.”

Ayala set out on the road to East Hampstead; and Elvira, her lips pursed with determination, prepared herself to do battle.