Daughters of Spain - Plaidy Jean - Страница 19

‘Completely. It is very good.’

She laughed. ‘You would say it was good, no matter how bad it was.’

‘Nevertheless it is very good indeed. I trust my sister Juana speaks her husband’s language as well as you speak that of the man who will be yours.’

‘Ah … Juana,’ she said.

‘Did you see much of my sister?’ he asked anxiously.

‘No. She travelled to Lille, you know, for the wedding. I had to prepare myself to return with the fleet.’

He was quick to notice that she found the subject of Juana disconcerting, so changed it immediately although he was anxious to hear news of Juana.

‘Tell me, what pastimes please you most?’

She gave him a grateful look. ‘I’m afraid you will find me rather dull,’ she said.

‘I cannot believe it.’

She laughed aloud again, and he noticed – though she did not – that the attendants were astonished at her displays of mirth. Flemish manners! they were thinking. It was not fitting to show such lack of dignity in Spain.

But Juan liked that laughter; it was fresh and unaffected.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I do not greatly care for games and dancing and such diversions. I spend a great deal of time reading. I am interested in the history of countries and the ideas of philosophers. I think my brother deemed me a little odd. He says that I have not the right qualities to please a husband.’

‘That is not true.’ She saw the sudden gleam in Juan’s eyes. ‘I am not good at sport and games either. I frankly dislike hunting.’

Margaret said quickly: ‘I too. I cannot bear to hunt animals to the death. I picture myself being hunted to death. My brother laughs at me. He said that you would.’

‘I would never laugh at you nor scorn your ideas if they differed from my own. But, Margaret, I think that you and I are going to think alike on many things.’

‘That makes me happy,’ she said.

‘And you are not afraid … coming to a strange land … to a strange husband?’

‘No,’ she answered seriously, ‘I am not afraid.’

Juan’s heart began to beat wildly as he looked at her clean-cut young profile and her fair, fine skin.

She has all that I could have wished for in a wife, he told himself. Surely I am the luckiest of Princes. How serene she is! She looks as though she would never be ruffled. It is going to be so easy … so pleasant … so wonderful. I need not have been afraid. I shall not be shy and awkward with her. She is so young, and yet she has a calmness almost equal to that of my mother. What a wonderful person my wife will be.

‘You are smiling,’ she said. ‘Tell me what amuses you.’

He answered seriously: ‘It is not amusement which makes me smile. It is happiness.’

‘That,’ she replied, ‘is the best possible reason for smiling.’

So, thought Juan, I am beginning to love her already.

Margaret also began to smile. She was telling herself that she had been fortunate as she remembered the flabby lips of Charles VIII of France.

She was glad that she had been sent to France and affianced to Charles. It was going to make her realise how lucky she was to have come to Spain to marry Juan.

So on they rode to the shouts of ‘Long live the Prince! Blessings on him and his bride!’

They were already serenely contented as they thought of the years ahead.

In the Palace at Burgos the arrival of the cavalcade, headed by Ferdinand, his son and the bride, was awaited with eagerness.

In the children’s apartments the Princess Isabella watched the servants busy at the toilet of her sisters, Maria and Catalina.

How quiet they were! It would have been so different if Juana had been with them. She would have been speculating about the bride, shouting her wild opinions to them all.

Isabella felt rather pleased that Juana was no longer with them.

She was praying – she spent a great deal of time praying – that this young girl would make Juan happy. She hoped that she would be a gentle, religious girl. It would be heartbreaking if she were a wanton; and Isabella knew that stories were already reaching Spain of this girl’s brother’s conduct.

The Queen was very anxious about Juana, and the Flemish marriage was her greatest concern at the moment. Their father of course was only congratulating himself because the alliance had been made, and that Juana would be the mother of the Habsburg heirs. It would seem unimportant to him if she were wretchedly unhappy while she was producing them.

Maria was placidly relaxed while her attendants dressed her. She was as emotionless as ever. Stolid Maria, who lacked the imagination to wonder what Margaret felt on coming into a new country, to wonder whether she herself would not be doing the same in a future which was not really very distant!

How different it was with Catalina. Her little face was set and anxious, and it was not difficult to guess at the thoughts which went on behind those big dark eyes.

Poor little Catalina! She was going to suffer a terrible wrench if she ever went to England.

An attendant came to the apartment and whispered to Isabella that the Queen’s Highness wished to see her without delay, and she was to present herself in the Queen’s bedchamber.

Young Isabella left her sisters at once and went to her mother’s apartment.

The Queen was waiting for her, and Isabella’s heart sank as she looked at her, for she guessed what she had to say.

The Queen kissed the Princess and said: ‘There is news from Portugal. I wanted to tell you myself. I wanted to prepare you. Your father will doubtless be speaking of this matter when he sees you.’

Isabella’s mouth had gone dry. ‘Yes, Mother,’ she said.

‘Emanuel writes that since we insist on this condition he is ready to accept it.’

Isabella’s pale cheeks were suddenly flushed. She cried out: ‘You mean he will drive all those people out of his country just because …’

‘Just because he is so eager for this marriage. So, my dear, you should really begin to plan your departure for Portugal.’

‘So … soon?’ stammered Isabella.

‘I’m afraid your father wishes the marriage to take place this year.’

‘Oh … no!’

‘It is so. Dear Isabella, I shall insist that we meet again soon after you leave us. If you do not come to me here in Spain, I will come to you in Portugal.’

‘Mother, do you promise this?’

‘I swear it.’

Isabella was silent. Then she burst out: ‘Is there nothing I can do …? I did not think he would agree to this …’

‘He wants this marriage. You should rejoice. It is more than a good marriage. On his side it is a love-match.’

‘But there is my side, Mother.’

‘You will love him in time. I know, my child. I am sure of it. He is a good and gentle man and he loves you dearly. You have nothing to fear.’

‘But, Mother, this condition …’

‘But shows how much he loves you.’

‘I know that he does it against his will.’

‘That is because, good as he is, he has a certain blindness. That holy man, Tomas de Torquemada, sees in this the hand of God.’

Isabella shuddered. She wanted to shout that she did not like Torquemada, that she feared him, and when her cough kept her awake at night she fancied she heard the curses of the exiled Jews.

Her mother would not understand such flights of fancy. How could she explain to her? Her emotions seemed to choke her, and she feared that if she did not calm herself one of her bouts of coughing would overtake her.

She tried not to cough in front of her mother, because she knew how it worried the Queen. It was enough that Juana gave her such anxieties.

She said: ‘Mother, if you will excuse me, I will go back to my apartment. I have some more preparations to make if I am to be ready when the party arrives.’

The Queen nodded assent and, when her daughter had gone, murmured to herself: ‘All will be well. This is the best thing that could happen to my Isabella.’