Daughters of Spain - Plaidy Jean. Страница 57

Eagerly Isabella seized the letter. She felt a little hurt because, on this important matter, Catalina had written to her father, but immediately she realised that it was the seemly thing to do. In this matter of disposing of his daughter it was Ferdinand, the father, who had the right to make the final decision.

‘I have no inclination for a further marriage in England,’ wrote Catalina, ‘but I pray you do not take my tastes or desires into your consideration. I pray you act in all things as suits you best …’

Isabella’s hand shook. She read between the lines. My little daughter is homesick … homesick for me and for Spain.

It was no use thinking of her return. Isabella knew that Catalina would not leave England.

She had a premonition then that when she had said goodbye to her daughter at Corunna that was the last she would see of her on Earth.

Almost immediately she had shaken off her morbid thoughts.

I am growing old, she told herself, and the events of the last years have dealt me great blows. But there is much work for me to do; and I shall have her letters for comfort.

‘There should be no delay,’ Ferdinand was saying. ‘I shall write to England immediately.’

These journeys through Spain with the Court, that they might be acclaimed Heir and Heiress of Castile, quickly became irksome to Philip; and because he made no secret of his boredom this affected Juana also.

‘How sickened I am by these ceremonies,’ he exclaimed petulantly. ‘You Spanish do not know how to enjoy life.’

Juana wept with frustration because her country did not please him. She too declared her desire to go back to Flanders.

‘I will tell you this,’ Philip said; ‘as soon as all the necessary formalities are over, back we shall go.’

‘Yes, Philip,’ she answered.

Her attendants, some of whom were her faithful friends, shook their heads sadly over her. If only, they said to each other, she would not betray the depth of her need for him. He cared nothing for her and did not mind who knew it. It was shameful.

None felt this more deeply than the Queen. Often she shut herself in her apartments, declaring that matters of State occupied her. But when she was alone she often lay on her bed because she felt too exhausted to do anything else. The slightest exertion rendered her breathless, and her body was tortured by pain. She did not speak to her doctors about this, telling herself that she was merely tired and needed a little rest.

She prayed a great deal in the quietness of her apartments; and her prayers were for her children, for little Catalina who, with the serenity which she had learnt must be the aim of an Infanta of Spain, was accepting her betrothal to a boy who was not only five years her junior but also her brother-in-law. Isabella was glad that young Henry would not be ready for marriage for a few years.

She felt that Catalina would look after herself. The discipline of her childhood, the manner in which she had learned to accept what life brought her, would stand her in good stead. It was Juana who frightened her.

One day Juana burst in upon her when she was at prayer. She rose stiffly from her knees and looked at her daughter, who was wild-eyed and excited.

‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I pray you sit down. Has something happened?’

‘Yes, Mother. It has happened again. I’m going to have another child.’

‘But this is excellent news, my darling.’

‘Is it not! Philip will be pleased.’

‘We shall all be pleased. You must rest more than you have been doing.’

Juana’s lips trembled. ‘If I rest he will be with other women.’

Isabella shrugged aside the remark as though she believed it was foolish.

‘We must be more together,’ she said. ‘I feel the need to rest myself and, as you must do the same, we will rest together.’

‘I do not feel the need of rest, Mother. I’m not afraid of childbirth. I’ve grown used to it, and my babies come easily.’

Yes, thought Isabella. You who are unsound of mind are sound enough of body. It is your children who are born strong, and those of darling Juan and my dearest Isabella who die.

She went to her daughter and put her arm about her. Juana’s body was quivering with excitement; and Isabella knew that she was not thinking of the child she would have, but of the women who would be Philip’s companions while she was incapacitated.

By December of that year Juana, six months pregnant, was growing large. Philip shuddered with distaste when he looked at her, and made no secret of his boredom.

He told her casually one day: ‘I am leaving for Flanders next week.’

‘For Flanders!’ Juana tried to imagine herself in her condition making that long winter journey. ‘But … how could I travel?’

‘I did not say you. I said I was going.’

‘Philip! You would leave me!’

‘Oh come, you are in good hands. Your sainted mother wishes to watch over you when your child is born. She does not trust us in Flanders, you know.’

‘Philip, wait until the child is born, then we will go together.’

‘It’s due in March. By God, do you expect me to stay in this place three more months? Then it will be another month or more before you are ready to leave. Four months in Spain! You couldn’t condemn me to that. I thought you loved me.’

‘With all my heart and soul I do.’

‘Then do not make trouble.’

‘I would give you everything I had to give.’

‘No need to part with that, my dear. All you have to do is say a pleasant goodbye to me next week. That is what I want from you.’

‘Oh Philip … Philip …’ She sank to her knees and embraced his legs. He threw her off, and she lay sprawling on the floor, grotesque in her condition.

He closed his eyes so that he need not look at her, and hurried away.

Nothing could make him change his mind. Isabella had begged him to stay with a humility which was rare with her, but he was adamant. His duty lay in Flanders, he declared.

He turned to Ferdinand. ‘I shall return by way of France,’ he said.

‘Would that be wise?’ Ferdinand asked.

‘Most wise. The King of France is a friend of mine.’

While Isabella deplored his insolence, Ferdinand did not, because he could not stop wondering what advantage might accrue through this journey of his son-in-law’s into French territory.

‘It might be possible,’ said Ferdinand, ‘for you to negotiate with the King of France on my behalf.’

‘Nothing would please me better,’ answered Philip, secretly deciding that any negotiations he concluded with Louis were going to be to his own advantage rather than Ferdinand’s.

‘We could ask for certain concessions,’ said Ferdinand, ‘since Charles is affianced to Claude; and why should these two not be given the titles of King and Queen of Naples?’

‘It is an excellent idea,’ answered Philip. ‘In the meantime let the King of France appoint his own governor for his portion, and I will govern on behalf of yourself. As Charles’s father, how could you make a better choice?’

‘This needs a little consideration,’ said Ferdinand.

Philip smiled and answered:’ You have a week in which to make up your mind.’

Juana had sunk into deepest melancholy. All the wildness had gone out of her. This was a mood which Isabella had not seen before. Her daughter scarcely ate; Isabella did not believe she slept very much. She thought of nothing but the fact that Philip was returning to Flanders and leaving her in Spain.

January and February had passed, and Juana did not rouse herself from her dejection. She would sit for hours at her window, looking out as though she were hoping for the return of Philip.