Виктория Холт: Daughters of Spain

‘You should listen to your sister, Juana,’ the Queen said. ‘She is older than you and therefore it is very possible that she is wiser.’

Juana snapped her fingers. ‘Philip will be a greater King than Alonso ever could have been … or Emanuel will be.’

The younger Isabella had risen to her feet; the Queen noticed how she clenched her hands, and the colour flooded into her pale cheeks.

‘Be silent, Juana,’ commanded the Queen.

‘I will not. I will not.’ Juana had begun to dance round the room while the others watched her in dismay. None of them would have dreamed of disobeying the Queen. Juana must be bordering on one of her odd moods or she would not have dared.

The Queen’s heart had begun to beat wildly but she smiled, outwardly serene. ‘We will ignore Juana,’ she said, ‘until she has learned her manners. Well, Angel, so soon you are to be a husband.’

‘I hope I shall be a satisfactory one,’ he murmured.

‘You will be the most satisfactory husband there ever was,’ said Catalina. ‘Will he not, Mother?’

‘I believe he will,’ answered the Queen.

Juana had danced up to them. She had flung herself at her mother’s feet and now lay on her stomach, propping her face in her hands.

‘Mother, when shall I sail? When shall I sail for Flanders?’

The Queen ignored her and, turning to Catalina, she said: ‘You are looking forward to the festivities of your brother’s wedding, eh, my child?’

Juana had begun to beat her fist on the floor. ‘Mother, when … when …?’

‘When you have apologised to your sister for what you have said, we shall be ready to talk to you.’

Juana frowned. She glared at Isabella and said: ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Philip will be as great a King as Alonso would have been if he had lived. And I’ll be as good a Queen as you would have been if Alonso’s horse had not kicked him to death.’

The Princess Isabella gave a little cry as she went to the window.

‘My dear child,’ the Queen patiently said to her wild daughter, ‘you must learn to put yourself into the place of others, consider what you are about to say and ask yourself how you would feel if it were being said to you.’

Juana’s face crinkled up and she burst out: ‘It is no use, Mother. I could never be like Isabella. I don’t think Philip could ever be like Alonso either.’

‘Come here,’ said the Queen and Juana came to her mother. The Queen put her arms about this daughter who had caused her many a sleepless night. How can I part with her? she asked herself. What will happen to her in a strange country where there will be no one to understand her as I do?

‘Juana,’ she said, ‘I want you to be calm. Soon you will be going among people who do not know you as we do. They may not make allowances as we do. Soon you will be travelling to Flanders with a great fleet of ships. There you will meet your husband Philip, and the ships which take you to him will bring his sister Margaret home for Juan.’

‘I shall be left behind in Flanders where the women have big breasts … and Philip will be my husband. He will be a great ruler, will he not, Mother … greater than Father. Is that possible?’

‘It is only at the end of a ruler’s life that his greatness can be judged,’ murmured the Queen. Her eyes were on her eldest daughter and she knew by the rigid position of her body that she was fighting back her tears.

She took Juana’s hand and said: ‘There is much you will have to be taught before you go away. It is regrettable that you cannot be as calm as your brother.’

Catalina spoke then. ‘But Mother, it is easy for Angel to be calm. He is not going away. His bride will come here for him.’

The Queen looked down at the solemn little face of her youngest daughter; and she knew then that the parting with Catalina was going to be the most heartbreaking of them all.

I will not tell her just yet that she is to go to England, she mused. It will be years before she must leave us. There is no point in telling her now.

Ferdinand came into the room and the effect of his presence was immediate. He could not even regard his children without betraying his thoughts of the brilliant future he had planned for them. Now, as his eldest daughter came first to greet him, the Queen knew that he saw her as the link to friendship with Portugal … a peaceful frontier which would enable him to continue with greater ease his battles against his old enemies, the French. Now Juan – and Juana. The Habsburg alliance. And Maria. He scarcely glanced her way, for no grand schemes for a profitable alliance had yet formed in his mind regarding her.

The Queen put her hand on Catalina’s arm, as though to protect her. Poor little Catalina! She would mean to her father friendship with England. She had been chosen as the bride of Arthur, Prince of Wales, because she was only a year older than he was, and therefore more suitable than Maria who was four years Arthur’s senior.

Ferdinand surveyed his family. ‘I see you merry,’ he said.

Merry! thought the Queen. My poor Isabella with the grief on her face; the resignation of my Angel; the wildness of Juana; the ignorance of Catalina. Is that merriment?

‘Well,’ went on Ferdinand, ‘you have good reason to be!’

‘Juana is eager to learn all she can about Flanders,’ the Queen said.

‘That is well. That is well. You must all be worthy of your good fortune. Isabella is fortunate. She knows Portugal well. How singularly blessed is my eldest daughter. She thought to lose the crown of Portugal and finds it miraculously restored to her.’

The Princess Isabella said: ‘I cannot return to Portugal, Father. I could not …’ She stopped, and there was a short but horrified silence in the room. It was clear that in a few moments the Princess Isabella was going to commit the terrible indiscretion of weeping before the King and Queen.

The Queen said gently: ‘You have our leave to retire, daughter.’ Isabella threw her mother a grateful glance and curtsied.

‘But first …’ Ferdinand was beginning.

‘Go now, my dear,’ interrupted the Queen firmly, and she did not look at the angry lights which immediately shot up in Ferdinand’s eyes.

For the sake of her children, as for her country, Isabella was ready to face the wrath of her husband.

Ferdinand burst out: ‘It is time that girl was married. The life she leads here is unnatural. She is continually at her prayers. What does she pray for? Convent walls! She should be praying for children!’

The children were subdued with the exception of Juana, in whom any conflict aroused excitement.

‘I am praying for children already, Father,’ she cried.

‘Juana,’ warned her mother; but Ferdinand gave a low laugh.

‘That’s well enough. You cannot start your prayers too early. And what of my youngest daughter? Is she eager to learn the manners of England?’

Catalina was staring at her father in frank bewilderment.

‘Eh, child?’ he went on, looking at her lovingly. Little Catalina, the youngest, only ten years old – and yet so important to her father’s schemes.

Isabella had drawn her little daughter close to her. ‘Our youngest daughter’s marriage is years away,’ she said. ‘Why, Catalina need not think of England for many a year.’

‘It will not be so long,’ declared Ferdinand. ‘Henry is an impatient man. He might even ask that she be educated over there. He’ll be wanting to turn her into a little Englishwoman at the earliest possible moment.’

Isabella felt the tremor run through her daughter’s body. She wondered what she could do to appease her. That it should have been broken like this! There were times when she had to restrain her anger against this husband who could be so impetuous in some matters, so cold blooded in others.