Ferdinand suspected that the sly Louis was detaining them purposely to slight him and Isabella. Trouble was brewing between France and Spain over the partition of Naples, and both monarchs were expecting conflict to break out in the near future. So Louis amused himself by detaining Ferdinand’s daughter and his son-in-law in France, and binding them to him by this Treaty of Trent and the proposed marriage of Charles and Claude.
But by the end of March news came that Philip and Juana with their train were approaching the Spanish border.
Soon I shall see my Juana, Isabella assured herself. Soon she would be able to test for herself how far advanced was this wildness of her daughter.
As Isabella was preparing to go to Toledo, where she would meet Juana, there was news from England, disquieting news.
Catalina had written often to her mother and, although there had been no complaints, Isabella knew her daughter well enough to understand her deep longing for home. Etiquette would forbid her to compare her new country with that of her birth, or to mention her unhappiness, but Isabella knew how Catalina felt.
Arthur, Catalina’s young husband, it seemed, was kind and gentle. So all would be well in time. In one year, Isabella assured herself, or perhaps in two, Spain will seem remote to her and she will begin to think of England as her home.
Then came this news which so disturbed her that she forgot even the perpetual anxiety of wondering what Juana would be like.
Catalina had travelled with her young husband to Ludlow, from which town they were to govern the Principality of Wales. They were to set up a Court there which was to be modelled on that of Westminster. Isabella had been pleased to picture her sixteen-year-old daughter and the fifteen-year-old husband ruling over such a Court. It would be good practice for them, she had said to Ferdinand, against that day when they would rule over England.
Catalina had written an account of the journey from London to Ludlow; how she had ridden pillion behind her Master of Horse, and when she was tired of this mode of travelling had been carried in a litter. She had been delighted by the town of Ludlow; and the people, she wrote, seemed to have taken her to their hearts, for they cheered her and Arthur whenever she and he appeared among them.
‘My little Catalina,’ Isabella murmured, ‘a bride of six months only!’
She wondered whether the marriage had yet been consummated or whether the King of England considered his son as yet too young. It would have been more suitable if Arthur had been a year older than Catalina instead of a year younger.
Ferdinand was with her when the news arrived. She read the dispatch, and the words danced before her eyes.
‘Prince Arthur became stricken by a plague before he had been long in Ludlow. He fell into a rapid decline and, alas, the Infanta of Spain is now a widow.’
A widow! Catalina! Why, she was scarcely a wife.
Ferdinand’s face had grown pale. ‘But this is the Devil’s own luck!’ he cried. ‘God in Heaven, are all our marriage plans for our children to come to nothing!’
Isabella tried to dismiss a certain exultation which had come to her. Catalina a widow! That meant that she could come home. She could be returned to her mother as her eldest sister, Isabella of Portugal, had been.
Into Toledo rode Isabella and Ferdinand, there to await the arrival of Juana and Philip. The bells of the city were chiming; the people were crowding into the streets; they were ready to welcome not only their Sovereigns but their Sovereigns’ heir.
Toledo cared nothing that Juana was a woman. She was the rightful successor to Isabella and they would accept her as their Queen when the time came.
The Queen’s nervousness increased as the hour of the meeting with her daughter drew near.
I shall know, she told herself, as soon as I look at her. If there has been any change, it will immediately be visible to me. Oh, Juana, my dear daughter, be calm, my love. I pray you be calm.
Then she reminded herself that soon she would have Catalina home. What purpose could be served by her staying in England as the widow of the dead Prince? She must come home to her mother, so that she might more quickly recover from the shock her husband’s death must have caused her.
It was a beautiful May day when Philip and Juana rode into Toledo. At the doors of the great Alcazar Ferdinand and Isabella stood waiting to receive them.
Isabella’s eyes immediately went to her daughter. At first glance there appeared to be only that change which would seem inevitable after the ordeals of childbearing. Juana had given birth to a daughter, yet another Isabella, before she left Flanders. She had aged a little; and she had never been the most beautiful of their children.
And this was her husband. Isabella felt a tremor of fear as she looked at this fair young man who came forward with such arrogance. He was indeed handsome and fully aware of it. My poor Juana, thought Isabella. I hope it is not true that you love this man as distractedly as rumour tells me you do.
They were kneeling before the Sovereigns, but the Queen took her daughter and drew her into her arms. This was one of the rare occasions when Isabella disregarded etiquette. Love and anxiety were everything. She must hold this daughter in her arms, this one who had caused her more anxiety than any of the others, for she had discovered that she did not love her the less because of this.
Juana smiled and clung to her mother for a few seconds.
She is glad to be home! thought the Queen.
The brief ceremony was over, and Isabella said: ‘I am going to have my daughter to myself for a little while. Give me this pleasure. Philip, your father-in-law will wish to talk with you.’
Isabella took her daughter to that chamber in which, just over twenty years ago, she had been born.
‘Juana,’ Isabella held her daughter against her, ‘I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you. We have had so much sorrow since you left us.’
Juana was silent.
‘My dearest,’ went on the Queen, ‘you are happy, are you not? You are the happiest of my daughters. Your marriage has been fruitful, and you love your husband.’
Juana nodded.
‘You are too overcome with happiness at being home to speak of it. That is so, is it not, my love? My happiness equals yours. How I have thought of you since you went away. Your husband … he is kind to you?’
Juana’s face darkened, and the expression there set the Queen’s heart leaping in terror.
‘There are women … always women. There were women in Flanders. There have been women on the way. There will be women in Spain. I hate them all.’
‘While he is in Spain,’ said Isabella sternly, ‘there must be no scandal.’
Juana laughed that wild laughter which was reminiscent of her grandmother.
‘You would not be able to keep them away. They pursue him everywhere. Are you surprised? Is there a more handsome man in the world than my Philip?’
‘He has good looks, but he should remember his dignity.’
‘They won’t let him. It is no fault of his. They are always there.’ Juana clenched her hands together. ‘Oh, how I hate women!’
‘My dear, your father shall speak to him.’
Juana let out another peal of loud laughter. ‘He would not listen.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘He cares not that for anyone … not for my father, nor the King of France. Oh, you should have seen him in France. The women of Blois, and indeed all the towns and villages through which we passed … they could not resist him … they followed him, imploring him to take them to his bed …’
‘And he did not resist?’
Juana turned angrily on her mother. ‘He is but human. He has the virility of ten ordinary men. It is no fault of his. It is the women … the cursed women.’