“Now speak the other tongues you know, boy,” said his father proudly; and Griffith ap Rhys began to speak in a language which Katharine recognized as French.
This delighted Katharine, because here was someone with whom she might be able to converse. She answered Griffith in French, and to her pleasure he was able to understand; and although their accents and intonations were so different they could chat together.
“I wish to make Griffith my gentleman usher,” she told Arthur, and there was nothing she could have said which would have given the boy’s father more delight.
There was no doubt in the minds of any that Wales was pleased with its Princess.
A FEW WEEKS PASSED, weeks which afterwards seemed to Katharine like a dream. She was happier than she had been since she left Spain. She, Arthur and Griffith ap Rhys rode together; she found great pleasure in talking in French to Griffith, and Arthur liked to listen to them. They were like two brothers and a sister—constantly discovering interests in common. In the long evenings by the blazing fires and the lights of the torches there would be singing and dancing in the great hall; and those who watched said: “Before long this marriage will be consummated. The Prince and the Princess are falling in love.”
They would sit side by side, and Griffith would be seated on a stool at their feet, strumming on his harp and singing songs, the favorite of which was one about a great King Arthur who had once reigned in Britain.
One day, it was said, there would be another great King Arthur to rule over England and Wales; he would be this Arthur who now sat in the hall of Ludlow Castle. He was young yet; he was a little pale and seemed weak; but he was leaving boyhood behind him, he was becoming a man, and he had the fair young Princess from Spain beside him.
MARCH HAD SET IN and the snow gave place to rain. For days the mist hung about the drafty rooms of the castle; the damp seeped into the bones of all and even the great fires which blazed on the hearths could not drive the mist from Ludlow Castle.
Katharine longed for the cold, frosty weather; then she and Arthur could have gone riding together. She dared not suggest that they go out in the driving rain, for Arthur had begun to cough more persistently since they had come to Ludlow.
One day Griffith ap Rhys burst somewhat unceremoniously into their presence.
They were sitting by the fire in one of the smaller apartments of the castle and a few of their suite were with them.
Doña Elvira looked sternly at the young Welshman and was preparing to reproach him for forgetting the respect he owed to the Prince and Princess of Wales, when Griffith burst out: “I have ill news. The sweating sickness has come to Ludlow.”
A horrified silence fell on the company. The sweating sickness was considered to be one of the greatest calamities which could befall a community. It spread rapidly from one to another and invariably ended in death, although if the patient could survive the first twenty-four hours of the disease, it was said that he usually recovered.
Questions were fired at Griffith, who said that several of the townsfolk were stricken and that he had himself seen people in the streets sinking to the ground because the fever had overcome them before they could reach their homes.
When this was explained to Elvira she began giving rapid orders. The castle was to be closed to all visitors; they were to consider themselves in a state of siege. At all costs the sweating sickness must not be allowed to enter Ludlow Castle while the Infanta of Spain was there.
The news had cast a gloom on the company, but Katharine was eager to know more about the dreaded disease, and Griffith sat beside her and told her and Arthur how it began with a fever and that many died before the sweating stage began. Then they sweated profusely and, if they could cling to life long enough, they stood a chance of recovery; for in sweating they cast off the evil humors of the body and thus recovered.
Arthur was disturbed; he told Katharine: “The disease broke out soon after my father won the throne. I think some looked upon it as an evil omen. It is strange that it should have broken out here in Ludlow now we are come. It would seem that there is a blight on our House.”
“No,” replied Katharine fiercely, “this sickness could happen anywhere.”
“It started in the army which landed at Milford Haven with my father.”
Katharine endeavored to disperse his gloom, but it was not easy; and that night the singing ceased in Ludlow Castle.
KATHARINE AWOKE in the night. She was conscious of a curious burning sensation in her limbs; she tried to call out but her mouth was parched.
She lay still, thinking: So it has come to Ludlow Castle and I am its victim. Yet if I am to die, then I shall be with my sister Isabella and my brother Juan, and I think I should be happy.
There was another thought which came to her and which she would not voice. It was that her mother might not be long for this world, and if she too were going to pass from the Earth to be with Isabella and Juan, then Katharine would long to join them.
She felt lightheaded; she had forgotten she was in grim Ludlow Castle; she thought she was back behind the rose-tinted walls of the Alhambra; she thought that she lingered in one of the patios, trailing her hot fingers in the cool fountains; but the fountains were not cool; they were hot as fire and she believed she had put her fingers in the fires in which the heretics were burned, mistaking them for fountains.
She was tossing from side to side in her bed when Maria de Rojas came to bid her good morning.
Maria took one look at her mistress and was terrified. She ran screaming to Doña Elvira.
SO KATHARINE lay a victim of the dreaded sickness. All through the day and night which followed Elvira was in the sickroom. Angrily she ordered possets and herbal drinks to be prepared in case they might be of some use to her Infanta. She cursed those who had dared bring infection into the castle. She had no thought of anything but the health of her mistress.
Katharine had passed into the sweating period. Elvira hovered anxiously about her bed. If she sweated profusely the evil humors would be thrown off; and she was sweating.
“The Sovereigns will never forgive me,” cried Elvira, “for letting their daughter face such infection. She must recover. It is unthinkable that she should die…her dowry not even paid, her virginity intact.”
The energy of Doña Elvira affected all who came in contact with the sickroom.
News was brought for Katharine, but Elvira would not admit the messenger.
So the Prince was sick? Well, was not the Prince always ailing? The Infanta, who was never ill, was now laid low with their miserable sweating sickness!
It was twenty-four hours since Katharine had been taken ill. She lay limp and exhausted on her bed; but she still lived.
Doña Elvira busied herself with making a brew of aromatic herbs, laurel and juniper berries which the physicians had recommended; and when Katharine had drunk it she opened her eyes and said: “Doña Elvira, bring my mother to me.”
“You are in your bed in Ludlow Castle, Highness. You have been very ill but I have nursed you back to health.”
Katharine nodded her head slightly. “I remember now,” she said; and there were tears in her eyes which would never have appeared but for her bodily weakness. She wanted her mother now, even more than ever. She knew that, if only she could feel that cool hand on her brow, see those serene eyes looking into hers, commanding her to bear whatever ill fortune God had seen fit to send to her, she could have wept for joy; as it was she could not prevent herself from weeping in sorrow.
“The worst is over,” said Elvira. “You will get well now. I have nursed you with my own hands, and shall do so until you are completely recovered.”
“Thank you, Doña Elvira.”
Elvira took Katharine’s hand in hers and kissed it. “Always I am at your service, my dearest Infanta,” she said. “Do you not understand that?”
“I understand,” said Katharine; and she closed her eyes. But try as she might she could not prevent the tears seeping through.
If I could see her but once…she thought. She turned her head that Doña Elvira might not see the tears.
“Does my mother know of my illness?” she asked.
“She will hear of it and of your recovery in the same message.”
“I am glad of that. Now she will not be grieved. If I had died that would have been her greatest sorrow. She loves me dearly.”
Now the tears were flowing more freely, and it was no use trying to restrain them. These were the tears which had been demanding to be shed for so long, and which in her strength she had withheld. Now she was too weak to fight them and she wept shamelessly.
“For she loves me so,” she whispered, “and we are parted. There will never be another to love me as my mother loved me. All my life there will never be love for me such as she gave me.”
“What nonsense is this?” said Elvira. “You must keep well covered. It may be that you have not sweated enough. There may be more humors to be released. Come, what would your mother say if she saw those foolish tears?”
“She would understand,” cried Katharine. “Did she not always understand?”
Elvira covered her up sharply. The Infanta’s tears shocked her.
She is very weak, she thought. But the worst is over. I have nursed her through this. She is right when she says the Queen dotes on her. I shall have Isabella’s undying gratitude for nursing her daughter through this illness.