“So it would be with Philip. He will love Castile.”
“He is not master in Castile. Even our father was not that. You know how our mother always ruled, never forgetting for one moment that she was the Queen.”
“It is the women,” sighed Juana. “How I hate women. And in particular golden-haired women…big-breasted, big-hipped. That is the Flanders women, Catalina. How I loathe them! I could tear them all apart. I would throw them to the soldiers…the lowest of the soldiers…and say: They are the true enemies of the Queen of Castile.”
“Our father was not always faithful to our mother. It grieved her, I know. But she did not let it interfere with the affection she bore him.”
“Our mother! What did she know of love?”
“She knew much of love. Do you not remember her care for us? I verily believe that, when we left her, she suffered even more than we did.”
“Love!” cried Juana. “What do you know of love? I mean love like this which I have for him. There is nothing like it, I tell you.” Juana had stood up; she began beating her hands against her stiffly embroidered bodice. “You cannot understand, Catalina. You have never known it. You have never known Philip.”
“But why are you so unhappy?”
“Do you not know? I thought the whole world knew. Because of those others. They are always there. How many women have shared his bed since he came to England? Do you know? Of course you do not. Even he will have forgotten.”
“Juana, you distress yourself.”
“I am in continual distress…except when he is with me. He says he does his duty. I am often pregnant. I am happiest when I am not, because he always remembers that I should become so.”
Katharine covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Juana, please do not talk so.”
“How else should I talk? He went on in advance of me. Can you guess why? Because there were women with whom he wished to amuse himself. I tell you, I hate women…I hate…hate…hate women.”
Juana had begun to rock herself to and fro, and Katharine was afraid her shouts would be heard in those apartments of the Castle near her own.
She tried to soothe her sister; she put her arms about her, and Juana immediately clung to her, rocking Katharine with her.
“Why, Juana,” whispered Katharine, “you are distraught. Would you like to lie on your bed? I would sit beside it and talk to you.”
Juana was silent for a while, and then she cried out: “Yes. Let it be so.”
Katharine took her sister’s arm and together they went to Juana’s bedchamber. Some of her attendants were waiting there, and Katharine knew from their expression that they were prepared for anything to happen.
“The Queen wishes to rest,” said Katharine. “You may go. I will look after her.”
The women retired, leaving the sisters together, and Katharine realized that Juana’s mood had changed once more. Now she had sunk into melancholy silence.
“Come,” said Katharine, “lie down. Your journey must have been very tiring.”
Still Juana did not answer but allowed herself to be led to the bed and covered with the embroidered coverlet.
Katharine sat by the bed and reached out for the white ringed hand. She held it, but there was no response to her tenderness from the hand which lay listlessly in hers.
“There is so much we have to say to each other,” said Katharine. “You shall tell me your troubles and I shall tell you mine. Oh, Juana, now that I have seen you I know how wretched I have been in England. Imagine my position here. I am unwanted. When our mother was alive I longed to return to Spain. Now that she is gone I do not know what I want. I do not understand the King of England. His plans change abruptly, and a marriage is planned one day and forgotten the next. You must see how poor I have become. Look at this dress.…”
She stood up and spread her skirt, but Juana was not even looking at her.
She went on: “I suppose my only hope is marriage with the Prince of Wales. If that should take place, at least I should be accorded the dignity due to my rank. But will it ever take place? He is much younger than I and they say he is to marry Marguerite of Angoulême, but the King has arranged something other with your husband.”
At the mention of Philip a faint smile touched Juana’s lips.
“They say he is the handsomest man in the world, and they do not lie.”
“He is indeed handsome, but it would have been better if he had been kind,” said Katharine quickly. “While you are here, Juana, cannot you do something to alleviate my poverty? If you would speak to King Henry…”
The door opened and Philip himself came into the room. He was laughing and his fair face was slightly flushed.
“Where is my wife?” he cried. “Where is my Queen?”
Katharine was surprised at the change which came over Juana. She had leaped from the bed, all melancholy gone.
“Here I am, Philip. Here I am.”
Without ceremony she flung herself into his arms. It nauseated Katharine to see her sister clinging to this man, who stood, his arms limp at his sides, while he looked over Juana’s head at Katharine.
“I see,” said Philip, “that you have an august visitor.”
“It is Catalina…only my little sister.”
“But I disturb you. And it is so long since you have met. I must leave you together.”
“Philip, oh Philip…do not go. It is so long since we have been alone together. Philip, stay now…”
Katharine stood up. She could bear no more.
“Pray give me leave to retire,” she said to her sister.
But Juana was not looking at her; she was breathless with desire and completely unaware of her sister’s presence.
Philip smiled at her sardonically; and she saw that he was not displeased. Was he showing her how abject the Queen of Castile could become in her need for the comfort only he could give? Was he telling her that the present King of Castile would be very different from the previous one? Ferdinand had been a strong man, but his wife had been stronger. Juana would never be another Isabella of Castile.
Katharine went swiftly to her own apartments. What will become of her? she asked herself. What will become of us all?
So this was the meeting for which she had longed. There would be no time for more meetings, because she was to leave Windsor for Richmond tomorrow. There were no concessions for Katharine from the King of England, any more than there were for Juana, Queen of Castile, from her cruel careless husband, Philip the Handsome.
She did not even listen to what I was telling her, thought Katharine. She completely forgot my existence, the moment he entered the room.
THERE WAS LITTLE TO DO, with the Court at Richmond, but sit and embroider with her maids of honor and listen to their laments for Spain. The Princess Mary was with her often. She would sit at Katharine’s feet playing her lute, listening to her comments and being instructed by them, for Katharine herself excelled with the lute. Sometimes they sang together the old songs of Spain, but more often the songs of England. “For,” complained Mary, “your songs are sad songs.”
“They sound sad,” Katharine told her, “because I sing them in a strange land.”
Mary scarcely listened; she was too absorbed by her own affairs; but Katharine enjoyed the company of this light-hearted, beautiful child who was the favorite of everyone at Court.
She had seen nothing of the King or the Prince since she had left Windsor; she knew that the fleet of ships which had been in difficulties in the Channel were now being refitted and made ready for the journey to Spain. With the coming of spring they would sail away again.
I shall never see Juana again, thought Katharine. And if I did, what could we have to say to each other?