He was unfortunate inasmuch as he irritated Katharine; she was by nature serene and compassionate, but the little Jew, perhaps because he was her father’s ambassador in a Court where she needed great help, exasperated her almost beyond endurance and she began to feel—wrongly—that, if only she had a man more worthy to represent her father and to work for her, her position would not be so deplorable as it was and had been for most of her stay in England.
“Dr. de Puebla,” said Katharine, as he shuffled towards her and kissed her hand, “have you realized that the fifteenth birthday of the Prince of Wales has now come and gone and there has been no mention of the marriage which was once proposed between us?”
“I fear I did not expect there would be, Highness.”
“What have you done about this matter?”
Puebla spread his hands in a well-remembered gesture. “Highness, there is nothing I can do.”
“Nothing! Are you not here to look after the interests of my father, and are they not mine?”
“Highness, if I could persuade the King of England to this marriage do not doubt that I should do so.”
Katharine turned away because such bitter words rose to her lips, and the sight of the sick little man made her feel ashamed of her anger towards him.
“Is nothing ever going to happen?” she demanded. “How do you think I live?”
“Highness, it is hard for you. It is hard for me. Believe me, I am well acquainted with poverty.”
“It goes on and on and on,” she cried. “There is no way out. If I could return to Spain…”
She stopped. In that moment she had made a discovery. She did not want to return to Spain, because all that she had wished to return to was no more. She had longed for her mother, but Spain no longer contained Isabella. Did she want to be with her father? There had never been any great tenderness between them, because his affection for his children had always been overlaid with hopes of what they could bring him. Maria was in Portugal. Juana had grown strange. Did she want to go to Spain then to be with Juana and her husband, to see their tempestuous relationship, did she want to see that handsome philanderer gradually driving her sister over the edge of sanity?
Spain had nothing for her. What had England? Nothing apart from the dazzling prospect of marriage with the Prince of Wales.
Katharine realized in that moment that she must marry the Prince or remain all her life an outcast from Spain, the unwanted stranger in a foreign land.
She needed brilliant diplomacy to bring about the marriage, and all she had was this shabby, gouty Jew.
He was saying now: “Highness, I have done everything I can. Believe me, I will not spare myself…”
Katharine shook her head and murmured: “Mayhap you do your best, but I like not the way these matters go. You may retire now. Should you become further acquainted with the King’s mind, I pray you come to me, for I am anxious.”
Puebla shuffled out, and he was surprised, when he had left her presence, to find his cheeks were wet.
I am worn out, he said to himself, with all the work which has come to nothing. I suffer pain; I can no longer amuse and entertain. I have outlived my usefulness. That is why old men shed tears.
And, left alone, Katharine wrote to her father. She told him that his ambassador in England was no longer able to work for her good or the good of Spain. She implored him to give this matter his attention and appoint a new ambassador to the Court of the Tudor King, for the sake of Spain and for his daughter, who was beside herself with misery.
EAGERLY SHE AWAITED news from her father. Each day during that summer seemed more trying than the last. The maids of honor did not attempt to hide their dissatisfaction. They were continually longing to be back in Spain.
There were perpetual quarrels in the household, and Katharine almost wished that Doña Elvira was back with them to keep them all in order. Francesca was more restless than the others and she seemed to find a wicked delight in accusing each member of the household of intriguing to keep them in England. There could be no greater sin in the eyes of Francesca.
The fact is, thought Katharine, they need to be married. If Arthur had lived, they would all have worthy husbands now, and rich, full lives.
It seemed to her that each month it was necessary to rifle her store of jewels and plate. She felt guilty when she sold or pawned these pieces, but what could she do? Her expenses had to be met, and disposing of her plate and jewellery was the only means of doing this.
At last news came from Spain, and when she read of the death of Philip she could not help but rejoice.
He was my father’s enemy, she told herself; he turned him from Castile and he would have taken the crown from Juana. She is miserable now, but it is a good thing that he has gone.
She imagined her father’s secret delight, for if Juana were incapable of ruling it was certain that Ferdinand would come back to Castile and the Regency.
She realized what this would mean. Ferdinand would be of more account in Europe than previously, and the manner in which the King of England treated her depended largely on what was happening to her father.
So could she consider this sudden and mysterious death of her handsome brother-in-law good news? She believed she could.
There was a letter from her father in answer to that which she had sent asking for a new ambassador.
“Why should you not be my ambassador?” wrote Ferdinand. “You have been at the English Court for some years. You know their ways; you speak their language. In due course I will send you an ambassador, but in the meantime you may consider yourself as such. Listen to Puebla; he is a clever man, perhaps cleverer than you realize. Be guided by him. He has worked well for Spain and will, I hope, continue to do so.”
When Katharine had stopped reading there was a faint color in her cheeks. She felt more cheered than she had for a long time. Now she would have an interest in life; now she would have more power, and she would try to serve her father faithfully and at the same time bring about a happier state for herself. And how could she achieve such a state? There was one answer: Only by marriage to the Prince of Wales.
THE KING OF ENGLAND requested the pleasure of her company. She went to his apartments, her hopes high, wondering what news he had to impart to her.
He was alone and he received her with graciousness, as though, she believed, he considered her of greater importance than he had when they had last met.
When she had been formally greeted she was allowed to sit in his presence and, cupping his face in his hands, the King said: “This is a matter which I believe I can entrust to your hands more readily than I could to any other.”
“Your Highness delights me,” she answered.
Henry nodded, his lower lip protruded, his expression more pleasant than usual.
“I shall never forget the day when your sister, the Queen of Castile, arrived at Windsor. What grace was hers! What charm!”