Katharine, The Virgin Widow - Plaidy Jean - Страница 39
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Don Juan Manuel understood.
“He is waiting for instructions from Henry,” he told Philip. “I doubt that the King of England will allow you to go until there has been a meeting.”
“I see no reason why there should not be a meeting,” retorted Philip. “Although if I wished to go, nothing would deter me.”
“The King of England might. Who knows, there might be an army approaching now to detain you.”
“Why should he do that?”
“Because you are in his country, and here he is all-powerful. It would be easier if you stayed here awhile as a guest rather than as a prisoner.”
“I should like to see my sister Catalina,” said Juana. “How strange that a little while ago she wanted to arrange a meeting. Now the storm may have done that for us.”
Philip studied his wife. She was in one of her sane periods at this time. The ordeal at sea had calmed her while it had distressed others. None would guess now that the seed of madness lurked in her.
“Then,” said Philip, “we must perforce enjoy English hospitality a little longer. And I have no fears of a meeting with the King of England. Indeed there is much I would like to discuss with him.”
Juan Manuel lowered his eyes. There were times when he was afraid of and for his reckless master.
Philip was aware of Juan Manuel’s apprehension, and it amused him. He was going to make all his servants understand that he and he alone would make decisions as to policy. Seeing Juana quite normal now, Queen of Castile, Philip made up his mind that when he met Henry he would do so in his own right. He would meet him as the Archduke Philip, heir to Maximilian, not as the consort of the Queen of Castile, although of course it was Castile he wished to discuss with Henry. He was going to attempt to win Henry’s support against Ferdinand; and as Juana, in her sudden return to sanity, might remember that Ferdinand was her father, it would be well for him to go on ahead of Juana to meet the King of England.
* * *
NEWS FROM HENRY CAME quickly to Melcombe Regis. He would not allow his guests to leave England until they had talked together. He was delighted to have such august visitors, and he was sending an escort to bring them to Windsor, where he and the Prince of Wales would be waiting to receive them.
Philip was delighted when he saw the magnificence of the cavalcade which had been sent to take him to Windsor, but Don Juan Manuel and his more sober advisers were apprehensive, They knew that it was useless to caution their headstrong master. To do so might make him more reckless than ever.
Juana came to her husband as he stood by a window looking out on the brilliantly caparisoned horses which were waiting below.
“And they say,” cried Philip, “that Henry is a mean man.”
“He has certainly treated my sister with great meanness,” replied Juana.
Philip looked pleased. The King of England was mean to the daughter of Ferdinand but eager to shower honors on the son of Maximilian.
Then he remembered that part of this show was for another of Ferdinand’s daughters, and that this was his wife, the Queen of Castile.
“I look forward to the journey,” went on Juana. “It will be pleasant to see this country which is now Catalina’s. And what joy to see her at the end of the journey! My poor Catalina, her letters were often sad.”
“Juana,” said Philip, “I am most solicitous for your comfort.”
A smile of happiness touched her lips and she gazed at him ardently. “Oh Philip,” she murmured, “you need have no fear for me. I only have to be with you to be happy.”
He gently unlaced her clinging fingers which were on his arm.
“I must travel with all speed to Windsor,” he said. “You shall follow at a slower pace.”
“You mean…you will go without me!” Her voice was shrill.
“I would not submit you to the hazards of rapid travel. You shall come slowly and with dignity.”
“Why, why?” she screamed. “I have faced the dangers of the sea with you. What hazards would there be on the road? You shall not be rid of me. I know full well why you seek to escape me. There is that woman…”
“Be silent,” he said sharply. “You weary me with your eternal jealousies.”
“Then remove the cause of my jealousy.”
“I should die of boredom, which I believe would be more tiresome than death by drowning.”
“You are so cruel,” she complained pathetically.
“You will do as I say,” he told her.
“Why should I? Am I not the Queen? But for me, Castile would never be for you.”
“So you boast once more of the titles you have brought me. Have I not paid dearly for them? Do I not have to endure you also?”
“Philip, I shall come with you.”
“You will do as I say. Do you want me to have you put away again?”
“You cannot do it.”
“Can I not? I did it before. Why should I not do it again? All know that you are mad. You make no secret of the fact. You shall say a wifely farewell to me and I will go on ahead of you. You will be calm and follow me. You will travel the same road, but some days after me. Is that such hardship?”
“It is always hardship not to be with you.”
He took her cheek between his fingers and pinched hard.
He said: “If you do as I say, I will promise to be a loving husband to you this night.”
“Philip…” She could not quench the longing in her voice.
“Only if,” he went on, “you promise to say a nice, pleasant, calm farewell to me on the morrow.”
“It is bribery,” she said. “It is not the first time. You give me as a concession that which is mine by right, and always you demand a price for it.”
He laughed at her. He was so sure of his power over her. He would spend his last night at Melcombe Regis with her, and in the morning he would leave her behind while he rode on to Windsor to meet the King of England.
* * *
WINDSOR LOOKED PLEASANT to Katharine that winter’s day. She was pleased now that she had left Durham House and was at Court. It would be wonderful to see Juana again, to whisper confidences, to recall the old days and perhaps to explain the difficulties of her position here in England.
With her maids of honor ranged about her she was at the window, waiting for the first signs of the cavalcade.
“I wonder if I shall recognize her,” murmured Katharine. “She will have changed since I saw her, doubtless.”
“It is long since she went to Flanders,” Maria de Salinas reminded her.
Katharine thought of that day, nearly ten years ago, when Juana had set out for Flanders. She remembered the sadness of her mother who had accompanied Juana to Laredo, and how Isabella had returned to find that her own mother—so like Juana in her wildness—was dying in the Castle of Arevalo.
It was all so long ago. What resemblance would Juana, Queen of Castile, bear to that high-spirited, wayward girl who had gone into Flanders to marry Philip the Handsome?
She looked at her maids of honor, but their expressions were blank and she knew that they were thinking of the wild stories they had heard of her sister—how she had bound one of her husband’s mistresses and cut off her long golden hair, how she had thought herself to be a prisoner at Medina del Campo and had escaped from her apartments and refused to return, spending the bitterly cold night out of doors in her night attire. Uneasy rumors of Juana’s conduct continued to come from Flanders.
When I see her, thought Katharine, she will talk to me of her life; I shall be able to comfort her as she will comfort me.
So there she waited, and when the fanfares of trumpets heralded the arrival of the cavalcade, and the King and the Prince of Wales went down to the courtyard to receive the guests, Katharine saw the fair and handsome Philip, but she looked in vain for her sister.
She stood at her window watching the greetings between the royal parties. Surely Juana must be there. She was in England with Philip. Why was she not with him now?
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