Katharine, The Virgin Widow - Plaidy Jean - Страница 9
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Elvira stared at her in astonishment; in that moment Katharine looked very like her mother, and it was as impossible for even Elvira to disobey her as it would have been to disobey Isabella of Castile.
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* * *
SHE STOOD FACING the light, her veil thrown back.
She saw her father-in-law, a man a little above medium height, so thin that his somewhat sombre garments hung loosely on him; his sparse fair hair, which fell almost to his shoulders, was lank and wet; his long gown which covered his doublet was trimmed with ermine about the neck and wide sleeves. There was mud on his clothes and even on his face. He had clearly travelled far on horseback in this inclement weather and had not thought it necessary to remove the stains of travel before confronting her.
Katharine smiled and the alert, crafty eyes studied her intently, looking for some defect, some deformity which would make her parents desirous of hiding her from him; he could see none.
Henry could not speak Spanish and he had no Latin. Katharine had learned a little French from her brother Juan’s wife, Margaret of Austria, but Margaret’s stay in Spain had been short and, when she had gone, there had been no one with whom Katharine could converse in that language. Henry spoke in English: “Welcome to England, my lady Infanta. My son and I have eagerly awaited your coming these many months. If we have rudely thrust aside the customs of your country we ask pardon. You must understand that it was our great desire to welcome you that made us do so.”
Katharine attempted to reply in French but slipped into Spanish. She curtseyed before the King while his little eyes took in the details of her figure. She was healthy, this Spanish Infanta, more so than his frail Arthur. She was a good deal taller than Arthur; her eyes were clear; so was her skin. Her body was sturdy, and if not voluptuous it was strong. She was no beauty, but she was healthy and she was young; it was merely custom which had made her parents wish to hide her from him. Her only real claim to beauty was that abundant hair—thick, healthy hair with a touch of red in its color.
Henry was well satisfied.
She was talking to him now in her own tongue, and, although he could not understand her, he knew that she was replying to his welcome with grace and charm.
He took her hand and led her to the window.
Then he signed to Ayala who had at that moment entered the apartment.
“Tell the Infanta,” said Henry, “that I am a happy man this day.”
Ayala translated, and Katharine replied that the King’s kindness made her very happy too.
“Tell her,” said the King, “that in a few minutes her bridegroom will be riding to the palace at the head of a cavalcade. They cannot be much more than half an hour after me.”
Ayala told Katharine this; and she smiled.
She was standing between the King and Ayala, they in their wet garments, when she first saw her bridegroom.
He looked very small, riding at the head of that cavalcade, and her first feeling for him was: He is so young—he is younger than I am. He looks frightened. He is more frightened than I am.
And in that moment she felt less resentful of her fate.
She determined that she and Arthur were going to be happy together.
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IT WAS LATER that evening. Katharine looked almost pretty in candlelight; her cheeks were faintly flushed; her gray eyes alight with excitement. Her maids of honor, all chosen for their beauty, were very lovely indeed. Only Dona Elvira Manuel sat aloof, displeased. She could not forget that the wishes of her Sovereigns had been ignored.
The Infanta had invited the King and the Prince to supper in her apartments in the Bishop’s Palace; and in the gallery the minstrels were playing. The supper had been a prolonged meal; Katharine was continually being astonished at the amount that was eaten in England. At tonight’s feast there had been sucking pigs and capons, peacocks, chickens, mutton and beef, savory pies, deer, fish and wild fowl, all washed down with malmsey, romney and muscadell.
The English smacked their lips and showed their appreciation of the food; even the King’s eyes glistened with pleasure and only those who knew him well guessed that he was calculating how much the feast had cost, and that if the Bishop could afford such lavish entertainment he might be expected to contribute with equal bounty to the ever hungry exchequer.
The Prince sat beside Katharine. He was an elegant boy, for he was fastidious in his ways and his lawn shirt was spotlessly clean as was the fine silk at collar and wristbands; his long gown was trimmed with fur as was his father’s, and his fair hair hung about his face, shining like gold from its recent rainwash.
His skin was milk-white but there was a delicate rose-flush in his cheeks and his blue eyes seemed to have sunk too far into their sockets; but his smile was very sweet and a little shy, and Katharine warmed to him. He was not in the least like his father, nor like her own father. Her mother had once told her of her first meeting with her father and how she had thought him the handsomest man in the world. Katharine would never think that of Arthur; but then before she had seen him Isabella of Castile had determined to marry Ferdinand of Aragon, and she had gone to great pains to avoid all the marriages which others had attempted to thrust upon her.
All marriages could not be like that of Isabella and Ferdinand, and even that marriage had had its dangerous moments. Katharine remembered the conflict for power between those two. She knew that she had brothers and sisters who were her father’s children but not her mother’s.
As she looked at gentle Arthur she was sure that their marriage would be quite different from that of her parents.
Arthur spoke to her in Latin because he had no Spanish and she had no English.
That would soon be remedied, he told her. She should teach him her language; he would teach her his. He thanked her for the letters she had written him and she thanked him for his.
They had been formal little notes, those letters in Latin, written at the instigation of their parents, giving no hint of the reluctance both felt towards their marriage; and now that they had seen each other they felt comforted.
“I long to meet your brother and sisters,” she told him.
“You shall do so ere long.”
“You must be happy to have them with you. All mine have gone away now. Every one of them.”
“I am sorry for the sadness you have suffered.”
She bowed her head.
He went on: “You will grow fond of them. Margaret is full of good sense. She will help you to understand our ways. Mary is little more than a baby—a little pampered, I fear, but charming withal. As for Henry, when you see him you will wish that he had been born my father’s elder son.”
“But why should I wish that?”
“Because you will see how far he excels me in all things and, had he been my father’s elder son, he would have been your husband.”
“He is but a boy, I believe.”
“He is ten years old, but already as tall as I. He is full of vitality and the people’s cheers are all for him. I believe that everyone wishes that he had been my father’s elder son. Whereas now he will doubtless be Archbishop of Canterbury and I shall wear the crown.”
“Would you have preferred to be Archbishop of Canterbury?”
Arthur smiled at her. He felt it would have sounded churlish to have admitted this, for that would mean that he could not marry her. He said rather shyly: “I did wish so; now I believe I have changed my mind.”
Katharine smiled. It was all so much easier than she had believed possible.
Elvira had approached her and was whispering: “The King would like to see some of our Spanish dances. He would like to see you dance. You must do so only with one of your maids of honor.”
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