Daughters of Spain - Plaidy Jean - Страница 20

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Isabella the Queen took the daughter of Maximilian in her arms and embraced her.

There were tears in Isabella’s eyes. The girl was charming; she was healthy; and it seemed to her that Juan was already very happy with his bride.

Ferdinand looked on, his eyes agleam. It was very pleasant to be able to share in the general delight.

‘We welcome you to Burgos,’ said the Queen. ‘I could not express how eager we have been for your coming.’

‘I am happy to be here, Your Highness.’

The girl’s smile was perhaps too warm, too friendly.

I must remember, the Queen told herself, that she has lived long in Flanders and the Flemish have little sense of decorum.

The Princesses Isabella, Maria and Catalina came forward and formally welcomed Margaret.

They thought her strange with her Flemish clothes, her fresh complexion and her familiar manners; but they liked her. Even Maria seemed to grow a little animated as she watched her. As for Catalina, she took great courage from this girl, who seemed quite unperturbed that she had come to a land of strangers to marry a man whom she had only recently met.

A banquet had been prepared, and Juan and his bride sat with the King and Queen; and they talked of the jousting and festivities which had been arranged to celebrate the marriage.

‘It is a pity that it is Lent,’ said the Queen. ‘But as soon as it is over the nuptials shall be solemnised. We think that the third of April shall be the day of the wedding.’

Catalina looked quickly at the face of the Flemish Archduchess; she was relieved to see that the mention of a date for her wedding did not seem to disturb her.

It was the most magnificent spectacle seen in Spain for many years.

This was, after all, the wedding of the heir to the throne. It seemed more than the celebration of a wedding. Spain had never seemed to hold out such hopes of a prosperous future for her people. The prospects for peace were brighter than they had been for many years. No more taxes to pay for useless battles! No more forcing men from their peaceful labours to fight in the armies! Peace meant prosperity – and it seemed that here it was at last.

The charming young bridegroom would be the first heir of the whole of Spain, and the people had come to realise that a united Spain was happier to live in than a country divided into kingdoms which were continually warring with each other.

Even the frugal Isabella was determined that this marriage of her only son should be an occasion which all should remember, and she was therefore ready to spend a great deal of money in making it so.

All over the country there were tourneys and fetes. Towns were gaily decorated throughout the land. Across the narrow streets in the smallest villages banners hung.

‘Long life to the heir!’ cried the people. ‘Blessings on the Prince of the Asturias and his bride!’

The marriage was celebrated with the greatest dignity and ceremony. The Archbishop of Toledo performed it, and with him were the grandees of Castile and the nobility of Aragon. It was a sight of great magnificence and splendour.

And as Margaret made her vows once more she compared her bridegroom with that boy of twelve to whom she had been betrothed in a farmhouse near the chateau of Amboise, and again she rejoiced in her good fortune.

Juan had dreaded the moment when they would be alone together. He had imagined the terrors of a young girl who might not fully understand what would be required of her, and himself explaining as gently as he could; he had not relished the task.

When they lay in the marriage bed it was Margaret who spoke first.

‘Juan,’ she said, ‘you are afraid of me.’

‘I am afraid that I might distress you,’ he answered.

‘No,’ she told him. ‘I shall not be distressed.’

‘Are you never distressed, Margaret?’

‘Not by that which must be.’

Juan lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘As you say, what must be, must be.’

Then she laughed suddenly and, pulling her hand away from him, she put her arms about him.

‘I am so glad that you are as you are, Juan,’ she said. ‘I am sure nothing you do could possibly distress me. When I think that it might have been Charles lying beside me at this moment …’ She shivered.

‘Charles? The King of France?’

‘He has thick lips, and he grunts. He is not unkind but he would be coarse and … he would never understand me.’

‘I hope to understand you, Margaret.’

‘Call me Margot,’ she said. ‘It is my special name … the name I like those whom I love to call me by.’

‘Do you love me then, Margot?’

‘I think so, Juan. I think I must, because … I am not afraid.’

And so the difficulty was soon over, and that which had alarmed them became a pleasure. She taught him to laugh in her gay Flemish way, and he found himself fascinated by her familiar talk which might have seemed coarse on some lips, never on hers.

‘Oh Juan,’ she cried, ‘I thought my bones would now be lying on the sea bed and the big fishes would have eaten my flesh, and the little ones sport about my skeleton and swim in and out of the sockets of my eyes.’

‘Don’t say such things,’ he said, kissing her eyes.

‘I said, “Here lies Margot. She was twice married but she died a virgin.”’ Then she began to laugh afresh. ‘That can never be my epitaph now, Juan. For here lies Margot … beside you … but she is no longer a virgin … and she is not displeased.’

So they made love again, without fear or shame.

And in the morning Juan said: ‘We have given our parents what they wanted.’

Margaret interrupted: ‘The crown of Spain.’

Juan chanted: ‘The Habsburg inheritance.’

Then they laughed and began to kiss in a sudden frenzy of passion. Margaret drew herself away from him and kneeling on the bed bowed her head as though before the thrones of the King and Queen.

‘We thank Your Gracious Majesties. You may keep the crown of Spain …’

‘And the Habsburg inheritance …’ added Juan.

‘Because …’ began Margaret, smiling at him.

‘Because,’ added Juan, ‘you gave us each other.’

The wedding celebrations continued. The most popular person in the whole of Spain was the young Prince Juan. It was said of him that since the coming of Margaret he looked more like a man than an angel, but his sweetness of expression had not grown less. His bride was clearly a happy girl. It was small wonder that wherever they went there was rejoicing.

The Queen discussed with her husband her pleasure in this marriage.

‘You see,’ said Ferdinand, ‘how well it has turned out. This was a marriage of my making. You will admit that I knew what I was about.’

‘You have acted with the utmost wisdom,’ Isabella agreed. ‘You have given our Juan a share in the Habsburg inheritance – and happiness.’

‘Who would not be happy with a share in the Habsburg inheritance?’ demanded Ferdinand.

Isabella’s face was anxious. ‘I do not like these rumours I hear about Juana. She is so far from home …’

‘Nonsense! All will be well. She will adjust herself. The Flemings have different manners from our own. I have heard that she is passionately attached to her husband.’

‘Too passionately attached.’

‘My dear Isabella, can a wife love her husband too much?’

‘If he is not kind to her it would be easier for her to bear if she did not love him dearly.’

‘Strange words on your lips! You seem to imply it is a virtue that a wife should not love her husband dearly.’

‘You misunderstand me.’

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