Soon it came out. “I am to leave for Richmond at the end of the week.”
“Oh . . . but you love Richmond.”
“I love Richmond, but not when there is all this entertainment going on at Windsor. The Archduke will be here and there will be balls and banquets and all sorts of exciting things going on and I shall not be here to enjoy them.” She looked quickly at Katharine. “And,” she added, “nor will you.”
Katharine looked at her in amazement.
“Because,” went on Mary, “you are to come with me. We are to leave together . . . for Richmond.”
“But who has said this?”
“It is my father’s wish that we should go.”
“But . . . my sister will be coming . . .”
“I know. But we are to go. Perhaps your sister will come to Richmond to see you.”
“She will come here . . . and I shall not be here to see her. Oh, it is so unfair. Why is everything done to hurt me?”
Mary came to Katharine and put her arm round her.
“I don’t want to go to Richmond either,” she said.
Katharine looked at the beautiful little pouting face. No, Mary did not want to miss the balls and banquets. But I shall not see my sister, thought Katharine.
Then a horrible suspicion came to her that it had been planned because the King did not wish her to see her sister. He would know how bitterly she would complain. Had she not on many occasions brought her sorry condition to his ears? Not that he had listened.
Oh, life was cruel. It could not be that now she was going to be denied a meeting with Juana.
A few days passed in the most lavish revelry and still Juana did not come. Philip’s servants had certainly respected his wishes that Juana’s journey to join him should be a very slow one. She did not arrive until the day before Katharine and Mary were to leave for Richmond.
Fortune is a little on my side at last, thought Katharine. At least I shall see her.
With great joy she greeted her sister.
They looked at each other for some time in astonishment. They had both changed a good deal since they had last met. Katharine noticed the wildness in Juana’s eyes. She had seen it before but now it was more marked. Her sister had aged considerably. Of course she would change; she had been a young girl when she had left home to marry Philip.
Juana saw a new Katharine too. Was this Catalina, the rather quiet little sister who had always been so terrified of the future which would take her away from her mother’s side? Poor sad little widow! She really did look as though she were in mourning.
“We must be together . . . we must talk,” said Katharine. “There is so much I have to say to you. You will be going to Castile.”
“Yes,” said Juana. “We are going to claim the crown which is now mine.”
“You are Queen of Castile, Juana, as our mother was. It is hard to imagine anyone in her place.”
“Our father has replaced her in his bed,” said Juana with a laugh. “They say his new wife is young and beautiful and he is rather a doting husband.”
Katharine shivered.
“I wish him joy of her,” cried Juana. “I have the crown. He cannot take that.”
“Juana, when you see our father I want you to speak to him for me.”
“What think you of Philip?” said Juana. “Did you ever see a man so handsome?”
“He is certainly very good-looking. You see, Juana, I have no state here. They say I am to marry the Prince of Wales. We have gone through a ceremony . . . but shall I? What does our father say of this matter?”
“He has said nothing as far as I know.”
“But . . . I am his daughter.”
“I think he is not pleased that I have the crown. He always wanted it, you know. He married our mother for it. But I have it now . . . and I have Philip. Philip loves me . . . because I have the crown of Castile.” She caught Katharine’s arm and held it tightly. “If I did not have the crown of Castile he would cast me off tomorrow.”
“Oh no. . . .”
“Yes, yes,” cried Juana. The wildness in her eyes was very evident. “Oh he is so beautiful, Katharine. He is the most beautiful creature on Earth. You have no idea. What have you known of men such as he is? Your Arthur . . . what sort of man was he?”
“He was good and kind,” said Katharine quickly; she was becoming alarmed by this wildness in Juana. She always had been. When they were in the royal nurseries in their childhood their mother would come when the attacks started. She was always able to soothe Juana.
“I am not to be lightly set aside,” said Juana. Then she began to tell Katharine how she had cut off Philip’s mistress’s golden hair. She began laughing immoderately. “I shaved her head. You should have seen her when we had finished with her. We bound her hand and foot. Her shrieks were such as would have led anyone to believe we were cutting off her head instead of her hair. She looked so odd . . . when we’d finished. We shaved it all off. Oh, it was so funny. . . .”
“Juana, Juana, do not laugh so loudly. Juana, be calm. I want to talk to you. I want you to speak to our father . . . I want him to know how I live here. I cannot go on like this . . . He must do something. Help me, Juana. Help me.”
A dreamy expression had come into Juana’s eyes. “He will not escape me,” she said. “He cannot, can he? Not while I have the crown of Castile. He threatened me. Oh little Catalina, you have no idea . . . he would put me away . . . if he could. He will try to . . . but I won’t let him. I am the Queen of Castile. I . . . I . . . I . . .”
Katharine closed her eyes; she did not want to look at her sister. She knew that it was hopeless to look for help from her. Perhaps it was as well that the next day she would be leaving for Richmond.
The King was relieved to see Katharine depart. He did not think there was much danger to be expected from her but he was a cacutious man and he did not take risks. Philip was clearly not inclined to listen to her complaints and as for her sister she was not in a state to. Still it was as well not to have her at Court. She was an embarrassment in any case; and her clothes were decidedly shabby. He did not want unpleasant questions raised.
There were other things to discuss. He did not see why Philip should not make some definite matrimonial arrangements for him before he left. Philip had a rich sister Margaret. Her name had been mentioned before but there had been the usual prevarications. Then there was another matter. Even more important. He would not really feel at ease until Edmund de la Pole was safe in the Tower. It was alarming to have him wandering about on the Continent. One could never be sure who would rally to his cause if he attempted to get back and claim the throne.
A heaven-sent opportunity had brought Philip to these shores. He would not have been Henry Tudor if he had not made the most of that good fortune.
First of all he must make Philip his friend. Young, good-looking, susceptible to flattery, it should not be difficult. Young Henry was very useful. The two of them went hawking and hunting the wild boar together; they seemed to understand each other very well. The Prince of Wales had grown up in the last few months. Fifteen this year. A little young for marriage perhaps, but it might be that he and Philip could discuss the boy’s marriage. After all Philip was not on the best of terms with Ferdinand even though he was his father-in-law; and he certainly showed no sympathy for Katharine. There were numerous possibilities and the King decided to try them all.
First he was going to bestow on the Archduke the greatest honor he possibly could. He was going to create him a Knight of the Garter.
Philip was enchanted, and ready to discuss all that Henry wished and proved himself to be very ready to concede the King’s requests.
He would be delighted, he said, for Henry to have his sister Margaret Archduchess of Savoy and he believed she would be overjoyed to come to England.
“I am sure that Maximilian would never allow his daughter to come without a dowry.”
“My father would insist on giving her a dowry worthy of her rank.”
Henry’s eyes gleamed. He could not resist tentatively suggesting a figure.
“Somewhere in the region of thirty thousand crowns,” he murmured.
Philip did not flinch. It seemed to him a likely figure, he said.
Oh yes, surely such a guest was worthy of the Garter.
In St. George’s Chapel the ceremony took place and young Henry had the honor of fastening the insignia about Philip’s leg; and the friendship was sealed more firmly when the marriage contract between Henry and the Archduchess Margaret was signed.
It had indeed been a memorable visit.
But there was one question which Philip evaded; and that was the return of the Earl of Suffolk.
It was a matter he would have to discuss with the Emperor, he said.
“Oh my lord,” laughed Henry, “it is you who would have the last word, eh?”
Philip hated to admit that this was not so.
“It is for you to say,” went on Henry. “We know that your word is law. Suffolk is a traitor. I would have him here under lock and key.”
Philip appeared to consider and a vague look came into his eyes. At length, he said lightly, “I have no doubt, my lord, that you could persuade Suffolk to return.”
“I’ll swear he would wish to come back. To be exiled from one’s country . . . unable to return . . .” Henry paused significantly. “Well, you are here now . . . held by the bonds of friendship and you can well imagine how you would feel if for some reason you could not return to your country.”
Philip was alert immediately. He had long realized that Henry was a sly old fox. Was there a hint behind that bland expression? What did all this friendship mean? Philip had never had any great illusions about it. He had been delighted by his reception because he had known that it meant Henry regarded him as a great power in Europe. But he could change. Philip saw himself held here for ransom. How much would his father be prepared to pay to rescue him? A great deal no doubt, and Henry had a reputation for loving money more than he loved most things.
Philip appeared to consider. He said slowly: “Well, I have no doubt that something could be done about that. Suffolk was my father’s guest. He found it hard to refuse him refuge . . . but I have no doubt whatsoever . . .”
“It would be pleasant to have this little matter settled once and for all. I always did abhor a traitor.”
Which, thought Philip, is exactly what King Richard would have called you.
But that was long ago. Henry had the power to hold him here and Philip was counting on leaving England very soon. His ships were made ready. The pleasant interlude was coming to an end and now the Tudor was beginning to show himself other than the kindly host.
What did Suffolk matter? Let him take his chance. Philip could feel cold with fear at the prospect of being a prisoner here.
He had given way to the marriage, although he could imagine his sister would probably refuse her aging suitor. What did that matter; he had said he would arrange the settlement. He could do no more than that. And now Suffolk.
“I’ll swear,” he said, “that if you would promise to spare his life he would not try to escape when we told him he was no longer welcome.”
Henry smiled. He did not wish publicly to execute Suffolk. He wanted the man here in England under lock and key. To have him a prisoner in the Tower would do very well to begin with.
“I’ll strike a bargain,” said Henry. “I will promise to spare his life. But I want him here.”
“I am sure that could be arranged,” said Philip.
“My good friend, I knew I could rely on you.”
Philip said the friendship must grow stronger between them and he was happy to say that he and the Prince of Wales had been on the best of terms from the very beginning of their acquaintance. It would grieve him greatly to leave these friendly shores but Henry would understand a man in his position could not neglect his duty however strong the temptation to do so.
With the coming of the better weather Philip made his preparations to depart; Henry had given him a written promise that Suffolk’s life should be spared, and Philip sent emissaries on ahead to deal with the matter.
At the end of March Suffolk returned to England and Henry had him paraded through the streets of London on his way to the Tower. He wanted to impress on the people that it was folly to attempt to revolt against a strong king.
When Suffolk was safe in the Tower he sent for the Prince of Wales and talked to him alone.
“Another enemy safe under lock and key,” he said, “or as safe as lock and key can be.”
“Only when a man has lost his head can he cease to be a menace,” said young Henry, his lips tightly pursed. He was always deeply concerned about anyone who had attempted to take the crown.
“I have given my promise that he shall live,” said the King. “Philip insisted.”
“I suppose he had promised safe conduct to Suffolk.”
Henry was simple in a way, thought the King. He was unaware as yet of the deviousness of men. He had set Philip up as a hero and that meant that he could not suspect him of acting dishonorably in any way. It was a pleasant trait in some respects and he would learn and grow out of it. At the moment it was endearing and perhaps should be allowed to persist . . . for a while. Let the boy learn his own bitter lessons.
“I gave him my promise,” said the King. “My promise . . . but you have made no promises.”
The Prince was a little puzzled. The King hated to refer to his own death but there were times when it was necessary and when it must be impressed on young Henry that one day he would take over the reins of government.
“It is never wise to leave those living who imagine they have a claim to the throne—especially when they are related to a royal house as Suffolk is.”
“You mean . . .”
“I have given my promise. You have not given yours. . . . If it should be a matter for you to decide . . . Henry, my son, try to rid yourself of any who can make a nuisance of themselves and so obstruct the path to good government.”
Henry nodded slowly. What his father was saying was: when I am dead and you are King get rid of Suffolk . . . and anyone who through royal blood thinks he or she has a claim to the thone.
The End of a Reign
ife had returned to normal for Katharine. The hopes which had arisen with the visit of Philip and Juana to England had come to nothing. The only consolation was that prevailing conditions could not last much longer. The Prince of Wales was now fifteen—an age when he could be expected to marry. If he married someone else what would she do? What could she do? She imagined that all that would be left to her would be to go into a convent and give herself up to prayer and meditation.
Devout as she was, she did not want that. She wanted children, a happy married life, and she knew that her only hope was the Prince of Wales.
Whenever she saw him he was aware of her; he smiled at her possessively but she fancied there was that in his eyes which demanded gratitude. She was grateful, for she knew that by being kind to her he went against his father’s wishes; but common sense told her that even the Prince of Wales must know that he would marry her only if some other irresistible project did not turn up. She had heard it whispered that Eleanor of Castile was being suggested for him.
