He lay between sleeping and waking, wondering about that woman, and in the morning he knew, before his doctors told him, that his fever had abated a little.

He refused their medicines and lay contemplating this strange situation until midnight, when the old woman came to him again. She had brought oils with her and these she rubbed into his body. She gave him more herbal drinks and she left him, promising to come again the next night.

Before the fourth night he knew that the cure was working. And sure enough, as she had said, on the eighth day after he had first seen her his fever had completely disappeared; and the good news was sent to Isabella that her Archbishop was on the way to recovery.

Ximenes was able to wander through the enchanting little courtyards of the Generalife. The sun warmed his bones and he remembered the wise woman’s instructions that he should take nourishing food.

Often he expected to be confronted by her, demanding some payment for her services. But she did not come.

It was God’s miracle, he told himself eventually. Perhaps she was a heavenly visitor who came in Moorish guise. Should I soften my attitude towards these Infidels because one of them has cured me? What a way of repaying God for His miracle!

Ximenes told himself that this was a test. His life had been saved, but he must show God that his life meant little to him compared with the great work of making an all-Christian Spain.

So when he was well he continued as harsh as ever towards the fellow countrymen of that woman who had saved his life; and as soon as he felt the full return of his vigour he resumed the hair shirt, the starvation diet and the wooden pillow.

 Chapter XV 

THE RETURN OF JUANA

At last Philip and Juana were on their way to Spain.

When Ferdinand received a letter from Philip he came raging into Isabella’s apartments.

‘They have begun the journey,’ he said.

‘Then that should be cause for rejoicing,’ she answered him.

‘They are travelling through France.’

‘But they cannot do that.’

‘They can and they are doing it. Has this young coxcomb no notion of the delicate relationship between ourselves and France? At this present time this might give rise to … I know not what.’

‘And Charles?’

‘Charles! They are not bringing him. He is too young.’ Ferdinand laughed sharply. ‘You see what this means? They are not going to have him brought up as a Spaniard. They are going to make a Fleming of him. But to go through France! And the suggestion is that there might be a betrothal of Charles and Louis’s infant daughter, the Princess Claude.’

‘They would not make such a match without our consent.’

Ferdinand clenched his fists in anger. ‘I see trouble ahead. I fear these Habsburg alliances are not what I hoped for.’

Isabella answered: ‘Still, we shall see our daughter. I long for that. I feel sure that when we talk together I shall know that all the anxiety she has caused us has been because she has obeyed her husband.’

‘I shall make it my task to put this young Philip in his place,’ growled Ferdinand.

After that Isabella eagerly awaited news of her daughter’s progress. There were letters and dispatches describing the fetes and banquets with which the King of France was entertaining them.

At Blois there had been a very special celebration. Here Philip had confirmed the Treaty of Trent between his father, the Emperor Maximilian, and the King of France; one of the clauses of this treaty was to the effect that the King’s eldest daughter, Claude, should be affianced to young Charles.

It was a direct insult to Spain, Ferdinand grumbled. Had Philip forgotten that Charles was the heir of Spain? How dared he make a match for the heir of Spain without even consulting the Spanish Sovereigns!

The journey through France was evidently so enjoyable that Philip and Juana seemed in no hurry to curtail it.

Ferdinand suspected that the sly Louis was detaining them purposely to slight him and Isabella. Trouble was brewing between France and Spain over the partition of Naples, and both monarchs were expecting conflict to break out in the near future. So Louis amused himself by detaining Ferdinand’s daughter and his son-in-law in France, and binding them to him by this Treaty of Trent and the proposed marriage of Charles and Claude.

But by the end of March news came that Philip and Juana with their train were approaching the Spanish border.

Soon I shall see my Juana, Isabella assured herself. Soon she would be able to test for herself how far advanced was this wildness of her daughter.

As Isabella was preparing to go to Toledo, where she would meet Juana, there was news from England, disquieting news.

Catalina had written often to her mother and, although there had been no complaints, Isabella knew her daughter well enough to understand her deep longing for home. Etiquette would forbid her to compare her new country with that of her birth, or to mention her unhappiness, but Isabella knew how Catalina felt.

Arthur, Catalina’s young husband, it seemed, was kind and gentle. So all would be well in time. In one year, Isabella assured herself, or perhaps in two, Spain will seem remote to her and she will begin to think of England as her home.

Then came this news which so disturbed her that she forgot even the perpetual anxiety of wondering what Juana would be like.

Catalina had travelled with her young husband to Ludlow, from which town they were to govern the Principality of Wales. They were to set up a Court there which was to be modelled on that of Westminster. Isabella had been pleased to picture her sixteen-year-old daughter and the fifteen-year-old husband ruling over such a Court. It would be good practice for them, she had said to Ferdinand, against that day when they would rule over England.

Catalina had written an account of the journey from London to Ludlow; how she had ridden pillion behind her Master of Horse, and when she was tired of this mode of travelling had been carried in a litter. She had been delighted by the town of Ludlow; and the people, she wrote, seemed to have taken her to their hearts, for they cheered her and Arthur whenever she and he appeared among them.

‘My little Catalina,’ Isabella murmured, ‘a bride of six months only!’

She wondered whether the marriage had yet been consummated or whether the King of England considered his son as yet too young. It would have been more suitable if Arthur had been a year older than Catalina instead of a year younger.

Ferdinand was with her when the news arrived. She read the dispatch, and the words danced before her eyes.

‘Prince Arthur became stricken by a plague before he had been long in Ludlow. He fell into a rapid decline and, alas, the Infanta of Spain is now a widow.’

A widow! Catalina! Why, she was scarcely a wife.

Ferdinand’s face had grown pale. ‘But this is the Devil’s own luck!’ he cried. ‘God in Heaven, are all our marriage plans for our children to come to nothing!’

Isabella tried to dismiss a certain exultation which had come to her. Catalina a widow! That meant that she could come home. She could be returned to her mother as her eldest sister, Isabella of Portugal, had been.

Into Toledo rode Isabella and Ferdinand, there to await the arrival of Juana and Philip. The bells of the city were chiming; the people were crowding into the streets; they were ready to welcome not only their Sovereigns but their Sovereigns’ heir.