Then it seemed that the madness was with her once more.

* * *

THEY CARRIED HER to her apartment from which all light was shut out. She was exhausted, for she would neither sleep nor eat. It was only because she was weak that they were able to remove her from the coffin. For several days she sat in her darkened room, refusing all food; she did not take off her clothes; she spoke to no one.

“Assuredly,” said all those of her household, “her sanity has left her.”

While she remained thus shut away, the coffin was taken from the hall of the Palace of Burgos to the Cartuja de Miraflores and, when she heard that this had been done, she hurriedly left her darkened room.

Now she was the Queen again, preparing to follow the coffin with all speed, giving orders that mourning should be made and that this was to resemble the garb of a nun, because she would be remote for ever from the world which did not contain her Philip.

When she arrived at the church she found that the coffin had already been placed in a vault, and she ordered that it should immediately be brought out.

She would have no disobedience. She reminded all that she was the Queen of Castile and expected obedience. So the coffin was brought from the vault.

Then she cried: “Remove the cerecloths from the feet and the head. I would see him again.”

And when this was done, she kissed those dead lips again and again and held the feet against her breast.

“Highness,” whispered one of her women, “you torture yourself.”

“What is there for me but torture when he is no longer with me?” she asked. “I would rather have him thus than not at all.”

And she would not leave the corpse of her husband, but stayed there, kissing and fondling him, as she had longed to during his life.

She would only leave after she had given strict orders that the coffin should not be closed. She would come again the next day and the next, and for as long as the coffin remained in this place she would come to kiss her husband and hold his dead body in her arms.

And so she did. Arriving each day from the Palace of Burgos, there she would remain by the coffin, alternately staring at that dead figure in the utmost melancholy, and seizing it in her arms in a frantic passion.

“It is true,” said those who watched her. “She is mad…. This has proved it.”

Katharine, The Ambassadress

AFTER HER MEETING WITH JUANA, KATHARINE REALIZED that she could hope for no help from her own people. Her father was immersed in his own affairs, and indeed was far less able to help her by sending the remainder of her dowry than he had been when her mother was alive. As for Juana, she had no thought of anything but her own tragic obsession with her husband.

That month had arrived during which, Katharine believed, she would know what her fate in England was to be.

Her maids of honor chatted together about that important day, the twenty-ninth; she listened to them and did not reprove them. She knew they would talk in secret if not before her.

“He will be fifteen on the twenty-ninth.”

“It is the very month, this very year.”

“Then we shall see.”

“When they are married it will make all the difference to our state. Oh, would it not be wonderful to have a new gown again!”

Katharine broke in on their conversation. “You are foolish to hope,” she said. “The Prince was betrothed to me, but that was long ago. Do you not realize that if we were to be married we should have heard of it long ere this? There would surely be great preparations for the marriage of the Prince of Wales.”

“It may be that the marriage will be announced,” said Francesca. “Mayhap they are saving the announcement, that it may be made on his fifteenth birthday.”

Katharine shook her head. “Does the King of England treat me as his future daughter-in-law?”

“No, but after the announcement he might.”

“You are living in dreams,” said Katharine.

She looked at those faces which had been so bright and were now often clouded by frustration and disappointment.

She knew that the betrothal of herself and Henry would be forgotten, as so many similar betrothals had been, and that his fifteenth birthday would pass without any reference to the marriage which was to have taken place on that day.

Katharine caught the despair of her maids in waiting, and she sent for Dr. de Puebla.

The doctor arrived, and the sight of him made her shudder with disgust. He looked so shabby; he seemed to wear a perpetually deprecating expression, which was probably due to the fact that he was continually apologizing to Henry for Ferdinand, and to Katharine for his inability to improve her lot. He was infirm nowadays and almost crippled; he could not walk or ride the distance from his humble lodgings in the Strand to the Court, so travelled in a litter. He was in constant pain from the gout and, since he had received no money from Ferdinand for a very long time, he was obliged to live on the little which came in from his legal business. This was not much, for Englishmen were not eager to consult a Spaniard and he had to rely on Spaniards in England. He dined out when he could and, when he could not, he did so as cheaply as possible; and he was a great deal shabbier than Katharine and her maids of honor.

He was unfortunate inasmuch as he irritated Katharine; she was by nature serene and compassionate, but the little Jew, perhaps because he was her father’s ambassador in a Court where she needed great help, exasperated her almost beyond endurance and she began to feel—wrongly—that, if only she had a man more worthy to represent her father and to work for her, her position would not be so deplorable as it was and had been for most of her stay in England.

“Dr. de Puebla,” said Katharine, as he shuffled towards her and kissed her hand, “have you realized that the fifteenth birthday of the Prince of Wales has now come and gone and there has been no mention of the marriage which was once proposed between us?”

“I fear I did not expect there would be, Highness.”

“What have you done about this matter?”

Puebla spread his hands in a well-remembered gesture. “Highness, there is nothing I can do.”

“Nothing! Are you not here to look after the interests of my father, and are they not mine?”

“Highness, if I could persuade the King of England to this marriage do not doubt that I should do so.”

Katharine turned away because such bitter words rose to her lips, and the sight of the sick little man made her feel ashamed of her anger towards him.

“Is nothing ever going to happen?” she demanded. “How do you think I live?”

“Highness, it is hard for you. It is hard for me. Believe me, I am well acquainted with poverty.”

“It goes on and on and on,” she cried. “There is no way out. If I could return to Spain…”

She stopped. In that moment she had made a discovery. She did not want to return to Spain, because all that she had wished to return to was no more. She had longed for her mother, but Spain no longer contained Isabella. Did she want to be with her father? There had never been any great tenderness between them, because his affection for his children had always been overlaid with hopes of what they could bring him. Maria was in Portugal. Juana had grown strange. Did she want to go to Spain then to be with Juana and her husband, to see their tempestuous relationship, did she want to see that handsome philanderer gradually driving her sister over the edge of sanity?

Spain had nothing for her. What had England? Nothing apart from the dazzling prospect of marriage with the Prince of Wales.

Katharine realized in that moment that she must marry the Prince or remain all her life an outcast from Spain, the unwanted stranger in a foreign land.

She needed brilliant diplomacy to bring about the marriage, and all she had was this shabby, gouty Jew.