Daughters of Spain - Plaidy Jean (онлайн книга без TXT) 📗

Holy Mother of God, thought the Princess, what can this mean? She is suffering for me. Is it a husband that I shall be forced to take? Is that why she is so sorry for me?

The Queen put the Princess from her and composed her features.

‘My dearest,’ she said, ‘you do not look as well as I would wish. How is your cough?’

‘I cough now and then, Highness, as I always have.’

‘Isabella, my child, now that we are alone together, let us throw aside all ceremony. Call me Mother. I love to hear the word on your lips.’

The Princess began: ‘Oh, my Mother …’ and then she was sobbing in the Queen’s arms.

‘There, my precious child,’ murmured Isabella. ‘You still think of him then? Is it that?’

‘I was so happy … happy. Mother, can you understand? I was so frightened at first, and when I found that … we loved … it was all so wonderful. We planned to live like that for the rest of our lives …’

The Queen did not speak; she went on stroking her daughter’s hair.

‘It was cruel … so cruel. He was so young. And when we went out into the forest that day it was like any other day. He was with me but ten minutes before it happened … laughing … with me. And then there he was …’

‘It was God’s will,’ said the Queen gently.

‘God’s will? To break a young body like that! Wantonly to take one so young, so full of life and love!’

The Queen’s face set into stern lines. ‘Your grief has unnerved you, my child. You forget your duty to God. If it is His wish to make us suffer we must accept suffering gladly.’

‘Gladly! I will never accept it gladly.’

The Queen hastily crossed herself, while her lips moved in prayer. Isabella thought: She is praying that I may be forgiven my wicked outburst. However much she suffered she would never give way to her feelings as I have done.

She was immediately contrite. ‘Oh, Mother, forgive me. I know not what I say. It is like that sometimes. The memories come back and then I fear …’

‘You must pray, my darling, for greater control. It is not God’s wish that you should shut yourself away from the world as you do.’

‘It is not my father’s wish, you mean?’ demanded Isabella.

‘Neither the wish of your heavenly nor your earthly father,’ murmured the Queen soothingly.

‘I would to God I could go into a convent. My life finished when his did.’

‘You are questioning the will of God. Had He wished you to end your life He would have taken you with your husband. This is your cross, my darling; think of Him and carry it as willingly as He carried His.’

‘He had only to die. I have to live.’

‘My dearest, have a care. I will double my prayers for you this night and every night. I fear your sufferings have affected your mind. But in time you will forget.’

‘It is four years since it happened, Mother. I have not forgotten yet.’

‘Four years! It seems long to you because you are young. To me it is like yesterday.’

‘To me it will always be as though his death happened yesterday.’

‘You must fight against such morbid thoughts, my darling. It is a sin to nurse a grief. I sent for you because I have news for you. Your father-in-law has died and there is a new King of Portugal.’

‘Alonso would have been King had he lived … and I his Queen.’

‘But he did not live, yet you could still be Queen of Portugal.’

‘Emanuel …’

‘My dear daughter, he renews his offer to you. Now that he has come to the throne he does not forget you. He is determined to have no wife but you.’

Emanuel! She remembered him well. Kindly, intelligent, he was more given to study than his gay young cousin Alonso had been; but she had known that he envied Alonso his bride. And now he was asking for her hand once more.

‘I would rather go into a nunnery.’

‘We might all feel tempted to do that which seems easier to us than our duty.’

‘Mother, you are not commanding me to marry Emanuel?’

‘You married once, by the command of your father and myself. I would not command you again; but I would have you consider your duty to your family … to Spain.’

Isabella clenched her hands tightly together. ‘Do you realise what you are asking of me? To go to Lisbon as I did for Alonso … and then to find Emanuel waiting for me and Alonso … dead.’

‘My child, pray for courage.’

‘I pray each day, Mother,’ she answered slowly. ‘But I cannot go back to Portugal. I can never be anything but Alonso’s widow as long as I live.’

The Queen sighed as she drew her daughter down to sit beside her; she put an arm about her and as she rested her face against her hair she was thinking: In time she will be persuaded to go to Portugal and marry Emanuel. We must all do our duty; and though we rebel for a while it avails us little.

Ferdinand looked up as the Queen entered. He smiled at her and his expression was slightly sardonic. It amused him that the Franciscan monk who, in his opinion so foolishly, had been offered the Archbishopric of Toledo, should merely have fled at the sight of his title in the Pope’s handwriting. This should teach Isabella to think before bestowing great titles on the unworthy. The fellow was uncouth. A pleasant prospect! The Primate of Spain a monk who was more at home in a hermit’s hut than a royal Palace. Whereas his dear Alfonso – so handsome, so dashing – what a Primate he would have made! And if he were unsure at any time, his father would have been at hand to help him.

Ferdinand could never look at his son Alfonso without remembering voluptuous nights spent with his mother. What a woman! And her son was worthy of her.

Fond as he was of young Juan he almost wished that Alfonso was his legitimate son. There was an air of delicacy about Juan, whereas Alfonso was all virility. Ferdinand could be sure that this bastard of his knew how to make the most of his youth, even as his father had done.

It was maddening to think that he could not give him Toledo. What a gift that would have been from father to son.

Still, he did not despair. Isabella might admit her folly now that the monk had run away.

‘I have spoken to Isabella,’ said the Queen.

‘I hope she realises her great good fortune.’

‘She does not call it such, Ferdinand.’

‘What! Here’s Emanuel ready to do a great deal for her.’

‘Poor child; can you expect her to enjoy returning to the place where she has once been so happy?’

‘She’ll be happy there again.’

Isabella studied her husband quizzically. Ferdinand would be happy were he in his daughter’s place. Such a marriage would mean to him a kingdom. He could not see that it made much difference that the bridegroom would be Emanuel instead of Alonso.

The Queen stifled the sorrow which such a thought roused. It was not for her to feel regrets; she was entirely satisfied with her fate.

‘You made our wishes known to her, I hope?’ went on Ferdinand.

‘I could not command her, Ferdinand. The wound has not yet healed.’

Ferdinand sat down at the polished wood table and beat his fist on it. ‘I understand not such talk,’ he said. ‘The alliance with Portugal is necessary for Spain. Emanuel wants it. It can bring us great good.’

‘Give her a little time,’ murmured Isabella; but in such a way that Ferdinand knew that, whatever he wished, their daughter would be given a little time.

He sighed. ‘We are fortunate in our children, Isabella,’ he said. ‘Through them we shall accomplish greatness for Spain. I would we had many more. Ah, if we could have been together more during those early years of our marriage …’

‘Doubtless you would have had more legitimate sons and daughters,’ agreed Isabella.

Ferdinand smiled slyly, but this was not the moment to bring up the matter of Alfonso and the Archbishopric of Toledo.

Instead he said: ‘Maximilian is interested in my proposals.’