Falling Pomegranate Seeds: The Duty of Daughters (The Katherine of Aragon Story Book 1) (7 page)

When he returned to the battle-front or vanished to his kingdom of Aragon or to the distraction of a new mistress – Beatriz thanking God for it, even knowing it caused the queen great pain – it took weeks of the queen’s tender nurturing to stop Juana from jumping at shadows, biting her nails to the quick, screaming in the black of night. Beatriz pitied the girl. The infanta craved her father’s love, his approval, but all he gave her was pain.

Despite the closeness of Princess Isabel’s wedding, this time was no different. The king refused to allow the queen to buffer Juana from his anger. First whipping Juana, he then locked her in her chamber for two days. When the infanta returned to her sisters’ side, she was a frightened waif who recoiled at her father’s every glance.

A strong attack is half the battle
won
~ Castilian proverb

T
wo weeks before Isabel’s marriage, Beatriz brought Catalina and Maria to watch another tournament and noticed the queen fixing her attention on a tall man standing amongst the group of men gathered behind the king. The queen beckoned to Catalina. Approaching her mother, she dipped a curtsey, her eyes alight with curiosity.

Queen Isabel took her daughter’s arm. “There’s an English lord you should meet.” The queen turned again to her husband and his companions, catching the gaze of the more plainly garbed man with the king’s grandees. She gestured to him. “Pray, come, my good Lord Darcy.”

The Englishman, squinting against the bright sunlight, walked towards Queen Isabel. His hood slipped back. To her surprise, Beatriz saw a handsome youth rather than a mature man. His sky blue eyes shone brightly, perchance brighter because the sun had tanned his skin to a dark golden honey. Streaked almost white by the sun, his blunt mane of silver-blonde hair, cut far shorter than the long French style favoured by the grandees, framed an oval face. He bowed low. “Your Highness, gracious and noble queen, you greatly honour me by your notice.”

Queen Isabel proffered her be-ringed hand for his kiss, a slight smile teasing at her lips. She held out her free hand to Catalina. “My good lord, pray indulge me in the pleasure of introducing my hija, one day your future queen, if it so pleases God, many long years hence.” The queen smiled broadly. “My youngest and beloved hija, the infanta, Dońa Catalina and, with great pride, also known here as the Princess of Wales.”

The young lord bowed. His bright eyes blinking against the glaring sun, he bowed once again to Catalina. “The queen honours me by this greatly desired introduction. Elizabeth, by the grace of God, Queen of England, consort of our gracious King Henry VII, spoke of you to me, as also did Arthur, our well-beloved Prince of Wales. We look with pleasure to the day when you come to our fair land, Your Highness.”

Catalina blushed. “Thank you, my lord.” She licked her dry lips, then spoke to the English lord in slow but perfect Latin. “I am eager to see England.”

Lifting an eyebrow, the queen gave a short, gruff laugh of pride. She glanced at her husband. “That day will come soon enough. But I think Lord Darcy can see for himself the reason England must wait. Perchance he could write now the truth of it to King Henry, our good brother. My small hija needs time to grow to maturity. What better place to do this than by her mother’s side?”

The English lord dipped his head. “I cannot argue against your wisdom, noble queen. Perchance I can beg a boon and talk to the princess. I am told I am a good teller of tales. I am certain she would enjoy hearing about the English court, and Prince Arthur.”

Queen Isabel smiled. “Lord Darcy, come you to my chambers tomorrow. I want to know everything of England.” Her eyes lost their light as she gazed down at her small daughter.

···

Before noon the next day, Queen Isabel summoned Beatriz to bring the infanta and her companion Maria to her chambers to meet again with Lord Darcy. Greeting her mother and the English Lord, Catalina sat on a large cushion by her mother’s side. Maria quickly sat on the floor next to her. The infanta’s eyes glowed with interest as the young man began to speak of England and its royal family. Darcy spoke long about Prince Arthur. The small infanta bent forward when he mentioned how the heir to the English throne loved his lessons and playing his harp. He told Catalina of the prince’s new puppy, a recent gift from his mother. Beatriz could see the English royal family come alive for Catalina. The bright, blond, blue-eyed Arthur teaching his little dog tricks, reading books, playing with his little sister, Margaret, learning music from his own mother and sometimes King Henry himself. Darcy also told them his queen hoped for another child to add to her nursery soon.

“Her last letter told me the same,” Queen Isabel said, sewing at the altar cloth she worked on for the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. “Very soon her children will out-number mine. She is a good mother, I hear.” She smiled down at Catalina. “Already she acts as mother to my daughter, troubled she will find English water unfit to drink.” Queen Isabel laughed. “There’s no need for her concern. One day, your queen will discover that her son’s bride is no weakling.”

Time passed and the stories of the royal family changed its direction to other members of the English court. “I believe you knew Lord Rivers, my lord, a man I was proud to own as kin?” the queen asked, handing to Dońa Beatriz Bobadilla the still unfinished altar cloth before taking up her spindle. Amused, Beatriz noticed Dońa Beatriz folding the altar cloth into a perfect square. Bending down to Maria, the older woman whispered, “Maria, show me your hands.” The child held out her hands, while Beatriz turned back to listen to Darcy’s reply.

“Yea, Your Majesty, I knew him.” Lord Darcy crossed himself. “May his soul be at rest with God. It was because of his tales about this most glorious Holy War that I decided to earn my spurs here when the time came. My father was not pleased to let me go, but I am near to nineteen.” He lifted his chin. “Old enough to act the man’s part.”

“Both sides, child,” Beatriz heard Dońa Beatriz murmur nearby. Maria looked bewildered, turning her hands backwards and forth. She paled when Dońa Beatriz placed the altar cloth into her hands. “Put it back in the queen’s sewing chest.”

Maria’s face lit up. Straightening her shoulders, she almost skipped by the time she reached the open, nearby chest. Turning with empty hands, she gazed towards Dońa Beatriz, and then, at a loss of what to do next, to her tutor. Beatriz smiled, beckoning Maria to come to her side.

Queen Isabel frowned and put aside her spindle, and began to twist her rings on her swollen fingers with difficulty.
Dandelion tea. When she returned to her rooms she would brew dandelion tea and make certain the queen drank it tonight.
“Rivers was a brave and handsome man, despite losing his front teeth fighting for us.

“My husband and I liked him well.” Her eyes became thoughtful. “He lost his teeth fighting in the manner of your countrymen. While I did not witness the engagement, the king told me of it. Rivers dismounted from his steed at the head of his three hundred men and, armed with sword and axe, amazed all with his battle frenzy. He scaled the walls of Loja as if he wished to take the conquest single-handedly. But a stone hit him in the face and shattered his front teeth, and knocked him unconscious. His injuries kept him abed for some time.

“The king and I visited him once he began to recover. I told him of my sadness that such a handsome man could be left with such inconvenient an injury. My lord husband has lost teeth in battle, so he also commiserated with him. Rivers replied, ‘’Tis little to lose a few teeth in the service of He, who has given me all. Who reared this fabric has only opened a window, in order to discern the more readily what passes within my soul.’”

Women’s laughter rippled through the chamber like the chiming of bells, and Lord Darcy grinned. “Rivers was a good commander. He fought for King Henry at Bosworth, the battle that vanquished that evil York tyrant-usurper, and child-killer.

“Queen Elizabeth had no desire to see her uncle to leave their court, but ’tis hard for men to be younger sons, as I am, and be always in the shadow of the older. Poor Rivers was shadowed by four brothers. For certes, he died doing what he wanted and shining none but his own light.”

Queen Isabel took hold of her spindle and twirled it. She sighed. “I wish he had remained with us. He was an amusing man, proud of his race and his relationship with my family, as well as your noble queen. Rivers was forefront at our pageants and festivals. His magnificence feasted our eyes. I miss him greatly. Perchance, he might be now still living if he had stayed here. Even if he had lost his life here, dying fighting a crusade is a far more glorious death than dying as a mercenary against the too often faithless and Godless French.”

The queen’s eyes hardened when she mentioned the French. Leaning back in her chair, she screwed up her lips as if tasting something unappetising that she wished to spit out.

Lord Darcy sipped from his goblet, and then placed it back on the table. “I agree, Your Grace. I can only applaud your great dedication and sacrifice to this holy enterprise.”

Queen Isabel smiled at him. “My lord, I am queen for God’s purpose, and what better one than this?”

“May I have permission to speak, Your Grace?” Dońa Beatriz Bobadilla stepped from the embrasure to the queen’s side.

Queen Isabel turned to her, and then back to the English Lord. “Of course. Lord Darcy, Dońa Beatriz Bobadilla is like a beloved sister to me, and has been so since we were children. She has aided me many times in my life.” She clasped Dońa Beatriz’s closest hand. “Once she even took an assassin’s dagger meant for me. Praise the good lord, the dagger simply glanced off her padded gown and gave enough time for my soldiers to seize the would-be murderer.” Queen Isabel laughed with grimness. “Men might wear armour, but Dońa Beatriz proved that day we women sometimes embroider our gowns so densely they may serve the same purpose. I will never forget, but for the grace of God, I could have lost one of my dearest amigas that day. I trust her with my life, and the lives of my children. Pray speak, Beatriz.”

Beatriz Bobadilla dropped a curtsey. “Beloved queen, I thank you.” Her face grave, she turned to Lord Darcy. “I desire for you to know more about Queen Isabel, so you can tell my words to your king and queen. Our beloved and illustrious queen is achieving what no other Castilian monarch has done before, ridding Castilla of the blight of the Moors. You are right to mention her sacrifice, for Her Highness works tirelessly and sacrifices much to gain this victory.”

Darcy bowed once to Dońa Beatriz and then swept a deeper one to Queen Isabel. “Good queen, you but need to talk to the soldiers to know the great love and esteem they possess for you. Your men call you a saint and gladly lay down their lives in your service. Madam, I am honoured to count myself one of your knights.”

Smiling with all her charm, Queen Isabel outstretched her hand. “It has been a very pleasing visit, my lord. I look forward to watching you in our tournaments and speaking again with you at the nightly revels. These weeks are joyful times for myself and my family. I am most glad you are here to share them. Until we meet again, God go with you and keep you safe from harm.”

Darcy bowed and backed towards the door. One last bow and the room again became the queen’s chamber, empty of men.

Queen Isabel sniffed and lay a hand on Catalina’s shoulder. “Hija, listen now to your mother… I see you like Lord Darcy, he seems a good man. But, child, the English vice is treachery, more so than our countrymen’s. They keep their kings looking over their shoulders and worrying every shadow hides an assassin or traitors of their own blood plotting their overthrow. Trust is a gift that must be earned. Catalina, do not trust any of them until given sure proof of their mettle...”

Her heart sad, Beatriz stared at the small infanta.
Assassins. Traitors. Treachery.
The five-year-old looked wide-eyed, anxious and uncertain. Since Catalina was three years old, the child had learnt lessons of queenship whether she wanted them or not.

···

Merry music swelled and throbbed in the huge, candlelit chamber where another night of festivities hailed Isabel’s approaching wedding. The king’s return to court brought many of his closest men from the most recent battlefield. One man was Beatriz’s betrothed, Francisco.

Standing next to him, she gazed over to the half cycle of courtiers. “Our first meeting in months, and we are surrounded by the court,” she said.

Francisco smiled wryly at her. “While you keep delaying our marriage, sweetheart, it is probably best we meet not alone. I might be tempted to persuade you otherwise.”

“Do I need to crave your forgiveness, Francisco?”

He laughed. “Now I am with you, perhaps. But I’m not a youth. I am willing to be patient for what I want. Just as long as I have your promise you will not make me wait too much longer to call you my wife.”

Beatriz eyed him. “Did you not tell me you desired no marriage until your skills are no longer so needed by the queen?”

“I’m beginning to think that day will never come. I only wait now for you to say it is time.”

She reached for his hand. “Soon, I promise we’ll call the banns soon. Just be patient a while longer, please.”

Francisco enclosed her hand in both of his. “I am a man of my word. I promised to give you all the time you need. As long as I have your promise to be my wife, I’m content.”

Beatriz smiled at him. Francisco had asked her to marry him not long after the king had first assaulted her. Still coming to grips with that, his declaration of love and proposal of marriage had left her sobbing in his arms, the arms of her good friend. She confessed to him her lack of virginity, telling him of her rape, but not of her rapist. She feared what would happen if he knew. She had expected her confession would douse cold water on his desire, but discovered anew Francisco was a man of compassion, and still determined to offer her his love. Eventually, it seemed right to agree to be his wife.

A flash of bright colour caught Beatriz’s eye. Close to the wall, near the door, the infanta Catalina and her companion, Maria giggled together, imitating the dance moves of their elders. Both girls wore what looked like their best gowns.

Still holding Francisco’s hand, Beatriz pushed her way through the seemingly endless crowd, ducking her head when she noticed the king, hand-in-hand with the queen, measuring out another dancing step, suddenly swing his eyes towards her. She shivered. He seemed an unhooded, hungry falcon catching sight of its prey. How she despised the man. She glanced at Francisco. She could never tell him her rapist was the king. In the work he did on the battlefield, he needed his wits about him. Giving him cause to hate the king could place him in greater danger. At least she was safe from the king’s unwanted attentions while Francisco was at court.