Falling Pomegranate Seeds: The Duty of Daughters (The Katherine of Aragon Story Book 1) (17 page)

We do not easily suspect evil of those whom we love
most.
~ Peter Abelard

N
ot long after the fall of Granada, Beatriz discovered the reason the king detested his second daughter Juana. That same year, Maria had returned home to welcome her newly born brothers, Pedro and Ferdinand – twin boys, as if God gifted back to her mother two of the babes lost to her while in service to the queen. Maria’s father, with Francisco, still fought Moors who refused to admit defeat. When Maria joined her family to celebrate the births of her brothers, the queen sent Beatriz to accompany her, knowing she missed her friend too.

She came for another reason. Queen Isabel had also brought forth twins into the world and almost died in doing so. The first twin, her daughter Maria, came into the world easily, but not so her sister. It took two days of dreadful agony before the queen, near to death, brought forth her dead babe. Queen Isabel, remembering that experience and how close her cousin came to dying three years ago, wanted Beatriz to assure her all was well and remained well for her cousin.

Arriving home, little Maria found her mother and grandmother ready with gifts for her – for the most part, additions for her clothes chest, gowns or undergarments to replace those outgrown since the child’s last visit home. Largely, the clothes were once worn by her older sisters – made anew by a new collar, girdle or sleeves – but amongst the gifts were two garments made especially for her by her mother and grandmother. Maria’s grandmother gave her a chemise, one so sheer Beatriz wondered if she had made it from silk. Seeing the fine, skilful embroidery at neck and hem, she thought it fit for the queen or her daughters.

Maria gasped with happiness when she opened her mother’s gift. Josepha had cut down one of her favourite court gowns to her daughter’s size, making it a smaller copy of the original, yet leaving seams for room for the child to grow. The last cords tied on the gown, Maria turned to her mother’s mirror. Beatriz recalled Josepha in this gown, her long, thick, black hair adorned with pearls, hanging in a plait down her back, one of the few times she ever did so, going against her usual choice of keeping her hair veiled under the toca. Black hair, dark eyes, olive skin, all melded with the red velvet gown and made her a paean of beauty. Now, Beatriz saw the same promise in Josepha’s daughter.

Day-by-day, Josepha recovered her strength. Beatriz and Maria spent much of their time in her chamber, keeping her company while she lay abed, wet-nurses now attending to the needs of her sons. Early one morning, Maria asked what was often in Beatriz’s mind. “Mama, why does the king hate Juana?”

Working on a new chemise for the queen, Josepha stitched with care, her needlework a labour of love, readying it for when Beatriz and Maria returned to court. Her dark eyes rose again, considered her daughter, then fell to focus on the seam. Shifting closer to the candle near the bed, Josepha squinted at her sewing, leaning against the pillows.

“Do you think it hate?” she murmured.

Shrugging, Maria thoughtfully traced the thick lines of black embroidery on the scarlet brocade covering her mother’s bed. “The king’s cruel to her, Mama.”

Beatriz lifted her eyes from her own slow sewing, watching Josepha’s needle dart almost as fast as a hummingbird in search of nectar. Her friend’s needle flew in and out of the silk chemise, in and out of the sheer material, the white fabric so fine she saw Josepha’s hand moving underneath it, every stitch tiny and neat. Beatriz shook her head, overwhelmed by the speed with which she sewed the seam. Her friend came to the end of her thread and sorted through her cards, seeking the same colour. “I am growing careless in my old age. Where did I put it?”

Maria picked up the card from the edge of the bed and handed it to her mother. Josepha beamed a bright smile that restored youth to her pale face.

“Thank you, hija. You asked about the king and the infanta.” Josepha considered her daughter. “We shouldn’t question the rights and wrongs of the family we serve.”

Maria nodded, but grinned teasingly at her mother. “But you told me to keep my eyes and ears open to serve them better.” Smoothing out the brocade of her mother’s bed, Maria appeared all at once saddened. “Sometimes, my princess cries at night because of her sister. I don’t know what to do.”

Threading a needle, Josepha glanced at Maria, her eyes full of compassion. “From the time you toddled around my feet, you found something to mother – a kitten, a rabbit, and let’s not forget all those half-dead mice you saved from our kitchen’s cats – and then you were only scratched for your trouble. I’m not too certain if it wise to also wish to mother the infanta.”

Not waiting for her daughter to answer, Josepha rubbed the side of her head. “Child, life is full of unanswered questions. Men and women are the same in this – none of us ever find all the answers we seek. Methinks, I agree here with the priests, only by suffering do we truly gain understanding. But suffering also means casting aside innocence about life. I do not wish that for you yet.”

Maria clasped her mother’s hand. “I see it in your face – you know the answer. Tell me, I beg you.”

Josepha frowned, bringing her dark brows together that they almost seemed one. “I do know.” She pursed her mouth, her eyes darkening. “A simple thing, my Maria, and a great misfortune for the infanta. Juana inherited too much likeness to the king’s own mother.”

Maria stared, startled. “The king speaks well of his mother. I have heard him many times. He speaks words of love.”

Not looking at her daughter, Josepha lifted her chin and shook her head a little before exhaling a longer breath. “Santa Maria, must I really explain?”

“Please, Mama.”

Josepha raised pained eyes. “What can I do with a child who asks such questions?” She sighed again, and leaned closer. “This is something you really must know?”

Maria stood there, a knuckle at her mouth. “I think so, Mama,” she said slowly.

Josepha smiled at her daughter tenderly. “You’re right. You should know the truth. Words, hija. Beware of words. Just because the king speaks, that does not mean he speaks the truth. Juana is too alike her grandmother, in looks and intelligence. The king can hardly bear it. He stifles her, perchance because it seems to him he finally has power over his mother. You are right to say he is cruel. In the right soil, Juana could grow into the best of both her parents. As it is, her own father twists her spirit into deformity. I fear for her.”

Beatriz dropped her sewing in her lap, staring at Josepha, horrified at her friend’s words. Also floundering, Maria swallowed, saying what Beatriz was thinking. “That’s not fair. She is not his mother!”

Josepha twisted her heavy gold thimble around her thumb. One of the presents Beatriz had brought for Josepha from the queen, the arrows of Isabel’s regalia engraved the thimble’s circumference.

“We know that. But I do not think the king cannot stop himself recoiling from the constant reminder that Juana presents to him. It is hard for a man, especially a man like the king, to know he will never measure up to his own mother, her strength and intelligence makes him seem small. He is intelligent, but good, sound cloth does not compare to cloth of gold. He has few of his mother’s gifts to call his own, then he marries a wife also more gifted than him... With his hijas, the king ensures he keeps an upper hand and they remain well and truly in their proper place. Perchance, child, the king deserves our pity and our prayers.”

“But, Mama, he is cruel... and always to Juana. Always to her!”

Josepha reached for her daughter’s hand. “Si, I know, my child. Remember, I saw it for myself when I lived at court.”

Maria shook her head, snatching back her hand. “Why does the queen not stop it? She could if she wanted to. Juana cowers whenever her father looks at her.”

Josepha’s well-shaped brows came together again before she resumed stitching. Moments passed, and then she lifted dark eyes brimming with sadness. “The queen cannot.”

Blinking, Maria scratched her head. “Mama, you become cross with Papa when he is angry with us for no good reason.”

“By God’s good grace, your father and I agree too well for that to happen often. But I am not the queen. Queen Isabel must present a united front with her husband – not only for the reason of their family, but also for the well-being of their kingdoms.” Josepha took a deep breath. “Know this well, my hija, great woe falls upon a house divided. An enemy within is more dangerous than an enemy without.” She glanced at her daughter. “Do you understand my meaning?”

Maria nodded, the explanation continuing to pour forth from her mother without her needle stopping once. “If people ever saw cracks in their relationship, my hija, that would be enough to plant the seeds of rebellion in men’s minds. Always the queen remembers the road she must walk to ensure the survival of her marriage. So much depends on it.

“I know the queen’s heart desires not to sacrifice her children for any cause, not even to safeguard her unity with the king, but she always has to think of the greater good. She first must be queen. For that, ’tis the mind that must rule over the heart. Believe me, she tries hard to be a good mother to all her children.”

“You speak the truth, Josepha,” Beatriz said quietly, moving to the table close to the draped window.

Josepha threw up her hand to clasp the side of her head. “Good Madonna, help me, you’ve that look in your eyes. Pray, not another of your vile concoctions you want me to drink?”

Beatriz laughed, holding up a wide neck urine flask. “And here I thought I pleased you by putting honey into all your medicines. Your complexion’s far too pale for my liking, Josepha. I would like to see your urine.”

Josepha settled against the pillows, her gaze rising to the ceiling. “By all the good Saints in Heaven! I am only pale because you refuse me permission to leave this chamber. I grow stronger with every new day.”

Beatriz laughed. “Because you follow my instructions.” She placed the urine flask on the chest near her friend’s bed. “There’s no hurry, but just give me a fresh sample when you next void.”

Josepha grimaced. “I don’t know what you expect my urine to tell you.”

“Nothing, I hope. But many years of peering into urine flasks and using my nose and eyes has taught me a great deal.” She smiled, glancing at Maria. “One day, I hope to share with your daughter some of my hard-earned knowledge.”

“Me, Latina?” the child piped.

Beatriz lifted up the child’s chin with her ink-stained fingers, and smiled. “Your eyes are round as twin plates.”

Gathering her sewing on her lap, Josepha studied her daughter before turning back to Beatriz. “You know Maria’s tender heart. We may be wrong, Beatriz. She may not be the wisest choice for this. She hates the sight of blood.”

Maria’s eyes darted from Beatriz to her mother. “Blood? I don’t understand.”

Josepha returned to her sewing, her needle neatening the neckline of the chemise, and spoke softly. “Latina wants you to learn from her to be a healer, and I have agreed.”

Maria blinked, and her mouth fell open. She gazed at Beatriz and her mother, bewildered.

Glancing at Josepha, Beatriz laughed. “Child, why the surprise? Your mother and grandmother are both skilled healers. They have already taught you a great deal, more than you know. But, si, I plan to teach you. When the infanta leaves for England, it will relieve the queen’s mind to know you safeguard the Princess Catalina with such skills. “

Josepha’s dark eyes became deep wells of anguish. She gazed long at her daughter before glancing back at Beatriz. “I do not wish to think of this – my youngest hija forever gone from me, far away from her family, alone and exiled in a strange land...”

Beatriz sat on the edge of the bed and clasped her friend’s thin hand. “You know the day will come.”

Josepha tossed her head back as if combating something unseen. “But not yet for many years.” She spoke so quietly it forced Beatriz to lean closer. “Too soon she will be gone from here, and I will see my child again only when the good God and the queen permit. Let me enjoy her while I can without remembering there will come a time when she is gone from me in this life...”

Beatriz stilled, her thoughts caught between one moment and the next. She stood, going to the chest with a selection of her glass medicine bottles. She straightened them in a row, exhaled a deep breath and pulled at her girdle. Turning to Josepha, compassion filled her heart. “Change is one of life’s realities, and farewell is just a part of it, the long and the short.” Beatriz gazed at little Maria. The child seemed all ears and eyes. “Like you and the queen, I do my best to prepare the children to deal with change. That’s all we can do.”

Maria turned back to her mother. “Mama, but what of the infanta Juana? The queen must help her.”

Beatriz eyed her friend. Josepha gnawed with worry at her lower lip, turning it cherry red, but gave a brief nod. Beatriz rested a hand on Maria’s shoulder. “She cannot. The queen shamed the king once and she promised him never again.”

Her face bewildered, Maria raised her thumb to her mouth. Josepha glanced at her daughter and pulled the thumb away. “Beatriz, tell her,” she murmured, returning to her sewing.

Stepping into the light streaming from the un-shuttered window, Beatriz picked up one of the medicine bottles, put it down, picked up another, put that down. Rubbing the side of her face, she sighed. “You know the queen’s word is sacred to her, si?”

The child nodded.

“What I tell you happened when your mother and I were younger than you... I heard it from my father so many times, sometimes I see it in my mind as if I witnessed it myself.”

“You speak for me too.” Josepha shrugged. “It’s such an important story in our good queen’s reign, likely we’re not alone in this.”

Beatriz grabbed a stool near the bed and sat down. She clasped Maria’s hand. “You know our king and queen are cousins, si?”

Maria nodded. “Mama told me.”

“Did she tell you that the king also had the right to claim the crown of Castilla?”