The Loves of Charles II (66 page)

“I know. But Mother, do you think in the whole world there was ever such a happy family as ours has been?”

“It is given to few to know such happiness, it is true. Your father was deeply conscious of that. He would have lived peacefully in the Villa Viçosa and shut his eyes to his duty for the sake of the happiness he could have had with us. But he was a king, and kings, queens and princesses have their duties. They must not be forgotten for the sake of quiet family happiness.”

“No, Mother.”

“Your father agreed on that before he died. He lived nobly, and that is the way in which
we
must live. My dearest Catherine, it is not only that you
will be marrying a very attractive King who will be a good husband to you, you will be making the best possible marriage for the sake of your country. England is one of the most important countries in Europe. You know our position. You know that our enemies, the Spaniards, are ever ready to snatch from us that which we have won. They will be less inclined to attack us if they know that our family is united in marriage with the royal family of England, that we are no longer alone, that we have a powerful ally at our side.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“So it is for the sake of Portugal that you will go to England; it is for your country’s sake that you will do there all that is expected of a queen.”

“I will do my best, dear Mother.”

“That brings me to one little matter with which I must acquaint you. The King is a young man who will soon be thirty-two years of age. Most men marry before they reach that age. The King is strong, healthy and fond of gay company. It is unnatural for such a man to live alone until he reaches that age.”

“To live alone, Mother?” said Catherine, puzzled.

“To live unmarried. He, like you, could only marry one who was royal, and therefore suitable to his state. It would have been unwise for him to marry while in exile. So … he consoled himself with one who cannot be his wife. He had a mistress.”

“Yes, Mother,” said Catherine. “I think I understand.”

“It is the way of most men,” said Luiza. “There is nothing unusual in this.”

“You mean there is a woman whom he loves as a wife?” “Exactly.”

“And that when he has a wife in truth he will no longer need her? She will not be very pleased to see me in England, will she?”

“No. But her feelings are of no account. It is the King’s which are all important. He might dismiss his mistress when he takes a wife, but it has come to my ears that there is one lady to whom he is deeply attached.”

“Oh …” breathed Catherine.

“You will not see her, for naturally he will not let her enter your presence, and you must avoid all mention of her. And eventually the King will cease to require her, and she will quietly disappear. Her name is Lady Castlemaine, and all you have to do is avoid mentioning her name to anyone—anyone whatsoever—and foremost of all to the King. It would be a grave breach of etiquette. If you hear rumors of her, ignore them. It is a very simple matter really. Many queens have found themselves similarly placed.”

“Lady Castlemaine,” repeated Catherine; then she suddenly stood up
and threw herself into her mother’s arms. She was shivering violently, and Luiza could not soothe her for some time.

“There is nothing to fear, dearest,” she murmured again and again. “Little daughter, it happens to so many. All will be well. In time he will love you … only you, for you will be his wife.”

Every day the arrival of the Earl of Sandwich was expected. He was to come to Lisbon with ships so that he might conduct Catherine and her entourage to England.

Still he did not come.

Catherine, bewildered by the sudden change the last months had brought, wondered whether he ever would. She had not left the Palace more than ten times in the whole of her life, so determined had her mother been to keep her away from the world. Exercise had been taken in the Palace gardens and never had she been allowed to leave her duenna; now that she was Queen of England—for she had been proclaimed as such since the marriage treaty had been ratified in Lisbon—she had left the Palace on several occasions. It had been strange to ride out into the steep streets, to hear the loyal shouts of the people and to bow and smile as she had been taught. “Long life to the Queen of England!” they shouted. She was now allowed to visit churches, where she prayed to the saints that her marriage might be fruitful, and that long prosperity might come to the sister countries of Portugal and England.

When she was alone she took out the miniature which had been brought to her by Sir Richard Fanshawe who was in Portugal to help further the match, and she would feel that she already knew the man pictured there. He was as dark and swarthy as her own brothers, so that she felt he was no foreign prince; his features were heavy, but his eyes were so kindly. She thought of him as the man who had offered his life for the sake of his father and, although she was frightened of leaving her home and her mother, although she was fearfully perplexed at the thought of a woman named Lady Castlemaine, she longed to meet her husband face to face.

But still the Earl of Sandwich did not come.

Luiza, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Earl, began to be afraid. This marriage with England meant so much to her. If it should fall through she could see that the honor and comparative security, which she and her husband had won for Portugal during the long years of endurance, might be lost.

The Spaniards were doing all in their power to prevent the marriage; that in itself showed how important it was. Already they were massing on the frontiers, ready for an attack, and she, being obliged to raise forces without delay, had been hard put to it to find the money to do this, so that it had been necessary to use some of that which she had set aside for her daughter’s dowry—that very dowry which had made Catherine so attractive to the English King. The thought of what she would do when the time came for Catherine’s embarkation and the handing over of the dowry gave her many a sleepless night; but she was a woman of strong character who had faced so many seemingly insurmountable difficulties in her life that she had learned to deal only with those which needed immediate attention, and trust in good fortune to help her overcome the others when it was absolutely necessary to do so.

There was another matter which gave her grave concern. She was sending her daughter into a strange country to a man she had never seen, without even the security of marriage by proxy.

“I send you my daughter the Infanta, unmarried,” she had written, “that you may see what confidence I have in your honor.”

But she doubted whether that would deceive the King of England and his ministers. They would know that the Papal See, which was still the vassal of Spain, had never acknowledged Catherine as the daughter of a king; the Pope, when he gave the dispensation for the Infanta to marry a prince of the Reformed Faith—and the marriage could not be performed in Portugal without such a dispensation—would give her title not as Infanta of the Royal House of Portugal, but merely as the daughter of the Duke of Braganza. And that, Luiza felt, was a greater shame than any which could befall her.

So she, a determined woman grappling with many problems, had decided to act boldly. But if the Earl of Sandwich did not come soon, the Spaniards would be marching on Lisbon.

So each day she waited, but in vain.

Had the English learned that she could not find the money for the dowry? How could she know what spies there were in her Court? The Spaniards were cunning; they had been conquerors for a long time; and she was a poor Queen fighting a lonely battle for the independence of her country and the glory of her royal house.

Soon news came to her. The Spaniards were on the march. They were forging ahead towards the unfortified towns on the Portuguese seaboard.

Luiza was in despair. This attack was to be stronger than any the Spaniards had ever launched against their neighbors. Their aim was to see that, by the time the King of England’s ambassadors came to claim the
daughter of the royal house of Portugal, there would be no royal house. They were throwing great forces into the struggle; forever since the defeat of their “invincible” Armada in the reign of the great Elizabeth, the Spaniards had held the English in dread, and it was their endeavor to prevent at all costs the alliance between little Portugal and that country whose seamen they feared beyond any mortal beings.

So all her schemes had been in vain, thought Luiza. Her people would fight; but they had never had to face such a mighty army as now came against them. She saw ahead years of weary warfare, of frustration and struggle, the English marriage repudiated, and Catherine growing too old for matrimony.

She could no longer bear to look ahead. She shut herself into her apartments. She wanted to be alone to consider her next move.

She would not give up. She would somehow send Catherine to England. The King had promised to marry her. He must marry her.

She had said she was not to be disturbed, but Catherine came running into the apartment. Her face was flushed, and she ran as best she could, greatly impeded by her cumbrous farthingale.

“Catherine,” said her mother sternly; for in that moment Catherine bore no resemblance to an Infanta of the royal house.

“Mother! Dearest Mother … quickly! Come and look.”

“What has happened, my child? What has happened to make you so far forget …”

“Come, Mother. It is what we have been waiting for so long. The English are here. They have been sighted in the bay.”

Luiza turned to her daughter and embraced her. There were tears on her cheek, for she too had forgotten the formal etiquette of the Court.

“They have come in time!” she said.

And she looked in wonder at this daughter who, she had always known, had been born to save her country.

There was rejoicing throughout Lisbon as the English came ashore. The Infanta Catherine, the Queen of England, had been born to save them; and here was another sign from heaven to assure her people that this was so. The commanders of the Spanish army, having heard the news and remembering the terrible havoc wrought on their country’s ships by the satanic
El Draque
in another century, would not stay to face the English. They turned back to
the border and retreated as quickly as they could to safety. Some had seen the ships in the bay—the
Royal Charles
, the
Royal James
and the
Gloucester
with their accompanying fleet of vessels. To those Spanish soldiers, brought up on the story of that ill-fated Armada, which had broken the hopes of great Philip II when it came into conflict with a fleet of inferior vessels yet led by a man of supernatural powers, one glimpse was enough. The great ships seemed to have about them a quality which was not of this world, for it seemed that with them they had brought the spirit of Drake. So the army turned tail, and the Portuguese were saved from their enemies; and how would they dare attack again, knowing that the English were united with their little neighbor through marriage!