Katharine of Aragon (47 page)

The priest knew that the ambassador was not his friend; but he had
triumphed over enemies before. He remembered with relish his battle with Francesca de Carceres; she had hated him and had schemed for his recall to Spain. But look what had happened to her! Now married to the banker Grimaldi she was desperately trying to regain her position at Court, whereas he was higher in the Queen's favor than he had ever been, and so important that the ambassador was forced, though much against his will, to seek an interview with him.

Fray Diego was young; he was somewhat arrogant. He really did not see why he should take orders from Caroz. It was Ferdinand's wish that he should do so, but he no longer regarded Ferdinand as his master. His influence seemed slight from such a great distance. Ferdinand had neglected his daughter during the years of her widowhood; it was only now that he wrote to her so frequently and so affectionately. Katharine remembered this; and in Fray Diego's opinion she was more Queen of England than Infanta of Spain.

He was determined therefore that he was not going to allow his fear of Ferdinand to rob him of the ascendancy he felt he possessed over Ferdinand's ambassador, towards whom the Queen did not feel as affectionate as she did towards her friend and confessor.

“It is true,” he said, “that I have not your experience, Don Luis, of these matters. But what you ask is for the Queen's conscience, and for Her Grace to decide.”

“Nonsense!” retorted Caroz. “It is a confessor's duty to guide those who are in his spiritual care. A few careful words, spoken at the appropriate moment, and the Queen will realize her duty.”

“You mean her duty to her father, I am sure. But there is the possibility that Her Grace might also realize the duty to her husband.”

“Do you mean that you refuse to obey our master's commands?”

“I mean,” said Fray Diego with dignity, “that I will give the matter my consideration and if, after meditation and prayer, I can convince myself that what you ask is good for the soul of Her Grace, I shall do as you say.”

“And if not…?” burst out Caroz, fuming with indignation.

“This is a matter for my conscience as well as the Queen's. That is all I can say.”

Caroz curtly took his leave and went away fuming. The arrogance of that upstart! he was thinking. A vulgar fellow. It was a great mistake that any but the highest nobility should be entrusted with state matters—and the Queen's confessor should have been a man of highest integrity and that noble birth which would have kept him loyal to his own kind.

Caroz soothed his anger by thinking of the account he would send to Ferdinand of this interview.

You will not long remain in England, my little priest, he prophesied.

His next call was on Richard Fox, Bishop of Winchester—a man who, he knew, had great influence among the King's ministers.

Promise them anything, Ferdinand had said, but get in exchange for your promise theirs to work for the English invasion of France.

Here was a man, thought Luis, who could surely be bribed because as an ambitious man he must be eager for the prizes of power and fame.

Caroz was proud of his ingenuity, for he had made up his mind what he was going to promise Richard Fox.

Fox received him with seeming pleasure, but beneath that calm expression of hospitality there was an alertness.

“I pray you be seated,” said Fox. “This is indeed both an honor and a pleasure.”

“You are kind, my lord Bishop, and I thank you. I have come here today because I believe it is in my power to do you some service.”

The Bishop smiled rather ambiguously. He knew that it was a bargain the ambassador would offer rather than a gift.

“Your kindness warms my heart, Excellency,” he said.

“It would not be an easy matter to achieve,” admitted Caroz, “but I would ask my master to work for this with all his considerable power—and he has great power.”

The Bishop was waiting, now almost unable to curb his eagerness.

“His Holiness plans to create more Cardinals. There are two French Cardinals and it has been suggested that he will present the hat to more Italians and Spaniards. My master is of the opinion that there should be some English holders of the office. I think he would be prepared to consider those for whom he felt some… gratitude.”

The Bishop, who had been skeptical until this moment, could scarcely hide the great excitement which possessed him. The Cardinal's hat! The major step towards the highest goal of all churchmen—the Papal Crown.

Fox had assured himself that he was a man of integrity; he would work for the good of England—but what an honor for England if one of her bishops became a Cardinal; what great glory if one day there should be an English Pope!

Caroz, exulting inwardly, knew of the conflict which was going on behind the immobile features of the Bishop. What a stroke of genius on his part to think of hinting at a Cardinal's hat! It was the irresistible bribe. No matter if there was no possibility of the offer's ever being made; promises such as this were all part of statecraft. How delighted Ferdinand would be with his ambassador when he heard of his ingenuity. It was worthy of Ferdinand himself.

“I agree with His Highness, King Ferdinand, that there should be a few
English Cardinals,” said Fox. “It will be interesting to see if the Pope shares that opinion.”

“There are few whom I would consider for the office,” said Caroz. “But there are some… there is one.…”

The Bishop said fervently: “That man would never cease to be grateful to those who helped him to attain such office, I can assure you.”

“I will pass on your words to my master. As you know, since the alliance of his daughter and the King he has had a great affection for your countrymen. It is something which he does not bear towards the French. Nothing would please him more than to see our two countries set out side by side to conquer our mutual enemy.”

The Bishop was silent. The terms had been stated. Withdraw your opposition to the project of war, and Ferdinand will use all his considerable influence with the Pope to win you a Cardinal's hat.

Was it such a great price? Fox asked himself. Who could say? It might well be that those territories which had once been in English hands would be restored. Surely a matter for rejoicing. And his help might mean that an English Cardinal would be created, and English influence would be felt in Rome.

Caroz wanted to laugh aloud. It has succeeded, he thought. And why not? What bishop could turn aside from the glory of receiving his Cardinal's hat?

He took his leave of the Bishop and went to his own apartments, there to write to his master.

He wrote that he believed he had found a means of breaking down the opposition to the beginning of military operations. He added a footnote: “It would seem to me that the Queen's confessor, Fray Diego Fernandez, works more for England than for Spain, and I would recommend his recall to Spain.”

JEAN D'ALBRET, THAT RICH NOBLEMAN WHO OWNED MUCH
of the land in the neighborhood of the Pyrenees, had become King of Navarre through his marriage to Catharine, the Queen of that state.

It was an ambitious marriage and one which had pleased him at the time he had made it, and still did in some respects. But to possess a crown through a wife was not the most happy way of doing so, and Jean d'Albret, a man who was more attracted by pleasure than ambition, by a love of literature than of conquest, was far from satisfied.

The times were dangerous and he saw himself caught between two great and militarily minded powers. His was a small state but it was in a strategic position and could be of importance to both France and Spain. Jean knew that Ferdinand had long cast acquisitive eyes on his and Catharine's crown; and that Louis was determined to keep Navarre as a vassal state.

It was tiresome. There were so very many interesting matters to occupy a man. War seemed to Jean senseless; and he knew that, if there should be war over Navarre, the Spanish and French sovereigns would see that it took place on Navarrese soil.

Jean began to think that had he made a less ambitious marriage, say with the daughter of a nobleman as rich as himself, their possessions could have been joined together and they would have remained happily French; and moreover lived the rest of their days in comfort without this perpetual fear of invasion of their territory.

His wife Catharine came to him, and he saw by the anxious expression on her face that she was even more worried than he was. She was pleased for once to find him alone; usually the fact that he preferred to live as an ordinary nobleman with as little royal style as possible, irritated her; but today she had something of importance to say to him.

“My agents have brought news of negotiations which are going on between Ferdinand and Henry of England. It is almost certain that the English will invade France.”

Jean shrugged his shoulders. “Louis will laugh at their puny efforts.”

“You have missed the point as usual,” she told him tartly. “Ferdinand's plan is not to invade France but to take Navarre. As soon as the English engage the French he will march on us.”

Jean was silent. He was watching the sun play on a fountain and thinking of a poem he had read a short while ago.

“You are not listening!” she accused. Her eyes flashed. “Oh, what a husband I have!”

“Catharine,” said Jean gently, “there is nothing we can do. We live in this beautiful place…at least we live here for the time being. Let us enjoy it.”

“To think that I could have married such a man! Does your kingdom, your family, your crown mean nothing to you?”

“The crown, as you have so often told me, was your wedding gift to me, my dear. It is not always comfortable to wear and if it were to be taken
from me…well, then I should be plain d'Albret. It was the name I was born with.”

Catharine narrowed her eyes. “Yes,” she said, “you were Jean d'Albret from the time you were born, and it seems that so you may well die plain Jean d'Albret. Those who are not prepared to fight for their crowns would not arouse much sympathy if they lose them.”

“But you, my dear, wish to fight for yours…fight an enemy ten times your size…fight to the death… and in death, my dear, of what use would the crown of Navarre be to you?”

Catharine turned from him in exasperation. Her grandmother Leonora, who had been Ferdinand's half-sister, had poisoned her own sister, Blanche, in order that she might take the crown of Navarre; Leonora had not lived long to enjoy that for which she had committed murder, and on her death her grandson, Catharine's brother, had become the King of Navarre.

Catharine now thought of her golden-haired brother Francis Phoebus, who had been so called on account of his wonderful golden hair and great beauty.

They had been a proud family, for Leonora's son, Gaston de Foix, had married Madeleine, the sister of Louis XI, and thus they were closely related to the royal house of France, and it was natural that they should look for protection to that monarch.

What an unlucky family we were! thought Catharine. My father, wounded by a lance in a tourney at Lisbon and dying long before his time. Francis Phoebus died only four years after he attained the crown, and so it had passed to Catharine, his only sister.

Ferdinand had desired a marriage between Catharine and his son Juan; that would have been one way—and by far the simplest—of bringing the Navarrese crown under Spanish influence, for then Ferdinand's grandchildren would have been the future kings and queens of Navarre; but Catharine's mother, the Princess of France, was determined that she would do nothing to aid the aggrandizement of Spain. So Juan had married Margaret of Austria and had died a few months after the marriage leaving Margaret pregnant with what had proved to be a stillborn child.

And Catharine had been married to Jean d'Albret—a match of her mother's making—because Jean was a Frenchman and the Princess Madeleine had been determined to keep Navarre a vassal state of France.

So this man is my husband! thought Catharine. And he does not care. All he wishes is that we should live in peace, that he may dance and make merry with those of the Court, ride through the country and speak with the humblest of his subjects, asking tenderly after the state of the vines, like the commoner he still is.

But the granddaughter of the murderess, Leonora, was not going to allow her crown to be taken from her if she could help it.

She cried out: “We must make the position known to the King of France. We must lose no time. Cannot you see how important that is, Jean, or are you still dreaming? Send for one of your secretaries and he shall prepare a letter for the King with all speed. Do you think Louis will allow Ferdinand of Aragon to walk into Navarre and take what is ours? He will see the folly of it. He will make a treaty with us which will let Ferdinand know that, if he should attempt to attack us, he will have to face the might of France as well as that of Navarre.”

Jean rose and went to the door. Catharine watched him as he gave an order to one of the pages. His manner even towards the page lacked dignity. She felt exasperated beyond endurance because she was so afraid.