In the Shadow of the Crown - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,12

for itself and because it will become yours. We are more serious than the English. We are more restrained … more formal. Your father is one whom the English love—although in truth he is half Welsh … but he has become an ideal Englishman. He is greatly loved by his subjects. You, my child, are more as I am. Spain will be your natural home. I am so happy for you.”

She talked then of her mother and her father, Isabella and Ferdinand. “My mother was the most wonderful lady I ever knew. She was a great ruler and a loving mother. It is not always easy to be both. You are an only child.” I saw the look of terror pass over her face, and it frightened me. “I was the youngest of the family,” she went on. “I had a brother and three sisters. I was happy in my family, and in spite of the fact that my mother was much engaged in matters of state, she had always time to spend with us, to listen to what we had to say and to make us understand that, whatever else she was, she was first our mother.”

Her sad eyes looked back to those days and I saw them light up with the pleasure which comes from happy memories, even though they must be tinged with sorrow because they are past.

“I was only five…more or less your age… when my sister Isabel was betrothed in Seville to Alfonso of Portugal. It was a grand ceremony. My sisters Juana and Maria were with me. Two years later I was present at the triumphant entry into Granada. That was when my parents had driven out the Moors. They were stirring times… and yet I remember more clearly our family life than these great events.”

“You must have been sad, my lady, to leave it.”

“Ah, my dear child, how sad I was…and how frightened! I was sixteen years old when I set sail for England. I came to marry your Uncle Arthur, you know. Poor Arthur, he died soon after our marriage.”

“And then you married my father.”

“Yes, but it was not until some time after.” She shut her eyes as though this was something too painful to contemplate.

“So you have had two husbands, my lady.”

“Arthur was not really a husband. Well, we had gone through the ceremony but he was too young for marriage, and all the time we were together he was ill…so ill.”

“You loved him, did you?”

She hesitated. “He was a kind, good boy, but he was so sick…so different from your father. It was hard to believe that they were brothers. We were sent down to Ludlow because, as he was Prince of Wales, he must have his own Court. We had only been there a few months when he died. Poor Arthur, his was a sad life. And then your father, who had been destined for the Church, became the Prince of Wales and future King.”

“It is hard to imagine my father's being anything but King, and certainly not a priest.”

She nodded. “Yes. He was made for kingship. Ah, I grow sad, thinking of the old days, and now we have so much for which we can rejoice. You are going to be happy, my daughter. And we have to prepare you for your future. I am glad Dr. Linacre is with us. He was tutor to Prince Arthur and I know his value.”

I liked Dr. Linacre. He was a very old man—a scholar as well as a doctor of medicine. He had written several books—chiefly on grammar. There was one he had produced for Prince Arthur and he had done another for me. He was rather feeble now and very different from Johannes Ludovicus Vives, whom my mother had brought from Spain to supervise my studies.

With the coming of this man, my life changed. It was my first encounter with a fanatic. He was pale, aesthetic and lean. He was one of those people who enjoy tormenting themselves as well as other people. It was his firm belief that we were not set on Earth to enjoy our lives, and that there was a great virtue in suffering. The more thorny our earthly path, the greater glory we should come to in Heaven. He was completely different from my father, who, while he always kept a wary and placating eye on the life to come, had a great determination to enjoy his time on Earth; and I was sure