Meanwhile Luiza went on: “Half the portion shall be delivered onboard the King of England’s ships without delay, and I pledge myself to send the other half before another year has passed.”

The Earl made a quick decision. Half the money was better than nothing; and the whole affair had gone too far for withdrawal; so, bowing before the Queen, he declared that, since it was his Queen in whom His Majesty of England was primarily interested, he would accept half the marriage portion now, and the other half within a year as the Queen had suggested; and, as soon as the moiety was on his ship he would be ready to convey the King’s bride to England.

Luiza smiled. The rest would be simple. She would merely have bags of sugar and spices and such commodities shipped aboard the English fleet in place of the money, which it was quite impossible to supply.

Luiza held her daughter in a last embrace. Both knew that they, who had been so close, might never see each other’s faces again. Neither shed a tear; they knew they dared not, for if they once allowed any sign of weakness to be visible they would break down completely before all the grandees and fidalgoes of the Portuguese Court and the seamen of England.

“Always remember your duty to the King your husband, and to your country.”

“I will, Mother.”

Luiza still clung to her daughter. She was wondering: Should I warn her once more against that evil woman Castlemaine, for whom they say the King of England has an unholy passion? No! It is better not. Catherine in her very innocence may discover a way to deal with the woman. Better for her not to know too much.

“Remember all I have taught you.”

“Goodbye, dearest Mother.”

“Goodbye, my child. Remember always that you are the savior of your country. Remember always to obey your husband. Goodbye, my love, my little one.”

I should not grieve, thought Luiza. All I wished for has happened. The Spaniards no longer molest us; we have the English as our allies, bound to us by the ties of affection and marriage.

That little matter of the dowry had been satisfactorily settled, although she had been afraid that the Earl of Sandwich was on the point of refusing to accept the sugar and spices in place of the gold. However, he had agreed to take it, after it had been arranged that Diego Silvas, a clever Jew, should accompany the sugar and spice to England and there make arrangements to dispose of it for gold which would be paid into the English Exchequer.

God and the saints be praised! thought Luiza. All difficulties have been surmounted, and I have nothing to fear now. There is just that grief which a mother must feel when parting with a beloved daughter.

How young Catherine looked! Younger than her years. Has she been too sheltered? Luiza anxiously demanded of herself. Does she know too little of the world? How will she fare in that gay Court? But God will look after her. God has decided on her destiny.

The last embrace, the last pressure of the hand had taken place, and Catherine was walking between her elder brother, the King, and her younger brother, the Infante. She turned before entering the waiting coach to curtsy to her mother.

Luiza watched them, and a hundred pictures from the past flashed through her mind as she did so. She remembered their birth, the happy days at Villa Viçosa and that important occasion of Catherine’s second birthday.

“Goodbye,” she murmured. “Goodbye, little Catherine.”

Through the streets went the royal coach, under the triumphal arches past the cheering people to the Cathedral, where Mass was celebrated. Catherine, who had rarely left the seclusion of the Palace, felt as though she were living through a fantastic dream. The shouting, cheering people, the magnificence of the street, and their decorations of damask and cloth of gold, the images of herself and Charles were like pictures conjured from the imagination. After the ceremony the coach took her, her brothers and their magnificent retinue to the Terreira da Paço where she was to embark on the barge which would carry her to the Royal Charles.

Among those who were to go with her were Maria de Portugal and Elvira de Vilpena. “You will not feel lonely,” her mother had said, “for you will have, as well as your suite of six ladies and duenna, those two old friends of your childhood who together will try to be what I have always been to you.”

The ceremony of going aboard was a very solemn one. A salute was fired from the Royal Charles, which carried 600 men and 80 brass cannon, and all the noblest in the retinue, which had accompanied her to the Paço, knelt before her to kiss her hand. Catherine stepped into the royal barge, and to the sound of music and cheering was rowed out to the Royal Charles.

As she became conscious of the swell beneath her feet a feeling of terrible desolation swept over her. She had been living in dreams; she had thought continually of her husband—the perfect King, the gentle Prince who had offered his life in exchange for his father’s, the lover who had written such tender notes. And now she became acutely aware of all that she was losing—her home, the love of her brothers and, most of all, her mother.

And Catherine was afraid.

Elvira was beside her. “Your Majesty should go at once to your cabin. And you should stay there until we set sail.”

Catherine did not answer, but she allowed herself to be led to the cabin.

Maria said to her: “The King himself designed your cabin in this his best beloved ship. I have heard it is the most magnificent cabin that ever was in a ship.”

Catherine was thinking: So it may be, but how can I think of my cabin now, even though he planned it for me? Oh, Mother…. I am twenty-three, I know, and a woman, but I am only a little girl really. I have never left my home before; I have rarely left the Palace … and now I have to go so far away, and I cannot bear it … I cannot … for I may never return.

Now they were inspecting the cabin. In it, they were saying, was all that a Queen could wish for. A royal cabin and a stateroom! Had she ever seen the like? Both apartments were decorated with gold, and lined with velvet. Would she take a look at the bed? It was red and white and richly embroidered. Could she believe that she was on board a ship! Look at the taffeta and damask at the windows, and the carpets on the floor!

Now she must rest, and stay in her cabin until the ship reached England, for it would not be meet for a Queen and lady of the royal house of Portugal to show herself to the sailors.

But Catherine had turned away. The closeness of the cabin with its rich decorations seemed to suffocate her. She could not remain there. She could not now consider Portuguese etiquette.

She turned and went onto the deck, determined to look at her native land as long as it was in view.

All that day and the night that followed, the Royal Charles with Catherine on board lay becalmed in the bay of Lisbon; but in the morning a wind sprang up and, accompanied by the Royal James, Gloucester, and fourteen men-of-war, the ship crossed the bar and sailed out to sea. It was a magnificent sight.

On the deck, waving aside all those who would come near her, was Catherine, Queen of England, Infanta of Portugal, straining to see, through the tears she could no longer restrain, the last of her native land.

After seventeen days at sea, to the great relief of all aboard, the English coast came into view. Elvira had suffered from a fever during the voyage. Catherine herself felt exhausted and weak and as the days passed she was beset by many doubts. It was one thing to dream of the perfect marriage with the perfect man, but when to accomplish it meant leaving behind her home and beloved family, she could not experience complete joy.

She had even had doubts about her husband’s virtues as the voyage progressed. It might have been that, in imminent peril of losing their lives, those about her had not succeeded in hiding their feelings as they had in calmer moments. Catherine knew that those who loved her were afraid for her; she knew that they were thinking of the woman Castlemaine, of whom she must never speak. She herself was afraid. As she lay in her cabin, tossed by the erratic movement of the ship, she had felt so ill that she had almost wished for death. But then it had seemed that her mother was near her, urging her to remember her duty, not only to her husband, but to Portugal.

She had wept a little; she had cried for her mother, cried for her home and the quiet of the Lisbon Palace.

It was well that her weakness could be kept secret from those about her.

But she had felt happier when they had come in sight of land and, as they approached the Isle of Wight, the Duke of York’s squadron hove in sight. Immediately word was sent to her that the Duke, brother to the King, had sent a message craving her permission to come aboard the Royal Charles that he might kiss her hand.

Soon he had come, with the gentlemen of his suite; the Duke of Ormond, the Earl of Chesterfield, the Earl of Suffolk and other fine gentlemen.

They were all dazzlingly dressed, and as her brother-in-law approached to kiss her hand, Catherine was glad that she had disregarded Maria’s and Elvira’s injunctions to receive the visitors in her native dress. She realized that it would seem strange to these gentlemen and that they would expect her to be dressed as the ladies of their Court. So she wore a dress which had been provided for her by the indefatigable and so tactful Richard Fanshawe; it was made of white and silver lace, and Elvira and Maria held up their hands in horror at the sight of her. It was, they declared, indecent compared with her Portuguese costume.

But she refused to listen to them and, in the cabin, which had been hastily turned into a small presence chamber, she received these gentlemen.

The Duke set out to charm her, and this he succeeded in doing, for, although his manners with ladies were considered somewhat clumsy by the members of his brother’s Court, Catherine sensed his great desire to please, and she was only too ready to be pleased.

They talked in Spanish and, as the Duke was eager to dispense with ceremony, Catherine was delighted to do so. She asked for news of the King, and James told her many things concerning her husband: how he loved ships, and what care he had spent in decking this one out that it might be worthy to receive his bride; how he loved on occasion to take a hand at the tiller himself; he told of the improvements he had made in his parks and houses; how he loved a gamble at the races; how he made experiments in his laboratories, and grew strange herbs in his physic garden; he told her a great deal about his brother and mentioned the names of many ladies and gentlemen of the Court, but never once did the name of Castlemaine pass his lips.

Catherine received him daily when he would be rowed out to the Royal Charles in his launch; and they talked together, becoming the best of friends, so that Catherine felt her fears diminishing. And when the Royal Charles sailed to Portsmouth, James followed and was at hand again, when she left the great ship, to accompany her to port in the royal barge.

Once on land she was taken to one of the King’s houses in Portsmouth, where the Countess of Suffolk, who had been appointed a lady of her bedchamber, was waiting to receive her.

The Duke advised her to despatch a letter to the King, telling him of her arrival, when he would with all haste come to greet her.

Eagerly she awaited his coming.

She shut herself into her apartment and told all her attendants that she wished to be alone. Elvira was still suffering from her fever, and Maria was exhausted; as to her six ladies-in-waiting and their duenna, they too were feeling the effects of the journey and, like their mistress, were not averse to being left alone to recover.

Catherine lay in the solitude of her chamber and once more took out the miniature she had carried with her.

Soon he would be here. Soon she would see him in the flesh—this man of whom she had dreamed so persistently since she had known he was to be her husband. She knew what his face was like. He was tall, rather somberly dressed, for he was not a man who greatly cared for finery. This much she had heard. No! He would not care for finery; vanity in dress was for smaller men! He was witty. That alarmed her. He will think me so very stupid, she thought. I must try to think of clever things to say. No, I must be myself. I must apologize because I am simple and have seen so little of the world. He will have seen so much. He has wandered over Europe, an exile for years before he came into his kingdom. What will he think of his poor simple bride?