He died when I was eighteen, so I had time to know him well. He was a gentle and kindly man who valued peace and the life he shared with his family. I understand what his feelings were on that significant day.

Guests had gathered to celebrate my birthday. My arrival into the world had been greeted with great joy. There was none of that disappointment so often felt in royal circles because a child proves to be a girl and not a boy. Why should there have been? They already had their two boys. How were they to know then that they were going to lose them?

Donna Maria liked to tell me about it, so I heard often of the joy at the Villa Viçosa when I was born.

“There was rejoicing throughout the palace…the whole country, in fact…for although your father lived the life of a country gentleman, it was not forgotten that he was the Duke of Braganza, and it was hoped that one day he would be in his rightful place on the throne of Portugal, and our country would no longer be the vassal of the hated Spaniards. Only the best was good enough for the Duke’s daughter, and, as you know, your godfather was the great nobleman Don Francisco de Mello, the Marquis of Ferreira.”

“Who,” I never forgot to say at this point, “is your brother.”

“That is so, my child. We are a highly respected family, and have always been the good friends of the House of Braganza, which is one of the reasons why your mother has entrusted you to my care.”

“I know, dear Donna Maria.”

And she would go on: “As you were born on St. Catherine’s Day, it seems right and proper that you should be named after the saint.”

My first two years had been spent at the Villa Viçosa in the province of Alemtejo, and very happy they must have been until that fateful day.

According to Donna Maria, from all over the country, people had come to celebrate my birthday.

“It was not only that,” added Donna Maria, anxious as ever that I should not grow up with an inflated idea of my importance. “The occasion was used to express the people’s loyalty to the Duke of Braganza, and to remind him that they were aware that, although he was living as a country gentleman, they did not forget that he was the rightful King of Portugal.”

Our country had been a vassal state of Spain for sixty years. The Portuguese had lived through troublous times since the death of Henry, the Cardinal King, who had died before he named his successor. Consequently there were several claimants to the throne. My great-grandmother, the Duchess of Braganza, was in the direct line and considered herself the rightful heiress, but she was a woman. Philip of Spain laid claim to the throne. He was perhaps the most powerful ruler in Europe, and he was successful, which was a sad day for Portugal; and the people never ceased to chafe against the invader.

So…now my father, grandson of Donna Maria, Duchess of Braganza, was in truth the King of Portugal.

That was the state of affairs on that November day when the celebrations of my second birthday were in progress. There was great joy and merriment until Don Gaspar Cortigno arrived, with his special mission which was to change our lives.

Knowing my father as I did, I understood his feelings on that day. He would be enjoying the merry company, delighting in his family, revelling in the serenity and peace of the Villa Viçosa with his loved ones around him. He was not an ambitious man.

Gaspar Cortigno had been selected for this mission. He must have been an eloquent man and a fervent patriot. I could imagine his words. “The time has come for you to do your duty to your people, Your Highness. The throne could be yours for the taking. The country is behind you. We want you to leave this place and come to Lisbon. We have the men. We have the means. The time has come for Portugal to be free.”

And my father’s dismayed response, what had that been? At first, I was sure, he would have vehemently refused. Others had tried and failed. He wanted to cling to his pleasant life. He had large estates; he was wealthy; he did not seek to rule; he only wanted to live in peace with his family; he had little stomach for battle; blood would be shed, lives would be lost.

But there was my mother. She was different from her husband.

She was the daughter of the Duke of Medina Sidonia; she was proud; she had decided views of right and wrong; and she was ambitious for her family. She believed that my father’s rightful place was on the throne.

Gaspar Cortigno’s words made a deep impression on her. The people of Portugal were asking my father to rise against the Spaniards and they were ready to stand beside him.

I can imagine my father’s dismay when she joined her pleas with those of Gaspar Cortigno.

“Your father said he could not do it,” said Donna Maria. “He said it would plunge the country into war. It was better to let life go on as it was. But there was one thing which persuaded him to change his mind.” She looked at me proudly. “It was because of you.”

I was delighted to think that I was so important — at least had been on this occasion.

“There you were, in your birthday gown. You looked…er…very pleasant. Your mother took you by the hand, and she said to your father: ‘Could you deny this child her due? Could she grow up the daughter of a mere duke when she is indeed the daughter of a king? It is your duty, if for no other reason than for the sake of this child…and your boys.’ After that your father gave way. What could he do? If he would not act for himself, he must for his family.”

I knew that Donna Maria’s version was near the truth because I had heard the story from other sources, and I think I remember my father’s serious look as he took me into his arms, holding me tightly and saying: “This must be.”

And soon after that he left the Villa Viçosa and went to live in Lisbon, where my father was proclaimed King Juan IV of Portugal.


* * *

I WAS FIVE YEARS OLD when the next momentous event occurred. Both my little brothers were dead. I did remember the sorrowful atmosphere throughout the palace when it happened — one death following quickly on another.

My mother shut herself in her apartments and appeared rarely, and when she did her grief was apparent; but she was not of a nature to flaunt her sorrow and soon she was emerging to dominate us all.

I was delighted to see her with us again. I think she had a special fondness for me. She had loved her boys, but they had always been delicate and, although she had never failed in her tenderness toward them, she had a natural distaste for weakness of any kind. I was a healthy girl and she delighted in me.

I realized that something was happening when I heard Donna Maria and Donna Elvira whispering together.

“Can it be true?” murmured Elvira.

“What a blessing it would be…after the tragedy.”

“Do not speak of that. It is too grievous…even now. But if this should be…”

“I shall pray for it.”

“And so shall I.”

I was not sure of what they were speaking, but I sensed there was some secrecy about it, so I refrained from asking my mother.

We had moved to the palace at Sintra and I saw little of my father. He was always away, driving the Spaniards out of Portugal, I supposed. He was known as King Don Juan, and my mother was very anxious that everyone should be aware of the family’s rank.

She was angry because my father was not generally recognized as King outside Portugal. The Pope, terrified of the Spaniards, had refused to acknowledge the title. There were only two countries who did. France was one, England the other. Both of these countries had reason to hate the Spaniards.

I discovered that my mother did not always trust the French, but she did have special feelings of friendship toward the English.

I had heard a great deal of talk about the troubles in England. It would appear they were in a worse state than Portugal. Their King was fighting his own Parliamant and there was civil war in that land. We, at least, were only trying to free ourselves from the usurper, and the Portuguese nation stood firmly together, whereas Englishmen were fighting Englishmen.

Reluctant as my father had been to take up arms, he had had several successes. This was encouraging, but not decisive; there was great rejoicing throughout the country at every success and hopes were high.

“It is Donna Luiza who is behind the King,” I heard Donna Maria say to Donna Elvira; and they nodded in agreement.

“The day will come,” said Donna Maria prophetically, “when King Don Juan with Donna Luiza will free this country absolutely.”

I wondered when that time would come and whether we should then go back to the Villa Viçosa.

Then the long-awaited event took place. My mother retired to her bedchamber and a hushed atmosphere pervaded the house. Everyone was waiting.

It had happened. There was rejoicing throughout the palace.

Later I was taken to see my new brother Alfonso in his cradle.


* * *

I WAS NEARLY SEVEN YEARS OLD when I first heard of Prince Charles.

My father’s success had continued, and although to the Spaniards he was still the Duke of Braganza, to the English he was King Juan of Portugal, which was no longer the subject state it had been before that important day at Villa Viçosa.

My mother sent for me, and I could see at once from her demeanor that she was about to talk of a very serious matter.

She was gentle but tender toward me as always, which gave me a feeling of warm comfort, for she was inclined to be severe when dealing with most people.

“Catherine, come here,” she said, and when I stood before her, she kissed me on both cheeks.

“You are growing up,” she went on. “Have you ever thought that one day you might marry?”

“I do not want to leave you,” I said in alarm.

She smiled. “Certainly you do not. But it will not be for some time. Your father and I have been talking of your future, and, as you know, it is the duty of us all to consider our country in every way.”

I was beginning to feel uneasy. She saw that and went on quickly: “There is no need to be afraid. Your father and I have decided that you should know now what is happening, as it concerns you. We did not want you suddenly to be presented with a situation of this nature…as has happened to so many. You know something of the state of our country, and that we are trying to rid ourselves completely of Spanish tyranny. You know of the great work your father has done and that we are succeeding in our task. Your father is the rightful King of Portugal, and we are determined that soon every state shall recognize him as such. The English have always been good friends to us. They are a more powerful nation that we are…one of the most powerful in Europe. But the King is now engaged in a war with his Parliament, who are trying to impose their will on the people. They will not succeed. The King has a son — more than one — but it is the eldest in whom we are interested — Charles, Prince of Wales. It is your father’s wish, and mine, that you shall marry him.”

“Go to England?” I cried.

“It would not be for some time. I am just telling you that your father has sent our ambassador with a suggestion that this might be. They are a great nation, but at war. We are a small one in semi-captivity. These matters depend on negotiations. Your father is in a position to bestow a good dowry on you and the King of England will need money to conduct his war.”

“So because of the money…”

“No, because you are the daughter of a king and young Charles is the son of one. We must accept these things as they are. It is the rulers who decide them. To marry a man who will one day be a king is a great destiny and one must be prepared for it.”

“I should like to know something about this prince.”

“He is fourteen years old — a charming boy, so I have heard.”

“That seems very old,” I ventured.

“You think so because you are younger. As you grow up, these seven years will seem nothing. It is better for a husband to be older than his wife. Charles is clever and charming, a loyal son and he will be a good husband.” My mother drew me to her. “You must not be anxious,” she went on. “It will not be for a long time, but I tell you now so that you will be prepared when the time comes. So far this is only a suggestion. With Oliver Cromwell at his heels, the King may have many matters with which to concern himself as well as the marriage of his son.”