elect of Princes in the whole of Christendom, the most Catholic Philip, Infante of Aragon, Castile, and Brabant, King of Jerusalem, Archduke of Austria, Duke of Milan and Burgundy, Count of Hapsburg, Flanders, and the Tyrol, Defender of the Faith!
Boom. We all went down on our knees.
And I think a cloud must have crossed the face of the sun, for there was a sudden darkness and coldness. It could hardly have come from the man riding there among his pikemen and priests. He was not even wearing black. Yet we all looked involuntarily to see what was casting the chilly shadow that he was.
But really, now. How could I or anyone else have seen anything that day but a handsome young prince riding to meet his intended bride? Handsome, that is, if you found the barracuda Hapsburg looks appealing. And it is true that the bride he was riding to was nearly forty and no beauty. So maybe he did look a little gloomy. But evil? Did we really see mortal evil somehow incarnate there?
Of our journey, the less said the better. It took us over a week. I will tell you, though, that I would rather spend a month in the dungeons of the Inquisition than a day under hatches. Any time.
Not soon enough, we crossed the channel.
England was gray curtains of rain. When the salvo came booming across the water, all the women belowdecks and some of the men shrieked and wept. Joseph looked up from the detective novel he was reading.
“We must be in Southampton Water,” he remarked. “That’s probably the English warning us to lower our flags.”
“Good old Britain,” grunted Flavius.
“I want to see!” Eva leaped to her feet. “Anybody else want to come?”
I was only too glad to get some air, so we found our way above decks and peered out from under an overhang.
Mist and drizzle. Lots of ships. Some Flemish vessels. Men shouting across the water. It began to rain harder.
“There’s England!” Eva was all excited. “The Groves of Amadis!” I peered out but could see nothing distinctly. Rain pocked the surface of the sea, streamed from the ropes and rigging. Sailors shouldered past us, giving us to understand that we had picked the most inconvenient spot on the ship to watch the rain.
“Let’s go inside,” I shouted in Eva’s ear. “It’s too wet.” She nodded, and we went back below, lifting our skirts well clear of the pools of vomited wines and sugared comfits. So much for England.
We made landing as darkness fell with more rain, but remained on board that night because the English wouldn’t let us come ashore. As we understood it, no Spaniard was allowed to set foot on English soil until Philip himself was officially granted permission; and his serene shadowy Highness was prostrate seasick in his own cabin on the Holy Ghost . It was the first inkling a lot of those grandees had that they were in another world entirely. Here was Mary, longing to see her royal intended, and these sons of merchants were telling her whom she could and couldn’t have setting foot on the soil of her own country!
The following day, the Prince had recovered himself enough to meet the great golden barge of state when it arrived. We all crowded up on deck to watch the distant scene. Eva quoted ecstatically to herself about burnished poops. Through windy sheets of sunlight and rain we saw the green-and-white figures of the bargemen bring the barge up alongside the Holy Ghost . Stiff little gesturing figures in scarlet: those must have been the English lords. Someone descended into the barge from the Holy Ghost ; shade and dimness, an abrupt fog. Yes, Philip must have boarded. Guns boomed in salute. We all ducked involuntarily.
The golden barge was rowed to shore, and for a while nothing happened, so a lot of people on deck got bored and went below. Eva and I, thus able to see better, were the only witnesses when the wedding party disembarked and took horses on shore. I made out Philip, on a mare with red trappings. Then they all rode off
Boom. We all went down on our knees.
And I think a cloud must have crossed the face of the sun, for there was a sudden darkness and coldness. It could hardly have come from the man riding there among his pikemen and priests. He was not even wearing black. Yet we all looked involuntarily to see what was casting the chilly shadow that he was.
But really, now. How could I or anyone else have seen anything that day but a handsome young prince riding to meet his intended bride? Handsome, that is, if you found the barracuda Hapsburg looks appealing. And it is true that the bride he was riding to was nearly forty and no beauty. So maybe he did look a little gloomy. But evil? Did we really see mortal evil somehow incarnate there?
Of our journey, the less said the better. It took us over a week. I will tell you, though, that I would rather spend a month in the dungeons of the Inquisition than a day under hatches. Any time.
Not soon enough, we crossed the channel.
England was gray curtains of rain. When the salvo came booming across the water, all the women belowdecks and some of the men shrieked and wept. Joseph looked up from the detective novel he was reading.
“We must be in Southampton Water,” he remarked. “That’s probably the English warning us to lower our flags.”
“Good old Britain,” grunted Flavius.
“I want to see!” Eva leaped to her feet. “Anybody else want to come?”
I was only too glad to get some air, so we found our way above decks and peered out from under an overhang.
Mist and drizzle. Lots of ships. Some Flemish vessels. Men shouting across the water. It began to rain harder.
“There’s England!” Eva was all excited. “The Groves of Amadis!” I peered out but could see nothing distinctly. Rain pocked the surface of the sea, streamed from the ropes and rigging. Sailors shouldered past us, giving us to understand that we had picked the most inconvenient spot on the ship to watch the rain.
“Let’s go inside,” I shouted in Eva’s ear. “It’s too wet.” She nodded, and we went back below, lifting our skirts well clear of the pools of vomited wines and sugared comfits. So much for England.
We made landing as darkness fell with more rain, but remained on board that night because the English wouldn’t let us come ashore. As we understood it, no Spaniard was allowed to set foot on English soil until Philip himself was officially granted permission; and his serene shadowy Highness was prostrate seasick in his own cabin on the Holy Ghost . It was the first inkling a lot of those grandees had that they were in another world entirely. Here was Mary, longing to see her royal intended, and these sons of merchants were telling her whom she could and couldn’t have setting foot on the soil of her own country!
The following day, the Prince had recovered himself enough to meet the great golden barge of state when it arrived. We all crowded up on deck to watch the distant scene. Eva quoted ecstatically to herself about burnished poops. Through windy sheets of sunlight and rain we saw the green-and-white figures of the bargemen bring the barge up alongside the Holy Ghost . Stiff little gesturing figures in scarlet: those must have been the English lords. Someone descended into the barge from the Holy Ghost ; shade and dimness, an abrupt fog. Yes, Philip must have boarded. Guns boomed in salute. We all ducked involuntarily.
The golden barge was rowed to shore, and for a while nothing happened, so a lot of people on deck got bored and went below. Eva and I, thus able to see better, were the only witnesses when the wedding party disembarked and took horses on shore. I made out Philip, on a mare with red trappings. Then they all rode off
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