Free Falling Pomegranate Seeds: The Duty of Daughters (The Katherine of Aragon Story Book 1) by Wendy J. Dunn Page A

the pope for men of God to come to him. None have because the journey is too full of danger. Columbus believes he can discover a way to make it not so.”
    “I think the king is right. Seafaring ships disappear over the ends of the world,” Maria said earnestly.
    Catalina laughed. “That’s only a fable. Don’t you remember Latina telling us otherwise?” she reminded her friend, with another glance in Columbus’s direction. “Geraldini and Santángel both have my lady mother’s ear. My mother likes the Italian. She believes God has sent him to her. He will get his ships.”
    Catalina pulled Maria back into movement. One more time, Beatriz gazed over her shoulder. Seemingly a true Italian – even if a Jew – with heavy, hooded eyes, large, hooked nose, sensual lips, and strong chin, the man reminded her of a bust found in their present alcázar, a bust of a long ago Roman Caesar. Columbus took no notice of two small girls and their woman tutor padding softly in the long, narrow corridor, away from the shadows and into the light of a new day. Even Catalina, a daughter of the royal house, aroused none of his attention.
    Behind the infanta Juana, a frowning Dońa Teresa Manrigue gestured to them to quicken their pace. Beatriz ceased wondering about this stranger, forced to face the moment at hand. With her trailing skirts slung over an arm, she rushed with the small girls to join the queen and her other children to attend yet another festivity celebrating Isabel’s proxy marriage to the Prince of Portugal. Two more of the queen’s women followed a few steps behind.
    Beatriz hurried faster than usual, but for far different reasons. If she didn’t hurry, concentrating on walking in her long gown with grace, she might succumb to her desire to run in the opposite direction. She had no wish to watch another bullfight.
    Beatriz hated bulls. She had always hated them. An immense, overpowering primeval fear made it so, a fear surging up within her whenever the inescapable smell of a bull came near. Seeing them, smelling them, even from a safe distance, swamped her in a violent tide of terror. Her heart beating hard and furious against her chest, Beatriz felt sick and dizzy. It took the clasp of Maria and Catalina’s hands to stop her from dashing away from the entrance of the arena. Already, the heady, ripe smell of beast walled her in its imprisonment.
    Looking down at their white, pinched faces, it seemed the girls also shared her fear. And not only the girls. The queen also hated bullfights. Time after time she sat there with a white, drained face, empty of expression. Her head set against the high back of her chair, she kept her eyes fixed, watching the bull rage and fight for its life against the matador.
    Just days ago Maria had experienced her first bullfight. The child wept – and the queen had noticed. Later, when Beatriz accompanied Catalina and Maria to the queen’s private chambers, Queen Isabel took Maria aside, crouching down to speak to her in the embrasure of her huge window.
    “I detest bullfights.” She lifted Maria’s chin, making the child look straight into her eyes. “Can I trust you with my secret of how I pretend otherwise?”
    Maria nodded and attempted a smile.
    Queen Isabel rested her hand on Maria’s shoulder. “You are your mother’s good hija, si?”
    Maria nodded again and the queen laughed. Cocking her head to one side, she peered out the window before turning back to Maria. “I must appear brave before my people, small cousin, but – I tell you in truth – only the stupid and those lacking any foresight do not fear. Little cousin, you too descended from kings, please believe the truth of my words. When we pretend bravery the pretence often becomes real. Very real. If we face fear we often find we turn a lion into a cat. A cat is easily dealt with, si?” Queen Isabel smiled when Maria nodded. “My small kin-child, promise me you’ll pretend to be brave until mantled by true