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

bravery.”
    Remembering now Maria making that promise, Beatriz steadied her gaze upon the queen’s thickened fingers, drumming on the arm of her seat. The jewels in her rings winked in the sunlight. Overheated in her gown, Beatriz attempted to push down the fear and horror swirling in her stomach, making her feel ill again.
    Loud laughter erupted from the king’s stall. His vulpine face full of eagerness for the kill, King Ferdinand leaned forward in his chair and joked with the grandees standing near him. Beatriz lowered her head, praying he would not notice her. The king always took great delight in the battle of life and death waged before their eyes. A vivid, magnetic and pragmatic man amongst men, he seemed to live for such moments.
    Beatriz hooded her eyes against witnessing the men’s enjoyment, but she lifted her head when she heard the excited laughter of Prince Ahmed and Prince Juan. Watching Prince Juan copy his father depressed her. A poet and scholar, Juan was a youth who never revelled in bloodshed. His behaviour today disturbed her. Why, she asked herself, must he assume the mask that belonged to men like his father? Could he not show the public the sensitive, gentle boy he really was?
    Still and silent, the queen and her daughters sat with rod-straight backs against their chairs. Placed behind Catalina, Beatriz kept her hands locked together in her lap and steadied her breathing. She thought of the morning song of birds, new books she wanted to read, tomorrow’s lessons – anything and everything rather than to return her eyes to a bleeding animal full of justified fury, no longer seduced by the matador’s dance, but fighting for its life. Hearing the king laugh again, Beatriz recalled the words of Aristotle: Man, when perfected, is the best of animals, but when separated from law and justice, he is the worst of all.
    The bull gave a tortured bellow. Beatriz looked down to see the matador pull his short spear out of the bull’s back. She hated bulls? Watching the animal’s pain-glazed eyes roll back in its distress it was no longer hate she felt but great pity.
    Side-stepping with a dancer’s grace, the matador again speared the bull deep into its shoulder. The open wound gushed an outpouring of blood, a red rivulet against the bull’s black skin. The crowd roared its approval and so did the king. In answer, the matador flourished a half-turn to the royal stand. A foolish, costly mistake. The bull lowered its head and charged.
    Beatriz closed her eyes. She heard Catalina gasp and Juana scream, a scream penetrating the silence in the royal stands.
    Below them the bull gored the matador to death. Sickened, faint, Beatriz swallowed back vomit. Hot urine splashed down her thighs. Her heart in her throat, the matador’s terrible screams cut through her. Twisting, she looked behind her, seeking an easy way of escape through the queen’s crowd of women. She just wanted to grab Catalina and Maria, and run away from this living nightmare, but obedience to the queen forbade it.
    Holding long spears, twelve men or more rushed into the arena. From a safe distance, they aimed and threw their spears. The bull, focused on its revenge, stayed oblivious to the arching spears until too late. One last furious bellow sounded below. The beast buckled, collapsing on the dying matador.
    Catalina turned and looked at Beatriz with terrified eyes. The child had grabbed the back of her seat, holding it so tight her knuckles became white. Hysterical, Juana sobbed and sobbed. Beside her, a very pale Isabel took her arm, and shook. She whispered, “Quieten yourself, I beg you. Father watches.”
    Juana hiccupped, her tears stopping, as if knifed at their very source. Ducking her head, Beatriz looked aside at the king. Black fury darkened his already dark skin to a frightening guise. Reminding Beatriz of the bull just minutes before its death, his gaze snapped upon the queen’s as if a bolt of lightning. Without warning he