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Francisco. I believe it will be one which the impoverished King of England will not be able to refuse.”
    I waited and she seemed to be convincing herself that, as I was deeply involved, I should be told the facts.
    She said: “Five hundred thousand pounds in ready money, the possession of Tangiers, which is on the African coast, and Bombay in India, shall be part of your dowry. We shall grant them the right to free trade in Brazil and the East Indies. Of course, the possession of Tangiers and Bombay will give the English immense opportunities for increasing their trade.”
    â€œAm I worth so much?”
    â€œThis alliance with England is worth everything we could reasonably give. In it lies the security of our nation and the final triumph over our enemy Spain.”
    â€œI see,” I said slowly, “that it must succeed.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    THE TIME WAS PASSING. There were prolonged delays, for, in spite of my tempting dowry, there was hesitation.
    My mother was watchful of the Spanish. The last thing they wanted was an alliance between Portugal and England and they were going to do everything in their power to stop it.
    Vatteville, the Spanish ambassador at Charles’s court, was spreading evil tales about me. I was deformed; I was ugly; I was barren. I did not know then of Charles’s great admiration for female beauty, otherwise I might have been alarmed.
    I was passably good-looking. My eyes were dark and large; my hair was abundant and chestnut brown. I had always disliked my teeth which protruded in the front—not a great deal, but too much for beauty. I was short in stature, which made me lack grace. But I was certainly not ugly, only just not handsome.
    The delays must mean that our offer had not been entirely acceptable and my mother could not hide her anxiety.
    Every day we had news that Spanish troops were massing on the border. They were waiting for the match to founder. Then they would attack. I began to wonder whether even my mother’s optimism was beginning to wane.
    Dispatches reached us from England. My mother was taking me more and more into her confidence because the matter so deeply concerned me.
    â€œIt is that villain Vatteville who is doing everything he can to stop the match. It shows clearly how much Spain is afraid of this alliance. If it were to fail…but it will not…but if it were to, they would immediately attack us. We need more troops…we need ammunition. It must not be…It would be the end of all our endeavors. Oh, why is there this delay?”
    I went to her one day and found her laughing.
    â€œVatteville is a fool,” she said. “I think he has gone too far this time. Francisco writes of this. Until now I did not realize how very much those Spaniards are set on breaking this match. They are really alarmed. Did I not say they were still in awe of the English? Oh, Catherine, this must come to pass. How right I was to hold out. Listen to this. They can be arrogant, those Spaniards. It blinds them to the truth. They are powerful…very powerful…but not quite as powerful as they believe themselves to be. Vatteville had the temerity to tell Charles that if he went through with this marriage to a daughter of the rebel Duke of Braganza he, Vatteville, had been ordered by his master, the King of Spain, to withdraw from the court and war would be declared on England.”
    â€œCould that really be so?” I asked.
    She snapped her fingers. “It was nonsense. He could have had no such orders. He was just a little too clever that time.”
    â€œAnd what did Charles say to that?”
    â€œHe replied that Vatteville might be gone as soon as he wished, for he, the King of England, did not receive orders from the King of Spain as to whom he might marry.”
    I clasped my hands and said: “He is so wise, so brave, so clever…”
    â€œWell, of course, Vatteville realized he had gone