The Scroll of Seduction (23 page)

Good God, what shall I do? What shall I do with all the anguish I hold inside, the unremitting pain that this love brings me? I am constantly suspicious of Philippe. I want to maintain my dignity, but all I do is berate and interrogate, denigrating myself before him. But I have to know. There is nothing so pathetic, so pitiful, or so painful as being the deceived wife. It is not just the love I profess but my pride that leads me to stalk him. I cannot allow him to betray me, nor what is worse, to successfully deceive me. Ever since I returned I have had the strange feeling that Philippe has a double. I cannot accept that the man I love and the one who abuses his authority, lies to me, laughs in my face, and makes me out to be a lunatic are the same person. When the false Philippe approaches, I shiver. I fear his harsh words and eyes, which would drill through my heart with impunity if they could.

I was quite taken with Fatima's ablutions. So much so that I convinced Philippe too to let himself be perfumed and rubbed with oils. But before long, my pleasure began to make him uncomfortable. He was jealous that I could find my slaves hands so sweet, their touch so restful. In truth they pleasured me with more than just baths and massages. Those women had silky soft hands and knew all the secrets of the body. Several of them were quite beautiful, and seeing them naked and feeling their breasts brush against me as they washed my hair excited every sort of devilish temptation I held inside. They were not content just to mas
sage and oil my body nor rub sugar to slough away my rough skin; they used their tongues to wash it away. The first time Almudena licked my sex, I was dozing lightly. I pretended not to awaken and to dreamily enjoy the softness of her tongue. She was a woman, so she knew exactly how much pressure to exert in order to make me melt from the inside out, to exhaust me and bring me to the sweetest, most exquisite pleasure that humans have ever known. Those slave women working above me made me float in fabulous, prolonged ecstasy, which I would later recount to Philippe when we got into bed together. He would be aroused by my descriptions of Melina's kisses, of the way Fatima licked my nipples, fingers, and toes. And what I told him as a harmless game, to feed our passion, was also my form of revenge, my way of showing him that I too found pleasure in other places. I provoked his jealousy, which was my aim, but it was a pyrrhic victory. He began to berate me, to call me perverse and say I acted against nature. I was committing the sin of the island of Lesbos. I must not carry on with those practices, he said, and he forbade it. Theodore and my slaves would be forced to leave the palace.

When I refused to dismiss Fatima, Almudena, and particularly Theodore, Philippe sent Pedro de Rada, my chamber quartermaster, to warn me that until they were sent away, my husband would not visit me again. It was an ultimatum: him or them. My choice. He got my unwavering response: I had his messenger thrown out of my rooms. In retaliation, Philippe ordered that I be kept behind locked doors once more.

Months later I found out that because my parents were worried about rumors that I was mistreated, Philippe had ordered Martín de Moxica to keep a record of everything he reported about my behavior, to compile a logbook. Among other things, Moxica had jotted down–as if it were a crime–that I bathed several times a day, often washed my hair, and that my rooms smelled so strongly of musk it was hard to breathe. Finally, Philippe sent this dossier to my parents, intending to prove that I was losing not only my wits but also my ability to discern good from evil.

It was Philippe's evil twin who thought nothing of getting rid of Theodore as well as twelve of my servants, my Moorish slaves among
them. He would not even allow Madame de Hallewin to stay by my side. In her stead, he sent a pro-French lady who detests me, the Viscountess of Furnes, Alienor de Poitiers. He sent my confessor back to Spain and outright refuses to give me any money for my expenses as he ought, claiming that he has not received the incomes due him as prince of Asturias. Perhaps, indeed, I am mad, but Philippe and this horrid man cannot be the same person. No one else realizes that there is deceit underfoot, because no one else knows the real Philippe as I do. And that is why I have elected to stay in bed. Alienor de Poitiers shall not be the one to make me eat, or dress. If I am to be denied my attendants, then no one shall lay a hand on me. I will die of hunger if this is my only means of getting the Philippe I love to come back and take charge of our household.

 

“IN LATIN AMERICA WE SAY: A SAINT ABROAD AND A DEVIL AT HOME.
Juana saw the play of light and shadows in Philippe's behavior.

“But Philippe was just behaving normally for a man of his time. It was Juana, on the other hand, whose jealousy and torment and inability to feign indifference–her total transparency, which was so unusual for a woman of her station back then–turned her into the weakest link,” Manuel said. “It was easier for her contemporaries to write her off than to try to understand her, not only because it was simpler but also because there was political gain to be had from it.”

“Her husband's contrariety was probably reason enough to confound her and make her doubt her sanity. And if you add to that the uncertainty and disquiet Juana had been experiencing, what with her parents trying to separate her from her spouse, plus Philippe's infidelity, plus the isolation forced on her…Poor thing. It's no wonder she thought Philippe had a double.”

“He didn't want her to have any contact with people who made her feel like herself; making her think she was losing her mind was all part of the plan, and there were times when she probably preferred to believe that it wasn't reality that was so cruel but her own mind playing tricks on her, though to me that seems even worse. Tragically, the idea that she
was mad was politically useful both to Philippe and to Ferdinand, as a means of justifying their ambitions. On November 23, 1504, three days before Queen Isabella died–and no doubt using Martín de Moxica's dossier as proof, since by that time Philippe had sent it to him–Ferdinand played another one of his ruses. He convinced Isabella to add a last-minute clause to her will. It goes without saying that since she was already on her deathbed, she was in no condition to put up a fight. And this clause stated that if Juana were absent from Castile, or if she were incapacitated to rule, then King Ferdinand would govern on her behalf. So, really, he took the documents Philippe had sent him in the hopes of being granted greater command when
he
ascended to the throne and used them for his own ends: checkmate.”

 

WHEN THEY FOUND OUT, PHILIPPE AND PARTICULARLY GUTIERRE
Gómez de Fuensalida, the Spanish ambassador, realized they'd fallen into a trap. Gómez de Fuensalida had switched camps and was now supporting the man he assumed would be the future king when Isabella died. He had become Philippe's most faithful advisor, standing in for François de Busleyden, the archbishop of Besançon. Forced to change strategies to ensure that Ferdinand had no way to strip Philippe of power, the prince and his counselor then decided to claim that Juana was, after all, sane so as to make light of the rumors they themselves had made sure to spread. But it was too late. After the queen died, Ferdinand convened the Cortes of Castile in January 1505 and read out Martín de Moxica's lengthy account of Juana's behavior. Immediately, the Cortes declared him governor of all her kingdoms. So Philippe realized that only by taking Juana to Spain and presenting her as a queen that was fit to rule could he oppose Ferdinand effectively.

 

“WHEN DID ISABELLA DIE?”

“On November 26, 1504, but Philippe and Juana didn't get to Spain until April 27, 1506. Philippe couldn't leave the Low Countries until he put down a rebellion in Guelders, and Juana was pregnant again, giving birth to her third daughter, Mary, on September 15, 1505. If you do the
math, she must have gotten pregnant in December 1504. Philippe came back to her the moment Isabella died. He'd refused to see her ever since the incident with the Moorish slaves.”

“The
real
Philippe would have consoled her.” I grinned.

“Maybe Juana was right. Philippe oscillated between his passion and his ambition. Historians debate whether Philippe's behavior was controlled largely by his advisors. He was very easily influenced. Personally, I think they both swayed between love and hate.”

O
n my way back to school I dozed off on the metro. I didn't know whether to blame my lethargy on the arrival of winter's grayness or on the fact that it was so hard for me to return to reality and leave behind the sixteenth century world in which Juana threw fits of jealousy, attempted reconciliation, and ended up ever more isolated.

I remembered that when I was a girl, and the lights came on at the end of a movie, it was almost impossible for me to leave behind the protagonist's borrowed identity. And it was that person who was transformed into an adolescent leaving the matinee for the tropical sun, who saw the world through my eyes.

And that was how I felt with Juana. Manuel was right when he guessed that I'd be able to penetrate her inner world with no trouble. She wandered the avenues of my mind with her passions and her turmoils, and I knew that when our paths crossed, I would embrace her, anxious to transcend the centuries that separated us like folds in the cloth of time. I did not doubt her sanity. In fact, I thought it was her very lucidity that had betrayed her. Juana believed she was free to act as she wished, not within limits imposed on her by her father, her mother, and everyone else. And not following conventions meant running considerable risks. What fascinated me about her, what made me want to know her better, was her nerve, her willingness to shatter the preconceptions held by Philippe, by the courtiers, by everybody. Because of her
actions, she ended up alone, condemned to an impotent clarity. Her quest for independence backfired on her, and Philippe, who was better at dealing with people than she, was able to isolate her right from the start, cementing loyalty–even from the Spanish–with gifts and promises.

Juana used her body as a weapon time and time again. Perhaps so many pregnancies had been a means to assert her power, to display the love Philippe held for her. A pregnant woman was a symbol of female sexuality. A pregnant woman did not conjure up images of a Madonna, but of a real woman, in bed, making love. I found pregnant women enchanting to watch. I loved the lumbering sweetness that floated around them like a halo of life. I hadn't told anyone, but I hadn't gotten my period that month and I was distraught and anxious, especially when I thought about my recent conversation with Mother Luisa Magdalena. That weekend, when I was lying naked beside Manuel, he held one of my breasts as if he were weighing the evidence, and told me that they'd grown. He said making love was maturing my body. Surely that was it. It wasn't the first time I'd skipped a period. When I was fifteen, the nuns had even taken me to a gynecologist to see what the problem might have been, and the doctor had told them it was normal, especially at first, when hormones and cycles were still adjusting. My periods eventually became regular. Perhaps this was just another phase, maybe my body was entering maturity. After all, Manuel and I had been very careful. Especially him. So I shouldn't worry too much about it. I had to take my emotional state into account and assume my fears would prove to be unfounded.

I walked out of the metro into the chill of the street, and stopped off at the bakery to buy croissants. The girl behind the counter wrapped my package in Christmas paper and tied it up with red and green ribbons. Águeda had told me that she would very much like to have me stay with them over Christmas vacation. The nuns had already agreed. My grandmother, at my request, wrote to the mother superior to say that I was mature enough to make that sort of decision on my own. It was a huge relief to know I had been spared from going to Málaga, where the foreign boarders spent cheerless vacations.

I walked down the street back toward school thinking about Juana and her confinement. During the coming week I wouldn't see the streets, or cars, or the hustle and bustle of the city. The gray walls would swallow me up. I crossed the somber, tiled front hall and pushed the door open. I heard it close behind me. The echo of the wood hitting the frame followed me all the way to my room. The idea of having to spend six more months there made it seem an eternity. I imagined the sense of liberation I'd feel when this unchanging routine finally ended. I wondered what would become of me and the other girls in a few years' time. Where would we end up? Huge differences separated us: they had parents; I didn't. They were virgins; I had a lover. They dismissed the prejudices that stood like obstacles in our path. I imagined those prejudices aligned against us like an army. They'd shoot at our legs to prevent us from going very far without help. Perhaps not being a virgin would make things more difficult for me when it came to marriage. We all had to be on the lookout for those who would just as soon turn us into caretakers: nurses, secretaries, second-rate citizens.

I missed not having parents to guide me. My father had been a successful banker, a lawyer by profession, but I had no interest in studying law. My plan, before Manuel arrived on the scene, had been to finish high school and then move to New York and study humanities; Isis could help me figure out exactly what to do and how. History maybe, I thought now. I liked reliving better than living. Maybe that's why I felt so comfortable evoking Juana, her history, her life story, delving into her past. Or maybe it was just that the future seemed so uncertain. When the year ended, I'd be done with school: no more convent, no more nuns. And no matter how boring I thought boarding school was, no matter how badly I wanted to get out of there, I had no idea what would become of me afterward. I couldn't imagine how my relationship with Manuel would change my plans or what would happen between us once Juana's story came to an end.