Read The Creation Of Eve Online
Authors: Lynn Cullen
The Creation Of Eve (19 page)
"Apology accepted," said the Queen, then continued. "Later that evening, when he joined his father the King at camp, my father's brother began to vomit. Soon his body burned with fever. His arms and legs shook like reeds in the wind. Priests were called, doctors consulted, and surgeons put to work with their lancets and leeches."
The Queen gazed over her audience: The ladies held their breath, hands frozen over their embroidery; Don Alessandro stood with arms crossed; Don Carlos chewed at his drooping lip. Only Don Juan looked away.
"Three days later," the Queen said quietly, "twenty-three-year-old Charles d'Orleans was dead."
Don Carlos leaned forward and kissed the hem of her gown. "I would never roll in plaguey sheets, My Lady!"
The Queen smiled fondly upon him. "I know you wouldn't, Toad."
"Good story." Don Alessandro popped a grape into his mouth. "But I have been wanting to ask you, Uncle--just who was your mother, anyhow?"
I stopped sketching.
"Don Alessandro," the Queen said in warning.
Don Juan stroked the spaniel's silky ears. "It does not bother me. I know only what I've been told. She was from Austria, a minor nobleman's daughter."
"So not a common whore," said Don Alessandro. "I apologize, Uncle."
Don Carlos rolled over to look at Don Juan. "Don Luis never told you much, did he?"
"Don Luis was your foster father?" the Queen said.
"Yes, My Lady, don Luis Quijada," said Don Juan. "He was the vice-chamberlain of His Majesty the Emperor--he has retired to his estate in Villagarcia."
"Villagarcia--near Valladolid?" said Don Carlos. He gazed around to see if anyone noticed his knowledge of the kingdom.
"Yes," said Don Juan. "His Majesty the Emperor chose well when he picked don Luis to raise me. I could not have had a kinder, wiser father. But kind as he was, don Luis did seem to have a sense of mystery."
The Queen commenced again on her sketching. "Please hold your face to the right, Don Juan."
"Until the moment I met my brother the King," he said, doing as told, "don Luis would not tell me who my father was, though don Luis treated me with such care that I imagined--at least I truly hoped--I was his own illegitimate son. I thought that if I were just good enough, don Luis would finally admit I was his flesh and blood."
"Perhaps you should turn your head back like you had it a moment ago," said the Queen.
"Like this?"
She nodded solemnly, the Undressed ends of her hair swishing against her back.
"Go on with your story about don Luis," said Don Carlos. "Should I get back into position as well, dona Sofonisba?"
I nodded.
"Where was I?" said Don Juan.
"You weren't good enough," said Don Alessandro.
Don Juan gave Don Alessandro a long look before continuing. "I think don Luis's wife suspected I was his love child, yet she was kind to me, even though she believed her husband was making her raise his mistress's son. Imagine her relief when she found out whose son I really was."
"I don't think I could be so good if I thought I was raising the child of my husband 's mistress," said the Queen.
"Oh, you would be," the condesa muttered, over at her embroidery frame, "if you had to be."
Don Alessandro went over and plucked an orange off the platter. He tossed it to Don Juan. "Well, if you must be a bastard, Uncle, you might as well be a Royal one."
Don Juan handed the orange to Don Carlos. "I suppose, though I was happy enough imagining I was don Luis's secret son."
Sharp footsteps sounded in the hall. The King entered, followed by his secretary. Rosary beads clicked amongst rustling skirts as all of Us hastened into curtseys. The King quickly waved Us Up as he walked over to the Queen. "I am taking a break from my paperwork," he said in his cold voice. "How do you fare, My Lady?" He raised her Up and kissed her hand.
When he gazed in my direction, I rushed forward to pay my respect. He nodded at the drawings at which the Queen and I had been working, as I put my lips to his cool perfume-scented skin.
"We are sketching, My Lord," the Queen said. "Don Carlos and Don Juan."
"I see." He embraced Don Carlos, then let Don Juan kiss his hand.
"We were listening to Don Juan's hilarious story, Father," Don Carlos said, "about how as an orphan, his fondest wish was to be the real son of the country squire who raised him. Whoever would have guessed he was not just a gentleman's son, but the true son of the Emperor?"
"Yes," said the King. "Whoever would have."
"You've never told me, Father," said Don Carlos, "how did you and Don Juan first meet?"
The King pressed his lips together. "I do not remember. It was not important."
"It was in a field," said Don Juan.
Rich fabrics rustled as everyone turned to listen.
"A field?" said Don Carlos. "Not in a palace or such? That is odd, Father."
"His Majesty was hunting," said Don Juan. "In the countryside outside Segovia." He looked at the King.
The ladies made busy with their needlework, as I did with my chalk. No one wished to be made party to a confrontation with the King.
In this atmosphere of sudden busyness, the Queen put down her chalk and held Up her chin. "Please go on, Don Juan. I want to hear."
The King turned his countenance upon her. "Yes, Juan. Please do."
Don Juan paused as if weighing the consequences of his words. "I was brought to the King by don Luis. My foster father and I were made to wait and watch as His Majesty shot a deer."
"A deer?" The Queen frowned at her husband.
"A buck--it had a long white scar on one of its shoulders." Don Juan gazed at the King. "His Majesty's beaters had driven it from its cover and toward the King. When the buck was down and they were carving out its heart, the King came over and told me who my father was."
"You have a good memory," the King said grimly.
"At times, Your Majesty."
The King looked between Don Juan and the Queen. "I had a better memory when I was not so burdened with matters of state. Being King of most of the world since I was eighteen years of age interferes with remembering all my little hunts." His Majesty nodded at my sketch. "Finish that quickly. My son should be with his tutors, not dallying away his day in idle pastimes."
Is it a surprise that His Majesty did not come to My Lady's chamber last night?
Now a page has come, announcing that the Queen has sent for me. I must hide my notebook and join her in this place where the thorny canes of discord spread in the tranquil shade of civility.
To My Very Magnificent Signorina Sofonisba,
In the Court of the Spanish King
Imagine my happiness and my dismay when I returned to Rome this day and found the letter you sent in February. Happiness, because I have heard from you. Dismay, because your letter has gone unanswered all this time. I have been in Florence on a mission for maestro Michelangelo, to present his designs for a church to Duke Cosimo de' Medici. My trip far exceeded my expectations. The Duke commended the Maestro for the drawings and me for my presentation of them. He then bade me to make a clay model based on the drawings, and, approving that, bade me to make a wooden model. All this took time, and the receptions and dinners that the Duke requested that I attend both as his distant kinsman and as the Maestro's representative did nothing to speed along my work, though I did enjoy the food. A man there named Suria makes pig's livers so succulent they melt on your tongue. Do they know the galliard called "Kick to the Tassel" in the Spanish court? I had never seen it before. It was all they wished to dance in Florence. There is much pirouetting and kicking and jiggling of ladies' flesh.
The Maestro asks how you fare. Be flattered. He usually asks after no one, caring for few beyond his nephew, Lionardo, whom he writes faithfully, though he gives Lionardo a verbal cuffing in most of his letters. I still have my studio in the old man's home, but it is possible that will not be the case much longer. I fear for some reason he does not care much for me anymore. He looked the other way when I greeted him upon returning from Florence; then he walked away before I finished speaking to him. Yet no sooner than I had gone up to my studio to gaze upon the unfinished Pieta, he came in and plunked a rough bust of a Caesar on the table and said, Here. Finish it.
I grow weary now, having just returned to my lodging, but when I saw your letter I did not wish to keep you waiting another moment. A boy walks under my window--let me catch him to post this letter.
Please grant me the favor, great lady, of excusing me for the delay.
From Rome,
This 4th day of September, 1560
Your servant,
Tiberio Calcagni
ITEM: When drawing, which is more difficult to perfect--the lines, or capturing light and shade?
1 OCTOBER 1560
El Alcazar, Toledo
Excuse him? I care not where he has been. He could have been to Cathay and back for all the difference that makes. It is his lack of acknowledgment of what went on between Us that stings. Do I mean so little to him that he feels he owes me no explanation of his feelings toward me? Does he think I gave up my most private self to him just to become his prattling correspondent from over the seas? What a good secretary I have become, dutifully keeping copies of both my letters and his in this notebook, as if there were any value to them.
I cannot think on this now, not after what has happened here. Indeed, just moving this quill against paper is painful. Yesterday morning, two days after his latest confrontation with Don Juan, the King entered the Queen's chambers while I was dressing her. As I had received Tiberio's letter the day before, I was distracted by my emotions, and the Queen, watchful girl that she is, picked Up on my discomfort and tried to wheedle out of me the cause of it.
"My most serious Sofi," she had said as I braided her hair, "you do stare into space like the King's silver-headed dummy. What is it? Do you think of a new picture?"
I crossed one handful of wavy dark hair over the other. "If only I had time for that."
"Then is it because you miss your family?"
"I always miss my family."
She held Up her mirror and blinked at me, as if it were a novel idea that someone other than she had a family that was deeply missed. "H'm. Well. If that is not it, then you must be thinking of a man."
"A man," I scoffed. "What men do I see besides doctor Hernandez and the King's Painter senor Alonso Sanchez Coello?" I put in the first comb. "And both of them are married."
"How I love my good and proper Sofi. Only you would be deterred by a man having a wife."
The Queen's laughter stilled as the King walked into the chamber, his hand in his doublet, his demeanor more grave than usual. My distraction solidified into apprehension. Did he have orders in his pocket to send My Lady packing? It happens. Think of Anne of Cleves and Henry of England in Papa's time. That good lady had done nothing but not to be to King Henry's taste. Now My Lady seems not to be to our King's, not with his reluctance to know her carnally. Worse, her constant defense of Don Juan provokes the King like salt in a festering wound. The most powerful man in the world has no obligation to tolerate it.
"May I come in?" he said.
I quickly stuck the last comb into the Queen's hair and withdrew three steps behind her. None of the other ladies had yet arrived. Over by the bed, Francesca folded the Queen's night robes.
"Pardon me for coming so early," the King told the Queen. He shifted his feet as if uncomfortable, as well he should be if he was breaking his alliance with France. The French Queen Mother would make it hot for him.
The Queen rose. "You are always welcome here, My Lord." Although she kissed his hand gracefully, her nerves showed in her voice. She, too, knew that her failure to please could not go on.
"I have brought you something." He glanced at me and frowned before digging inside his doublet. What he produced was not a document but a handful of white fluff with black button eyes.
"For me?" the Queen gasped. "Oh, My Lord!" She rushed to retrieve the pup.
A smile pushed at the corners of the King's lips as she cradled it in her arms. "It came from France. I believe they call these white dogs
chiens de Lyon
." He crossed his arms. "You do like dogs, do you not?"
"You know I do," she said. "And from France! Thank you, My Lord."
The King recrossed his arms, scowling as the Queen kissed the puppy and crooned to it in French.
"See how he nibbles Upon my fingers, My Lord!"
The King held Up his first two fingers, revealing a set of tiny red tooth-marks on the ends of them. "The pup does teethe. His teeth are needle-sharp. You must pet him on the back of his head, where he cannot bite on you." He reached out to show her how to stroke the dog.
In a flash of her old impetuous self, the Queen grasped the King's nibbled-upon fingers and kissed them. "Poor you! Do they hurt?"
He gazed at her as she held on to his fingers. "Not any longer."
The Queen looked at their joined hands, then slowly met his eyes. Cupping her head with his hand, he pulled her to him and softly kissed her.
Her mouth parted as he withdrew.
"I have been waiting to do that," he said quietly.
"Why, My Lord? Why have you waited? I have been waiting for you."
"You do not find me--?"
"What, My Lord?"
I could feel his glance upon me. I made as if pondering upon the spots of blue light cast by the leaded glass of the window onto the floor.
"I have never had to force myself on a woman," he said to her in a low voice. "Women have always wanted me. I have only had to choose from them."
"I know, My Lord."
"My first two wives--well, I was a young buck then, vainly proud of my thick hair and strong muscles. But you--" He drew in a quiet breath. "I am older now, and you were commanded to accept me. I was not your choice."
She laid her hand on his arm, her head thrust forward in earnestness. "But you are, Your Majesty. You are my choice."
He looked into her eyes as if to see if this was true, then smiled ruefully. "You are so young."
"I am old enough, My Lord," she said stoutly.
At that moment, the condesa flounced into the room, followed by an angry madame de Clermont and her ladies. Their argument stopped short when they discovered the King and Queen.
The Queen held Up the puppy. "See what My Lord has brought me? A dog from France!"
The Queen's high spirits continued all that morning through Mass and breakfast, and then through distributing prayer books to the former church on the Calle de los Reyes that Cardinal Siliceo has made into a refuge for penitent women, during all of which she carried her new pup. I myself stayed behind in the litter at the refuge, made Uncomfortable by the downcast looks on the faces of the penitent women.
But in spite of my own unhappiness, it was with a genuine bright countenance that I accompanied the Queen to the rooms of the King's sister that afternoon. For how many times has My Lady entered Dona Juana's quarters with her tail between her legs, aware, with all the rest of the court, of the presence of the King's favorite?
It is not as if My Lady had no reason to approach Dona Juana with caution. Dona Juana never seeks to lessen the Queen's discomfort--indeed she seems to revel in it, insisting that dona Eufrasia sit near the Queen at Mass or hold the Queen's train as My Lady and her sister-in-law stroll around the courtyard of the palace. Dona Juana seems to wish to draw everyone 's attention, and particularly that of the King, to the difference between dona Eufrasia's mature dark-haired beauty and the girlish ways of the Queen. Francesca has even heard it told that it is Dona Juana who arranges for the coach in which dona Eufrasia steals away at night and returns at dawn with the curtains drawn.
Still, I wonder if Dona Juana's machinations are meant solely to wound the Queen. She had encouraged the affair before the Queen had come to Spain. Perhaps more than anything Dona Juana savors the power she derives in controlling the King. It is but a small thing compared with controlling all of Spain as she did while he was wed to the English Queen Mary, but one takes what one can get.
But yesterday, confident for once, the Queen flounced into the chamber where Dona Juana was having her fingernails clipped by dona Eufrasia. "See what the King has got me!" the Queen announced before the last of Us ladies had filed into the chamber.
Over by the window, a lutist was tuning his instrument. Dona Juana exchanged amused smiles with dona Eufrasia as she withdrew her hand. "How precious," she said sarcastically. "A little dog."
Dona Eufrasia rose and brushed the clippings from her skirt. "What did you name him, Your Majesty?" she asked, her voice as velvety as her skin.
"Cher-Ami," said the Queen. " 'Dear Friend ' it means, in French."
"How nice that my brother has given you a little friend," said Dona Juana. With a flash of bone-colored lashes, she shifted her gaze to the large diamond hanging from dona Eufrasia's neck.
The Queen followed her line of vision. "The King knows my heart. He knows he could not have given me a better gift. What care I for gems and fine stuffs--I have had plenty of them my whole life."
Dona Juana smiled smugly. "For someone who has no regard for jewels, you certainly seemed to enjoy the Great Pearl. Where is that big gob these days? I have not seen you wear it recently."
Hurt flicked through the Queen's eyes, then was quickly replaced by a look of haughtiness that, alas, even with her pointed chin held high, was not entirely believable. "It was the first gift the King sent me. I cherish it."
"Oh, yes. It has been a much-cherished piece, hasn't it?"
The Queen stared at Dona Juana.
"You mustn't listen to those who say such a small breed of dog is Useless," Dona Juana said. "They have their purpose as comforters. I have heard that when borne in the bosom of a diseased person, they can draw out the sickness by the exchange of their bodily heat."
The Queen opened her mouth, then closed it firmly. "I would not need a dog for that."
"Of course not." Dona Juana smiled archly. She signaled for the lutist to begin his playing. He commenced into an English folk tune.
"Why do you wish me such ill?" the Queen exclaimed.
Dona Juana straightened the lace at her cuffs. "Why would you think that? You are dear to me, Sister. When I ruled our empire when my brother was in England, how I wished I had had my sister Maria with me--ruling half the world is lonely business, but you wouldn't know that. But Maria was in Vienna, wed to the Prince there at my father's wishes, and I was all alone, with not even my child to give me comfort. I gave Up everything that was precious to me to do Father's bidding, and now Felipe is back, and I have nothing to do but go to Mass. How nice that I can do that now with such a sweet little kinswoman."
I may be only a painting instructor, but I could not bear to let Dona Juana defeat My Lady with her words. I leaned around the condesa to address the Queen. "Your Majesty, I beg your pardon, but did you not say you wished to take a ride into the countryside?"
I could see the condesa stiffen. My own heart pounded with my boldness. Dona Juana was not a person to trifle with. But a country jaunt was sure to boost My Lady's spirits, for the people of Toledo never fail to cheer for her when we go out by open litter to the various churches and convents in town, the only places she is allowed to visit Unescorted by the King. Folk shout their blessings and fall to their knees, and when she has passed, they run off bragging, "I have had the luck of seeing the Queen today!" For though she may be belittled by Dona Juana and not bedded by the King, the Spanish people love their Queen, and have loved her ever since that day she first rode into Guadalajara, looking brightly at the crowds.
My Lady was confused for only the briefest of moments. "Yes, dona Sofonisba," she said, seeking my eye. "Thank you for reminding me."
Outside, it was a perfect day in late September, the kind when the golden stone buildings of Toledo stand out crisply against the heartbreakingly blue sky. The Queen ordered that coaches be made ready for all her ladies, and Dona Juana begrudgingly agreed to join her. Soon we were preparing to take our places in the coaches lined up in the courtyard, where flocks of birds chattered noisily from the lime trees as they gathered to make their fall pilgrimage to Africa.
"It is Unseasonably warm today," complained the condesa de Uruena, who had joined us for the jaunt. She plucked the black robe of her widow's habit away from her body as we stood behind the Queen, now being handed by her coachman into her coach. "We should be indoors, resting. Your Majesty, do you think it wise to go out in the hot sun?"
The Queen had stopped to answer the condesa when her gaze fell Upon a red-and-yellow-painted open sporting conveyance, the sort designed for a lady driver and a companion, propped nearby on its empty leads. "Whose chariot is that?" she asked her man.
"Her Majesty the King's sister, My Lady," said the coachman.
"Why is it out?"
"Her Majesty had Use of it last night." He glanced at dona Eufrasia, now being handed into the coach of the King's sister directly behind Us, then quickly lowered his eyes.