The Last Queen (27 page)

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I OPENED BLEARY EYES. SORAYA AND BEATRIZ STOOD AT MY BED. I ached all

over. I tried to ask how long I‟d been here and what ailed me, but nothing would

come out. My mouth felt sewn shut.

“
Sssh
. Don‟t speak.” My mother reached into a basin, wet my parched lips with a

liquid that tasted like sorrel. “You‟ll recover soon. A slight fever and exhaustion, Soto says, nothing to worry about. You‟ve been abed a few days.”

My last hour of awareness flashed past me. My gasped ripped my raw throat.

“Ph― Phi―?”

“Your husband is fine.” My mother leaned close, her gaunt face gleaming. “Praise

be, he‟s agreed to renounce the French alliance. Your father has taken him to

Zaragosa to convene the Aragónese Cortes. You will join them as soon as you are

recovered.”

I felt her hand clasp mine. “There is more good news,
hija mia.
You are with

child.”

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MY RECOVERY WAS NOT QUICK. THE REASON FOR MY FEVER REMAINED a

mystery, though Dr. de Soto believed it was an anxiety provoked by my pregnancy. I

rather thought it an anxiety provoked by the events of the past months, but I

submitted in any event to his prescription of plenty of rest and moderate exercise. He

opposed any travel; and much as I longed to escape the sweltering heat for the north,

I couldn‟t bear the thought of being jounced about in a litter, though we did make the

move to Aranjuez. In addition, my mother had me sign an official document that

conveyed my agreement to Aragón‟s investment of me as heir. She sent it via courier

to Zaragoza, assuring me I needn‟t be there in person for what, in essence, was a

formality.

In Aranjuez, I finally recognized the apathy that grayed my days and wondered if

this new child would cause me as much trouble as my little Isabella had. But my

mother was so overjoyed I kept my reservations to myself. I would bear a child

conceived on Spanish soil; I must show her only my gratitude and happiness.

So I put on a brave face, attended night and day by my women and my mother,

with whom I discovered an unexpected concord. Relieved for a time of the political

exigencies that had besotted both of us since my arrival, we took enjoyment in writing

letters together to my widowed sister, Catalina, in England and Maria in Portugal, in

embroidering and walks in the gardens, and quiet suppers where we dismissed the

servants and served each other instead.

At midnight, after my mother retired, I would take to the ramparts, my hair

blowing loose as I contemplated the vast grassland plain stretching north, a sliver of

moon hanging in the mauve sky, crisscrossed by the pirouetting of bats, which had so

entranced me as a child in Granada.

There was no need for court dress, for witty conversation or scintillating airs. I

reveled in the freedom of not needing to impress anyone, in the absence of Philip‟s

impatience with me and my country. Standing at the farthest edge of the battlement

walkway, I gazed toward the Tagus Valley and let the dry night breeze pass over me

like a stranger‟s caress.

For the first time since my return to Spain, I was at peace with myself.

My belly started to swell with the new life inside me. Time passed as if it had no

meaning, until one afternoon I awoke after a long nap to discover it was near the end

of November and five full months had gone by since Philip and my father had left for

Aragón.

A biting, snow-flecked wind raked its nails on the palace. Winter had come early.

From my solar overlooking the keep, I heard the clatter of hooves and went to the

window to see a small group of men dismount. I searched their ranks. Each wore a

dark oiled cloak and shapeless sodden cap. But as they moved to the south staircase I

recognized my father at their head.

I knew at once that Philip was not among them.

I spun to Beatriz. “Fetch my cloak. My father is here. I would see him.”

Beatriz draped the thick wool over my shoulders. “Should I send word to Her

Majesty?”

My mother had retired for the afternoon to rest. She would want to speak with

my father, of course, but for a reason I couldn‟t explain I did not want her to know of

her arrival quite yet. I wanted to hear Papá‟s news first, whatever it might be.

I shook my head. “Let her rest. She‟s been writing letters to every monarch in

Europe and fighting with that horrid English ambassador over Catalina‟s dowry. Papá

will see her later.”

I crossed over the freezing keep to the staircase and climbed to the second level. I

did not knock; I simply opened my father‟s study door and walked in, as I had a

thousand times as a child. A groups of lords stood at the hearth, warming their hands.

They all looked up. I recognized among them the burly constable, husband to my

father‟s bastard Joanna. He had a terrible scar that sliced down his face, sealing his

right eye shut. He was an ugly man, reputed to have a taste for bloodshed. During the

Reconquest, I‟d heart he hung Moorish heads he had decapitate from his saddle.

Now, he‟d fixed his ferocious Cyclopian gaze on me before lowering his massive

head.

Then he stepped aside, revealing my father.

My voice sounded strained to my ears. “Papá, welcome home.” I self-consciously

pulled my cloak closer about me, feeling the men‟s eyes on the bulge of my belly.

My father motioned the men out. My heart pounded suddenly in my chest.

Something was wrong. I could feel it. I looked at him. “Papá, where is Philip?”

He indicated a chair. “Sit,
madrecita
. I‟ve something to tell you.”

I let my cloak fall open. “I prefer to stand. Just tell me.”

“I don‟t know where to begin. Your husband, he― he‟s gone.”

I did not move. A vast hollow opened inside me. I saw his beautiful body lanced

by thieves‟ arrows on the road or crushed by a stallion in a freak accident.

“Where―?” I whispered. “Where is his corpse?”

My father‟s brow knit. “Corpse? He‟s not dead. He‟s in France, I suppose. At

least, that‟s where he said he was going.”

Not dead. Philip was not dead. Why, then, did I fell as though he was?

“He went to France? But that‟s not possible. He didn‟t write to me. He never said

a word.”

My father made an irritated sound and paced to the hearth, retrieving his goblet

from the mantel. “Yes, well, he wouldn‟t have now, would he? Not after everything

that has gone between us concerning that goddamn alliance.”

“Mamá told me he had repudiated it. She said you were going to Aragón for his

investiture.”

“We were.” My father eyed me over the goblet rim. “But then that fool said he

had to speak with Louis. Apparently, what he had to say couldn‟t wait.”

I frowned. I was starting to feel weak, as if the floor were shifting under my feet. I

moved to a chair and sat. “I don‟t understand,” I said. “Why would he need to speak

with Louis?”

“Didn‟t your mother tell you?” My father paused, taking in my expression. “I

should have guessed. The child. She wrote to say you‟ve had a band time of it. She

must have thought to spare you for as long as she could.”

“I don‟t need anyone to spare me,” I replied more harshly than I intended. I

paused, took a few moments to compose myself. “Exactly how long has Philip been

gone?”

He met my gaze. “Close to a month now.”

“A month! What happened?”

My father chuckled dryly. “What didn‟t happen should be the question. First, that

spider Louis decided to declare war on us over Naples. He dared send an envoy that if

we do not withdraw my claim he‟ll dispatch an army to kick me out. Naturally, I had

to respond. I petitioned my Cortes for men and arms, as not Frenchman is going to

tell me what to do. As for your husband, he― he is gone.”

I did not move. A vast hollow opened up inside me. I saw his beautiful body

lanced by thieves‟ arrows on the road or crushed by a stallion in a freak accident.

“Where―?” I whispered. “Where is his corpse?”

My father‟s brow knit. “Corpse? He‟s not dead. He‟s in France, or so I suppose.

At least, that‟s where he said he was going.”

Not dead. Philip was not dead. Why, then did I feel as though he was?

“He went to France? But that‟s not possible. He didn‟t write to me. He never said

a word.”

My father made an irritated sound and paced to the hearth, retrieving his goblet

from the mantel. “Yes, well, he wouldn‟t have now, would he? Not after everything

that has gone between us concerning that goddamn alliance.”

“Mamá told me he had repudiated it. She said you were going to Aragón for his

investiture.”

“We were.” My father eyed me over the goblet rim. “But then that fool said he

had to speak with Louis. Apparently, what he had to say couldn‟t wait.”

I frowned. I was starting to feel weak, as if the floor were shifting under my feet. I

moved to a chair and sat. “I don‟t understand,” I said. “Why would he need to speak

with Louis?”

“Didn‟t your mother tell you?” My father paused, taking in my expression. “I

should have guessed. The child. She wrote to say you‟ve had a bad time of it. She

must have thought to spare you for as long as she could.”

“I don‟t need anyone to spare me,” I replied, more harshly than I intended. I

paused, took a few moments to compose myself. “Exactly how long has Philip been

gone?”

He met my gaze. “Close to a month now.”

“A month! But why? What happened?”

My father chuckled dryly. “What didn‟t happen should be the question. First, that

spider Louis decided to declare war on us over Naples. He dared send an envoy to

threaten me that if we do not withdraw my claim he‟ll dispatch an army to kick me

out. Naturally, I had to respond. I petitioned my Cortes for men and arms, as no

Frenchman is going to tell me what to do. As for your husband, he decided that by his

honor he couldn‟t stand by and watch us threaten France, though it‟s his good friend

Louis who‟s doing all the threatening. So he abandoned me and my Cortes in

midsession, insisting he had to cross the mountains before winter set in.”

I felt as if I couldn‟t draw a full breath. “He― he went alone?”

“No, he took his gentlemen with him. I tell you he made quite an impression on

my procurators― though not the one I intended. I rather doubt they‟ll ever invest him

now, the idiot.”

I took a slow, deep breath. I did not want my rage, my horrified disbelief, to get

the best of me. “Is he coming back?” I asked.

“I have no idea. Nor do I really care. He‟s been nothing but a thorn in our side

since he came here. If he wants to scrape and bow to Louis, then let him. I‟m done

trying to convince him that France will devour him and his little duchy whole.”

“Why didn‟t you stop him?” I stood, unable to contain my anger anymore. “He‟s

my husband, and prince-consort. He‟s already been invested by Castile. What am I

supposed to do now? Follow him across the Pyrenees in the dead of winter?”

“God‟s death, what would you have me do? Put him in shackles? I told him his

duty lay with us now. I listed all the reasons why it was inadvisable, insane even, to

risk going to France. But he wouldn‟t listen. No, he had to prove his manhood. He

said he alone would persuade Louis of Valois away from this war. I‟ve had donkeys

with more sense! As if Louis would ever heed anyone over the chance to do me

wrong.”

I stared at him. Philip had said he was going to
help
Spain? I sensed something

false, just beyond my comprehension. All these months I‟d been here with my

mother, what had gone on in Aragón? The feeling gnawed inside me; when I caught

sight of that quiver under my father‟s left eyes, I couldn‟t fight the doubt that engulfed me. I moved slowly to the hearth, my mind racing.

I stared into the flames. “He knows I‟m with child.”

“He knows. Your mother wrote to tell us the news. He thought it best if you

didn‟t travel until after the birth. It was the only thing we agreed on, I can assure you.”

“But he left no word? No letter?”

“No.”

It was here, The deceit. I could almost reach out and touch it. “And all because of

this war over Naples, a war he has nothing to do with?”

“As I said, he thinks he can talk sense into Louis.” My father spat air out of the

side of his mouth. “Pfah! Your mother might actually buy his excuse, but I know he

went because he hopes to keep his feet in opposing camps, conniving Habsburg that

he is. He has no intention of giving up his French alliance if he can help it.”

I had the sensation of a world spinning fast out of control. My father set his hand

on my shoulder. “It is not your fault,
madrecita
. Your husband will do as he pleases.

But we‟ll care for you, and after you‟ve borne this child we‟ll see what‟s to be done.

No use worrying now, eh?”

But there was every reason. For I had no idea where I belonged anymore.

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n March 10, 1503, as Castile shed its icy shroud, I took to my bed and after

only a few hours of labor gave birth to a son. I named him Fernando, in my

O father‟s honor, and to my mother‟s delight he was pronounced of sound

body and mind. Shortly thereafter, I moved with my household to La Mota in central