The Last Queen (36 page)

Lopez concealed the document in his satchel containing my letters of condolence.

I‟d written to the Marquise de Moya and other members of my mother‟s entourage in

the hope such a pile of sealed letters would dissuade all the most assiduous of spying

eyes.

Lopez bowed over my hand. He may have looked old and frail when he first came

to see me, but I know saw the spry intelligence that had made him one of my

mother‟s most trusted confidants. “I will go straight to Antwerp,” he said, “and book

passage on the first ship for Spain. By next month at the latest, I‟ll have delivered your letter to your father. He will take it before the Cortes, who will see by your own hand

and my testimony that these rumors concerning your inability to rule are unfounded.

You will be summoned to Castile. And there, you will triumph.”

“Godspeed,” I whispered. I reached over and embraced him. “I will wait for you.”

――――――――――――

I SAT WITH MY WOMEN, MADAME DE HALEWIN, AND MY DAUGHTERS Eleanor and

Isabella.

My nerves were worn paper-thin, my nights a purgatory as I paced my room. I

despised the endless hours, the pretense and feigned submission. I knew I must

behave as though I were reconciled to my lot, that nothing could alert Don Manuel of

my plans. It must take him by surprise; he and Philip must find themselves with no

other solution than to take me home. I forced myself not to contemplate more than

that. I did not delude myself that the road ahead would be easy, but at least I would be

in Spain where my father and those nobles who still revered my mother could support

me.

Still, I lived in daily fear that I would soon be unable to conceal my pregnancy. I‟d

told only Beatriz, knowing that if it was discovered, it could be used as reason for

delay. I had to depart for Spain before I began to show. And I must leave my other

children behind.

The very thought horrified me. I did not know when I might see them again, but

after hours of whispered debate in my rooms with Beatriz I came to the conclusion

that I could not subject them to whatever strife awaited me in Spain. Lopez hinted it

might come to war between Philip and me. I knew from firsthand experience the toll

war could have on a child‟s life and I would not have my children suffer it. I

reluctantly wrote to my sister in law, Margaret, requesting that she welcome Charles

and the girls for a spring visit. Margaret was overjoyed in her reply asking if I would

accompany them. Though she must have known of Philip‟s and my situation, she

chose to turn a blind eye and I returned word that I would, as soon as I settled my

affairs. Even if Margaret could not openly defy her brother, I knew that at least with

her my children would be safe. she would not let them become embroiled in our

battles.

I turned to look at my children now, fighting back the sharp pain and fear I had

for them.

With her errant gold curls and curious blue gaze, Isabella was at that precocious

age when children relish in annoyances. She delighted in yanking off Eleanor‟s

headdresses, cackling with impish glee as Eleanor stomped her foot and cried she was

no better than a changeling. She was at that very moment tugging at the threads

hanging from Eleanor‟s embroidery hoop, ruining my eldest daughter‟s concentration.

I clicked my tongue. “Isabella,
hija mia
, can‟t you see your sister‟s trying to sew?” I patted my lap. “Come here. Let me tell you a story of Spain.”

Isabella promptly left Eleanor. She adored stories and would sit wide-eyed for

hours as I spun tales of the crusades against the moors and my parent‟s struggle to

unite Spain. Initially devised to pass the time, the stories had developed into my secret weapon. I might leave them for a very long time, but I wanted my daughter to know

she had Spanish blood in her veins. Charles and Eleanor were older, reared to be

Habsburgs, but Isabella was still young enough to be influenced. I hoped I could

instill in her a memory that would counter any accusations about me she later might

be subjected too.

I hoisted her onto my lap― “Uff! How big you‟re getting!”― and smoothed her

ringlets. “Shall I tell you about Queen Urraca?”

Isabella shook her head. “No. Tell me about Bebidal.”

“Bo-ab-dil,” I corrected. “His name was Boabdil, and he was the last sultan of―”

Raised voices in the corridors cut off my voice. I glanced at the door, rising from

my chair when I heard footsteps marching toward us. My gaze fell to Beatriz. I

clutched Isabella close. The apartment door crashed open.

Guards tromped in, led by Don Manuel. With an ugly twist of a smile, he

announced, “Don Lopez has been arrested in Antwerp as a spy.”

For a second, I could only stare at him. Beside me, Soraya and Beatriz clenched

their embroidery to their chests like shields.

“He― he is no spy,” I managed to say, my voice splitting along the seam as I

realized my letter to the Cortes, which Lopez had carried, had not reached Spain.

“Oh?” Don Manuel cocked his oversize head. “He had Your Highness‟s own

letters on him, which he attempted to bring on board a ship. There were official

notifications there that he had no authority to convey.

I felt doom crash down around me. I lifted my chin. “I gave him the authority. It

is you who should be arrested, my lord, for daring to lay hands on a servant of your

queen.”

At this, Madame de Halewin rose and took my pale-faced Eleanor by the hand. I

tightened my arms about Isabella.

“Your Highness,” said the governess in a impassive voice, “let me have the child.

it is not fitting to subject her to this disgraceful situation.”

Isabella cried, “No! I want to stay with Mamá!”

Don Manuel barked, “Give Madame the child. And all of you, out! Now!”

I released Isabella to Madame de Halewin, my hands turning to ice. Madame de

Halewin hustled my daughters out. As Isabella‟s terrified cries faded, that dark flame

that had set me upon Philip‟s whore flared and I had to dig my nails into my palms to

stop from throwing myself like a shrieking devil at Don Manuel.

“You have no right!” I hissed. “No right!”

“I have every right,” he retorted, though he inched back into the phalanx of

guards behind him. “I am here by order of His Highness the archduke. He commands

that you have no further congress with anyone until his return.” He pointed at Beatriz

and Soraya. “They must go.”

Beatriz said through her teeth, “Over your dead body,” and as she took a furious

step from my side, Don Manuel cried out in high-pitched panic, “Seize her! Seize

her!”

The guards shifted forth, knocking over a gilded table. It toppled to the floor.

Soraya grabbed up a vase. I whispered, “Soraya, no. Go with Beatriz. Do as they say.”

Two guards took hold of my women and pulled them struggling from the room.

Scarlet seared my veins. Whirling to the hearth, I snatched up a poker. I advanced

on Don Manuel, fully intending to bring it down on his head. A guard‟s gauntleted

hand shot and gripped my wrist. The poker clattered to the floor.

“I hope we won‟t need to restrain Your Highness,” said Don Manuel, though he

sounded far more frightened than menacing. Indeed, he looked like a deformed child

in his overblown garb, hemmed in by our palace corps.

I whispered, “By God, I‟ll have your head for this.”

His face twitched. He said, “I only fulfill my orders.” He motioned to the guards,

already scampering to the door on his high-heeled shoes. “Let us go.”

“Yes,” I taunted. “Go. Run like a cur, now that you‟ve terrorized a roomful of

women.”

The door shut. From where I stood, I heard the guards ordered into place.

The walls closed in around me.

――――――――――――

PHILIP ROARED IN A WEEK LATER, BARGING INTO MY ROOMS SMELLING of horse

sweat and wine. “What? Do you take me for an idiot? Did you think I wouldn‟t find

out your silly game?”

I looked up from my chair. “How nice of you to come home. Perhaps now you

can see fit to release me. Or would you have it said you mistreat the mother of your

unborn child?”

I deliberately flung out the words because I had no other choice. I had not been

allowed fresh clothes, to bathe myself, nor to have my women attend me. My

chamber pot in the corner was full and reeking, as were several of the vases. My

meals, shoved in through the guarded door on a tray moldered. The entire suite

smelled like a sewer.

He paused. His narrow eyes raked over me. He looked almost fat, I thought,

satiated on roast and good wine from time spent conniving with his Estates-General

and God knew how many whores, his once jutting but shapely chin nested in a florid

roll of flesh. The beard he‟d attempted to grew didn‟t do much to distinguish him; its

sparse coverage only enhanced the girth of his face.

How had I ever found him desirable?

Her paused. “You‟re with child?”

“It will happen when a man forces himself on his wife,” I replied. “If I had

disposed of the means, I‟d have torn it from my womb with my bare hands!”

“You must be mad to say such things,” he said with a snort.

I took hold of the armrests, hauling myself to my feet. The room reeled about me.

I had been sitting so long, I felt light-headed but I forced myself to laugh out loud.

“Yes, I must be mad. Mad to have ever loved you, to have thought you had a

shred of honor in that treacherous Habsburg body of yours. Mad to have believed all

the lies you told me, over and over again. Mad to have thought you could love anyone

but yourself.”

I paused, gave him a smile that showed teeth. “But I am not so mad as to

relinquish my crown. You can lie, betray me, keep me a prisoner for the rest of my

days, but while I live you‟ll never have Castile. I‟ll see you dead before you ever sit on my throne.”

He didn‟t move an inch; then he suddenly leaned close, looming over me. “Do

you realize what you‟ve done, you stupid woman? You just handed Castile to your

father.” He curled his meaty fist in my face. “You will write to the Cortes. You will

tell the assembly you have no intention of depriving me of my legal rights.”

I met his eyes. “I think not.”

Without turning away, he bellowed, “Ambassador!”

To my disgust, Don Manuel tripped in. I gave him a withering look. Behind him,

an obviously nervous secretary hastily set a parchment on my desk. Taking me by the

arm, Philip brought me to it. “You will sign it, or I‟ll have Lopez served to my

hounds. In pieces.”

“You‟d not dare,” I scoffed. I ran my eyes over the tight lines of writing on the

parchment, official lines, no doubt, promulgating my ruin. Fear knifed through me.

Philip said to Don Manuel, “Tell her.”

The ambassador stepped forth. “Your Highness, Don Lopez is in prison. He is

accused of espionage and treason. He‟s also become grievously ill since his―

questioning. I fear if he does not receive medical attention soon, he may die.”

I ignored him, lifting my stare to Philip. “What have you done?”

“Only what that miserable spy deserved. Let‟s see: First, he was put on the rack

and stretched until his bones snapped. But he was too strong. Or is it stubborn? I can

never tell with you people. Then he was introduced to an ingenious instrument called

the Boot, developed by your own Holy Inquisition, I might add. That loosened his

tongue well enough.”

“You― you tortured him? But he is my servant!”

“Your women are next,” Philip added. “Your beloved Beatriz and Soraya.” He

sighed. “A pity it would be. As it is, they won‟t last long. Their cell can barely contain them and the rats.”

I wished I weren‟t with child. I wish I were a man and could run him through

with a sword. Because in that instant, I knew he would not hesitate to torture and kill

a thousand women if he had to. His hunger for my crown, for power, had swept all

other considerations aside.

Nothing mattered, not if it got in the way of his ambition. I was not the one who

was mad here. He was. Mad with power and his own overwhelming self-importance.

I looked at the paper, willing my eyes to focus. I felt bathed in ice. It was

addressed to the Cortes. I skipped the usual salutation, seeking the meat. When I

found it, it took my breath away.

Yet since I know it is said in Spain that I am made, I must be allowed to speak in my defense,
though I cannot help but wonder how such false witness is borne against me, for those who spread
these rumors do so not against me but also against the crown of Spain itself. I therefore command you
make known to all who wish me ill that nothing save death could induce me to deprive my husband of
his rightful governance over Castile, which I shal entrust to him upon my arrival in our kingdom.

Given in Brussels in the month of May of the year 1505,

I, Juana the Queen

I looked up at Don Manuel. “Your work, I presume?”

“Just sign it,” growled my husband. “We‟ve no time for questions.”

“Indeed,” I savored the moment, turning from his smoldering gaze and returning

to my chair. “It seems that I, on the other hand, have all the time in the world. You

sent a letter before the Cortes claiming I was mad. Now you want me to say I am not.

You‟d best make up your minds, for in the meantime my father rules as regent in my