History's Great Queens 2-Book Bundle: The Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici (25 page)

“And your father,” she added, “will be given the governorship of Castile until you claim your throne. He will hold the realm for you and ensure Spain stays in Spanish hands.”

Her grip tightened. She was breathless now, betraying the return of her pain. “Remember the Cortes, Juana: they are your ally. Only they can approve a monarch’s right to rule. Keep them on your side and they will see you through.”

“Yes, Mamá.” I bit my lip, her hand squeezing mine as if she might impart the last of her ebbing strength to me.

“I wish it were different,” she whispered. “I wish I had more time to stop him. But all I have is this codicil. This codicil and your father. I pray God, they will be enough.”

I looked at our clasped hands. Then I said in a low voice that came from my very soul, “I will stop him if need be, Mamá. I will fight for Spain.”

She went limp. She dropped my hand. “I…I must rest now. I am so tired.”

I sat anchored at her side, as night crept over the palace.

WINTER EBBED INTO SPRING AND STILL MY MOTHER LIVED. MY
women had brought my son and my possessions to Medina del Campo. There in that intimate palace with its arched inner patio and intricately carved windows we installed ourselves, our every hour scheduled around her. Cisneros stayed away; a host of royal physicians hovered, ever hopeful. Only my mother’s most trusted Dr. de Soto dared to tell me she suffered from a malignant growth in her stomach. The growth had begun to affect her other organs, and he warned we would not see another recovery as the one she’d staged upon my arrival in Spain and the birth of my son. Knowing this, I could only stand in awe of her spirit, which had shrugged aside even death’s manacle for a time.

I believed only Fernandito’s presence and the desire to see my father again kept her alive. Every afternoon when I brought my son to her apartments, she insisted on rising from bed to sit on her chair, a wraith muffled in fur as she dangled his rattle and he made his first clumsy attempts to crawl. The sight of him softened her waxen countenance; she’d hold him in her frail arms and he would gaze at her in reverent silence, as if he knew who she was.

It was then that I decided to leave Fernandito with her. The danger of travel aside, whatever awaited me in Flanders was not something I would subject a babe to. He would be safe here.

I then wrote to my father in Naples. My mother had demanded absolute silence as far as he was concerned; she knew from experience the fickle nature of war and did not want him racing home when a victory could be at hand. I finally broke my promise and informed him of her condition, telling him he must find a way to make haste. I would not have a chance to see him and I didn’t want her left alone for too long. I also left orders with her household and guards that under no circumstances was Cisneros to be allowed near her.

On April 11, 1504, my possessions were loaded onto my ship in the northern port of Laredo. We made the trip to the rugged coast of Cantabria in stages, allowing the people to see us and dispel the rumor spreading through Spain that the great Isabel was dead. Now the wind blew strong, returning me to the day when I had first bid my family farewell.

Nothing was the same.

The ship that would convey me to Flanders was sturdy but small, without gilded standards; and of the hundreds who attended my last departure only my mother on her chair, the admiral, the elderly Marquise de Moya, and my women Beatriz and Soraya stood on the dock. My son had been left behind in Madrigal under the care of his household servants.

Involuntarily, my gaze went to the empty space where my brother and sisters had stood. They were all gone now, the children for whom my mother had held such hopes, scheming and sacrificing for the day when we would lift Spain to eminence from our thrones, arranging our lives as she arranged her own, with precision and an utter disregard for the vagaries of fate.

I went to kneel before her. She could no longer stand. I smiled as I gazed into eyes glassy from the narcotic draught she now relied on. She never took enough to induce oblivion; she wanted to remain alert, but her nights had become a purgatory and Dr. de Soto had increased the dose, so she might gain a few hours’ rest.

I hugged her close. Under the padded gown, which she wore to disguise the wasting of her flesh, I felt bone. “Mamá,” I said, in a voice only she could hear, “I love you.”

I felt her emotion overtake her as with a trembling hand she tucked the stray hairs back under my hood. “I have always asked so much of you,” she said. “Be strong. Remember who you are.” She embraced me. In my ear, she breathed, “I love you too,
hija mia.
I always loved you.”

I could not see through my haze of tears. I clung to her as I might cling to a rock in a raging torrent. “I will come back. I promise you.”

The admiral shifted to us. “Your Majesty, Your Highness, I fear the tide will not wait.”

Her fingers gripped mine. Then she let go. The emptiness she left seemed vast as the sea that awaited me. She motioned to the admiral. “My lord, please see Her Highness safely out.”

The admiral offered me his arm. I looked up into his beautiful, sad eyes and terror gripped me, just as it had all those years ago. I could not feel my own legs as I moved with him to the rowboat that would convey me and my two women to the ship docked at the bay’s opening.

I clutched the admiral’s arm. “Will you keep my son safe, my lord?”

He said softly, “Your Highness, I’ll guard him with my life. Do not fear.”

I nodded, glanced again over my shoulder. My mother looked so small, indistinct now on her chair. The admiral helped me down the water steps and into the rowboat.

“Thank you, my lord,” I whispered. “You will take care of her?”

He bowed low. “I will remain at her side,
princesa,
and be here when you return. May God protect you.” He kissed my hand. Before he drew back, he lifted his eyes to me and I saw in their depths a stalwart resolve that gave me strength.

I nodded and turned away.

The rowers took up their oars. We crested the waves. The figures on the dock receded, grew smaller, more distant, until they eventually faded from view.

TWENTY

T
he moonlit sky dipped into the sea, submerging a thousand stars. On deck, I stared into the endless darkness, mustering the courage I knew I would require.

Soon I would reunite with Philip and everything that had come between us. I had to stay steadfast, knowing I fought for the good of Spain and my sons. I did not know what awaited me; I did not know who the man who had forsaken me in Spain had become.

I held out very little hope.

When a footstep came behind me I looked around. Beatriz and I stood together in silence. I finally whispered, “I am afraid,” and it felt as though the entire world shuddered. She took my hand in hers. “I know,
princesa.
”

On the seventh day, we arrived in Flanders.

RAIN AND MIST OBSCURED THE QUAY AND FLAT MEADOWS. AN ENTOURAGE
waited for me, swathed in oiled cloaks. I didn’t recognize anyone, pondering them when a strange, elegantly dressed figure emerged.

He was only a little taller than a dwarf, an odd, sallow-skinned man, his features overpowered by a jutting chin tipped with a goatee. Cinder-black eyes gleamed above a hooked nose; his mouth was a wide gash with uneven teeth. Yet when he spoke his voice was disarmingly melodious, his words in perfect Castilian. “Your Highness, it is my honor to welcome you home.”

I regarded him warily. “Have we met, my lord?”

He inclined his head. “I’ve not yet had the privilege. I am Don Juan Manuel, Spanish ambassador to the Habsburg court. I previously had the honor of serving Her Majesty your mother at the Imperial court of Vienna. His Highness the archduke sent me to escort you.”

I vaguely recalled his family name. “Your aunt, she is my sister Catalina’s duenna?”

“Yes, my aunt Doña Elvira currently resides with the infanta Catalina in England.” He gave me an obsequious smile. “Your Highness honors us with her recollection.”

I had no use for flattery, not in this dreary downpour after weeks at sea. I looked past him to the litter and horses. Standards hung sodden, held by pages in sopping livery. Only a few officials and this envoy to welcome me: a pauper’s reception. It spoke volumes.

“Where is my husband?” I said.

Don Manuel sighed, “Ah, but of course. Your Highness could not have heard. You were at sea when word came to us of a peace settlement between France and Spain.”

“Oh?” I wasn’t sure of his loyalties and decided the less I revealed the better. “What has this to do with my husband?”

He bowed. “
Princesa,
if you would accompany me to your litter, I shall explain. You will be proud of His Highness, most proud.”

I caught Beatriz’s eye and had to suppress unexpected laughter. This was absurd. Here I was in day-old soiled clothing, weary to the bone, having left my child and a dying mother behind, and he honestly thought I’d take pride in Philip’s dubious accomplishments?

“I’m certain I will,” I managed to murmur.

WRAPPED IN FUR AGAINST
the chill, I listened in silence as Don Manuel relayed how Philip had apparently single-handedly negotiated a break in the hostilities over Naples. It wasn’t clear to me if my father or Louis had sued first for peace, but whichever the case, Philip had gone once again to Paris. It had happened suddenly, Don Manuel said, though of course a courier had been dispatched at once to him as soon as word came that I was on my way.

I did not comment. Reassuring as I found the news of a peace, I’d still arrived to uncertainty. And I had learned that anything Philip did in the political arena was rarely what it seemed.

We reached Ghent by nightfall. The florid palace looked dark, shuttered, a few lone torches illuminating its gilded facade. Everyone in residence, Don Manuel told me, had retired. No one had been certain when my ship might dock, and my children were always put to bed directly after supper, to “aid their digestion.”

“We can of course wake them if you like,” he added.

“No, let them sleep.” I pulled my cloak tighter about me. The palace reminded me of a filigree ornament in comparison to the stark edifices of Spain. An overpowering feeling of emptiness came over me, as though this realm of gardens and laughter, where I’d given birth to my children and known such fleeting happiness, were a conjuror’s illusion.

Together with Beatriz and Soraya, I entered a home I no longer recognized.

I AWOKE TO SUNLIGHT SEEPING THROUGH DAMASK CURTAINS.
Lifting myself on my elbows, I stared in momentary bewilderment at my surroundings. Then I slid from the bed to pad barefoot to the window, pulling back the heavy drapes.

The gardens below me were drenched in morning light, the colors of the roses so profligate it hurt my eyes. I turned back to the room. A night’s sleep had done little to soothe my discomfort. Everything still looked strange, garish, overblown. Had I ever felt comfortable in these rooms?

Beatriz entered with my breakfast. Moments later Madame de Halewin appeared, svelte as ever in ash-gray, silvery white threading her immaculate coif. She curtsied, expressing all the appropriate sentiments required for my return and for the loss of Doña Ana, whose body had been sent to Spain for entombment.

I had to bite back a rush of tears. I would have done anything at that moment now to have my duenna’s abrasive presence at my side.

“Is there anything Your Highness requires of me?” said Madame, as if we had only the most formal of acquaintance.

“There is. I wish to see my children. Bring them once I have bathed and dressed.”

I disposed of a wardrobe replete with gowns, cloaks, hoods, sleeves, and shoes; before my departure for Spain I’d ordered everything I did not take with me packed into sandalwood chests scented with lavender, in anticipation of my return. The court attire that had traveled with me was by now hopelessly soiled; yet when Beatriz asked if I wanted her to fetch a few of my stored gowns (for the wardrobe was kept in a different part of the palace), I shook my head. I chose instead one of the black brocade dresses we’d made from the Venetian cloth.

Don Manuel accompanied Madame de Halewin and the children. In the cold light of day he seemed an unlikely choice for a Spanish envoy. During his time at the emperor’s court, he’d adopted a continental mode of dress, with costly satin and abbreviated slashed breeches, and rings on every finger. In a manner, he reminded me of the Marquis of Villena, and yet he had served Spain for many years, his family one of noble descent. I couldn’t think of a single reason to dislike him, and still there was something about him that reminded me of rank meat.

Ignoring his platitudes, I turned to my children.

Three perfect strangers stood before me. I knew my three-year-old Isabella at once, for her blue eyes and the shy, curious smile that touched her lips when I beckoned. After she submitted self-consciously to my embrace, she held on to my hand, inspecting the ruby ring my father had sent me in honor of little Fernando’s birth.

“You have a brother in Spain,” I said, encompassing my other children with my smile. “He hopes to meet you soon. I had to leave him. He is too young for a long voyage.” I paused, motioned to my eldest daughter. “Eleanor, my dear, come closer.”

Eleanor took a wary step forward. At six, she was tall for her age, thin and somber-faced, her curtsy executed with stilted precision. I was about to ask if she remembered me when she said abruptly, “Is Tante Margaret coming to visit?” making it clear that in my absence she had bonded with her aunt, with whom she’d spent many months in Savoy.

“No,” I said quietly. “Not that I am aware of.”

If my eldest daughter was disconcerting, my eldest son proved even more so, his anemic gaze uncanny, his disinterest in me, indeed in anyone save his head tutor, Bishop Utrecht, all too apparent. Like Eleanor, Charles responded to my questions in polite monosyllables, though he did at one point ask if I’d brought him a gift. Taken aback by his request, I plucked the ruby ring from my finger. “Your grandfather in Spain gave me this.” I watched him eye the gem in expert appraisal before he tucked it into his doublet. He bowed, thanking me with an indifference that made me cringe.

“Did Grandfather send me anything?” Isabella piped. I nodded. “A pair of pearl earrings. I’ll get them for you later.” I pulled her close, reveling in her squirm. She alone of my children showed any sign of warmth.

It was not the reunion I’d envisioned and I set myself to investigating their circumstances. I found everything in order, albeit regimented by the inflexible rules of how royal children ought to be raised. Eleanor disposed of her own household of ladies, overseen by the ever-efficient Madame de Halewin. And I could see she had an educational schedule of impressive breadth, proof of the influence my erudite sister-in-law had over her upbringing. Not even my sisters and I had enjoyed such a demanding array of studies, yet Eleanor seemed content, her sole complaint that Tante Margaret lived so far away. I promised her we would have Margaret visit us soon, quelling the sting of resentment that in a mere two years I should find myself a suppliant for my eldest daughter’s affection. I could hardly accuse Margaret of caring
too
well for her.

Utrecht informed me Charles had a “delicate constitution,” which apparently justified the army of officials surrounding him. I did not like the isolation my son dwelled under; the grueling daily lessons and protocol that did not allow him to go to the privy without three attendants. Recalling how my brother, Juan, had loved to ride and shoot with the bow, indeed how all of us had relished being outdoors, I suggested Charles should engage in activities normal for every child. The bishop retorted that His Highness would be taught all the requisite physical skills once he reached the proper age. Surely, I did not wish for my only son to be injured while swinging a sword or riding some unruly beast?

“He is not my only son,” I said, a lump in my throat. I turned away, though not before I issued the command that henceforth all three of my children must enjoy at least two hours of fresh air every day, free of books and responsibilities.

As the days wore on and I waited for word of Philip’s return, I tried to adapt to the monotony of life in Flanders. I joined my children in the gardens when the weather permitted, sewed and read and wrote letters, ate informally with my women. All along, a quiet dread built inside of me.

Then Don Manuel came to inform me that Philip was due back in May. On the morning before his scheduled arrival, I awoke early and summoned Beatriz. “Help me select a gown, and have Soraya fetch my pearls from my wardrobe. I would greet him like a queen.”

Beatriz brought me a crimson gown cut in the Spanish fashion. As I sat before the mirror while she brushed out my hair and started to coil it into a coiffure, Soraya entered. There was a pause. Beatriz barked, “Stop dragging your feet. Her Highness wants her jewels today, not next week.”

I watched Soraya’s unsteady reflection in the tarnished glass as she came to my side. Her hands were empty; her eyes averted. “
Princesa,
there is nothing there.”

“What do you mean?” said Beatriz impatiently. “Of course they’re there, you stupid girl! I put them in the vault myself before we left for Spain.”