History's Great Queens 2-Book Bundle: The Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici (28 page)

My heart thundered in my ears. She had done it. My mother had guarded my path to the throne. She would not see her own flesh and blood or the inviolate lineage of her succession cast aside. I had something with which to fight: something to fight for.

“And Papá can present her codicil to the Cortes,” I asked, “before Philip…?” All of a sudden my composure deserted me. I couldn’t find the breath to voice the dreaded words aloud.

Lopez nodded. “He can. For now, he has merely persuaded the Cortes that you may suffer a temporary ailment brought on by grief at Her Majesty’s loss. It in turn has agreed to uphold his regency until your true state can be ascertained. That is why I am here. Officially, I bring your summons but I am also under orders to convey you to Spain as soon as possible.”

I went still. As if he read the trepidation on my face, he said softly, “The past is past,
princesa.
Her Majesty believed you capable of being queen. I would never presume to question her wisdom. But your husband is another matter. In him, I fear you have made a mortal enemy.”

I said in a whisper, “I know.”

He glanced over his shoulder again. “Her Majesty ensured your husband could never legally usurp your throne. Only through your voluntary abdication can the succession devolve to your sons. But we still face tremendous obstacles, foremost of which is getting you to Spain. I must leave now, before Don Manuel becomes suspicious. But I’ll return tomorrow, with your leave, to discuss our plan. For have no fear, I have a plan.”

It was as if we’d never been at odds. A devoted servant to his last breath, Lopez would defend me even if I were truly insane, for thus had Isabel of Castile ordained. Even from her tomb, my mother continued to wield her power.

I came to my feet. “My lord, you have my leave. Indeed, I am in your debt.”

He bowed. “
Princesa,
the debt is all mine, for you allow me to serve.”

As soon as he left, Beatriz came in. “Don Manuel left. He muttered something about an old secretary and a madwoman not being able to do any harm. How I loathe that man!” She went still. “My lady, what is it? You’re white as a ghost.”

I turned to her. “He will not have Castile,” I said. “Never, while I live.”

I had never meant anything as much as I did those words.

TWENTY-THREE

L
opez came the next day as promised. I hadn’t slept thinking Don Manuel might detain him but it seemed the ambassador had decided Lopez and I were as impotent as he hoped.

Beatriz dressed my hair and applied discreet cosmetics to conceal the shadows under my eyes and add color to my cheeks. Instead of mourning, I donned a sedate blue velvet gown—a wise choice, I noted, as Lopez’s face brightened the moment I entered the room.

“Beatriz, stand outside the door,” I ordered, and I turned to him. “I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary. Given the circumstances, I think it best if I confirm my father’s regency until I can reach Spain.”

“I couldn’t suggest a wiser course.” He drew me to the desk, his voice low. “We must be careful. Don Manuel suspects something. He questioned me for over an hour about the true significance of your having Her Majesty’s ring and how long I planned on staying. I told him the ring was symbolic and that I would see you today to say my farewell. We must make haste.”

Taking quill and ink and a fresh sheet of parchment, we composed my official reply to the Cortes’ summons, reaffirming my commitment to my throne and bestowing upon my father the power to maintain his role of governor until I could arrive, by arms if necessary.
Under no circumstance is Philip of Flanders to style himself as anything other than prince consort,
he wrote,
nor is any
grande
or other high prelate or official in service to the Crown to grant him any such privileges without Her Majesty’s official consent, on pain of her worst displeasure.

Then I signed the letter:
I, Juana the Queen.

“Once King Fernando presents this to the Cortes,” Lopez said, “it’ll drive a stake in Don Manuel and your husband’s bribery and claims that you are insane. They’ll have no other choice but to bring you to Spain. And once you’re there, we’ll do whatever is required to defend you.”

I looked down at the paper. He was waiting to sand it to dry the excess ink.

“Whatever is required,” I said. A shiver went through me. “Do you think it’ll come to that?”

“I pray not,” he said. “Nevertheless, Your Highness must prepare. It seems to me His Highness your husband is as determined to take what you are determined not to give.”

“Yes,” I said. I motioned. The sand was dusted, blown off; the wax cone melted over a candle flame and dripped onto the folded edge.

Lopez said, “The seal, Your Highness. Only the seal can make it official.”

I started. Then I pressed my signet ring into the wax. It took on the faint imprint; as it hardened, I realized it was my first official act as my mother’s successor.

And a declaration of war against my husband.

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 but the most assiduous of spying eyes.

Lopez bowed over my hand. He may have looked old and frail when he first came to me, but I now 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 a 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 didn’t 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 had 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 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 would never 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 this 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 parents’ struggle to unite Spain. Initially devised to pass the time, these 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 to.

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 fled 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 an 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!”

Two 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.”

The 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 out 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 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 grow didn’t do much to distinguish him; its sparse coverage only enhanced the girth of his face.