The Last Queen (13 page)

be at your side.”

He nodded, grazed my cheek with his fingertip. “Yes, of course. One day.” He

smiled vaguely. “I know you too have had a bad time of it. I got your letter and I

promise to speak with Besançon the moment he returns. I summoned him to help me

at the Estates-General, before I realized I could accomplish nothing. I thought his

presence might sway them to my side. He‟s still there, flogging the dead horse. But

I‟m sure he did not deliberately intend your matrons to be quartered thus. There must

have been a misunderstanding somewhere.”

I bit my lip. I didn‟t say what I knew in my heart: the archbishop had acted with

deliberate malice. I suspected he sought to separate me from my Spanish allegiances,

to make me more firmly Philip‟s wife. I didn‟t like him any more than before, but for

the moment I would let the matter go. I couldn‟t do anything while he was at the

Estates-General, and my matrons were gone.

But I knew now that Besançon was not my friend.

_________________

A WEEK LATER, PHILIP AND I DINED ALONE IN MY APARTMENTS. We‟d gone

hunting for a few days with a minimum of servants to a nearby wood. I did not enjoy

the trapping of rabbits or stalking of boar and deer, but the time spent in his element,

doing something he excelled at, returned Philip to his ebullient self. Our nights were

long and passionate, charged by the lack of ceremony surrounding us. I was sad to

leave, in truth. I found I preferred the rustic simplicity to the opulence of our life at court.

We were feasting on one of his catches, a roast quail in plum sauce, when Beatriz

burst in. “Your Highnesses, forgive my intrusion, but a courier has come. He says he

brings urgent news.”

Philip pushed back his chair and stood. “No, stay here,” he told me as I started to

rise. “Let me see him first. It might be nothing. Finish your supper. I‟ll be back as

soon as I can.”

I nodded, looking at Beatriz. The moment he left, she said, “The news is from

Spain.”

“Spain?” My napkin slipped from my lap as I came to my feet. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “I heard the courier tell His Highness‟s chamberlain that he‟d ridden

all day and night from Antwerp, where he‟d been hired to convey the letter by a

messenger from Spain.”

“I must speak with him, then,” I said, even as I wondered where Philip might

have gone to meet him. Then the chamber door opened. I took one look at Philip‟s

face and stepped back.

He said, “My love, the letter is from my sister, Margaret. Your brother, Juan― He

died two weeks ago.”

I opened my mouth in immediate protest but my voice failed me., I didn‟t feel

myself move yet somehow I reached out a hand to grasp the back of my chair, as if

for dear life.

“No one expected it,” Philip said. “He fell ill with a fever shortly after his

nuptials. Margaret says he didn‟t appear too sick at first, but within a few hours the

fever rose. She grew frantic and sent word to your parents. By the time your father

arrived, it was too late. Juan died in his arms.”

I stared in stunned incredulity; behind me, Beatriz gasped.

In my mind, I saw Juan as he rode with my father at the fall of Granada,

remembered how he asked me to tell Margaret about him. We‟d never been close, not

as a brother and sister should be. As my parents‟ heir, his lot was far heavier than

mine. Yet we shared holidays, winter walks in Zaragoza‟s lime-scented gardens, a few

enchanted summers in Granada. He had his entire life ahead of him. He was

supposed to become the first Castilian-Aragónese king of our united Spain, with

Margaret and a parcel of children at his side.

He had been only nineteen years old.

Philip reached out. I pressed a hand to my mouth. A choked sob escaped me. I

closed my eyes as he held me close, hearing Beatriz‟s quiet weeping.

It did not cross my mind that Juan‟s death had brought me one step closer to the

throne.

__________________________________

he year 1497 faded away. According to the Castilian customs of mourning, I

had to remain sequestered for a month. Although not yet fully recovered

T (indeed, she would never fully recover again), Doña Ana insisted on resuming

charge of my household. I welcomed her, for in my time of grief I needed her familiar

presence. I thought that I could find comfort in the age-old ritual of mourning but it

soon became interminable. It wasn‟t long before I let Philip in to sup with me and

play cards, chafing as any young woman against the hours of prayer and unbecoming

black I had to don.

Philip hated seeing me in black. He said I looked like a raven and tore the ugly

veiled hood from my head. He tousled my hair, murmured he missed having me in

the hall at his side and, after a few goblets of wine, he invariably turned amorous, his

lips at my throat as he whispered of his longing. Doña Ana warned me that I must

refuse his advances until my mourning came to an end, but his need proved so

feverish, his touch so pleading, I had to surrender. I hardly saw the sin in seeking

solace in the flesh God had given us, and the way Philip swept me up in his arms,

barely removing his clothes before plunging into me, was a balm no amount of

candles or litanies could provide. I decided grief must not interrupt our life anymore,

custom or not. Though Doña Ana glowered, before the month was out I returned to

the court, my time of seclusion over.

_________________

ONE MORNING IN EARLY MAY OF 1498, I AWOKE TO NAUSEA THAT sent me

hurtling out of bed. Before I could reach my privy closet, I doubled over and was sick

on the carpet. With my head protruding and body drenched in sweat, I returned to

bed and curled up.

I must have slept again, for I didn‟t hear the bedchamber door open until Beatriz

said briskly, “Good morning, Your Highness. It‟s past ten. I trust you slept well?”

The odors of the fresh-baked bread and warm goat cheese coming from the

breakfast tray she carried hit me like a blow from a mace. I retched, leaning over the

side of the bed. My stomach heaved but I had nothing to expel. Groaning, I righted

myself onto my pillows.

Beatriz set down the tray and rushed to my side. “Your Highness is ill! Oh, how

many times have I asked you not to indulge in such large suppers? It is bad for the

indigestion.”

“You sound like Doña Ana,” I murmured. “I think― I mean, I believe I could

be―”

Her eyes snapped wide. “Blessed Mary, are you saying―?”

“Yes. I think I‟m with child.” Even as I spoke the words aloud, warmth suffused

me. I could be carrying a son, Philip‟s son, his heir. How wonderful it would be, and

how fitting a tribute to my brother‟s memory. If so, I vowed I would call him Juan.

“Saints be praised!” Beatriz hugged me and quickly drew back. “But you mustn‟t

exert yourself. Look at you, with nothing on your shift. You‟ll catch your death!” She

swooped to the clothespress for a robe. “We‟ll find you the best midwives and the

freshest herbs: I‟ve heard chamomile can do wonders. Doña Ana will know what to

do. Stay here while I go fetch her.‟

I had to laugh at the sight of my usually levelheaded lady acting so flustered.

“Beatriz, you‟re making my head spin. Stop for a moment. I don‟t want you setting

the entire palace to talk.”

She halted, regarding me closely, as was her wont, for we‟d become like sisters,

confidants who sometimes could read each other‟s thoughts. “You haven‟t told him,”

she said.

“No, I haven‟t,” I stood gingerly and took the robe from her hands. “I might be

mistaken. Or not, I could miscarry. I just want to be sure.”

“First of all,” she said, pulling my hair out from under the robe‟s collar and

fastening the agate clasps at my waist, “you are not mistaken. Women know these

things. And second, why on earth would you miscarry? You are young. At your age,

Her Majesty your mother gave birth―”

“With the ease of a mare,” I interrupted. “Yes, I‟ve heard of how my mother

would take to the childbed and then mount her horse again to go on crusade, all

within the hour. It doesn‟t mean I share her fortitude. Remember, she also suffered

several miscarriages.”

“That was later, when she was older, and under great strain.” She wagged a finger

in my face. “Now, no more talk of losing this child! You must take care, but you are

no lily-livered Flemish girl. And you must tell His Highness.” She gave me an impish

grin. “He did, after all, shared in the effort. Shall I send him word?”

“No. Let me go. I want to tell him in person.”

________________

PHILIP SWUNG ME ABOUT until I feared I‟d be sick again. “A son! I‟m going to

have a son!”

I laughed. “We won‟t know until it‟s born,” but of course he was beyond

listening. He seized me again. “I‟ll proclaim the news this very hour. Let everyone

rejoice! His Highness and Her Highness of Flanders are having a son!”

He could be like an exuberant boy at times, irresistible in his enthusiasm. And as

he brought my mouth to his, I began to understand how much having a child could

mean to us.

__________________

PHILIP HAD MY PREGNANCY PROCLAIMED THROUGHOUT FLANDERS and

appointed a veritable army of physicians, apothecaries, and midwives to oversee my

every whim. We traveled to the holy city of Lierre, where the doctors deemed the air

more salutary to a woman in my delicate state. The return to the spacious palace by

the river where Philip and I had met, coupled with the advent of spring and sudden

cessation of my nausea, proved and excellent choice. Seated in the rose bower with

my embroidery forgotten in my lap, I idled for hours, contemplating the masses of

tulips and marigolds that filled the gardens all the way to the Néthe‟s silvery banks. I‟d never seen such a profuse display since Granada. It was as though the rich soil of

Flanders heaved up her beauty to entertain me. And I was fulfilled.

__________________

IN LATE APRIL, BESANÇON RETURNED TO COURT.

I had not forgiven him for the situation with my matrons but a comfortable

languor came over me as a result for my pregnancy, and I was relieved when the

archbishop came to offer me his congratulations and then proceeded to closet himself

with Philip and their council to discuss business affairs. I refrained from asking any

questions when Philip emerged at dusk from these protracted meetings to dine with

me. He seemed tired and preoccupied; I did not want to tax him further. However, I

started to feel a prickle of doubt, until one night when I went to his apartments

dressed in my damask and jewels for our evening repast and found him waiting there

with Besançon at his side.

“I thought we might dine alone tonight,” I said, with a frosty glance at the

archbishop.

A nerve twitched in Philip‟s cheek. “We will,” he said. “But first, please sit, my

love. My lord Besançon and I have something we wish to discuss with you.”

The archbishop bowed, his broad face flushed, his bulk swathed in expensive

carnelian satin. A jeweled cross hung at his chest; his hands flashed with rings.

Whatever labors he‟d undertaken on Philip‟s behalf had clearly not affected his

disposition.

“Your Highness,” he said, “such a pleasure. I trust you are in good health?” He

spoke with exaggerated deference, but I caught the furtive look he exchanged with

Philip. Had my husband brought us together to make amends? I sincerely hope not.

“I‟m in excellent health, my lord.” I raised my hand to caress Philip‟s where it

rested on my shoulder. I thought I would enjoy a show of humility from the

archbishop.

“That is good.” He took a seat opposite mine. Servitors entered with a decanter of

small beer, a watery ale favored by the Flemish. “For the physicians assure us you

carry a son.”

The admission that he‟d consulted with my doctors sent a bolt of cold reality

through me.

“Well, regardless of its sex, we‟ll love this child all the same.” I looked at Philip.

He said quickly, “Yes, of course. It is, after all, our first; we will no doubt have

others.” He gave a chuckle that sounded very strained to my ears. “Her Highness and

I are still young.”

“Indeed,” I added. “And as our first child, we‟ll naturally wish to oversee its

upbringing.”

Besançon‟s gaze narrowed. He was no more taken in by me than I was by him.

This oily man had raised Philip, for better or worse; he‟d made my husband into the

man he was. He clearly did not welcome the intimation that I‟d want a say in how my

child was reared, indeed that I merited any consideration beyond that of a complacent

wife.

I made certain that my stare did not waver. “I trust we won‟t have any

misunderstandings in this matter as we did in the one concerning my matrons, my

lord?”

He visibly reddened. “Your Highness, that was most unfortunate. I assure you,

I―”

I waved a hand. “It is done. Pray, think no more of it.” My tone made it clear that

even if I chose to forgive, I would never forget.

He inclined his head. “Your Highness is most gracious.” He raised his basilisk

stare to Philip. “Your Highness, perhaps we might attend now to the business at