The Last Queen (14 page)

hand?”

“Yes,” I said, “by all means, let us attend.” I gave Philip my full attention.

He gulped his goblet, then without preamble declared, “My lord and I have been

discussing of late the situation in Spain. In view of the fact that your parents no longer have a male heir, we believe that I could be granted precedence in the succession. In

exchange, we will support your father‟s claim in Naples against the French.”

I went still. I didn‟t like the sound of this. “But my sister Isabella is my parents‟

heir now.”

“Your sister may be heiress of Castile,” Besançon clipped, “but Salic Law prevails

in Aragón. Your father‟s Cortes will never recognize a woman as heir.”

I clenched my teeth. Damn him. I should have known he‟d come back to court

after that debacle in the Estates-General and fill Philip‟s head with his grandiose ideas!

I regretted having forgone giving him a full reprimand earlier, for it seemed he would

repay me in false coin.

“Aragón recognized my mother,” I said at length, “Why not my sister?”

“Her Majesty Queen Isabel‟s title as queen of Aragón is nominal, a formality set

forth by your parents‟ marriage treaty., Aragón retains its rights of succession.”

I stared at him for a long moment, outraged that he‟d dare lecture me on Spain as

if I were an uninformed pupil. I would have to tread with caution. Despite the alleged

informality of our gathering, I realized we had entered a potential battleground.

“You know much of our arrangements in Spain, it seems. Surely you also know

my sister Isabella has wed the new prince of Portugal. If anyone should be named

infante it is he.”

“Not necessarily. Portugal has too much power already; its claims in the New

World alone rival Spain‟s. If your sister‟s new husband is named infante, he‟ll yoke

Spain to Portugal upon your parents‟ deaths and rule through your sister.” Besançon

sighed. “His Highness your brother‟s death is a tragedy, but it can mitigated through

Spain‟s alliance with us. After all, His Highness is your husband; you stand next in line to the throne and are already with child, while your sister remains barren. Our

proposal will be a blessing to your parents in their time of grief.”

My alarm increased. I‟d never seen myself as second in line to anything, much less

the Spanish throne. My brother had always been the one who would rule, and his sons

after him. Though my sisters and I had an exemplary education, for my mother did

not believe a woman should be refused the advantages of literacy, our ultimate

purpose was the rule of queen consorts to our royal husbands. We‟d been trained to

be erudite, but not overtly so, conversant on my subjects but experts to none, to be

decorous and accomplished and always discreet.

None of us was trained to rule.

I glanced at Philip. He gave me a cautious smile. “We‟re thinking of the future of

Spain, Juana. Your parents have not been long on their thrones. You yourself told me

of all the troubles they face. Your brother‟s loss could incite unrest among the nobles;

and should Aragón refuse to acknowledge your sister as the new heir, who knows

what may ensue?”

I knotted my hands over my belly. I couldn‟t yet feel my child, but I wished I

could. I needed a reminder of the recent happiness I felt and which this conversation

had vanquished like a finger sniffing out a candlewick.

As if on cue, Besançon stood. “I will go now, with Your Highness‟s leave.”

Philip nodded; I did not look at the archbishop as he waddled out. The moment I

heard the door shut, I raised my eyes to Philip. He regarded me for a moment. Then

he sank to his knees before my chair and took my hands in his.

“There is a very real threat from France. No one knows what Louis intends, but

both Besançon and I heard rumors while at the Estates-General that he seeks a more

aggressive stance over Naples than his predecessor. Spain and France are longtime

foes: I hardly need tell you what a war between them could mean to your parents―

and to us.”

I nodded, frightened now. My father had warned me about Louis. He‟d told me

the new king of France lacked scruple or conscience. My parents‟ treasuries were

bankrupt; a conflict with a nation as large and rich as France would bring disaster

upon my native land, only recently united under my parents‟ rule and still seeking its

foothold amid the established powers of Europe.

“Do you think―?” I paused, then swallowed. “Do you think he‟ll declare war?”

“I don‟t know. If he does, he‟ll not warn of it beforehand. But if I am named into

the succession he may think before he acts. He won‟t want us and your parents allied

against him.” Philip sat back on his heels. “Besançon wants to send an envoy to

Castile to present my proposal to your mother. I would like you to add a letter,

explaining that you support my endeavors.”

I started. “A letter?” I let out a tight laugh. “You do not know my mother. My

brother is scarcely cold in his grave. She‟ll find the timing of this most ill-advised.”

“Your brother has been dead nearly six months. Your mother is a queen; she‟ll

understand.”

I saw Besançon‟s hand in this, manipulating Philip into thinking such a scheme

was possible.”

“Be it as it may,” I said carefully, “I still think she‟ll take it as a insult. You are not of Spanish blood. How can she name you into the succession, even if she wanted to?

Both her and my father‟s Cortes would refuse.”

He frowned. “This isn‟t about legislation. This is about my royal rights.”

I resisted an impatient sigh. “Philip, in Spain the Cortes represents the nobility

and the people‟s interests. It must first invest a sovereign before he can legally claim

the throne; it‟s a formality, yes, but it‟s always held that Spain must have a Spanish-

born king.”

“Are we to be dictated to by warlords and merchants, then?” he muttered. “I am

not asking to be king,” he added, with a forced smile. “I just want my name entered in

the succession as a safeguard and the title of infante. After we have our son, he can

assume this right. He shares both our bloods. He can inherit, yes?”

“Philip, our child isn‟t even born yet. I might bear a daughter.”

“You won‟t.” He leaned to me. “Will you write the letter? I need your help.”

What else could I do? If he was going to present his proposition regardless, an

accompanying letter from me might ease the effrontery of it, perhaps smooth the way

to compromise.

He kissed my cheek. “Now, I won‟t have you worrying about this. Write the letter

and leave the rest to Besançon. Remember, you have our son to take care of.”

His conviction troubled me only a little less than the announcement he‟d relegate

our policies to the archbishop. I couldn‟t help but fear we were in for a rude surprise.

I knew my mother. She would not rest until Castile
and
Aragón invested Isabella as heir. And she‟d not take kindly to any proposal that suggested otherwise, regardless of

its goal.

After we dined together, I returned to my rooms, wondering how to explain my

dilemma in a letter. I owed Philip my loyalty as his wife and he wished to extend his

support. My mother had instructed me― indeed, commanded me― to uphold Spain‟s

interests above all else, but she never explained that sometimes these situations were

not as clear as they looked. Still, as I sat before my desk with a blank page and quill, I could imagine my parents‟ anxiety over Louis of France‟s ambition, their crushing

grief over Juan.

Philip was right: everything they had fought for hung in the balance. Without a

male heir, Castile and Aragón could be torn apart, fall prey to the avarice of the

nobility. Maybe my father and mother had already thought ahead; maybe they would

welcome Philip‟s proposal. And if I did bear a son, as so many believed, he‟d have my

blood. My parents‟ legacy would live on through him.

I sighed, glancing at my belly. I took up my quill.

Inking the sharpened tip, I began to write.

__________________

SUMMER SLIPPED TOWARD FALL, AND I OCCUPIED MYSELF WITH preparations for

my child‟s birth. The chamber selected for me would be lavish, the bed upholstered in

the finest cloth, the tapestry hangings woven especially in Bruges for the occasion. In

my apartments, I spent hours inspecting fabric samples sent by all the burghers eager

to curry my patronage with their wares.

“That peach satin,” I pointed to the sample Beatriz held up. “It would lighten the

chamber curtains, don‟t you think, seeing as the windows must remain shuttered.” I

scowled. “It all seems most primitive. Why must I give birth like a bear in a cave?”

Beatriz rolled her eyes in sympathy and reached over to extract a green velvet

sample from the pile at her feet. “What about his one? It would look lovely with the

amber satin coverlet.”

I nodded. “Yes. We‟ll ask for ten yards, and―” I glanced up, hearing noise in the

antechamber. The door opened. Besançon strode in, his satin robes billowing.

“Leave us,” he told Beatriz. “I wish to speak with Her Highness alone.”

Beatriz looked at me. I nodded. I could not believe he had dared to barge into my

rooms unannounced. We‟d never been alone before; seeing him now in all his

fulsome glory made me want to rebuke him for everything he had done. I did not,

because I expected Philip to follow; when my husband failed to appear, I said coldly,

“Yes, my lord? What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

He returned my stare in absolute silence. I could tell he was angry; his already

florid cheeks were even redder, making him look like a over-baked boar. “We‟ve

received Her Majesty your mother‟s answer to our proposal,” he said. He dropped it

into my lap. “I suggest Your Highness read it and see the high esteem in which Her

Majesty holds us.”

I did not touch the paper. I could guess its contents. “Perhaps you should tell

me,” I replied, “seeing as you‟ve apparently come here to that purpose.”

“Very well. She advises that as His Highness your husband has no legal rights in

Spain, she can only assume we‟ve suffered an unfortunate lapse in judgment. She

orders us to respect the decision of her Cortes to declare your sister Isabella‟s child as her heir.”

I sat upright. “Isabella‟s child? My sister is pregnant?”

“She is. Seven months, in fact. Her midwives have assured your parents the child

is male. He will be named heir to Castile and Aragón. A clever twist, is it not? Your

sister‟s babe will be king not only of Spain but also of Portugal. No yoking of the

great realm to its‟ neighbor now― no, it‟s to be the other way around. I believe Her

Majesty has set herself to building an empire.”

My hands closed over the letter. I clenched my teeth against the retort that he was

not fit to wipe Her Majesty‟s riding boots.

I heard him say, “Her Highness does not seem surprised.”

I met his stare. “Of course, I am. I had no idea Isabella was pregnant.”

“But you‟re relieved. You never wanted His Highness to be heir; you made that

quite clear.”

“And you, my lord, should have a care,” I replied, “for you forget with whom you

speak.” I braced my hands on my chair arms and came to my feet. “If that is all,

please tell my husband I wish to see him.”

Besançon regarded me. “His Highness most aggrieved by this matter and has

gone riding.”

Despite my effort to remain calm, my voice edged. “Then you will send word to

wherever he is that I too am aggrieved but am not to blame. I did not tell my mother

to refuse this proposal, nor was it I who had the idea to set it before her.”

“Ah yes,” he said, to my disbelief. “And yet Your Highness is Spain come to

Flanders and therefore must understand that in refusing us this request, Spain has

insulted Flanders.”

“Us?” I took an angry step to him. “There is no
us
, my lord, except for my

husband and I. And I did not insult him. I would never insult him as you insulted me,

and him, by treating my matrons as you did.”

His eyes were like shards of ice. “You forget I chose you. His Highness could

have wed elsewhere had I deigned it so.”

I trembled from head to toe, longing to fling the paper in my hand at his face.

“The moment my husband returned, I will tell him of your presumption. You are not

so well favored that he‟d take your side over mine. Lest
you
forget, my lord, I am to bear his child and heir, not you.”

He bowed, went to the door. He paused, looker over his fleshy shoulder. “I

suggest you reconsider testing Your Highness‟s patience,” he lilted, as if we‟d just had

an argument over the starching of my linens. “He is not accustomed to having his

actions questioned by anyone, much less his wife and her mother. He might take it

amiss that in her zeal to defend Spain, you apparently disregard the fact that he too is

a ruler, with his own realm to consider.”

I breathed, “You will not get away with this. You have my word as an infanta of

Castile.”

He inclined his head. “We offered to assist Spain in her time of difficulty. Seeing

as that wasn‟t good enough, so be it. Flanders has been forced to choose, and choose

we will.”

Before I could react to this implicit threat, he opened my apartment door. “I wish

you a pleasant evening,” he said, and he walked out.