The Last Queen (20 page)

understand.”

My heart‟s erratic beat slowed. Cold sweat congealed under my gown. He came

toward me. He seemed himself again; I thought I must have imagined the violence I‟d

glimpsed in his eyes.

“No,” I said, “I don‟t understand. I see no reason why we must go to France.”

“We must go because we are Spain‟s future rulers and must behave accordingly.

Louis extended his invitation through my Estates; he has no other motive than to seek

our favor.”

“The French always have a motive,” I retorted, but for the first time I started to

doubt my own words. I‟d been so inoculated against France against childhood I‟d

never questioned it.”

“Well, Louis‟ only motive now is to make sure we don‟t strike a pact with your

parents that will set half of Europe against him. He‟s terrified for his safety. Your

sister Catalina has married the English heir, your other sister Maria married Portugal;

now you and I are heirs to Spain, not to mention that one day I stand to inherit my

father‟s empire. I‟ve become a threat. Louis needs my friendship, and if all goes as

planned, I intend to give it.”

He held up a hand, cutting off my protest. “I warn you now, I‟ll not inherit your

parents‟ feuds. Spain, the Habsburgs, and France― this enmity must end.”

“Then let Louis first end his claim on Naples.” My previous trepidation vanished

in the heat of my own anger. “I know you seek to do well, but my parents will never

sanction an alliance between us and the French.”

“I do not make an alliance for Spain,” he said. “I do it for Flanders.” He paused.

“Juana, we share a border with France. The same threat Aragón has faced could

happen here. In order for us to leave, my Estates-General insist we first accept Louis‟

invitation. I am compelled by my duty as archduke to heed them, just as your parents

must heed their Cortes.”

“Then you go without me.” I raised my chin. “I cannot be seen there.”

He sighed. “You are my wife, the heiress of Castile. Of course, you must come.

It‟s no dishonor to show graciousness to a fellow sovereign whose position is weaker

than yours. And we‟ll only stay a week or two at most.”

I struggled against his logic. I did not want to see the world as he did, because it

conflicted with the world I‟d known all my life. I felt as though I‟d dishonored my

father, Aragón, the very foundation of Spain itself. I wished I could talk to Lopez

before I made my decision, but I‟d sensed he‟d tell me what I already knew: if

Besançon was behind this meeting with Louis, it would behoove us to find out what

he sought to gain by it. And Philip was right: our position as Spain‟s heirs had eclipsed France‟s might. One day we‟d unite the Habsburg Empire and Spain under one rule;

we would encircle France like wolves. What did I possibly have to fear?

I took a steadying breath. “Very well,” I said. I retrieved my embroidery with a

steady hand. “But I would like to be apprised of all future preparations for our trip.”

His brow furrowed. “Why? It‟ll be tedious business for a woman‟s ears.

“No doubt, but we‟ll be gone a long time, as you say, and I want to oversee the

plans for the children. Not to mention, it‟s not every day an infanta goes to France.”

He guffawed. “I see. You want to have the most lavish gowns and jewels, of

course, though you don‟t need them, my love. You could outshine Anne of Brittany

in your shift.” He regarded me with a lingering smile. Did he honestly see my

concerns as mere vanity? Or was he playing the fool, I thought, as he bent over me,

his kiss rousing a unexpected lack of physical response.

“I‟ll tell you everything,” he murmured. “We‟ll also dine alone tonight, so we can

enjoy a proper reunion.”

I raised my lips to his, perturbed by my apathy. I had never lacked for heat with

him, but then, it was a dangerous game I played.

Yet as he swaggered out to change his clothes for supper, I resolved not to falter.

________________

THE ENSUING WEEKS PUT MY RESOLVE TO THE TEST. Besançon returned to court

looking smug and immediately closeted himself with Philip. Lopez confirmed to me

that while I‟d made the right decision, I should continue to be watchful. I found the

ongoing deception unnerving and reassured myself it would all probably result in a

mere few days of discomfort, nothing more.

I suffered anxiety over leaving my children, especially my little Isabella, who

wasn‟t yet six months old. I must have interviewed a hundred nursemaids before I

settled on one Isabella seemed to like; fortunately, Madame de Halewin and, to my

surprise, Doña Ana, reassured me they would remain to oversee the children‟s

household. My old duenna insisted she was too old to cross the Pyrenees, adding with

pointed emphasis she‟d rather die here than be seen alive in France. I evaded her

rebuke, comforted that my children would have her to watch over them, and

dedicated myself to spending as much time as I could with Charles, Eleanor, and

Isabella.

Finally, on a bright winter day in November 1501, as crowds gathered at the

roadside to stare in wonder, we left Ghent. Philip lead the cavalcade on his white

destrier, resplendent in scarlet. I rode beside him on a dappled mare, in amber

brocade that matched my eyes.

To Spain, to Spain, I sang inside. Soon, I would reunite with my parents, with the

memories of my childhood and promise of my future. My eyes burned with tears of

sudden joy. I could survive anything, even time in France, for soon Philip and I would

be in the land of my birth.

And there, we would fulfill our destiny.

________________________________

s soon as we crossed into France, my disquiet resurfaced. Louis had sent an

entourage of noblemen and -women to welcome us, and I eyes the primped

A and powdered ladies with covert mistrust. That old feudal enmity between

France and Spain could be felt in the air, like a storm about to burst. I was acutely

aware of the fact that regardless of the stated intent, here I would be seen as an

enemy, the daughter of the wily Fernando of Aragón, whose claim to Naples were a

perpetual thorn in France‟s side.

Nevertheless, I was astonished by the sheer breadth and beauty of the landscape,

with its seemingly endless vales and silken forests, its radiant skies, prosperous

hamlets, and luxuriant vineyard. I had never thought any realm could equal the

inviolate majesty of Spain and could not resist a thrill of involuntary excitement when

I caught sight of Paris in a haze of mist.

Above the labyrinthine streets, the spire of Notre Dame spiked the fading sun.

Bells pealed from every church, a deafening clangor that summoned the Parisians to

swarm out and welcome us, shouting and tossing bouquets of autumn flowers until

the air shimmered like cooper.

We were taken to the old palace of the Louvre, where we were told Louis and his

queen had traveled to the Val du Loire to prepare Château de Blois for us. In their

place, the princes of Bourbon acted as hosts, and while Philip toured the city with his

men, I had an unexpected visit from the count Don de Cabra, my mother‟s

ambassador to the Tudor court, who‟d heard of my stop in France and had come to

see me in his way to England. I received him with some reserve, thinking he might

bring my mother‟s rebuke of my travels here. Instead, he told me my sister Catalina

had arrived in England and related her entry into London, during which she‟d shown

impeccable dignity even in the face of unfamiliar surroundings and King Henry VII‟s

brusque entry into her rooms one night to order her to remove her veil.

“She was of course most taken aback and her duenna outraged,: the count said,

“but the king insisted he must see if she was deformed in some way before he could

let her marry his heir. She graciously complied. Naturally, then he was the one to be

taken aback when he saw her beauty and he proceeded to introduce her to his court as

though she were a prized jewel.”

I recalled my own unveiling before Besançon and thought with a pang of how

bewildered Catalina must feel, alone amongst strangers and so far from home.

“And her betrothed, Prince Arthur?” I asked anxiously. “Did they appear to like

each other?”

The count smiled. “Ah, yes. They are like two angels. Prince Arthur is very slim

and shy, but he seemed enamored of Her Highness. So did his younger brother,

Prince Henry, who threw off his doublet during their nuptial feast to cavort before

her in his chemise and breeches like a pagan. Those English are barbarians, uncouth

and loud. They‟re fortunate indeed to have the infanta Catalina as their future queen.

They call her Catherine of Aragón since her marriage.”

“I must write to her,” I murmured, ashamed that in the upheaval in my own life, I

had forgotten to mark the day of her departure. It saddened me that I would not see

her on my arrival in Spain. I wrote her a long letter that very day, entrusting it to the count, who assured me he would see it safely to England. In it, I promised to be a

sister to her no matter what and implored her to write to me anytime, for I knew what

it was like to do our duty for our country.

The following afternoon, we left for the Loire Valley. We arrived in Blois on the

eve of December 7, under a icy rain. Through the main gateway covered in friezes, I

rode into the courtyard, drenched to my skin. Philip had gone ahead with his

entourage; the moment I dismounted, a young woman of no more than seventeen

years with sloe-black eyes and an unattractive, pursed mouth hustled up to me,

accompanied by a clutch of stiff-faced companions.

She curtsied. “Madame Archduchess, I am Mademoiselle Germaine de Foix, niece

to His Majesty King Louis. I have the honor of being your escort and lady of honor

during your visit.”

She spoke as though nothing could have been less appealing to her. I signaled to

Beatriz and Soraya, started to inform Mlle de Foix I hardly required more attendants

when she seized me by my arm and literally swept me off into the redbrick. My

women hastened to follow, but before I knew it I found myself within the palace, led

down stone corridors hung with enormous tapestries, the posse of French ladies

hemming me in.

They might have succeeded in bypassing the hall completely had I not spied the

open double doors to my left and forcibly pulled back.

The enormous room glowed under the lit tapers of huge silver candelabra

suspended on chains from a rich paneled ceiling. I stepped forth. Behind me, Mlle de

Foix hissed,
“Madame, c’est le chambre du roi!”

I fixed my gaze on the dais at the far end, where Philip stood with Besançon, their

backs to me. Scores of men filled the hall― the musky smell of their damp capes and

perfumes turning sour in the heat of the scented smoke rising from the braziers.

I lifted my chin and entered. They turned to stare.

In the silence, the quiet dragging of my skirts across the tiled floor sounded loud

as spurred boots. I heard outraged male gasps. Philip spun about, white-faced,

revealing the king on a dais.

I paused. Despite his fearless reputation, Louis XII cut an unprepossessing figure.

In his early forties, having inherited his crown late in life, he had lank graying hair cut bluntly above his protruding ears, his narrows face overpowered by the hooked Valois

nose. His shoulders lacked breadth, even though they were draped in cloth of silver,

and his shanks were spindly in cloth of silver. Only his narrow metallic eyes betrayed

the cunning that had made him my father‟s avowed foe― his eyes, and his fingers,

which were thin, tapering, and spidery.

I stood still. I did not curtsy. His blood was no more royal than mine. Indeed, one

might argue his was rather less.

His thin lips curved. “Madame Archduchess, welcome to France.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I could feel the French courtiers staring, infuriated

by my refusal to acknowledge their king‟s superiority. Philip came to me. His face was

stony, his hand hard where he gripped my sleeve. “What are you doing?” he said

between his teeth.

I could see in his expression and the archbishop‟s baleful stare that they hadn‟t

intended to see me here at all, but I couldn‟t for the life of me understand why not.

Was there some ancient custom in France that prohibited a woman from entering the

king‟s presence without prior leave? It wouldn‟t have surprised me: France was one of

the few kingdoms that still barred female successions. But I was not just any woman. I

was the heiress of Castile.

“I am greeting His Majesty,” I replied clearly. I even managed a smile and a brief

half-curtsy. “That is why we are here, is it not?”

Philip‟s face turned bright red. Besançon looked fit to burst. Louis chuckled from

his throne.
“Mon ami,”
he said to Philip, “your wife is as enchanting as I imagined. But she must be
très fatigue, oui?
” He returned his gaze to me. Though his smile did not waver, his eyes were like onyx. “No doubt she‟d benefit from time alone with those of

her own sex. She should proceed to her visit with my wife,
la reine,
and leave us bereft of her presence.”

I shot a look at Philip. He avoided my stare. Visit with the queen? Resentment