The Last Queen (21 page)

and suspicion surged in me. What was this? Before I could find a way to counter this

obvious dismissal, I heard heels clack to me. Once again, the insufferable Mlle de Foix

snatched me by the arm and steered me from the hall, past my stricken women, who

it seemed were to be left in their sodden cloaks here in the passageway like penitents,

with my baggage piled at their feet.

“Milady, if you please, I must attend to my women.” I plucked at the viselike

fingers, trying to extricate my arm without resorting to force, even as Mlle de Foix

propelled me into an adjoining room. I steeled myself when I saw the walls hung with

white velvet, emblazoned with the ermines of Brittany and Valois fleur-de-lis.

This time, rapacious female stares greeted at me. They parted to reveal Queen

Anne on an upholstered chair before a massive marble fireplace, an embroidery hoop

in her hands as though this were but another afternoon to fill with pastime.

“Her Highness the archduchess of Burgundy and Flanders,” Mlle de Foix

announced.

Anne of Brittany looked up, She had a silk skein raveled about her fat bejeweled

neck, her face as round and pasty as the white cheese for which her duchy was

famous.
“Ah, mais oui. Entré.”
She waved her hand, ensconced on her chair, her plump body squeezed into an ornate ivory damask gown inlaid with pearls.

I knew she was lame in one leg and assumed at first her infirmity prevented her

from rising. But as the seconds passed and she sat there smiling without even a

semblance of effort on her part, it became clear that Anne of Brittany had no

intention of rising at all, infirmity or no.

It was a deliberate insult. Descended from eleventh-century merchant stock that

had clawed its way to respectability, her blood could not compare to mine. She might

be twice queen, having had the good fortune to wed Louis‟ predecessor before she

wed Louis, but I was of an ancient royal lineage and it was on the tip of my tongue to

inform her as much. I resisted the urge, thinking it wouldn‟t bode well for the rest of

our visit.

I gritted my teeth, started to give her the same stiff half-curtsy I‟d accorded Louis.

She motioned. Before I knew it, Mlle de Foix stepped to me and gripped my arm. Her

fingers dug into my elbow like talons, sending a shooting pain through my shoulder

and, to my horror, propelling me farther to the floor than I had intended.

The queen‟s smile widened.
“Mais non, madame.
We are among friends here.”

I stood, quivering with rage, my fists clenched at my sides.

Anne of Brittany savored her victory for a few seconds. Then she motioned again.

“They will see you to your apartments. We shall dine together later, yes?”

Mlle de Foix and her ladies closed in around me.

_________________

SO IT WENT ON FOR FOUR INTERMINABLE DAYS.

The rain turned into sleet, limiting my escape to the gardens. Trapped indoors

with nothing to do, I could not even wander the palace, forced to attend the queen in

her apartments and endure her four daily masses and hours of acidic appraisal, while

Philip roistered with Louis and his nobles and Besançon cooked up God knew what

with the French council.

By the fifth day, I was beside myself. Philip stayed away from me at night,

enjoying large banquets with the men in this court where the sexes never seemed to

mingle except by prior arrangement, and his absence only added to my suspicion and

distress. I stormed about my lavish hated rooms, declaring I would not be further

insulted, but Lopez kept advising me caution, patience, though his kindly face began

to look strained as well.

On the sixth morning of our visit, I entered Anne of Brittany‟s chambers to find

her surrounded by her illustrious collection of ladies; a large upholstered and gilded

cradle sat prominently before her like a centerpiece.

“My daughter, Claude of France,” she informed me.

I stepped to the cradle. I‟d wondered why this trophy of her womb, the only child

she‟d born to infancy, hadn‟t been touted out before now. I reasoned it was because

in this matter Anne was clearly my inferior. I‟d already borne three children, one of

whom was a son and heir for Philip, while she‟d failed thus far to give Louis the

prince he needed to succeed him. If she did not, he‟d be obliged to hand over France

through marriage to his daughter. Claude could never rule as queen-regnant, as France

prohibited a female to take the throne.

Under the lace coverlets, I saw a wan face and sad big eyes, a glittering cap on the

still sparsely-haired head. I was wickedly pleased to discover the French princess

looked half of my Isabella‟s weight and had none of her charms; when the little

princess then screwed up her mouth in a pained grimace and let out a astonishingly

loud fart, I smiled.

I turned to the queen. “Her Highness Claude sounds indisposed. You might

consider adding some more fruit to her diet and less cheese.”

Anne of Brittany‟s face turned cold. “She‟s had some colic., It will pass. I hope

you do not recommend fruit for your son, madam. It is known that such can affect a

boy‟s maturity, and my lord archbishop Besançon assured me he would grow up to be

a strong, healthy husband.”

I froze. I could not take my eyes from her. The room went completely still, the

women‟s stares boring into me. The queen said, “Will you not kiss your daughter-in-

law, madame?”

I felt as if she‟d spewed filth on me. I could scarcely turn as, with a smirk, Mlle de

Foix extracted the babe from her cradle, rousing an instant burst of wailing. I touched

my lips to the little head, then turned and swept from the chamber without a word.

Behind me, I heard the queen and her ladies begin to laugh.

I banged into my chambers. Lopez sat at the table penning one of his dispatches;

Beatriz and Soraya looked up in alarm.

“We are deceived!” My breath came in stifled gasps. “Besançon has betrothed my

son to that mewling daughter of theirs! This visit is but a ruse!”

“Your Highness, please. Calm yourself.” Lopez rose hastily. “Are you sure of

this?”

“Yes. The queen just told me; she practically rubbed my face in it.” I felt sick. I

went to the nearest chair and sat. Beatriz immediately poured me a goblet of the fresh

water I insisted on having in my rooms at all times, for I disliked drinking wine in the

day.

She pressed the goblet into my hand. I drank. Then I looked at Lopez. He passed

his ink-stained hand over his balding pate. “Her Majesty your mother feared

something of this nature,” he said at length, and I could tell that while he sought to

ease my distress, he was as shocked as I. “This is indeed the archbishop‟s doing.”

“And he shall answer for it,” I declared hotly. “He‟ll not get away with it, so help

me God. I‟ll never agree to his devil‟s marriage and will tell it to Louis himself, if need be.”

“Your Highness, that wouldn‟t be wise. The archduke, your husband, he must

know of this.”

I went still. “You think he―?” I swallowed. “He wouldn‟t. He would have

consulted with me at the very least before he agreed.”

“Yet, he must know. Arrangements for a royal betrothal do not happen

overnight.” He paused. “Perhaps you should speak with him directly. He surely will

explain why he didn‟t inform you beforehand. Perhaps he feared your reaction. After

all, no Spanish princess would welcome a French daughter for her son, but they are

children,
princesa
, and much can occur between betrothal and marriage. It may be a political move, to bind Louis of France to peace. If so, your protest might cause

undue concern and delay our departure for Spain.”

I nodded. I was horrified by the thought that Philip had had a part in this. I

couldn‟t ignore the wisdom in Lopez‟s words, however, and I shared his desire to

leave this treacherous land as soon as possible, before some other wretched surprise

was sprung on me.

“Very well,” I said. “I‟ll speak with him. I‟ll send word this very hour.”

_________________

HE CAME TO ME THAT AFTERNOON. I saw at once he‟d heard about my encounter

with the queen, and he entered my rooms with a defensive, slightly drunken swagger

that made me want to throw something at him. It was evident he‟d been carousing

with the French court, though it was not midday, and that he‟d known all along about

the betrothal.

He leaned to me, his breath reeking of claret. I turned from him, paced to the

other side of the chamber. I‟d prepared to be cool and composed. The moment he

sought to kiss me, however, my anger flared. “Why did you bring me to this nest of

vipers?” I asked, without preamble.

“God‟s teeth,” he growled, “Not this again.”

“Would you take me for a fool? I know very well what you and Besançon plan.”

His face turned red. “And what, exactly is that supposed to mean?”

I lifted my chin. “You would give our son to France, though it‟s an insult to our

blood.”

My declaration had its desired effect. He stared astonishment at me. A shudder

rippled through his voice. “I warn you, don‟t think to meddle in this matter. It‟s not

your concern.”

“It certainly is. Let Besançon wed Claude if he so wishes, but he‟ll not use my

son.”

“
Your
son? He is also my son. Blessed Christ, Besançon was right! You are a

Spaniard through and through. You cannot see through that thick pride of yours that

by wedding Louise‟s daughter, our son stands to inherit the greatest realm this world

has seen. He‟ll sit on the thrones of Spain, the Habsburg states, and France. He‟ll rule

an empire to rival Rome.”

“Yes, at Spain‟s expense!” I could not help myself now. Something fierce and cold

rose in me, fed by these weeks of feigned obedience and years of swallowing my

hatred of the archbishop. “I will not submit to this betrothal,” I said. “You will

inform Louis as much, and we shall leave this accursed place. I command it.”

“You command it?” he repeated incredulously. “What are you to command

anything?”

“The heiress to Spain. Without me, this alliance means nothing.”

I knew at once I had hit the mark. He looked as if he might yell. His cap crunched

in his fist, and then he whirled about and strode from the room, slamming the door

with such force it must have resounded throughout the château, with the result that

the following morning when I entered the chapel for matins, the queen‟s ladies

nudged each other as I passed.

I sat on my pew, stone-faced, scarcely hearing Besançon as he intoned Mass. I had

realized during middle of the night that this was Philip‟s and my first quarrel since his infidelity, and I blamed the archbishop all the more for it. The bel announcing the

end of Mass rang and I heard the tromping of footsteps behind me. I resisted the urge

to swivel in my pew; then Louis and Philip clad in ermine-collared mantles and

escorted by a entourage of gentlemen filed down the aisle past me. To the altar.

“Behold how joyous it is when kings and princes live in harmony,” Besançon

declared, with a beaming smile he aimed straight at me. Before my incredulous eyes,

Philip and Louis embraced, took up quills, and signed their alliance on a desk

balanced on the backs of two kneeling pages.

My son had been betrothed to Claude of France.

My nails dug into my palms. The men walked out, leaving Anne and her ladies to

gloat. The king‟s confessor rang the offertory bell. Beside me, Beatriz started to

fumble in her purse for the traditional coin when the odious Mlle de Foix leaned to

me from the queen‟s pew. “Her Majesty bids me to tell Madame it is customary in

France to offer alms. She sends you this.”

She dropped a pouch in my lap.

Beatriz froze, no doubt fearing my explosion. Mastering the urge to whirl about

and deliver a resounding slap to Mlle de Foix‟s smug face, I plucked the pouch off me

as though it were a bug and let it fall with a clink on the floor. “Tell Her Majesty,” I

said in a voice I knew would carry, “that I am well aware of the custom, it being the

same in my native land of Spain.”

Mlle de Foix recoiled. As intended, my words reached the queen, and Anne rose

and limped out with as much indignant anger as she could muster, her ladies scuttling

behind.

I did not move. The chapel descended into icy silence.

“They‟re gone, Your Highness,” Beatriz ventured. “They wait for us outside.”

“Let then wait.”

“But it‟s snowing― the queen will catch cold.”

“Let her freeze to death for all I care. I‟ll not stray behind her like a servant.”

I did not rise for another full ten minutes, counting the seconds one by one. Then

I genuflected, stepped over the pouch, and moved down the aisle with deliberate

slowness.

On the portico, the queen and her women huddled against the biting wind. When

she saw me, Anne of Brittany stepped forth, her features livid with rage.

I held up a hand, staying her in her tracks. I continued to my apartments. There, I

locked the door and turned to Beatriz. “Fetch
mi atenuado,
my Spanish gown, and my jewel coffer.”

That night as the court dined in the great hall, the trumpets blared and the lord

chamberlain called out in a reedy nervous voice, “Her Highness the infanta of