The Last Queen (24 page)

and mother.”

He smiled sadly, lowering his eyes. All of a sudden, it was as if all the humor and

infectious joy for life had drained out of him. “I wish you could have brought your

children. Isabel and I were looking forward to meeting them, especially your son,

Charles.”

I reached out. “Papá, I am so sorry. For Juan and Isabella, and little Miguel― I‟d

do anything to have them here.”

He looked up. I saw something I had never seen before: tears, in my father‟s eyes.

“It is a terrible thing to bury one‟s children, Juana. I pray you never to suffer the same.

Now Maria is in Portugal, Catalina in England―” He paused, gnawed at his inner lip.

“But you are here.” He straightened, drawing a deep breath. “Yes, you are home now,

where you belong.”

I put my arms around him and he yielded to me, almost like a child.

__________________________________

oledo shone like a whitewashed barnacle, its maze of houses, serpentine

streets, and
morisco
palaces seeming to shine with liquid gold in the morning

T light. The ramparts were bedecked in silk banners of every hue; wreaths,

pennants, and precious tapestries hung from wrought-iron balconies and the toll of

the cathedral bells echoed into the Tagus Valley. The people crowded on either side

of the streets roared in acclaim as we rode up the winding cobblestone road and

dismounted before the
casa real,
where my mother had taken residence.

With my eyes dazzled by the sunlight, far brighter than in Flanders, all I could

discern of my mother when we entered the
sala mayor
was her dark figure at the foot of the dais. My father went before me, accompanied by the nobles. As Philip and I

approached, the elderly Marquise de Moya and my father‟s bastard daughter, Joanna

de Aragón, wife to the Castilian constable, sank into reverent curtsies.

My heart started to pound. Philip and I reached the appointed distance from the

dais and knelt. I heard skirts rustle. A low voice said. “Welcome, my children. Rise.

Let me look at you.”

I stood. I went still. Had I not known she was my mother, I would not have

recognize her.

The last time I‟d seen her, she had been stout, a matron, still arresting, but no

longer youthful. I‟d anticipated the toll that age and grief might take; what I hadn‟t

expected was to see this frail figure, her cheekbones incised under ashen skin

enhanced by her dark wool dress― the mourning she‟d worn since my brother‟s

death. Only her ethereal eyes were unchanged, brilliant as though her life force

concentrated itself there, intent on detaining time.

“Mamá,” I whispered, before I could stop myself.

She held out her hands. I was enfolded in her gaunt lavender-scented embrace.

“Bienvenida a tu reino,”
she whispered. “Welcome to your kingdom.”

_________________

A FEW DAYS LATER, AFTER A ROUND OF INTERRUPTED FESTIVITIES, my father

took Philip and his suite hawking in the fertile vales surrounding Toledo. That same

afternoon, my mother sent the Marquise de Moya to me with her summons.

We had not been alone since my arrival. As I moved with the aged marquise to

my mother‟s apartments, I had a vivid reminder of the last time I‟d been summoned

and felt the familiar tension between my shoulder blades. Then, my mother had called

me to inform me of my impending marriage; this time, I anticipated something equally

challenging. She had displayed her characteristic fortitude at each of the

entertainments staged to welcome us, sitting Philip at her side and engaging him in

discourse. Nevertheless, her jaundiced face and uncertain gait showed how much our

reception must have exacted of her, and in all that time not once had she mentioned

the French alliance and betrothal of my son.

I drew myself to attention when the marquise paused at the apartment entrance.

She turned to me, a tiny woman now, gray as cinders. “Her Majesty will not be treated

like an invalid,” she said. “I tell you this so you can be forewarned. Be patient with

her. She‟s suffered much.”

I nodded, forcing a smile to my lips as I stepped into the simply furnished solar. I

curtsied, feeling like a child again, my mother seated by the window, waiting. At some

unseen cue, her shadowy women dispersed. I fought back a sudden sense of

helplessness and took the upholstered chair opposite my mother. I fought back a

sudden sense of helplessness and took the upholstered chair opposite my mother. I

was a grown woman. Whatever she had to say, I was more than able to hear and

respond to it.

Her smile was vague, her gaze traveling over my figure. “I am pleased to see

childbirth has not affected your figure.”

Ever to the point; I was gratified that some things remained the same. “Thank

you, Mamá.”

Her face tightened. She adjusted her swollen feet on her footstool. “Now, we

must talk.”

A strange defensiveness arose in me, although I tried to keep it at bay., She was ill

, and no doubt worried, I told myself. I must focus on remaining calm and attentive.

There was no reason t his first discourse between us should not amicably. I was, after

all, her successor. She would not want our past disagreements to mar our reunion any

more than I did. But another darker part of me already braced for battle. We had

never been friends, and I was not her chosen successor, not the one she‟d have

wanted for her throne. We‟d come to this place through death and loss.

She confirmed my thoughts with her next words: “This French alliance of your

husband‟s must be repudiated before our Cortes can invest him as prince-consort.

Your father has had a trying time convincing Aragón‟s procurators that their foolish

law prohibiting female succession cannot prevail over Spain‟s hard-earned unity. Your

husband‟s decision to betroth your only son and his heir to the French princess can

only make the situation more difficult.”

“His name is Philip,” I said. “My husband‟s name is Philip.”

“I know what his name is.” She paused. “I also know what he has done.” Her

stare pierced me to the bone. When she saw me stiffen, she sighed. “It‟s never been

easy between us, I know. We are not, as they say, kindred spirits. But I am still your

mother. I did what I thought best for you. I never stopped loving you, no matter what

you may think. And I know everything, Juana.”

I could not move a muscle. “Everything?”

“Yes. Such matters are rarely secret for long at any court, much less one as

licentious as his. I also understand, for I endured much the same in my youth. I know

how it feels to discover your husband has sought the company of other women. I

know what it is like to flee from him, and to forgive him and take him back, even

though he has broken your heart.”

It was the last thing I‟d expected to hear from her, the one sordid part of my

marriage I had hoped to hide and forget. The sudden intimacy between us was almost

painful.

“Papá,” I whispered. “You speak of his mistress, the one who bore him Joanna.”

She nodded. “I do. Fidelity is always harder for a man. And your father found it

very difficult to accept the differences in our ranks. As you know, by the laws of

Castile, he‟s my king-consort. He does not hold the sovereign powers I do, though

I‟ve done my utmost to exalt him as my equal. But he‟s always known this realm looks

first to me as its queen and it has hurt him. So he went to others, common women

with whom he could first and foremost be king.”

“But he loves you,” I said, not wanting to see this side of my father, though I

knew she spoke the truth. “He‟s always loved you. Anyone can see that.”

“It has nothing to do with love. What I doubted was his ability to live in the

shadow I cast over him.” She held up her hand. “But I did not ask you here to speak

of my past. Time has a way of softening us; like me, your father is getting old. Your

husband on the other hand, is still young, and from what I‟ve seen thus far, very

headstrong. He is frustrated by what he perceives as his lack of status; it festers in him like a wound. What I did with Fernando, what he accepted of me, Philip may not take

so easily from you.”

The admonition sliced between us like a blade. I lifted a hand to my throat, my

gaze fixed on my mother‟s face. When she leaned to me and grasped my hand, a gasp

escaped me. Her fingers were bony, but firm, calloused from years of riding. Only in

her hands could the memory of her strength still be felt, though her touch was cold.

“Whatever pain he has caused you,” she said, “whatever doubts he‟s engendered

must be set aside. I need your strength now. Spain needs it. This realm will demand

everything you can give, Juana, and much more. We must prove you are capable of

ruling after my death.”

The reality of what I would soon face struck me with the force of a blow. I had

never been able to imagine Spain without my mother: in my mind, the two were

inextricably linked, conjoined like a child to the womb. Not until this moment did I

truly let the weight of the future sink in, and for a terrifying instant, I wanted to flee.

“Mamá, no.” I couldn‟t keep the quaver from my voice. “You mustn‟t talk like

that. You are ill, is all. You will not die.”

She chuckled dryly. “Oh, but I will. Why should I, a mere vessel of dust, not go

where every mortal creature must? That is why time― this time we have now― is so

important.”

She released my hand, the force she had emanated fading. “When I heard about

this matter in France, I feared the worst. When that archbishop Besançon first came

here to haggle with us as though we were cloth merchants, I saw the manner of man

from whom your husband received his advice. I cannot say the French alliance

surprised me; any fool could see Besançon seeks to play any side he can to his

advantage. But you, my daughter― you surprised me. You demonstrated a remarkable

conviction and strength before the French court and upheld your royal blood. Your

husband, on the other hand, showed he is fit only to govern his paltry state in

Flanders. He is weak, too easily influenced. He has the character of a courtier, not a

king: he doesn‟t seek to comprehend that before riches, before titles, vanity, or

pleasure, before, if necessary, his life itself, the Crown must come first.”

These were hard words to hear. They seemed to go to the very heart of the

situation with a lack of emotional ambiguity that I found unsettling. “You do not

know him,” I said quietly. “Yes, he has his faults like anyone else, but Mamá, he isn‟t a bad man.”

She tilted her head. “No man is, at first. But good has a way of losing to ambition.

And nothing can alter the fact that he chose to betroth his son and heir― whom we

would name after you in our succession― to Louis of France‟s daughter. Not to

mention, he lets himself be governed by Besançon, a man unworthy to wear the cloth

of the church.”

Her words cut deep, as she intended. Still, I did not take my eyes from hers as she

added, “Yet he will one day be your king-consort, as Fernando is mine. We must

therefore ensure that in the final say, you are the one to rule. Rule as I have and will

continue to do, until my last breath.”

Her stare was riveting, inexhaustible, as if flames had been lit inside her eyes. I

knew in that instant that there was something else she wanted, something only I could

achieve. Beyond her chastisement of Philip, that was the real reason she had

summoned me here.”

“The French betrothal,” I said aloud. “You want me to get him to repudiate it.”

She shook her head. “Let your father and I shoulder that particular task. What I

require from you is to persuade him to remain in Spain as long as is necessary. He is

too foreign in his ways and in his thoughts. We must separate him from Besançon,

teach him to think and act like a Spanish prince. Only then will our
grandes
and the Cortes accept him.”

Her insight into my husband‟s character, after a week of having known him, made

me wonder about myself. It had taken me years to recognize his dependence on the

archbishop; and I had not paused to consider how he might be seen in my native

country, how his careless gallantry, which I found so novel, might inspire contempt in

the somber eyes of Castile.

“Very well,” I said in a low voice. “What must I do?”

“I‟ll not lie to you. The road ahead is fraught with problems. Many here would

rather we named your son Charles heir, with yourself as queen-regent until he comes

of age. The Cortes, the nobles, the people― they will not trust a foreigner for their

king. For the time being, however, your father and I have delayed the convening of

our Cortes and the ratification of any titles. Mind you, the delay can only be

temporary. But for now, it gives us an opportunity.”

Her voice deepened. “The power I offer you will set you above your husband.

You will be queen of Castile and Aragón; on your head will rest our joint crowns.

Philip can never have your authority, and you must never give it to him. What the

Cortes demand, what the nobles require, is a monarch who will be feared and

respected. I spent many years courting the favor of one, and subduing the greed of