The Last Queen (28 page)

Castile. My mother had to return to Toledo to attend to the upheaval in her Cortes

caused by Philip‟s abrupt departure, and I had no desire to lodge in the city with the

memories of my fights with Philip and Besançon‟s death.

I dispatched a letter to Naples, where Papá had gone to fight the French. In the

midst of his war (which he described as a
nasty skirmish
in his usual offhanded

fashion), he sent me a ruby ring and his regrets that he could not be here to see his

new grandson and namesake.
You have fulfil ed my most earnest hopes,
madrecita, he wrote,
and I’l soon have these Frenchmen fleeing like curs. I suggest you write to your husband and tell him
the good news.

I could imagine his ironic smile as he penned these last words. The truth of the

matter was that I had written to Philip, several times in fact. I had not received a

single reply. I knew he‟d arrived in France because my mother‟s ambassador in Paris

informed us as much, but whatever business he concluded with King Louis had not

stopped the struggle over Naples. Madame de Halewin also continued to send regular

communiqués about the children, but from my husband I had not heard a word since

his departure seven months ago.

It was as though to him, I had ceased to exist.

I avoided my worst fear that he had abandoned me and focused instead on my

new son Fernandito, as we called him, was a beautiful child even in his infancy, with

soft brown hair and my amber-hued eyes, the delicate bones under his plump features

a sure sign of his Aragónese blood. I knew he would grow to resemble my father‟s

side of the family and found special comfort in holding him close, nuzzling the sweet

crevices of his plump neck, and relishing the feel of his greedy mouth on my breast.

He gurgled and cooed and laughed with delight far more than he fretted. He was as

docile as my Charles had been at his birth, yet unlike Charles, curious about the world

around him, his wide eyes and perfect little mouth fixed in a perpetual O of wonder

that mesmerized all of us.

The effect he had on my mother was miraculous. She shed her mournfulness like

an old skin, reverting to her old self again, with even a faint blush to her cheeks and

vigor to her step, as if all her pains had vanished. She was not that ill, I saw with relief.

Rather, her recent losses and concerns over Spain had made her so. But now she had

a new grandson, and I patiently suffered her obsessive worry over the child‟s health

and scrutiny of his household. She wanted more attendants to serve him. I reminded

her that he cared nothing for how many pages ringed his crib. I did give in to her

insistence that he have his own physician, however. My sister Isabella‟s son had been

hale only to later sicken and die. Death had stalked my family for years, scything

through our brightest hopes, and I decided Fernandito must have the best of care. On

one point, however, I was adamant. I must nurse him. I would not surrender him to

the established protocol, which set forth that a newborn prince should be delivered to

a wet-nurse and appointed guardians.

Throughout the spring and summer, my mother came and went from La Mota at

regular intervals, keeping me apprised of the Cortes deliberations. I would have to

make my own way back to Flanders if Philip did not call for me soon, but she replied

that my presence in Spain was required, at least until their session was concluded. I

reluctantly agreed. I had my babe to consider, and the truth was, I couldn‟t embark on

a voyage while he was still so young. I therefore informed the procurators via a formal

document that I would remain at their disposal and set myself to fashioning a home

within La Mota‟s thick fortified walls.

Despite my lifelong aversion to fortresses, the old castle proved a perfect

residence in which to weather another fiery summer. Situated on the high plains of

Castile and overlooking vast fields of wheat, its ramparts and curtain wall kept the

palace cool, and the twisting lengths of corridor and cramped staircases soon became

familiar to me. Here time slipped away as I attended to my son and banal daily chores,

interrupted only by my mother‟s visits and sojourns to the nearby township of Medina

del Campo where Beatriz and I haggled like fishwives at the trade market over

imported bolts of Venetian silk brocade. We paid too much despite our attempts to

outsmart the crafty merchants and returned to La Mota content as sparrows with

twine for our nest, promptly setting ourselves to fashioning new gowns.

Yet such distractions grew less fulfilling as autumn neared. My mother sent word

that her Cortes had concluded and she‟d come to me as soon as she packed up her

household in Toledo. I began to brood. I‟d been in Spain for close on two years and I

still hadn‟t received a reply from Philip. It was as if my past had become an illusion,

the life of someone else. I worried that my other children would forget me, grow up

reared by others, that my husband and I had become strangers to each other. I wasn‟t

one to nurture old hurts. I wanted my marriage back that despite its troubles had been

one of passion and gaiety.

I began to prowl the ramparts as the days shortened and the long crimson

twilights of summer were swallowed by the sudden fall of autumn dusk. As I stared

toward the horizon, I could not imagine spending another winter in Spain. The ache

in my heart, which I had kept subdued through love for my little son and duty for my

country, could no longer be denied. The Cortes had adjourned; they had not, in the

end, called for me. Whatever decisions they had reached had not required my

presence. What did I wait for? Why did I still linger?

In my heart, I knew the time had come for me to leave. My son was still a babe,

but I could go by sea. It was a shorter route. A well-equipped galleon would protect

us. As I descended the staircase to my rooms, I felt a sudden sadness. I would miss

Spain. I had no idea what to expect when I reached home, considering Philip‟s and

my estrangement.

But I had to go, regardless. Sitting at my desk, I wrote to my mother in Toledo.

_________________

A WEEK LATER, MY CHAMBER DOOR OPENED AND ARCHBISHOP CISNEROS walked

in.

We‟d had only the most cursory of contact. He‟d been away dealing with the

Moorish insurrection when I first arrived, and after he made his antipathy for my

husband clear during our investiture. I steered clear of him. I proved easy enough. He

did not live at court but rather in his diocese in Toledo, where he attended my mother

and her Cortes as Castile‟s premier prelate.

His sudden appearance here, in La Mota, brought my women and me to a

standstill.

He seemed like a cadaver of a man, his hard black stare severe as a fanatic‟s. My

ladies paused in mid-motion, arms filled with linens, sections of my gowns and other

items. We‟d taken advantage of the dreary afternoon and Fernandito‟s nap to sort

through my belongings, choosing what I would take and what I would leave behind,

as a royal household, however well control ed, invariably accumulates more than one

expects.

He stepped forth, clad in his trademark brown wool cloak and habit, his horny

feet bare in their sandals. He took us in with a piercing glance. “May I ask what Your

Highness is doing?”

“What I am doing is sorting through my things,” I told him. “I‟ve accumulated

more than a galleon can hold and I assume that given the state of the treasury Her

Majesty my mother won‟t wish to furnish me with an armada to take me home.”

With the lift of his hand, Cisneros motioned my women out. I clenched my jaw,

resisting the urge to remind him of who I was. Beatriz gave me a worried glance as

she closed the door.

The archbishop and I faced each other. I felt his fury at once, rising between us

like a wall.

“Begging Your Highness‟s pardon,” he said, “your decision to leave is most

sudden.”

“I hardly see why,” I replied. “I have my children and my husband waiting for me.

I can hardly remain here indefinitely.”

“Oh?” His thin, bloodless lips tightened. “And what about Your Highness‟s duty

to Spain? Or is that not as important as your own pleasure?”

I met his unblinking stare. I determined not to show how much it unnerved me,

for thus did I imagine he looked upon the pleasing heretics he condemned to the fire.

“My duty here is done,” I said carefully. “I love Spain with all my heart and will return to claim my throne when the time comes. But, my lord, that time is far into the future.

My mother, God save her, is well and has many years ahead of her. And I have a

home in Flanders to attend to.”

One wiry black eyebrow arched. “Few share your belief that anyone in Flanders is

waiting for you, with all due respect. Indeed, we find this show of devotion most

surprising.”

“Surprising?” I echoed, and I forced myself to sound nonchalant. “I don‟t see

why. Philip and I are bound by holy matrimony. I should think that you of all people

would respect said vows.” I paused. “I wrote to Her Majesty my mother, conveying

my decision. Are you here at her command? Or are you in the habit of opening
and

reading her private correspondence?”

The ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Her Majesty has asked that I speak with

you. She read your letter but has been tried of late, both with the adjourning of her

Cortes and ongoing struggle of securing this kingdom. Your Highness‟s decision only

added to her distress.”

I felt a prickle of foreboding. “I am sorry if I have caused her distress, but she

must have known that this day would come. And seeing I prefer to travel by ship, it‟ll

require advance preparation.”

“And you would still take a babe to sea with you?”

I went still. “He is my child.”

He eyed me. “Of course,” he said at length. “Nevertheless, Your Highness cannot

simply set off to Flanders at a moment‟s notice. We are at war with France. Think of

King Louis‟ delight should he capture you and a prince of Spain on the high seas. A

fine ransom you both would fetch. He might even demand we cede Naples in

exchange for your freedom.”

Had my mother sent him here to berate me? Why, if she was so concerned, had

she not come herself? She had never shied away from chastising me in the past.

I drew myself to full height. “I hardly think I‟m in any danger from the French.

How would Louis even know of my departure unless we informed him of it?” I

looked him in the eye. “Besides, that is not the reason you are here, is it, my lord?

Speak plainly. Why has my mother sent you rather than come herself?”

His reply was cool. “Her Majesty has several hundred petitions approved by the

Cortes to oversee, not to mention her own duties as monarch. She asked that I inform

Your Highness that much to her regret, your presence is still required in Spain. Your

husband the archduke‟s desertion in Aragón and subsequent escape to France

occasioned graver concerns than we anticipated. Though the Cortes has ended for the

year, you must be available in case you‟re called upon when the members reconvene.”

I faltered. I did not like the sound of this. “What could possibly be so important

that it would require my presence for another year?”

Cisneros bowed his head. That gesture of lowly ignorance made me start to

tremble. “I am but a servant, Your Highness. Her Majesty will come as soon as

possible to meet with you in person. I will, of course, convey any concerns you may

have to her.”

I clasped my hands, fighting back the sudden urge to bolt from the room. “I will

compose a letter,” I managed to say and the quiet in my voice surprised me, for I felt

as though I stepped across cracking ice. I even conjured up a smile. “Now, my lord,

you must be tired. Let me see to your rooms. How long to you plan on staying?” I

started to move to the door.

He stepped in front of me with fluid menace. “That will not be necessary. I shall

be here only a short while, and my retainers and I are accustomed to shifting for

ourselves.”

“Retainers?” I said. Underneath me, the ice broke.

“Yes. There‟s been some unrest. The harvest has not been good and the winter

promises to be a hard one. We‟ve heard rumors of an insurrection in Medina del

Campo and thought it best to increase your guard here.” His smile was cold. “A

precaution, nothing more. You needn‟t trouble yourself. You‟ve much to do, and His

Highness the infante to care for. You‟ll hardly notice the intrusion.”

I plunged without warning into swift black water. Retainers, he had brought

retainers. He was increasing my guard. I had just been to Medina del Campo a few

days ago. I had seen a prosperous town, with inhabitants who swarmed the trade fair

in eagerness to share their affluence. I‟d seen no signs of hardship or any insurrection.

He turned to the door.

“How long?” I asked, and I couldn‟t control the quiver in my voice. “How long

did Her Majesty say she would be in coming to me?”

“Not long.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “Your Highness must be patient.

Even a sovereign queen must abide by her laws and elected representatives, which in