The Last Queen (4 page)

he is too French in his manner by far, though he knows how we feel about that nation

of wolves.” Her gaze turned distant. “No matter. France will be put in its place soon

enough. That realm has bedeviled us for years, encroaching on Aragón and

threatening your father‟s right to Naples. It‟s time we put an end to their effrontery.”

A taught smile crossed her lips. “The emperor Maximilian and I have agreed to

forgo any doweries, what with the cost of transport these days, but upon his death, his

son, Philip, will inherit his empire, while his daughter, Margaret, will inherit several

important territories in Burgundy. And once your sister Catalina weds the English

heir, we shall become an even greater power, with familial ties across Europe, and

France will never dare meddle in our affairs again.”

I sat rooted to my stool. How could she speak of politics when my entire

existence had been overturned? She expected me to leave my home, my family, for an

unknown land and husband, so she could strike at France? This couldn‟t be

happening, not to me.

My voice shook. “But why me? What have I done to deserve this?”

She gave an arid chuckle. “You speak as if it were a punishment. This cannot

come as a surprise; you know you‟ve been promised to Philip since you were three.”

She fixed me with her stare. “I trust you haven‟t forgotten the importance of doing

your duty for Spain?”

I heard the warning in her tone, and for the first time in my life I forgot it was not

wise, or beneficial, to argue with Isabel of Castile. All I could think of in that moment was that she would never have abandoned Spain. How could she expect me to?

I lifted my eyes. “I haven‟t forgotten. But I do not wish to marry Philip of

Habsburg.”

I saw her hands tighten upon her chair‟s chiseled armrests. “May I ask why?”

“Because I― I don‟t love him. He is a stranger to me.”

“Is that all? I didn‟t know your father when we first wed, yet that didn‟t stop me

from doing my duty. Through our marriage, Spain was united under God. Our duty

came first, but love soon followed. Those whom God has joined will always find

love.”

“But Papá is Spanish, from Aragón. You didn‟t have to leave.”

“Few royal women can marry their countrymen. I was blessed with your father,

yes, but many of Castile‟s nobles fought our marriage at first, as you well know. They

didn‟t believe Fernando was worthy to be my consort. The
grandes
wanted me to wed one of them instead and seize Aragón for Castile so they could add to their power.

Indeed, they almost forced me to it. But God‟s will prevailed. He brought Fernando

and me together. so Aragón and Castile could join against the heretic, and now he

unites you and Philip for Spain.”

I bristled. “Papá
was
worthy. He was a prince and became Aragón‟s king, as well

as your king consort. What is Flanders but a paltry duchy and Philip a mere

archduke?”

“He may be a archduke, but he‟s also the emperor‟s heir. And while Flanders is a

duchy, it‟s far from paltry. As part of the Habsburg Empire, it oversees the Low

Countries and guards their borders against the French. Moreover, it is prosperous and

peaceful. Why, Philip‟s subjects are so devoted to him they call him
the Fair.
And he is only a year older than you. Any princess would be overjoyed to wed such a man.”

“Then send him another,” I retorted, before I could stop myself. “Maria isn‟t

promised to anyone. She could replace me and he‟d never know the difference. It‟s

not as if we‟ve met.”

“Replace you?” She sat upright. “If I didn‟t know better, I‟d almost think you defy

me.”

I flinched. “I― I don‟t mean to, Mamá. But if I must wed, I prefer a Spanish

lord.”

The clap of her ringed hands on the chair rang out. “Enough! A Spanish lord,

indeed. As if I‟d ever give a daughter of mine to one of those vultures who call

themselves
grandes!
They ruined Spain with their avarice and ambition; were it not for me, they‟d still have us in chaos while they stuff their purses with Moorish gold. Have

you not heard a word I‟ve said? You will be a Habsburg empress. I have chosen you

for this great task.”

I should have been scared; I should have realized I had lost his battle. Instead, in a

steely voice I hardly recognized I said, “I never asked for it.”

She stood with an angry exhalation and paced to the window. The seconds passed

like years. When she final y spoke, her voice cut through me. “You will do as you‟re

told. Flanders is a respectable kingdom, which Philip has ruled since his childhood.

His lineage is impeccable, and his court is renowned for its culture. I assure you, you‟ll find yourself right at home.”

Tears burned behind my eyes. I saw my childhood vanishing before me like an

illusion, my carefree afternoon in the gardens the last I‟d ever enjoy again. I didn‟t

care about Philip‟s reputation or his court. Nothing he had could ever equal the

beauty of Spain.

A chasm opened inside me. “Mamá, please. Must I do this?”

She turned about. “The Cortes has given its consent, and the betrothal documents

are signed. I cannot disregard the welfare of Castile because you wish it so.”

The room keeled about me. I barely heard her as she returned to her desk. “You‟ll

not go to Flanders alone. Doña Ana shall go with you as your head matron and you‟ll

have a household to attend you. And Philip will of course see to your well-being, as a

good husband should. You will see these fears of yours are but the nerves of a new

bride. We‟ve all felt them in our time.”

My entourage had been selected; she‟d even determined how my husband would

treat me. In that moment, I saw Boabdil as he kneeled in the charred earth before her.

I bit back a hot surge of tears. I would not grovel. “When?” I asked. “When must

I go?”

“Not for a year at least, though we‟ve much to do.” Her tone turned brisk. “I

know how advanced you are in your studies, yet seeing as you‟ve little occasion to

practice your French, I will find an experienced tutor to assist you. You must also

continue to perfect your music and dance. It seems the Flemish value such skills.”

There it was: my future laid out with the precision she‟d shown in the battle

against the Moors. I was but another soldier in her army, another cannon in her

arsenal.

In that moment I hated her.

She inked her quill, drew her stack of papers close. “Now I‟ve work to attend to.

Tomorrow, after your lessons, we‟ll compose your reply to Philip. Give me a kiss and

go say your prayers.”

Tomorrow seemed a lifetime away. I could not feel my legs yet somehow I

managed to graze her cheek with my lips, curtsy, and walk to the door. When I

reached it, I paused with my hand on the latch. I thought she would relent, call me

back, because she couldn‟t let me leave like this.

But she was already bent over her dispatches.

I walked out, past the women into the passageway, the letter gripped in my

fingers. Soraya rose from her crouch with a questioning look. I couldn‟t return to my

chambers. My sisters would be awake and waiting. They‟d not let me alone until they

pried the news from me and then― oh God, then I‟d start bawling like a child, like an

idiot, like Isabella in her endless grief! I couldn‟t face them. Not yet. I needed time

alone, somewhere private to vent my rage and sorrow.

I yanked up my skirts and began to run, narrowly avoiding startled sentries and

slave girls, who dropped into hasty curtsies, spilling baskets, of sun-dried linens. I fled as if pursued, running and running until I burst, breathless into an open courtyard,

Soraya close behind.

The scent of jasmine washed over me. Above, a sickle moon hung suspended in a

dazzling spangled night. I heard water spill from the stone lions ringing the fountain;

my feet soaked in the waterways as I slowly turned about to stare at the Alhambra‟s

curving arches, the intricate pediments and sculpted marble.

The silence was a presence. Everything had changed. This world I loved so much,

it would not mourn me. It would not even feel my absence. It would continue on,

agelessly indifferent in its beauty, its walls absorbing the echoes of its departed.

I felt Soraya at my side. As her hand enfolded mine, I let my tears fall in furious

silence.

__________________________________

e departed Granada for Castile in the evening, to avoid the worst of the

heat. The trip would be tedious, with weeks of riding on our hard-backed

W mules; and as we took the winding mountain road downward into the

valleys of Andalucía, I stared over my shoulder.

The Alhambra reclined on its hill, tinted amethyst in the dusk. Above its towers,

the sky unfurled like violet cloth, spangled with spun-glass stars. A few peasants lined

the road to wave at us; in the many farms dotting the landscape, dogs barked. It was

like the end of any summer, as though we‟d return again next year as always. Then we

rode past the tumble of stones by the roadside where it was said Boabdil had taken his

last look at Granada and wept.

Like him, I wondered if I would ever see my cherished palace again.

_________________

THREE WEEKS LATER WE REACHED THE ARID PLATEAU OF CASTILE and the city of

Toledo. Perched on its cragged hill above the river Tagus, Toledo caught the sunset as

we approached― a beautiful tumble of while and ocher buildings crowned by the

cathedral. I‟d always liked the narrow winding streets and the smell of baking bread in

the morning, the burst of sudden flowers glimpsed in a courtyard from behind cloister

gates, and the glorious Mudejar archways engraved with the secrets of the vanquished

Moor.

Now I saw it as a prison, where my future had been decided without me. Toledo

was the official gathering place of the Castilian Cortes, that advisory council of lords

and officials elected by each major city in Castile. My mother had curtailed the flagrant power of the Cortes from the anarchy prior to her reign; however she still had to

appeal to this body to sanction taxes and other major expenditures, as well as royal

unions and investiture of her succession.

These same Cortes had approved my betrothal.

As we rode up the steep road toward the Alcázar, I compressed my lips. I‟d barely

spoken the entire trip, and my ill-temper only increased once I found myself within

that old castle, a cavernous warren with walls that were always damp to the touch.

After the oleander-dusted patios of the Alhambra, it felt suffocating, and to make

matters worse, here my French lessons began in earnest, supervised by a humorless

tutor who subjected me to interminable lectures and the painstaking daily recitation of

vowels.

He drilled me four hours a day, his accent as sour as his breath. I took cold

comfort in deliberately mutilating my verbs and watching him turn white with anger;

until one afternoon as he droned on and I sat with hands clenched, I heard the clatter

of hooves entering the bailey.

I ran to the narrow embrasure. I could scarcely see into the bailey, craning my face

against the window slit to catch a glimpse of the arrivals.

“Madamoiselle,” the tutor rapped.
“Asseyez-vous, s’il vous plaît!”

I ignored him. When I spied the tethered stallions caparisoned n scarlet, I

promptly flew from the classroom, leaving him standing there, aghast.

I dashed down the stone staircase. A group of Castilian nobles appeared ahead,

making their way to the
sala mayor
, the great hall. I spun around, yanking at my

cumbersome skirts, and made haste to the minstrel gallery. If only I could reach him

before my mother did, convince him to―

I cursed under my breath when I spied courtiers already assembled in the hall. I

could not go in now without an escort, and I crouched instead behind the screen

concealing the gallery from the
sala
, to watch as the lords of my father‟s court strode in.

When I saw my father with them, I sighed in relief.

His red cloak was flung over his shoulders. The wool would smell as he did, of

horse and wine, and his own sweat. Mud-spattered boots hugged legs thick with the

muscles of a lifetime spent in the saddle. He wasn‟t tall, but he seemed to tower over

all as he swept his cap from his head, revealing close-cropped dark hair. With cap in

fist and one hand cocked at his hip, he surveyed the ranks of Castile with a grin before

he bellowed: “Isabel,
mi amor,
I am home!”

I clapped a hand to my mouth. How the nobles hated it when he yelled like that!

His trademark entrance, it conveyed his ebullient for his wife and disdain for Castile‟s

rigid protocol. To the
grandes
of my mother‟s court, it was yet another sign of his uncouth Aragónese blood, and their faces darkened accordingly.

I didn‟t need my mother‟s reminder that her Castilian lords did not approve of her

husband. Aragón and Castile had been separate kingdoms and sometimes foes until

my parents wed. Though smaller in size, Aragón had its Mediterranean holdings and a

fierce dependence, while Castile held most of central Spain and was therefore the

greater power. My parents‟ union had joined the kingdoms, though their marriage