The Last Queen (43 page)

surge of doubt. This was my land; I had been born and raised here. I would find the

way.

I only knew the sun had started to fall when after having picked my way through a

labyrinth of deer paths for what seemed like hours, I stumbled upon a clearing.

Below the scarlet streaked sky was an old hut, fenced by an enclosure with a few

skinny goats. A stooped woman in a ragged dress hung bunches of herbs on her

threshold to dry; at the sight of me, she froze. Her ageless face was carved by life, her skin brown and creased like the leather cover of a book. My entire body throbbed. As

the woman set aside her herbs and moved toward me, I had to grope at the mare‟s

reins to keep myself from sinking to the ground. God help me, I could go no further.

“Doña? Doña, está bien?”
The woman was thin to the point of emaciation, her eyes a watery black. She dropped her gaze to my stomach.
“Está embarazada,”
she said.

“You are pregnant. Come. I‟ll give you a cup of goat‟s milk,
si?
”

“You don‟t understand,” I whispered. “I must reach the road that leads to the

river.”

Her puzzled gaze lightened. “The road. Yes, I know where it is. But it‟s too far.

It‟ll be dark soon. I‟ll show you tomorrow. Come now. You are tired. You must rest.”

She was a poor gypsy who lived in the forest, isolated from the world, deemed as

heathen as the Moor. Yet, she offered all she had to a passing stranger large with

child, a fellow woman and outcast: shelter and a cup of milk.

With a grateful nod, I allowed her to lead me into the hut.

――――――――――――

THE NEXT MORNING I AWOKE TO BIRDSONG, an aching back and buttocks, and

the unfamiliar sense of peace. I reveled in it as I lay in my rumpled clothing on a pile of straw in the crude hut. I had not felt free in so long, I had forgotten what it was

like. Rising from the mat, running a hand through my tangled hair, I saw the woman

was gone. On the table were strewn her dried herb cuttings, which she‟d painstakingly

shown and named for me. Mandrake, chamomile, belladonna, and rosemary, and a

strange dried berry she called
el sueño del moro,
the Moor‟s sleep― the lethal and benign gathered together by an herbalist‟s expert hand.

“A few pinches of the Sleep in a cup of wine will vanquish all your enemies,” she

had said, and her dark hooded eyes glittered in the tallow light, as though she knew

why I fled.

Beside the herbs, I saw she had left another cup of milk, still cool from the clay

jars she set in the hut‟s earth floor. There was also country bread slathered with honey

and some stringy ham. I devoured the fare. My mare had spent the night in the

enclosure with the goats. I found her there alone. The woman must have taken her

goats to graze while I slept. I must be on my way, but I took a moment to enjoy the

sunbeams coming through the treetops, festooning the clearing in patterned gold. It

seemed to me at that moment so uncomplicated an existence that I felt a pang of envy

for this anonymous life.

Then the world tore apart. One moment, the birds were chattering and my face

was raised to the sky; the next I heard a wail of terror cut short with lethal

suddenness, and men on horses came pounding into the clearing― a troop of my

husband‟s mercenaries, herding the frantic cluster of goats. One of the men tossed a

lump at my feet as I backed away. I looked down at the bloodied mess of the gypsy

woman‟s head and let a horrified scream.

“There you are! God in heaven, must you ruin everything?”

Philip came cantering toward me. I spun about to race back into the hut, hearing

the men dismount, laughing and the whicker of m mare, unnerved by the smell of

fresh blood. I was panting, cursing aloud, searching for a knife, an ax, anything to

defend myself with, caught up in a maelstrom of terror and disbelief when I felt his

gauntlet on my arm.

I yanked away. “Murderer! Monster! Don‟t touch me!”

He chuckled, seeming enormous in that closed space, defiling the peace that had

once dwelled here. “Enough. You‟ve had your fun, now come with me. I‟ve no time

for games.”

“Games? You killed an innocent woman!”

“She means nothing. Now come with me before I drag you out by your hair.”

“You are a coward,” I said. “A miserable coward who hides behind a dwarf‟s

skirts.”

“Don‟t call me a coward, you― you madwoman!”

He took a menacing step toward me. I paused, my fear evaporating, leaving me

cold. “Would you prefer I address you as Your Majesty, like tat pack of traitors you‟ve

surrounded yourself with? They hate you, you know. The moment you turn your

back, they‟ll betray you. They‟ll hang you and Don Manuel from the nearest gibbet.”

“Silence! You are the one who betrays me, time and time again. Don‟t you think I

don‟t know your ploys, your pathetic attempts to set your father on me?” He thrust

his face on me. “I let your handmaiden go because I knew she‟d never make it to

Segovia, as she did not. She barely made it half-way before my men found her and let

her know in no uncertain terms she had caused far more trouble than she‟s worth.”

I gasped. Not Soraya. Not my loyal Soraya.

“I‟m told she put up quite a fight,” he added, with a chuckle, “but in the end she

learned a lesson she‟ll not soon forget.”

I whispered, “What― what did they do to her?”

“What she deserved. But they were merciful. She still lives. You, however, will

never see her again. Nor will you ever see the son you left here to usurp my place.”

“He is our son!” I Screamed. “How can you speak of him as if he means nothing

to you?”

His face twisted. “Because he was never mine! You made sure of that when you

left him here with your mother. All he is to me now is a threat.” He paused. A terrible

smile fractured his face. “And now, after everything you‟ve done to me, you think I‟d

let you ride off to join them? You think they‟ll protect you? Idiot. Your father has

forsaken you. Even if your Moor had reached him, it would have done you no good.

He fled from my army without so much as a fight.”

“Liar.” My hand stretched out behind me, to the table. “Whatever my father had

done, you forced him to it. He did it to protect me!”

Philip guffawed. “You always did like to pretend the world is better than it is. But

I know the truth. And I‟ll tell you one more thing: Your father isn‟t in Segovia. He

sent a messenger even as you hatched your plan. He‟s on his way to Aragón and from

there will go to Naples. So this silly escapade was for nothing, unless you planned to

ride all the way to Italy on that nag of yours.”

My fingers closed over the herbs; as I drew my hand toward my cloak pocket, he

laughed.

“Tomorrow, you
wil
go with me to Valladolid and show the Cortes how you

honor your husband. You can go like a lady or you can resist. Only I warn you, if you

choose the latter”―he grasped my wrist, yanking me close, and his savage kiss cut my

mouth― “I‟ll bring you into the city in chains.”

He let me go. I did not lift a hand to my bruised mouth. I met his eyes and said in

a voice that issued from the very core of my being, “I will see you dead.”

I swept past him outside and the guards awaiting me.

――――――――――――――――――――――――

TWENTY-EIGHT

eiled and dressed in black, I made my state entry into Valladolid, the same city

that had witnessed my betrothal by proxy. The people had gathered to cheer

V me then, now their silence was palpable as I rode past, a woman in mourning

among a thousand men, a mother without her children, a queen without her crown.

For six days I was shut in a chamber in Valladolid‟s
casa real,
my windows boarded up even as the city officials hung banners in preparation for the Cortes. I was

forbidden the services of women, my meals brought by sentries. Every morning Philip

came to me, accompanied by Don Manuel and none other than Archbishop Cisneros,

who‟d grown so thin he resembled a petrified tree. This powerful Castilian prelate

who had known me since childhood, who had no doubt sworn to uphold my

mother‟s will, watched impassively as Philip harangued and threatened, demanding I

sign a warrant of voluntary abdication.

“
Nunca,
” I said. “Never!” I tore the document to shreds before his eyes,

indifferent to his dire threats.

On the seventh day, my door opened. I looked up through burning sleepless eyes

to find Admiral Fadriqué on the threshold. Cisneros hovered close behind, a lurid

specter; I wondered how the admiral had gotten, even as my heart leaped painfully at

the sight of him.

“I told you Her Highness is ill,” I heard the archbishop say. “Your Excellency, it

would be best if you let us assist you in your requests. She cannot―”

The admiral held up his long hand. Though in his late forties, he was still very lean,

almost rigid in his signature unadorned black velvet, which he had worn for as long as

I could remember. His features had retained the handsome angularity of his youth but

wisps of silver now threaded his black mane and his thin mouth was framed by deep

lines, sorrow etched in the skin around his eyes. His tender gaze gave me a burst of

almost painful hope.

“It is against the law to forbid a senior member of the Cortes access to our

sovereign,” he said, without glancing at Cisneros. “Please, leave us. I will speak with

Her Highness in private.”

He closed the door on Cisneros‟s astounded face.

“Don Fadriqué,” I came to my feet, my belly protruding. I held out my hand. “I

thank God you are here. I―” My voice caught. “I feared they would never let me go

this time.”

He bowed low. “
Su Majestad.
I beg your forgiveness. I retired to my estates in

Valencia following Her Majesty your mother‟s death. I was one of those who

conveyed her body to Granada for entombment in the cathedral. I did not hear until

recently of your predicament.”

“I am glad you came,” I said softly. He brought me back to my chair, his hand on

my sleeve. When I sat, he said quietly. “Do you know what they say? They claim you

are unfit to rule and that you wish to bestow your crown on your husband.” He

paused. “Is this true?”

Anger sparked in me. “My lord, you‟ve known me all my life; you saw me as a child in

my parents‟ court and welcome me home when I first returned from Flanders. What

do you think?”

He did not look away from me. “I believe they would impose a cruel fate on you,

princesa.
”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “Yes,” I said haltingly. “They would lack me

away like my grandmother before me. But I swear to you,
I am not mad!
”

He went still. I held my breath. Did he detect a flicker of the wild, inchoate fear

that fed on isolation? Did he understand how such a seed, with enough despair and

enforced darkness, can turn into lunacy? I was fighting against its seductive embrace

with every breath in my body, with every nerve and sinew; and still I knew the

desperate portrait I must present, far too think for a woman with child, unwashed and

alone, as anguished as my grandmother must have been.

Then he said, “I believe you. And I promise you that while I am here, they‟ll not

harm you anymore. You must trust in me. I am your servant.”

I nodded, my tears brimming now, spilling down my cheeks.

“Will you tell me everything that has happened?” he said.

I whispered, “Yes.”

――――――――――――

HE STAYED WITH ME UNTIL MIDNIGHT, ordering a meal brought up to us and

removing the nailed shutters from the window with his own hands. After we dined,

we talked again, until I had related everything that had befallen me. When he finally

quit the chamber, he left me curled on my bed, knees pulled to my chest, fast asleep

after weeks of torment.

I awoke ten hours later to find I‟d been released. There were still guards and

sentries about, but I had new clothing brought and women to attend me, though none

could hold a candle to my beloved Beatriz, who had fled when I did and whom I had

not seen since.

The admiral proved in those days why he had been one of my mother‟s most

stalwart supporters. Of impeccable noble lineage, a respected peer and defender of

the Crown‟s rights, he had risked himself by coming into the viper‟s lair, where the

other
grandes
no doubt viewed his presence with mistrust and fear. But neither Philip nor Don Manuel dared say a word against him and he scarcely left my side, sleeping in

the next room next to mine with his retainers taking turns standing vigil at night in the corridors, so no one could approach without him knowing.

Every morning we met. He told me of Philip‟s growing penury and his frantic

need to win the permission of the Cortes to take over the treasury, which was

currently held in Segovia by my mother‟s lifetime friend the Marquise de Moya.

“He needs that coin,” the admiral said. “Without it, his mercenaries and most of

the nobility will abandon him. Don Manuel has exhausted their reserves in bribes and

extravagances but the old marquise, God bless her soul, has vowed to burn down the

treasury itself if your husband dares set foot within ten kilometers of her city.”

I smiled. “No wonder my mother loved her well. And I believe my lady Beatriz de