The Last Queen (50 page)

wed again?”

“Never,” I replied. “I have my children and my kingdom. I don‟t need anything

else.”

“You say that now because you are tired. But you are young. The flesh has its

needs.”

“I am done with all that. There isn‟t a man alive I could wish for as a husband.”

But as I spoke, I thought of the admiral, of his compassion and his strength, of

his unswerving loyalty. It was unthinkable, of course. The
grandes
would never allow one of their own to rule over them. Yet I couldn‟t deny the emotions that had taken

seed in me, born of the despair and torment of these last years with Philip. If I had

the choice, the admiral was the man I would want. He, I would make king.

My father said, “You are aware there could be trouble? Any assumption of power

on my part might make matters worse.”

“How can they get any worse? I stood, rounded the table. “For the past six years,

I‟ve been a prisoner.” My voice broke. “I don‟t trust the nobles, Papá. I don‟t trust

Cisneros. Each plotted against me one way or another. Only the admiral has been

steadfast; only he showed me any care. With you and him beside me, we can bring the

grandes
to task. You know them. You earned their fear during your time as king with Mamá. You can help me do it now.

“I appreciate your trust in me, madrecita,” he said in a low voice, “but you give

me too much credit. I am older now. I am not the angry young king I was when I

married Isabel.”

I searched his eyes. “Are you saying you can‟t do it, or won‟t?”

He sighed― a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to carry the weight of the

world. “For you, I will do it. For you, I‟ll deal with the
flamencos
and the noble lords of Castile who hate me as they hate little else. But I‟ll need your consent if they make a

move against me. The last thing I want is Villena or another of those wolves coming

at me with an army at his back. I cannot summon men to arms in Castile. The Cortes

took that power away from me when they sided with your husband, though by your

mother‟s codicil I was granted it in perpetuity.”

“I shall restore it to you,” I said firmly. “It will be my first act as queen.” I felt

hope. I could do this. I could be the queen my mother had wanted me to be. Castile

would be mine.

He met my gaze. “Are you certain this is what you want? You have time to think

it over.”

“I‟ve never been more certain. It‟s not what I want, Papá, but what Spain needs.

Mamá made you regent until I could reclaim my throne. She trusted you. Why

shouldn‟t I?”

“Very well, then. Together, we‟ll set Castile to rights.” He kissed my lips. “And

we‟ll start by finding you a suitable place to live, where you can recover your strength and I can ride to you at a moment‟s notice.” He hugged me close, as he had so many

times when I‟d been a child. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am,” I heard him say. “I

dreaded the thought of leaving you again.”

I closed my eyes, abruptly overcome by fatigue, all the tension and fear and doubt

seeping from me. I needed to rest, to come to terms with these welcome, but abrupt,

changes in my life.

“I am tired, Papá. Will you stay here tonight? I‟ve readied a room for you.”

He smiled. “I wish I could. But Cisneros is no doubt pacing his room in town at

this very moment, wondering what we‟re talking about. I want to surprise him with

the good news.” He tweaked my cheek. “I‟l come first thing tomorrow. I‟ve yet to see

my new granddaughter.”

She laughed. “She‟s still a baby, but she looks just like Catalina.”

“Then you named her well.” He went still, looking at me as though he sought to

engrave my face in his memory. “Rest well,
madrecita,
” he said, then he turned and strode out.

As I climbed the stairs to my chamber, I could barely keep my eyes open. I

checked on Catalina, whom I found sprawled in her crib, Doña Josefa slumbering in a

chair beside her.

My ladies waited for me. They helped me undress without speaking, sensing my

need for quiet. Smuggling naked between crisp linens, in a few seconds, I succumbed

to sleep.

I did not wake once. And I did not dream.

――――――――――――――――――――――――

THIRTY-TWO

y father came to me the next day. He declared himself delighted with little

Catalina, who gurgled and sucked on his thumb. After she was taken away

M for her nap, he and I ate on the patio and strolled in the walled garden,

enjoying the benevolent summer dusk.

He spoke of many obstacles he would face in the coming months, not the least of

which was persuading the nobles to join him in routing Don Manuel. I learned to my

outrage that the treacherous ambassador had snuck back into Burgos and seized the

castle there, installing himself like a feudal warlord with his mercenaries. Papá said the constable was already on his way there to raise his men, and he was confident others

would join, for if there was one thing in which the nobles were united it was their

hatred of Don Manuel.

I insisted he have Cisneros officially draw up our agreement for my signature. I

had my mother‟s ring, but did yet possess an official seal, so my father brought me

back the one she had used. I had seen that worn cylindrical stamp on my mother‟s

desk many times, and I felt she was with me in spirit as I stamped the parchment that

restored my father‟s powers in Castile.

In a carefully orchestrated ceremony, Villena, Benavente, and the other
grandes

who had flocked to Philip‟s standard came before me to beg forgiveness for the

wrongs committed in my name. I had no choice but to pardon them, though I winced

as Cisneros bowed low over my hand, his eyes like smoldering coals when he lifted

them to me. Despite my father‟s assurances that the archbishop had rallied to him

“like a well-trained hound,” I would never trust him.

In early September, my father located the perfect place for me to hold my court―

a royal palace in the township Arcos, a mere two-day ride to Burgos. Winter

approached and with the lords‟ support my father had assembled the troops he

needed to fight Don Manuel. Word had already gotten out of his impending March

on the city and those Flemish courtiers not beholden to Don Manuel had fled with

pieces of Philip‟s household gold stuffed in their satchels. Several were arrested;

others, however, reached port and commandeered a ship to return to Flanders.

“If we want to catch Don Manuel,” my father laughed, “We‟d best me about it

before he too finds himself a hole to hide in.”

He looked as if he‟d shed years, the impending war bringing a gleam to his slanted

eyes and bloom to his bronzed cheeks. He chuckled as I fumed over Don Manuel‟s

insolence. “Chains are what he deserves,” I declared, “and a dungeon to keep him in

them!”

“And so it shall be,” he replied. “Now set your ladies to packing. I‟ve a surprise

for you.”

――――――――――――

WE MADE THE TWO-DAY TRIP TO Arcos in the blessed cool of the night.

Flambeaux illumined our passage, and peasants and hamlet-dwellers materialized from

the shadows to witness the sight of their new queen riding beside the old king,

followed by our train of nobles and clerics escorting the bier upon which rested

Philip‟s coffin.

Women knelt in the dust; men doffed their caps. A group of children ran up to

me in the middle of the road, braving the horses‟ hooves to thrust brittle autumn

wildflowers and clumps of chamomile into my hands.
“Dios la bendiga, Su Majestad,
”

they said breathlessly. “God bless Your Majesty!”

Leaning from his stallion, my father murmured, “They love you well,
madrecita,

just as they loved your mother,” and I clutched those simple offerings as if they were

precious jewels.

In Arcos, I found a spacious, well-equipped palace with a full staff, including, to

my distaste, my half-sister Joanna. I‟d hoped to have seen the last of her, but couldn‟t

very well refuse her service, given our familial blood. I accepted her rigid curtsy with

as much graciousness as I could muster. I turned to the bowing ranks of cooks,

chamberlains, stewards, and chambermaids. Not since Flanders had I disposed of so

many servants.

“I‟ll hardly know what to do with them all,” I said to my father. “My needs are

simple.”

“Nonsense. You‟re a queen now. You require a court.” He pointed to an alcove.

“See there. I believe there is someone who wishes to greet you.”

I look to where he pointed. Light spilled from the overhead windows, falling in

shafts onto a small figure who stepped forth. I couldn‟t move, could not speak, as I

gazed through a start of tears at my five-year-old son, the infante Fernando, whom I

had last seen as a babe.

He bowed with perfect solemnity.
“Majestad,”
he intoned.
“bienvenida a Arcos.”

I felt a fluttering in my chest. I sank to my knees to look into his large thick-

lashed brown eyes. Of all my children, he most resembled my father, as if he had

absorbed the physical traits of the man who had raised him.

“Fernandito,” I said. “Do you know who I am?”

He glanced at my father before returning to me.
“Si. Vos es mi madre la reina.”

I reached out and embraced him. “Yes,” I whispered, “I am your mother the

queen.” Holding him to me, I gazed up at my father. “Thank you, Papá, from the

bottom of my heart. You‟ve brought me so much happiness.”

He bowed his head. “May it always be so,
madrecita.
”

――――――――――――

FROM MY PALACE IN ARCOS, I WAS KEPT APPRISED BY DAILY COURIERS of the

siege. My father and the
grandes
marched into Burgos to meet the constable and his forces. Surrounding the castle wall, they trapped the mercenaries in the citadel. They

waited it out for a full three months before all inside capitulated without a single blade being drawn. My father promised them mercy if they swore allegiance to Spain and

turned over the traitor Don Manuel, only to discover that Don Manuel had slipped

out days before the surrender through an underground passage, carrying a small

fortune in Philip‟s plate and his private jewels.

“Can you believe it?” my father said when he came to escort me to Burgos for our

triumphal entrance. “That miserable frog found some old medieval passage everyone

else had forgotten about. It led directly to a convent and he forced the poor sisters ad

dagger point to help him escape. From there, he took ship at Laredo for Vienna.” He

guffawed as he spoke; he found the ambassador‟s cowardice amusing, even as I

replied tartly that justice had not been served.

“Oh, it‟s been served,” he said. “Being exiled to your father-in-law‟s court will be

punishment enough. From head-councilor, he‟s been reduced to stowing away to

Vienna in a stolen nun‟s robe, to beg succor on hands and knees. Lucky for him, he

has your dead husband‟s jewels. Otherwise, Maximillian would have his head.

“He had no right to those jewels,” I countered. “And he‟s still a free man.”

“Yes, but a ruined one. And Burgos is mine.”

I didn‟t remark on his slip, reasoning he‟d meant to say
ours.
A week later, he and I rode into Burgos, to the clangor of the cathedral bells. I wore my finest gold gown

and a coronet; this time, however, the populace called out,
“Vive el rey Don Fernando!

Viva la reina Doña Juana!”
and I espied my father‟s proud grin. He must have looked this way countless times when he‟d taken a city for my mother. It pleased me to see

him have the veneration and respect he deserved and to see the nobles‟ scowls at our

reception. Let them be warned that under my rule Castile would no longer be prey to

their wiles or ambitions.

At the cathedral doors, my father clasped my hand and lifted it together with his,

to a resounding roar from the crowd. “And once we put matters to right here,” he

told me as I threw back my head and laughed, the bells in Toledo shall ring for your

coronation.”

――――――――――――

AUTUMN TURNED TO WINTER; WINTER FADED INTO SPRING. THERE was much to

do in Burgos, but I left my father to wrangle with the constable and the other
grandes
while I returned to my palace and my children, where for the first time in years, I

could devote myself to being a mother. My Catalina approached her first year; I

wanted to spend time with her and my son, and enjoy the tranquility I‟d so

painstakingly earned. The sound of laughter soon pervaded the house; and with my

devoted Beatriz, Soraya and old Doña Josefa (who also seemed to shed years as she

assumed charge of the children) I set myself to fashioning an intimate cocoon.

My father had show singular care in his rearing of Fernando. My Spanish-born

was quick-witted, intelligent, and studious, but not as overtly as my Charles. I spent

every morning watching over his lessons, recalling how my mother‟s personal

supervision of my and my sisters‟ education had ensured our academic success, but in

the afternoons, I insisted we go out into the gardens to partake of the fresh air.

He shared stories of his time in Aragón, where he said the mountains dwarfed

anything he had seen in Castile, and how he longed one day to own his own hawk. I

sent all the way to Segovia for a renowned falconer and the perfect bird, and while I