The Scroll of Seduction (27 page)

That said, he spurred his horse and trotted back up to where Fuensalida rode.

As I watched him ride off, bottling up my spite, I thought that indeed I
would
act sensibly, even if we both understood this to mean different things.

At the church in Mucientes everything was readied for the meeting of the Cortes the day after our arrival. I had only one lady at my service, Doña María de Ulloa. She was a woman of few words, and was getting on in years. But despite my initial misgivings, her considerate opinions, soft demeanor, and perseverance managed to wear down the hostility I felt for the attendants Philippe assigned to me.

For my appearance before the Cortes, Doña María helped me slip into one of the magnificent lace-and-brocade gowns from the queen's trousseau that I had brought to Castile, and she braided my long black hair and then tied it up around my head with a diamond-and-pearl diadem. Looking majestic was important, given my intentions, and
when I saw myself in the mirror, I was satisfied at the regality and elegance of my appearance.

I made my entrance into the salon on Philippe's arm. As I walked, I was reminded of the way my mother carried herself and of Beatriz Galindo's advice: princesses must always carry themselves tall, their backs straight. The procurators rose in unison. As I walked to take my place, I was pleased to see among them the Admiral of Castile, my old friend Fadrique Enríquez, and my mother's loyal knight, Pedro López de Padilla.

The session opened with salutations, followed by much hemming and hawing during which, finally, the terms of the Villafáfila Treaty were raised. Philippe and his advisor De Vere addressed the audience to convey to them how both my father and my husband had come to the conclusion that it was in the kingdom's greatest interest for me to delegate the governing of Castile to my husband, given that my unstable health and lack of interest in matters of State would seriously jeopardize my duties and occupations as queen. It was then that the office of the court was to accept Philippe as proprietary king, instead of king consort, so that the swearing in ceremony could take place in Valladolid.

I listened to the arguments exchanged between one side and the other regarding my aptitudes to rule and the convenience of the proposal.

It infuriated me to see so many men in that room sitting around, deciding my fate, as if some natural order had invested them with more wisdom than mine or that of my own mother when she elected to name me her heir. I think they would have yielded to Philippe's plan had I not become so incensed listening to them that I lost my patience and decided to put an end to their convoluted debate. Rising amid their stunned expressions and the sounds of their perplexity I made my way to the center of the chamber and stared at the faces around the room. Then I raised my voice and asked them whether or not they knew me to be Juana, the legitimate daughter of Queen Isabella the Catholic. Look at me well, I demanded. Was I not the the very woman whom the great Isabella had invested as her sole heir?

They reacted as if they had been suddenly jolted out of their sleep.

“Yes, we do know who you are, we recognize you, Your Majesty,” the president of the Cortes said, bowing.

“Well, given that you do recognize me,” I said, “I am ordering you to move the Cortes to Toledo. There you will swear your loyalty to this queen of Castile and I will swear to defend your laws and your rights. Are you, perchance, unaware that my father disaffirmed the treaty of Villafáfila that his lord the archduke refers to?”

A frenzied debate broke out, with people shouting from one side of the hall to the other. Some said that since I had avowed my desire to be recognized, they were obliged to lend me their ears and discover the truth about what they had been told of my state of mind. Others took Philippe's side, and still others sided with me, recalling that my father had not only refrained from ratifying the treaty of Villafáfila but had actually renounced it, given that it was signed under duress. Finally, they requested a private audience with me, and I accepted immediately. I announced that I would await them in the monastery cloister.

Having said that, I withdrew. I felt Philippe's eyes glower furiously at my back.

A few hours later, the procurators arrived before me, very humble and respectful. Some of their questions were logical and indispensable. For instance, would I govern alone or assign some special role to my husband? Others were absurd, uttered out of who knows what sense of vanity, such as whether I was prepared to dress in the Spanish manner and employ more ladies in my household. I laughed at those concerns, calming their fears about the style of my gowns, and telling them that the number of ladies in my waiting and who they were was a matter for me to decide and bore no relation to the council. I stressed my desire to have my father and not Philippe govern with me until my son Charles had reached the age of majority.

They left apparently satisfied, but Philippe and Cardinal Cisneros went on the offensive the next day, insisting on my incapacity, telling them that the full moon had upset me, that little could they know of my mental state in such a short time. And thus the Cortes designated the admiral of Castile to hold a long interview with me to asess the well-being of my mind.

Ten hours I spent with Don Fadrique. Ten very pleasant hours, I must say, during which he behaved as a father and listened with a pained face to my recounting of the affronts I had been subjected to. He would do everything in his power, he said, but I had to realize that I was swimming in shark-infested waters, and that they would gnaw me with their teeth if I did not advance carefully every step of the way.

Before the others, Don Fadrique dismissed the notion of my inability to rule. He said it was a fallacy to affirm that I was not in my right mind.

I relinquished my demand that the Cortes be moved to Toledo, and finally, the procurators decided to proceed with the coronation ceremony in Valladolid.

I had gotten them to agree to proclaim me their queen.

Philippe and I paraded down the streets of the city on horseback while the crowds gathered everywhere to cheer us. The royal standard of Castile and Leon flew before me, just me: Juana of Castile.

And once again I was magnanimous, or a vassal to my unremitting love: during the ceremony in which they anointed us monarchs, I agreed to share my title as proprietary ruler with Philippe, as the “legitimate husband of the legitimate queen.” And thus he escaped the fate of my father, whose mandate had come from his wife's authority.

Despite this, Philippe still made constant efforts to displace me. He named Cardinal Cisneros–who was convinced that I was an obstacle in the way of Spain's glory–as his chief advisor. Not a day went by without Cisneros and Gómez de Fuensalida conspiring to entangle me in their nets and leave me out of their game. They intercepted a letter I wrote my father, requesting his presence beside me. They held meetings with Don Pedro López de Padilla, inciting him to withdraw his support. Then they pressured Philippe to convince me we needed to go to Segovia, since the Marquise of Moya had taken the Alcazar and refused to surrender it to anyone but me. They were desperate. The nobles whose loyalty they needed were daily threatening to switch camps and join my side.

The trip to Segovia was motivated by Philippe's and his advisors' desire to take me to the Alcazar–a fortress–and confine me there so I
could no longer thwart their plans. Those were terrible days for me. My authority was accepted or rejected at will. I was the apple of discord, full of worms, surrounded by hostile faces, fearing for my freedom, for my life, not knowing which friends might suddenly turn coat and become my enemies. Depending on his mood, Philippe treated me either as a helpless, deranged child, or a sworn enemy.

Doña María was my only solace, though I was afraid to trust even her completely. At night I could scarcely sleep, for fear of waking to find myself under lock and key. During our rushed journey to Segovia I managed to sleep only a few hours, when we were camped out under the stars.

In the town of Cogeces del Monte, which we reached one afternoon, appropriate measures were taken so that we might be housed in the monastery of La Armedilla. But something in Philippe's demeanor, in the obsequious yet uptight manner in which he praised the preparations under way to ensure my comfort at the Jerónimos convent, led me to suspect that, like a cat, he was preparing to pounce. I would have to be taken for a madwoman again, I thought, but no one was going to make me spend the night within those walls. I smiled beatifically, saying that while the court and soldiers settled in, I would go for a short ride on my horse. A bit of exercise would suit my nerves.

The steppelike landscape surrounding the town was broken here and there by monumental rock formations. Pine forests grew in ravines alongside small streams. Philippe assigned one of his German soldiers to escort me. He was a fierce, toothless man who looked like a barbarian, but beneath his harsh appearance lay a discrete gentleman who kept a courteous distance while I rode undisturbed along paths leading up to the rocky promontories. I knew just how trying and long the night would be, and after galloping for a while, I stopped by the brook that brought water to the village and, still on my saddle, watched the sunset. As it began to grow dark, the soldier said that we should return to the monastery, but I told him to go back on his own, because I planned to spend the night there. That disconcerted him. We were far enough for him not to dare to leave me alone while he went to give notice. They would send a search party for us, I said, he need not worry. It saddened me to see his
rude face transformed into that of a frightened child. Because I spoke his language he bonded with me and showed me respect. I engaged him in conversation and he told me about his wife and his fields of barley in Bavaria, stopping himself every so often to beg me to return with him to the monastery.

As I had guessed, the sound of galloping hooves was soon upon us, and Philippe's messengers arrived shortly to order us back to La Armedilla. Instead, I got off my horse, tethered it to a tree, and sat down on a fallen trunk to watch the stars while my soldier paced nervously, not knowing how to react.

It was a repeat of the situation with the baker in Villafáfila, except this time in the open air. I did not know how many nights I would have to refuse to enter the monastery, but it was summertime and the cool pine forest was pleasant.

However, fortune looked kindly upon me this time. Early that morning, news arrived from Segovia that Gómez de Fuensalida had managed to gain entry to the Alcazar, canceling the motive for our trip there. Philippe sent word that we would continue on toward Burgos, to the palace of the constable of Castile, married to Juana of Aragon, my father's stepdaughter. I went back and joined the march.

As a consequence of the night I spent outdoors, I fell ill. We were forced to stop in Tudela del Duero to wait my recovery, as everyone feared my pregnancy might be at risk were we to continue the trip.

We reached Juana of Aragon's palace two months later, in September. I was looking forward to staying with my half-sister Juana in her beautiful palace–designed by Simon of Cologne–where my mother had once received Admiral Christopher Columbus. But mean-spirited Philippe accepted to lodge there on the condition that she and her husband, Don Bernardino Fernández de Velasco, move elsewhere during our stay. He feared the idea of a couple loyal to my father taking care of me and encouraging my rebellion. I didn't know what Gómez de Fuensalida and the constable of Castile had negotiated over the palace that Philippe so inconsiderately usurped. But I later found out that the good constable agreed to cede his home in exchange for the promise that I would not be denied my freedom. Philippe's capricious demands
so upset me that I felt as if my heart had emptied itself from the love that for so many years had alternately made me soar up high and dragged me so low. I was overcome by despondency, and the only energy I felt came from the sparks bursting out of the rage forging in my chest. I found myself invoking the power of God and the devil against Philippe. The sound of his voice was enough to send the hatred coursing through my body like a raging river where I sometimes feared the child I carried would drown.

Once they became masters of the house, Philippe and his counselors decided to liven up the nobility who favored them and the troops by offering several days of continuous festivities, banquets, jousts, and hunts. They wanted to ease the tensions around us, since the people and courts, who all over the kingdom had been extremely generous with their favors, were growing tired of lodging us and being charged heftily to feed, clothe, and pay the salaries of so many foreigners. As if that were not enough, the plague had reappeared, and there were rumors that peasants and animals were dying in neighboring towns.

Despite the hatred that clouded my vision, I remember how beautiful and euphoric Philippe was on the third day of revels, when he came into my rooms to announce defiantly that he would think of me when his lance pierced the boar he was going to hunt that afternoon. Arrogant, proud, wearing a coat of mail, baggy breeches and a green tunic over his dark hose and high leather gaiters, he stopped beside the window and looked down at me, full of spite. “Look what your countrymen have turned you into,” he scoffed, “a bleak queen who dresses in black, just like her mother.”

“The color suits me,” I replied. “You killed the scarlet of my gowns and my spirit.”

That afternoon a tattered Philippe was brought back to me. He had collapsed on the hunt, after a dizzy spell. If just a few hours before he had been the defiant picture of health now he was shaking, wracked by fever and sweating like an oarsman. It happened so suddenly. To see him suffer, cling to my hands and my eyes, desperately ill and anguished, made me feel I would lose my mind. I felt guilty, wretched, and vile for the intense way I had wished his misfortune. I ordered for him to be lain
out on my bed, and for damp cloths to be brought. Needless to say, no one pretended I was mad while I was doing what was required to restore his good health. Both physicians and advisors obeyed me willingly. Philippe seemed calmer on seeing me take charge of the situation. For five days that man,
my
man, surrendered himself to me the way a young boy surrenders himself to his mother's arms. I held him, I sang to him, I wiped the pus from his festering wounds, and night after night I wet his lips again and again, cracked and parched as they were from the fevers. My poor Philippe. His eyes, which had once wrought havoc on my heart, lit up with love when I drew near to him. He whispered tender words, he begged my forgiveness for his tantrums and his ambition, he spoke of the love he had for our children and for my fertile womb. I swore I would let nothing bad happen to him. He had to be strong, I said, he couldn't let the plague devour the body that I loved so. We were young, we could put our lives back together, our love, reign in peace and harmony. I begged him not to torment himself with remorse, thinking of what could have been. “I have never loved anyone like you, Juana, no one has ever taken your place in my heart, no woman's arms have encircled me like yours do, no woman has your neck, the soft curve of your hair as it falls down the beautiful arc of your back, no one trembles beneath my kisses the way you do, no one has been so present nor put up with my stupidity, my vanity, the way you have.”