History's Great Queens 2-Book Bundle: The Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici (33 page)

Burly Benavente sat at his side; I did not see the massive constable anywhere. Had I not trusted myself, I would have thought I’d imagined glimpsing him in the courtyard so many weeks ago.

Servitors set platters of fresh cheese, sautéed fowl, and roasted meats before the assembly. As we ate, Philip said without looking at me: “You might like to know that your father has finally dignified himself to send word. He wishes us to make haste to Toledo so we can be invested by the Cortes. He has your son with him.”

My heart quickened. I kept my stare fixed ahead.

“What?” Philip added. “Have you nothing to say? I would have thought you’d be overjoyed to know your darling Papá and Spanish child have asked for you.”

I felt like an animal that senses but cannot see the steel snare hidden under its feet.

“Don’t you want to know our reply?” He brought his hand under the table, gripping my thigh. “I’ve sent word we’ll indeed make haste and command him to meet us in Castile, where we will assume our throne and he will formerly relinquish any further rights to our kingdom.”

I tasted blood where my teeth cut the inside of my lip. I should have known. He had found a way to use my own stance against me. How long had Don Manuel sat up at night, worrying the problem in his brain with the tenacity of a rat? They would see my father disposed of and appear to give me my title to appease the Cortes and any others who might balk at contesting my mother’s will, but I would never rule.

I suspected Philip wanted me to explode, to take up my goblet and fling it at him in shrieking rage. It would serve him well if I displayed my deranged family blood. I would not oblige him. No matter what it cost, I would see this meal through to its cold completion.

His fingers dug into my flesh. With my smile like frost on my lips, I said in a low voice, “My father will never agree. He’ll never let you steal what does not belong to you.”

“We’ll see about that.” He released me, took up his goblet, and stood. “My lords,” he called out, bringing immediate silence to the
sala.
“I propose a toast.” He lifted his goblet. “A toast to my wife the queen, who carries my child.”

The Flemish burst into fervent applause. The nobles sat still. I couldn’t focus on their expressions, but I knew some must view this development with pleasure. A pregnant queen would be so much easier to contend with; if everything went in their favor, Philip would rout my father and I would oblige them by dying while giving birth, as so many women did. Then they’d have the Habsburg fool in their hands and all of Castile at their disposal.

“Come now,” I heard Philip chide, “is this any way to greet such news? Rise, my lords, rise! A child is a blessed event. Let us drink to its health and to Her Highness my wife’s, of course.”

The sound of chairs scraping on the plank floor abraded my ears. The lords stood, the sputtering flames of the wall sconces capturing the sparkle of their raised goblets.

Philip waved his hand. “Thank you, my lords. Her Highness, as you must understand, is weary after our travels.” He motioned to the guards stationed nearby. “Please, escort Her Highness to her rooms. We mustn’t keep her from her proper rest.”

I lifted my chin and came to my feet. As I walked between the guards, a prisoner once more, I could not avoid glancing at Villena.

To my disquiet, the look he returned was almost pitying.

AS SOON AS I REACHED
my chambers, I allowed myself to vent my rage. “He sent word to my father that we wish to see him in Castile!” I spun to Beatriz. “I must get word to Papá. It’s a trap!”

“His Majesty won’t agree,” she said. “Surely he of all people knows what your husband is capable of.”

“Yes,” I said quickly, “yes, he saw who Philip was when we were last in Spain. And I didn’t see the constable at the table tonight. He’s left, I’m sure of it. Maybe he went to report to my father.” I paused. “But what will he say? The
grandes
will all testify that I am traveling with them. None seems to care that I cannot use the privy without Philip or Don Manuel’s leave.”

“His Majesty will still know,” Beatriz persisted. She glanced at Soraya. “In La Coruña, you declared you would not endorse a single act until the Cortes invested you. This alone proves that your husband forces you to his bidding. His Majesty will smell the rat.”

I nodded, moved in tense silence to my window. It was too far to jump, even if I weren’t with child. The drop from the balcony would break my legs, if it didn’t kill me outright. And now the guards were back, outside my door. My fists bunched. “I should have left. I should have taken horse and fled the moment I had the chance.”

“When?” said Beatriz. “How? Your Highness, we are prisoners here as surely as we were in Flanders. There is not a soul who will help us.”

“There must be a way.” I looked to the table where Soraya had set out my brushes and hand mirror. “Do we still have those writing materials from England?”

Soraya went at once to one of the valises, retrieved the sheaf of parchment, ink, and quills we had hidden there under my linens. “What are you thinking?” said Beatriz.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts. “If you’re right and Papá has heard something of my plight, he still might not know I am determined to fight my husband for the throne. I must warn him that under no circumstances can he consent to leaving Castile.” I paused. “The question is, how do I get a letter out? We can’t bribe someone. It’s too dangerous.”

Silence descended. Then Soraya said softly, “I’ll do it.”

I looked at her in surprise. She regarded me with resolute dark eyes, her narrow shoulders poised with a confidence I’d not seen her display before.

Beatriz let out a nervous chuckle. “You? You’re a Moor, practically a slave. You can’t possibly go off alone with Her Highness’s letter, even if they were stupid enough to allow it.”

“I’m not a slave, though,” said Soraya. “I’m a
converso.
We are in Spain. There are hundreds like me, among the retainers and the guards and serving women. Who’ll notice one more or less? I’ll hide the letter on my person, steal a mule, and slip away when no one’s looking.” She looked at me; it was one of the longest speeches I’d ever heard her make, and her impeccable Spanish and astute assessments were almost hypnotic.

“I’ve been listening to the
grandes
as I come and go from the kitchens,” she added. “They don’t even see me. But, I see them. I listen. Many say they do not know what to do now. I overheard that fat count say His Majesty waits in Segovia, in the Alcázar with the treasury. Segovia isn’t far, a week’s ride at most. I can make it there.”

“Remember Lopez,” I told her quietly. “They tortured him, and he was a member of my mother’s household. If they catch you, I dare not imagine what they will do.”

“I survived the fall of Granada,” she replied, as if that said it all.

Beatriz nodded. “Much as I hate to admit, it’s not a bad plan.” She directed her next words at Soraya. “You mustn’t falter. You must leave first thing tomorrow, before everyone is awake. After you deliver the letter, don’t rush back to tell us the good news. If you do, God only knows where we’ll all end up. Do you understand? Stay away until you know it is safe.”

She nodded. “Yes. I promise.”

I reached out and embraced her. She had been my constant companion since childhood, and we both knew we might never see each other again.

BEFORE DAWN, SHE LEFT
with my letter hidden under her skirts.

The hours passed like eternity. When night finally fell, Beatriz and I hugged each other close. “She did it,” I breathed. “She is on her way. May God watch over her.”

“May God watch over us all,” said Beatriz.

TWENTY-SEVEN

T
hree suspense-laden days passed. On the fourth, clamoring voices and the discordant clanging of steel roused us. German mercenaries in their full mail, large as barbicans and holding pikes, came into my room to announce our immediate departure. Beatriz and I scarcely had an hour to throw my belongings into the coffers and pack our valises before we were being escorted into the courtyard, where the thunder of Philip’s army gathered.

No one said anything. Surrounded by guards, we were led amid that cacophony of men into Castile and the Count of Benavente’s native city. Upon our arrival, Philip lodged me in a suite of chambers in the
casa real,
with sentries posted day and night at my door.

Trapped in these luxurious apartments, I knew something terrible had occurred. Beatriz reported there was much murmuring among the nobles, but she could not discover anything concrete. I feared for my brave Soraya, of whom we hadn’t heard anything at all.

On June 28, my worst fears were confirmed.

Philip arrived in my rooms accompanied by Don Manuel, the Marquis of Villena, and Count Benavente. In his mellifluous voice, which wrapped about the words of the document in his hand as if they were the lyrics of a chanson, Don Manuel recited aloud:

“It is hereby announced that Her Grace Queen Juana, our much-beloved consort, does not wish to take part in any governmental or administrative affairs or be informed of them. Should she wish to participate, it would lead to the upheaval of our kingdom, owing to her malady. To avert said evil, we advise our father-in-law King Fernando to renounce his regency and leave Castile at once, for should he or anyone in his support interfere further in the assumption of our throne, we will condemn such as a treasonable offense, punishable by imprisonment or death.

“Signed on this twenty-seventh day of June 1506, by His Highness Philip, archduke of Flanders and king of Castile.”

Don Manuel rolled up the scroll and extended it to me. “A copy for Your Grace’s records. You will see the majority of the
grandes
have added their signatures.”

I clutched my shawl about my shoulders, my other hand at my belly. I was alone. Beatriz had gone to fetch my afternoon meal. “Do you have my or my father’s signature?” I asked. “Because if you do not, bring it before the Cortes and it will mean nothing.”

“Your father knows not to defy me,” Philip snapped. “He has no one to help him anymore save for his nobles in Aragón and they’ll not risk themselves for his sake. And my army is big enough to crush him and his measly kingdom to a pulp, if I so choose. You best pray he leaves Segovia for Aragón forthwith before I take him to task. In the meantime, tomorrow we will hold a bullfight to celebrate. You are excused from attendance—though I expect you to honor my elevation to the throne at a special gathering of the Cortes next month in Valladolid.”

He stalked out, Don Manuel scuttling behind. Villena and Benavente stayed. The count averted his eyes as I met their gaze; for once in his life, Villena had the wherewithal not to smile.

I raised my chin. To my surprise, my voice scarcely trembled. “I’d be careful if I were you, my lords. As you have just seen, my husband holds nothing sacrosanct. I wonder what he’ll do when the time comes to reward you?”

“We’ll take your words under advisement,” Villena replied, and with a low bow he left. Benavente looked at me; I saw fear in his gaze. He was a man of simple appetites, who preferred an uncomplicated life and had always left his decisions to his ally, the marquis.

“Your Highness,” he mumbled, “I…I do not wish to see you come to harm.”

Before I could reply, Beatriz rushed in with a covered platter in hand. She took one look at Benavente and barked, “Traitor! Have you no shame? She is your queen and with child! You will pay for all you do to her, so help me God!”

“I did not want to do this!” he burst out. He turned beseeching eyes to me. “Your Highness, I swear to you, were it up to me I would never see you so defamed.”

I whispered. “Tell Villena your concerns. The marquis has much to lose should my husband fail. And so, it seems, do you.”

He bowed hastily and left. As the door closed on him, I reached blindly for the bedpost.

Beatriz set the platter down and came to my side. “What did those villains say to you? Come, you must get into bed this instant. You are pale as death.”

“There’s no time for that.” I forced myself upright. “I’ve run out of options. Philip will call the Cortes to session next month. But my father is still in Segovia. I need you more than I ever have before. I must escape.”

BY DUSK, WE WORKED
out a plan. Beatriz sat on the bed, absorbing my instructions.

“They must believe you. They must think the shock of this news has put my health and that of my unborn babe at risk. Tell them unless I’m allowed some exercise, I will surely sicken. Tell them a ride in the park will do me good. Cry, beg; throw yourself at their feet. Do whatever you must to convince them. Ask them where can I possibly go, a woman with child? Appeal to Villena and Benavente; if there’s any honor left in their miserable souls, they’ll persuade Don Manuel. They don’t want my death on their hands.”

She nodded tremulously. “
Princesa,
I’ll do what I can. But why won’t you let me come with you? It would be safer if we went together.”

“I already told you why. They could refuse us. You must use the occasion to pretend to clean my rooms. Our leaving together will rouse suspicion. We have this one chance. We cannot fail.” I leaned to her, placed my hands on her shoulders, and stared into her dark eyes—eyes I could remember winking at me so long ago, on the day of my betrothal by proxy. She had been with me from the beginning. I feared our separation almost as much as she did.

I forced out a laugh. “Don’t look so worried. I’ll probably get there before you! Remember, as soon as you hear the alarm that I am gone, you too must make haste. And don’t let them catch you whatever you do. I need you with me in Segovia.”

I COULDN’T BELIEVE SUCH A SIMPLE PLAN HAD WORKED. YET HERE
I was, astride a chestnut mare, riding out into the park with Benavente and Villena at my side.

I lifted my face to the sun’s heat, reveling in the oppressive air around us. The park’s tender spring lawns were charred, the gnarled oaks and olive trees interspersed amid flowering dog roses, the only plants to thrive in summer. Their brilliant reds and mauves mesmerized me. They looked painted on a brittle canvas, too bright to be real.

From behind us I discerned the distant cries of
“Olé!”
coming from the bullring, where matadors dueled with the fifty bulls Philip had ordered killed. As I hoped, the entire city flocked to the spectacle, and during the ride into the park the only souls we’d seen were the sullen sentries manning the gates. They barely glanced at us, too put out to be missing the festivities and free wine to pay us any mind.

Benavente cleared his throat. “Your Highness, may I have your leave?”

I gave him a nod. “By all means, my lord.”

“We want you to know that we…” He glanced uneasily at Villena. “I mean, the marquis and I, we do not condone His Highness’s actions necessarily. But he ordered we accompany him to witness his declaration and we’re hardly in a position to refuse.”

“Yes, my husband can be a persuasive man,” I said. “No one knows that better than I.”

“That he is,” interjected Villena tersely. “He threatened to imprison us if we didn’t comply. But there is still the Cortes to contend with. His Highness requires its support to make himself king here and anyone can see Your Highness is with child. Women in your state are naturally prone to melancholia. It does not mean you are unfit to rule, now, does it?”

“Indeed.” I scanned the area ahead. Beatriz had told me that when she went to plead my case, Villena had mentioned that an old Roman wall enclosed this park and therefore a ride would be safe enough. Impatient to get to the bullring and flaunt his success, Don Manuel agreed. As we passed through the city gates, I had noticed with trepidation that the wall did indeed look stout, but now I began to see that here, near the confluence of the Elsa River, it had been neglected, and in one or two places, almost dilapidated. Could I jump it? Or would I end up shattering my mare’s legs and my own neck in the process?

Benavente was running on at the mouth, eager to purge himself now that he had found me willing to listen. “Of course if the Cortes deems it lawful that the archduke rule as sole sovereign, we must oblige. But we don’t bear Your Highness any ill will. We never did.”

“Naturally,” I said. Did they think me a fool? They’d see me locked away if they thought they could get away with it. But my words to them the day before had clearly taken root: he and Villena had begun to wonder whether it was wise to entrust their future to Philip and Don Manuel.

I tightened my grip on my reins as we rounded a bend in the road. I dared not look about me, lest I betray my purpose. “My lords,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound as high pitched to them as it did to me, “might we quicken our pace a little?”

“Why, yes. Yes, of course.” Benavente beamed, only too happy to oblige and thus earn himself the ability to say he had done all he could to assist me in my time of need.

“Thank you, my lord.” I filled my lungs with air, wound the reins about my fingers, and invoked my strength. Then I rammed my boot heels as hard as I could into the mare’s sides. Startled from her insouciant trot, she leapt forward.

I did not look back. I did not even breathe as I kicked again, harder this time, and leaned close to her arched neck, my belly pressing against the saddle horn. “Run,
bonita,
” I breathed into her flattened ear. “Run as fast you can. Run for your queen.”

Villena’s shout reached me as if from across a vast divide: “Your Highness! Your Highness, stop this instant!”

I knew one must go after me while the other raced back to the city to raise the alarm. I prayed Benavente would be the one to follow, as he was the eldest and least fit. He also rode a mare like my own, while Villena’s was an Arabian gelding, bred for speed. I didn’t know how fast my mare could run. Fortunately, I weighed less than during my previous pregnancies, and as if she sensed my anxiety the valiant creature increased her stride, seeming to fly toward a section of bulwark looming ahead.

A gasp tore from my throat. It was impossibly high.

I am going to die, I thought. I am going to break against that wall. But at least I die free.

Closing my eyes, I buried my face into the mare’s mane. I felt myself lift upward, up and up, soaring. I tensed, braced for the bone-shattering crunch, the lethal projection onto rocky ground.

The mare landed, graceful as a dancer. My teeth cut into my lip. I looked up, saw that we had cleared the wall and now galloped over the open salt lands. Tears streamed down my face.

I had done it! I had escaped!

I braved a glance over my shoulder. My exultation died. Villena was fast behind me, having jumped the wall as well. He gesticulated furiously, his cap blown from his head, his hair billowing about his enraged features.

I jammed my heels into my mare again. The poor creature was running as fast as she could, panting now with exertion. With a stallion like Villena’s, I could have flown to Segovia, but I’d been given an older horse, bred for ladies and docile rides around the park.

I had to get off the salt flats. With any luck, I could lose Villena. I spied a dense pine forest on a ridge. Pulling the mare to the left, I raced toward it.

Villena began to drop behind me, not yet out of sight, but growing more distant. I had released my grip on the reins. Feeling the bit slacken in her mouth, the mare picked up speed. The forest neared, individual pines becoming visible. There was enough foliage and undergrowth to hide in. I would stay in the forest until nightfall and start out again under the cover of darkness.

The mare plunged up the ridge, loose rocks and gravel scattering under her hooves. When we reached the top, at the edge of the forest, to my horror she came to a halt, her flanks lathered, heaving. Saliva drooled from her mouth. I’d ridden her into exhaustion.