History's Great Queens 2-Book Bundle: The Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici (35 page)

He did not have time to finish. “She is here, my lords,” bellowed the admiral.

I walked into the hall, alone.

The silence that descended was so absolute that the cries of playing children could be clearly heard through the overhead windows. I did not falter as I confronted the mass of gaping faces, lifting my chin to meet Philip’s horrified stare.

“My lords,” I declared, and I threw all my force into my voice, so that it would carry to the very rafters, “do you recognize me as legitimate daughter and heir of Isabel, our late queen?”

The speaker stammered, “We—we do, Your Highness. Most certainly.”

I raised my head a fraction higher, seeing Philip start to rise from his throne, his hands clenching the gilded armrests as if he might crush them to splinters. “Then since you recognize me,” I said to the speaker, “I will answer any questions you have.”

He turned to confer with the procurators beside him. There was an angry shaking of heads, fervid mutters, before the speaker returned his solemn gaze to me. “We have only one question at this time, Your Highness.”

“
Adelante,
my lord.”

“Does Your Highness wish to rule Castile as sovereign queen?”

I paused. The procurators, Don Manuel, and Philip were like effigies in their chairs. I spoke the words I had prayed for, in hope that one day this moment would come. “I do.”

There was an audible ripple of astonishment throughout the hall. Philip hurtled from his seat. “By God, I’ll not sit here and have my rights stolen away by a madwoman!”

Cisneros arched his brow; the speaker said, “Your Highness, please sit down and honor the processes of this assembly, which were established long before your birth.”

Philip’s shoulders hunched about his neck, his features malignant as he inched back onto his chair as if the cushions contained live coals. The speaker inclined his head, “Thank you, Your Highness.” He returned to me. “Does Your Highness have any other requests of us?”

I nodded. “Yes, my lord. Since you recognize me as your lawful queen, I command you henceforth take yourselves to Toledo, where I shall be crowned according to ancient custom. I also command that the treasury in Segovia remain in the Marquise de Moya’s safekeeping.”

The speaker nodded. “We are overjoyed by Your Highness’s apparent good health. May we have your leave to withdraw and discuss these requests with the gravity they deserve?”

“My lord,” I replied, “you and these noble lords most certainly do.”

Then I turned and quit the hall.

A TENSION-LADEN DAY PASSED. PHILIP DID NOT COME TO RAGE
at me, nor did Don Manuel. But in a way, I found their disregard more disturbing than their previous berating; even the admiral confessed that though the procurators met daily, there was a mysterious reticence on everyone’s part to confront the beast in the room: mainly that to enforce my claim, they must in turn disavow Philip’s.

On the third day after my appearance before the Cortes and another sleepless night in which I paced my rooms and felt my child quicken in my womb, the admiral arrived. I took one look at his drawn face and felt myself turn to ice.

“Plague has broken out,” he said.

There was a terrible hush. Plague hadn’t been an affliction I worried about in Flanders, though it struck there as surely as anywhere else. We had seemed far removed from its threat, so much so I couldn’t recall it ever being an issue. In Spain, however, it was a specter I’d lived with since childhood. I remembered how my mother insisted we leave every summer for the mountains of Granada before plague season started and that dreadful summer in Toledo, when Besançon perished. Plague flared up with often catastrophic effects in Castile, especially in the crowded cities, an unstoppable scourge that decimated entire provinces in a matter of days.

I genuflected. “God save us. Is it very bad? Is this why the Cortes delays judgment?”

“Partly, yes.” He let out a terse chuckle. “So far, there haven’t been any cases reported in Valladolid itself, though your husband has seen the way the matter with the Cortes could go and has used the plague as an excuse to leave. It seems he harbors a terror of infection.”

“Yes, ever since his adviser Archbishop Besançon died.”

“Or so he’d have us believe,” remarked the admiral, with uncharacteristic asperity. “In any event, the
grandes
swarm to him like wolves, hoping to squeeze favor out of his fear. The procurators prepare to flee to the country. They claim they’ll reunite in Toledo once the plague dissipates.” He grimaced. “There are far more cowards among them than even I suspected. I argued this morning that we must do our duty; that Castile cannot wait for them to render a judgment. But they’re beyond reason. Not even old Cisneros with his harangues could detain them. I have to say this much in your husband’s favor, he has the devil’s own luck.”

“I’m to blame for that,” I said bitterly. “I told him the nobles would hang him from a gibbet when he least expected it. It’s just like him to heed me now, after having ignored my advice for years.” I paused, searched his face. “Where will we go?”

“Burgos,” he said. He paced to my window, where he looked out toward the city, brooding.

“Burgos! But it’s nowhere near Toledo! We are going backward. Burgos lies in the north.”

He turned back to me. “Don Manuel wanted to order the move to Segovia, to siege the city if need be and take the Alcázar there by force. But word has come that Segovia has become a pesthole and your husband refuses to go farther into Castile until he’s assured there is no risk.”

Segovia. I went cold. “If Philip is willing to backtrack north, it must be a real threat.” I met the admiral’s somber stare. “My lady Beatriz de Talavera hasn’t sent me word. Dear God, what if she’s taken ill?”

“If she’s in Segovia,” he replied, “the Alcázar is the safest place to be. The marquise is a tough old woman: she’ll bar the gates and let nothing in or out.” He paused. “I have other news. The constable has agreed to receive you in Burgos. He prepares his own house for you.”

“The constable? But I saw him last in La Coruña. I thought he was with my father.”

“He did not go with him to Naples. He and Cisneros have been in contact; he’s been spying on your husband all this time.” The admiral stepped to me. “Your Highness, the constable has retainers in Burgos. It is his city and he is in your father’s camp. He may not be the most moral man I know, but he’ll not condone any harm done to you under his roof.”

I looked into his eyes. “What about you?” I whispered.

“I must go to Naples.” He lifted his voice against my immediate protest. “I must tell your father in person of everything that has transpired. Without a definitive verdict from the Cortes, your husband could still prevail. He has Don Manuel, Villena, and the other nobles at his side. Not even the constable and I can gather enough retainers to counter those who support him. We need your father’s help. If he will agree to come with his men from Aragón, then we could have a force to be reckoned with.”

My father. I had sought to put him out of my mind. As long as he had my son safe, I told myself, it was all I could expect of him. And still the thought of him roused raw hope.

“I could stay here,” I said. “You said there’s been no plague in the city. Maybe it won’t come at all. Better here than hundreds of kilometers away in Burgos.”

“Your Highness, I beg you. You are with child. You cannot risk contagion. If you should die, God forbid, then your husband will indeed win everything. He will invoke your son Charles’s right to the succession and Castile will fall into Habsburg hands forever. You must go to Burgos. Your appearance before the Cortes has won you time. Your husband heeds Don Manuel’s advice and Don Manuel knows they don’t dare move against you now. I would not send you with them if I did not think you’d be safe.”

“Safe?” I gave him a small smile. “I think I don’t know the meaning of the word anymore.” I felt Philip’s hand as he grasped my wrist in the gypsy woman’s hut; saw again the decapitated head rolling at my feet. My gaze fled for a moment to the loose floorboard before I pulled myself to attention. I had forestalled Philip’s investment as king by the Cortes; with a bit of luck and some tenacity, I could stave him off indefinitely until my father arrived.

I was not powerless anymore.

“Surprise is the one asset we have,” the admiral went on. “While your husband flees the plague, I’ll reach Naples. His Majesty loves you and Castile. He will not let the Flemish destroy everything he and your mother built. He only left because he had no other choice. But I promise you we’ll return with an army large enough to rout your husband once and for all.”

He stepped closer still. I smelled the faint masculine tang of his body under his black brocade, sensed his taut strength. I looked up into his eyes. All of a sudden, desire surged in me, overwhelming in its intensity. He must have felt it, as well. He must have known that in that moment I longed for him to take me as a man takes a woman, to feel, if only one last time, the release of being in the arms of someone I could trust.

He started to lean to me, murmuring, “Your Highness, I…” He drew back, raised his hand tentatively. He touched my cheek. “I dare not,” he whispered.

I understood. Taking that calloused, long hand in mine I lifted it to my lips.

“May God be with you,” I said. “This time it is I who shall wait for you.”

IN THE MUTED HEAT OF THE EVENING, WE DEPARTED VALLADOLID.
It would take almost a week to reach Burgos, and by the third grueling afternoon the Flemish were suffering the agonies of purgatory. Unaccustomed to late July in Castile, clad in their suffocating velvets and brocade, they dropped fainting from their stallions or rushed into the bushes to relieve dysenteric bowels. Philip commanded that anyone who was ill must be left behind; I realized then that whatever his ultimate intent, he was truly terrified of the plague.

Palpable foreboding added to the tension and gloom. In the lingering dusk, strange lights scattered across the violet horizon where night never fully fell, causing the Spaniards to cross themselves and mutter of bad omens. They drew apart from the Flemish, emphasizing their growing antipathy to my husband’s minion.

I rode among a regiment of guards and the only servant I had—an elderly laundress named Doña Josefa who’d been part of my retinue in Valladolid. Vigorous of body and spirit, she was stone-deaf and regarded as inconsequential; she rode a donkey beside me, mending my worn gowns by night, tending the fire, and serving my meals.

It was as though I were another of the hundreds of retainers and soldiers, no one paying me any more mind than those left wallowing in their own excrement. Though I had no doubt Philip would strike at me again, for now we were at an impasse, pursued by a more implacable foe.

We reached Burgos under a damp twilight. The high walls loomed out of a thick mist that blanketed this part of northern Castile often in the evening, after days of intense heat. I could barely see my hands in front of my face as the sentries at the gate checked everyone in our train for any signs of fever or telltale buboes. Several more of the dysenteric Flemish were kept from entering the city and they lifted wailing protest as Philip turned from them to enter the fog-swathed castle on the hill. As if by tacit agreement that it would go better for all concerned if my husband and I did not share the same roof, I was taken to the Casa de Cordón, a small palace adorned with the corded knots of the constable’s clan—an irony that did not escape my notice.

Here my half sister, Joanna, the constable’s wife, awaited me.

My every bone ached from the hard ground on which I’d slept for the past days and the long hours of being jostled about in the saddle. I was looking forward to a hot meal, a bath, and a real bed. Instead, I had to contend with Joanna in her best sateen, bejeweled and coiffed to the hilt as if she were expecting a parade.

“My dear,” she exclaimed. “Your belly is tremendous!”

I grimaced. It was true. I felt enormous in my fourth month, having lost flesh everywhere but my abdomen. She, on the other hand, remained slim as a ferret. I’d never liked her, and not because she was my father’s bastard. Even in childhood she demonstrated a decided affinity for seeking her own advantage. She apprenticed in the service of a noblewoman and wed the constable, a strategic alliance that removed her from my immediate life. I felt only disdain and a faint amazement that we shared the same blood. She had made no effort whatsoever to even feign care for me, much less seek out my service when I needed help, and I tartly informed her she need only show Doña Josefa where to fetch my food and see that my linens were changed every few days and my chamber cleansed.