History's Great Queens 2-Book Bundle: The Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici (36 page)

“But Your Highness will need attendants,” she said. “You’ve only this old matron and—”

I cut her short. “Were it not for this old matron, I might have starved to death. As for attendants, I’ve learned to do without. Now, if you would kindly show me to my rooms?”

With a rigid curtsy, she took me upstairs. I took some comfort in the fact that my status must be on the rise, given her concern over my lack of servants. Or perhaps she was preoccupied with how it might look to the outside world now that I dwelled under her care, never mind that I’d spent most of my time since my return to Spain in some form of captivity.

I found the rooms a blessed refuge, with a fire in the hearth, braziers throughout, and a fresh nightdress and robe laid out on the bed for me. Dropping my soiled cloak to the floor, I started to move to a chair when I heard something rustle by the large poster bed in the corner.

I whirled about. “Who—who is there?”

A figure stepped from the shadows.
“Princesa,”
said a familiar voice, “don’t you recognize me? Not even the devil himself could have stopped me from coming to you.”

With a cry of joyous relief, I ran into Beatriz’s embrace.

TWENTY-NINE

F
rom my chamber I gazed toward the castle’s bulwark perched above the city, its battlements punctuated by the great cathedral spire. Torches flared on its gates; as I looked at their oily light, I reflected on the three weeks that had passed since our arrival in Burgos, during which Philip had made no attempt to see me or receive any of the Burgos officials with me at his side.

But I was glad of the respite. I was overjoyed to have Beatriz with me again, having learned that none other than the admiral had gotten word to her of Philip’s intent to retreat to Burgos. My devoted lady escaped plague-ridden Segovia and traversed Castile to join me; she had confronted Joanna until my half sister allowed her into the
casa.
Her courageous presence helped ease my fear that this move north might result in another attempt to lock me up. Like the admiral, she believed I would come to no further harm until my child was born.

“There are two kinds of women inviolate in Spain: an expectant mother and a recent widow,” she reminded me. “Not even that snake Villena would allow anyone to touch you in your state. Besides, you declared before the entire Cortes that you wish to rule as queen. No doubt they’re all gnashing their teeth, but they know they can’t declare you mad again. For now they’ll have to wait like everyone else—which is just as well, for time is exactly what we need.”

She was right. Time would work in my favor and against Philip’s. Indeed, his worries increased daily. Not only was the plague spreading with a horrifying facility, but bandits prowled every road and doomsayers incensed crowds with their calamitous predictions. Many preached against the Flemish, blaming them for the disasters that befell Castile. Many began to shout “
Flamencos fuera!
Flemish out!” whenever they caught sight of my husband with his retinue.

Within the castle, Don Manuel fared no better. Beatriz proved adept as ever at sniffing out the gossip and learned the diminutive ambassador had been threatened so repeatedly he refused to go anywhere without an armed escort. The constable told him bluntly that Burgos lacked the resources to withstand a prolonged royal stay and couldn’t possibly be expected to shoulder the expense of feeding and lodging His Highness’s entire foreign retinue. With their bid for the treasury thwarted, Don Manuel made frantic advances to his former master and my father-in-law the emperor for a loan but thus far His Imperial Majesty had demurred. Don Manuel was fast running out of the money he needed for bribes to keep the nobles content and fierce arguments soon broke out between him and several of the
grandes,
one of whom suggested he advise His Highness to melt the gold plate weighting his dinner table before someone did it for him.

“Never have I seen a court so on edge,” added Beatriz, with a mischievous smile. “One might say His Highness and Don Manuel are the most unpopular men in Spain.”

I welcomed the news. It might take the admiral and my father weeks to reach Spain. While Philip and his henchmen battled the nobles they’d have less time to focus on me. It did seem that for the next five months or so, providing I didn’t go into premature labor, I would be safe.

I turned back to the chamber. Doña Josefa sat on a stool close to the hearth, adding panels to one of my new brocade gowns, while Beatriz embroidered its hem. Outraged by the threadbare remnants in my wardrobe, Beatriz didn’t cease complaining until she cajoled a Burgos merchant to donate a costly (albeit limited) supply of cloth, out of which she and Doña Josefa conjured three new dresses and a cloak for me.

“There’s another banquet tonight in the castle,” I remarked. “The torches are lit on the gates.”

Beatriz scowled. “Don Manuel may plead poverty to anyone who cares to listen, but he’ll never willingly forgo his own pleasure. How he can dare call himself a Spaniard is beyond me. The plague rages throughout the realm, killing off our people and leaving our grain to molder in the fields, and he slaughters geese and oxen by the dozens so he can hold his feasts.”

I chuckled. “It’s all he has to offer. Either he feeds the nobles or they’ll eat him.”

“Let us pray the admiral brings His Majesty back soon before the
flamencos
eat Castile.”

I put a finger to my lips. “Beatriz, hush. Someone’s coming.” We were alone. My half sister, Joanna, had made a vague excuse to absent herself this evening and I didn’t bother to query her further. I could scarcely bear her falsely obsequious manner and cat-eye stare. I might have dismissed her entirely from service had I not deemed it wiser to keep her and her husband the constable on my side.

I heard the sound of footsteps outside my door. It flung open and Joanna rushed in. Her coiffed hair was disheveled; her jewels and lavish gown proof that she had indeed been feasting with the court tonight. Without warning she gasped: “Your Highness must come at once. They are bringing the archduke here from the castle! He—he has fallen gravely ill.”

I STEPPED INTO EERILY
quiet apartments. Philip lay in his banqueting costume on the red brocade bed, his silver tissue doublet open to his naval, exposing his fine linen chemise, drenched in sweat. This sight of him gave me pause. I despised him more than I had despised anyone in my life but he’d always been a dynamic man, always in motion. The only times I’d seen him still was when he slept, either after a night of lovemaking or drunken excess.

I saw Villena and Benavente standing in the antechamber. Joanna joined them, her face white as she clung to her grim one-eyed husband. They must have brought Philip here, but I could see in their stance they would flee as soon as I turned my back. Though the plague hadn’t spread north yet, the mere whisper of it swept all semblance of loyalty aside.

A physician in a black robe bent over the bed. When he heard my approach, he turned to me. The resignation in his eyes made my heart pause. “What is wrong with him?” I asked in a thread of a voice, and I realized that despite my lack of volume I sounded perfectly calm.

He sighed. “I was told His Highness complained of some stomach pain in the afternoon and retired to his rooms to rest. He later sent word that he would attend the banquet tonight, where he collapsed. At first I thought he had drunk too much wine or that his roast had gone bad, but now that I’ve examined him I’m inclined to think whatever it is he’s been fighting it for some time.”

I looked at Philip. He was moaning in his delirium. “He’s been healthy all of his life,” I heard myself say. “I’ve never known him to have so much as a cold.”

The physician motioned, “Your Highness, if you would?” I jerked forward. I smelled human waste as he parted Philip’s chemise. The linen was plastered to his skin; as the physician peeled back the cloth, I covered my mouth. Philip’s neck was swollen, the skin tinged with a blistery, virulent rash that seemed to spread to his chest even as I watched. Even the palms of his hands bore the blisters. He had also soiled himself, and his breeches had been removed.

“Is it…?” I couldn’t speak the word aloud.

He shook his head. “If it is the plague, I’ve never seen it manifest like this before. This swelling and discoloration are more consistent with some type of water fever.”

Water fever. Besançon had contracted a water fever.

“Your Highness, I believe we should send for an expert. Such ailments are beyond my limited wisdom. I know of one in Salamanca, versed in such maladies: Dr. de Santillana.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Do it. And before you go, tell them I’ll need warm water and cloths.”

I DID NOT LEAVE HIS SIDE.

Some no doubt said I was a fool for love, a woman so far gone I surrendered even the last shreds of my pride, for never was my madness more apparent than in that hour when I agreed to tend my mortal enemy, when any sane person would have walked away and let him die.

But they had never known love. They had never felt its wildfire and brimstone. Philip was my enemy, but I had loved him once. I would not let him suffer alone like a beast. I would not have it said one day to our children that I denied their father in his hour of need.

I was a queen. I knew the meaning of honor.

I removed his soiled clothing and bathed his feverish body with my own hands. It was no longer the body I remembered, taut with youth and vigor. That gorgeous sculpture of white muscle had turned flaccid, corrupted by vice and wine and his own relentless demons; but at the touch of my fingers his skin seemed to remember me and respond.

I then called for Doña Josefa and Beatriz. Together, we dressed him in a fresh linen bed gown and eased him under the covers. No one else made an appearance. Only Don Manuel expressed concern, albeit via a courier who stayed only long enough to hand me his missive. Word had gotten out of Philip’s collapse and fear of the plague ran through Burgos, with many fleeing with whatever they could carry. I found it telling that even my half sister, Joanna, forsook her preoccupation with my state, promptly leaving for her country home outside the city, where the constable no doubt joined her. In less than twenty-four hours, Philip went from aspiring king to abandoned victim.

Within the
casa,
the silence was broken only by his whimpers as he fought the fever. The physician’s name was Dr. Parra, a simple medic with no experience treating royalty. His pale face showed his overriding anxiety that his exalted patient might die in his care.

Beatriz kept me fed and Doña Josefa tended to the washing of linens and the fire. I often found myself alone in that room, seated on a stool by the bed, swabbing Philip’s brow with rose water. It was as though a wall of glass enclosed me. I was not afraid, not even for the unborn child in my womb. I knew with a curious certainty that whatever afflicted my husband would not harm me.

On the fourth day, Dr. de Santillana arrived.

A corpulent man with fleshy jowls, he hummed over Philip. After poking and prodding his swollen glands, scrutinizing his white-coated tongue and the rings of his bloodshot irises, Santillana made an uncomfortable moue and turned away to discourse with Dr. Parra. I went across the chamber to where the doctors stood.

“Well? What is it?”

Santillana glanced past me to the bed. Philip reclined on mounded pillows, his eyes closed, his face so white it blended with the linen.

“Your Highness,” said Santillana, “might we step outside?”

I wondered at the need for privacy, seeing as Philip had not regained consciousness. Still, I led the doctors into the indoor patio. Sunlight flashed off the colored paving stones and center fountain, where water trickled from the mossy spout. I blinked, adjusting my vision, which had grown accustomed to the gloom of the sick chamber.

It was a lovely day, I thought faintly.

I sat on a nearby stone bench, folding my hands in my lap, utterly serene. I must have looked it, as well, for Santillana and Parra exchanged a puzzled glance before the portly expert blew out his breath in a worried puff. “Your Highness, I don’t quite know how to begin.”

“Just say it. Whatever it is, I want to know.”

“Well, it is not a water fever as we first thought.”

“Then, what? The plague?” Water fever or plague, it didn’t matter. I just needed to know if he would survive. Everything depended on it.

“No, not the plague.” Santillana let out a troubled sigh. “Your Highness, I believe your husband has the pox.”

“The pox?” I stared, completely taken aback. “Are you saying he has the French malady?”

“Unfortunately, I am. It is rarely seen in Spain. I myself have never treated a case of it. However, His Highness’s symptoms match those described by colleagues who have.”

“But you’ve not treated it yourself, so you can’t be certain.” I collected myself in the ensuing silence. For a moment, the world had spun out of control. I recalled that Philip had consorted with that French harlot, whom I assaulted in Flanders. She’d had a sore on her mouth. Had she infected him? And if so, had he given it to me? I thought he mustn’t have, for surely I would have fallen ill by now or at the very least failed to conceive.

Santillana sighed. “If it is the pox, he will recover. The disease produces terrible symptoms at first and then it disappears. I’d say this is the first stage. The infection can hide for years afterward.” He raised somber eyes. “Your Highness must know that I’ve not heard of any man, or woman, who escaped the disease’s ravages. Though they may appear to completely recover and regain their strength, in the end they all go insane, though of course His Highness may have many years ahead of him, with the proper care.”