The Creation Of Eve (39 page)

"Can I not just go hawking by myself?" the Prince exclaimed just this morning, after Mass.

We were taking a family walk in the flower garden. Dew still clung to the spring-bright greenery along the walkway, dampening the edges of the ladies' skirts. It was the usual cozy gathering of Royal blood--the King and Queen, the King's sister Dona Juana, Don Carlos, Don Juan, and myself. The only one missing was Don Alessandro, who had recently left, grumbling, to wed Princess Maria of Portugal. I was allowed to accompany the family with the idea that I should sketch pictures of them as they ambled. Strolling guitarists and attending servants, Francesca included, completed our little group.

"I have got a headache," said Don Carlos. "I just want to hawk."

In the woods across the river, the cooing of wood doves, the ever-present spirits of Aranjuez, could be heard over the soft strumming of the guitars. The King studied his son. "Have you tried the powders I sent you?"

"I liked the new herbs doctor Debruyne gave me. At least they didn't dry out my throat. Why did you send him to Sevilla with doctor Hernandez? I liked him. You're not a doctor!"

I made myself peer into the woods. Doctor Debruyne had been sent to Sevilla? Although I had not seen him these past months, I had thought he was at El Escorial or Valsain or one of the King's other experimental gardens, and that we had only just missed each other as the court had traveled from palace to palace in the King's new search for pleasure.

Don Carlos kicked a rare Turkish tulip, heavy with moisture, sprawling from its bed. "It would do me more good to let Striker catch wood doves than to drag around these gardens."

"Thank you for coming along and humoring me in my wish for Us to be close as a family," the King said in an ironic tone, "even with your dry mouth."

Dona Juana snapped her fingers and pointed at a red tulip standing Upright in its bed. Francesca, the closest of the servants, bustled forth and with a grunt plucked the flower, sending off a shower of dewdrops. She gave it to Dona Juana.

Dona Juana took a whiff. "Stinks." She dropped the bloom.

Don Juan, carrying my easel next to me, drew in a quiet breath.

The King slid his hand around the Queen's neck. "I mean not to torture you, Carlos. My most treasured memories as a youth were when traveling with my family--I only wish that for you. Remember visiting Aunt Mary's palace in Brussels, Juana?"

"Yes," Dona Juana said flatly. "Her chambers stunk of overripe jasmine and fried garlic."

"I don't remember that," said the King, frowning. "But I do recall her showing Us her works of art. It is where I first saw the work of El Bosco."

"Oh," said Dona Juana, "is that whom we have to blame for your heretical tastes--Aunt Mary?"

"I cannot help that you refuse to see the spiritual message in El Bosco's work, Juana," said the King. "How he must have suffered, imagining Hell so vividly on earth."

"Hell on earth," said Don Juan. "Imagine." He threw a stick for the reddish-furred mongrel he had recently found in the woods. The dog raced Cher-Ami to the prize.

"These are dangerous times to speak lightly of Hell, little brother," said Dona Juana, her harsh voice discordant with the music of the guitars. "The Pope has asked Inquisitor-General Valdes to step Up his vigilance in Spain now that the Protestant Huguenots are making such deep inroads into France. In this new atmosphere, men might go to the stake for saying"--she shrugged--"just about anything."

The King stroked the Queen's neck as they walked. "Juan is amongst friends--he need not watch his words here."

It would seem this was true. Instead of censoring his brother since the incident at the pond last fall, the King has treated Don Juan like a dear friend, including him on all his journeys and at every family gathering.

Indeed, he has scarcely let Don Juan out of his sight.

"Heresy is not a problem in Spain now," said the King. "There has not been one
auto-de-fe
this year."

"A mistake," said Dona Juana. "Father left it to me to keep Spain pure and--"

"I think you may rest now," the King said. "The Inquisitor-General, too. I wonder if he might grow too fond of the power that has been given him."

Dona Juana lowered her brow, white-lashed eyes flashing. "Some of Us take the sacred charge that has been given Us by Father with all due seriousness. If you think for one minute we take it on for our own personal gratification, when some of Us could be sitting back instead, wearing new gowns daily and playing with little dogs--"

The Queen broke in, Unaware, it seemed, of the ill feelings rising around her. "My Lord, may I take a painting to my mother?"

The King gazed Upon her, a slight frown penetrating his mask of
sosiego
. After a separation of more than five years, My Lady is to meet the French Queen Mother in June, at the border between France and Spain. Queen Catherine is on progress with her son the young King Charles, her wish being to show him the full extent of his kingdom. In all his nearly fifteen years, the boy has not been much beyond Paris. But even Francesca mutters that the French Queen Mother's true reason for coming to the border is to meet with our King to remind him of his allegiance with France, and as for seeing her daughter--here Francesca spits before continuing--well, that is just an afterthought.

"Which painting do you think she would like?" the King asked.

"How about one of those El Boscos?" Dona Juana suggested sweetly. "I think she would like
The Garden of Earthly Delights.
"

The King glanced at her, unamused. For him to offer the French Queen Mother any of his precious paintings at all was generous. Truth be told, his relationship with Queen Catherine is on poor footing that grows ever poorer. Whereas the King had long ago nipped in the bud the problem of civil Unrest by allowing Inquisitor-General Valdes to crank Up his rack, Queen Catherine shores Up the power of the French Crown by entering into secret agreements with every monarch in Europe. Against the Protestants threatening her from within her own country, she gathers Up foreign allies like so many chess pieces, going so far of late as to make an accord with the Turkish Sultan Suleiman, who plans to sail against Spain at any moment. The King had reluctantly been planning to meet with her, but after learning of her alliance with someone with whom he is at war has broken off all plans. Only My Lady's most heartrending pleas caused him to allow her to join her mother still, and even that was on one condition suggested by Dona Juana: that no French Protestant nobles accompany Queen Catherine at the reunion.

Now, for the first time in my memory, the Queen agreed with Dona Juana. "I would like Mother to have an El Bosco. She has nothing quite like them. But
The Garden of Earthly Delights
is too frightening. Even I cannot look at that one, with its strange beasts and monstrous fruits and skewered men. Could you possibly spare the tabletop with the Seven Deadly Sins painted Upon it, instead?"

The King drew in a breath. It was well known that of all the Boscos save for
The Garden,
the King favored the tabletop painting especially. He keeps it in the Queen's bedchamber and allows not even the smallest cup or book of devotions to be placed Upon it. "If you truly think, my darling . . ."

"I think she would be edified by its many lessons, My Lord. The little dogs fighting over a bone in 'Envy' will delight her--she is as fond of dogs as I am."

"As I recall," said the King, "she has a Leonardo--the one of the woman with the haunting smile, you had said."

"
La Gioconda
, Sofi said it is called."

"Yes. Precisely. Perhaps your mother would like one of his contemporary's works, a Botticelli, perhaps. Or if she likes something a little older, I have several beautiful van Eycks from the collection of my great-grandmother Isabel."

"Are we not yet finished with this walk?" Don Carlos said. "I am tired."

Dona Juana ignored him. "Too bad you don't have a Michelangelo to Unload," she said to the King. She lifted her brows in my direction. "I suppose we shall never know the whole truth about him, shall we? Sofonisba, did I ever tell you that I learned the name of the man after whom Michelangelo lusted?"

Francesca's short veil swished as she glanced at me. Don Juan looked at me as well.

"Does the name Tiberio Calcagni sound familiar?"

Guitar music swelled into the damp river air as a thudding filled my ears.

"My Lord, you are always so generous," said the Queen. "I should not have asked you for one more thing. Forget I asked for a picture."

"I will give her the tabletop--I wish for you to be happy."

Dona Juana's bone-lashed gaze traveled from me to her brother.

"Then you will go with me to see my mother, My Lord?" said the Queen.

The King looked grieved. "You know I cannot do that. As much as I'd like to please you, she has pushed me too far with her accord with Suleiman. I am sorry, darling."

I walked along numbly. This is why I had not heard from Tiberio. He was the Maestro's lover. But this could not be.

I took a deep breath for courage. "Your Majesty," I asked Dona Juana, "how do they know it is Tiberio Calcagni?"

Dona Juana's face lit. "Oh, you do know him? H'm. You may not recognize him now, not after his stint in the Castel Sant'Angelo. He has been held there for some time now, and will continue being held, at least Until he confesses to his relationship with Michelangelo. Once he has confessed, he will find what is left of himself rowing on a galley. Truly, the prison might be preferable."

The Queen sighed, not listening. "Then, My Lord, will you not mind if at least someone of the Blood accompanies me? May Don Carlos go?"

Don Carlos's pale eyes opened wide. His frail frame jerked Upright. "Oh, Father, may I?"

"Do not tell me you would consider letting your heir go to those French!" Dona Juana said incredulously to the King. "Father would never have considered such a thing. If I still ruled . . ."

His Majesty drew in a breath, then exhaled slowly. "You can go, Carlos."

I felt Don Juan's touch Upon my elbow. He slid me a look of concern. I struggled harder to master my mask of calm.

"Thank you, Father!" Don Carlos grabbed the Queen's hand and swung it. "Thank you for asking me! Oh, we shall have such fun!" He gasped. "What do French men wear at court? How shall I dress?"

The Queen laughed. "If you wish to look truly French, my Toad, you must dangle the biggest pearl you can find from your earlobe."

"A pearl?" He felt his ear.

Dona Juana glared at her brother, her mind, it seemed, no longer on toying with me. She would have been gratified to know how much damage she had done. "Why don't you lend him La Peregrina
,
Elisabeth?" she said in a friendly voice.

The Queen's mouth tightened. She looked to the King for support, but he was staring, cross-armed, at his sister.

Dona Juana met his gaze with a lowered brow. "Why don't you let Don Juan go too, then, Felipe? He 's such a help to Carlos." She smiled. "You have no objection, do you?"

ITEM:
El Diablo sabe mucho, porque es viejo
. (The Devil knows much, because he is old.)

--SPANISH PROVERB

14 JUNE 1565

Saint-Jean-de-Luz, France

It is unusually hot here in the South of France for mid-June. I have always wished to travel to France, and today, in accompanying the Queen, I have finally done so, though Francesca will not stop grumbling about the heat. By the eleven-o'clock bells, our fine clothes hung on our bodies like wet sacks. By twelve, clouds of gnats rose from the river as if exhaled by the water. By one, the gnats were melting into our eyes as we crossed into France. We heard later that six French soldiers standing guard on the riverbank expired within their armor, cooked like snails in their shells. An inauspicious day, then, for My Lady's reunion with her mother, a fact surely not lost Upon that most superstitious of queens, Catherine de' Medici.

New pearl earrings a-swing, Don Carlos and Don Juan came this morning after Mass. They were to escort Us to the reception hall in the moldy little palace at which we stayed in Irun. The Queen's brother Henri awaited Us, come to fetch his sister and to cross the river with her into France. We were dressed in the richest clothes, as the King had given the Queen an Unlimited purse to spend Upon the preparations for meeting her mother. Although English piracy and keeping peace have bled the King's coffers dry, it is far more important to look rich than actually to be rich.

"Look at you!" My Lady cried when the two
caballeros
entered her chamber, her face turning a deep pink. Though the twelve-o'clock bells had just rung, the braids wrapped around my head were already heavy with sweat. The maids of the condesa and madame de Clermont were pouring cool water over their mistresses' wrists--the guards at the door could have benefited from such treatment. The pungent odor of overheated, Unwashed flesh oozed from Under their armor.

"Look at you,
mon cheri
!" cried My Lady. "You look so French." She threw her arms around Don Carlos, then kissed him soundly on both cheeks. He kissed her back, lingering on the second kiss.

"You look so pretty, My Lady," he said, withdrawing tenderly. "No, not just pretty, beautiful. More beautiful than any woman in the world."

"My dear little Toad. You are always so sweet."

She lifted her gaze to Don Juan, standing back with his arms folded. He came forward and quickly kissed her cheek, the sweat-darkened ends of his blond hair dragging against the cords of his neck.

The Queen smiled brightly at Don Carlos. "Have you seen my brother? How does he look? It has been five and a half years--he was just eight when I left."

The condesa marched from behind the screen. "My Lady, are we ready?" With a scowl at the guards, she took one last fortifying whiff of her pomander, then let it drop on its chain from her girdle before plucking Up the long train suspended from the Queen's pearl-encrusted gown. Cher-Ami scampered forward to trot self-importantly before Us.