The Creation Of Eve (44 page)

"Oh," said Don Carlos, "so you do notice when she's ill, then?"

A slight cloud passed over the King's calm features. He sat forward in his saddle to peer into the cage before him. "I hope my lioness does not plan to escape soon. She has a surprise coming for her--" He looked at the Queen. "A mate. Perhaps a cub can come from it."

"A cub," she said flatly. "I should like that."

Don Carlos looked his father Up and down. "Why are you letting your hair grow? It is longer than Don Juan's."

I could not help glancing between the King, with his graying hair drawn back beneath his fur hat in a tidy queue, and Don Juan, his carelessly tousled locks catching in the wind.

"The King tells me that the camel in his collection has given birth," said the Queen. "Would you please show me, dear Toad?"

The King's hand went toward his queue. He frowned. "Yes, do show her."

"I will, but not because you asked me. Come, Elisabeth."

"I should like to walk," said the Queen.

"Help her down, Juan," said Don Carlos. "I'm not that strong today. Tomorrow I shall be better."

Don Juan stepped to the edge of the litter. The wind picked Up, rippling the scarlet hangings. My Lady closed her eyes and leaned into the waiting arms of Don Juan.

She opened her eyes and beheld him as he set her on the ground.

"Don Juan," said the King. "May I have a word?"

Don Carlos snatched at the Queen's hand. "Come! You don't have to tag along, Sofi," he said when I started to join them. "Just hold on to Cher-Ami."

The remainder of Us watched them go, Don Carlos's pale countenance lit Up with eagerness as he chatted, Her Majesty's face, already fuller even this early in her pregnancy, alert as she glanced at Us over her shoulder.

"Walk with me," said the King to Don Juan.

They strolled past the bars of the enclosure, Don Juan's red dog padding behind them. I stared as if transfixed at the far side of the lioness's cage, where the poor shaggy beast trod the straw-strewn earth. Francesca gazed, too, adept at becoming invisible.

The King and his brother had gotten only as far as the other corner of the cage when His Majesty said, "May I ask you something?" He watched, expressionless, as Don Juan made a soothing sound at the lioness.

Don Juan straightened. "Of course."

"Does my son seem worse to you?"

"Does he to you?"

The King opened his mouth, then closed it. He started again. "I have had reports. I need not remind you that his pages are sons of important people. They cannot be cuffed about like peasants."

"I have spoken with each of the young men," said Don Juan, "when it was necessary. They Understand the situation."

"My son, the 'situation.' " The King sighed deeply. "How did it come to this? I remember when he was a babe in the cradle. I had such high hopes for him--such a beautiful child. He was all I had. I lost his mother at his birth."

Francesca's chin drew Up closer to her brow. It is commonly said that the King had ignored his first wife, bedding her only enough to plant his seed. It is reported that he had shed no tears at her funeral. She had been just seventeen, and he eighteen.

"I must have respect," said the King. "My position--the security of my kingdoms--requires it. How am I to ask men to give their lives for a man who cannot control his own son?"

"I will work with him, but the problem is not dire. Those around him know his generous side, his natural sweetness. We know he means no harm. He is given to his emotions, good or bad--we all Understand that."

"He cannot be ruled by emotions if he is to be King. My father--
our
father taught me that." The King pushed away from the cage. "Why do you care about my son so?"

Don Juan smiled calmly. "He is like a brother to me."

"I am your brother."

They stared at each other, two dogs with a bone lying between them, sizing Up their opponents.

"And so I trust you," said the King.

"My Lord!" called the Queen. She approached hurriedly, Don Carlos lagging behind her. "The newborn camel is pure sweetness! Such long lashes, like a human child."

"I am glad you like it." The King gathered her against himself. "Do you feel well, my pet?"

Her gaze traveled to Don Juan.

The screech of rusty metal rent the air. Shouts went Up from the King's German guards just as the lioness streaked past Us, her tufted tail arched like a monkey's.

"Look at her go!" Don Juan banged closed the cage door. "Fly, birdie, fly!"

The lioness bounded toward the maze. A German guard chopped the air with his halberd, blocking her way. The beast changed directions, surprisingly light on heavy paws, then changed direction again when charged Upon by a pitchfork-waving keeper screaming in Flemish. Her exits cut off, the animal lowered into a crouch, switching her tail.

Don Juan put himself between the beast and the advancing keepers. "Everyone," he ordered in a quiet voice, "allow her room."

The lioness's great bony chest heaved as she glanced left and right, considering her options.

"Shh, my beauty," Don Juan whispered. "I promise, we will not hurt you."

The big cat stared, her ears pivoting to pick Up the excited murmurs in Spanish, Flemish, and German around her. She swallowed in nervousness.

I felt the intensity of another gaze close by. I peered past Francesca, her fist balled at her mouth, past Don Carlos, hands on hips, grinning, Until my sights caught Upon the Queen. Her chin tilted Up as if fighting against the invisible bonds holding her from within, she beheld Don Juan with a yearning so naked I had to look away.

When I did so, I noticed the King.

He was watching her, too.

He snatched an arquebus from a guard and slapped it to his shoulder. A scream scorched my throat: "No!"

The gun went off. The lioness spun around and bounded past the maze.

The guards gaped at the King, still pointing his gun Upward, the direction in which he'd shot it.

"Get your nets," he said serenely. "Be sure you capture her well away from the Queen."

He waited Until they ran off in a din of clanging armor.

"Dona Sofonisba," he said.

My heart banged my chest like a fist. I had publicly challenged the man responsible for the Queen's--for my--for most of the world's--wellbeing. A man who could and would do anything he pleased.

I could feel Francesca's frightened look Upon me.

I curtseyed low and long. "Your Majesty."

When I arose, his calm expression was almost puzzled. "Sofonisba, did you truly think I could hurt such a beautiful creature?"

"No, My Lord."

He regarded me for a long moment. "I have word for you. From Rome." His calm eyes lingered on my face. I fought back the panic rising in my gut. "About the man you asked the Queen and me to make inquiries into."

He handed the arquebus back to the guard.

"I must tell you, he is dead."

I write this tonight with the aid of a full goblet. Francesca has not stopped me each time I have refilled it. They have not yet captured the lioness, though the King's hunters have tracked her into the hills to the north of Madrid. They will catch her soon and bring her back safely, or so I heard the King promise My Lady, before he shut himself in her chamber for the night.

ITEM:
Tactus eruditus
(Latin, "learned touch") refers to a doctor's ability to glean information about a patient's condition by applying his fingers to the patient's pulse. The rhythm, strength, and tempo, considered together, are called pulse music.

15 AUGUST 1566

Valsain, the House in the Woods of Segovia

Isabel Clara Eugenia she is named. She was born to the Queen at Valsain on the twelfth of August. Oh, what a little beauty she is, with a tuft of dark hair and her mother's dark eyes and gossamer ridges where her father's arched brows will appear. Her lips and chin resemble her mother's thus far, a happy victory, at last, of Valois over Hapsburg. Her grandmother will be pleased by this, if not by her lesser sex.

Today we celebrated her baptism. To that end, we met in the main courtyard in the early morning, to wait for the carriages that would take Us to the nearby town of Segovia, to the ancient Cathedral being rebuilt there at the King's command. Bees droned in the dewy hedges, birds cheeped from their nests in the palace walls, and cowbells clanked from the meadows nearby Until horses and carriages burst onto the cobblestones, drowning the morning music in the rumble of wheels and clatter of hooves. I alit in my assigned carriage, a conveyance far back in the queue. Without the Queen, who was dangerously ill and abed, my rank was much reduced. Indeed, I did not want to go. I wished to stay with My Lady, for the birth had nearly killed her and her life hung in the balance yet, a fact not readily apparent from the festive dress and air displayed by the men and women now packed inside the carriages.

Wedged between two ladies smelling strongly of jasmine, I braced myself against the rocking of our vehicle as it hurtled through the woods toward Segovia. In less than a turning of an hourglass, the high arches of the famous aqueduct from Roman times came into view. Its weed-sprouted pillars, towering over the wall encircling the town, were a jarring reminder of the great civilization that had flowered and flourished and then withered into silence. The line of carriages, reduced to child's toys at its granite-block feet, came to the yellow stone gates of the city and thundered inside, where they were greeted by cheers from the people lining the streets. From their brick and timber houses, the people strained for a view while singing thanks and praise for their Lady and her child.

At last the carriages reached their destination, and the Court assembled within the bare marble walls of the Unfinished Cathedral. We stood at the base of the massive stone piers of the aisle and waited for our King to enter.

He arrived to loud fanfare, with the crown of Fernando Upon his head and no expression on his face. Was he worried about My Lady? We had left her in a state of near-unconsciousness. She might not be alive when we returned, but to save the soul of her child, the baptism had to go forward. Yet how I wished to flee the place, a place made no less distressing to me even with the sweet voices of choirboys echoing from the arched stone vaults above. My Lady hated this church. Once, several years back, we had come with the King to see his new alterations. A bird had flown in and could not find its way out, its screams growing ever more frantic as it flew higher and higher and found itself more trapped. A workman flung a stone. The bird plummeted to the floor. Cheers went Up from the workers on scaffolds and pushing wheelbarrows. My Lady had rushed out into the bright light of day, swearing she would never come again.

I fear that might be true.

Now the King, in his crown and ermine, stopped before the altar and turned. With a rustle of hundreds of rich silks, the crowd turned, too, and beheld, delicately carrying a bundle of ribbons and lace, Don Juan, his handsome face pinched with contained emotion. The King had chosen his brother as godfather.

The bishop entered, resplendent in crimson encrusted with tiny pearls from his miter to the hem of his chasuble, and Mass began. After the bishop had swung his censer, wafting incense over Us penitents, he started the spoken rite, intoning in Latin that broke in waves from pier to ceiling to the marble floor, the reverberations punctuated with an occasional echoing cough or scrape of a slippered foot. The King and Don Juan were bidden to the alabaster baptismal font, an ancient piece carved with the shields of long-gone kings.

The bishop raised his voice, his words lost in the crash of echoes. He stared expectantly at Don Juan. Don Juan gazed into the baby's pink face, then held her Up to receive her holy sprinkling, the white ribbons of her gown shaking as he did so.

In sonorous Latin, the bishop asked for her father to make the sign of the cross Upon the child's forehead. Slowly, the King took his gaze from his brother and transferred it to his newborn daughter, and there it remained, rapt, for the rest of the service.

Not soon enough, the rites were over, and deafened by clanging bells, I waited for my carriage to return me to Valsain and the Queen. A golden carriage rattled Up; its curtain was pushed aside. Dona Juana's face, framed in black and white by the nun's habit she has taken to wearing, appeared at the window.

"Sofonisba, will you join Us?"

A footman opened the heavy golden door. Inside sat Dona Juana and dona Eufrasia, no less beautiful now that she has returned to court. Across from them, like a great sow settled comfortably in a mud puddle, sat Inquisitor-General Valdes, a sweet smile on his fleshy face.

He patted the cushioned seat with heavily ringed fingers. "Sit, my dear. Sit."

I sat, immediately sinking toward his spicily perfumed bulk.

"We were just speaking of you," said Dona Juana.

The Inquisitor-General nodded. "I have been to see the Pope."

I stared. Michelangelo was dead, as was Tiberio. What could they possibly want? Had the King told his sister that he had inquired into Tiberio for me? What harm could she do to me and to the Queen with this information?