The Last Queen (11 page)

“Begin,” I ordered. The women hastened to dress me in the underskirt and bodice

slashed with gold tissue. They attached the lynx-trimmed sleeves, fastened the stays

that held girdle and bodice in place, cinching my waist into a narrow triangle. I stared

defiantly into the glass, hiding my discomfort with the low square neckline that

exposed my breasts almost to my nipples.

Doña Ana exploded. “This is a scandal! When has an infanta of Spain ever

selected her own wardrobe, much less pranced about in such a brazen apparel?”

She had gone too far. I whirled about. “
Enough!
I‟ll not be spoken to as if I were a child!”

Doña Ana‟s mouth hung open. Before she could find her voice, Madame de

Halewin moved to me. “I believe this sleeve should be raised at the shoulder,” she

murmured.

About us, the Flemish girls looked from Doña Ana to Madame de Halewin and

back to me. Beatriz went to Doña Ana. “Señora, let us take a walk. You look pale.”

“Yes,” I added pointedly, “go with Beatriz.” I waved preemptory hand.

Doña Ana trudged out. As the door closed, I distinctly heard her say: “She‟ll not

get away with this. I‟ll write to Spain this afternoon, so help me God.”

Madame de Halewin waved aside the whispering girls. “You too. Get to work.

Her Highness‟s bed chamber needs cleansing.”

I studied my reflection. Doña Ana would not spoil this for me. The gown might

be indecent according to Spanish standards but it was more luxurious than anything

I‟d owned. And I had a lovely bosom; everyone said so. Why shouldn‟t I display it to

advantage? Veils and high-collared robes would not go over well in the Habsburg

court.

Madame de Halewin met my gaze. With uncanny prescience, she said, “I cannot

help but notice your duenna‟s outbursts have become more frequent.” She let out a

sigh. “Your Highness has shown remarkable restraint, considering she acts as though

you‟re incapable of making your own decisions. What will she do when you embark

on your tour with His Highness, I wonder? The Habsburg territories are large.

Germany, Austria, Holland: the trip could take months.”

The intimation in her words cut deep, as did the thought of Doña Ana blighting

what in effect would be my official presentation by Philip to our future subjects. As

Madame knelt to check my hem, I suddenly realized I couldn‟t stomach another

confrontation with my duenna.

“Madame, I was thinking I might relieve my matrons for a time of their

responsibilities, at least until I return from my trip. What would you advise?”

She inclined her head. “I think it‟s a wise idea. Poor dears, the change in climate

alone for women of their age can be quite upsetting.” She pinned up my skirt to

adjust it. “Perhaps your matrons might be transferred to their own quarters while

Your Highness is away?”

In the mirror, I thought I saw her smile. “Your Highness needn‟t concern yourself

with the details. Once you depart, there‟ll be sufficient room in the palace to

accommodate them.”

“In truth?” I said, “It seems everywhere I look there are hordes of people. I‟ve

even heard that our less fortunate courtiers sleep with the hounds in the rushes.”

“Nevertheless, there are quarters we can designate.”

I considered. If proper accommodations could indeed be found, it seemed the

perfect solution and would allow my duenna and me a much-needed respite from

each other. I was found of Doña Ana, in the end. How could I not be? She‟d help

raised us. I just didn‟t want her interfering in what I regarded as my purview, nor did I want her ranting at me night and day while I sought to make a suitable impression.

“And you can assure me they‟ll be well cared for?” I asked.

“Absolutely. We‟ll pay for their maintenance out of your own privy purse.”

I reflected a few more moments, while she busied herself with my dress. At

length, I said, “See to it. No doubt, we‟ll all appreciate the change.” I laughed, albeit a little nervously. “All of us, that is, save Doña Ana.”

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furious quarrel ensued when Doña Ana was informed neither she nor any of

my Spanish matrons would accompany me. She threatened to take the next

A ship back to Spain and I retaliated by offering her paid passage. I refused to

see her after that, celebrating the New Year festivities of 1497 with Philip in grand

style before we departed on the first league of my trip.

While on the road, we received word that Margaret and my brother, Juan, had

wed in Spain, to great fanfare. Sad news accompanied this missive; in the midst of the

nuptial festivities, my grandmother passed away quietly in Arévalo.

I felt a profound, unexpected grief. I hadn‟t forgotten my visit with her, and one

night in bed I almost confessed to Philip, longing to unburden myself of the secret I

carried. But I did not. Something warned me he wouldn‟t understand. He had lived

most of his life without family. He would surely judge my mother as a hard and cold

ruler, much like his father was. And so I hid behind a bitter smile, while in my mind

remembering my grandmother‟s haunting eyes and her whisper,
Why are you afraid―?

My preoccupation faded as our trip progress and Philip strived to show me off to

his people. In every township we entered, jubilant crowds rushed out to greet us.

Elaborate welcomes were staged, and lord mayors presented us with gilded keys and

proclamations. The lad also began to reveal itself to me, its fields dotted with tulips

and painted cities bright as newly minted coins. Shining rivers crisscrossed vales

where the game was so abundant Philip told me one hardly needed to draw one‟s

bow, and swaths of forest entranced the eye.

Still, I didn‟t see anything to compare with the sheer breadth of Spain‟s

magnificence, no austere plateaus that plunged into fertile valleys, no endlessly

changing skies. In Flanders everything seemed new, a fitting accompaniment to my

new life; and soon I was tossing coins from my purse to the crowds with a largesse

that would have been unknown in my country, reveling in the anonymous faces

gazing up at me as if I were a goddess.

_________________

IN LATE APRIL WE WENT TO THE HABSBURG KINGDOM OF AUSTRIA for a

weeklong visit with Philip‟s father, the emperor Maximilian. I was curious to meet my

exalted father-in-law, ruler of half the civilized world and inheritor of the coveted

crown of Holy Emperor. I found him a staid man of robust health and little humor.

His palace was magnificent, filled with aspiring scholars and artists seeking his favor;

and evidence of his wealth was everywhere. As a welcoming gift, he gave me a

necklace of emeralds so heavy it hurt to wear it, and we dined with him and his

second wife, the Italian-born empress., on gold plate so encrusted with gems I could

scarcely pick it up. I couldn‟t help but think of how my mother had pawned her jewels

and melted her plate to finance her wars, and how to this day she had her gowns

mended and re-mended while she painstakingly saved up the coin she needed to

reclaim her jewelry from the money-lenders.

I attended my first (and my last) bear bait at the Austrian court, held in honor of

our visit. I‟d heard of this particular custom, but nothing could have prepared me

before the pitiful roars of that proud black beast chained to a stake in the pit,

surrounded by yelling courtiers as mastiffs took turns tearing it apart. The bear

managed to gore and disembowel three of the savage dogs before it in turn was taken

down; by then I was faint from the stench of blood and entrails, and sickened by the

court‟s apparent delight in the suffering of these creatures. I rose to excuse myself,

followed by my equally green-faced ladies; Philip barely paid me mind, flushed from

his shouting and keen on winning the bets he‟d laid with his men. As I staggered from

the tiers with my hand pressed to my mouth, desperate for fresh air, I heard

Maximilian drawl, “I never heard of a Spaniard lacking for spleen when it came to

slaughter.”

I almost retorted that spleen or not, he‟d never see such barbarity exercised in

Spain. Then I recalled Cisneros‟s burning of heretics and clamped my jaw.

Nevertheless, I vowed to never again witness such gleeful torture.

I also saw firsthand the tension between Philip and his father, confirming

everything my husband had told me about their estrangement. Though they

resembled each other physically, they spoke on the most formal of terms, without a

single gesture of affection between them. When the time came for us to leave, even

their farewell was carefully rehearsed and utterly lacking in any warmth.

After that, Philip and I were obliged to separate. It would be our first time apart

since our wedding. He would continue on to the official gathering of his Estates-

General, a governing body composed of officials from the imperial states, while I

returned to Brussels. I wanted to stay with him, but he assured me I‟d be bored to

tears and he wouldn‟t have a moment to spare. “Not to mention that your presence

would be too tempting of a distraction,” he added, with a wink.

So my entourage and I returned to our palace. The afternoon following my arrival

I took to the gallery, eager to tell all those ladies who hadn‟t accompanied me about

my adventures, for I must admit, I‟d enjoyed being the center of attention and was

loath to relinquish the role.

I was so engrossed in my own splendor I almost failed to mark the timid girl who

crept tentatively toward me, a chambermaid or servant-girl, with downcast eyes.

“Your Highness, I beg your leave,” I heard her utter. I turned with a ready smile.

During the tour, many such girls had made their way to me, hoping for a piece of

ribbon from my hair, or section of lace from my cuff, as though any article that had

touched my person were a talisman.

Madame de Halewin stepped between us. “Her Highness doesn‟t wish to be

disturbed. Off with you, girl!”

I held up a hand, moving around Madame to the now-cowering figure. She was

just a child, one of the thousands who prepared our food, mended our linens, dusted

our belongings, and swept our hearths. I had been taught by my mother‟s example to

always show kindness to those who served me, as justness, not pride, was the

hallmark of royalty.

“Come, child,” I said, “what is it?”

The girl reached into her apron pocket and withdrew a scrap of paper. “Your

matrons send you this,” she murmured, and she stepped back hurriedly.

I frowned, glanced at the paper. The writing was cramped, in faded ink, but the

words were unmistakable:
Somos prisoneras.
We are prisoners.”

“What is this?” I asked the girl. “Where did it come from? Speak up.”

Beatriz and Soraya came up beside me. An uncomfortable tightness formed in my

chest when the girl whispered, “It is from a lady named Doña Francisca. She asked

me to bring this to Your Highness. She begged me. She also bid me to tell you, Doña

Ana is ill.”

It was all I needed to hear. I motioned. “Beatriz, Soraya, come with me. We‟ll visit

my matrons in their quarters.” I stopped Madame de Halewin with a single glance.

“Alone.”

_________________

STANDING AT THE BOTTOM OF A STAIRCASE IN A DILAPIDATED QUARTER OF THE

PALACE, I gazed about in horror.

My matrons‟ quarters, if such they could be called, consisted of a wine cellar, the

moldering walls windowless, the broken stone floor strewn with straw. I wouldn‟t

have stabled a mule here, I thought, and I felt ill when I saw the pallets and the

threadbare blankets, the mess of cinders in the center where my women had resorted

to burning kindling for heat.

I gestured to Beatriz, who rewarded the girl with a purse of coins and sent her

scampering off., her good deed done and financial situation considerably improved.

My four matrons stood clustered together, clad in layers of soiled clothing, all

bearing the sallow look of invalids. The odium in their sunken eyes made me want to

flee back up the stairs. I had signed vouchers for their upkeep before I left with Philip on tour. I believed I had seen to their welfare. How had this happened? How long had

they been here, like this?

I moved to the pallet where Doña Ana lay and dropped to my knees. “Doña

Ana,” I whispered. “Doña Ana, it is I, your Juana. I am here.”

My duenna‟s eyes opened, glazed with fever.
“Mia niña,”
she croaked, “Oh, my

child, you must summon a priest. I am dying.”

“No, no. You are not dying.” I removed my shawl, tucked it about her. “It‟s only

your tertian fever, as you used to get in Castile. The moment we went to Granada, you

always improved.”

“I‟ll have no such relief here,” she murmured.

I lifted an enraged gaze to Doña Francisca de Ayala, who stood like an accusing

specter before me. “How did this occur? Why was no word sent to me of these

deplorable conditions?”

She met my gaze. “We tried, Your Highness. We were denied access to you.”

“Denied?” My voice edged up a notch. “By whom? Tell me at once!”

“My lord Besançon. We were told by his secretary that you authorized our

transfer, and should we find reason for complaint we could take our leave for Spain.”