The Last Queen (19 page)

He demands for your husband’s recognition as infante did not go over well with

our Cortes or us. He does not seem to understand that we cannot invest Philip with

the title nor grant him investiture as prince consort of these realms before we have

invested you, for the succession devolves on you as our primary heir. These are

perilous times, and I must therefore beg you not delay further but rather come to

us as soon as you can, with your husband and your children, if at all possible. In

anticipation, I am sending my own secretary, Señor Lopez de Conchillos, to you, in

whom I’ve entrusted my advice.

Be well, my child, and remember the grand estate to which God has called you.

Your loving
Madre,

Isabel the Queen.

I stood silent, the letter open like a missal in my hands. I had not read the

unswerving command of the mother I‟d known; I had not found the asperity of a

queen who must concede her succession to a daughter she‟d never been close with.

Instead, she sounded tired, almost defeated. I had expected stern reminders of duty,

of the need to set every other consideration aside, but I never stopped to consider she

had buried a son, a daughter, and a grandson in less than two years. I couldn‟t imagine

losing one child, much less two, and in that moment I saw her not as the invincible

queen but as a vulnerable woman and mother, like me.

And Besançon! He was like a snake with tonsure, demanding all he could for

Flanders while my parents faced a tomb filled with crushed hopes, an ever-fractious

nobility and anxious Cortes. But I had the upper hand now. He could not wring for

Philip what I, in my time, could freely give: the crown of king consort. The

archbishop‟s time of power was fast coming to an end.

My fingers grazed the letter‟s splintered seal. I turned to stare into my chamber.

It was as if I awoke from a long torpid dream. The sunlight cascading through the

velvet drapery illumined the costly tapestries on my walls, woven in Brussels and

depicting satyrs and rubicund maidens in arbors. My Spanish standing cup sat on my

cabinet, almost hidden behind a troop of porcelain shepherdesses sent by Anne of

Brittany, Louis of France‟s queen, as a gift in honor of the near-concurrent births of

my Isabella and her own daughter, Claude of France.

I‟d scarcely looked at the silly things, relegating them to the hundreds of
objets d’art
cluttering my suite. I‟d been living so long, among a plethora of paintings, statues,

furnishings and hangings that I had literally ceased to see them. Now as I stood there,

surrounded by this opulence, I felt abruptly starved of air, the smell of sweet herbs

sprinkled over the carpets underfoot coating my senses like soot.

In my mind, I saw Spain, immense and ever mutable, with its stark granite

pinnacles and parched plateaus, its serpentine rivers and dense woodlands of pine and

oak. Flanders was like an enamel gem box compared with the feral treasury of my

native land, where fountains sang in mosaic patios and hills changed colors as the sun

died, where chalk cities tumbled down eagle-haunted cliffs, crowned by stone castles

that seem rooted between heaven and earth. I longed for the taste of tart

pomegranate, of lemons and oranges from Seville; I wanted to hear bells toll across an

empty plain and see myself again in the resolute vigor of a people who never

surrendered their pride. The loneliness pervading me was physical, like a voyager who

has grown weary after years of wandering and now seeks the road home.

I was not afraid. I could learn to be queen. It was in my blood, the same blood

that propelled my mother. She had not known everything the day she mounted the

throne; yet like her, I had been called to it. Spain had bestowed upon me this crown.

My eyes opened. I cal ed for Beatriz. She came to the door with Isabella cradled in

her arms.

“My mother is sending a visitor,” I told her. “We must prepare.”

________________

“YOUR HIGHNESS, I AM DELIGHTED TO SEE YOU,” Lopez de Conchillos bowed

over my hand. He was a middle-aged, sprite man with benevolent eyes and a receding

hairline, clad in a wool doublet that smelled of straw. I‟d known him since my

childhood: he‟d served my mother faithfully as her chief secretary; to him, she

entrusted her most important correspondence.

I smiled, indicating the chair opposite mine. “I too am pleased to see you, my

lord. It has been too long since I welcomed a fellow countryman. Please, sit.”

Rain spattered the window, a pebbly murmur emphasized by my chamber‟s

unadorned walls. In the week preceding his arrival, I‟d had my apartments striped of

all excess, including the lurid tapestries, and taken equal care with my appearance,

donning a modest high-necked black gown. My jewelry consisted of my wedding

bands and a small crucifix; I sought to exemplify the formality of a Castilian matron

and saw in Lopez‟s appraisal that I succeeded.

Beatriz and Soraya slipped in with platters of stuffed olives, brown bread, cheese,

and a decanter of claret. From under my lashes, I saw him nod in approval at this

simple fare.

A brief silence ensued while I let him eat., Then I took a sealed envelope from my

pocket. “I‟ve written to Her Majesty. In here, she will find my solemn vow to comply

with my duty.”

He inclined his head and took the letter from me. “Your words will no doubt

assist Her Majesty greatly in her recovery.”

“Recovery?” I paused. “Is my mother ill?”

He sighed. “The doctors tell us it is not serious. Her Majesty has been ordered to

rest, and it is an order she does not take well to.”

I gave him a faint smile. “No, she does not.” I paused. I would know everything

of Besançon‟s visit, and what Her Majesty my mother requires of me.”

“Then I suggest you brace yourself,
princesa,
for it is not an edifying tale.”

My hands closed about my chair arms as he began to speak. It was much as I

expected, though that didn‟t make it any easier to hear. Besançon had acted in Spain

with his customary arrogance, demanding concessions from my parents he had no

right to, including several bishoprics and benefices for himself.

Then Lopez said something that sent a chill through me. “When their Majesties

rebuked him for his presumption, the archbishop replied he had the means to make

them reconsider. Though he did not say the words, there can be little doubt as to

what he meant.” He paused, looked at me. “Is Your Highness aware that he recently

met with envoys from France?”

“I was not,” I said. “Is it something I should be concerned about?”

“It could be. We don‟t know why he chose this particular time to accept King

Louis‟ advances, but anything having to do with the French cannot behoove Spain.

Her Majesty believes Besançon might seek French support for your husband, perhaps

even an alliance that will, in effect, relegate Spain to the position of supplicant.”

My voice flared at once. “Philip would not allow it! He knows Spain can never

trust France.”

Lopez met my outburst with silence. Then he said, “Are you quite certain,

princesa?
”

“As certain as I am of my own self. My husband isn‟t here to speak for himself, as

he had to attend his Estates to gain their approval for us to undertake this journey,

but I assure you he and I are in perfect accord. We would never ally ourselves with a

realm that has invaded my father‟s kingdom in the past and challenges his right to

Naples.”

“Then, I am relieved; and so will be Her Majesty. Still, it might be wise to remain

attentive. We know Besançon met with French envoys but we haven‟t been able to

learn anything beyond that. But perhaps he‟ll inform His Highness, and His Highness

will, in turn, tell you?”

Doubt crept over me. Besançon had played me for a fool before; and his

relationship with Philip was not something I‟d succeeded in affecting. If he planned

something with Louis of France, I would be the last person to hear about it.

“I don‟t want to be dishonest with my husband,” I said tentatively. “He and

Besançon share a long history; the archbishop is his advisor and mentor. Philip trusts

him.”

“Her Majesty understands. She would not want you do anything to cause

dissention. Indeed, her primary concern is that you and His Highness reach Spain. She

hopes your son, Charles, might be brought as well, so that she can see him in person.”

I gave a quick nod. “I‟ll consult with Philip when he returns. I don‟t see why

Charles shouldn‟t accompany us, though he is very young. As for this French matter―

well, I‟ll shall see what I can discover, yes? That is all I can promise.”

“Thank you,
princesa
. Her Majesty urges caution in your dealings henceforth,

particularly with the archbishop. She is aware of the esteem in which he is held here

and does not wish for you to make an enemy of him. Once you and your husband

reach Spain and are invested by the Cortes, a more appropriate advisor for His

Highness will be found.”

“Yes,” I said hotly. “My husband lacks impartial counsel. He‟s relied too long on

Besançon.”

“And Your Highness? Do you lack counsel?”

His perceptiveness caught me off guard. In truth, I had never had counsel besides

my trusted ladies. I‟d not had any need of it. But princes needed councilors, and

queens relied on them.

“I would appreciate some now,” I said. “I wouldn‟t want anything to reflect

poorly on me or Spain.”

Lopez smiled. “
Princesa,
trust in me and all will go well.”

________________

A FEW DAYS LATER, PHILIP RETURNED TO COURT. HE CAME BOUNDING into my

rooms, a wide smile on his face, and swept me into his arms to nuzzle my throat. “My

infanta, I missed you!”

I laughed nervously as I waved my women out and went to the sideboard to pour

him a goblet. As I raised the decanter, it struck me how much our marriage had come

to resemble my parents‟, with even this token gesture between us to initiate our

reunions. I also felt a stab of guilt that I could not tell him what Lopez and I had

discussed.

I gave him the goblet with a smile. “I gather the Estates-General went well. Did

they grant you everything you requested?”

“They did. They agreed to oversee the realm while we are away and approve our

expenditures. We will go to Spain in grand style.” He sipped his wine, looking about

the room. “You‟ve redecorated.” He paused. It was as if the room took on a sudden

chill. “I understand a Spanish envoy is here. You could have written to me. I‟d have

come sooner to welcome him.”

“Oh, it wasn‟t necessary.” I said, fearing my deception showed like a brand on my

face as I returned to my chair and the bassinet cloth I was sewing for Isabella. “He‟s

come as part of our escort to Spain. We spoke mostly of family matters.”

I smoothed the cloth. He did not say anything, looking at me with intense focus. I

found myself wanting to fill the sudden silence and blurted, “And my lord Besançon?

Any word of him? I assume he‟s arrived by now?”

I raised my gaze, saw his hand tighten about the jeweled goblet stem. His

response was abrupt. “He has. He sent word that he is indisposed from the voyage

but hopes to be here in a few days time.” He paced to the sideboard. “So, this envoy

had nothing important to say?”

“Only that my parents expect us as soon as possible, and they‟d like us to bring

Charles.”

He gave a tight laugh and quaffed his goblet. “I hope you told him we‟ll do

nothing of the sort. Charles is far too young to be subjected to prolonged travel. He

and the girls will stay here.”

I looked up sharply. “You‟ve already decided this? My sisters and I traveled

throughout Spain in our childhoods, and none of us suffered from it.”

He had started to lift the decanter; he turned about, scowling. “This is not Spain.

We‟ve a long trip ahead of us, and seeing as we must go by land through France,

we―”

He went still. For a moment I was so taken aback I didn‟t know what to do.

Lopez‟s advice that I not cause dissention flitted through my head moments before I

clapped the bassinet cloth aside and stood. “Through France? You cannot be

serious!”

“I am. Louis has invited us to his court to meet him, his queen and their newborn

daughter. I think we should accept.”

“And I think not. I‟d rather swim to Spain than set foot in that land of devils.”

“God‟s death!” He banged his goblet on the sideboard. “Would you dictate to me,

wife?”

My heart leapt against my ribs. I felt myself take a step back, bumping into my

chair. I was riveted by the change that came over him, his eyes like icy slits. his entire countenance darkening, twisted.

“I― I only meant, we cannot accept,” I quavered. “We are Spain‟s heirs now, and

France is our enemy.”

“That is precisely why we must accept,” he swerved back to the decanter, poured

himself another goblet. He drank it down in a single gulp, reached for the decanter

again. He never drank this much during the day. All of a sudden, my legs felt so weak,

I had to sit down.

He turned back around, regarding me. His voice softened. “Juana, you do not