The Last Queen (33 page)

I couldn‟t stop my gasp when I entered my private closet. We had left a room

filled with neatly packed coffers and chests of personal belongings; what lay before

me now was pure wreckage, the coffers strewn haphazardly about the chamber, their

painted lids flung open, clothing crumpled on the floor beside them. I saw at once

that all I had left was informal wear, my older dresses and day gowns. When I spotted

one of the light linen dresses from my summers in the Alhambra, I felt hot color rise

in my cheeks. I went straight to the panel in the wall and clicked the lever. Soraya had

not relocked it. As I opened the hinged door onto the hollow compartment cleverly

fitted into the wainscoting. I knew she had not lied.

My jewel caskets had been ransacked as well.

Behind me, Madame de Halewin said, “Your Highness sent for me?”

I turned. Her expression was impassive, as though she beheld a organized royal

chest and not the blatant evidence of thievery.

“Who has been in this room?”

To her credit, she had the presence of mind to pause. I was reminded in a flash of

my first weeks in Flanders, when she so assiduously guided me into sending Doña

Ana and my matrons away. I had forgiven and forgotten, kept her in my employ

because of her qualities as a governess and lifelong service at court. Now I regarded

her as though she were an avowed foe.

“I have no idea,” she finally said, and she clamped her lips in a thin line.

I took a step to her. “You have no idea? My personal jewelry is missing, including

many gifts from His Highness. My coffers have been opened and searched, my best

court gowns taken. I find it hard to believe, madam, that you do not know how this

occurred.”

She started to inch back over the threshold. In a flash, Beatriz barred her way.

“You‟ll not leave this room until you tell me the truth,” I informed Madame. I

took pleasure in watching her always-pale face turn a sickly shade of white. “Should

you persist in your silence, I will dismiss you from Eleanor‟s household and from this

court.”

That hit a nerve, perhaps the only one she had. She was not young. She had

devoted her life to service, first as a governess to Margaret and now to my daughter.

She had no family, no life other than this one. I could almost see he calculations

scrabbling through her mind, the weights and counterweights to my threat, the

consideration that I truly did not hold the power to see her banished without Philip‟s

consent., as she was, in the final say, answerable only to him.

But I was not to be trifled with, and after a long moment in which our gazes

locked, she drew herself erect. “I will deny I said anything if questioned, but His

Highness allowed a lady into this room.” Her voice was mechanical, as if she recited

the evening news. “His Highness told her you were in Spain and might never return,

so why should your belongings go to waste. He said there were gowns and jewels

aplenty, and pretty things should be displayed on pretty women. She came in with him

and took what she fancied.”

Behind Madame, Beatriz went still as a pillar.

“Who is this lady?” I whispered.

“A Frenchwoman, from the court of France; she came and went with His

Highness. That is all I know.” Madame raised her chin. “The princess Eleanor awaits

me. Will that be all?”

I lifted a hand. She curtsied and swept past Beatriz. I saw in my lady‟s expression

what she did not say aloud. I turned my eyes to the room, taking in the destruction,

the callous disregard and utter violation of my privacy.

Then I turned and walked out.

__________________________________

TWENTY-ONE

awaited him clad in crimson, my figure displayed to perfection, down to the

alabaster nudity of my hands and throat. About me, my women sewed, though

I Beatriz barely glanced at her embroidery hoop and Soraya looked as if she might

lunge to her feet at any moment. I had my daughters with me as well, Eleanor stiff in

the window seat, while Isabella turned the gilt-edged pages in my book of hours. I

would have had Charles with me too, only Utrecht had insisted my son had a slight

cold and must stay in his apartments for the day.

When the distant blare of trumpets came, Madame de Halewin stood. “His

Highness is here. We must go into the courtyard to greet him.”

“No.” I did not look up from my sewing. “Let him come here to greet us.”

“But Your Highness, it is customary―”

“I said no. You will sit, madame. Now.”

Madame de Halewin dropped back onto the chair.

I stabbed my needle through my embroidery hoop, my every sense returned to the

hallway beyond my door. When at last I heard his approach, I set my task aside and

looked up.

The door bust open. In strode my husband, flushed from his vigorous ride. He

wore no cap. His hair tumbled like spun gold to his shoulders, streaked with sunlight.

I had forgotten in my fury that he had a commanding presence, though my practiced

eye noted he‟d grown heavier, his cheeks ruddier and coarser than I recalled. I

consciously drew a breath, reminding myself that regardless of his physical attributes,

he was still the man who had forsaken me in Spain. Yet when I saw the unfeigned

surprise in his expression I felt a rush of mortifying desire.

How could I still lust for a man who was so unworthy of me?

I submitted to his hot kiss. “My infanta,” he breathed as if we‟d been separated

only a few hours. “Did you miss me?”

“As much as you missed me,” I replied and the chill in my tone pleased me. I

could feel every pair of eyes in the room, watching as he went to an astoundingly

blushing Eleanor and greeted her― “So pretty and tall you‟ve grown my dear”― and

then to Isabella, who cooed in delight when he handed her a beribboned feather he

produced as if by magic from within his doublet. “This is from a white owl my falcon

took down in France. Put it in your blue velvet bonnet,
ma petite reine
.”

I found myself momentarily speechless. It was plain to me that our daughters

adored him, though he‟d arguably been more absent from their lives than I. But of

course they would. What girl would not adore such a father? It did not make him any

less a liar or adulterer.

He spun to where I sat like an effigy amid my women. When he clapped his

hands, it sounded as though a storm broke overhead. “Out! I would spend some time

alone with my wife.”

I saw Eleanor‟s annoyed glance as Madame lead her and Isabella out. My Flemish

ladies scampered into the antechamber, my two Spanish women following with heavy

steps.

After two years of strife and separation, Philip and I were alone.

I did not shift from my chair as he went to the cabinet to pour a goblet of wine.

he quaffed it. It was not until I saw him reach again for the decanter that I realized he was only feigning nonchalance. His hand trembled as he raised the goblet to his lips.

When he turned with a disingenuous smile, I knew he had every intention of

pretending nothing was amiss.

I wanted to throw myself at his throat. Instead, I said, “How was your trip to

France?”

His smile slipped. “Didn‟t Don Manuel tell you? I went to negotiate a peace

settlement.” He chuckled uncomfortably. “It‟s not as easy as you might think, getting

two kings to agree, but I think we made progress.” He took in my stare, turned heel to

cross the room, away from me. “Blessed Christ,” I heard him mutter, “I‟ve been

riding all day through mud and mire. I‟m in no mood for an inquisition.”

I folded my hands in my lap. “Yes, I heard about your travels, though not by

you.” And then my accusation came, almost as if by its own volition: “Your mistress

must have kept you busy indeed, that you couldn‟t find the time to tell me of your

negotiations with Louis or indeed remain here in Flanders to welcome me home.”

He went still. “Mistress? I‟ve no idea what you refer to.”

“Come now, my lord.” I forced out a curt laugh. “I find it poor taste indeed that

you‟d let your French whore pilfer my belongings while I gave birth to our son.”

His eyes narrowed. “And I see nothing has changed. For a year and a half you

remained in that accursed land of yours. Now, you return with your proud airs and

your reproaches. Where is this son you gave birth to, eh? How do I know he even

lives?”

“I came to my feet. “He lives! I left him with my mother. He― he‟s too young to

travel.”

“You lying bitch,” he breathed. “You left him there so she can use him against

me. She got what she wanted, what you and she schemed for. You‟ve shown where

your loyalty lies.”

I felt a sense of devastating loss. I needn‟t do this. I could win him back to me, as

I had before. I didn‟t have to wreck whatever remnants of affection remained

between us. We could still find happiness; we could still be who we were. I took all

my effort to remember that I deluded myself, that though he might negate it, in fact

everything hand changed. I now fought for a greater cause than our marriage.

“My loyalty lies with the country we inherit,” I said, “the country you seem intent

on casting into ruin to suit your pride. Are you so blinded by hatred you cannot see

the truth?” My voice shook, despite my attempt to control it. “Louis doesn‟t care

about you. He seeks only to work through you so he can destroy my father.”

“Your father,” he spat, “is nothing more than a cowardly murderer who poisoned

Besançon! If I had to strike a deal with Lucifer himself to destroy him, I would do it!”

I should have known then that I had lost him. The venomous suspicion he nursed

for Spain and my parents had poisoned his mind as surely as he believed my father

had poisoned Besançon. And yet I heard myself say in a voice as icily contemptuous

as my mothers, “I‟ve no doubt you‟d lick Louis‟ boots if he ordered you. But I, my

lord, will not. Spain is not Flanders.”

He threw his goblet aside. Sudden fear bolted through me. Not until that moment

did I realize how vulnerable I was: a woman alone, his wife, practically his property, to do with as he pleased.

He stepped so close I felt his breath like a furnace on my brow. “If this is how

you feel, then you have my leave to return to your beloved Spain and veil your

mother‟s deathbed, Madame Infanta. I‟ll be there soon enough to claim my throne.”

My throne.

I raised my chin. “You forget
I
am Spain‟s heir. Without me, you will claim

nothing.”

His eyes turned to slits., Without warning he struck me with his open hand, hard

enough to send me sprawling backward against my desk, its contents flying. I grabbed

for something to protect myself with as he lunged over me, his hands about my

throat., “When the day comes, I
wil
take the throne― I, and no other!”

I flung up my arm, m y jeweled letter opener in my fist. I raked the blade down

his cheek. A bloody ribbon appeared. He hit me again; as the room reeled in a

sickening haze around me, he gripped my wrists, twisting as he yanked me up and

around. I started to shout for help when he hurled me facedown upon the desk.

My jaw slammed against the leather blotter; I tasted blood. A strangled scream

clawed at my throat as he kicked apart my legs, forcing both my wrists behind me in a

vise while with his other hand he heaved up my skirts. Brocade and the stiff horsehair

padding of my underskirts smothered me. He tore at my stockings. I fought him, my

wrists burning in his grip. He clouted me on the side of my temple. My ears rang. I

kicked back desperately, slamming my feet as hard as I could against his legs. I knew

with breathless horror what he intended.

There was a sudden silence. Then I heard him rip at his codpiece. Searing pain

stabbed through me as he thrust himself inside. He pounded into me, banging me

against the desk, turning an act we‟d indulged in so many times with joy and passion

into a brutal obscenity. I went lip, my body becoming a piece of flesh I could not feel.

He spent himself, his breathing harsh in my ear. “Castile is mine, do you hear me?

Mine! And when the time comes, you will hand it over to me. You will give it to me

without protest. If you don‟t, if you dare try to stop me, I‟ll do this to you every night.

You‟ll carry my children one after the other until you die like a spitted cow.”

I slid to the floor. He struck me once more, then turned and stalked out, crashing

open the door on my appalled women.

As they rushed in, the scream I had held in erupted from me in a primal wail.

――――――――――――

I WAS SEQUESTERED IN MY ROOMS, MY BODY SO BRUISED AND blackened I could

barely leave my bed. At first I could not even speak, my jaw and right eye were so

swollen shut. Despite my feeble protests, Beatriz insisted on summoning the court

physician; he examined me with discomfited tentativeness, muttered that nothing

seemed broken, and prescribed a rosemary poultice before he hurried out.

Nothing broken.

By the fifth day, I could walk without cramping and was able to eat more than the

simple broths my women painstakingly prepared for me. They‟d created a haven of

my apartments, a cocoon of feminine solicitude where they conspired to keep the