The Last Queen (51 page)

privately feared the creature was far too wild for a child, it took to Fernandito like a

kitten. The falconer assured me my son was a born hunter and they plunged with

gusto into his hawking lessons in the wide fields outside the palace, landing us quail

and other small birds for our dinner table.

Sometimes I joined them, wearing the thick-padded gauntlet on which the

tethered and blinded bird perched, feeling its claws dig into the leather as it waited

impatiently for me to untie it and release it to the sky. I was mesmerized as it

effortlessly soared upward, seeming not to notice the frantic rustling of the creatures

the falconer beat out of the bushes with a stick, and I always watched breathlessly as it swooped down with lethal precision to catch its prey. I did not like the smell of blood

but I could only admire how it always delivered a sure, quick death.

I also had my private moments, in which I made peace with my past. No one

seemed to know what to do with Philip‟s coffin. The smell alone grew so terrible, I

finally had to order the lid nailed shut and the coffin itself removed to a ruined chapel on the palace grounds, where it rested before the leaf-strewn altar. I had the chapel

roof repaired to keep out the element but otherwise did little else. I didn‟t believe

anything but dead flesh remained in that box, and still I took a strange comfort in

visiting the chapel in the afternoons while everyone took to their beds for the siesta,

to sit by it and sometimes touch the now-tarnished handles. I even spoke to him at

moments, of our son and how handsome he was, and of our girl Catalina, who was

starting to resemble the best of both of us in her looks and personality. Philip had

gone to a place where crowns did not matter anymore; I wanted to remember him as

he‟d been when we first met, beautiful and young, uncorrupted b y the ambition that

tore us apart.

“Rest now, my prince,” I would murmur, and I leaned to the coffin to set my lips

on the cold lid. The smell of death was gone now. It was as though the coffin held

only memories.

And I would not hate memories.

――――――――――――

THE ADMIRAL HAD REMAINED in Burgos with my father, but he sent letters to me

detailing the event shaping Castile. He reported there had been much wrangling and

threats when my father announced his and my decision to set the kingdom to rights

together, with the Marquis of Villena in particular flinging down his cap in disgust and

declaring he would not let himself be ruled by Aragón again. My father, the admiral

reported, proved uncharacteristically mild in his rebuke, given his own past with the

nobility of Castile. At his side, supporting his every move and facing down the lords

with the full wrath of the church at his back, was Cisneros, who‟d recently been

granted a cardinal‟s hat at sixty-seven years of age.

I was taken aback by the announcement that Cisneros had been elevated to such

prestige. My old feelings for him had not gone away, and I did not relish that he

would now enjoy even greater ecclesiastical power in Castile. No one had told me

before hand the pope was considering him for a cardinalship and I wrote back to the

admiral that I wished someone had seen fit to inform me as such. I assumed I would

have to attend Cisneros‟s investment ceremony at some point and asked that I please

be told in anticipation so I could prepare. I expected a reply within a few days; to my

disconcertion I heard nothing more. “I wonder why I wasn‟t consulted,” I remarked

to Beatriz one night over supper. “Did the fear I might protest elevating Cisneros to

such a rank? I certainly might have, but I‟ve no say in how Rome chooses to reward

her servants.”

I paid no heed to the servitors around us, ready with the decanter and clean

napkin. No sooner had I vented my frustration than I forgot it and returned to my

daily activities.

I wrote to my sister Catalina in England, asking for news of her and promising to

help her in her struggle to wed her prince now that I was queen. I also wrote to my

sister-in-law, Margaret, requesting that she prepare to send my daughters to me in the

coming spring.

I hadn‟t heard from her at all, not even a word of condolence on Philip‟s passing.

I knew Charles, as the Habsburg heir, must remain in Flanders, and I suspected

Margaret had assumed charge of him as well. I wondered if she had grown so attached

to my children she kept silent in hope I wouldn‟t ask for them. If so, I feared she

must relinquish my three daughters. I wanted to raise them with Catalina and

Fernando, as my mother had raised us together. I didn‟t want my children to grow up

strangers from each other, as Margaret and Philip had, and as so many royal children

often did.

I was therefore preoccupied and completely unprepared when my father came

barging into my chambers one afternoon, after months of absence.

“What?” he said, the hot tinge to his face betraying a hard ride in a temper. He

threw off his cloak onto the nearest chair. “Have I so displeased you, you must

remonstrate about me before everyone?”

My women sat with me, working on our sewing. Glancing at them, I saw my own

surprise reflected in their expressions and started to wave them out.

My father laughed curtly. “Don‟t send them away on my account. You‟ve

complained times enough behind my back, anything you saw now will come as no

surprise.”

I regarded him in silence as Beatriz rose with Soraya and left.

I set aside my sewing. “Papá, what is wrong? You are angry with me and I have

no idea why.”

“You don‟t?” He eyed me, his gloved hands clenched. “Are you saying you did

not complain that I deliberately keep you ignorant of the state of this realm?”

“I― I never said that.” My mouth went dry. There was a hard, cruel edge to his

voice I had never heard before.

“Never?”

“No.”

He spun to his cloak and reached into its folds. He removed a folded parchment,

brandishing it between us with a trembling fist. “What of this, eh? Haven‟t you

learned that anything you say or do is important? By not consulting me, you cast

doubts on your very trust in my abilities!”

For an endless moment, I could not draw breath.

My letter. He had intercepted my letter.

A shadow gathered in the corners of my mind. I made myself look away from the

crunched paper in his hands to meet his stare. I found a cold and inscrutable stranger

looking back at me, someone I did not know.

“I didn‟t think I needed to consult you about my children,” I said carefully. “That

letter is addressed to Philip‟s sister, requesting news of my daughters, Eleanor,

Isabella, and Mary. I haven‟t heard of them in over a year, and I left Mary when she

was just a babe.”

His jaw worked. “What do we want with another parcel of girls here?” he said,

proof that he had not only intercepted but also read my correspondence. “They need

households, dowries. We can‟t afford it. Best leave them where they are and let the

Habsburgs find matches for them.”

I felt an icy fear. I rose, moving past him to the window. “My daughters belong

here with me,” I said at length. “If we can‟t afford it, I‟ll economize. I told you, I

don‟t need so many servants, and what feeds three can feed five. If need be, my

daughters can sleep in my bed.”

He pawed the floor with his booted foot. “Need or not, everything comes with a

price.”

“So it would seem,” I turned to him. “As it would also seem I suffer spies in my

house. I will not have it, Papá. I don‟t understand what I have done to make you think

you need watch my every move and intercept my private letters. Perhaps now would

be a good time to tell me.”

His face changed in a flash, the anger fading as if it were a mask. I did not like the

chameleon swiftness of it, nor his quick conciliatory tone as he said, “
Madrecita,

forgive me. My behavior, it‟s inexcusable.”

My voice momentarily failed me. He had not denied he set spies on me. Why?

What did he fear? Something shifted between us, crumbling the trust I believed we

shared.

“I am overwrought,” he added. “I always did have a bad temper. Your mother

used to chide me about it all the time.” He paused. “It‟s those damn
grandes.
I tell you, they have no loyalty. Months I have spent in Burgos trying to bring them to reason, to

no avail.”

That much I understood. I knew from experience that the lords of Castile could

set a saint to gnashing his teeth. “What have they done this time?” I asked quietly.

“The usual. They‟re threatening that if I do not honor the promises your dead

husband made them, they will find the means to make me regret it. They want

everything your mother and I took from them, though they‟ve done nothing to

deserve it. They claim having helped me take Burgos deserves a reward. Your

husband and that idiot Don Manuel taught them well, it seems. They now think that

any time they obey me, I should give them a title or castle for it.”

I nodded, returned to my chair. It was only his temper, I told myself, that

infamous Aragónese cauldron my mother had patiently curbed during their years of

marriage.

“They dare to threaten me!” He hit his gloved fist in his hand. “It‟s high time they

were taught who rules over them. I‟ll not have them destroy this kingdom after they

connived with the Habsburg behind my back. They let him throw me out but now I

am back, and by God, they will do me the proper honor.”

“You speak of civil war,” I said.

He scowled. “More like civil slaughter. I‟ve subdued them before. If I must, I‟ll do

it again.”

“But they are members of our nobility, with seats on the Cortes. If we declare war

on them, it will indeed be a violation of their rights.”

“They
have
no rights! They scheme to no end, plot and intrigue, forgetting this is not the Spain of old. Isabel may have seen fit to placate them, but I will not.” He

stopped abruptly, swallowing hard. “You must understand my predicament. These

grandes
are dogs, and like dogs they must be put down for the good of Castile.”

A surge of heat rose in me. I was sick of posturing and high-handedness in the

name of Spain. I wanted this matter stopped before it led to further calamity.

“The last thing I desire is to begin my reign by sending an army of Spaniards

against Spaniards. I agree this matter with the nobles is serious and do not disregard

your frustration, Papá. But there must be another way to show them we‟ve a higher

authority in the realm now.” I straightened my shoulders. “Perhaps the time has come

to announce my coronation.”

He stared at me. “Coronation?”

“Yes. You told me months ago, we would go to Toledo and have me invested and

crowned. Why not now? It seems the perfect occasion. The high lords need to

understand they have a queen. We needn‟t make a production of it, just enough to

entertain people and remind the lords of their proper place. The admiral once told me

Mamá always made it a point to deal with the
grandes
firmly but gently. He said it was one of her most impressive―”

“Your mother is dead.” His tone was flat.
“I rule here now.”

I went still. My heart felt as though it stopped in my chest. He must have seen the

look on my face, the utter horror, for he came to me, tried to take my hands in his. I

pulled away.

“I did not mean that,” he said. “It was a figure of speech,
madrecita,
nothing

more.”

I let out my withheld breath. I kept my gaze on his face.

“By the saints, I‟m a hard man, unused to women‟s sensibilities.” He grimaced.

“I‟m just working so hard to restore this realm to some semblance of order, and every

time I turn my back one of those lords tries to counter me. They‟re more treacherous

than the Moors, I tell you. At least with the Moors you can threaten a burning to keep

them in line.”

“I still think we must give them one more chance to mend their ways,” I heard

myself say, despite the ice seeping through me. “I don‟t want bloodshed. It will bring

Spain no good. I want us to summon the Cortes for my investiture. Then, if the

grandes
resist, we can consider harsher measures.”

He nodded. “If that is what you desire.” He turned abruptly to gather his cloak.

He strode to the door, his hand reaching for the latch before I managed to say,

“Papá.”

He glanced over his shoulder at me.

“My letter,” I said. “You will send it on to Savoy.”

It was not a request, and I saw in the tightening of his face that he knew it. “Of

course, I will. Everything will be fine, you‟ll see.”

Yet, as he left, I wondered if anything would ever be the same again.

――――――――――――

I WAITED FOR DAYS AFTERWARD, REFRAINING FROM PRIVATE DISCOURSE with

anyone save my women and keeping any letters I needed to write neutral. I doubted

my secretary, Lopez, had had anything to do with the interception of my letter to

Margaret, but I no longer trusted that what I sent would arrive at its intended

destination.

This much was easily managed, as letters required my signature. But it proved

impossible to regain the placid passage of my days. With corrosive precision, that web