The Last Queen (7 page)

turned to face my mother. She did not move, her face pallid, her chin lifted as if she

were about to ride into battle.

“Why, Mamá?” I asked. “Why did you do this to her?”

“I did not do anything,” she replied, but I heard the quaver in her voice, a

gnawing edge I suspected had eaten at her for far longer than anyone suspected. “My

mother was ill,” she went on, too quickly, as if she sought to purge herself of a terrible burden. “She could no longer live in this world. I was only a child when she began

having her first spells. Later, after I was queen, it became painfully clear she would

never get well again. This was all I could do. This was the only place where she could

be kept safe.”

“Safe?” I echoed.

Quick anger flushed her tone. “Don‟t look at me like that. I assure you, no harm

came to her. She had the services of her women and her custodians, a host of doctors,

the entire castle to walk in, everything she could possibly want.”

“Not everything. She was a queen once.” I paused. “Wasn‟t she?”

My mother‟s eyes bore into me. I could almost smell her fear, her guilt. “I brought

you to say goodbye, not to question. I told you, she was not harmed. Only once I‟d

been assured that her illness was beyond the remedy of any cure did I find myself

forced to impose further restrictions. She― she could not be allowed out. She was not

fit.”

I clenched my fists at my sides. “Why did you bring me here? Why now?”

Her words came at me like vengeance. “So that you can see that I do have had to

make sacrifices; that sometimes even a queen must act against her heart if she is to

survive. I had no choice. I did it for Spain and for our blood. Think of what might

have happened if the world had found out? I couldn‟t risk it. We had been through

too much. My duty first was to protect Castile, above all else. Castile had to come

first.”

My throat closed on itself. She had done this. Isabel the queen had imposed this

seclusion on Arévalo. It was simple, terrifyingly so. Her mother, the dowager, had

become a hindrance. For the good of Spain, she had to be consigned to darkness,

hidden away so no one would know that madness tainted our blood. What else was

she capable of, this iron-hearted queen? What would she not do, not sacrifice, to

safeguard her kingdom?

I bowed my head, unable to endure the terrible secret in my mother‟s eyes. “You

should not have done it,” I said. “She is our family, our flesh and blood. She belonged

to us.”

My mother gave a choked sound, almost a cry. “You dare judge me? You do not

know, you cannot know, the responsibility I faced, the enormous duty I had to

shoulder on my own.”

“Oh, but I do know, Mamá,” I said quietly. “How could I ever forget?”

And I turned and walked from the room.

__________________________________

faced the windswept cauldron of Laredo Bay two months later. Sailors and

deckhands rushed about the galleon; the air throbbed with their cries, the

I rumble of coffers dragged to flatboats, and coarse voices lifted in command.

Behind me, my sisters and brother clustered together against the wind, regarding

me in awe. I was the first of us to undertake such a trip, and at my mother‟s gesture, I

turned and went to them. To my surprise, it was Isabella, newly betrothed to the

Portuguese heir, who embraced me first. “I shall never see you again in this life,

hermana,
”
she whispered.

“Nonsense,” I replied, even as her words moved through me. I drew back from

her to allow Maria to kiss my cheek. “Be strong, Juana,” she said, “as you always are.”

Catalina was next. I saw at once that she was losing her struggle to contain her

tears. One look at her brimming eyes, at the strands of gold escaping her cowl, and I

held her close. “You must me brave, when your time comes to go to England. Think

of me as I will of you,
mi pequeñita
.”

Catalina clung to me until her governess, Doña Manuel, pried her away.

I curtsied before Juan. “May God keep you in good health, Your Highness.”

“Will you be kind to Margaret when you see her?” he blurted, his face wan and

eyes febrile from a recent attack of fever. “Will you be a friend to her until she comes

to me?”

“I‟ll be like a sister to her and tell her she‟s the most fortunate woman in the

world to have such a handsome husband-to-be.”

“Oh, Juana, I am sad to see you go!” Juan embraced me. Against his frail body I

heard him say, “I will pray for you, my sister.”

I set a hand briefly to his cheek before I turned to my father.

It was the moment I most dreaded. I fear it would cost me my last shred of

painstaking composure and I resolved not to leave him with the memory of a tearful

child. Yet as I saw him standing there by my mother, his cloak whipping about him

and his face under his cap shadowed by his own hidden pain, I had a sudden vision of

myself as a little girl, wrapping my arms about that strong body. Al of a sudden, it

heard to breathe.

“Papá,” I said. He swept me into his arms, enveloping me. “Be strong,
mi

madrecita
. Be brave, as only you can be. Never let them think Spain doesn‟t rule in your heart.”

“I will. I promise.” I felt a vast emptiness when he drew back from me.

My mother stepped forth. “Come, Juana. I will see you to your ship.”

_________________

AS THE SUN MELTED in a ball of scarlet fire into the horizon, my armada lumbered

out to sea, propelled by vast billowing sails. The waters transformed from murky

emerald to diamond azure; foam sprayed up against the prows as the ships plunged

forward.

An algid wind tugged at my cloak. I did not move from my vigil on the deck,

straining to keep the receding mountains in sight, even as night crept in, trailing

shadows and mist. Soon Spain sank away into nothingness.

_________________

THE TRIP TOOK THREE WEEKS LONGER THAN EXPECTED, AFTER A gale struck and

separated my fleet. Exhausted by the close quarters, the lack of fresh food, and my

women‟s ceaseless prayers for a safe arrival, on September 15, I gratefully set foot in

Flanders.

A crowd awaited to receive me, their resounding cheers scattering pigeons from

rooftops. I waved as I rode through the town of Arnemuiden to a house prepared for

me, where I fell into bed. I awoke the next morning to a headache, sore throat, and

news that the carrack carrying my trousseau had scraped against a shoal and sunk.

Everything, and everyone, aboard had been lost.

“What shall we do?” wailed Doña Ana. “All your gowns, your jewels, your

slippers and headdresses: gone! You have nothing to wear for your meeting with the

archduke.”

I sneezed. Beatriz gave me a handkerchief. “Surely there‟s something in my

coffers,” I said.

“Like what?” said Doña Ana. “You‟re not possibly thinking of those old wool

gowns you insisted on bringing? They smell of dirt and smoke.”

“They smell of Granada,” I replied with an impatience born of so many hours on

the sea with my duenna. “I also know we packed a red velvet and cloth of gold

somewhere. Either should suffice. In the meantime, we‟ll just have to purchase some

fabric to make new gowns. We‟re in Flanders, are we not? Cloth is this nation‟s

trade.”

“Your red velvet is inappropriate for travel, and the cloth of gold too extravagant.

As for purchasing cloth, we‟re not merchants to debate ourselves thus.”

By the Cross, she could be difficult! I sat up in bed. “If I need clothing, then we

must pay for it,” I paused. “And where in al this is the archduke?”

Tense silence ensued. Then Doña Ana said briskly, “You mustn‟t worry. His

Highness, the archduke, has been apprised of our arrival and is―”

“Hunting,” interjected Beatriz, with a wry smile. “When we failed to arrive as

scheduled, he thought our departure had been delayed and he went to hunt boar. His

sister, the Archduchess Margaret, sent word while you slept. We are to proceed to

Lierre, where she waits to receive us.”

I stared at my lady for a moment before I pressed a hand to my lips in mirth.

Here I was discussing my choice of raiment and my husband-to-be was off hunting!

Not the most auspicious start to our union, I thought, even as I said, “Well, then it

hardly matters what I wear, does it?”

Despite Doña Ana‟s protest, I chose one of my comfortable wool gowns, though

I soon deduced the people of Flanders wouldn‟t have minded if I‟d donned sackcloth.

Lining the roads to Lierre, they cheered themselves hoarse and threw handfuls of

flowers, clad in colorful costumes. Their sheer numbers astonished me, accustomed as

I was to the vastness of Spain, where one could ride for days without encountering

another soul.

Like its denizens, the land itself challenged my senses― a verdant monotony

boasting nothing higher than a squat hill. There were no jagged mountains, no hilltops

crowned by frowning stone castles or vast golden plains. Flanders looked like a garden

bowl, green and inverted and soaking wet. There was water everywhere, a permanent

presence sitting turgid in marshes, babbling in rivers, or flowing through canals; water

dripping from the sky and water sloshing underfoot, Outside their picturesque

hamlets, where it seemed even the dogs were well fed, luxuriant fields sprouted

cabbages, legumes, and other vegetables, and gleaming livestock munched within

grassy enclosures. Flanders teemed with abundance, a veritable heaven on earth,

where it seemed no one had ever suffered war or famine or disease.

Flemish noblemen and their wives met my entourage halfway to Lierre. The

women chattered nonstop, their low-cut gowns and hiked skirts revealing sturdy

ankles in colored hose. By the time we rode into Lierre, Doña Ana sat rigid on her

mule, her flinty expression indicating that, to her, Flanders was steeped in vice.

Built on the banks of the river Néthe, Lierre was dazzling, crowned by spires and

crisscrossed with canals. Balconies were festooned with flower boxes and laundry; the

cobblestone streets rang with the rattling of coins in velvet pouches as merchants

went about their business. I stared in delight at street vendors peddling meat pies and

sugary buns, and Beatriz laughed aloud as she spied market stalls piled high with bolts

of brocade, velvet, tissues of every hue, satins, and fine-worked Brussels lace.

“It is paradise,” she exclaimed.

“It is Babylon,” snarled Doña Ana.

It is my new home,
I thought, and I rode in a daze through gilded gates into the courtyard of the Habsburg palace of Berhout-Mechelen.

Philip‟s sister, Margaret, waited to greet me― a tall, rangy princess whose

pronounced nose and equestrian jaw set off effervescent gray-blue eyes. After kissing

me on the mouth as if we‟d known each other our entire lives, Margaret led me

through ostentatious passages into an antechamber hung entirely in blue satin. I could

see a huge bed heaped with furs in the adjoining chamber. Venetian carpets covered

the floor; a fire crackled in the marble hearth. In the corner stood a wood tub lined

with sheets― for my toilette, explained Margaret.

“You do want to bathe,
oui
, after such a tiresome journey?” She did not seem to

recall that as my brother‟s betrothed, she too would soon undertake the same voyage.

Clapping her hands, she sent her women rushing at me.

I stood stupefied, as the Flemish women stripped me of my clothing like a slave

on the auction block. It took a few moments to locate my voice; when I did, my

protest brought everyone to a halt. Margaret regarded me curiously as I clutched at

my shift.

“I― I wish to bathe alone,” I managed to say, in halting French, as Beatriz and my

ladies came to flank me. Doña Ana and my other matrons stood frozen.

Margaret shrugged. “
Eh, Bon.
I‟ll see to your supper.” Kissing me again as if the matter were of no particular account, she swept out, her ladies chuckling behind her.

I gave a nervous laugh, hugging my arms about my chest. “They act like

barbarians!”

Beatriz nodded. “Indeed. Her Majesty would be outraged.”

“No doubt,” I said, and I eyed the tub. “But I could use a bath. Come, help me.”

To my matrons‟ horrified gasps, I drew the shift over my head and tossed it aside.

Doña Ana cried, “Absolutely not! I forbid it! That bath is not properly drawn. I can

smell the perfume in the water from here. You‟ll smell like an heretic odalisque.”

“Seeing as I smell like a goat after weeks at sea, I hardly see the argument,” I

replied. Beatriz helped me into the tub. I reclined in the scented water. “
This
is paradise,” I sighed, and Soraya slipped forth to massage my feet with aromatic oils she

produced as if by magic from her gown pockets.

Doña Ana glared, whirled about and started barking orders at the other women,

who were soon hauling in my surviving coffers, searching the contents for suitable

garments.

My skin glowing, I was dressed in my crimson velvet with my mother‟s ruby about

my throat. Against the blue room, I shone like a flame. Doña Ana threw a veil over

my head moments before Margaret and a group of nobles tromped in. Pushing in

behind them were the men of my entourage, still clad in their soiled traveling gear,