I reached out with a trembling hand to the papers. “Chance…?” I echoed.
“Yes. Once we realized no help would come, we grew desperate and implored that serving girl who brought us our daily meal. She took pity on us, agreed to carry our message to you in person after you arrived—if my lord Besançon didn’t come with you, of course. We are fortunate he did not. Otherwise you might have found five corpses.”
Besançon was with Philip. He’d traveled with us throughout Flanders before retiring to one of his houses. I had mostly ignored his corpulent waving presence. Yet in all that time he had known my matrons were left here to subsist on one solitary meal, which was less than allotted to any stable boy or scullery maid.
Blind rage surfaced in me. I had let this happen, yes, but I had done so in ignorance. I could never have conceived of such treachery. In that moment, my dislike for my husband’s premier adviser, for the man Philip regarded as his only true father, turned to hatred.
I would see him brought low, I vowed. I stood, my fingers closing about the packet of letters. “Soraya,” I said, “please, attend to Doña Ana and help Doña Francisca and our other matrons pack up their belongings. I’ll send word as to where they should go. Beatriz, come with me. I’ve urgent business to attend to.”
I SUMMONED MADAME DE HALEWIN. “You dare tell me you knew nothing of this? How is that possible? Did you not tell me to my face that my matrons would lack for nothing?”
To her credit, Madame looked upset. Pallid and trembling, she said, “Your Highness, I swear it to you, I conveyed your order. I told them you would pay from your own purse. I…”
“Yes? You what, madame? Speak up!”
“I knew nothing!” She lowered her eyes. I thought she might drop in a swoon at my feet. She feared the worst, as well she should. I could see her dismissed this very hour to the same quarters my matrons were about to vacate, and had half a mind to do just that. “Your Highness, my lord Besançon said he would attend to your matrons’ arrangements. He gave his express command that he was to be apprised of everything that transpired in your household.”
“Yes, I’ve been told as much,” I replied. “I also understand my lord the archbishop has taken to reviewing my correspondence, before I have a chance to. I plan to address this matter as soon as my husband returns. In the meantime, I shall personally review my finances, and see how this disaster occurred.” I gave her a hard stare. “Now, madame.”
She rushed out, returning minutes later with a leather register I’d never seen, and an anxious avian-looking gentleman I’d likewise never met, though evidently he was responsible for the register’s contents. Bowing low, he introduced himself as Monsieur my treasurer and began to pedantically explain the process whereby money entered and left my privy purse, while Madame stood by, wringing a section of her gown. Listening to the poor man’s panting explanation, staring at the cramped formulas, I hoped I did not betray the fact that they could be robbing me blind and I’d never know it. As learned as I was, the intricacies of managing my own finances had not formed part of my educational curriculum.
“My matrons have suffered unspeakable privation,” I finally interrupted, with deliberate severity. “I hardly see why you simply didn’t use the monies I allotted for their maintenance.”
“Monies, Your Highness?” he repeated, blinking at me as though I were some strange being whose language he did not fully comprehend. “I am aware of no such monies.”
“How can you not be aware? I signed the vouchers myself before I left with my husband.”
“I am aware of the vouchers, yes.” He flipped through the register’s pages, paused at an entry. He pointed. “See here: I submitted them for approval to my lord the archbishop’s secretary. But none were for the maintenance of your matrons. Indeed, I was told that as Your Highness had dismissed them from service, they must return to Spain.”
I slammed shut the register, barely missing his fingers. “Who told you that?”
He recoiled, as if he expected me to strike him. “His Eminence the archbishop’s secretary.”
“Is that so?” My tone could have congealed honey. “Well, I am the archduchess of Flanders, and I’ve no recollection of giving such orders. A simple rest is all I requested for my matrons—rest and a suite of rooms where they could properly be attended. It would appear my lord Besançon needs reminding that he does not rule here.”
The treasurer grabbed his register and bolted. Madame gave me a tearful look. “I fear Your Highness does not understand. I beg you, do not confront him. He is greatly respected both by the court and His Highness your lord husband. To go against him would risk his worst enmity.”
I regarded her in stark silence. Somewhere inside me, her warning struck a chord, but I chose to ignore it. I would not allow Besançon to dominate my household or my decisions.
“I thank you for your advice, madame. And I do not hold you responsible. You may go.”
Curtsying swiftly, she left me.
BY THE TIME NIGHT had fallen, I’d had my matrons transferred to rooms I saw prepared for them and retired to my own chambers. The next day I made the decision to send them to Spain before Philip returned with Besançon. After the humiliation my matrons had endured, they would never see Flanders as anything other than a place of torment, and in truth, I didn’t want to suffer their eternal reproach. I couldn’t let Doña Ana leave, not as ill as she was, but the others were hale enough to weather the trip. Once again, I summoned Madame and my treasurer and entrusted them with the arrangements. By the following week, my matrons were on their way to Antwerp and a specially provisioned ship. So too was my letter to Philip by courier, apprising him of the situation I had encountered. Let Besançon deal with that, I thought smugly.
I appointed a physician to watch over my duenna and visited her every day. To my relief she began to improve under his ministrations, eating her fill and even complaining that she did not understand anything of what the elderly doctor said to her.
“Though he understood me well enough when I slapped his hand after he tried to examine my chest,” she declared. “The nerve! As if I’d let him put his hand anywhere near my bosom.”
I chuckled under my breath. She was on the mend by the time Philip came home.
But he did not come to see me immediately; he’d arrived late the night before, I was told upon awakening, and I dressed at once to go to his apartments. I found him seated in his still-shuttered bedchamber, clad in his soiled riding gear, a half-emptied decanter of wine at his side.
I paused on the threshold. “Philip?”
He did not look at me. He poured a goblet, quaffed it in a single gulp, and poured again.
I went to him. “Philip, what is it? What has happened?”
He looked exhausted, bruised shadows encircling his eyes. Before I could touch him, he flinched and rose to stride to the other side of the room.
“Not now,” he muttered. “I’m in no mood.”
I went still. “I only wish to welcome you home and speak with you about—”
“I know what you want.” He lifted icy eyes to me. “I would rather you did not. I’ve had a trying enough time as it is without having more cares laid upon me.”
“Cares?” I was so taken aback I scarcely knew what to say. I almost let loose my tongue, informing him that I too had had my own share of cares while he’d been gone. I held back. I sensed it would be wiser to simply sit and try to discover the reason for his chagrin.
I went to a chair. “I apologize if you think I’m here to berate you. It’s not my intention, I assure you.” I paused. The schooled look in his eyes seemed to bore right through me. He didn’t look anything like the man I’d left only a few weeks before. “Philip, what has happened?”
His rigid shoulders abruptly slumped. “Everything,” he said in a low voice. “I am nothing. I am less than nothing.”
“You are not nothing,” I said. “You are everything to me.”
“Then perhaps you shou
ld sit on my esteemed Estates-General.” He went back to the decanter. I reached out, took hold of his hand with the goblet. He did not say a word as I removed it from his fingers. I rose, looked into his muted eyes.
“Did they try you so?” I asked. I wouldn’t have been surprised. My father had raged often enough about the Castilian Cortes and its refusal to grant one thing or another. I’d heard him with my mother and she always managed to soothe him out of his temper with the same moderate reminder: “We rule by their sanctioned approval, as appointed sovereigns. Without their wisdom, we would be like tyrants or prey to the nobles’ ambitions.” I wondered if Philip suffered the same, if as archduke he too must submit on occasion to those common-born officials who looked to his realm’s well-being first and disdained the exigencies he faced as a ruler.
“Try me?” He shook his head. “They do far more than try me. They humiliate me.” He lifted his gaze to mine. Anger sparked in his bloodshot eyes. “I am archduke in name alone, given lip service while my father orders all behind the scenes.” He paused. “I’ll never have what I desire.”
The helplessness in his voice roused every protective instinct in me. He looked like a desolate boy standing there, his matted hair hanging about his pale face. I took his chin in my hands. “What do you desire, my love? Tell me and I will give it to you.”
They were the words of a young wife seeking to console her husband, of a woman who cannot bear to see her lover in pain. I had no idea what I could give him that I hadn’t already, but in that moment I would have walked to the ends of the earth to get it.
“I want…” He swallowed. “I want my freedom. I asked the Estates to declare me archduke in my own right, to release me from my vassal obligations to my father so I can assume the rule of Flanders in name as well as deed. I told them I will turn nineteen soon, of age to rule alone, and that I had spent these past years proving myself.”
“And they refused you?” I said. I was bewildered. I thought he was the ruler of Flanders. I thought he and Besançon oversaw the duchy. My mother had said as much: she had told me Philip had ruled here since his childhood.
He turned away from me. “They said until my father grants me legal maturity, I must abide by his decisions. I asked, why did they make a mockery of me by obliging me to attend their session when I had no authority to affect its outcome? They replied that my father wished it so. He said it was how I would learn the proper way to rule.” His voice hardened. “The proper way! Blessed Christ, I’ve lived my entire life under his shadow. I’m but a pretty prince in his cage, without power or prestige, playing with toys given to me on loan.”
So he was not sovereign. He held his title through his father, but nothing he had was truly his. It was the first time reality had intruded on our idyllic world and I failed in my innocence to recognize the darkness it could engender. All I wanted was to see him smile again.
“Are you disappointed in me?” I heard him say.
“No,” I replied softly.
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Even though you know that I am my father’s puppet?”
“You are not a puppet. I don’t care about titles, Philip. We are happy, aren’t we? We don’t need anything more.”
He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Perhaps you don’t, but I do. I was born to rule. I inherited my lands through my late mother and am a Habsburg same as my father, damn his miserly soul. I deserve my crown. He has no right to keep it from me until he thinks I am worthy of it.”
“Philip, a crown isn’t all it seems. My parents have crowns and what has it brought them? My mother dedicates her every waking hour to Spain, while my father spends months on end traveling about the realm and arresting or threatening the plotting grandes, because otherwise they might think him weak and seek to revolt. It is not an easy existence.”
“Perhaps.” He turned back to me, held out his hand. “Come here.”
I went to him slowly. He took me in his arms. “Forgive me. It’s not your fault. But I wish to make my mark in the world. I can’t be my father’s undeclared heir forever.”
I looked into his eyes. “You will make your mark. One day, he will die. You will inherit his mantle. You will rule everything he does, and more. And I, my love—I will be at your side.”
He nodded, grazed my cheek with his fingertip. “Yes, of course. One day.” He smiled vaguely. “I know you too have had a bad time of it. I got your letter and I promise to speak with Besançon the moment he returns. I summoned him to help me at the Estates, before I realized I could accomplish nothing. I thought his presence might sway them to my side. He’s still there, flogging the dead horse. But I’m sure he did not deliberately intend your matrons to be quartered thus. There must have been a misunderstanding somewhere.”
I bit my lip. I didn’t say what I knew in my heart: the archbishop had acted with deliberate malice. I suspected he sought to separate me from my Spanish allegiances, to make me more firmly Philip’s wife. I didn’t like him any more than before, but for the moment I would let the matter go. I couldn’t do anything while he was at the Estates-General, and my matrons were gone.
But I knew now that Besançon was not my friend.
A WEEK LATER, PHILIP AND I DINED ALONE IN MY APARTMENTS. We’d gone hunting for a few days with a minimum of servants to a nearby wood. I did not enjoy the trapping of rabbits or stalking of boar and deer, but the time spent in his element, doing something he excelled at, returned Philip to his ebullient self. Our nights were long and passionate, charged by the lack of ceremony surrounding us. I was sad to leave, in truth. I found I preferred the rustic simplicity to the opulence of our life at court.
We were feasting on one of his catches, a roast quail in plum sauce, when Beatriz burst in. “Your Highnesses, forgive my intrusion, but a courier has come. He says he brings urgent news.”
Philip pushed back his chair and stood. “No, stay here,” he told me as I started to rise. “Let me see him first. It might be nothing. Finish your supper. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I nodded, looking at Beatriz. The moment he left, she said, “The news is from Spain.”
“Spain?” My napkin slipped from my lap as I came to my feet. “Are you certain?”
She nodded. “I heard the courier tell His Highness’s chamberlain that he’d ridden all day and night from Antwerp, where he’d been hired to convey the letter by a messenger from Spain.”
“I must speak with him, then,” I said, even as I wondered where Philip might have gone to meet him. Then the chamber door opened. I took one look at Philip’s face and stepped back.
He said, “My love, the letter is from my sister, Margaret. Your brother, Juan…He died two weeks ago.”
I opened my mouth in immediate protest but my voice failed me. I didn’t feel myself move yet somehow I reached out a hand to grasp the back of my chair, as if for dear life.
“No one expected it,” Philip said. “He fell ill with a fever shortly after his nuptials. Margaret says he didn’t appear too sick at first, but within a few hours the fever rose. She grew frantic and sent word to your parents. By the time your father arrived, it was too late. Juan died in his arms.”
I stared in stunned incredulity; behind me Beatriz gasped.
In my mind, I saw Juan as he rode with my father at the fall of Granada, remembered how he asked me to tell Margaret about him. We’d never been close, not as a brother and sister should be. As my parents’ heir, his lot was far heavier than mine. Yet we shared holidays, winter walks in Zaragoza’s lime-scented gardens, a few enchanted summers in Granada. He had his entire life ahead of him. He was supposed to become the first Castilian-Aragonese king of our united Spain, with Margaret and a parcel of children at his side.
He had been only nineteen years old.
Philip reached out. I pressed a hand to my mouth. A choked sob escaped me. I closed my eyes as he held me close, hearing Beatriz’s quiet weeping.
It did not cross my mind that Juan’s death had brought me one
step closer to the throne.
NINE
The year 1497 faded away. According to the Castilian customs of mourning, I had to remain sequestered for a month. Though not yet fully recovered (indeed, she would never fully recover again), Doña Ana insisted on resuming charge of my household. I welcomed her, for in my time of grief I needed her familiar presence. I thought that I could find comfort in the age-old rituals of mourning but it soon became interminable. It wasn’t long before I let Philip in to sup with me and play cards, chafing as any young woman against the hours of prayer and unbecoming black I had to don.
Philip hated seeing me in black. He said I looked like a raven and tore the ugly veiled hood from my head. He tousled my hair, murmured he missed having me in the hall at his side and, after a few goblets of wine, he invariably turned amorous, his lips at my throat as he whispered of his longing. Doña Ana warned me I must refuse his advances until my mourning came to an end, but his need proved so feverish, his touch so pleading, I had to surrender. I hardly saw the sin in seeking solace in the flesh God had given us, and the way Philip swept me up in his arms, barely removing his clothes before plunging into me, was a balm no amount of candles or litanies could provide. I decided grief must not interrupt our life anymore, custom or not. Though Doña Ana glowered, before the month was out I returned to the court, my time of seclusion over.
ONE MORNING IN EARLY MAY OF 1498, I AWOKE TO NAUSEA THAT sent me hurtling out of bed. Before I could reach my privy closet, I doubled over and was sick on the carpet. With my head pounding and body drenched in sweat, I returned to bed and curled up.
I must have slept again, for I didn’t hear the bedchamber door open until Beatriz said briskly, “Good morning, Your Highness. It’s past ten. I trust you slept well?”
The odors of the fresh-baked herb bread and warm goat cheese coming from the breakfast tray she carried hit me like a blow from a mace. I retched, leaning over the side of the bed. My stomach heaved but I had nothing to expel. Groaning, I righted myself onto my pillows.
History's Great Queens 2-Book Bundle: The Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici Page 9