History's Great Queens 2-Book Bundle: The Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici

by Gortner, C. W.

  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 out of it, just enough to entertain the 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 that 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. It is time. 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 of suspicion that had plagued my final years with Philip returned to haunt me and I could no more escape it than I had when he’d been alive.

  My bastard sister, Joanna, for one, became insupportable. She headed the gaggle of sharp-nosed women who served me in my chambers, and where before I had put up with them, relegating them to mindless chores like cleaning out my hearths and seeing to my bed linens, now I found such an insidious way about them that I could not abide to look at them. I suspected that one, if not all, acted as informants and treated them with a remote formality, as I couldn’t refuse their services completely without bringing undue attention to myself.

  Every night after my ladies retired, I spent the hours of moon-limned silence pacing, my doubt consuming me. The shadow unfurled its ominous wings in my mind, growing larger, more threatening, until I feared I might truly go mad this time, as I could no longer tell if what I felt was real or the delusions of a woman who’d been betrayed too many times before.

  I needed confirmation and finally succumbed to what I’d struggled against ever since my father had come to me. I called for Beatriz and handed her a sealed missive.

  “Find a trusted courier to get this to the admiral,” I told her. “I must see him.”

  WE MADE ARRANGEMENTS TO MEET ON THE PLAINS IN A SECLUDED woodland, where Fernandito often went hawking. We needed cover from prying eyes and I waited until the hour of the siesta to saddle up the mare I kept stabled for my ambles about the grounds. I had taken to riding weekly for exercise, or so I told my ladies, and therefore no one thought anything untoward when I went out with Beatriz on her mule to partake of the afternoon.

  A slight breeze rustled the clumps of oaks and linden; from the west drifted the brackish smell of the Duero’s tributaries. Winter had bleached the plains of color, but clumps of wildflowers and startling yellow broom scrub had begun to rise with the incoming heat of summer, and I found myself gazing over the landscape with possessive tenderness.

  At the woodland entrance, we dismounted and I left Beatriz with the horses while I proceeded alone under a whispering canopy of leaves.

  At first, I thought he had not come. All I heard was the susurration of the breeze and the crackle of twigs underfoot. It reminded me of the time I had tried to escape Philip by taking flight over the salt flats, and I closed my eyes for a moment against the unbidden image of the anonymous gypsy woman who had died by his hand.

  Then I saw him standing by his tethered horse in a sun-dappled clearing. I unwound my shawl from my head. He turned. I almost ran to him, for in the saffron light he seemed like a dark statue of hope. As he bowed over my hand, I said, “My lord, you’ve been missed.”

  “As has Your Majesty.” His gentle regard was heartrending. I searched his deep-set cobalt eyes, arresting in the sculpted pallor of his face, and saw reflected there what I had feared.

  “My father,” I stated, and my words felt like jagged glass. “He works against me.”

  “Yes. I would have come sooner, but I feared he’d have me stopped or followed. When I received your missive, I took a circuitous route. He suspects me. He knows you place your trust in me, and he’d not have it so.”

  He paused. “I must beg your forgiveness. I made a terrible mistake in bringing him to you. When I learned of his intent, I lifted immediate protest. I told him you were not there to approve such a decision and he forbade me to see or correspond with you. He did not order my arrest because of who I am, but he and Cisneros will find a way to deprive me. They move against anyone they perceive as a threat.”

  “What…what is his intent?” I heard myself say.

  He tilted his head. “Is it not why you sent for me? He came to you, did he not?”

  “Yes, and he was very angry. I found out he was intercepting my letters, but then he said he was having trouble with Villena. I told him to summon the Cortes for my coronation.”

  He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then he sighed. “Of course, that explains why he returned to Burgos in such a rage. He did not tell you he had taken a new wife.”

  “A wife?” I started. “My father has wed again?”

  “He has. He’s betrothed himself to none other than King Louis’ niece, Germaine de Foix. She is on her way to Aragón as we speak.”

  Germaine de Foix: I recalled sloe eyes, a pursed mouth, and a sharp voice. I had met her in France; she had tried to steer me past the hall, stalked my heels throughout the visit. Why did my father seek to marry a woman born in a land he had despised and fought against all his life?

  And all of a sudden it became horribly clear. A new wife, another queen in Spain.

  “He wants a son,” I breathed. “An heir for Aragón.”

  “Yes.” Anger colored the admiral’s voice. “You are now his heir apparent and your sons after you, but if he sires a son on Germaine, then Aragón will no longer need Castile. Rather, it could be the other way around, for with a French alliance to enforce his power over the grandes they’ll not dare revolt if they think Louis will send in an army to defend him.”

  “Like Philip,” I said, and my heart constricted in my chest. “He uses France to bolster his position. But my sons are also his grandsons, heirs by my mother’s will.” I paused, met his somber gaze. “Dear God, he would go so far just to keep them from the throne?”

  “They carry Habsburg blood. He and Cisneros are determined that they can never rule here. And that is not all, my lady. When he announced his marriage to the lords, he spoke
of one for you as well. It was then I lifted protest and gained his enmity.”

  I struggled for composure, even as I felt a scream pulse inside me. “Do you know who?”

  He shook his head. “No, but whoever he is, it cannot be to your advantage. Your Highness, he sees your sons, and therefore you, as threats. If you are our queen, then your mother’s succession must stand. In time, your son Charles will inherit. Your father will fight against this to his last breath; he wants to bind Castile to him now, and he has Cisneros’s full approval.”

  I turned away, the woodland darkening all around me. “I am being punished,” I heard myself say aloud. “It is my punishment for what I did.”

  The admiral set his hands on my shoulders, turned me back around to face him. He looked terrible in his starkness, like a doomed knight from a childhood ghost tale. And yet he had never seemed more beautiful to me than in that moment when he said, “These are the ambitions of men. They are to blame, not you. You’ve done no wrong.”

  “You do not understand,” I whispered. “I killed Philip. I poisoned him.”

  I saw comprehension dawn in his eyes. He reached for my hands, looked into my eyes as he said passionately, “You did what any queen would have done. You had no sword or army to defend yourself with, and yet you vanquished your enemy. You are indeed Isabel of Castile’s daughter. She would have done the same to save her realm. It is her legacy, alive in you.”

  I could not see through my tears as he raised my chin and brought his lips to mine, like a lover. “You must leave this place,” he said against my breath. “Take your children and your trusted servants and make haste for Segovia. The Marquise de Moya awaits you there. I will join you once I rally my retainers. With any luck, I can convince some of the nobles to fight with us. We’ll wage war on your father and win Castile for you.”

  I heard his words, felt them in my blood and my sinews; in that terrible moment, I knew with a sudden, deep certainty what I had to do. It had been with me all this time, the hour when I must face both my past and my future and decide my own course. I had been a pawn blown by the vagaries of fate for most of my life: an innocent girl used for a political alliance, a wife deceived and manipulated for her crown. Now, at long last, I had the strength to be the woman I had always wanted to be, the queen my mother had believed I could become.

  “No,” I said. I drew back. “There can be no war. I forbid it.”

  He went still. “If you do not declare war, he will win. You could face—”

  “I know what I face. I’ve known it and run from it from the day I was named heir to this realm. I will not run anymore. Castile must come first. I’ll not have blood spilt in my name.”

  “My lady.” He gripped my hands again. “Your father will not stop until he has what he wants. No one can help you if you do not fight.”

  “Who says I will not fight?” I said, and I gave him a tender smile. “You are right: he will not stop, not unless I stop him. There isn’t a place in all of Spain to shelter me. Wherever I flee he will follow. He’ll endanger the lives of those who love me, including my children. And I will not risk my children, not even for my throne.”

  “If you want to survive, there is no other way! Please, my lady, I beg you.”

  “No,” I said again, and I took my hands from his, leaving a hollow inside me. “Castile is my birthright, my legacy. No one and nothing will take it from me. I must look my father in the eye and show him that I am not only his daughter but also the daughter of Isabel of Castile.”

  I saw him hesitate, his mouth tightening. Then he dropped to his knees before me and I heard him say in a broken voice, “Your Majesty need only send for me and I shall be at your side.”

  I set my hands on his head, let the pain of this final loss move through me. I whispered, “Go now, my lord. Save yourself and those who rely on you.”

  I did not touch him again. I pulled my shawl about my head and I walked away, back through the trees to Beatriz and the horses, back to Arcos and the fate that I had decreed for myself.

  Though I did not look back, I knew he still knelt there, watching me.

  I RETURNED TO THE HOUSE, evading Joanna and my other women. Once I reached my room, I asked for Lopez to come with his paper and quill. Beatriz stood pale-faced at my side as I dictated my summons. I pressed my signet ring into the wax and told Lopez, “You will deliver it to him personally. Tell him I will await him here.”

  His mouth trembling as he held back his tears, my secretary bowed low.

  I turned to Beatriz. She met my eyes and in her solemn gaze I saw she would have gone to the ends of the earth for me, if I asked it. I embraced her, holding her close.

  I then stole into my daughter’s room. She slept amid tousled sheets, her gold ringlets disheveled, a sheen of afternoon sweat on her brow. I had to press my hands to my mouth to stop myself from sobbing aloud. She was still so innocent, so unknowing of the world’s incomprehensible cruelty. Who would tell her of me? Who would tell her the truth? What did the future hold for these children of mine, caught up in the maelstrom that was my life?

  I bowed over her, inhaling her sweet scent. My lips grazed her cheeks. For her, I must do this; for her, and for Fernandito; for Charles, Eleanor, Mary, and Isabella. They too were my legacy. My blood ran in their veins as surely as Philip’s. There would be time later for anguish. For now, I must protect them and give them the peace I had rarely known.

  Come what may, my children must survive.

  THEY ARRIVED FOUR DAYS LATER, at dawn. One minute the house seemed empty, the servants just awakening to start their daily business; the next, there was a commotion in the hall, a banging of doors and the tromping of footsteps coming up the staircase.

  I had been awake most of the night. Beatriz set my coif on my head and kissed my hands. I set a hand to her cheek for a moment before I walked out into the corridor. Soraya was with Catalina and Doña Josefa with my son.

  The lords stood below in the entranceway. I recognized the one-eyed constable, sulfuric Villena, and sweaty Benavente. They paused, returning my stare, and then they bowed in unison, as if it were a normal occurrence for them to be here unannounced at daybreak.

  Moments later, my father entered, his riding cape flaring behind him. He looked up at me.

  “Papá,” I said calmly. I descended the stairs. “I’ve been expecting you.” I leaned to him to kiss his cheek. “Shall we repair to the sala? You must be thirsty.”

  He evaded my eyes, gesturing with his hand. The lords retreated.

  I led him into the hall. A bleary-eyed chambermaid hastened in with a decanter and set it on the table. I poured a goblet, turned to him. He took it, not meeting my eyes.

  There is still time, I told myself. He has come with only a few of his men. I saw no guards. If he meant ill on me, he would not have come like this.

  I resisted a sudden laugh.

  “Hija,” he finally said, and he motioned to a chair, “you should sit. I bring important news.”

  My heart started to pound. I made myself go sit, as I had so many times before as a child.

  He stood silent, looking at me. He lifted his goblet as if to sip, then went and set it aside on the table. “I have come to you,” he began, and he stopped. He cleared his throat. I found it strange that after everything I knew, everything he knew, he could seem so reluctant.

  Then it came, in a sudden taut burst: “There are malcontents among us who would thwart the proper governance of this realm and plot treason. I will not tolerate it.”

  I gathered my strength from the pit of my stomach. I had heard this tale of malcontents too many times before. “Are you certain? Who would have reason to plot against you?”

  He barked, “Are you questioning me?”

  I thought suddenly of my children upstairs. If I feigned conformity, pretended to be the pliant, submissive daughter he had always thought me, if I convinced him I posed no threat, maybe he’d leave me alone for today—a day to be with Catalina and my
son, a day of freedom.

  Again, I felt the wild laughter rise in me and I forced myself to say, “I do not question. I just want to know why you believe anyone would plot treason.”

  “It is good you do not question,” he said, ignoring my own question. He paced the room, his compact body emanating tension. He paused. Though I could not see his eyes, I felt them aimed at me. “What would you say if I told you a king has asked for your hand in marriage?”

  Here it was. At last. I did not speak.

  “Not just any king, mind you,” he added, and he had the audacity to actually chuckle, “but one who enjoys great respect and prosperity.”

  “Is that so?” I could scarcely hear my own voice. “And who is this great king?”

  “The king of England,” he replied, and I went completely still. At first, I didn’t believe my own ears. I almost laughed aloud then, in hysterical disgust. It was a joke. It had to be.

  “Henry Tudor has asked for me?”

  “He has. Apparently, he was quite taken with you during your brief visit to England. At the time, of course, any such proposal was out of the question. You were wed and he a widower. But he now says he can think of nothing else and, after much deliberation with his councillors, has decided to cast aside his mantle of widower to offer you a place at his side as his queen.”

  “I see.” My fingers knotted in my lap. “I trust you told him it is out of the question.”

  His eyes narrowed. That telltale tick quivered. “Actually, I told him nothing of the sort.” And he walked straight to me, so abruptly I felt my spine flatten against the chair back. He stopped, reached into his cape, and extracted an envelope. He dropped it in my lap. “From His Grace Henry VII. He writes well, for an Englishman. I suggest you read it.”

  I did not touch the envelope. “I have no interest in what he has to say.”