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

by Gortner, C. W.

  I regarded her. Beatriz always asked questions for which there were no easy answers, seeking to change that which had been ordained before we were born. It disconcerted me that lately I too had found myself asking similar questions, plagued by a similar restlessness, though I would never admit to it. I didn’t like the impatience that overcame me when I looked to the future, because I knew that even I, a princess of Castile, must one day wed where I was told and settle for whatever life my husband saw fit to give me.

  “It is neither tedious nor demeaning to marry, and care for a husband and children,” I said. “Such has been a woman’s lot since time began.”

  “You only recite what you’ve been told,” she retorted. “ ‘Women breed and men provide.’ What I ask is: Why? Why must we have only one path? Who said a woman can’t take up the sword and cross, and march on Granada to vanquish the Moors? Who said we can’t make our own decisions or manage our own affairs as well as any man?”

  “It is not a question of who said it. It simply is.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, the Maid of Orleans didn’t marry. She didn’t scrub and sew and plan dowries. She donned a suit of armor and went to war for her dauphin.”

  “Who betrayed her to the English,” I reminded her and paused. “Beatriz, the Maid was called upon to perform God’s work. You cannot compare her destiny to ours. She was a holy vessel; she sacrificed herself for her country.”

  Beatriz made a rude snorting sound but I knew I’d scored an inarguable point in this argument we’d been engaged in since childhood. I remained outwardly unperturbed, as I invariably did when Beatriz pontificated, but as I imagined my vivacious friend clad in rusty armor, urging a company of lords to war for la patria, a sudden giggle escaped me.

  “Now you laugh at me!” she cried.

  “No, no.” I choked back my mirth as best I could. “I was not. I was only thinking that had the Maid come your way, you’d have joined her without a moment’s hesitation.”

  “Indeed, I would have.” She leapt to her feet. “I’d have thrown my books and embroidery out the window and jumped on the first horse available. How wonderful it must be to do as you please, to fight for your country, to live with only the sky as your roof and the earth as your bed.”

  “You exaggerate, Beatriz. Crusades involve more hardship than history tells us.”

  “Perhaps, but at least we’d be doing something!”

  I looked at her hands, clasped as if she were brandishing a weapon. “You could certainly wield a sword with those big paws of yours,” I teased.

  She stuck out her chin. “You’re the princess, not me. You would wield the sword.”

  As if day had slipped without warning into night, cold overcame me. I shivered. “I don’t think I could ever lead an army,” I said, in a low voice. “It must be terrible to watch your countrymen cut down by your foes and to know your own death can happen at any moment. Nor”—I held up my hand, preempting Beatriz’s protest—“do I think you should exalt the Maid of Orleans as an example for us to emulate. She fought for her prince only to suffer a cruel death. I’d not wish such a fate on anyone. Certainly, I do not wish it for myself. Boring as it may be to you, I’d rather wed and bear children, as is my duty.”

  Beatriz gave me a penetrating look. “Duty is for weaklings. Don’t tell me you haven’t questioned as well. You devoured that tale of the crusader kings in our library as if it were marzipan.”

  I forced out a laugh. “You truly are incorrigible.”

  At that moment, Alfonso and Don Chacón rode up, the governor looking most chagrined. “Your Highness, my lady de Bobadilla, you shouldn’t have galloped off like that. You could have been hurt, or worse. Who knows what lies in wait on these lands at dusk?”

  I heard the fear in his voice. Though King Enrique had seen fit to leave us be in Arévalo, isolated from court, his shadow was never far from our lives. The threat of abduction was a peril I’d long grown accustomed to, had in fact come to ignore. But Chacón was devoted to our protection and viewed any possibility of a threat as a serious matter.

  “Forgive me,” I told him. “I am at fault. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Whatever it was, I’m impressed,” said Alfonso. “Who would have thought you’d be such an Amazon, sweet sister?”

  “I, an Amazon? Surely not. I merely tested Canela’s prowess. He did well, don’t you think? He’s much faster than his size would indicate.”

  Alfonso grinned. “He is. And yes, you did very well, indeed.”

  “And now we must be getting back,” said Chacón. “Night is almost upon us. Come, we’ll take the main road. And no galloping ahead this time, do I make myself clear?”

  Back on our horses, Beatriz and I followed my brother and Chacón into the twilight. Beatriz opted not to act up, I noted with relief, riding demurely at my side. Yet as we neared Arévalo, streaks of coral inking the sky, I couldn’t help but recall our conversation, and wonder, despite all efforts to the contrary, what it must feel like to be a man.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  C. W. GORTNER holds an MFA in writing, with an emphasis on historical studies, from the New College of California. He is the author of the critically acclaimed novel The Last Queen, which to date has been translated into twelve languages. He is currently working on a novel about the early reign of Isabella of Castile, as well as a mystery series set in Tudor England.

  Raised in Málaga, Spain, Gortner is half-Spanish by birth and now lives in California. For special features and to schedule book group chats with him, please visit www.cwgortner.com.