Ferdinand, Juana and Philip came from the intense brightness and warmth of the sun and the noise of the crowds into the sombre throne room. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting the imprisonment of Christ, Christ washing His disciples' feet and Pontius Pilate tormented by his indecision; not the most cheering of atmospheres to greet the elated young couple.
On a dais at the far end an old woman sat hunched on her throne. Juana swallowed hard. Isabel, looking old and infirm, was dressed entirely in black, except for a collar of tiny sheaves of gold arrows set with rubies and pearls.
Only two ladies accompanied her mother: the life-long friend Beatriz, and Juana’s namesake, the natural daughter of Ferdinand.
Juana looked at the mother she had thought never to see again. Time and events had had their savage sport with this once indomitable queen. Her body was heavy and bloated; her face flaccid and deeply lined; her hair quite grey. She reached for her mother's hand to offer the customary kiss, but Isabel stayed her and rose awkwardly from her seat and painfully descended the steps.
‘My dear child.’ Isabel hugged her pulling her into her ample bosom, kissing her and weeping. ‘And our son Philip. Prince you are most welcome.’ She beckoned him to her to receive her welcoming embrace, ‘I hope you are quite recovered.’
He too offered to kiss her hand but she withdrew it that she could grasp his arms in a show of affection.
Juana translated their brief conversation.
‘Now then, Philip must stay with the king while I have you to myself, my child. My child, dear me, no longer a child but a mother. Let us go to my apartments.’
They walked together, arm in arm, slowly; every step for Isabel an agony.
Once in her room and settled comfortably with Juana at her feet she began her questions. She was eager to know about the three little ones left behind in Brussels. Were they healthy, who did they look like, when was she to have their portraits and, most importantly, when were they coming to Spain?
Then came the searching questions. Isabel was demanding the truth: about Philip's behaviour towards Juana; Juana's religious obligations; Juana’s isolation, self-imposed or otherwise. She detailed the many rumours she had carefully stored over the years.
Juana was thrown onto unsure ground, the information was unnervingly accurate. She dared not attempt answers, so shrugged off the queries. ‘You concern yourself too much. Those things, many of them exaggerated, are all in the past and should be forgotten. Tell me of yourself, for you have suffered far more than I.’
Isabel decided not to press the matter; and her daughter did, after all, look well and happy enough. She spoke instead of the tragic deaths in the family, of how each had plunged a dagger deep into her heart.
‘And my sisters, Maria and Catalina?’
‘They are both wed and in good health, and it brings me comfort to read their letters; but I feel very much alone. There is no loneliness to compare with the loneliness of an empty hearth. I have a tremendous ache in my heart which can never be eased and nothing can remove this dreadful weight of sorrow.’
‘Not even me mother?’ she asked playfully, knowing she had been and always would be a poor substitute for her sisters in her mother's heart.
‘But only for the briefest of time Juana. If only we could persuade you and Philip to live here. Or have you send us our darling grandson Charles that we might raise him as a true Spaniard. Spain must be ruled by one of its own, someone who cares, someone to ensure that it maintains its identity, its dignity,’ Isabel’s voice had an edge, ‘and sees to it that it does not become little more than a part of Austria.’ She shuddered her distaste for such an eventuality.
‘Not now, please mother, not now. ‘But I have a gift for you. Page, send for Madame Halewyn to bring me my red casket. Mother I have brought some exquisite cloth.’
‘Juana you know full well that fineries hold no interest for me.’
‘But this is fine Brussels material, perfect for your veils.’ ‘In that case I suppose it will be acceptable.’
Juana fought back the hurt. She jumped up, ‘As soon as you have seen it we shall go to find Philip and father. And it must be almost time to dine.’
Dinner, by Isabel and Ferdinand's standards was a most sumptuous affair. A grand show of gold and silver plate, most of it belonging to Beatriz, decorated the table and the sideboards.
Juana's heart went out to them. She applauded their efforts in arranging such a dazzling display, and she sympathised with them as it could not begin to compare with the excesses of France and Flanders. She knew too how it rode counter to their philosophy of austerity so firmly entrenched as a part of their permanent mourning.
She was delighted with the meal. It was, unfortunately, chicken. Scrawny Spanish chickens had been dipped in rice flour then cooked in goat’s milk and rose water and finally garnished with a topping of grilled cheese.
Philip clucked at her before whispering, ‘Good God, more chicken; scraggy birds barely meriting the title of sparrows in Brussels.’ He picked and poked at the food on his plate.
Isabel and Ferdinand were shocked by his singular lack of table manners.
‘Pay no heed,’ Juana laughed nervously, ‘Philip only complains about more chicken after a chicken soup diet for days, and he also has a strong aversion to garlic although I have told him it is beneficial. In truth any food not prepared for him by his own cooks is always regarded as suspect.’
‘Our apologies for the chicken,’ Isabel’s reply was icy. ‘Do assure Philip that there is no garlic lurking in his dish, so he may stop inspecting it as if what he has before him is something not fit for human consumption.’
When they had finished their first course the table cloth was removed and replaced by a fresh linen cloth delicately embroidered with country fruits. Servants carried in dishes of pastries, biscuits, doughnuts, marzipans, fudges and cream.
Juana was wide-eyed with delight, ‘Philip, you must try these pine nut treats.’
‘First you try to turn me into a chicken, now you think I am a squirrel. What are these others?’
‘Almond fudges, marzipans, these are bishops, and over there are saints’ bones …’
‘Go no further, the church gets its nose in everywhere. Tell your parents that tomorrow I will entertain them with a Flanders’ dinner.’
‘That would not suit at all. It would be far too much, too animated, and too noisy.’
‘Exactly! They could do with a bit of life around here. Speaking of which, how soon can we make our excuses to leave and go to your bedchamber. I have in mind a far better dessert than any on this table.’
‘What is Philip saying?’
‘That he wishes to treat you to a Flemish banquet, mother. But I must warn you it will be very different to anything you know.’
Isabel and Ferdinand smiled acknowledging the invitation.
But Philip’s other words were burning deep into Juana and nothing existed except a huge hot wave of desire. It was overwhelming, she could think only of Philip’s naked body next to hers. Feigning tiredness after a long day and a desperate need to rest she left the table, commanding her feet to walk not run.
Philip said he thought it his duty to accompany her to her apartments.
Chapter 18
The December chill that swept through the castle at Alcalá de Henares was nothing to the chill that seized Juana. She held her head. She swayed.
The Marqués de Villena hurried to assist the princess, now in her sixth month of pregnancy.
‘I need time. I must have time to think. This cannot be true,’ she stared at the paper in her hand.
‘Ma’am, the queen knew enough of Philip's determination to leave Spain to summon him from Zaragoza to caution him on his behaviour, to impress on him why he should remain, why he should make an effort to understand this nation which he is to inherit. As you can see from the letter she was unsuccessful; the prince has expressed his resolve to leave immediately. She is now relying upon yo
u to persuade him to delay his departure. She regards it as a matter of great consequence.’
‘Of course Philip is impatient to return to Brussels, and I long to see my little ones again, but my mother must be mistaken thinking Philip means us to leave now. This is not the time to travel.’
Disquieting thoughts insinuated themselves: was Philip so discontented as to want to hasten his departure, regardless of the outcome; would her mother encourage him to leave, to rid herself of what she regarded as a shallow, thoughtless son-in-law while she kept Juana here?
Villena continued. ‘Nonetheless Queen Isabel thought it best that you be advised ahead of the prince's arrival.’
Philip was no more that two hours ride away so he would be here very soon. She had not seen him in weeks and had missed him so. Her heart leapt, at last her lonely days would be at an end; Philip was coming.
‘Take your letter, Marqués. I thank you for your concern, all will be well I assure you,’ she smiled, confident that once she had Philip close to her she could charm away all his ill humour, as she had done successfully so many times recently.
There was the untimely death of Arthur, Prince of Wales, putting an end to their pleasurable stay in Toledo. Isabel had ordered nine days of mourning. Wisely Juana had granted Philip nine days of hunting although she knew she would be miserable without him.
Then, too, there was much about the oath taking ceremony, already postponed because of the mourning, to rankle; and when he was named only as consort and that in the event of her death Castile would pass directly to their son Charles, that was an insult too outrageous to bear.
He had been put into the foulest of rages by the fire that had destroyed so many of his household’s priceless treasures. His prized Flemish cooks were guilty of careless negligence, although they strenuously denied all culpability and pointed the finger of blame at some Spanish servants.
But these problems were nothing compared with the loss of Busleyden. Throughout the summer there had been a number of Flemish deaths, all victims of the heat or the food, and his dearest friend and counsellor was one of them. It was no tragedy for Juana; she saw the counsellor’s demise as nothing less than Divine Retribution for his many evil deeds. Philip, of course, had suspected poisoning, and it was a possibility as there was a rumour circulating about some stolen letters allegedly confirming his part in intrigues against Spain. True or not a young chamber boy was tortured into confessing to the theft and the murder.
Whatever the misfortune, Juana had played the sympathetic role to perfection, always returning Philip to his usual carefree self; with the exception of that disastrous oath-taking ceremony in Aragón when they were confronted with an amendment to include the possibility of a future aragonϑs heir. Ferdinand so desperately hated the idea of a Hapsburg wearing his crown he went so far as to state his intention to remarry should Isabel die. Philip’s blind fury still frightened her, and she hurriedly pushed all thoughts of that day to the back of her mind.
‘Marqués, do you suppose that Philip was merely giving the queen advanced warning of our departure? Immediately, as we all know, can still involve months of preparation.’
‘That is what everyone is hoping.’
‘I must wear something very special to welcome him. Maria, I think the purple velvet.’
Maria gathered up her sewing and made ready to leave the room when Philip stormed through the doors bringing with him an icy wave of winter air. He threw down his mud-flecked cloak, his hat and his gloves.
He spread his hands to the welcome warmth of the fire. His face was thunderous.
‘They are not going to tell me what I may or may not do, nor what I should or should not say. I will not be preached at further.’
‘Philip my love you are cold and weary from your ride. Warm yourself, rest awhile, we shall talk later,’ she went to him her arms outstretched. ‘My poor love.’
He thrust aside her arms. ‘We will talk right now. I am leaving. I said at the start that I would return to Flanders within the year, and there is no one going to dissuade me.’
‘Of course, my love, and I agree with you; but obviously we have to be patient, we need to wait a little …’
He grabbed at the hand that had ventured to smooth his cheek, ‘“Obviously”, madam? “We need to wait”, madam? Do you intend to preach too?’
‘Philip, allow me. We must wait until after the birth of our child, only a matter of weeks. By that time it will be the beginning of spring …’
‘I did not come here to ask your opinion, just as I did not go to Madrid to seek the counsel of Isabel. Neither she nor anyone else is going to tell me to choose between Louis and Spain, nor is anyone going to tell me where I should live. What I intend to do is this; I will set off for Flanders within the week.’
‘Dear heart you are only saying this because you are cross, because my parents have upset you. When you have had time to consider, my love, you will concede …’
‘Be quiet, for God's sake! Now listen and listen well. I hate this country; I hate its people; I hate its weather; and God knows I hate its food. But worse, I find your parents the most duplicitous people I have ever met and I refuse to stay to be made to look a bigger fool than they have already made me.’
Juana was shocked, dismayed, and anxious. What could she say?
‘My lord, I am sure …’
‘I said be quiet. Shut up and know your place,’ the words hissed from tight lips. ‘I must get back to Flanders. I shall travel through France. There is nothing further to be said.’
‘Going to France would be …’
‘You have either not heard or you are too dull-witted to understand what I am saying. Look at me and listen. I am leaving Spain. I shall begin the journey within the week.’
‘But Philip I must stay here, I cannot travel in my condition.’
‘That, madam, is your problem and not mine.’ Philip was so blinded by his fury he never considered the possibility of Juana having a son and Isabel, because of her total contempt for the archduke, naming the child as heir, thereby denying him of any rights whatsoever to the throne of Castile.
‘As soon as the baby is born we will leave. We will leave the child here, and we will go by sea.
‘I mean to travel through France; to see King Louis, to clear my name.’
‘Spain is at war with France.’
‘I shall go as your father's ambassador. Two can play at the same game. I will negotiate a peace for Spain – on my terms, a timely reminder that I will never forgive him for making me chair a meeting funding his army against the French.’
So it was true. He meant to go and he intended travelling on his own, leaving her behind. She could not, would not bear it, ‘You? You negotiate with Louis? How does a vassal negotiate with his master? From what I have observed you would do no more than lick his boots and snivel in agreement with anything he demands; a sordid picture of grovelling.’
‘You vicious little …’ He grabbed one of her wrists in one hand while with the other he slapped both sides of her face before pushing her to the floor.
She crawled, howling, to his feet, ‘The devil take my tongue, Philip. I did not mean it. Forgive me. Oh God, what have I done?’
Philip turned to Maria and Villena, the embarrassed witnesses, ‘Look at this. This is the woman they would make queen and I merely her consort; and she speaks of grovelling!’
Juana knew that if he were to go without her she would lose any remaining hope of his being hers and hers alone; he would go straight to the arms of the first Flemish damsel he met. She had been protected from his philandering in Spain. The young women here were “cold fish”, he had lamented, unreceptive to his amorous advances. Once back home and she not there she would be lost.
‘I beg you. You see me on my knees begging you. Please Philip do not abandon me.’
He looked down at her; at the tear-stained face so ugly and swollen, at the inflamed finger marks across the cheeks.
She whimpe
red in abject defeat, holding fast to his boots, ‘Will you not stay for Christmas?’
‘You disgust me!’ he flung at her kicking himself free. Chapter 19
La Mota Castle glowered down from its grim hilltop isolation onto the bustling market town of Medina del Campo. With their bills of exchange folk from all across Europe thronged the market place at the Fairs buying and selling their woollens, silks, satins and velvets. The town square, disproportionately large for so small a town, was a riot of colours and sounds.
But the castle stood aloof; solemn, cold, with damp and mildewed apartments frequently flooded by the spring water feeding the moat.
On this bleak and blustery day in November the castle's enormous bulk looked more inhospitable than ever.
A slight figure in black, holding her skirts and cloak against a determined wind, made her way along the battlements, stopping occasionally to peer in the direction of the town.
‘They should be here by now. What can be the delay? Oh, my Philip, I am coming. I am coming,’ Juana called out into the harsh blasts. Her face was drawn; her eyes dark-rimmed, staring.
Her return to Philip's side had been the focus of her thoughts every waking moment since his departure almost a year ago. From the day he left she had gone into mourning; weeping for hours, speaking only of her darling Philip; how she missed him, loved him, wanted him, had to get back to him. After weeks of ignored pleas she had sunk into a deep melancholy.
This had persisted throughout the entire eight months since the birth of her son, Ferdinand, yet still she had not left Spain.
But there would be no further delays, no more deceptions. Excuses for promises constantly broken would be unnecessary because this time she had made her own arrangements. Margaret, her dear Margaret, and even Queen Ana of France had promised that carts would be ready and waiting for her at the frontier. She would go despite her parents withholding her license to travel. A peace treaty had been signed with France and that, so far as Juana was concerned, was enough to guarantee her safe passage to Flanders; to her husband.
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