Juana la Loca

by Linda Carlino

  Juana raised her head. ‘An audience?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, a messenger from Cardinal Cisneros.’ This was odd; she never received visitors in this room let

  alone the Grand Salon. She would have to consider this most carefully. ‘No one comes here, no one sees me save those who …’ She held first one wrist then the other.

  ‘The Bishop of Mallorca, the messenger, is the bearer of important news from Cardinal Cisneros.’

  ‘Cisneros. I remember him. Why Cisneros? Why does this bishop not come from my father? In any case it cannot be good news,’ she reached for Marta.

  ‘The cardinal is regent of all Spain. My lady, King Ferdinand, your father, is dead.’ There, it was said, he had done as the bishop requested.

  ‘The king is dead; Cisneros regent. It seems to me he was regent of Castile once, but that was long ago. He was no friend of mine then, no doubt his opinion of me is still the same.’ She nodded her head agreeing with herself; her father was dead, Cisneros was regent, therefore nothing had changed.

  Brother Juan waited; it was said that she had never shed a tear for her husband, so perhaps she would not for her father. It was most strange.

  ‘The bishop, my lady, the messenger from Cisneros; the audience?’

  Juana jumped up. ‘Of course, I must change,’ she announced as if this was a daily occurrence. ‘How marvellous it will be to rid myself of these filthy rags.’ As quickly as she had stood she sat down again. ‘But who is to say the messenger will still be in the salon when I get there?’

  ‘My lady everything has been arranged.’

  ‘All the same I am afraid that he and anyone else will be gone.’

  ‘The Bishop of Mallorca is a gentle man and will have much good news for you, and have no fears for I shall be there. I will retire now and await you in the corridor.’ He left the room to stand a few feet from the guards at Juana’s door.

  Marta found black velvets, brocades, and gave them a thorough shaking. The skirts were beginning to show signs of age, but they would do.

  ‘How strange that Cisneros should send a messenger. Do you suppose he wants me to govern Spain? I doubt it and, Heaven knows, Ferrer would never allow me to govern this house let alone give his permission for me to rule Spain. What do you think?’

  ‘It’s all too complicated,’ was the only reply. Marta was determined not to enter into any discussion that might be deemed controversial; that was how she had managed to retain her position as the queen's servant. She saw what she saw, thought much and said very little, and it hadn’t always been easy.

  ‘Best to wear this chemise, for it buttons at the wrists and will cover those nasty marks.’ How many times had she gently applied the warm mixture of olives, fat and egg white to the cruel wounds on that delicate flesh? It made her so angry that anyone should even dare to think of treating her mistress so, let alone actually doing it. Fancy, those poor wrists all scarred with fresh red welts and older browner ones where leather thongs had strapped her to her chair.

  In the Grand Salon the Bishop of Mallorca was organising his papers and letters. Following the king’s death there had been an uprising in the town of Tordesillas as well as a rebellion in the palace. Over the years many had been stirred by the stories of Juana's ill treatment and felt this was an opportune time to rescue her from Ferrer. The captain of the town guard and the chief magistrate had been the first to move, trying to gain entrance to the palace only to be repulsed by Ferrer and Ferdinand’s Royal Guard. And then the bishop had arrived with unquestionable authority, detaining Ferrer, putting him under house arrest.

  A clerk handed him a letter still smiling at its contents, ‘You have pleased a lot of people with Ferrer’s detention.’

  ‘While he finds it all so unjust. How dare he talk of justice? He complains of malicious lies, insists he has never held the queen prisoner, that the only reason he force fed her was to conserve her life, and that above all every action he took was at Ferdinand’s bidding.’ He threw the letter on to the table, ‘He writes seeking congratulations from Cisneros, in the form of a substantial pension, for running this house like a convent.’

  The clerk sighed, shaking his head, ‘The queen’s lack of commitment to her religious duties is a cause for concern, but could never warrant the use of the lash; and possibly Ferrer’s insistence on her attending several services every day may have prompted her rebellion.’

  ‘I agree. Ferrer should consider himself fortunate not to be subjected to a public whipping alongside the others found guilty of the brutal treatment of Queen Juana. The confirmation of the appointment of the new palace governor is here?’

  The clerk shuffled through the papers, ‘Here, my lord. Such a wise decision; by the time King Charles arrives this house will be in such good order there will be no need for him to consider seeking elsewhere for someone of his own choice.’

  The doors to the Grand Salon opened; the bishop quickly rose to welcome Juana. He bowed low, then knelt before her and waited to kiss her hand. He was shocked at what he saw; a lady in her thirties, old before her time and in clothes looking just as aged.

  She looked bemusedly down at him.

  The bishop began, ‘Your Royal Highness, Queen Juana of Castile, Aragón, Navarre, Naples, Sicily …’

  Juana looked about her, ‘My, such a huge room. I had quite forgotten its size; the windows, the sunlight, so many beautiful things.’ She marvelled at the tapestries, every chair, each table and the lustrous silverware.

  She was led to her throne. It had a canopy above it bearing her coat of arms.

  She was afraid to breathe lest this wonderful dream shatter. It was as if she were someone else watching as she entered this exquisite room, saw herself greeted formally by a bishop then make her way past treasures to a throne.

  With timid fingers Juana traced the carved wood then lowered herself into a luxurious velvet cushion, carefully resting her back, its wounds still tender from the last whipping. She gazed down at her lap for some time before finally venturing to look at the others in the room.

  They were all still there!

  ‘Your highness I am here on the cardinal's bidding. He hopes to bring you his respects personally very soon. Meanwhile much has happened, and I would wish to share the details with you. Your governor, Ferrer, has been dismissed along with his servants.’

  Juana asked the friar, not believing. ‘Brother Juan, has he truly gone? For ever?’ Her fingers sought out the scars on her wrists. ‘But who is to take his place?’

  She dreaded the thought of renewed lashes of the scourge, of a repeat of yelled insults and threats, of having to protect her face from stinging slaps, of further struggles against biting and burning leather straps tying her to a chair, and food pushed into her forcibly opened mouth. ‘Who is to take his place?’

  ‘It is Hernan Duque. At one time he was in the service of Queen Isabel and King Ferdinand.’

  Juana clapped her hands with joy; he was someone from a distant happy past. ‘I know him, my lord bishop. I know him. He was such a gentle, sensitive man.’

  ‘He is here now. May I bring him to you?’

  ‘Why is he not here already?’

  ‘It would not be protocol to have him here before you have given permission.’

  Protocol! She loved the very sound of the word. This was exciting. She would soon remember all the protocol with a little practice.

  Hernan Duque, tall and handsome in his tawny robes, a brown velvet bonnet in his hand, approached the throne. Juana leaned forward to peer at the face of this man, now in his early forties, with those dark, honest eyes the same as they always were.

  ‘You are most welcome, sir.’

  He raised his eyes to the lady who spoke. She was so thin and weak as if made of paper. This lady had survived years of unmentionable terror, imprisoned like a common convict in a cell. He vowed that he would spend every waking hour seeking to lead her from the past horrors and guide her carefully through what must now be a
confusing world.

  There was an awkward silence. Juana could think of nothing to say. She smiled. Her smile saddened him immensely; it was a vacant smile, the smile of a simpleton.

  ‘My lady I have issued orders for rooms to be prepared for you on this side of the palace.’

  ‘This side, overlooking the river,’ she played with the thought for a moment or two. ‘Wonderful. And may I use the outer gallery?’

  ‘This is your palace. You make the decisions and we, your servants, will do as you command.’

  Juana hated that word, decisions. ‘I do not care for decision making. That is what I told my father. I need someone good at day-to-day governing who will keep me informed, to bring the necessary papers for me to sign. Then I can live happily with my child. That is all I ask.’

  Hernan Duque doubted she would ever again be capable of making any serious decisions.

  The bishop changed the subject, wondering how, in truth, Juana and Cisneros could possibly cooperate. ‘The cardinal will discuss these matters with you. Meanwhile, we must attend to your apartments, your clothes …’

  ‘I have little interest.’

  ‘With respect,’ her apathy shocked the bishop, even angered him, ‘you must have everything that befits a queen. There has been gross neglect, of you and your apartments.’

  Juana looked down at her worn skirts. His words had sparked a memory. ‘I begin to feel this is some malicious sport,’ she began. An ice cold grip of dread was taking hold. She must prepare herself for the bitter truth; it was like that other time, these people were only here to taunt, to mock, to ridicule.

  ‘My lady,’ Hernan’s voice was kind, ‘it may take some time for you to be convinced but try to believe we are here as your faithful servants. Your household is free of everyone who would wish you harm. All those dreadful times are banished for good.’

  ‘Then I shall test you. I wish to take a walk outside,’ Juana challenged.

  ‘Whenever it pleases you; but there is no reason to ask. You will tell me what you wish to do or when you wish to do it. I am at your command.’

  ‘Ah, but supposing I wish to walk as far as the convent, what if I ask to go to see my husband's coffin? What will you say then?’ She waited for a resounding No. It never came.

  ‘I shall be honoured to escort you, ma’am.’

  She laughed, ‘I must be in heaven.’ She drank in everyone and everything in the room and it made her dizzy. It was too much and she began to tremble. ‘I must go; I need to be on my own for a while.’

  Catalina, her nine year old daughter burst through the doors, running. ‘Maman, Maman,’ she called, jumping up and down. ‘Maman, we are to have new rooms. I sneaked along to peek at them. They are as lovely as this. You must come and look; the tapestries, furniture and most of all the bed hangings, I have never seen anything quite so …’

  ‘Yes, my dear, but first our manners. These gentlemen are our newfound friends, the Bishop of Mallorca and Hernan Duque our new House Governor. We owe these gentlemen many thanks.’

  ‘Oh sirs, I thank you. I truly, truly thank you. The rooms are so big and so perfect and this one … I could dance for joy.’

  They were all touched by the little one before them in her black bodice and skirt, her hair pulled severely back into a tight braid. How had she coped with the years of isolation? What damage might have been caused? And who could even think of incarcerating such an innocent?

  Hernan asked, ‘And are the rooms truly perfect, my lady princess?’

  ‘Well, I would love to have another window, a window that looked down on the street. I often heard children passing by in my old room and I expect they will go by this one and I would dearly like to see them and talk to them. All I ever see is grown-ups.’

  ‘I shall see that it is done immediately. And there is more. DoΖa Beatriz de Mendoza, of your age, will be taken into service as your companion.’

  ‘Do you hear, Maman? I am to have a friend!’

  Catalina skipped and danced her way out through the door singing, ‘I am to have a friend. I am to have a friend. Wait till I tell nurse.’

  ‘Catalina and I have much to learn or relearn in courtly manners. I think I shall take a little air out on the gallery before retiring.’

  Hernan offered his arm to escort her.

  She stepped out into air so pure, so redolent of liberty it made her gasp and fall against him. Here were sights she had thought never to see again: the flowing waters of the river, trees swaying in the breeze, and people, ordinary people, working in the fields.

  ‘This last struggle has been a lengthy one. Too long! Do you remember my brother? He was right. He told me to fight for what I thought was right. But there is something else too,’ she moved away to look up at him. ‘There is goodness in this world and good people to help me in my fight. Wrongs have been righted and I have finally got justice. I am free. I am Queen Juana once more. And this time I am queen of all Spain.’

  ‘My lady, you are the monarch of the largest and richest nation in all Europe.’

  Chapter 39

  The Franciscan, Brother Juan, was the first to speak as he and the doctor strolled up and down the anteroom, ‘We live in very similar times as those of years ago.’

  The doctor pulled his black cap tightly over his ears as if to shut out the evil of those days when Philip was king. ‘Those damned Flems; leopards that don’t change their spots!’

  ‘True, doctor, anyone wishing to retain his official position must buy it from Chimay.’

  They stopped for a moment to take advantage of the warmth from a brass domed brazier in the centre of the anteroom. The September day could not be considered cold but they saw no reason to deny themselves the luxury.

  The bishop entered, muttering, ‘More problems. Chimay has proposed a Flem as regent knowing we Spaniards would prefer Cisneros!’

  ‘Truthfully,’ Brother Juan commented, ‘we would have almost any Spaniard as regent as opposed to a foreigner. And Juana’s second son, rather than the Archduke Charles, or should I say King Charles, would be far more acceptable to many of our countrymen.’

  Deep in thought at the dangers this posed they took several turns about the room.

  The doctor reopened the conversation. ‘I believe King Charles is unhappy about the queen’s signature appearing first on documents.’

  ‘Most unhappy,’ replied the bishop. ‘He is unhappy about that and to swearing that if one day God returns our queen to good health, he must revert to being prince.’

  Brother Juan cleared his throat, warning his friends of approaching footsteps.

  Juana acknowledged them as she passed, on the arm of Hernan Duque, making her way into the Grand Salon. Her small court of ladies and gentlemen followed her. The three men joined them.

  ‘Hernan, you have worked wonders.’

  ‘Not a difficult task with so many magnificent furnishings to choose from. Those from Flanders are amongst the most beautiful I have ever seen.’

  ‘My lord bishop, doctor, and Brother Juan, do draw near and listen to what I have to tell you.’

  Juana had been transformed, changed beyond their wildest hopes in the last year and a half. She was no longer emaciated or sickly looking. Despite her thirty-eight years, many of them spent under intolerable conditions, a newly born youthfulness about her gave a fresh bloom to her face and added lightness to her step. The news that her children Charles and Leonor were coming to Spain had lifted her spirits even higher. She radiated joy.

  Although preferring still to dress in black, red satin flashed at times from within the slashes in the sleeves and amongst the folds of her skirts, and she had begun to wear more jewellery.

  ‘Gentlemen all the rooms are incredible. This one gives you some indication of the splendour.’ She looked about her as she spoke; at the long table, the many chairs, the chests, all in dark oak; at the silver and gold plate and candlesticks on every available surface. ‘As you see these tapestries from Flanders have repla
ced the others since biblical scenes. In his dining positively groaning with gold and silverware and all resting on the richest cover of crimson velvet. The floor has a carpet made of gold and brightly coloured silks.’ She barely paused for breath, ‘The walls in his private apartments are hung with cloth of gold, a tapestry of gold with several figures in red while my son apparently prefers room there is a sideboard another is completely of gold and white. Gentlemen the splendour is breathtaking.’ Her eyes sparkled with delight as she hurried on. ‘The rooms for Leonor have tapestries depicting woodland scenes. I like those very much for they so remind me of Almazán. The canopy over her chair is of crimson velvet and cloth of gold. Her sleeping chamber is all cloth of gold, quite perfect for a young lady.’ Now she did pause, ‘And this is most interesting. Prepare yourselves.’ She put her fingers to her lips as if to conceal her smile. ‘The rooms for Chimay have such entertaining tapestries.’

  She leaned towards them beckoning her conspirators closer, ‘The tapestries are all scenes of the miracles of Our Lord. It does make one think, might God even yet work some miracle on the dreadful man.’ She could not refrain from laughing at the remote possibility of a reformed Chimay eating and sleeping at the feet of Him who sees all.

  ‘My lady I am sure you did not intend to mock the scriptures and are truly hoping that God will offer guidance to Chimay and perhaps make him acknowledge the error of his ways in Flanders?’ the bishop suggested.

  Juana had already begun to think of making a similar lighthearted comment about the tapestry in this room since she found it quite enchanting. John the Baptist was preaching to an earnest group of listeners gathered round, but one small boy in the bottom left corner had found a wooden whistle to play with finding it far more interesting than a chronically dull sermon. But, obviously, the bishop was in too serious a mood and would not be amused.

  ‘All these wonderful furnishings make our apartments seem quite ordinary by comparison.’