shown any interest in your health and well-being, but now that
the end is near everyone is making a tremendous fuss about
your soul. You do many people a great disservice.’
Her tears continued to flow but now they were for all those
friends she had forgotten by concentrating so much on the
many who had sought to deceive or hurt.
‘You are right I have committed many a grave omission.’ ‘We will pray together then I will hear your confession.’ Juana confessed, listing the recipients of her ill temper: her
mother, father, husband, children, the governor Ferrer and last
but not least the Denias. She had to fight against her still strong
convictions that, in the first place, she would have behaved in
an entirely different manner had they treated her with decency
and with respect and, secondly, that it was patently obvious, for
those prepared to accept the obvious, that after years of
ignoring her very existence there were people now paying her
all kinds of attention. These details she would only share with God. She moved on to repenting her lack of appreciation for the many who had given their time and patience to aid and comfort her; most of all her Uncle Fadrique, Zayda, Maria, Marta, Hernan Duque, Brother Juan de Avila, her constant companion for years, and many more whose names she had forgotten. She thanked God for the love and wisdom of her dear brother, Juan, who had died so young and whose advice had helped her survive. She asked that God would forgive her
for having ever been cross with him.
‘God will show mercy on you. He will see that you are a
true penitent. He will welcome you as a faithful daughter.’
Francisco smiled down on her, delighted at such a lengthy and
honest baring of her soul. In a rush of fervour, which he
instantly regretted, he suggested Holy Communion, inviting
her to receive the Body of Christ.
Juana’s forehead became blanketed in an icy coldness, ‘I am
going to vomit.’ A rush of stinging hot bile burst from her. ‘Quick, a bowl and towels here,’ Francisco shouted as Juana
heaved and retched then fell back onto the pillows exhausted
and sweating.
As the ladies pulled back the bed covers and bundled them
to the floor, removed the stained chemise, Francisco walked
over to Denia.
He had been sitting all the while by the fire oblivious to
everything, his attention riveted on the magnificent gold
crucifix in his hand.
The priest had to unburden himself, had to tell someone. ‘I
should not have allowed my heart to rule my head.’ ‘One moment,’ Denia replaced the crucifix in the cushioned
satin lining, closed the lid to the leather box, and slipped it into
his buckskin purse at his waist. He smiled up at him, ‘King
Charles has not paid me my salary this last month or two, but
this will compensate in some measure. You were saying?’ ‘I so want to help her majesty that I am allowing myself to become emotionally involved. Fortunately it was the queen herself who saved me from making a grave mistake. I need Brother Soto de Domingo. Would you do the favour of writing
to him?’
‘If you feel it necessary. Speaking personally I think it a
waste of time. You will only be going over old ground.’ ‘I want a letter sent post haste!’
Brother Domingo arrived two days later. He visited Juana, talked with her, and now after due consideration he was prepared to give Francisco the benefit of his conclusions.
‘Her majesty does appear to have all her faculties. You say she has confessed and shown herself to be a true daughter of the Church. However, this may not be a lasting condition and it behoves us to exercise extreme care. She is gravely ill and continues to vomit; this in itself will help your cause. I dread to think of the consequences if something of that nature were to occur once she had received the Body of Christ. Yes, the queen, in effect, has resolved the situation. Your only recourse is to offer Extreme Unction. I might add that you should do this without further delay. Have no concerns for her soul or those of her family; they will all be safe.’
‘I shall be forever indebted, Brother. And thank you for travelling here during Holy Week; I know you would have preferred to have spent these days in prayer.’
Brother Domingo bowed his head graciously acknowledging the gratitude of the other. The room was put in order and the household summoned. Many stood in the shadows while others gathered in the salon and the corridor beyond. The marqués and marquesa stood close to Father Francisco.
Although Juana found little respite from the continued bouts of vomiting there was an overall tranquillity in the air; the tranquillity of resignation. ‘Your highness, you have reached the end of your days on earth, the end of your travails, and you must be prepared to meet Our Lord God. You must now beg His forgiveness, with all your heart, for the many ways you have offended him.’
‘I beg forgiveness for all my excesses,’ her voice was faint, her breathing laboured. ‘I desire nothing but that He will look kindly upon me, His erring servant …’ the words faltered.
Brother Francisco offered her his crucifix. She kissed it gently then tried to say the words of the Creed.
Her body was anointed as the prayers of the ritual were offered. Her eyes were closed and she whispered to a succession of unsummoned images. ‘My handsome Philip, dallying with any pretty thing; you scorned my love, trampled upon it. You denied me any friendships, denied me my liberty. Ah, father, you too used me as though I was your property to do with as you desired. Why did you feel nothing but envy for me? You wanted all the power and had me imprisoned so that I would be unable to share. All I wanted was to be loved, yet you and Philip sought to hurt me. And Charles, I thought I would see you. Never once did you show me any compassion. One day you will realise that but for me you would have lost Spain, I wonder too if you might regret the way you and your friends have treated me, stolen from me? No better than villains, the lot of you.’
A new image appeared, much stronger than the rest. ‘My beloved brother Juan; you were the sweetest, kindest person ever. Mother was right, you were an angel.’
She thought she saw him reaching towards her to put a finger to her pouting lips as he did once before so many years ago. He was right. She dismissed the other images with the strength of that other Juana.
Exhaustion engulfed her, pushing her into a deep sleep. Dawn brought with it the first intrepid calls of a solitary bird bidding farewell to the night, welcoming the day. Others soon joined in until there was a full chorus of jubilation. The slow tolling of bells in their steeples also announced the beginning of the day, the day of the final agonies of the Saviour. It was Good Friday.
Juana’s eyelids flickered then opened. Juan had brought her safely through her last battle and had left her to rest. She stirred and she felt no pain. She moved her arms then her legs; she discovered that she could move her legs again, and there was no pain! Gone was the nausea, gone was the foul bitter taste in her mouth and throat.
Her eyes had dimmed and she could barely make out the priest, ‘Father Francisco?’
‘I am here my child.’
‘Please, the crucifix.’
‘I have it here; I have been holding it over you as you slept. And here is something else.’ He handed her a jewelled medallion of the Blessed Virgin.
Juana felt it then traced her fingers across the back of it to be sure; and there was her name. ‘This is mine, my very own.’ It was a gift from her mother, for her fifteenth birthday. She had worn it the day she was told of her marriage contract. How long had it been lying about somewhere, forgotten, until Father Francisco had found it?
She drew it to her, kissed it, and placed it on her breast; it would trav
el with her. She held the crucifix to kiss her Saviour’s feet then freed it reaching up as if towards some helping hands and called, ‘Sweet Jesus, who was crucified, be with me …’
Queen Juana died at six o’clock on the morning of Good Friday, April 12, 1555.
She was seventy-five years old and had spent forty-six of those years imprisoned in Tordesillas.
Epilogue
Tordesillas April 12, 1555
The Mayor declared ten days of mourning. Everyone was commanded to wear black and there was to be nothing of colour hanging in windows or from balconies. There was to be no music, no dancing, no shows of merriment and no singing in the streets.
April 15, 1555
In a solemn ceremony attended by a host of political and ecclesiastical dignitaries Juana’s body was transferred to the Royal Chapel in the Convent of Santa Clara and placed in the same vault where her husband Philip had been interred forty-six years earlier. A wooden railing bearing twelve coats of arms stood around the vault and guards were posted at the four corners.
April 23, 1555
The full town council in their ceremonial robes and bearing their maces of office walked through the town in solemn procession to attend a Requiem Mass for Juana.
Valladolid
April 1555
Two of Juana’s family attended a memorial service in the cathedral; her great-grandson Prince Carlos with the Grandees and Counsellors, The Princess Juana remained in the upper choir; such was her pain and distress she would not be seen in public.
Flanders September, 1555
Juana was accorded full funeral honours.
A cortege was led by two horsemen, their horses caparisoned in black velvet bearing a single red cross, edged with gold and Juana’s coat of arms in each corner. A jewel encrusted crown was carried on a golden cushion. Heralds bearing the coats of arms of Castile, Leon, Aragón and Sicily followed. An English herald preceded Juana’s grandson Felipe (Philip, King Consort of England). He was on foot, in a full-length hooded black cloak.
Finally came the ambassadors and grandees and then, hundreds of poor attired in black carrying torches.
The Monastery at Yuste September, 1558
On his deathbed, Charles expressed his desire to have his mother’s mortal remains brought to the convent at Yuste to be laid alongside his own.
Madrid
October 1573
King Felipe ordered his grandmother’s remains to be taken from Tordesillas to Granada.
Granada 1603
Fifty years after her death Juana finally recovered her status and dignity. She was laid to rest next to her husband Philip and her parents Queen Isabel and King Ferdinand in the Royal Chapel of the Cathedral of Granada.
Her effigy shows her in the bloom of youth; a young queen; beautiful, serene, at peace.
Juana la Loca Page 33