So she was married off to an old man about whom the best compliment that could be paid referred to his wearing fresh clothes every day. What was not divulged was that he was an ancient cripple dribbling and senile.
By the way, Carlos was most magnanimous, allowing Leonor to ‘borrow’ a few items of their mother’s jewels; possibly to sugar the pill, or to salve his conscience, and of course providing her with a few necessary gems befitting a bride‑to‑be.
The marriage with Emanuel lasted three years and there was one surviving child, a little girl. As soon as she was widowed Carlos required her services again; another marriage. So she returned to Spain, leaving the infant behind.
And then John and Catalina were married.
III
“Aye, Francisco, Catalina was most fortunate. Had a happy marriage. Lasted more than thirty years. I was going through some of her letters this morning. All of them speak of her contentment. And now she, like me, is left all alone.”
“My lord, it is a great blessing to find harmony in one’s marriage. I too was fortunate. The grief and loneliness will be difficult to bear, but God will be a great support to her in these days of sorrow. I know this from personal experience.”
“Amen to that.”
Francisco continued, “I remember Catalina so well when she was but a child, how she changed from that little country girl in unadorned plain woollens into an elegant young lady sparkling as wonderfully as the jewels that decorated her satins and velvets. And I recall her affection for her pet dogs. Why, she even had a collar studded with diamonds for one of them,” he smiled, shaking his head. “The silly things one does when one is a child. Ah, but those were happy days when I was her page, playing my part in that little court. There were dancing lessons, riding, excursions, as well as our studies. The joys of youth, a lifetime away; nay, a different life. Whenever I reminisce I find it almost impossible now to think that that carefree young man was me.” He sighed, “Then one day it was all over. We watched her dazzling cortege leave the town, cross the bridge, then grow ever smaller and fainter until disappearing from sight. She would never be seen again. Gloom and despondency fell like a leaden cloud on the palace and on everyone. Queen Juana, God rest her soul, was thrown into the blackest despair. It took days to persuade her to leave her vigil at the window, to convince her that Catalina would never return. All very sad, very sad. Then of course, I left shortly thereafter to come to your court, and many years passed before I found myself once more in Tordesillas. I was shocked that Queen Juana was so … had become …”
Carlos had been brutally wrenched from his fond memories of his sweet young sister Catalina to face unwelcome images of his mother. He interrupted Francisco, rather too loudly, “My dear sister has turned out to be an excellent monarch and true friend to me and to Spain. Had me worried, you know, back then at the time of the revolutionaries, when I was out of the country. Those damned Comuneros. How much had she and our mother collaborated with them, how far dared I trust her? I know there were many defending the pair of them, and Catalina put forward a good case to prove that her actions had never been less than loyal. But, for me, there was always that nagging doubt. The information that Denia, the governor of the palace, gave me was very disturbing.”
Quijada made a great show of folding his arms by first stretching them out in front of him, groaning, “Denia; that ogre of a man.”
Carlos pointedly ignored him and continued, “However, it emerged eventually that all m doubts and suspicions were unfounded, and she was and always has been a loyal and loving sister.” He wiped a tear from his eyes, covered his nose with his handkerchief and snorted into it.
“Exactly so,” Francisco was eager to voice his long held views. “I would prefer not to speak ill of any man, and especially a dead man, but I feel I must come to the defence of Queen Juana and Princess Catalina. In my opinion the two ladies were greatly wronged. The real root of the problem all along was Denia himself because of the many lies he told. Everyone knew that your sister and Queen Juana never said – nor indeed did they permit anyone else to say – a word against you. Her highness’s only desire was to put an end to the injustices suffered by the people of Castile. That was the sole purpose of her involvement in any discussion with the rebels. And then, my goodness, the vigour with which the governor Denia renewed his authority once the revolt was put down! Stories were running wild, in the palace where he was feared and in the town where he was hated, about his being rewarded for his supposed services to you throughout the rebellion while Queen Juana and Princess Catalina were being punished, and for no good reason. There was gossip, too, of him and his wife treating Catalina badly, of their stealing gold and jewels from the Queen, of his locking …”
“Now just one moment! You stop right there!” Carlos shouted and jabbed a gnarled finger at him, “You were too bloody young to understand, far too young to be gossiping about things that had nothing to do with insolent young pups. By God, you had no idea how damned difficult it was for me at that time. I was out of the country. Yes, I knew the rebellion was quickly crushed and order restored, but family affairs remained to be dealt with. I had to trust Denia’s judgement. This I did and I was more than content I can tell you. I was left free to concentrate on other matters. I needed a man of iron discipline; there was no room for foolish sentimentality.”
“But then, when you did come back to Tordesillas, was there nothing about the conditions there to make you …?”
“Youthful exaggerations, you were no different than the rest. In any case I was far too busy for petty grievances,” he shuffled uneasily in his chair determined to shrug off guilt. “There was so much to attend to, and all vitally important. There were the marriages of my sisters, and you know quite well what I was faced with when my mother discovered that Catalina was to wed. But what you were probably not aware of was my concern about my mother’s refusal to attend to her religious devotions. Compared with this everything else was trivial. I certainly do not need to remind you that heresy is a serious business. There is only the one True Faith, the Christian Faith, the Catholic Church and its teaching, which must be adhered to without question. To depart in any way from this true path is heresy and must be rooted out; Protestants, Reformers; heretics all!” He ranted, his words getting lost in a strangled, high‑pitched scream. “I’ll have no truck with them anywhere, and certainly not in my own family!”
“My lord, I beseech you, calm yourself,” Quijada urged. “You do yourself no good going over this same old ground time and time again.”
Carlos waved him aside. “Of course Catalina made excuses, said that there had been no problems until the removal of my mother’s confessor, Brother Juan. After his dismissal, on my orders and with good reason, she simply refused to confess or attend Mass. Now, whatever anyone might say, you do not fail in your religious duties simply because you are not allowed your favourite priest, do you? So, as I was saying, I did not know how far I could trust my sister; did she speak the truth or was it dissimulation to protect my mother? I decided she was being a silly child blinded by filial loyalty, unaware that by protecting my mother she was putting all our souls in jeopardy. You see what difficulties children are capable of causing? Still as things turned out, once Catalina was removed from Tordesillas and placed on the throne of Portugal we discovered her true worth to us all. And all the past was forgotten.” He wiped his eyes again. “So there we are. We can do no more until we have more news from Portugal.”
IV
Francisco, who had been quietly studying Carlos all the while, decided that he should repeat that he had visited Queen Juana shortly before her death.
“I was in Tordesillas two years ago. King Felipe sent me there to determine whether or not your mother was a heretic.”
There, the words were out in the open filling every corner of the room. Gaztelu blinked at him. Quijada stood tall and took a deep breath, relieved that at last here, from the lips of Francisco, an honest and intelligent priest
(there were so precious few of them) Carlos was about to hear a carefully reasoned opinion instead of so much abstruse pontificating that said nothing.
Carlos, alarmed that Francisco was determined to pursue the subject that he had been so unwise to introduce simply to divert attention from Denia’s questionable behaviour, prepared himself for the worst.
“It was King Felipe’s earnest wish to resolve the conflicting rumours pouring from Tordesillas linking Queen Juana with, as you say, heresy or madness,” Francisco paused to smile, remembering that ancient lady, in her seventies, frail yet with an undaunted spirit. “As soon as I entered the room she took my hands clasping them in hers in the warmest of welcomes, tilted her head to one side, smiled at me saying, ‘I remember you. You were a page in my daughter’s court all those years ago. You are Francisco.’ I was speechless, over thirty years had passed.”
“Yes, yes, quite. And you could actually bring yourself to touch her? I found it was bad enough just being anywhere near her. Oh, my God!” Carlos shuddered, remembering the filth and her disgusting smell. “But then you priests can do that sort of thing. So tell me, after all your investigations, do you honestly believe that my mother died a good Catholic?”
“She was reluctant to talk about it at first, insisting that people were only just beginning to show any concern for her, and that even so they only worried about her spiritual health and not her physical comfort. She said that no one had cared or given her a moment’s thought for nigh on fifty years.”
“Humph!” Carlos shrugged his shoulders dismissing any criticism.
Francisco rose to walk about the room, deep in thought. He stood for a moment looking out at the trees, watching the leaves shimmer and tremble in the faint breeze, before turning back to the stuffy room, “Sometimes I was sure she was intent on provoking me, repeating the outrageous statements she had made to Denia; for I am convinced I detected a mischievous glint in her eye as she awaited my reactions.”
“Were they Lutheran, the things she said?” As ever in these discussions about his mother anxiety gripped Carlos.
“No. Not at all. No; she was teasing. She said I had to excuse her nonattendance at Mass in the palace because, she maintained, when she did attend the ladies turned her prayer book upside down. Even worse, they spat in the Holy water.”
“Dear God in Heaven.” Carlos wrung his hands.
“As I said, she was teasing; looking to see if I would respond in the same horrified way as others had done before me. When I did not she made the excuses ever more bizarre, until, realising I was not one to be tricked, she ceased trying. But, you see, by that time I had got behind the facade and had begun to understand the true reasons for her behaviour. I recognised them all as acts of defiance; ways of retaliating against injustices, against those who she felt had wronged her.”
“I have no interest in what other people were supposed to have done,” Carlos snapped. “What about her being a … a … heretic?”
“Never once throughout our many conversations had her highness expressed any doubts about the Catholic Faith nor said anything that would suggest she was not a dutiful daughter of the Church. So why did she not attend Mass? I shall give you what I see as the reasons for her rebellion. She had had her trusted friend and confessor taken from her. He was replaced by someone not of her choosing, someone she regarded as an enemy. She was denied the small private altar in her apartment, Denia deciding to have it removed. For many years she had been prevented from attending Mass at the convent of Santa Clara. She was escorted directly to and from the chapel in the corridor, but was never allowed to linger there. There was always someone standing over her; watching when and how she genuflected, staring at her lips when she prayed. She was under constant hostile scrutiny. And, yes, there were those about her only too ready to ridicule. How difficult, if not impossible, to commune with God. So she gave vent to her anger, like a wilful child, and as such reaped the ensuing punishments.”
“Someone who dares,” Carlos lowered his voice to a whisper, “who dares to raise an arm and sweep everything from the altar and then attempt to tear off the altar cloth must be either a heretic or a crazy fool, and not a wilful child. And it will bring down the wrath of God …”
“Her behaviour certainly could not be condoned. Yet neither could it be entirely condemned if one takes into account the suffering and provocation leading up to it. Who knows, perhaps it was a cry to God, begging for His help? And of course God in His infinite wisdom did forgive her and led her once again to the paths of righteousness. She accepted that she had sinned grievously in seeking to worship in her own way, and promised she would never do so again, accepting that she was bound by the doctrines which the Apostles had received from Christ. From then on Queen Juana confessed all her misdemeanours regularly, seeking God’s forgiveness. She constantly sought my guidance and support as her confessor, and those dark days of the past began to fade, leaving her heart and mind tranquil and at ease. At the end she died a contrite daughter of the Church. It was not heresy that drove your mother to disgrace and shame; it was humiliation. There was no heresy, my lord.”
“Just so long as there was no heresy; I do not give a damn about anything else. Anyway it probably all goes to prove what I always said. She was crazy.”
“My lord, the sanity of the queen was my next priority. It was of grave importance for us to know the state of her mind.”
Quijada and Gaztelu were still coming to terms with Francisco’s revelations when after the briefest of pauses the priest decided to take his arguments further.
“Choosing the correct course in assisting her soul on its way to Heaven when the time came was all important. An expert on diseases of the mind spent some time with her majesty before bringing me his findings. These reinforced my own. However, it was our opinion that although Queen Juana was sane she was so gravely ill that our only option was to administer Extreme Unction and not give Viaticum. But ever since her passing I have been plagued by this recurring problem; since she was sane, and we were certain she was, why was she locked away?”
Carlos snapped at him, “You never saw enough of my mother to get a full picture of all her ways. And another thing; it would have been dangerous had she not been isolated. Good God, have you forgotten, she very nearly assumed the throne during the rebellion? We would never have been free of civil strife if I had allowed her to live as a dowager queen; she would have had too many rallying to support her. And for that very same reason I decided not to abdicate until after she died; the thought of passing on such a burden to Felipe was intolerable. A father would not do such a thing to his son!” He brushed angrily at the spittle on his jerkin, irritated with himself for admitting some of the truths, for laying bare some of his fears. “In any case, Francisco, you were not the one who had to make the decisions about how my mother should be looked after, so your conscience need not bother you if that is your worry!” There was now no restraint to his fury and frustration, he bellowed, “Nor will I be preached at. And I shall remind you once more I had, and still have, every faith in my judgement and I trusted Denia!”
Francisco knelt before the king and bowed his head, “I meant no disrespect, my lord. I only seek the truth. Forgive me. Let us rejoice that your mother died a good Catholic, a true daughter of the Church. Perhaps it would be best for me to retire. With your permission I would like to spend some time in the chapel in private prayer and contemplation. I shall pray for King John and all our dear departed.”
“Yes, yes, go. I have had enough of the whole damned subject.”
Certainties
“Quijada, bring me my box of letters; should be on the table near the door. I want to show you some. Then, by God, you will see which of the two is right; a simpering priest or a strong king.”
“I am surprised that you remain unconvinced after listening to Father Francisco.”
“It would take more than what I heard this morning. Gaztelu, you may go, you have letters to attend to. Did they reme
mber to bring my spectacles?” Carlos called across the room. “No? That is the blasted disadvantage of living here, the damn servants lack the sense of the dumbest animals.”
“Oh, if that were the only disadvantage.”
“I shall ignore that. You will have to read them to me. Damnation take it, priests are so aggravating! They can be so damned self‑righteous.”
Quijada muttered to himself bringing the precious casket, “If only that were all. But Francisco is certainly not in that category.” At any other time he would have liked to enlarge on his views on priests but not now, not with the delightful prospect of discovering the contents of these inviting letters. “The letters, where do we start?”
“Read the one written by Catalina, sent to me after the revolution. It should be on the top. The Old Duque Francisco has set my mind to wondering. God, why did he not remain as the Duque de Gandía instead of becoming a convert to the Jesuits? Converts are always the worst. Yes, that one,” Carlos pointed at the letter in Quijada’s hands. “You may find it a bit of a difficult scribble at times.”
The writing was that of a fourteen‑year‑old still seeking to find a finished form; dainty curls and loops which were a charming mixture of child and emerging lady.
“Could this be the one? It says,
I know that letters have been written from here telling of my disloyalty to you when the rebels were in Tordesillas. Your majesty wrote to me more severely than I deserved.”
“Obviously that is the one, Quijada, do not play games with me.”
“Oh! We are in a fine mood! To continue then, she writes,
I did speak to them, how could anyone do otherwise, they were in command. And it is true, I did write to them, not because I wanted to but because Denia and his wife forced me to, fearing for their jobs, begging not to be dismissed. Until now I have been unable to let you know what is happening here because I may only write what governor Denia dictates. If I speak to the queen's servants or try to send notes out to my friends his wife searches me then sets guards on me. I do not want my confessor to be replaced by another. My mother is restricted to her small apartment; she is denied the freedom of the palace. Everything I have written is the truth, please demand a change as quickly as possible, Catalina.”
A Matter of Pride Page 9