‘No, nor do I intend to concern myself with that. I am thinking of you and how you astonished everyone with your beauty.’
Juana did remember those events of a week ago. ‘You are right. It was all rather wonderful. Sit next to me, here on the bed. Remind me.’
‘I doubt if I shall remember all of it,’ replied Maria making herself comfortable without causing discomfort to her mistress, ‘but I am sure you will help me if I forget anything.’
Juana settled back amongst her pillows and waited as a child waits for a story to begin.
‘Well, we had made our way here. We made such a fine picture all right, our long and most colourful train had ribboned its way through the countryside.’
‘And nothing went wrong on the way. There was no calamity. That made a change!’
Maria tut-tutted, ‘No calamity. Well, it was about seven o'clock in the evening and daylight was giving way to dusk. We stopped as the city officials, the priests and the bishop approached. They came in perfect procession with the burgomaster coming last.’ Maria laughed, ‘His welcoming speech was awful. I had to be so careful not to catch your eye or I should have laughed. That had to be the longest, most boring speech I have ever heard.’
‘It was interminable! My mule, the laziest of beasts, fidgeted and fussed, eager to gallop off. It was quite dark by the time he had finished.’
‘Then our entrance to the city, no one ever saw the like. The rich velvets and brocades of all colours draped from balconies, roofs, windows …’
‘You are right, Maria,’ interrupted Juana, the dreadful cold forgotten. ‘There were trumpeters and drummers to lead the way, followed by judges, guildsmen and merchants all in their superb liveries, their hats and robes of red, blue or green.’
‘And the knights of the Golden Fleece, ma'am, each with their heavy gold chains with pendant gold sheep; every knight with his own little page boy. And all those gentlemen, lining either side of the procession, lighting our way with torches.’
‘Our court was splendid too.’
‘Oh yes indeed.’
‘My dress of fine gold tissue, with its precious stones and pearls was just perfect, and my white velvet tabard was draped in such a way that it revealed the full splendour of the skirts. Yes I felt every inch a royal princess that day.’
‘And so you should. But where were we? Ah yes, I followed you with six of our nobles, all in the richest of brocades, and, of course, all our mounts were draped in red or blue velvet. What a sight to behold. It was perfect, so it was; perfect.’
‘And the crowds, Maria!’
‘Yes, all lining the streets, they were, or leaning from balconies and windows, all cheering and shouting, “Long live the Princess Jeanne de Castille.”
‘I do remember, how could I forget? It all took so long that by the time we got here it was quite late. The rooms were all brilliantly lit with hundreds of candles, their lights multiplied by huge mirrors on almost every wall. You are right, it was a wonderful day. I had not really forgotten, Maria, I was just feeling too sorry for myself to care to remember.’
Maria was delighted that she had lifted her mistress's spirits, ‘And more good cheer; the Archduchess Margaret and her grandmother, Margaret of York, are on their way to see you, and …’
‘And?’
‘And I believe they bring good news of Philip.’
Juana’s fingers made little pathways across the velvet bedcover. ‘So, he has found time to write to them, but not to me. All I have is this one letter speaking of such impatience.’ She reached for that beloved paper, its folds all in tatters. It was tossed impatiently onto the bed as she pouted, ‘In any case he should have set off immediately once he knew we were in Flanders.’
‘There will be a good reason.’
‘And I know he is not with his father now. I have been told he has gone hunting.’
‘Sometimes men need to seek some diversion following difficult negotiations.’
‘How can he leave me here all alone for so long? We are foreigners; unprotected.’
Maria changed the subject, ‘You do have his sister's visit to look forward to.’
‘But I do not want to meet his grandmother. The very thought of her fills me with dread. See how my hand trembles.’
Margaret of York, Philip’s grandmother, had for years been vigorously conspiring to have the English Crown wrested from the Tudors and returned to the House of York. She had also been tireless in her efforts to have Philip marry her niece, Anne of York. There could be little doubt that she would find Juana an undesirable substitute.
‘Do you know what she looks like? I expect she is tall and grand and will make me feel this big.’ Juana made the tiniest gap between her thumb and forefinger.
‘I have never seen her but I am told she has a slender figure, is most elegant and was considered an exceptional beauty in her time.’
‘I might have known it,’ groaned Juana, ‘a busybody who is forever interfering and is forceful would have to be beautiful too; typical. I shall melt to nothing before her, like wax beneath the candle flame.’
‘For shame; you with your youth, your beauty, your intelligence and all the rest? You will come to no harm with Margaret of York. Besides, she is so old now I should think her flame is already spluttering and almost ready to go phut.’
‘Oh Maria, really, what a glorious picture.’
Chapter 7
It was early evening in mid-October. One or two of Juana’s court were playing chess, others games of cards, while some preferred just to talk. The musicians were playing one of her favourite ballads. Recorders, a vihuela and a viola de gamba accompanied two singers, filling the room with their rich melody. As she sat listening to the tender tale of unrequited love her gaze strayed lazily about the room, one of the most beautiful in the Berthout Mechelen mansion. She had been here for six days during which time her own mood and that of her court had been slowly lightening. An air of expectancy had replaced the despondency of earlier days. The waiting and uncertainty was soon to be over.
Juana's thoughts drifted from the music to the delightful events of that morning.
Margaret had brought such splendid news. Philip was to arrive later in the day. He would come to see her tomorrow and their marriage was to be officially blessed in the cathedral two days hence.
Philip was arriving today! She would see him tomorrow! She had been so excited that she had hugged and kissed Margaret.
Margaret and she had become almost like sisters. She smiled recalling their excited talk about their forthcoming marriages, and how they had tried to outdo one another in singing the praises of their dear brothers. Juana felt uncomfortable knowing that she had not been entirely honest with her new sister-in-law. She could not tell all, would not tell all about Juan.
Juana swallowed hard remembering her words both said and unsaid. She had spoken of Juan’s stammer but without mentioning it was often disturbing for those who knew him, and extremely embarrassing to those who didn’t. But worst of all she had been less than truthful about his other speech difficulties; not mentioning that he was tongue-tied, that his lower lip was set so far forward of the upper malformed one that it made it … no, she had carefully avoided all this by saying merely that his voice was thick and his way of speaking very ponderous.
She excused her actions with the conviction that as soon as Margaret met him she would discover what a wonderful person he was and that was all that mattered. She would be loved and cared for by someone very kind and compassionate. Her new life with him would more than compensate for all those years she had spent in France waiting for a marriage that had failed to take place, then the years of being held and treated little better than a prisoner before being allowed to return home. As the chosen bride of the angel she would also have all Queen Isabel’s love and affection.
Having shaken off the twinge of conscience she settled back into her seat only to be overcome by another; she had not yet written home and it was now three m
onths since she had left Spain. That must be attended to soon; definitely; but not when she was listening to some of her favourite songs.
The tambour, tambourine, and tenor and bass recorders were now playing a jolly little song about a young girl looking after her goats and being teased by young goatherds.
Oh maid that looks after your goats
Your skirts drawn up to your knees,
Say, sweet maid of the pretty hose
You'd care for us goat boys, please.
She sang along with the music, merrily tapping out the rhythm with her fingers on the arms of the chair.
The music faltered. The courtiers closest to the doors had been the first to hear the urgent, hurried footsteps approaching, the voices growing closer and louder. Don Fadrique, sword drawn, was there immediately.
Fear had returned and spread among them. They were rudely reminded they were foreigners in a strange land and as yet their mistress was not married to its ruler.
Juana sat rigid, terrified. She could only think of Margaret's imprisonment in France when her marriage contract was broken. Was this wedding to come to nought; were those ominous sounds the clatter of soldiers’ boots?
The doors were flung open. A very relieved Don Fadrique sheathed his sword and went down on bended knee.
‘Don Fadrique, Admiral of Castile, my lord.’ He had recognised him from the many portraits he had seen and not by the rain and mud-splattered youth now offering a dirty gloved hand for him to kiss.
‘Welcome, Don Fadrique. Indeed, a warm welcome to you all. I am pleased to welcome you to my lands. I hope that your stay here will be a pleasant one.’ He motioned Don Fadrique and the rest to stand then strode into the room his eyes searching.
The courtiers looked at the admiral, hoping for some explanation. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, stared at the heavens then whispered to Juana’s head steward, ‘Well this beggars belief. He has now defied all the rules of protocol. Hopefully he will only remain here for a short while, inasmuch as he has decided to dispense with a formal audience. How many times since our coming here have I been thankful that Queen Isabel has not had to witness such impertinence at the hands of this arrogant young fellow? I tell you I can feel it in my bones that he will be intent on insulting us with every action he takes.’
Juana had heard Philip’s welcome. His voice: such a strong and self-assured voice; so hearty and vigorous a voice. What did the owner of that voice look like? What would he think of her? She panicked, the moment for their meeting had arrived and she wasn't prepared.
She tugged at Maria’s sleeve, ‘We are supposed to meet tomorrow. Tomorrow I would be wearing the gown made especially for the occasion. Here I am in the plainest of skirts and bodice. He will think I am nothing more than a serving maid.’ She looked anxiously down at her clothes; the green velvet skirt with its full-length matching green satin apron, a simple laced black bodice trimmed with only tiny emeralds and pearls. There was not another jewel to be seen. ‘And my hair, drawn back into the most ordinary little green roundel!’
The admiral spoke, desperate to bring some formality into a disastrous situation, ‘Sire, with your permission, allow me to introduce …’
‘Where is my bride? Where is my Spanish princess? Why surely this must be she?’
The voice, that wonderful voice, was standing before her.
She rose unsteadily to her feet. She clasped her hands firmly together, her head lowered, her eyes fixed intently on her white knuckles, the pounding of her heart so loud the whole room must hear. A slender hand appeared, she closed her eyes, her head was slowly raised by long gentle fingers.
‘Juana? Can this beautiful maid be my Juana?’
The voice charmed her. She looked up at him. She caught her breath. He was incredibly handsome. He was so tall, so athletic. He had the most beautiful face she had ever seen, ever dreamed about. He was fair skinned with rosy cheeks. His light brown hair was almost blond. He had the largest, softest and bluest of eyes. And his proud mouth with its full lips was sensual and inviting.
‘Juana, they never told me you were so beautiful! I never expected a treasure such as this for a wife. Kind sirs you may now withdraw.’
Don Fadrique's patience was once more put to the test. This action of the prince was defying all codes of honour. Juana’s good name was at stake. He was powerless before this young man and the frustration was hard to bear. He looked towards Juana and coughed aloud his displeasure.
Juana watched them all leave the room catching snatches of their whisperings: ‘unacceptable’, ‘reputation’, ‘compromised’, ‘lovebirds’, ‘captivated’, ‘under her spell’.
They were alone.
‘Forgive me my dear Juana for my disgracefully long absence. What a fool I have been. And you left all alone. Say that you will forgive me.’
How many weeks had she spent lonely, homesick, desperately unhappy, and yes even afraid? Had he not terrified her even more but a few moments ago with those sounds of spurred boots coming ever closer? And now he asked her to forgive him.
‘Forgive, my lord? There is nothing to forgive.’
‘Not “my lord”, Juana, let me hear you say “Philip”. Your pretty voice with its charming accent is music to my ears. Let me hear you speak my name. Say, “I forgive you Philip”.’
‘I forgive you, Philip.’
‘Oh what bliss. This is heaven.’ He held her face up towards him and kissed her. He kissed her once, twice so lightly then the third time he lingered long on her trembling lips. He held her at arms’ length to look at her once more and was enchanted by all he saw and he could not believe his good fortune.
He had never wanted to marry a princess from Spain; in fact the very idea of being connected in any way with that country was anathema to him. He had strongly objected to being pushed into this marriage as part of his father's treaty with Ferdinand and Isabel. Surely his sister's marriage with their son was sufficient to seal the bargain?
His own sympathies lay with France and always would. He had been educated in the French Burgundian fashion. His mother tongue was French. It was only natural, therefore, for him to feel only contempt for that land beyond the Pyrenees continually at loggerheads with his French friends.
But this was something he had not dared to hope for. A pretty damsel for him to bed with; it certainly sugared the pill. It would make his royal marital obligations to the Austrian and the Spanish Royal Houses so much easier.
And Juana? Her timidity melted away. She took more and more delight in his looking at her, stroking her hair, gently touching her cheeks, running his fingers over her lips, then covering her face and lips with more kisses. She was emboldened by his seductive ways to raise her hands to caress the curves of those enticing lips, tracing the mouth that had covered hers awakening in her new and unknown sensations.
She knew they should not be doing this before their marriage was blessed, but she did not care. Not too long ago she had desperately wanted to return to Spain. All she desired now was to be kissed again and again. She was impatient to be folded once more in his arms, desperate to return his kisses with even better kisses of her own.
‘What are you thinking, Juana?’
‘That I must be dreaming.’
‘Juana, bless your dear heart, this is no dream. All that we lack is the blessing, and as soon as we have that we shall be man and wife.’ He kissed her again, the kisses becoming hungrier setting alight untold fires within her.
She broke away from him, gasping, ‘And only two days to wait, Philip, and then …’ she dared not think further.
‘Two days, Juana? What is this about two days?’
Puzzled, she replied, ‘Margaret told me only earlier today of the final arrangements for the ceremony in two days time. I cannot have misunderstood.’
He laughed at her, ‘Yes I know those are the plans. But why wait? That is only a public ceremony, to satisfy others. We can decide for ourselves when to have the blessing. In fact, let
us do that right now.’
Philip knelt down before her, a child earnestly begging a special favour.
Her mind raced. To marry now, to become man and wife this very night; she wanted that more than anything. But what would people say? It was of no matter. This was Philip's land, he it was who decided, and all were at his bidding; like them she was at his command. She smiled down at him and nodded.
He leapt up and taking her by the waist lifted her high, ‘Darling Juana. Precious Juana. Now all we need is a priest.’
Juana threw back her head in mischievous laughter, ‘I have the ideal priest, my chaplain, the Dean of Jaen. He is so serious and so very strict. My mother insisted I have him for my confessor, though I would rather have had someone more congenial. Little could either of them suspect what would be his first duty.’
He laughed with her, thinking what an excellent signal this would send to Spain, letting them know that he was master in his own house and would brook no interference from that quarter. He rejoiced once more; this political union had brought him a warm and vibrant mistress instead of a cold wife. He kissed her again as if to seal the agreement, then strode to the door to beckon the court to return.
Once they were all assembled he asked for the Dean of Jaen to be summoned to read out the holy blessing on their union. Now! Immediately!
This was unacceptable. Don Fadrique registered his strong disapproval, loudly clearing his throat. It was a lost cause. Juana saw and heard no one except Philip. She followed her prince’s every move, drinking in every movement. He turned to her his eyes speaking his desire; and she wanted him to draw her to his breast with those strong arms, to hold her there forever.
Chapter 8
It was a world of bewildering wealth and merrymaking. Life was one long celebration. The feasts, balls and tournaments held at every stopping point on their travels, each one more splendid than the last, declared that expense was no object. Compared with Castile, where pleasures were kept simple and always under the critical eye of the ascetic priest, this new lifestyle was a revelation to Juana and she threw herself into it with joyous abandon.
That Other Juana Page 5