Fonseca shook his head; would she ever conform as a dutiful daughter of the Church?
Mass was as she had told Fonseca; the service went very much unheeded. The congregation was more interested in appearances than worship, and the choirs almost rent the air asunder in their rivalry.
It was not until the service was over that even Juana paid any attention to what was taking place. She became intrigued by the activity directly opposite at the foot of the altar steps. A young server carrying an alms box on a velvet cushion approached the king who placed his offering in the box. One of his courtiers then opened his purse and handed Philip some money. Philip accepted the coins, bowed to the king and put them into the alms box.
Juana stared first at the smug look on Louis's face, then at her naive husband being made to look again as nothing more than a faithful subject.
The server crossed to their side of the church to stand before the queen. She, in like fashion turned to one of her ladies who opened her purse and turned to Juana.
But Juana shook her head, first at the lady in waiting then at the queen. She spoke through a smile, her voice indignant, ‘Should I wish to put something in the poor box I will do so. I am neither poor nor your servant. If, and when, I make an offering it is always my own.’ She then removed one of her diamond and ruby earrings, a wedding gift from Philip, and dropped it clinking into the box.
The eyes of the queen narrowed in fury and she hissed at her between clenched teeth, ‘Duchess, it is your duty to do my bidding. How dare you refuse!’
‘Ma'am, how dared you presume?’ returned Juana.
Queen Ana rose; a shimmering, shaking, rustle of white satins and hurried from the church, her ladies in close pursuit.
Juana’s ladies gathered about her eager to whisper their congratulations and praises, but she hushed them. ‘The queen in her anger has unfortunately committed a gross error of etiquette. Guests should always leave the church first. If the crowds outside are waiting to see if we hasten after her they will be disappointed. We shall take our time as we leave and once outside we shall go directly to my apartments.’
They strolled slowly down the nave giving carvings, triptychs and polychrome statues long and earnest attention.
Maria came to whisper that the queen was indeed waiting in the street presumably having remembered her manners, and that the townsfolk would not move until their curiosity was satisfied.
‘Then if we are all quite ready ladies, let us proceed.’
They emerged into the December sunlight, Juana and her little army of ladies striding forth like crusaders against the infidel. With not a glance to right or left and with heads held high they walked straight past Queen Ana and on to the count's palace. As soon as they were indoors they fled, a flurry of skirts and laughter, to Juana's apartments.
‘I think we must all wear something quite distinctive for dinner.’
There was such a hustle and bustle of ladies. Skirts, sleeves, chemises, stockings, bodices were everywhere, some waiting to be selected, others thrown aside. From out of the chaos Juana emerged, a perfect metamorphosis. She had been a Flemish beauty; she was now a radiant Spanish princess.
She looked in her mirror and saw that every item of her dress; the black hood, the high-necked chemise, the waist-length bodice, the panelled skirts all proclaimed her a Spaniard.
Juana and her ladies were ready for the banquet. She was ready for the enemy. Relishing the idea that one of the secrets of success in battle lies in the element of surprise, and had she not proved that at least twice today, she set off for what she knew would be an evening with a difference.
And Juana was to be proved right in every respect. Her satisfaction could not have been greater when the French queen came face to face with this personification of Spain. Queen Ana struggled to maintain her composure as she demanded an explanation; growing increasingly uncomfortable in the too royal gown and mantle of crimson velvet and ermine. These had been deliberately chosen to command respect and due deference from this little Spanish madam who, it would appear, must be reminded was merely a princess married to a common duke.
Juana would have replied but Louis and Philip entered. The king’s flabby features quivered with rage; her husband’s shock turned to fury. Unperturbed, with chin thrust forward, she announced, ‘There were two breaches of etiquette this morning, for which I have as yet received no apology. I thought it time to remind everyone that I am not just the Archduchess of Austria, not merely the Princess Juana of Castile. I am the Princess of Asturias, heiress to all Spain and its vast dominions.’
She curtsied, aware that the situation was difficult although not entirely of her making. It was now the turn of King Louis to employ all his diplomatic skills; who might he anger most, Spain or Philip? Preferably neither, she thought, for both were vital to his plans.
Quietly content at having victoriously completed her mission for Spain, she waited for King Louis to lead them into the banqueting hall.
Chapter 16
The war of pride she had waged against the French queen with the consequent hurried departure caused greater disharmony than ever; nor did the following difficult months help.
Torrential rains and storms of sleet and snow made their passage through France completely miserable. Yet there was worse to follow.
To prepare for their journey through the Pyrenees all their goods and chattels had to be transferred from the huge ox drawn wagons to the backs of Spanish mules. Kitchenware, tableware, furniture and furnishings, and clothing had to be organised into small, balanced packs. This was carried out as the heavens descended on them in an icy and relentless downpour hampering their every move. Mud-slopped gold and silver ware, protected in sodden straw was wrapped in equally soggy canvas. Boxes and chests slipped from mud-slimed hands into squelching brown puddles, often spilling their contents, some never to be found, others to discover new owners. Exquisite silk tapestries in waterproofed rolls lay slumped like dead bodies across mules’ backs and dripped forlornly. Tempers frayed and frustrated swearing joined the anguished cries of the animals no happier than the rest to be a part of this chaos.
One by one they were readied and added to the lengthy train to splash their way towards the mountain passes. Ahead of them rode Juana and Philip with their retinues, everyone enveloped in furs, scarves and waterproofed cloaks, a long dismal column trudging its way into a nightmare journey of narrow goat tracks and battles against biting winds and blinding snow storms.
Mercifully they eventually reached Spain alive and well but thoroughly exhausted and totally wretched. There were further delays; waiting while fresh wagons were sought in local villages along their route, as roads were repaired and bridges were reinforced to take heavy loads. The reception committees at each of their resting places feted them with hitherto unknown Spanish luxury, a dispensation granted by the frugal Queen Isabel in an effort to impress her son-in-law but which did little to cheer.
It was still all so very far removed from those idyllic plans Juana had nursed in Flanders so many months ago. Her husband was not impressed with her country, in fact he had found very little to please and much to aggravate, and he complained a great deal.
It was now April and Toledo, where the swearing in ceremony was to take place, was only two leagues away.
Juana was sitting on a large, hand worked, floor cushion in Philip's chamber. Although her Book of Hours was open she was keenly alert for any sound from her patient and willing him to awaken from his slumbers. She was eager to be his nurse, eager to shower her devotion on her beloved husband who only a few days before had been stricken down by a very nasty attack of measles. Her book rested on her knees as she only half-read, Deus in auditorium meum intende … , only half-looked at the little shepherds and the angels tightly enclosed in the illuminated letter D, and the tiny animals hiding amongst leaves that traced the margin of the page.
‘Yes, that is the reason for this illness’; she whispered to the page, ‘God wanted us to
have some time together, free from the domineering Busleyden and his evil influence; just the two of us, learning to love each other once again, like we did at the very beginning.’
But this would be going too far, for she knew Philip would never love her, not in the way that she loved, but so long as he allowed her to love him it would be enough.
The worst of his illness was over. The high temperatures were gone thanks to her insistence that he drink every drop of his medicine; a mixture of stinging nettle, plantain, celery and pepper. Happily for Juana there was still some nursing to be done; attending to his itching spots, his dreadful cough and those wonderful eyes that still hurt.
A groan followed by a fit of coughing issued from behind the heavy gold brocade. Juana motioned to the two doctors standing by the window to remain where they were, to do nothing, she would attend to Philip. Her book was put to one side. She ran to partially close the shutters before drawing back the bed curtains.
As she removed the soothing cloth from over his eyes she brushed his forehead with her lips, ‘And how does my patient feel after his sleep?’
‘Juana; you are still here?’ He reached for her hand but a fit of coughing made him seek out his handkerchief instead.
‘My poor darling. Here, I have the very thing. Open wide,’ she poured a spoonful of syrup of violets from a phial. ‘It is so delicious.’ She cleaned the spoon with her tongue.
‘Are you my nurse, or just a greedy child?’
‘Both; and now I think it is time for a bowl of clear chicken soup.’
He pleaded, ‘No more chicken soup.’
She nodded to the chamber boy to take the order to the kitchen.
She fussed over her darling Philip; first bathing his face with cool water and gently dabbing it dry with an embroidered towel, then combing his hair and giving him a fresh sleeping cap. She plumped up his pillows and tucked the covers around him.
‘I am so much better today, Juana. I will soon be well enough for another game of reed spears. Oh, I do not take kindly to illness; I want to be up and about.’
‘The game of reeds that will have to wait for some time yet; in any case, throwing canes at each other does not appear to me to be a very sensible pastime.’
‘The sport is lost on you.’
‘Indeed it is. But here is your lunch. I shall leave you for a little while and take some air in the gallery. Be sure to eat it all, the doctors commend it highly.’
‘I know that well enough, I have had nothing else for days, do not be surprised if on your return you find me clucking.’
Juana laughed.
‘Your laughter is the best medicine of all.’
‘But not as good as chicken soup,’ she called back to him.
Outside she drank in the delicious April air. She walked slowly along the gallery’s four sides thoroughly enjoying her new life.
There was a growing commotion; surprised voices; the courtyard below suddenly filling with riders. There were yelled commands; some of the horsemen immediately throwing themselves from their saddles to dash to a gentleman who remained in his saddle awaiting their attendance. Pennants bearing the arms of Castile and Aragón were held aloft by guards at the gateway.
Six years ago Juana had looked down at a young dusty rider; today she gazed down on an older but equally dusty traveller.
‘No, you cannot be … You are …’
Juana kicked her feet free of her mules to let her fine leather shoes carry her swiftly in a scurrying, billowing cloud of red velvet along the gallery, down the stairs and across the paved courtyard to a gentleman dressed entirely in black.
‘Father, father …’ she kissed him, threw her arms about him, then pressed her cheek against his breast.
Ferdinand kissed her forehead. ‘Our dear Juana, returned to us at last.’
‘Oh, father, father …’ She kissed him again and again, tears spilled down her cheeks.
‘Juana, princesses do not behave thus.’
‘This one does!’
‘Let me look at my daughter; a young woman, the mother of three healthy children.’
‘You will make me blush examining me so,’ she giggled. ‘My turn.’
Her father was much heavier than she remembered, and she noticed that as he removed his travelling hat and scarf he carefully checked that his wig was in place. He wore a wig! And he had lost one of his front teeth. For all that he was still her strong and handsome father. As for that cold farewell of the past, she dismissed it, for had he not just shown how impatient he was to see her again? He could not wait until she arrived in Toledo!
He asked the all important question that had brought him here.
‘I must know, Juana, how serious is this illness?’
‘There is nothing to fear, believe me, he is over the worst and is mending quickly. Philip is strong, the doctors say he will soon be fit and well. But you must come and see him,’ she took his hand to pull him towards the stairs.
‘Dear child let us be calm. Of course I will come to see him, although it ignores protocol. I should really wait until your arrival in Toledo, but your mother and I had to know if the illness was as serious as we feared. That is the reason for my being here. Our joy at having you here in Spain was quickly turned to anxiety when we received the news. You must excuse our pessimism.’
Arm in arm they made their way to Philip's apartments Juana barely pausing for breath, wanting to tell everything at once.
Ferdinand strode across the room to his son-in-law. Philip strove to remove his cap as a sign of respect.
‘No, my boy, you keep it on. You have need of it.’ He offered his hand for Philip to kiss, thought better of it remembering the measles, quickly withdrew it and moved several feet away. He had a chair placed for him at what he considered a safe distance.
They were busily exchanging formal greetings until a squeal of laughter from Juana interrupted them. ‘Forgive me, father, but I have before me the two men whom I most dearly love talking away, and neither has realised that the other cannot understand a word that is being said! If only you could see yourselves.’
‘You must be our interpreter Juana. You can begin by telling Philip what a fortunate man he is to have such a wife; pretty, charming and so very intelligent. Who could ask for anything more?’
Chapter 17
A cornflower blue sky and a warming sun stretched out across the valley and up into the hills.
She and Philip, each under a canopy bearing their coats of arms and accompanied by their huge retinue, were within a league of Toledo. Her father with his entourage of noblemen, churchmen and guards had come to meet them; it was a welcome beyond her wildest dreams. The only disappointment was the absence of her mother, who remained at home still indisposed.
They rode together up the hill, entering the city through the horse-shoe arch of the ancient Bisagra Gate. Then they continued along narrow streets, all spread with rosemary and thyme, up to the Gateway of the Sun. Their cavalcade was a splendour of colours and a sun-flashing glitter of gold and silver. Townsfolk leaned from balconies draped with cloths of every kind and colour to cheer them on their way up towards the Cathedral, ‘Long live the Catholic Monarchs. Long live Princess Juana and Prince Philip. God bless your little ones so far away, may He grant them long lives.’
Juana waved and smiled, feeling that her heart would burst with pride, loving every minute.
The tambours, bugles, horns and cornets added to the clamour. Flower petals fell in thick profusion onto the canopies, onto the heads and shoulders of all those in the cavalcade.
At last they entered the large square in front of the cathedral. Crowds thronged this area too, squeezing into spaces that before seemed not to exist, clinging to walls and window grilles, so determined were they to see the princess.
The broad front of “her church” with its three enormous portals was even grander than she remembered. The stone saints atop their columns and those standing in arched niches looked out as if rejoicing
at her home-coming; some were definitely reaching out their arms in welcome. This Cathedral, where she had been christened, in a few days time would witness the proclamation of her hereditary rights to the crowns of Spain.
Juana, Philip and Ferdinand dismounted and approached the steps. A hush settled over the crowd. Archbishop Cisneros came forward carrying his magnificent crosier of gold encrusted with jewels.
Was this the man who had at one time intimidated her? These eyes were not the eyes that pierced the soul; this mouth was not harsh and ready to criticise. Juana decided he looked much more like a kindly uncle than a disapproving priest. Perhaps in the past she had misjudged him.
Inside the Cathedral the pillars, the arcade of chapels, the screens and statues, all basked in the sunlight flooding in from the many windows. Their procession took them past the column marking where the first altar had stood those many centuries ago when the Virgin Mary had come down to earth to bless the monk Ildefonso for defending her virginity against the doubters. Juana knew that Philip wouldn’t be interested but she still had to tell him. They finally passed through the silver choir screen to be directed to their seats.
The Solemn Mass was too long; the singing from the Introit onwards, although faultless thanks to an excellent cantor, was frustratingly so. Philip inspected his beautifully manicured fingernails more intensely as each minute passed. Juana let her eyes drift beyond the curling blue clouds of incense to the side chapels until they rested on the life-size weeping heralds in their gloriously coloured tabards watching over the tomb of Catherine of Lancaster, her great grandmother; and she began to think of Catalina and what life was like in England.
The choir sang the Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison.
At last it was all over. Now she could go to her mother.
v v v
It was only a short distance from the Cathedral to the home of Beatriz, the Marquesa de Moya, where they were all to be lodged during their stay in Toledo.
That Other Juana Page 10