She sat in the chair and listened to “her” letter.
Philip read, ‘Sirs, I am writing to defend myself against those who accuse me of lacking in mental powers. Moxica’s diaries were sent to my father to justify my husband’s actions against me and the contents should have remained private; it is a family matter. People who continue to believe that I am unable to rule can rest assured that should this be true I would transfer the government of all the realms that I possess not to my father, but to my husband, and to him alone because of the love I have for him. Also I have no intention of granting any land or power to my son Charles so long as my husband lives.
Dictated in Brussels this third day of May, 1505. I, the Queen. Sign it,’ Philip ordered.
She snatched it from his hands and tore it to shreds. ‘I refuse. You betrayed me to the world with your infamous diary and now you are worried that because of it you will lose Castile. And you would have me lie to help you? Never!’
‘No matter, I have another. You will sign. You have just begun to enjoy your freedom. It would be sad to lose it again. You have the choice of joining me and sharing in my fortunes, or disappearing, locked away for good.’
Again she refused, so he picked up the quill and forged her signature.
‘You win, my lord, but the game is not over yet, take care you do not celebrate too soon.’
‘We have done well, Ferreira. This letter and my instructions to the Cortes not to make any decisions until our arrival leave us free to concentrate on the organisation of the voyage. Juana,’ he shook his head at her, ‘you have proven yourself untrustworthy. From now on no one who speaks Spanish will be allowed anywhere near you, apart from your chaplain; and you will be confined to your apartments. I also think that more isolated accommodation for you would be appropriate.’
He left her desperately trying to cope with “disappearing, locked away for good” and “more isolated accommodation”.
Chapter 24
Juana, her chaplain and Madam Halewyn sat in the intense quiet of her salon as they had done every evening for the last two weeks.
Night was gathering beyond the group of three arched windows and the candles and flickering firelight did their best to add a gentle glow to a room too dark with its sombre tapestries. So often her refuge in the past, this time her room offered no comfort. These walls were no longer her protection; they were her prison as she awaited her final sentence.
From time to time the chaplain turned the pages of his missal; Madam Halewyn’s needle stabbed its way along a length of linen; Juana glanced from one to the other then down at her still unopened book. The silence suffocated her.
‘Father, do you suppose that Philip’s words were no more than idle threats?’ Juana’s voice shook as she asked the question she had asked every day.
‘Put your trust in God as I do, my lady.’ The priest removed his spectacles and his eyes smiled kindly at her.
Madam Halewyn thrust her sewing down onto her lap, furious that she could not understand their Spanish.
‘And what is the news on my father’s secretary?’
‘Conchillos is recovering and may soon be well enough to return to Spain.’
‘What they did to him is unforgivable. He is crippled for life. If they treated him so ill, what might they do to me?’ She ran to the window, pulling it open, inviting a wave of cold air to wash over her.
In the street below, lit by a row of torches in their iron sconces, a group of men, some with torches, were making their way to the palace gates.
‘Come quickly, Father. Who are those men?’
He came to join her, as did Madam Halewyn.
‘I see soldiers and …’
‘Ah, Chimay! At last!’ Madam Halewyn sounded relieved.
Juana threw her hands to her head, ‘So, they have come to take me?’
Madam Halewyn nodded, looked down her long thin nose and announced with a certain satisfaction, ‘It could well be they have found a suitable place of seclusion. You will then be declared mad, leaving Philip free to marry.’ She walked briskly across the room to open the door.
The priest fell to his knees; and Juana, after a moment or two, shrugged off both her fear and Halewyn’s vicious words and walked with purpose to the fireplace to take up a defiant posture.
Chimay and the Captain of the Guard appeared in the doorway and stood for a moment before advancing into the room. Chimay bowed.
This was Juana’s moment. She grabbed a poker. ‘Get out of here!’ she shouted, cleaving the air about her before finally bringing her weapon down hard on his shoulder. He screamed and was gone, the captain retreating with him.
‘I will kill them all if necessary! Help me, Father.’
Soldiers filled the doorway, but she held them at bay as brave as any knight. ‘Am I such a bad woman to warrant so many guards?’ she demanded wielding her “sword” in defiance.
‘Bad woman?’ Chimay’s voice issued from a place of safety behind the soldiers where he nursed his injury, ‘The world will judge. But you can be sure that all Spain will hear of this.’
Juana called back, ‘I think not, for you would be accused of treachery, daring to enter the presence of the queen with armed soldiers.’
‘Well done, my lady, your fighting spirit has returned!’ The chaplain, still on his knees, looked absurdly jubilant.
Chimay, holding his painful shoulder, pushed his way through his men and glowered down at him. ‘Get out priest! In future you will only come here to say mass, nothing more and then you will leave. Out!’
‘Ayeee …’ Juana doubled over, her hands clutching at her belly. ‘My baby, I am losing my baby. Halewyn get me Maria, immediately, I need her returned to the court; she must be at my side.’ She writhed, her face contorted with pain, ‘Someone tell Philip. And I need the doctors, quick! Oh, no, I must not lose my child.’
Heavy boots and relayed orders were heard echoing down corridors. The priest dragged himself to his feet to come to her aid, Juana stumbled towards him, and they fell to their knees together.
‘Pray for me, Father.’
The chaplain began, ‘God have mercy on us, hear us …’
Juana interrupted, ‘First you must know what to pray for. Ask God to forgive my lies. There is nothing amiss with the child in my womb. I simply could not think of anything better.’
Chapter 25
‘Get those whores off the ship! We do not sail until every last one of them is ashore!’ she screamed; and she meant it.
Juana stood on the quayside fuming. Philip had dared to appoint “ladies-in-waiting” for her.
‘These are your ladies,’ Philip insisted.
‘Maria will suffice until I am in Castile when I can choose decent, honest ladies. I refuse to suffer the indignity of having your Flemish mistresses anywhere near me.’
Swallowing his ire, and conforming to his counsellors’ advice to pander to her every whim until once they were underway (he had already dismissed Moxica for this very same reason) he agreed; although swearing his innocence, insisting he was being misjudged.
With undisguised disgust she watched them disembark then she boarded the Juliana. She was going to Spain to be crowned Queen of Castile. Never having wanted the crown and indeed still not wanting it, the fact that it was hers promised deliverance.
Watching the coastline shrinking and disappearing she waved a last farewell to the country that had brought her happiness but even greater sadness, misery, and finally fear. Ten years ago she had arrived here as a young bride, come to meet her husband, and her silly romantic notions had tricked her into falling in love with someone unworthy. Today he was her enemy, finding her very existence so unspeakably intolerable that he entertained thoughts of imprisoning her, having her declared mad, divorcing her and remarrying.
Her only sadness at this moment was that her children, including the new infant Maria, were not travelling with them. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before they would be sent to her; in the m
eantime her widowed sister-in-law Margaret would take great care of them.
She thought of Maximilian and how she would be forever grateful to him for spending the last few months with her. If only Philip had been granted but half of his father’s understanding and compassion, she thought, then chided herself for even contemplating the idea. There was no way of salvaging so ruptured a relationship however much she loved him. Maximilian; she brought her thoughts back to her father-in-law. She was still riding high on a crest of happiness from the many delightful times shared with him.
First there was Maria’s christening in November. She smiled, remembering how Maximilian having finally consented to be godfather regretted it the moment the child was put in his arms. Maximilian, with the stature of a Greek warrior, shook in fear and trembling lest this tiny baby in its billowing masses of lace and silk be crushed in his arms or slide through them and crash to the floor.
She remembered her brilliant performance at the soiree for her twenty-sixth birthday that same month. Resounding applause erupted when she came to the end of her programme of pieces for the vihuela. Maximilian then brought the Venetian ambassador forward to be presented, who, at the end of the evening exclaimed his amazement that one so young and beautiful should be so accomplished, have such intellect, wit, prudence, grace, charm. Everyone knew how Venetians loved to flatter, and the ambassador excelled them all with his superlatives. But no matter; he had praised her in the presence of a large gathering. It had been so long since anyone had done so.
‘So much for my being crazy, Chimay,’ she announced to the faint indigo strip of land which was all that remained of the Low Countries.
January was not the best month to be travelling by sea but a journey through France had been ruled out as Philip and Louis apparently were no longer allies and, sure enough, within hours of their departure they were ploughing through the wind and heavy seas of a very wintry English Channel.
Juana was in her cabin choosing the rings and brooches that best suited her green velvet dress.
She studied herself in her hand mirror. Despite the storm Maria had succeeded in making her look as if ready for some grand function rather than simply to join her husband for a few moments. That was Juana’s plan, to let Philip know that neither he nor the storm would intimidate her.
She made her way unsteadily to the door. The wind was relentless; the waves buffeted the sides of the ship, hurling drenching showers over her as she made the few steps to her husband’s stateroom.
The hot, vile stench that burst from Philip’s cabin as the door opened made her reel and she hurriedly found a handkerchief to hold over her nose and mouth. The pride of Flemish manhood were vomiting and pissing themselves in their terror; jerkins, breeches, boots and floor were all splattered and stained. There were groans, weeping, retching.
In one corner two gentlemen slapped each other’s face trading blow for blow with ever increasing ferocity. Juana briefly took the handkerchief from her face to inquire about their strange behaviour.
‘Your highness, I thought that by trying to be like Christ, who turned the other cheek, God would have mercy on me in this dread hour, so I invited my friend to strike my face, then I turned my cheek to invite the second slap. Then I thought that he would like to seek God's mercy in the same way, so I hit him. He, not caring to be slapped, retaliated so to speak.’
‘And there you are,’ she laughed, ‘a more perfect pair of fools I am never likely to see.’
The ship shuddered, heaving violently to one side throwing everyone and everything into turmoil. Juana held on to a stanchion to steady herself, watching the gallants sink to their knees, slithering in their own filth, howling, ‘Sweet Virgins of Guadalupe and Montserrat, pray for us …,’ making outrageous promises of monies and miraculously reformed characters if God would spare them.
A sailor pushed the door slightly ajar to shout that the yardarm and sail of the main mast had broken free and were pulling the ship down, but that a brave lad was fighting to cut the sail free and the disaster might yet be averted.
Philip roused himself from his state of paralysing terror, releasing his white-knuckled grasp on the leather pouch containing farewell letters to his children to tuck it securely inside his doublet. ‘I offer the Virgin of Guadalupe double my weight in gold in return for my salvation,’ he called out. He removed his hat, put several gold coins in it then ordered his page to go amongst the company for their votive offerings.
Eventually the hat was brought to Juana, she studied the heap of gold and silver then pulled open the strings to her purse. It was so long since she had carried a purse or indeed had ever possessed any money to warrant having a purse at all. With the utmost care she sought amongst the coins. Once discovered and retrieved, one very small silver coin was placed gently in the hat. There was incredulity all around her.
‘It will be enough. You see, royal people never drown.’ She had told her uncle that many years ago, and it was true. ‘I shall have need of my money when we reach land.’
Philip, her cruel gaoler was by now reduced to a whimpering, frightened child and she longed to cradle him in her arms. Instead she could only watch as two servants busily fitted him with a life jacket. It was an entire goatskin sealed with pitch and covered in cloths of yellow, red, green, and white. It had bells, it had ribbons; no popinjay ever looked so fabulous. Across the back written in the boldest of letters was King Philip. Once inflated by his two men all red-faced and puffed-cheeked, the thing looked completely bizarre.
‘Oh, Philip, what little faith you have.’ She pulled her cloak tight about herself and left the cabin, stumbling through the driving rain and the seas breaking over the gunwales; struggling against the heaving deck covered in surging water; finally fighting the buffeting wind to climb to the forecastle. Once there she took her stance, to face the storm – and defy it.
After a while from out of the din of the gale and the thunderous cracking of timbers she heard cries of, ‘He's done it.’ Cheers joined forces with the roar and racket of the storm. Juana peered through the lashing rain and could just make out, silhouetted against the boiling seas, the damaged yardarm freed of its sail being heaved down onto the deck.
Then the wind seemed not to blow so loud or hard, the seas perhaps not so high and men willingly set themselves with renewed vigour to their tasks. Juana returned to her cabin content that order was being restored.
By dawn more benign winds were directing the dispersed flotilla, not towards the Bay of Biscay but towards an unwanted but necessary refuge; England.
Everyone was on deck; never had land looked so beautiful, so solid, so inviting. About the Juliana in the gentle swell other ships hove into view. A sense of victory and rejoicing pervaded.
Philip, much recovered but still pale and drawn, publicly decorated the young lad who had saved their lives by so bravely risking his own. He pinned the badge of his elite group of bodyguards on his very proud chest. The young Scot could barely believe his good fortune; his future would be secure and extremely well paid.
A newly appointed counsellor emerged from the crowded deck to engage Philip in an urgent conversation. Juana recognised him; it was Juan Manuel, once her mother’s envoy. He was another of those eager to join Philip, undoubtedly seeking gifts of land once in Spain. She drifted towards them, curious. He seemed to be repeatedly insisting that Philip refuse to surrender someone to King Henry; to consider the consequences. Philip was looking increasingly uneasy with every word. She brushed closer wearing the broadest of smiles.
‘I know I must be in Spain as soon as possible, but this is a heaven sent opportunity for me. I can visit my dear sister Catalina. And yes, I can renew my acquaintance with Henry!’
That stopped their conversation, which pleased her not a little; and she moved on.
Their landing at Weymouth still had to be negotiated. The coast was lined with terrified Englishmen and their womenfolk; everyone armed. Mounted soldiers with pikes, men with arquebuses raised,
farmers with scythes and pitchforks, women with brooms, all were ready to stand fast against the threatened invasion.
The foreigners’ presence was fortunately successfully explained and they were allowed to disembark. Firearms were set aside, brooms leaned on and the good people of Weymouth gazed open mouthed at the elegant gentleman, his beautiful wife and their equally splendidly dressed friends.
Horses had to be found and a small group of worthy citizens chosen to accompany a delegation from these foreign visitors to Windsor, to inform the king of their presence, to seek his protection, and be given permission to remain in England whilst repairs were carried out to the damaged ships.
Chapter 26
Juana was summoned to the king’s presence in mid February. Philip had been there for several days. He had lied about her health, saying she was too ill to travel, while he, of course, had been enjoying his role of king of Castile.
Her small party rode into the courtyard of Windsor Castle. Lord Mountjoy, her host for the past week or so helped her down from her horse. He kissed her hand then moved aside; Maria gave her mistress a swift inspection; she was ready.
The king and his family, and Philip, were gathering on the steps. Henry left them to come down to welcome her. Her eyes lit up for she instantly recognised the gentleman who, several years earlier, was “the king’s representative” in a town called Portsmouth. He was still that same gentleman neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin, with dark eyes; but he looked tired, older. He had sunken temples, his lips seemed thinner, and his eyes had lost their lustre and had narrowed into a myopic squint. He offered her his bony hand and smiled a smile of welcome, the warmest of welcomes; a smile of pleasure in seeing her once more.
That Other Juana Page 14