That Other Juana

by Linda Carlino

  ‘Good day,’ she threw at her guardians as she swept by.

  ‘Can she have heard?’ whispered Villena.

  ‘Not a word, and if she did it would be of no interest to her.

  The doors to Philip's apartments were opened for her. Philip looked up from his breakfast.

  ‘You have met my father!’ she stormed, marching towards his table.

  ‘I have indeed.’

  ‘To what purpose?’

  ‘Some new agreements had to be reached.’

  ‘The others were good enough.’

  ‘They did not suit me.’

  ‘Nothing can go ahead without my consent.’

  ‘I would remind you that a short while ago you decided you wanted no part in these affairs, you shut yourself away. Now it is too late; Ferdinand and I have managed admirably without you. In any case look at you: your person, your behaviour. You are not fit to be involved in governing this country, and believe me we shall see to it that you are not.’

  She looked down at herself. It was the first time in days, perhaps weeks that she had even thought about the clothes she wore. Her dress was a little soiled, perhaps; her hair not brushed and re-braided, but still tucked inside a gold mesh coif and black hood. It could also be said that she had not washed; but these things had all been part of her strategy. As for her behaviour, she had done nothing more serious than show her anger at those who warranted it, her husband in particular. She had never heard one word of criticism regarding Philip’s behaviour towards her: his lying, his malicious slander, his verbal and physical abuse.

  As he stood up a servant brushed crumbs from his sleeves, another pulled back his chair to turn it to face the wall.

  ‘Since you are interested, read this, it will save me the effort of explaining,’ he shoved a document across the table.

  Let it be known that Queen Juana is by no means required to involve herself with any type of administration, government or any other matter. If she did, it would mean the total destruction and loss of these kingdoms because of her illness. And should she, either of her own volition, or induced by others, desire or be desired to become involved in government we, Philip and Ferdinand, will not consent to it. This is agreed upon. And we will support one another against any who align themselves against us … June 27, 1506.

  This was Juan Manuel’s doing; he was the one cunning and evil enough to have conjured up this vile document tying her father’s hands. How dared he! ‘You have used coercion and intimidation. My father would never have willingly signed this,’ she challenged.

  ‘How clever of you Juana! Yes, Ferdinand does as I say and he gets paid: his rents, his share of the riches from the New World and so on. If he refuses or decides not to leave Castile, or shows the least sign of enmity towards me, he will lose everything. I have had to caution him already. Juan Manuel uncovered some plans to “rescue” you. Ferdinand will not attempt that again, and if he is sensible his gossip about my holding you prisoner will cease forthwith. His disclaimer of this treaty, saying it was signed under duress is also null and void. All in all I am well pleased. Now I am on my way to celebrate with friends. Bullfights and banquets. I bid you farewell.’

  Philip was gone. She hesitated, but only for a moment. There was only one option, she had to get to her father before he left Castile; they would seek out those who were sympathetic to her cause, and she felt sure that their numbers would be growing from what she had overheard earlier in the courtyard. But how?

  ‘Horses, Benavente,’ she ordered. ‘Take me to see your animal park. If Philip is to enjoy diversions, then so shall we.’

  Chapter 29

  Juana rode between her two guardians and an accompanying guard of a dozen or more Austrian soldiers. The horses strolled lazily through the heat and dust, their pace gradually slackening until they finally halted in the shade of a small copse.

  ‘Such a beautiful day. A beautiful Castilian day,’ she steadied her horse, looking all around so as not to miss any of the sights. ‘Gentlemen, I have wasted so many days depriving myself of such pleasures and delights. Why, look up there, on that branch … no you must look much higher than that Benavente … shade your eyes or you will never see …’

  A kick of her heels into her horse's side and they were off at a furious gallop across the park. A wide defence ditch loomed before her, but she drove him hard at it crying, ‘Liberty or death!’

  She grasped the reins short and with a commanding pull bad him leap the intimidating space, ‘Come on, we can do it.’

  Up went the forelegs. They flew as if on wings, a Pegasus carrying a desperate rider up and out and over. Juana’s hood loosed itself from her head to blow away and leaving her hair to seek its own freedom from her gold mesh coif. Four hooves thundered onto firm ground on the other side and the horse snorted his foam-flecked satisfaction, stamping his pride.

  ‘Oh, you magnificent creature. I am free,’ she shouted leaning forward and hugging his sweating neck in gratitude.

  She glanced back to see the guards in frustrated disarray, Benavente and Villena calling her to return, immediately.

  ‘I think not, gentlemen,’ she replied. ‘Come, my beauty, we have far to go.’

  She rode him hard and soon arrived at a small village only to have to wheel about smartly at the sight of several soldiers on horseback. She dared not let them recognise her. She headed for a group of cottages but was thwarted again with the appearance of yet more mounted soldiers.

  ‘Is there nothing but cavalry in this country?’ she demanded of her horse, having to change direction again.

  They galloped off once more, ‘Dear God, let there be somewhere, someone.’

  v v v

  ‘God ‘ave mercy on us.’

  Juana leaned forward accustoming her eyes to the darkness of the little room thick with the smell of boiling salt cod and chick peas, and the bed’s sour leftover odour of last night’s sleep clinging to a straw mattress and covers. There was a plain wooden chest, a rough hewn table and bench; these and the bed were the only furnishings in the humble dwelling.

  Stooped by the fire was the owner of the voice; a bundle of brown and grey garments. It remained motionless with ladle poised; startled eyes and gawping, gap-toothed mouth fixed on the intruder.

  ‘Do not alarm yourself, good woman. I only need to rest here for a little while.’

  The figure pulled itself up straight, a woman probably of middle age, somewhat on the plump side, her face round with cheeks and a mouth made for ready smiles and laughter.

  Juana watched as reddened and calloused fingers fought to free skirt hems caught up in a waistband to let it fall over grubby petticoats.

  ‘Please, would y' care to sit m’lady?’ the woman offered, not knowing what to do or say to this person who should never have been here in the first place and certainly not here on her own.

  With her skirts she wiped a place on the bench ready for this unwanted guest, then stood back making awkward rearrangements to her nearly white cap before nervously pushing her sleeves now up, now down; waiting.

  Juana accepted the seat gratefully and sat quietly contemplating the fireplace with its fire irons and the huge black pot steaming contentedly above the licking flames.

  ‘Are you lost m'lady? Maybe you want a message taken? I’d be happy to do so.’ She would be more than happy to do something, anything, which might make some sense of this lady’s presence in her home.

  ‘I need only a little while to rest and to think, thank you.’

  The peasant woman stole furtive glances at the stranger, taking in the black brocade skirts with their woven floral design, as yet not daring to raise her eyes above them.

  ‘I could give you a drink?’

  ‘That would be most acceptable, if it is not too much trouble. Do you have water?’

  ‘In the shed. I keep it there because it's so much cooler. Mind you not as cool as when I get it straight from the well. But I only go there mornings …’

&nbs
p; ‘That from your shed will be perfect.’

  ‘I'll fetch y’ some of that then, shall I?’

  She tied on a large apron, thinking this to be the right thing to do, then made a small curtsey to the person sitting on her bench and who she wished wasn’t. No good was going to come of this, that was for sure.

  After opening the door but a few inches she slammed it shut falling back against its wood, ‘Oh my God, there’s soldiers out there! We ‘aven’t done no harm to nothing nor nobody, honest we 'aven't. We mind our business; my 'usband works as 'ard as any good Christian. He goes to the bakery every day while I keep his home and yard all proper for him. We go to church regular. We're good honest folk, 'elping friends and neighbours at seed time and 'arvest, they’d all tell you …’ She pulled her apron over her eyes to shield her from this terrible calamity that was befalling her.

  ‘Please, do not be afraid, good woman. The soldiers have not come for you, or for your good husband. They have come for me. But be assured, they dare not take me for I am the queen; Queen Juana.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ The apron was lowered to mouth level, ‘Soldiers outside my door and a ravin' lunatic at my table!’ She sank to her knees making earnest prayers for her deliverance; unsure who to fear most the soldiers or this crazy woman and hoping against hope that her husband would arrive. Without moving, her eyes fixed firmly on the roof beam above her with its hanging bunches of herbs, and with her hands still locked in supplication she mumbled bits of half-remembered prayers.

  Juana looked down at her dishevelled self. Her dress and boots, not very clean to begin with, were now covered with a layer of dust, with scraps of clinging twigs and dry grasses, with splashes of horse spume. They showed very little sign of the quality neither of the materials nor of the skilled workmanship in their making. Her hands went to her head, her hood was missing and her fingers discovered several windblown, wayward locks of auburn hair, and a tangle of fine gold mesh that was once her coif. She laughed, ‘I do not make a very convincing figure of a queen I grant you. But be assured I am, and I promise you will come to no harm.’

  ‘You talk like a lady, sure enough, and I see you have clothes made of good cloth,’ she answered. Her eyes were still gazing roofwards and now following the hesitant progress of a mouse, ‘But I know that proper high folk 'ave jewels; rings and things like that. Even our magistrate wears them kind of things.’

  Juana smiled, ‘Yes, you are right, of course. It is just that I do not care to …’

  There were sounds of heavy footfalls and both watched the door, waiting.

  Philip stepped into the room but would venture no further. He first held a pomander to his nose and then a handkerchief.

  The baker's wife whimpered into swollen knuckles pressed against her mouth, ‘Oh my God.’ Who? What now? Purple brocades, a glittering gold chain with its pendant sheep across this gentleman's chest, gold fastenings on bonnet and coat, rings on gloved hands; it was unreal.

  ‘This is Philip, the king consort,’ Juana announced as though to a visiting ambassador.

  Philip ignored her. ‘Wait outside,’ he commanded the trembling wretch still kneeling open-mouthed at his feet.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m being sent to me death,’ she wept and stumbled to the door convinced of the worst.

  Philip unleashed his rage. ‘You have done well Juana. News has spread of your “escape”. You have stirred the emotions of many who are already rallying to your cause, whatever that may be. And it has certainly painted a very poor picture of me. This has put me in somewhat of a quandary as to my next move, I shall have to be careful.’

  ‘The next move is mine, my lord, not yours,’ she replied, reasonably convinced she was completely safe provided she remain on the outside of any castle walls. ‘You will return to Benavente's castle. There you will arrange everything for our journey to Valladolid. I, meanwhile, shall await your return. We can then travel together.’ Her voice sounded as if it belonged to that other Juana and its strength was impressive.

  ‘Valladolid? Valladolid?’ A veneer of warmth stole across his face and into his voice. ‘Do my ears deceive me or have I finally convinced you it is time for us to be sworn in as king and queen by the Cortes at Valladolid?’ He took care not to sound jubilant. Were she to do this, as soon as they were sworn in he would produce the signed document drawn up by Ferdinand and himself disclosing her mental incapacities. And it would be farewell Juana.

  ‘Sworn in, perhaps, we must wait and see.’ She would not remind him that if there were to be such a ceremony, it must take place in Toledo. ‘But I shall be nearer to friends, and how I have longed for that.’

  Chapter 30

  ‘Oh, ma’am, I don't know if there's enough time to get you prepared,’ wheezed the old lady bobbing a curtsey and patting her ample bosom as she bustled to Juana's side. She set about smoothing the skirts and sleeves of Juana’s black dress, then arranging her black hood and finally the heavy black veil that hid her face.

  ‘Prepare me for what, Marta?’

  ‘For the many important visitors ma'am, they're arriving all the time from all parts.’

  Visitors; the word started a wave of alarm. Who might these visitors be? What was Philip scheming? Was it connected with her retiring to these rooms? She felt she had had no alternative. Their journey to Valladolid had come to a halt with Philip refusing to go further, offering no explanation, deaf to her demands they continue. She was still being treated little better than a prisoner so there had been no other recourse than to retreat to this sanctuary. But now this.

  ‘Marta, what kind of visitors?’ the question forced itself free.

  ‘Not the kind to worry about, bless you. But I have to tell you some things before they get here.’

  Since Maria had been sent back to Flanders (it was part of Philip’s continuing plan to deny Juana anyone who might be supportive) she had come to rely entirely upon this dear old servant. Marta had always been an excellent laundress and most recently was quickly learning the art of dresser to her mistress; she was also proving to be her one source of information.

  ‘Quickly then.’

  ‘Well, King Ferdinand wrote to King Philip, saying that if Philip wanted to take any action against you he would have to do it alone.’

  ‘Philip is determined to have me locked away. I knew I could rely on my father not to let me down. If only I could get a message to him. How much time have I left? But there is more?’

  ‘Oh, ma’am, if you would only let me finish. I don’t want you getting into a nervous state. If you let me get to the end of what I have to say you will see that everything is all right. Now this part is disrespectful.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘King Philip wants you declared mad …’

  ‘There is nothing new in that, he has endeavoured to do so ever since the death of my mother.’

  ‘But he means to do it now; today, if he can. Oh ma'am, he wants to get the Cortes to sign an order saying you are mad and then declaring him king. But have no fear,’ Marta hurried on, ‘because the Procuradores will have nothing to do with it; so there you are. Cisneros and Juan Manuel have been trying all manner of bribes and threats to persuade them with no luck whatsoever. The grandees, mind you, well they’re a different kettle of fish, they are. Some of them fair fell over themselves to sign at the first sniff of money.’

  ‘But not many?’

  ‘No not many, not by a long way, praises be. Anyway, Juan Manuel has summoned the spokesman for the Procuradores to question you, his words not mine, right now, and to report back to the others who are waiting below. He thinks that when this gentleman sees you sitting all alone like this he will be convinced that you … that you are …’

  ‘I understand, Marta. So, Philip cannot wait until we reach Valladolid. His impatience is bound to lead to mistakes. I feel better than I have done for days. Is it Padilla who is to question me?’

  ‘That’s right ma’am, and what about this bit of excellent news; your uncle
the admiral is coming too.’

  ‘Wonderful; he will help me, I know he will. I feel even better.’

  ‘Actually, King Philip is greatly put out because the admiral insists on seeing you before the grandees even meet to discuss this whole disgraceful business.’

  There was an authoritative rap at the door.

  ‘You were right Marta there was indeed so very little time.’

  ‘I hope everything goes well for you my lady,’ Marta whispered, crossing her large bosom in prayer and then, for good measure, crossing her fingers for luck.

  Three men entered the room and made their bows; Cisneros, Juan Manuel and Padilla. Padilla was shaken for a moment by what seemed to be a black spectre huddled on a chair.

  ‘Welcome Don Padilla,’ the voice came from behind a veil that completely hid Juana’s face ‘How good it is to see someone from the city of my birth. I hear that you protect her pride with fervour, refusing to allow Burgos to usurp her position and rank of First City of our country.’

  He was astonished; she had recognised him, she knew of this latest infighting! Padilla looked suspiciously at the other two. They had said she was totally incapable of showing any comprehension of anything, let alone politics, preferring to hide away from the world. This young lady, his queen, sitting here in the gloom dressed in black, heavily veiled, with only one attendant, and a wizened, ugly, old woman at that, was not the crazy person they had described. But something had happened to her. Why did she live this way?