That Other Juana

by Linda Carlino

  September mornings can be very cold in Burgos and Juana and Marta were wrapped in fur lined cloaks as they strolled around the upper arcaded gallery. Down below men and horses were gathering in the courtyard. The shuffling hooves, the hearty camaraderie with calls, jests and laughter drew her to the balcony to look down.

  Someone caught sight of her, ‘Why don’t you get back to that other crone; just the sort of company you need,’ he called up.

  ‘One thing is certain; they won’t wear each other out talking!’ another guffawed.

  ‘Maybe the idiot wants to go riding on a mule again!

  Now they all laughed; laughing at her, laughing at their blatant disrespect for her.

  ‘My God, yes, the lengths the stupid will go to! No one in their right mind would do what she did, riding about the countryside all night,’ another shouted up at her. This was grand sport.

  ‘More like two mules, you should say, one a four legged dumb beast, the other a crazy and stubborn woman. Not forgetting the hag who never leaves her side.’

  ‘And round and round and round she went, the old hag or nag hobbling alongside; what a picture.’

  ‘You put on a fantastic show for the villagers,’ someone else called up to the arcade to where Juana had last been seen standing. She was still there, half hidden behind a pillar, unable to tear herself away.

  ‘They thought you were a travelling fool come to entertain, your ladyship. They lit fires and made torches, not wanting to miss a moment. They cheered for you and booed the soldiers if they came anywhere near, a regular comedy.’

  Marta held Juana’s arm. ‘Come away ma’am. Don’t you fret yourself about them lot down there, ignorant they are, the lot of them. I feel like leaning over this balcony and telling them it was all my idea, and a clever one at that.’

  ‘How right you are, Marta,’ Juana replied not taking her eyes off the scene below. ‘But for you the soldiers would have led me into that fortress and I would simply have disappeared; lost to the world. I thank God I have you for my eyes and ears.’

  ‘And we sharp put an end to their little game didn’t we, ma’am; us and the villagers. We all played our parts well. I say none of that lot can get the better of us. Always bear that in mind my lady!’

  The jeers and taunts grew more feeble and weak as the men lost interest, their conversation turning to their eagerness for the chase, to have other defenceless creatures at their mercy.

  A final taunt reached her, ‘Anyway it’s only a matter of months and Philip will be rid of you. He says he’s only waiting for the birth of this last child then it will be adieu crackpot.’

  Juana shuddered and clutched at Marta who held her firmly, ‘Now don’t you go paying any heed to a word they say. I knew we shouldn’t stay here listening to this nonsense. Come away.’

  ‘Not yet, I want to see Philip. I must see him.’

  Marta threw her eyes heavenward and shook her head in despair, ‘Dear Lord above!’ Here was Castile going to rack and ruin: decimated by famine and plague, hundreds dragging their starving bodies from one city to the next; the royal coffers empty, the country bankrupt; Juana not only unable to do anything for her ravaged homeland, but threatened by that brute of a man who had already caused her all kinds of pain and distress and all she could think of was catching a glimpse of him!

  Echoing calls of ‘my lord’ drew Juana back to the balustrade. And yes, he was there, a magnificent young king, a god, astride his white steed. The colours he had chosen to wear today declared him beyond doubt the most handsome of men. His mulberry half-cap had a gold coronet revealed in the openings of the upturned brim. His green velvet cloak had a wide border embroidered in gold, its two silk tassels lying on his breast. The gold of his doublet showed at the neck and between the slashed sleeves of his mulberry fur-lined jerkin. He pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders; how she ached to hold those beautiful hands with their long slender fingers. She watched as someone offered him a gold pomander to ward off disgusting smells and the plague which apparently was not too far from Burgos.

  ‘Where to, Manuel?’ he called calming his wheeling, impatient horse.

  ‘Hunting first, and then to my castle for lunch and …’ Manuel glanced up and saw Juana. ‘How can you bear to have her sneaking about the place like Death come to invite you to join in the Dance?’

  ‘Quite simple; I ignore her.’

  It was then that he glanced up, just briefly, and the pain of her love and longing for him struck her so deep she almost cried out; to beg. Their eyes met but there had been no word, no smile from him, no recognition.

  Chapter 33

  ‘Just get out of my sight.’ Juana grasped the arms of her chair lest she be tempted to strike Philip’s insolent steward, ‘If Philip is in desperate need of money I suggest he ask his friend and adviser, Juan Manuel, I am certain he has more than enough.

  ‘As an obedient wife you dare not refuse.’

  ‘Out!’

  ‘There will be repercussions when my master returns.’

  ‘No doubt. Now please leave.’

  Marta was bursting with indignation. ‘The cheek of him asking for your silver to pawn. Mind you, things have come to a sorry state when the servants haven’t been paid.’

  ‘But not my problem. Continue about my uncle.’

  ‘In spite of all the threats he won’t budge, nor will Alba, nor their followers. More than half of the grandees are on their side now, and he said Philip needn’t try to confiscate his lands, because he would only ever surrender them to you, and he told Juan Manuel he has an army strong enough to defend himself against him or anybody else who dared try.’

  ‘Reliable, dependable uncle; but it is all very disturbing; the famine and plague might yet be the least of Castile’s worries.’

  Doctor Marliano, Philip’s personal physician was announced.

  Juana couldn’t resist, ‘Not another one with an empty purse!’

  ‘Nothing of that nature. I came out of politeness to inform you that my master is suffering from a chill, and I thought it best to have him brought from Juan Manuel’s home to his own bed.’

  ‘When did he become ill?’

  ‘Thursday morning. On Wednesday as you may recall he and his friends went hunting. They followed that with a rather fine lunch and a little while later my master took on a Spanish guard in a rather long and difficult game of pelota. The following morning King Philip felt unwell. I told him that after the game he should not have drunk so much cold water, and the water here is very cold, nor should he have sat about in his sweaty clothes.’

  ‘Nor, more like, should he have gone cavorting about with some “excellent muchachas” who were provided, as I am told, for his evening’s entertainment.’

  ‘I shall continue. For two days he was determined to carry on as normal before finally conceding he was not well.’

  Juana was almost at the door before he had finished. ‘I must go to him.’

  ‘Quite unnecessary. My master will soon be returned to full health. I have administered bugloss to purge the humours of his lungs, plasters of mallow root for his painful side, and pearled sugared lozenges for the fever. He will be better in no time at all.’

  ‘Nonetheless I shall go to him. Marta, come.’ The heavy veil was thrown off along with her lethargy and she rushed along the gallery to Philip’s apartments waving aside the courtiers who lingered at his door.

  She looked down at the patient, lying so pale and helpless under a scarlet coverlet bearing his coat of arms. ‘It is always the same, my poor darling, you fall ill every time you are overburdened with troubles.’

  Philip tried to mutter something, but all that emerged was a hoarse whisper as he clutched at his throat.

  Doctor Marliano leaned over him, ‘Cisneros’s physician, Yanguas, has come spying, so I refused to let him see you.’

  Juana was furious, ‘How preposterous, two heads are better than one! Show him in.’

  Philip nodded a weak, acquiesce
nt nod.

  The young Italian doctor leaned, eyes narrowed in criticism, over the shoulder of the wizened and stooped Yanguas as he examined the royal body of his master.

  Eventually, following much beard tugging and knitting of brows, Yanguas gave his recommendations, ‘What is needed here is; write this down: a paste of bran mixed with milk and lard for the side; quince and sugar for the inflamed throat, or possibly purslain with honey; and the sooner you start the vinegar drinks to stop the diarrhoea the better.’

  Doctor Marliano sneered, ‘What kind of quackery is this I am listening to? I will not allow any of it. You either intend mischief or you know nothing. My lord Philip, I want him gone from here.’

  Yanguas had heard enough, ‘I am leaving; I am certainly not staying to listen to insults. Archbishop Cisneros, whom I have served for years, was magnanimous in offering the wisdom of my many years of experience, and he will not be best pleased with this affront. Quackery, indeed; young upstart whoever you are, I will have you know I was a famous doctor when you were still wet behind the ears!’

  ‘I shall settle all disputes.’ Juana stepped between them, setting them apart with her hands. ‘Marta, pen and paper, immediately, I shall send for my son Ferdinand’s doctor.’

  v v v

  ‘I have sat too long.’ Juana moved stiffly away from her chair, her fingers comforting her back as she walked about the room. It was the first time she had moved since sometime the previous evening. A figure in black cap and gown sitting at a table in the corner raised his eyes momentarily from his book then returned to his studies.

  Juana returned to Philip’s bedside, ‘At last you are getting better,’ she gently traced the lips, the cheeks, the eyelids she had kissed and caressed so often, wanting so much to do so now as a mother comforting her child. ‘Yes, since yesterday when Doctor Parra came, and not a moment too soon I might add, I have noticed a big change.’

  Just prior to Parra’s arrival they had all become alarmed. Philip was coughing up blood; and a dreadful rash of large, dark red spots appeared all over his body. And he had become delirious.

  ‘But that is all behind us now. Yes, my love, you are in the capable hands of our son Ferdinand's doctor; a physician who brings with him not only all the wisdom of Galen and Hippocrates but also his years of experience at the University of Salamanca.’

  Juana looked across at the old man in his black robes huddled over his many books and she thanked God for the change this man had wrought. Following plasters of linseed and fenugreek mixed with goose and duck fat, the humours in Philip's lungs seemed finally to have been scattered. Leeches, which should have been used in the first instance, had rid him of excess blood. The new medicines of honey with oregano and plantain were helping too; and they tasted better than some of the others. Juana knew this to be true because she had insisted on sampling every medicine herself before offering any to Philip. She had to be sure that he would like them, that they would not upset him.

  ‘And today you are at last able to sleep. The fever has gone. You will get well.’

  She took a fresh napkin, dipped in cool lavender water, to replace the one on Philip's brow. His eyes flickered as if to open, his lips moved as if to speak.

  ‘Sh. You must not tire yourself, I am here. I will stay by your side until you are well. Have some of this it will help your throat,’ and she poured a spoonful of an elixir.

  ‘Asleep again? No matter, I shall still be here the next time you wake.’

  A grumpy old voice scolded from across the room, ‘Ma'am, I beg you not to continue taking all these mixtures. They are for someone who is ill not for someone who is with child. I fear for your safety and for that of the baby.’ The doctor’s eyes further admonished her from over his spectacles as he came to his patient's side.

  He began to study him minutely, starting with the pulse at Philip’s temples and wrist. Then he opened Philip’s chemise to carefully examine his chest, his stomach, his armpits. He turned to Juana, ‘Ma'am, will you come this way?’

  She followed him curious and eager to know what new information he had for her, what new suggestion he may be about to make. She would agree to anything after the wonders he had performed in just two days.

  He whispered, ‘It is time to call for the king's confessor.’

  This could not be. This was some terrible mistake. She must have misheard. She had fallen asleep during her long vigil and this was an ugly dream.

  ‘No, no, you must be wrong, Dr. Parra. He has stopped shivering … he had that enormous sweat … those are good signs … the fever has gone … the danger is over … see, he is sleeping peacefully … everything to indicate a full recovery.’ her words fought their way through her choking panic. ‘Did you not say so yourself?’

  ‘I did, and normally this is so, but it pains me to say that the king is falling into a profound sleep. I am afraid it is the kind which can only get deeper leading inevitably to …’

  ‘No! No! No! I will hear none of this, not another word!’ She put her hands over her ears, weeping her refusal, hurrying back to her seat by the bedside. She willed Philip to get well, willed him to prove the doctor wrong; he had to be wrong. She would make Philip better if no one else could.

  Dr. Parra beckoned the gentleman of the bedchamber to his side and gave whispered instructions to summon the confessor and on his return to inform the members of Philip’s household that their master’s health was deteriorating.

  v v v

  Philip was anointed with oil, accompanied by the priest’s prayers, ‘By this holy unction, and by His most tender mercy, may the Lord forgive thee …’

  Juana continued her vigil, silently urging him to waken that his eyes might see her, that he might be strengthened by her and despite the doctor, despite the priest, he would recover.

  At seven o'clock the following morning Dr. Parra took his leave. There was nothing more for him to do.

  Shortly before two o'clock that afternoon, Friday the twenty-fourth of September, 1506, King Philip I of Castile, Archduke of Austria, died in his sleep.

  Some time elapsed then the priest knelt before Juana, whispering, ‘My lady, King Philip is …’

  Startled, Juana turned to him putting a warning finger to her lips. ‘Sh, Sh,’ she whispered. ‘No noise; there must be no noise. The king is sleeping.’

  She leaned across the bed to brush Philip’s forehead with her lips.

  ‘Rest, my darling, rest and get well.’

  For another three hours Juana sat by the bedside. She had stayed close by his side for days and nights without any rest: his constant companion, his loving wife, his nurse and at times mother to him. Now this was all finished; ended.

  Marta took her and held her, then led her slowly from the room. Every part of Juana was numbed. Her Philip was dead.

  Later that evening the Admiral Don Fadrique and the Constable Don Bernardino, both hurriedly summoned, walked with Juana to join others who had come to pay homage to Philip for the last time.

  The audience chamber was lit by only a few candles. At one side stood a small group of monks chanting the psalms and intoning the services for the dead.

  The walls had been hung with the richest of Philip's tapestries, and a dais had been placed at the far end of the room.

  Juana made her way towards the throne, supported by the two gentlemen; they steadied her as she curtsied.

  Philip was holding his final audience, according to the long-held custom of France and Burgundy. On the steps to the dais were the shields of Burgundy, Flanders, the Low Countries, and Austria: lions rampant, eagles, fleur de lis, all on fields of black, silver, or blue. Other shields, also with various coloured fields carried his device of the cross of St. Andrew and a sparking flint, the flame of faith. The canopy above the throne bore the embroidered coat of arms of Castile. Philip’s King-at-Arms held his lord’s personal standard showing an ornate crowned helmet, the collar of the Golden Fleece encircling a many quartered shield, and a green ribbon at
its base declaring his challenge; QUI VOUDRA.

  Philip looked down from his throne on this his final court. He had been robed for the occasion in a knee length black velvet jerkin, with a full length black gown lined with ermine and bearing the embroidered coats of arms of Austria, Burgundy, Castile and Leon. There was just a glimpse of scarlet hose above the black velvet Flemish-style shoes. A cross of rubies and diamonds lay on his breast. His black velvet bonnet bore a single large ruby.

  Juana drew close to him for the last time. She kissed his hands, then his lips whispering, ‘Oh, love of my life.’

  She left the dais, walked back to her uncle and out of the chamber.

  Tears of compassion rolled down Don Fadrique’s cheeks to nestle in his beard. This was surely too soon to be the end, he prayed.

  It had to be the time for a new beginning.

  WIDOWHOOD

  Chapter 34

  ‘Get out of the way! Move aside!’

  The column of riders escorting Juana to Burgos had come across pitiable straggling groups of starving peasants stumbling their way towards hope; anywhere, nowhere. Blank faces on heads almost too heavy for feeble frames stopped to stare.

  Juana drew back the curtain and pulled her fur lined cloak tight across her breast to fend off the chill of a bitterly cold December day and the bleak picture of helplessness.

  Further on her cavalcade passed groups of city folk, their hired carts laden with goods and chattels, standing to one side before continuing their flight from the plague and the possibility of civil war.