His obsequiousness nauseated her. How she loathed the man. But she must concentrate.
‘When did he die?’
‘Four years ago ma'am.’
‘And the Emperor Maximillian, he is dead too?’
‘He alas is also dead. King Charles has been elected ruler of the Holy Roman Empire.’
‘And Maximillian died when?’
‘Last year ma'am.’
‘And yet, marqués,’ the very words were choking her as they rushed to publicly confront her tormentor with his infamy, ‘for years you have consistently tried to persuade me to write to two dead men, my father and the emperor. What kind of cruel trickery was this?’
There was not a sound, there was no movement, everyone, everything focussed on Denia. The archbishop and his councillors waited in silence. A heat of embarrassment hung about them that equalled that of the August sunshine on the plains around the city; a still, heavy heat before a gathering storm.
‘There was no trickery. I assure you I only sought to divert your attention.’
‘You sought to prevent me from seeking justice, marqués.’ Turning to the others in a trembling rage she tried to explain. ‘Believe me, archbishop, everything I see and hear today is like some strange nightmare. It must be at least … oh, so many years … I forget. No matter, it was long ago in Flanders when it all started. That was when people first started lying to me and since then I have been surrounded by liars. No one has been truthful with me. And here you see before you the very epitome of all liars, that man.’ She pointed a long thin finger towards Denia her eyes never leaving the archbishop. ‘And for the same length of time I have been mistreated; and once again no one has been more expert than the marqués. He has proved himself a master of deception and of cruelty.’
The archbishop, while finding this all most distressing and probably demanding further enquiry, hoped to return to his urgent business, quickly, before it became completely lost in this thickening morass of difficulties which was quite outside his remit.
Juana sought to clear her mind desperate to make full use of this audience while it lasted, for there may not be another. She must concentrate.
‘My lord, tell me once more why you have come here.’
‘There is a revolution in Castile. We are living in most dangerous times.’
‘I remember now. And you wish me to sign a royal decree demanding it be put down.’
Prayers of gratitude flew heavenward from the archbishop and his followers. They were back on course; they had almost achieved their mission. The warrant was called for once more and it was offered to Juana.
Juana glanced at it for only a moment before rolling it up. ‘Gentlemen I would point out to you that for years I have not been able to command the unlocking of the door of my room. It must, therefore, appear as ironic to you as it does to me that I should now be asked to order thousands of men to lay down their arms. Before you answer, I must add something else, and the marqués knows this well enough. For years I have been asking him to write to the nobles or any of the members of the Cortes bidding them to visit me, to tell me what was taking place in my beloved country. The marqués always responded to my requests with excuses or downright refusals. The grandees, I was told, were not here, they were ill, they were too busy, they were with the king, there was an epidemic. I therefore have no idea what this danger or peril can be of which you speak, nor who is perpetrating it. You say there is no time for delay and I have much to learn. Let us set ourselves to the task immediately.’
Denia was furious. His plan had failed miserably. He had thought to humour Juana; have her all dressed up, allow her to sit on her throne, experience the power of signing an important document and then have her escorted back to her rooms. Instead she was making him look a fool; have him appear a blackguard. How dared she!
The archbishop was embarrassed. This was to have been easy. He had been led to believe that Juana's mental state was such that she would sign any piece of paper put in front of her. Instead he had stumbled on and disturbed a hornets' nest; and there was more to come for he was now obliged to reveal all in his explanation. And he would have to choose his words carefully for the queen had shown that she was, more than likely, capable of understanding the situation.
‘Ma’am, for some time there have been some minor problems between the people of Spain and the officials of the court of King Charles; those who accompanied him from Flanders.’
‘I would imagine there would be more than minor problems, especially if the Flems hold high offices in government.’
‘But your son needs those around him in whom he can have most confidence.’
‘Such as Chimay?’ That was a name she had not thought of for some time.
‘And his chancellor from Bruges, Monsieur Salvagio, and Chimay’s nephew the Archbishop of Toledo.’
Juana's eyes widened in disbelief; everything her mother had stated in her will was being flouted yet again.
‘Enough. Name me no more names. Instead tell me of the wrongs these people have committed to cause such distress to my country.’
‘No wrongs ma'am. They only act as any sovereign's advisers would. Taxes have been set, monies have been raised to pay for the royal household including servants, army, officials.’
‘This is not sufficient to stir my countrymen to rebellion unless of course the sums were to be excessive.’
The archbishop decided to avoid answering that. ‘There was also some strong ill-feeling when Adrian of Utrecht was made regent.’
‘Why should his appointment cause more resentment than the others?’
‘Some say that the king had made a solemn promise not to offer any more posts to foreigners.’
‘And a king must keep his word!’ She was bitter, thinking that every king she knew, including her father, never had done so. She leaned towards him, ‘Yet there are much more serious affairs?’
He had not wanted her to ask questions, he only wanted her to listen and agree where necessary. ‘It is really to do with timing, unfortunate timing. You see, with the emperor dying, King Charles had no option but to start his election campaign and elections are a costly business.’
‘What you are saying is that Spain had to pay some hefty bribes.’
The archbishop winced at her directness, ‘These transactions are not viewed in that manner. Also, the king had to travel to Flanders. He needed the necessary ships and men at arms and these are items of enormous expense.’
‘And you are telling me that Spain had to pay for all this, or did Flanders share the costs?’
‘Spain on her own, my lady.’ This interview was not going well.
‘And what of the government of this country? I wonder if since the death of my father anyone has addressed the needs of Spain.’
‘Much has been necessarily put in abeyance until the return of King Charles. Meanwhile Adrian of Utrecht and others …’
‘You need go no further, archbishop. I see the problem as two-fold. One: we have my countrymen smarting with broken Spanish pride, being trampled on and robbed by foreigners. Two: we have lost control of our own destiny, foreigners hold all the power. It is no longer Spain for the Spaniards. Little wonder there is unrest. This is not a rabble of common people, is it, archbishop?’
‘Ma’am they are a group of misguided procuradores and grandees. In any case, it matters not who they are,’ he flared, ‘it is still treachery. Naturally they have a rabble of all kinds of malcontents under their command. The rebels met in Avila last month to declare that Adrian and his Council had been deposed and that they, this group of traitors calling themselves the Holy Alliance, is the only legitimate government.’
‘And Avila is theirs?’
‘It is.’
‘Is this the only place they hold?’
The archbishop was furious at possibly having to reveal the full extent of the rebellion, so limited himself to the situation in Castile. ‘No, the revolt has spread; to Toledo, Madrid, Segovia, Sala
manca, Zamora, Leon, Valladolid, Burgos. The only reassuring part of these worrying circumstances is that their decree declares that you are the only sovereign of Spain and that it is to you that they owe their allegiance. That is why I am here. We need you to sign this warrant to put down their revolt. They will respect your signature. Your name is sufficient. The salvation of the country is in your hands. Your signature would cause a miracle far greater than any of Saint Francis himself. I beg of you, please sign.’
Juana unrolled the paper and studied it this time.
‘Archbishop you have given me much to think about. I agree with you that we face some very difficult times, but yet we are not in any immediate danger if, as you say, they have sworn allegiance to me. We must, I think, take more care with the wording of the contents of this document, we must be more specific as to what our intentions are and as to the manner in which we intend achieving them; it should not be a vague statement such as this. Have another one prepared and bring it to me tomorrow. You may go.’
Even before the archbishop left the room Juana had gone to the window to look out over the river, over the plains shimmering in the heat to the distant horizon, towards Medina del Campo, hiding behind the summer haze. She gathered the warmth and freedom of the land, her land, with every breath.
Without turning she spoke to Denia, ‘Medina was never mentioned. Who has Medina allied herself with?’
‘With no one. Medina is lost.’
‘For once speak plain.’
‘We needed additional ammunition to fight the rebels of Segovia and sought to take some from the arsenal in Medina. The citizens stupidly refused to hand any over, saying they would not have Spanish weapons used against Spaniards. We had no alternative but to set fire to some of the buildings as an example of what happens to traitors. Sadly the fire went out of control and more than three quarters of the town has been destroyed.’
The news brought with it deep sadness both for her mother's beloved town and for Spain. Medina was an international market. Much of Castile's wealth was held there: gold, silver, silks, brocades, pearls; all would have been lost.
The marqués interrupted her thoughts, ‘It is very grave. And all brought about by rebels.’
‘We shall see where the blame truly lies. You may go.’
She had dismissed him! She congratulated herself. She was free until tomorrow.
Advice was necessary before the return of the archbishop for the situation was complex and dangerous. There was no one to turn to other than her confessor and confidant, Brother Juan. And, in the absence of lawyers, who better; the Franciscan friar was honest and his judgement sound.
Chapter 44
Four days had passed since the archbishop's first visit and on each successive meeting he had brought a freshly worded warrant. None would satisfy Juana, not one fully addressed the grievances of the Spanish people. Brother Juan had been of enormous help but she deeply regretted the absence of doctors at law.
She stood on the gallery looking out at the plains bathed in the morning sunshine, stretching out towards Medina del Campo (poor, ruined Medina) and mused on her audiences with the archbishop and his black-robed clerics hovering like crows eager to snatch up the warrant and carry it away like some piece of carrion.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; this was the most ridiculous scenario imaginable! It was bizarre that she and the archbishop should be discussing Spain’s future. Here they were in a tiny, nondescript, out-of-the-way town, the archbishop representing a powerless regent and she, so recently freed from her incarceration, ill-informed and unsure.
However, this new role was quite to her liking. There was immense satisfaction to be had in having people fawn over her, to watch their earnest strivings to please; these, after all were what monarchs should enjoy.
In the distance a dust cloud grew. Then from its midst a huge line of riders emerged, galloping towards Tordesillas. It was a veritable army!
There was a polite cough behind her.
‘Are you ready to hold an audience?’
Juana turned to find her confessor who, she was convinced, had he not been a solemn man of the cloth was surely grinning from ear to ear.
‘Brother Juan, I see we have more visitors coming to seek favour,’ she pointed out the horsemen.
‘Your highness is very popular.’
‘I wonder what the archbishop suggests today.’
‘We may never know; it is the town magistrate who begs an audience.’
This was impossible. ‘But Denia would never allow the magistrate to enter the palace!’
‘Precisely, my lady.’ And yes, he was grinning.
The magistrate was on bended knee, his tired, old face a mixture of fear and elation, his voice faltering, ‘Your highness, the townsfolk of Tordesillas have freed themselves from the yoke of the king’s ministers. May I ask you to come to the courtyard to see and hear your people.’
There was no need to be asked twice; her people were here, in the courtyard.
When she stepped out on to the upper gallery she was greeted by a burst of trumpets and tambours and a frenzy of cheering. Colours danced and flashed: women were waving bunches of flowers or gaily patterned shawls, steel glinted and shone from beribboned halberds — and it was all too much. After so many silent, drab and colourless years in gloomy apartments she was shaken and she stumbled against the wall, closing her eyes and covering her ears to shut it out.
The crowd below fell into an uneasy silence; they looked up nervously, waiting.
Then Juana moved.
The magistrate knelt before her. ‘My lady,’ his voice rang out, ‘would it please you to receive Don Juan Padilla, the leader of the Holy Alliance?’
The waiting was unbearable.
Juana was choking with indecision. Decisions were not for her to make, she hated them. This decision was the most serious ever demanded of her. If she said no, would she be denying the people of rights they were struggling for, would she be aiding and abetting the hated Flems? If she said yes, she would be taking an extremely bold step, openly siding with rebels, all those opposed to the regency, the government. There was no one to advise. Where was her uncle or the constable? A voice from the past told her what to do, reminding her of that other Juana.
She decided. She nodded her approval.
Fervent cheers raced and chased around the pillars, bounced from the walls, surging upwards, engulfing Juana on their way.
A gentleman from a small group that had gathered at the foot of the stairs approached and knelt before her initiating a fresh wave of jubilation. ‘Your royal highness, I appear before you to bring you freedom and to accord you all honours as Queen Juana. We are here to be of service to you for as long as we have breath in our bodies.’
‘You are most welcome Don Juan Padilla. May Spain and I find you as loyal as your father; God knows we have need of such men. So, Don Juan Padilla, determine which of your group shall accompany you to the Grand Salon where I shall be most pleased to receive them.’
The air was rent once more with rejoicing cries and cheers. Never had Juana felt such floods of warmth enfolding her. As she turned to go she took a long look at all those who had come to wish her well. This moment would never be forgotten. All the misgivings she had had about coming to Tordesillas were swept away. She was at home here. She was amongst good, honest, and decent people in this brave little town on a hill.
v v v
The room had been hurriedly prepared. No one had been sure just how many people would be involved in the audience so several benches had been arranged along the walls.
Juana was once more seated on her throne with its royal canopy, quite revelling in this new state of affairs, savouring once more those moments on the steps, hearing again the adulation of the crowds.
Padilla led the line of gentlemen in solemn procession.
‘Your highness, these gentlemen are my colleagues in our alliance. I pray you receive them.’ He introduced them, ‘Don B
ravo, Don Zapata, Don Maldonado, and Doctor Zuñiga. We are here to defend you, to carry out your orders.’
It was all quite astonishing and so wonderful. Juana looked beyond the four leaders at a room filled with loyal subjects, her loyal subjects, every one of them wanting to serve their queen. She could not disguise her happiness. ‘Gentlemen it pleases me greatly to have you here!’ But it was time to be serious, and a huge effort was demanded to focus on the matter in hand. ‘You must explain the circumstances which caused you to create this Holy Alliance. And then you must make plain your intentions, for you have taken extreme measures, which could be seen as treacherous, and yourselves branded traitors. It is only your loyalty to me, your queen, which saves you from such accusations.’
Padilla knelt before her, ‘My lady, the problems began soon after the death of King Ferdinand. With respect, ma'am, your son Charles has allowed his Flemish ministers full rein. These foreigners have plundered our country; money has been going to Flanders like a river racing to the sea. More recently the burden of taxes has become unbearable. Also Spain finds itself these days with too small an army to protect itself. King Charles is not here to listen to our concerns and, worse, he has put the government in the hands of a complete stranger when we have Castilians suited to the post; like the admiral or the constable. Many cities rose in anger. My friends and I felt it essential to organise all the disaffected as quickly as possible. It was vital that we controlled the passions of our countrymen, to bring the cities together to act as one in pursuing a common end. We are not traitors, we are bound by solemn oath to live and die in the service of the king.’
‘Then your fight is only against the Flems, Don Padilla?’
‘Our fight is against those foreign leeches bleeding our country to death. Our fight is against those who deny us government by our own people. Our fight is against those who deny us our self-respect. Our fight is against those who set their guns against Spanish people.’
That Other Juana Page 25