‘King Charles thought it best your grandson, Felipe, should now have the title. It is King Felipe who has sent me.’
‘You can assure him that I want nothing.’ She would keep to her word, holding her own counsel on conditions here.
‘I think it is rather what he wants of you, my lady.’
Juana disliked his tone, ‘I find it exceedingly remarkable that anyone could want anything of me; whatever I once had they all took without asking.’ She reached out to her casket and the leather box to protect them, ‘But they shall have no more, these stay with me night and day.’ She paused, ‘Come to think of it, I saw him recently and he never asked for anything then.’
‘His majesty told me he had stopped here before leaving for England. He is to marry Queen Mary Tudor. More importantly he is also on a mission for God.’
‘He mentioned something about getting married. He was married before, you know. Such a pretty little maiden, a bit on the plump side, but then none of us is perfect. Poor girl died within days of giving birth to a son, and from what I hear he is most odd and grows increasingly strange every year. So, I imagine Felipe has gone to another bride to see if he can do any better.’
Father Francisco was not here to discuss the trivia of marriages, brides, nor procreation. ‘King Felipe has gone to save the English people. He will guide them back to the Church. He lives and speaks as a true Catholic.’
‘Bravo!’ She applauded, ‘I am happy for him and his crusade!’ She then dismissed the subject with a flick of her hand.
Father Francisco came straight to the point of his visit. ‘Can you say that you are a true Catholic, my lady? Are you not perhaps living somewhat like the English: without Holy Mass, without the blessed icons and statues, without the Sacraments?’ He thought it best she had a gentle chastisement, a reminder that she was failing her family in neglecting these very duties herself, especially when death might come rather quickly and unannounced at her advanced age; unless, of course, she was not of sound mind as many would have it, that would be a different matter. ‘King Felipe is hardly in a position to accuse others when the same fault lies here within his own family.’
A toothless grin suddenly lit up her face, ‘I have it! You were here many years ago, as a child, a pageboy.’ This was something far more interesting for them to talk about. ‘Yes you were a little page boy to my daughter Catalina. You are Francisco de Borja, a grandson of my father. Your mother was conceived on the wrong side of the sheets,’ she wagged a reproving finger in his direction.
This was a fact, although a somewhat indelicate one to raise, but it made him think about her ability to retain and recall facts. First Naples, Felipe’s son, now this; her mind might be sound after all. Felipe could well be justified in his concern for her soul.
She inspected him thoroughly, ‘But how is it that you are now a priest?’
‘That happened years ago when I accompanied the cortege carrying the mortal remains of Felipe’s mother to Granada. Before the body could be interred the coffin had to be opened and the body identified.’ He paused recalling that harrowing moment. ‘It came upon me then, the certainty that the purity and readiness of the soul for God's Heavenly Kingdom was far more important than all the ephemeral grandeurs of this earth.’
‘So you gave up everything to become a priest.’
‘Yes, for this is what God desires of me. And now King Felipe desires that I set you on the road to piety, bringing you back to the Mother Church. He is afraid for your soul; that it is not in readiness …’
‘Afraid for my soul,’ she scoffed. ‘I tell you there are plenty of others whose souls are in far greater danger than mine and much more deserving of his immediate attention.’
He would not be deterred, ‘Can you tell me in all honesty that you do believe in the articles of faith, those prescribed by the Church?’ This was of great concern to Charles and Felipe and the reason he was here.
She was astounded; offended. ‘How could I not believe in them? Of course I believe!’
‘And do you believe that the Son of God came to the world to redeem us all.’
‘Of course I do!’
‘Then will you be confessed?’
‘Of course, Father. Good Lord what a great deal of fuss all this is.’ But she had first to consider how much of her soul she should lay bare, and ought she to accept culpability for incidents that had been forced upon her by the actions of others, notably the Denias. How much blame should she accept? It might all be too complicated; the more so if she mentioned that she had talked about her misdemeanours directly with God refusing the assistance of priests for whom she had no respect.
In the end she decided to confess; admitting her stubbornness, her temper, her rebellious spirit, her wicked language.
This she did in all humility, humbly seeking pardon, and she received absolution. She sat back content, happy to have been of service to this kind priest. It must have made his journey worthwhile.
‘There was a time when I confessed regularly and took communion. I attended Mass. I had statues of the saints and reliquaries in my rooms. Yes, all these things …’ Juana drifted into her own thoughts.
‘And then what happened? Why did you stop?’ The priest needed as much information as possible, be it reasons or excuses.
‘It was none of my doing. Believe me, Father, I still wish to; but come close, listen.’ She had him incline his head so she could whisper into his ear. ‘The ladies in my service will not allow it. They are sinful witches, they mock me.’
Perhaps he was wrong after all about the state of her mind. ‘Surely you are mistaken?’
Juana shielded the oblong box from possible enemies. ‘That is why I will not allow them to see this. They joke about my crucifix held safe in here,’ she whispered. ‘They mock the reliquaries, the icons, my rosary and …’
‘This cannot be!’
But Juana had already warmed to her story and would not be stopped. ‘They have even spat on my statues. On St. Domingo, St. Francis, St. Peter …’
Father Francisco was convinced this was pure invention. ‘I cannot believe this, there must be some misunderstanding.’
Juana hurried on; she had not felt so animated in ages. ‘When I said my prayers they snatched my Psalter from me, or sometimes they turned it upside down. Other times they shouted to drown out my words of supplication.’
‘You are mistaken, let us …’ He wanted to return to being her guide and mentor.
Juana hushed him, ‘They even put filthy things in the Holy Water.’
This was preposterous. He must be firm with her. ‘My lady, these sinful acts cannot have been committed by any of your ladies. No one would dare offend God in such a way.’ Perhaps now he could resume his mission of saving her soul.
‘On reflection, I think you are right, Father.’ She leaned towards him as if in agreement. If he had come to save her soul she felt duty bound to give him something to battle against, to keep him gainfully employed; and it was a more pleasant way of gaining attention than not eating. ‘It could be that they were the spirits of the dead. What do you think of that?’ She eagerly awaited his response.
Father Francisco now wished he had accepted the stories of the serving ladies. ‘I do not for one moment …’
‘Listen to this, then. One day when my granddaughter Doña Juana was here, and sitting right there where you are, they did the same to her.’
‘Which they are we talking about?’
‘They say they are the spirits of the Conde de Miranda and the Chief Comendador. It wasn’t the first time; they often come in here and do some most disrespectful things; magic, just as if they were witches.’
Father Francisco thought of the young and beautiful widowed Princess Juana whom he confessed regularly and with whom he had grown very close, both of them sharing the same deep religious convictions. She would have sought his help. He shook his head. He was being led into difficult waters.
‘You do believe me father?�
� Juana asked, giving him the most innocent of looks. ‘What I would suggest is this, you get rid of these ladies or spirits and then I can attend Mass. That should please everyone. Felipe included.’
‘Rest assured; one way or another I will get to the bottom of this. And, should it emerge that it is of your servants' doing, I will call upon the Holy Office of the Inquisition to deal with them as heretics. In the meantime I shall write to my friend Brother Domingo de Soto who is an expert in this field.’
Juana nodded and smiled her approval. At last she had someone who listened to her, who was at her bidding; even an expert was to be consulted! This was just the beginning; she had found the perfect stratagem; all she had to do was bide her time, and watch and wait. All those accusations levelled at her over the years, every action taken against her were now her ammunition.
Chapter 51
A few months later the Jesuit priest, Father Francisco, was writing his latest report to King Felipe when Brother Domingo de Soto, the eminent theologian, was announced. He set aside his pen and got up from his desk to welcome him.
‘I thank God you are here, Brother.’ Francisco clasped him by the shoulders.
Brother Domingo reciprocated the warm greeting, ‘My friend, I had to come. Although I found your earlier letters intriguing, they were of no great concern. You appeared to be dealing with the problem admirably. I, like you, was convinced that the queen was making excuses, bizarre at times, for her laxity; it was ever thus with those who wish to deny their own failings. And, as you observed, her granddaughter, a most devout young lady, would have had no hesitation in reporting anything malevolent here. But then the letter arrived hinting at deeper concerns. I heard your cry for help, and here I am. How is her majesty?’
‘Not well at all, and that is what makes this all the more worrying. Since her fall some while ago, when she injured her back and legs, she has shown a gradual decline.’
‘How ill is she?’
‘Not ill exactly, but it is rare that she leaves her bed. If she does it is to be assisted to a chair, where she remains seated all day. She can only take a few painful steps. The doctors have been unable to make any diagnosis since she refuses them anywhere near.’
‘Then she might deteriorate quickly?’
‘There is every possibility; that is why I feel we should not waste any time. By the way, I have had those supposedly offending women servants removed, and at King Felipe’s suggestion, to satisfy the queen, I told her that they were brought before the Holy Inquisition, were tried, and subsequently imprisoned. It seems to have worked, and I am sure that God will forgive my lying on this occasion. But now to the serious matter which I dared not put in writing,’ he lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. ‘Just prior to her accident I had persuaded her to join us all for Mass, but the moment she saw the altar cloth, well, I can only say she went berserk; ranting and raving.’
‘The altar cloth, you say, was the cause?’ Brother Domingo looked cautiously about him.
‘The altar cloth. It is an exceptional piece of Flemish workmanship; gold brocade with the Three Kings embroidered in coloured silks and gold thread.’
Brother Domingo took him by the arm and led him as far away from the doors as possible; no one but Francisco must hear what he was about to say. ‘There you have it in a nutshell! They are not the Three Kings, they are three false Conversos. Moors; three of the many who pollute our land, who pretend to have converted to the Christian faith while concealing their continued worship of a false prophet, secretly adhering to their heretical customs and rites. And there they are on an altar cloth, come to mock God, to mock our Christian beliefs. Our problem is this; is the queen a staunch supporter of those daring to continue this heinous blasphemy, and was she afraid that her guilt had been discovered?’
‘No, no, this is all going too far.’ He found it absurd, but would not say so, not in so many words. ‘However, I expressed my shock and dismay at the impiety of her actions only to be further disturbed by her refusal to accept any culpability whatsoever. She would only repeat, quite forcibly, that she was no different from the Poor Little Sisters of Santa Clara and was offended by such ostentation. She kept on insisting that an altar required only the simplest of cloths. This is what I find so disturbing; this has the foul odour of Lutheranism. Yet how could she know of Martin Luther?’
The only response from Brother Domingo was a patronising smile and the raising of learned eyebrows.
‘Well then, Brother Domingo, shall we go to the queen?’
Juana sat in her bedchamber, her only company a lowly serving woman standing near the door, her face to the wall, as Juana had instructed, so that she would be unable to see whatever might be removed from the ever-present casket and oblong leather box.
The box was opened and the crucifix carefully removed. She held it fondly in yellow, cracked parchment fingers. A fleeting image of her favourite son Ferdinand (she often thought of him as her only son since Charles was a blackguard and had forfeited all rights) brought a moment’s ease to the incessant pains in her back and legs. She recalled the time when he was a little boy, just six years old, how her stubbornness had forced her father into returning him to her.
Her thoughts then tumbled into a haphazard review of other strategies she had employed over many a year to fight for what was right and for what was justly hers. She chuckled and sometimes sighed remembering. It was true that her outbursts of screaming and shouting had all been failures, although they had given her some satisfaction at the time. Spur of the moment actions had been more successful. It was her stubbornness that had proved the most effective of campaigns to wage. But this latest tactic, to make them question her insanity, forcing them to renew their doubts regarding her obedience to the church; or conversely, to declare her mad after all, was the best ever. That was why it was so infuriating that just as she had begun to enjoy this new role she had had that damnable accident.
She had fallen, and fallen badly, and was now unable to move without suffering excruciating pains in her legs and lower back. Getting dressed was an agony. Attending to her personal toilet became such torture that she preferred at first to postpone it and then to abandon it completely.
Of course, she bitterly complained to herself, Denia was to blame for the accident. After years of seeing him and his family wearing her jewellery she was determined he would never have any of the few remaining pieces still in her possession or this beautiful crucifix, the loving gift from Ferdinand; the only gift to have been given her by any of her children.
If only Denia had not had the effrontery to open the box, to touch then lift out the gold cross with its Christ in His final hours of agony, to have his covetous eyes linger on it, she would never have tried to rush those few steps, would not have tripped as she reached to snatch it from his thieving hands.
Juana looked up and hastily locked away her treasured crucifix as the two priests entered. She felt quite gratified to have the attention of not one but two priests.
Father Francisco introduced the visiting priest. Brother Domingo bowed his head to hide his shock, nestling his nose into his praying hands to prevent inhaling too much of her stink.
‘I am honoured to be of service,’ Domingo greeted the lamentable figure before him.
Eyes set deep in a cadaverous face stared back at him, questioning. A claw-like hand scratched amongst the remaining wisps of white hair hanging forlornly from her mottled skull, disturbing the lice and sending a few of them down to join the community in the collar of her chemise.
Juana offered her hand for the customary kiss before withdrawing it quickly; these days she had a deep aversion to being touched. She beckoned to the woman to bring chairs, the extended arm revealing a further army of lice in her cuff, and around her wrist the evidence of their uninhibited feasting.
‘We prefer to stand,’ Brother Domingo was quick to suggest, and quicker still to get down to business. ‘I am here about the ladies you complained of to Father Francisco
.’
‘Ah, yes, the ones in prison; and serves them right. And, I must tell you, Father Francisco, that since they left I have had no further problems of that nature.’
‘It was no more than I promised, my lady,’ Francisco smiled through his deception.
But Brother Domingo was not prepared to have his opinions go unheard. ‘Let me put it to you that the ladies were guilty of nothing more than a lack of respect for their mistress whose gross and uninhibited behaviour had set a bad example and who, in doing so, has condemned them to the most severe of consequences!’ He glared down at her, determined not to give any quarter. He would not allow her to shift her guilt on to others.
The room suddenly filled with Juana’s cackling laughter. She clapped her hands, slapped the chair arms. ‘Why, goodness me, but I am convinced! You are the grandson of my mother’s secretary!’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Thank goodness it is you who has come to deal with the dreadful problems we have here.’
‘The major problem is you!’ Domingo found it impossible to control his temper. ‘We need to get you to recognise your obligations as a true daughter of the Church.’
Juana would not be spoken to in such a manner and pointed a filthy forefinger up at him. ‘If I must remind you, it is your task to rid me of all those who are set against my carrying out those very obligations. You are here to do that and nothing else. Once you have fulfilled your duties in improving the situation here then I will be in a position to judge when the time is right for me to resume. I will not be hurried.’
‘You do not seem to appreciate your position,’ he persisted. ‘I must ascertain … Father Francisco tells me that you have professed the Catholic Faith, that you make the sign of the cross with Holy water, that you …’
Juana was growing impatient, ‘Yes, because those women have gone!’ The man was a perfect nuisance, and he was making the pains in her legs and back worse than ever.
That Other Juana Page 31