Be well, my child, and remember the grand estate to which God has called you.
Your loving madre,
Isabel the Queen
I stood, silent, the letter open like a missal in my hands. I had not read the unswerving command of the mother I’d known; I had not found the asperity of a queen who must concede her succession to a daughter she’d never been close with. Instead, she sounded tired, almost defeated. I had expected stern reminders of duty, of the need to set every other consideration aside, but I never stopped to consider she had buried a son, a daughter, and a grandson in less than two years. I couldn’t imagine losing one child, much less two, and in that moment I saw her not as the invincible queen but as a vulnerable woman and mother, like me.
And Besançon! He was a snake with a tonsure, demanding all he could for Flanders while my parents faced a tomb filled with crushed hopes, an ever-fractious nobility and anxious Cortes. But I had the upper hand now. He could not wring for Philip what I, in my time, could freely give: the crown of king consort. The archbishop’s time of power was fast coming to an end.
My fingers grazed the letter’s splintered seal. I turned to stare into my chamber.
It was as if I awoke from a long, torpid dream. The sunlight cascading through the velvet drapery illumined the costly tapestries on my walls, woven in Brussels and depicting satyrs and rubicund maidens in arbors. My Spanish standing cup sat on my cabinet, almost hidden behind a troop of porcelain shepherdesses sent by Anne of Brittany, Louis of France’s queen, as a gift in honor of the near-concurrent births of my Isabella and her own daughter, Claude of France.
I’d scarcely looked at the silly things, relegating them to the hundreds of objets d’art cluttering my suite. I’d been living so long among a plethora of paintings, statues, furnishings, and hangings that I had literally ceased to see them. Now as I stood there, surrounded by this opulence, I felt abruptly starved of air, the smell of sweet herbs sprinkled over the carpets underfoot coating my senses like soot.
In my mind, I saw Spain, immense and ever mutable, with its stark granite pinnacles and parched plateaus, its serpentine rivers and dense woodlands of pine and oak. Flanders was like an enamel gem box compared with the feral treasury of my native land, where fountains sang in mosaic patios and hills changed colors as the sun died, where chalk cities tumbled down eagle-haunted cliffs, crowned by stone castles that seemed rooted between heaven and earth. I longed for the taste of tart pomegranate, of lemons and oranges from Seville; I wanted to hear bells toll across an empty plain and see myself again in the resolute vigor of a people who never surrendered their pride. The loneliness pervading me was physical, like a voyager who has grown weary after years of wandering and now seeks the road home.
I was not afraid. I could learn to be queen. It was in my blood, the same blood that propelled my mother. She had not known everything the day she mounted the throne; yet like her, I had been called to it. Spain had bestowed upon me this crown.
My eyes opened. I called for Beatriz. She came to the door with Isabella cradled in her arms.
“My mother is sending a visitor,” I told her. “We must prepare.”
“YOUR HIGHNESS, I AM DELIGHTED TO SEE YOU.” LOPEZ DE CONCHILLOS bowed over my hand. He was a middle-aged, sprite man with benevolent brown eyes and a receding hairline, clad in a wool doublet that smelled of straw. I’d known him since my childhood: he’d served my mother faithfully as her chief secretary; to him, she entrusted her most important correspondence.
I smiled, indicating the chair opposite mine. “I too am pleased to see you, my lord. It has been too long since I welcomed a fellow countryman. Please, sit.”
Rain spattered the window, a pebbly murmur emphasized by my chamber’s unadorned walls. In the week preceding his arrival, I’d had my apartments stripped of all excess, including the lurid tapestries, and taken equal care with my appearance, donning a modest high-necked black gown. My jewelry consisted of my wedding bands and a small crucifix; I sought to exemplify the formality of a Castilian matron and saw in Lopez’s appraisal that I had succeeded.
Beatriz and Soraya slipped in with platters of stuffed olives, brown bread, cheese, and a decanter of claret. From under my lashes, I saw him nod in approval at this simple fare.
A brief silence ensued while I let him eat. Then I took a sealed envelope from my pocket. “I’ve written to Her Majesty. In here, she will find my solemn vow to comply with my duty.”
He inclined his head and took the letter from me. “Your words will no doubt assist Her Majesty greatly in her recovery.”
“Recovery?” I paused. “Is my mother ill?”
He sighed. “The doctors tell us it’s not serious. Her Majesty has been ordered to rest, and it is an order she does not take well to.”
I gave a faint smile. “No, she does not.” I paused. “I would know everything of Besançon’s visit, and what Her Majesty my mother requires of me.”
“Then I suggest you brace yourself, princesa, for it is not an edifying tale.”
My hands closed about my chair arms as he began to speak. It was much as I expected, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear. Besançon had acted in Spain with his customary arrogance, demanding concessions from my parents he had no right to, including several bishoprics and benefices for himself.
Then Lopez said something that sent a chill through me. “When their Majesties rebuked him for his presumption, the archbishop replied he had the means to make them reconsider. Though he did not say the words, there can be little doubt as to what he meant.” He paused, looked at me. “Is Your Highness aware that he recently met with envoys from France?”
“I was not,” I said. “Is it something I should be concerned about?”
“It could be. We don’t know why he chose this particular time to accept King Louis’ advances, but anything having to do with the French cannot behoove Spain. Her Majesty believes Besançon might seek French support for your husband, perhaps even an alliance that will, in effect, relegate Spain to the position of a suppliant.”
My voice flared at once. “Philip would not allow it! He knows Spain can never trust France.”
Lopez met my outburst with silence. Then he said, “Are you quite certain, princesa?”
“As certain as I am of my own self. My husband isn’t here to speak for himself, as he had to attend his Estates to gain their approval for us to undertake this journey, but I assure you he and I are in perfect accord. We would never ally ourselves with a realm that has invaded my father’s kingdom in the past and challenges his right to Naples.”
“Then, I am relieved; and so will be Her Majesty. Still, it might be wise to remain attentive. We know Besançon met with French envoys but we haven’t been able to learn anything beyond that. But perhaps he’ll inform His Highness, and His Highness will, in turn, tell you?”
Doubt crept over me. Besançon had played me for a fool before; and his relationship with Philip was not something I’d succeeded in affecting. If he planned something with Louis of France, I would be the last person to hear about it.
“I don’t want to be dishonest with my husband,” I said tentatively. “He and Besançon share a long history; the archbishop is his adviser and mentor. Philip trusts him.”
“Her Majesty understands. She would not want you to do anything to cause dissension. Indeed, her primary concern is that you and His Highness reach Spain. She hopes your son, Charles, might be brought as well, so that she can see him in person.”
I gave a quick nod. “I’ll consult with Philip when he returns. I don’t see why Charles shouldn’t accompany us, though he is very young. As for this French matter…well, I shall see what I can discover, yes? That is all I can promise.”
“Thank you, princesa. Her Majesty urges caution in your dealings henceforth, particularly with the archbishop. She is aware of the esteem in which he is held here and does not wish for you to make an enemy of him. Once you and your husband reach Spain and are invested by the C
ortes, a more appropriate adviser for His Highness will be found.”
“Yes,” I said hotly. “My husband lacks impartial counsel. He’s relied too long on Besançon.”
“And Your Highness? Do you lack counsel?”
His perceptiveness caught me off guard. In truth, I had never had counsel besides my trusted ladies. I’d not had any need of it. But princes needed councillors, and queens relied on them.
“I would appreciate some now,” I said. “I wouldn’t want anything to reflect poorly on me or Spain.”
Lopez smiled. “Princesa, trust in me and all will go well.”
A FEW DAYS LATER, PHILIP RETURNED TO COURT. HE CAME BOUNDING into my rooms, a wide smile on his face, and swept me up in his arms to nuzzle my throat. “My infanta, I missed you!”
I laughed nervously as I waved my women out and went to the sideboard to pour him a goblet. As I raised the decanter, it struck me how much our marriage had come to resemble my parents’, with even this token gesture between us to initiate our reunions. I also felt a stab of guilt that I could not tell him what Lopez and I had discussed.
I gave him the goblet with a smile. “I gather the Estates went well. Did they grant you everything you requested?”
“They did. They’ve agreed to oversee the realm while we are away and approve our expenditures. We will go to Spain in grand style.” He sipped his wine, looking about the room. “You’ve redecorated.” He paused. It was as if the room took on a sudden chill. “I understand a Spanish envoy is here. You could have written to me. I’d have come sooner to welcome him.”
“Oh, it wasn’t necessary,” I said, fearing my deception showed like a brand on my face as I returned to my chair and the bassinet cloth I was sewing for Isabella. “He’s come as part of our escort to Spain. We spoke mostly of family matters.”
I smoothed the cloth. He did not say anything, looking at me with intense focus. I found myself wanting to fill the sudden silence and blurted, “And my lord Besançon? Any word of him? I assume he’s arrived by now?”
I raised my gaze, saw his hand tighten about the jeweled goblet stem. His response was abrupt. “He has. He sent word that he is indisposed from the voyage but hopes to be here in a few days’ time.” He paced to the sideboard. “So, this envoy had nothing important to say?”
“Only that my parents expect us as soon as possible, and they’d like us to bring Charles.”
He gave a tight laugh and quaffed his goblet. “I hope you told him we’ll do nothing of the sort. Charles is far too young to be subjected to prolonged travel. He and the girls will stay here.”
I looked up sharply. “You’ve already decided this? My sisters and I traveled throughout Spain in our childhoods, and none of us suffered from it.”
He had started to lift the decanter; he turned about, scowling. “This is not Spain. We’ve a long trip ahead of us, and seeing as we must go by land through France, we—”
He went still. For a moment, I was so taken aback I didn’t know what to do. Lopez’s advice that I not cause dissension flitted through my head moments before I clapped the bassinet cloth aside and stood. “Through France? You cannot be serious!”
“I am. Louis has invited us to his court to meet him, his queen, and their newborn daughter. I think we should accept.”
“And I think not. I’d rather swim to Spain than set foot in that land of devils.”
“God’s death!” He banged his goblet on the sideboard. “Would you dictate to me, wife?”
My heart leapt against my ribs. I felt myself take a step back, bumping into my chair. I was riveted by the change that came over him, his eyes like icy slits, his entire countenance darkening, twisted.
“I…I only meant, we cannot accept,” I quavered. “We are Spain’s heirs now, and France is our enemy.”
“That is precisely why we must accept.” He swerved back to the decanter, poured himself another goblet. He drank it down in a single gulp, reached for the decanter again. He never drank this much during the day. All of a sudden, my legs felt so weak I had to sit down.
He turned back around, regarding me. His voice softened. “Juana, you do not understand.”
My heart’s erratic beat slowed. Cold sweat congealed under my gown. He came toward me. He seemed himself again; I thought I must have imagined the violence I’d glimpsed in his eyes.
“No,” I said, “I don’t understand. I see no reason why we must go to France.”
“We must go because we are Spain’s future rulers and must behave accordingly. Louis extended his invitation through my Estates; he has no other motive than to seek our favor.”
“The French always have a motive,” I retorted, but for the first time I started to doubt my own words. I’d been so inculcated against France since childhood I’d never questioned it.
“Well, Louis’ only motive now is to make sure we don’t strike a pact with your parents that will set half of Europe against him. He’s terrified for his safety. Your sister Catalina has married the English heir, your other sister Maria married Portugal; now you and I are heirs to Spain, not to mention that one day I stand to inherit my father’s empire. I’ve become a threat. Louis needs my friendship, and if all goes as planned I intend to give it.”
He held up a hand, cutting off my protest. “I warn you now, I’ll not inherit your parents’ feuds. Spain, the Habsburgs, and France—this enmity must end.”
“Then let Louis first end his claim on Naples.” My previous trepidation vanished in the heat of my own anger. “I know you seek to do well, but my parents will never sanction an alliance between us and the French.”
“I do not make an alliance for Spain,” he said. “I do it for Flanders.” He paused. “Juana, we share a border with France. The same threat Aragón has faced could happen here. In order for us to leave, my Estates insist we first accept Louis’ invitation. I am compelled by my duty as archduke to heed them, just as your parents must heed their Cortes.”
“Then you go without me.” I raised my chin. “I cannot be seen there.”
He sighed. “You are my wife, the heiress of Castile. Of course, you must come. It’s no dishonor to show graciousness to a fellow sovereign whose position is weaker than yours. And we’ll only stay a week or two, at most.”
I struggled against his logic. I did not want to see the world as he did, because it conflicted with the world I’d known all my life. I felt as though I dishonored my father, Aragón, the very foundation of Spain itself. I wished I could talk to Lopez before I made my decision, but I sensed he’d tell me what I already knew: if Besançon was behind this meeting with Louis, it would behoove us to find out what he sought to gain by it. And Philip was right: our position as Spain’s heirs had eclipsed France’s might. One day, we’d unite the Habsburg Empire and Spain under our rule; we would encircle France like wolves. What did I possibly have to fear?
I took a steadying breath. “Very well,” I said. I retrieved my embroidery with a steady hand. “But I would like to be apprised of all future preparations for our trip.”
His brow furrowed. “Why? It’ll be tedious business for a woman’s ears.”
“No doubt, but we’ll be gone a long time, as you say, and I want to oversee the plans for the children. Not to mention, it’s not every day an infanta goes to France.”
He guffawed. “I see. You want to have the most lavish gowns and jewels, of course, though you don’t need them, my love. You could outshine Anne of Brittany in your shift.” He regarded me with a lingering smile. Did he honestly see my concerns as mere vanity? Or was he playing the fool, I thought, as he bent over me, his kiss rousing an unexpected lack of physical response.
“I’ll tell you everything,” he murmured. “We’ll also dine alone tonight, so we can enjoy a proper reunion.”
I raised my lips to his, perturbed by my apathy. I had never lacked for heat with him, but then, it was a dangerous game I played.
Yet as he swaggered out to change his clothes for supper, I resolv
ed not to falter.
THE ENSUING WEEKS PUT MY RESOLVE TO THE TEST. BESANÇON returned to court looking smug and immediately closeted himself with Philip. Lopez confirmed to me that while I’d made the right decision, I should continue to be watchful. I found the ongoing deception unnerving and reassured myself it would all probably result in a mere few days of discomfort, nothing more.
I suffered anxiety over leaving my children, especially my little Isabella, who wasn’t yet six months old. I must have interviewed a hundred nursemaids before I settled on one Isabella seemed to like; fortunately, Madame de Halewin and, to my surprise, Doña Ana, reassured me they would remain to oversee the children’s household. My old duenna insisted she was too old to cross the Pyrenees, adding with pointed emphasis she’d rather die here than be seen alive in France. I evaded her rebuke, comforted that my children would have her to watch over them, and dedicated myself to spending as much time as I could with Charles, Eleanor, and Isabella.
Finally, on a bright winter day in November 1501, as crowds gathered at the roadside to stare in wonder, we left Ghent. Philip led the cavalcade on his white destrier, resplendent in scarlet. I rode beside him on a dappled mare, in amber brocade that matched my eyes.
To Spain, to Spain, I sang inside. Soon, I would reunite with my parents, with the memories of my childhood and promise of my future. My eyes burned with tears of sudden joy. I could survive anything, even time in France, for soon Philip and I would be in the land of my birth.
And there, we would fulfill our destiny.
THIRTEEN
As soon as we crossed into France, my disquiet resurfaced. Louis had sent an entourage of noblemen and-women to welcome us, and I eyed the primped and powdered ladies with covert mistrust. That old feudal enmity between France and Spain could be felt in the air, like a storm about to burst. I was acutely aware of the fact that regardless of the stated intent, here I would be seen as an enemy, the daughter of the wily Fernando of Aragón, whose claim to Naples was a perpetual thorn in France’s side.
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