History's Great Queens 2-Book Bundle: The Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici

by Gortner, C. W.

  The battle had begun.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Following my public refusal to swear the oath, Don Manuel and Philip found themselves in a quandary, unsure as to how to proceed and unable to order me confined lest it be said I was being treated cruelly for no apparent reason. All of La Coruña had seen that I looked, and acted, quite sane; and so every night we held court as though nothing were amiss, though I could see in Philip’s dark frown and Don Manuel’s frenetic whisperings in his ear that they were not going to concede defeat. When the first of the Castilian nobles began to arrive with their vassals and retainers, it became clear that if I had chosen to make my stance as my mother’s legal heir and queen proprietress with words, they would make theirs with muscle.

  Lopez had warned me during his visit that the grandes sought their own benefit. I was therefore not surprised that those who came sought to reap the rewards of my husband’s and Don Manuel’s largesse. Still, their presence obliged Philip to seat me at his side, where I bestowed each one with a gracious smile, particularly when the Marquis of Villena, who’d greeted us at the border during our first trip to Spain and now actively campaigned against my father in Castile, arrived with his ally, red-haired and ruddy-faced Benavente. I found it hard to believe that less than three years ago I had dined with these same gentlemen after crossing the Pyrenees. I also noted Benavente seemed discomfited when I asked pointedly for news of my son the infante Fernando, whom I had left in my mother’s care. He mumbled the child was well and had been removed to Aragón by my father, following my mother’s death.

  Villena, elegantly serpentine as ever, just smiled.

  Don Manuel hastily translated for Philip. At the mention of our son, whom he hadn’t met, he sat upright from his insouciant slouch and barked in garbled Spanish, “Then the king of Aragón has done me a grave insult, for the infante is not his son!”

  I kept quiet, as did Villena and Benavente. I was relieved my son was safe. Though it meant I might not see him for some time, for my father had no doubt ordered him moved to Aragón for his safety, at least Philip could not try to use him as a weapon. He knew the succession devised by my mother cited our sons as heirs after me; it wouldn’t serve his interests to have a Spanish-born prince in my father’s keeping and his outburst revealed as much.

  The admiral did not make an appearance. When I asked of him, Villena replied he’d not been at court since he accompanied my mother’s coffin to her tomb in Granada. Whether or not his grief had kept him away, the admiral’s absence made clear his position. Nevertheless, those who were here, crowding our lodgings and depleting our supplies, precipitated Don Manuel and Philip’s decision to order our departure.

  Thus it came to pass that two weeks later I emerged from my chambers with Beatriz and Soraya at my side, into a sun-drenched courtyard where the lords of Spain and my husband’s army waited. I took care to hide my consternation as I confronted the lords on their stallions, surrounded by their men. I felt a near-overwhelming fury at their impudence. That they had dared flout my parents’ edict that no nobleman could assemble his retainers to arms without prior leave proved they now felt themselves above the law.

  Beatriz whispered, “Look at them, the traitors. Have they no shame?”

  I did look. In fact, I did not take my gaze from them. This display of their might was not only for my benefit but also for Philip’s, had he been wise enough to recognize it. The grandes as much as declared aloud that they held no power higher than their own, anticipating that hour when they could reclaim their feudal rights and plunge us into lawlessness and chaos.

  All of a sudden, I saw someone I had not expected. He sat slightly apart from Villena and Benavente, a massive broad-shouldered man astride a dappled Arabian that seemed almost too small to hold him. He wore a hooded cape, and before he could look away I glimpsed the scar sealing his right eye shut. It was my father’s son-in-law the constable, husband to my bastard half sister, Joanna, the last man I thought to see. Why had he not presented himself formally? And what was he doing here, hiding among the ranks like a common criminal? Had my father sent him to watch over me? Did Philip or Don Manuel even know he was here?

  A quick glance at my husband told me he did not. But the constable knew I had seen him, and he returned my stare without any visible reaction before that unsettling single eye dropped to the loose drapery of my cloak, as if he could divine my secret.

  I turned away from him and went to the mare awaiting me. Soraya and Beatriz loaded our valises onto a cart. Mounting his destrier, Philip raised his hand.

  The vast retinue surged onto the road.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Philip’s army stretched far behind like a serpent of steel, the nobles with their men augmenting the ranks. I had not seen such a massive assembly since my parents had taken to the crusade against the Moors. I fought back a stab of crippling fear as I turned resolutely back to the road. I could not let this show of power intimidate me.

  Soon I would reach Castile, where I would reunite with my father and make my stand.

  THOUGH IT WAS ONLY MIDSPRING, THE HEAT WAS INTENSE. EVERY day, the sun mounted into a cloudless sky and bleached the very land of its color. As we crossed the rugged cordillera that separated the Galician provinces from Castile, the fallow vales of the north surrendered to arid escarpments where stunted pines barely took root and hawks circled endlessly with their eerie cries. If it was this hot here, Castile would be an inferno, I thought with a grim smile. Such heat had not sat well with the Flemish the last time we were in Spain. Traveling under such arduous conditions could only rouse dissension.

  I was right. Within days, fracas erupted between Don Manuel and our proud lords, none of whom appreciated the upstart ambassador who clung to Philip like a jealous lapdog and barred their passage to him as if he were already a king anointed. During his time abroad amid the excessive protocol of the Imperial and French courts, Don Manuel had clearly forgotten that in Spain our nobles were equally proud of their blood and accustomed to approaching their sovereign without undue ceremony. His assiduous protection of Philip’s person, and Philip’s willingness to let him act as a personal adviser and guard, did not endear the ambassador to the lords, several of whom were overheard threatening to put a dagger in Don Manuel’s gut.

  One evening as my women and I spread dried lavender on the carpeted floor of my tent to keep our environs free of louses, we heard shouting coming from Philip’s encampment. I sent Beatriz to investigate. She returned with a broad smile.

  “The Marquis of Villena is furious with Don Manuel. It seems that in exchange for his support, the marquis was promised restoration of a castle in the south, which their Majesties took from him during the Reconquest. But now Don Manuel claims there can be no disbursement of castles or lands until His Highness is invested as king by the Cortes and claims the royal treasury.” She smiled. “Princesa, I thought Villena would draw his sword then and there, and cut Don Manuel in two. And Benavente is an ogre! He grabbed Don Manuel by the shirt and shook him until the ambassador screamed. The archduke your husband had to intervene and hand Villena a gold goblet from his own table and Benavente a platter.”

  “So,” I remarked. “My husband is giving away his own plate now. Bien. Let them steal from each other. The more discord there is, the better it will go for us.”

  I settled in. I could afford to wait. The primitive conditions, which the Flemish had already begun to complain about, did not perturb me. Riding all day under the relentless sun in a fog of dust kicked up by thousands of hooves; pitching camp at dusk; sleeping in tents; eating dried foods and boiling water to drink were activities I’d grown immune to during my parents’ years of crusade against the Moors. Concealing my pregnancy for another month or so would prove a challenge, yes, but I took comfort in the fact that Philip and Don Manuel faced far greater ones.

  The Galician peasants, for one, almost proved their undoing. Don Manuel had contracted them to convey the train of carts laden with weapons, fine
ry, and other gear. One night, the Galicians unhitched their oxen while we slept, and vanished. The Flemish guard took the Galicians’ place but not before a pitched volley of recriminations was launched between them and the nobles’ retainers, who, with customary arrogance, refused to help at all with the carts.

  Then, as we entered the first of León’s provinces, food supplies became unavailable, or available only at an exorbitant cost. I silently exulted as I watched Philip’s fury mount. He’d begun to see the other side of this realm he so coveted, the insular suspicion of all foreigners and greed for their money. Fit to burst, he railed at the grandes, ordering them to deal with their obstinate people, thus alienating himself even further, for who else but a Habsburg would think of ordering Spanish blue bloods about as if they were lackeys?

  In the town of Santabria, Philip called for a halt. We had reached the edge of Castile after weeks of travel and Philip declared he needed to rest. He commandeered the nearest casa; I was given an upstairs chamber with my women.

  That evening as I stood in a brass tub in my shift while Beatriz rinsed the road’s grime and dust off me, the door banged open and Philip strode in. I didn’t bother to cover myself with my arms; it was too late. He took one look at my thickened figure and said triumphantly, “I knew it! You are with child, just as Don Manuel thought. You will dine with me this evening so I can announce the good news.”

  “Dine with you?” I stepped out of the tub, took a robe from Soraya. “I think not. I am very tired and in no mood for company.”

  “You’ll do it anyway. I need everyone to see you’re not being held against your will.”

  The moment the words were out, I saw he regretted them. He hadn’t intended for me to know that now that we stood on the threshold of my kingdom, he was unsure of his reception. It explained why he (or rather Don Manuel) had elected to have us stop in this miserable town rather than proceed straight into Castile. Who knew what reception awaited them?

  I regarded him with detachment, noting the pulsing vein at his temple, the coarseness of his sunburned skin that betrayed his increased penchant for liquor. Philip did not fare well under these conditions; for all his outward impressions he was a pampered man, bred for halls and hunting excursions, not taxing ordeals over mountains in the blazing heat.

  “Oh,” I finally said, with deliberate asperity. “In that case, of course I shall dine with you. We wouldn’t want my father to think I’m misused.”

  Philip scowled. He stabbed a finger at Beatriz. “See to it she’s there.”

  THE HOUSE WAS A SIMPLE timber-framed affair, the central hall used to stable beasts as well as people during the harsh winter months. It was hardly the setting for a court dinner, yet true to form Don Manuel sought to shore up my husband’s princely status by ordering the musty tapestries unpacked and hung on the walls, the gold plate set on the scarred table, and the minions dressed in their finery. They made a marked contrast to the Spanish nobles, none of whom had found a particular need to refresh themselves after the hard day’s ride and sat in their soiled doublets and dusty boots, markedly apart from the Flemish.

  I entered clad in my azure velvet, my hair loose and my mother’s ruby at my throat. The nobles rose in unison and bowed. I took the empty seat beside Philip. Had my deportment so far sown a seed of doubt? Were the nobles beginning to question their willingness to throw in their lot with Philip and his slavish adviser? I found myself searching their faces in turn, pausing on Villena, who arched a manicured brow and gave me his usual implacable smile. I had seen during our travels that while he could be as vain as any Flemish when it came to his appearance, he had the tireless constitution of a true Spanish lord, born to the saddle.

  Burly Benavente sat at his side; I did not see the massive constable anywhere. Had I not trusted myself, I would have thought I’d imagined glimpsing him in the courtyard so many weeks ago.

  Servitors set platters of fresh cheese, sautéed fowl, and roasted meats before the assembly. As we ate, Philip said without looking at me: “You might like to know that your father has finally dignified himself to send word. He wishes us to make haste to Toledo so we can be invested by the Cortes. He has your son with him.”

  My heart quickened. I kept my stare fixed ahead.

  “What?” Philip added. “Have you nothing to say? I would have thought you’d be overjoyed to know your darling Papá and Spanish child have asked for you.”

  I felt like an animal that senses but cannot see the steel snare hidden under its feet.

  “Don’t you want to know our reply?” He brought his hand under the table, gripping my thigh. “I’ve sent word we’ll indeed make haste and command him to meet us in Castile, where we will assume our throne and he will formerly relinquish any further rights to our kingdom.”

  I tasted blood where my teeth cut the inside of my lip. I should have known. He had found a way to use my own stance against me. How long had Don Manuel sat up at night, worrying the problem in his brain with the tenacity of a rat? They would see my father disposed of and appear to give me my title to appease the Cortes and any others who might balk at contesting my mother’s will, but I would never rule.

  I suspected Philip wanted me to explode, to take up my goblet and fling it at him in shrieking rage. It would serve him well if I displayed my deranged family blood. I would not oblige him. No matter what it cost, I would see this meal through to its cold completion.

  His fingers dug into my flesh. With my smile like frost on my lips, I said in a low voice, “My father will never agree. He’ll never let you steal what does not belong to you.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He released me, took up his goblet, and stood. “My lords,” he called out, bringing immediate silence to the sala. “I propose a toast.” He lifted his goblet. “A toast to my wife the queen, who carries my child.”

  The Flemish burst into fervent applause. The nobles sat still. I couldn’t focus on their expressions, but I knew some must view this development with pleasure. A pregnant queen would be so much easier to contend with; if everything went in their favor, Philip would rout my father and I would oblige them by dying while giving birth, as so many women did. Then they’d have the Habsburg fool in their hands and all of Castile at their disposal.

  “Come now,” I heard Philip chide, “is this any way to greet such news? Rise, my lords, rise! A child is a blessed event. Let us drink to its health and to Her Highness my wife’s, of course.”

  The sound of chairs scraping on the plank floor abraded my ears. The lords stood, the sputtering flames of the wall sconces capturing the sparkle of their raised goblets.

  Philip waved his hand. “Thank you, my lords. Her Highness, as you must understand, is weary after our travels.” He motioned to the guards stationed nearby. “Please, escort Her Highness to her rooms. We mustn’t keep her from her proper rest.”

  I lifted my chin and came to my feet. As I walked between the guards, a prisoner once more, I could not avoid glancing at Villena.

  To my disquiet, the look he returned was almost pitying.

  AS SOON AS I REACHED my chambers, I allowed myself to vent my rage. “He sent word to my father that we wish to see him in Castile!” I spun to Beatriz. “I must get word to Papá. It’s a trap!”

  “His Majesty won’t agree,” she said. “Surely he of all people knows what your husband is capable of.”

  “Yes,” I said quickly, “yes, he saw who Philip was when we were last in Spain. And I didn’t see the constable at the table tonight. He’s left, I’m sure of it. Maybe he went to report to my father.” I paused. “But what will he say? The grandes will all testify that I am traveling with them. None seems to care that I cannot use the privy without Philip or Don Manuel’s leave.”

  “His Majesty will still know,” Beatriz persisted. She glanced at Soraya. “In La Coruña, you declared you would not endorse a single act until the Cortes invested you. This alone proves that your husband forces you to his bidding. His Majesty will smell the rat.
”

  I nodded, moved in tense silence to my window. It was too far to jump, even if I weren’t with child. The drop from the balcony would break my legs, if it didn’t kill me outright. And now the guards were back, outside my door. My fists bunched. “I should have left. I should have taken horse and fled the moment I had the chance.”

  “When?” said Beatriz. “How? Your Highness, we are prisoners here as surely as we were in Flanders. There is not a soul who will help us.”

  “There must be a way.” I looked to the table where Soraya had set out my brushes and hand mirror. “Do we still have those writing materials from England?”

  Soraya went at once to one of the valises, retrieved the sheaf of parchment, ink, and quills we had hidden there under my linens. “What are you thinking?” said Beatriz.

  I took a moment to gather my thoughts. “If you’re right and Papá has heard something of my plight, he still might not know I am determined to fight my husband for the throne. I must warn him that under no circumstances can he consent to leaving Castile.” I paused. “The question is, how do I get a letter out? We can’t bribe someone. It’s too dangerous.”

  Silence descended. Then Soraya said softly, “I’ll do it.”

  I looked at her in surprise. She regarded me with resolute dark eyes, her narrow shoulders poised with a confidence I’d not seen her display before.

  Beatriz let out a nervous chuckle. “You? You’re a Moor, practically a slave. You can’t possibly go off alone with Her Highness’s letter, even if they were stupid enough to allow it.”

  “I’m not a slave, though,” said Soraya. “I’m a converso. We are in Spain. There are hundreds like me, among the retainers and the guards and serving women. Who’ll notice one more or less? I’ll hide the letter on my person, steal a mule, and slip away when no one’s looking.” She looked at me; it was one of the longest speeches I’d ever heard her make, and her impeccable Spanish and astute assessments were almost hypnotic.