The Creation of Eve

by Lynn Cullen

  “What is the problem?” said the Queen.

  He made as if to speak, then crossed his arms with a frown.

  “I am sorry,” I said. “I should not have spoken out.”

  “No,” he said. “I admire your thinking.”

  I turned away, hating myself for the smile that threatened to overcome my face.

  Mercifully, the topic turned to herbal remedies for the condesa’s bunions. After a few more pleasantries, doctor Debruyne took his leave. But even the Queen seemed to respond to his refreshing manner, for her step seemed less burdened as we continued deeper into the woods, the birds flitting in the tangle of boughs above Us, Cher-Ami snuffling off the trail just ahead.

  A shot rang out.

  We stopped. The condesa dropped her pomander. It rolled off the path, into some leaves.

  Madame de Clermont patted the Queen’s arm. “Perhaps you shall see your King now,” she said, which was indeed the logical explanation behind the shot. Only the King and his family were allowed to hunt in these woods.

  “Yes,” said the Queen. Madame and I hurried to smooth the Queen’s skirts and hair to prepare her for His presence.

  Cher-Ami yapped ferociously as Don Carlos broke through the cover of the woods, his arquebus pointed at Us, with Don Alessandro tramping close behind.

  The Queen’s gaze darted behind them. The look of disappointment that flitted across her face disappeared as quickly as it had come.

  “Toad!” she said stoutly. “Do you wish to kill me?”

  He rushed forward and fervently kissed her hand. “Sweetest Elisabeth, I would never hurt a hair on your head! Tell me I did not truly frighten you!”

  “Hush, Toad, I am fine.” The Queen looked over Don Alessandro’s shoulder as he took his turn at her hand. “What are you two doing out here? I thought you went back to University.”

  “School,” scoffed Don Carlos. “What need have I for that?”

  Don Juan stepped from the woods, though he carried no gun.

  “There you are!” said Don Carlos. “He ruins our hunt, moving fast when he should move slow, and slow when he should move fast. You would think he is trying to make Us miss all our shots.”

  Don Juan quickly kissed the Queen’s hand. She drew it back as if burnt.

  “Now that I have further damaged your hunt,” she said lightly to Don Carlos, “will you walk with Us?”

  “You can never damage anything, My Lady.” Don Carlos fell in step beside her, his arquebus on his shoulder.

  You could feel the tension in the air as the rest of Us took our places according to rank. Although the Prince behaved himself now, who knew what would provoke him and how he would respond? I found myself behind Don Juan and the condesa, and next to madame and Don Alessandro, who shouldered his own gun then pantomimed painting, with a questioning grin at me.

  The group walked along, our silence amplified by the rustling of skirts and the crunch of footsteps Upon the sandy trail. Wood doves cooed loudly from their nests in the crooks of the trees; a fly buzzed among Us. The Queen scooped Up Cher-Ami, who had stopped to smell something, then twirled around to face Don Juan.

  “Do you truly Understand dogs?” she said, walking backward.

  Don Juan pulled back, surprised at being addressed so suddenly.

  “Don Alessandro said once that you Understood what they said,” she explained.

  “Oh, that.”

  She held Up Cher-Ami, exposing his naked pink belly. “Tell me what he says.”

  Don Juan smiled crookedly. “He thanks you for taking him with you on this beautiful day.”

  “Oh, brilliant, Nostradamus,” Don Alessandro muttered.

  Don Carlos brayed with laughter.

  The Queen kept Up her backward tread. “Do you not truly talk to dogs, señor?”

  “No,” said Don Juan. “That was just someone ’s idea of a jest. In truth, it is the dogs who are the clever ones.”

  “How so?”

  I frowned at the Queen from where I walked with Don Alessandro. I wished she would turn around before she fell.

  “If they see you are trying to Understand them,” said Don Juan, “they give it their best to Understand you. How well do you Understand your dog, My Lady?”

  “I don’t,” she said with a laugh.

  “Yet you will find that as he grows older, he will perfectly Understand you.”

  The Queen kissed Cher-Ami on the top of the head. “Very smart, for an animal.”

  “Very smart, period. We are all of Us animals.”

  “Don Juan,” said the condesa, “please. We are hardly animals. God gave Us dominion over the beasts. It says so in the Holy Scriptures.”

  “You must pardon me, señora,” said Don Juan, “but why should we have dominion? Are we better than the dog that stays by a master who forgets to notice him? Than the cat who lays the mouse at your door when she is hungry and could have eaten it herself? Than a horse who will keep galloping to please you Until its lungs have given out?”

  The Queen stumbled in her backward walk. He reached out to steady her.

  “They teach Us about devotion,” he said, holding onto her wrist.

  The Queen glanced away, blushing.

  He let go.

  Don Alessandro called Up from beside me, “You would be proud of Us, My Lady. We were just practicing the art of debate among ourselves, without the bother and boredom of sitting around with a pack of tutors. Don Carlos, in particular, needs no tutor to help him to frame and argue his point.”

  Don Carlos’s face flushed the red of a ripe pomegranate. “Our discussion was private!”

  Don Juan flashed Don Alessandro a look of warning.

  “Did I say something that was untrue, Uncle?” said Don Alessandro. “My Lady, I had told the Prince of your debate in the French court, about which is best in love, desire or fulfillment.”

  “Señor!” the condesa said sharply. “This is not the French court.”

  “And what is so wrong with the French court?” the Queen said, laughing. “I should like to hear of your debate, monsieurs.”

  “You don’t want to hear,” said Don Carlos.

  “Truly, I would, Toad.”

  I drew in a breath. The Queen should not provoke him this way. “Has anyone seen don Alonso Sánchez Coello?” I asked stoutly. “Doña Juana has asked me to paint her—has don Alonso left the King’s service? I cannot think why she would ask me when he is the King’s Painter.”

  Don Carlos had no ears for me. “Since Don Alessandro told me of your debate, My Lady, I have been thinking about it much.” He lifted his chin. “I have decided Upon my position.”

  The Queen paused, arresting our whole assembly. “Which is?”

  “Desire is best in love. It burns all impurities from the heart.”

  “Oh, Toad, that is sweet.” She began to stroll again.

  He stood in place, fists clenched at his side. “No, My Lady. It is not sweet.”

  Everyone stopped, breath held.

  “My Lady, desire is a burning Hell that keeps you awake at night and fills your days with misery. It never leaves you in peace, but keeps gnawing, gnawing, gnawing, sucking the joy from everything. I would not wish it Upon a dog. I”—he hung his head—“hate it.”

  Don Alessandro spoke Up from beside me. “Forgive me, My Lady, but I must debate him.”

  Don Carlos looked Up, his pasty face wrenched with pain.

  “As our Prince says,” said Don Alessandro, “desire hurts like Hell. For this reason I argue that fulfillment has to be the more satisfactory of the two.”

  “That is quite enough,” said the condesa. For once, I agreed with her.

  “What have you ever desired, Don Alessandro?” Don Carlos snapped. “The porter’s daughter in Alcalá? What would you know about love?”

  “Never mind about me.” Don Alessandro poked Don Juan with his gun. “What about you, Friend to the Animals? What is your position?”

  “Truly,” said the con
desa. “We must stop this.”

  “Such a beautiful day!” I exclaimed. “Your Majesty—”

  “I want to hear him!” Don Carlos exclaimed. “Speak, Uncle, before I thrash you!”

  Don Juan nodded to the condesa as if to assure her this was the last remark. “Both desire and fulfillment are painful.”

  “Always taking the middle ground,” said Don Alessandro. “That’s our Uncle.”

  “Sometimes it is the only ground one can take,” said Don Juan.

  The Queen glanced at him over her shoulder. “Are you sure it is not the way of the coward?”

  “Ouch!” crowed Don Carlos. “She burns you!”

  Don Alessandro made a scoffing sound. “She is right, Uncle. Truly, would it kill you to take a position for once?”

  “Tell Us! Tell Us!” chanted Don Carlos. He rocked his head in growing agitation. “Tell Us tell Us tell Us!”

  I clenched my jaw.

  Quietly, Don Juan said, “Desire, then.”

  “What?” said Don Alessandro.

  “He said desire!” sang out Don Carlos.

  “Toad.” The Queen touched Don Carlos’s arm to settle him. “And why do you say desire?” she asked Don Juan lightly.

  “I really must put an end to this!” the condesa exclaimed.

  “No.” The Queen stopped our progress. She gazed into Don Juan’s eyes. “Speak.”

  A squirrel scrabbled Up a tree, sending bits of bark flying as we stood, waiting.

  “I have never experienced fulfillment,” Don Juan said simply.

  “Pobrecito,” said Don Alessandro. “Seventeen years old and never fulfilled at love. My heart bleeds.”

  Don Carlos shouldered his gun, and before anyone could act, discharged it into a tree. A wood dove flew off, its wings whistling.

  “You bagged a branch,” Don Alessandro called after the Prince as he stalked off.

  “Señor,” the condesa scolded, “you really must not provoke him.”

  Don Alessandro hitched his own gun Up Under his arm. “He’s harmless.”

  He found no accord amongst the furled brows and pursed lips in our group.

  ITEM: In Madrid, a woman whose only crime was to look especially beautiful dressed in her gown for Mass was gouged on the cheeks by her husband, his weapon being his fingernails. Her husband was found not guilty of any wrongdoing. She bears the scars on her face to this day.

  6 MAY 1562

  The Palace, Aranjuez

  It has been a night of little sleep. My gut does churn with anxiety; the hollow roar of the river outside the palace window makes my temples pound. At least Francesca rests, the pain of her toothache abated, though at what price did her ease come?

  What have I done now?

  The day was strange from the start, when I had been jolted from my sleep by the scream of fighting cats. Francesca, groaning from the pain of her tooth, then dressed me, and we went directly to the Queen, though my heart did ache to see Francesca in such misery.

  My Lady was suffering in her own manner. We found her in an agitated state, picking threads from the tufts of her brocade covers. She spoke little and, when she did, often did not complete her thoughts. She fidgeted through her toilet and then Mass, popping Up from her knees as soon as the priest had eaten the Host. The other ladies and I genuflected like jack-in-the-boxes before the altar and caught Up with her outside the chapel.

  “I cannot sit another moment.” She held Up her skirts as she strode into the arcade surrounding the courtyard. “I must go outdoors, or I will suffocate.”

  We passed finches cheeping from cages hUng in the arches of the arcade. A charwoman scrubbed the bright blue and green tiles of the floor; the sharp odor of her lye soap mixed with the mossy scent of the river flowing outside the palace walls. I picked Up Cher-Ami so he would not get the caustic soap on his paws.

  “Should I send word to the King to meet you in the garden?” I asked.

  “No!” The Queen glanced over her shoulder, the small veil suspended from her cap swishing. “No. He will not want to be bothered. He has his work.” As indeed he did. It is not without reason he is called the Paper King. Now that rebellion mounts in his far-flung lands, each day when he could be out pursuing pleasure, His Majesty is at work instead, answering the myriad documents brought to him in dust-covered courier bags that have traveled across land and sea. He holds his far-flung lands together with a pen instead of a sword, writing away the hours of his life.

  Our footsteps echoed from the vaults of the arcade. “Would you like to go riding in the little chariot he bought for you?” I asked. “You have not Used that conveyance this spring, and the King had it sent all the way from Toledo.”

  “No. Not today.”

  “I could ask the King if he would like to ride with you.” It could not be healthy for their Union for them to spend as little time together as they did of late. Surely he ’d want to spare her an hour.

  “Sofi,” she said, “no.”

  “Let Her Majesty be,” said the condesa. “If she does not want to see the King, we must respect her wishes.”

  I glanced at Francesca, who was so miserable that she did not catch my look. It was not the condesa’s way to bow to the Queen’s wishes. But I could do little except to follow briskly in the Queen’s wake, leaving the arcade for the passageway that led out of the palace and into the riverside gardens. It was a fresh, green day in May, though I was so dismayed by the Queen’s erratic behavior and Francesca’s misery that it was hard to savor it. Two by two we sailed through the fragrant beds of roses and other exotic flowers the King had caused to be planted in his riverside gardens, with Cher-Ami running ahead, and Francesca trailing behind, her hand to her swollen jaw.

  “Shall I order your barge, My Lady?” asked the condesa.

  “No!” exclaimed the Queen. “I just wish to walk. I need to clear my head. I—Oh!” Doctor Debruyne rose from behind an arbor. “You frightened me!”

  Cher-Ami barked while the doctor kissed the Queen’s hand. “I am so sorry, Your Majesty. I did not mean to disturb you. I was checking on the progress of this specimen sent to His Majesty.”

  “What is it?” she asked, trying to regain her composure.

  I scooped Up Cher-Ami as doctor Debruyne plucked a pale pink blossom and held it Up to the Queen. “Tobacco, My Lady.”

  “Pretty,” she said, hardly looking at it.

  “It is more than pretty. When burnt, the leaves are supposed to relax the patient and bring comfort when the smoke is inhaled.”

  The preposterousness of this remedy overcame my restraint. “You hold its smoke in your lungs?”

  The condesa looked disdainfully over her shoulder. “You misunderstand him.”

  Doctor Debruyne laughed then bowed before me, winning no points with the condesa. “It does sound mad. Leave it to the English to embrace such boldness. I Understand that they have gotten their hands Upon it and already puff away with great enthusiasm. But you know my good colleague, doctor Hernández—he must test its properties thoroughly before recommending it to the King.

  “Fortunately,” he said, addressing the Queen, “your husband possesses a keen scientific mind and is as curious about the potential of these herbs from the New World as we are.”

  The Queen smiled, then glanced across the river at the woods.

  Doctor Debruyne’s eye fell Upon Francesca at the back of our group, her face cast down.

  “Is this the servant with the aching tooth, juffrouw Sofonisba?” he asked me.

  I caught my breath, surprised that he should remember anything about me or Francesca. I nodded and put down Cher-Ami, who had been wiggling to be released.

  Doctor Debruyne leaned past me to speak to Francesca. “Is it grieving you greatly, mevrouw?”

  The knobs of Francesca’s cheeks flushed red when we turned to look. She shook her head then winced.

  “It seems a shame,” he murmured, “when I have found that—”

  The Queen interrupted
as if Unaware that he was speaking. “Good luck with your work, monsieur. Ladies?”

  I ducked my head in apology as we left the doctor to his tobacco plants. His warm brown gaze remained in my mind as we slowly wound our way back to the palace.

  At midday dinner, the Queen listlessly picked through her food. I myself tried to savor the first course, as the simple soup, sopa castellana, with its morsels of ham, bread, and poached eggs in garlic broth, is among my favorite dishes, but it was hard to take pleasure in food when Francesca was Unable to eat a single bite. It mattered little. My Lady jumped Up before I had finished my bowl.

  “Where do you go, My Lady?” I waved off the page offering me watered wine.

  “I must walk.”

  With a last, longing look at the earthen bowl containing the remains of my soup, I rose with a scrape of bench against tile, even as the condesa made to rise next to me. What must she think of the Queen, wishing to dash for the woods at every chance she got?

  “It is the heat that makes you so agitated, My Lady,” I said.

  “Everyone, stay.” The Queen picked Up Cher-Ami, who’d been snuffling Under the table. “Please. The guards will watch over me.”

  “That is not done!” the condesa exclaimed. “His Majesty—”

  “Very well!” the Queen exclaimed curtly. “Then Sofi, you come—Francesca, you too.”

  Francesca struggled Up from her bench at the servants’ table. She would accompany the Queen even if every last tooth in her square old jaw throbbed.

  The condesa drew back in perturbed silence as we passed. “At least take your shawls to cover yourselves!” she shouted after Us.

  I sighed as we once more made our way through the arcade, the finches chirping in their golden cages, Cher-Ami scampering before Us, the smell of the lye soap still lingering though the charwoman was gone. “You should not let the condesa see you this way,” I said.

  The Queen stopped. Her breathing echoed Under the vaulted arches as she regarded me. “In which way is that, Sofi?”

  We stared at each other, Francesca with head bowed behind Us. And in this moment, as the finches cheeped and Cher-Ami’s nails clicked on the tile, it occurred to me with heartbreaking clarity that I did not know this young woman. Oh, I bathed her, I dressed her, I groomed her. I knew the smell of her skin in the morn. But even knowing all this and so much more, I saw that she was closed to me, and ever would be, as all of Us are closed to one another. I would never truly know her secrets. And she would never truly know mine.