Reign of Madness

by Lynn Cullen

  How easy it was done. Just call me deranged, provide stories as proof, look solicitous, and then generously offer to take care of the kingdom as full King, not just King Consort, until my mind unclouded. Papa argued that, as my father, he should take care of Castile if I was truly unwell and thus preserve my rights until I healed. But Papa’s appeal fell upon deaf ears. The nobles of the Cortes did not trust him. They feared that if he came into power, he would punish those who denied him a share in Mother’s crowns. Would he? He was just trying to help me. He had his Aragón. Wasn’t that enough?

  Philippe snapped his fingers, breaking my reverie. Helmeted heads turned. He pointed to the side of the road, where a solitary man stood among those on their hands and knees.

  “Why is he not bowing?” he asked, as querulous as a child being told that he must nap.

  I looked closer at the man. His face was obscured by a broad-brimmed hat, though there was something familiar about the way he carried himself, so upright and proud. Papa leaned from his horse to whisper to my husband.

  “Make him show respect,” Philippe ordered the German guards who rode next to him. “Or seize him, I don’t care.”

  The guards wheeled their horses around to confront the man. They barked at him to kneel, and when he did not, they pushed on his shoulders. He resisted, causing them to redouble their efforts. They knocked off his hat, revealing sleek dark hair drawn into a short queue. His face remained impassive as they tried—and failed—to shove him off his feet.

  Philippe gaped at the scuffle as he passed. “The fool is mad. Seize him, if that’s what he wants.”

  But when my horse neared, the man lowered himself to his knees. He bowed his head, but not before meeting my eyes with his searching gaze of grayest green.

  My heart leaped.

  Philippe turned around on his horse. I straightened my face and, with the slightest nod, acknowledged my subject before staring ahead. Philippe narrowed his eyes, then turned again.

  My whole inner being sang with joy. If I had only one friend in Valladolid, let it be Diego Colón.

  Later that afternoon, in the Palace of Pimentel, where we were to stay while the Cortes were in session to determine if Philippe was legally King, I could not get Diego out of my mind. I was alone, or nearly so. I had not had Beatriz’s company in nearly three months. As soon as we landed in the Spains, she had continued ahead to Salamanca, where she was to present the translation of Aristotle over which she’d labored so hard. As for other ladies, I would not allow the Viscountess of Furnes within my sight, even though Philippe insisted that she remain my first lady-in-waiting in title. Nor could I stomach the other Burgundian ladies he had forced upon me. Which suited them—they were glad enough to be free to flirt with Philippe’s men. Katrien was my only companion, and Philippe made much of this. You see the extent of my poor wife’s derangement? She fancies that a laundress is her boon companion.

  Though Katrien was hardly my boon companion, I was grateful for her presence. We had never recovered our former comfort together—I could not shake the feeling that she was withholding something from me—but at least she was not always scrutinizing the state of my mind. As she mended, scrubbed, or swept, I could think or feel whatever I wanted. And she doted on little Fernando, restored to me upon our return to the Spains, as patiently and tenderly as if he were her own.

  And so, that afternoon, as I stood before an arched window opening onto the Plaza de San Pedro while she unpacked my traveling chest, I was left to dream of Diego. Swifts darted in the air, catching insects for the cheeping young that waited in their nests, built in the eaves of the church across the way. Had he thought of me during these past three years? Why should he? A man like him had surely married, had children, and become the affectionate father I knew he would be.

  I heard footsteps approaching. I turned, holding my breath.

  Papa entered and kissed my hand. “How are you feeling, Juana?”

  I exhaled with a sigh. “I am fine, Papa. I have never felt unwell.” I did not muddy the waters by mentioning that I was with child. I was well enough, though I was in the early months of my term, and I wished to keep my pregnancy a secret as long as I could. Katrien knew—a laundress knows everything about her mistress’s person—but no one else. I did not wish to see Philippe preen at the thought of his having impregnated me once more. He would gloat about his potency for getting me with child the night he had forced himself upon me on shipboard, while sailing from England. Forestalling this pleasure was one of the few meager powers I had left over him.

  “After little Fernando was born, did you not have spells of—”

  “Papa, that was three years ago. Don’t tell me you believe Philippe’s lies. Can you not see for yourself that I am fine?”

  He swept his gaze over me with a frown. “Your mother said that about herself, too, until the final weeks of her illness.” He glanced pointedly at Katrien. She laid my hairbrushes on my table, as blank-faced as if she were deaf. “She sent me out to hunt the day of her death. She said that she would be there when I returned. God, I wish I had not gone.”

  “You were not there when she died?” I asked gently, knowing that he wasn’t.

  “No. Fray Hernando was. Of course.”

  I swallowed.

  He looked up, wincing. “He always understood her. Her whole life, nearly. They were inseparable. He could make her laugh, or cry, more quickly than anyone. Sometimes I was painfully jealous of him.”

  I did not know if he was ready to examine the truth. “He was her priest, Papa.”

  “I know. I know.” He tried to smile. “Lo siento. Look at me getting weepy here. Valladolid always makes me sentimental. We were married just down the street from here, in the palace of Juan de Vivero.” He joined me at the window. “I came to her dressed as a muleteer,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “She thought I was handsome. My God, I loved her.”

  The bells began to ring from the tower of San Pablo. We gazed across the plaza, the air between us thick with Papa’s sorrow. I could smell his peppery scent, so dear to me in my youth. His black hair was mostly gray now; his gown hung from rounded, once broad shoulders. Time had reduced my dashing hero to a small, aging man.

  He pulled away from the window. “You probably wonder how I could marry Germaine.”

  At my table, Katrien opened my Bible and spread my rosary upon it.

  I said nothing.

  “I’m lonely, Juana. I have been for a long time. I didn’t think your mother loved me anymore.”

  “Of course she loved you, Papa.”

  “What a cruel jest it was—the symbol of our union plastered in churches and palaces all over the Spains. My arrows, her yoke. Tanto monta, monta tanto. Do you know what a fool it made me feel like to see them, knowing that she thought so little of me?”

  “Papa—”

  “Germaine, now, she thinks I am a god. Or at least a damn important king. She’s young and easily impressed.” He smiled to himself. “I feel like more of a man than I have for years.”

  “I’ve met her.”

  “Yes. She told me. She wished to come to see you, but I made her stay in Valencia. The Cortes are still not fond of the idea of our marriage—if I have a son, he is in line to be heir to the crown of Castile.”

  I had not thought of this. Surely any child of his would be behind my Charles, and then my Fernando, for the throne. Even my daughters would have precedence. But who ever thought I, middling Juana, would be Mother’s heir to the throne?

  He chuckled. “Well, there can be no children without a father to make them. I must return to Germaine soon.”

  A footman entered and bowed. “A man is here to see you, Your Majesty.”

  I waited, thinking it was for Papa.

  The footman rose. “Your Majesty,” he said to me, “the visitor is for you. Don Diego Colón asks for an audience.”

  Heat surged into my face. “Colón?”

  Papa crossed his arms. “I don’t wish to
see the man. He reminds me too much of Isabel. She did dote upon his father. She refused to be disappointed by him, even the time the charlatan was brought back in chains.”

  “I will send him away.”

  “No need. I am ready for a siesta. The heat is too much for me.”

  He left as Diego entered.

  I was conscious of my thickening waist, of the imprint of another man upon me. Madness. I was married. It was my duty to carry my husband’s child. Perhaps Diego was now wed, too. I looked for a ring as he kissed my hand. There was none.

  “I have heard you are unwell,” he said.

  “It is just rumors.”

  He searched my eyes as he held on to my hand.

  I glanced at Katrien. She closed the traveling chest and left.

  “In truth,” I told Diego after she’d gone, “my husband wishes me to look weak so that he can rule.”

  He said nothing.

  I could not bear his troubled eyes. “How is your father?” I asked.

  “I regret to tell you that he died. Just two months ago. That is why I am in this city, to settle his affairs.”

  “I did not know. I am so sorry.”

  “When he returned from the Indies the fourth time, he made his way posthaste to your mother, but she died before he got there.” He lowered his voice, thick with emotion. “It crushed him. He had no other friend in the Spains. I think he gave up hope.” He paused. “There were no mourners at his funeral.”

  “I’m sorry. I would have come if I had been in the Spains.”

  He squeezed my hand. “I know.”

  “Now it is my business to take up his claims,” he said, releasing me. “From my years at your mother’s court, I have supporters in the Cortes. They are sympathetic to my cause.”

  I stroked my hand, still radiating from his touch. “Did you tell them about your sugarcane?”

  His eyes warmed. “You remembered.”

  “Of course. It is an elegant plan.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “You deserve to be Governor of the Indies. Indeed, as Queen I will make you that.” I grew enthused. “Now I have a reason for being glad of the crowns. I can make you governor. Viceroy. You shall answer to no one—”

  “But you.” His face was full of tender regret. “Dear lady, you are most kind, but I cannot accept your offer. I wish to prove myself. If I am granted any title, it will be because I have earned it.”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then seemed to think better of it. He smiled. “Here I am, proud that I might earn the right to be Governor of the Indies. I realize now that it’s nothing compared with being Queen of all the Spains. How foolish you must think me.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I don’t think that. I’m—I’m not even Queen until the Cortes proclaim it. And even then, my husband is anxious to take precedence over me. Your role is the more exciting one. How wonderful to govern distant new lands! What marvelous things grow upon them—brilliantly colored birds, wondrous animals, strange fruits. Whenever I hear of your lands, I think of a painting I once saw at the palace of my friend Hendrik. It was filled with fantastical animals, and fruits as large as men. And the most beautiful birds.”

  He laughed with affection. “You do like your birds.”

  “I do!” Thank God to discontinue this comparison of our powers. “Have you seen your storks of late?”

  “Oh, yes. I look for them every day.” He drew closer, then gazed down upon me. “They remind me of you. They make me remember why I work so hard—to be worthy of you.”

  I gathered my pearl, hanging from the ribbon necklace Katrien had made me years before. “I have this to remember you, but I do not need it.” I touched his hand. “I cannot forget you.”

  He took my hand and kissed it gently.

  Shouts in French came from outside.

  I sighed. “Philippe.”

  He let go of my hand. I curled it against my breast.

  “You must tell me, Señora,” he said quietly, “is he bad to you?”

  I looked away.

  He gently brought my face forward. “I can see the answer in your eyes. I never thought I could kill a man. I know now that I could.”

  “Do not say that.”

  “How could he dream of harming such a magnificent woman? He is mad not to cherish you.” Gently, he tucked a stray lock behind my ear. “I do.”

  He brought his mouth to mine. Warmth filled me with such force that I moaned aloud.

  I pulled away with difficulty. “Please, you must go, quickly. My husband has no qualms about harming anyone. If he saw me with you—”

  “I don’t fear him, but for your safety …” He grasped both my hands, then kissed them twice. “My love, until I can come for you.” He released my hands by degrees, then, with a kiss to my fingertips, turned and left.

  My heart was still aglow when, in half the turning of a quarter-hour glass, Philippe swaggered into the room.

  “Looks like the Cortes are ready to make a good ruling,” he said in a buoyant voice. “Tomorrow I shall be King with full powers, not some damn consort. God, I wish Grand-mère could see me.”

  “Yes.”

  He peered at me. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No. Something is wrong. You look like you saw a spirit.” His handsome face became pinched with fear. He glanced over his shoulder, then laughed. “As if old Isabel could rise from her grave. Not even that old battle-ax could manage that.”

  42.

  11 July anno Domini 1506

  Longing, I supposed, for the embraces of his teenaged bride, Papa left the next day at dawn. And so as bells rang overhead, it was I who joined Philippe under the Canopy of State at the church steps that morning. With our fine robes trailing behind us, we processed from Mass to the palace, I searching the prostrate crowd for Diego, both hoping and fearing that he would be there, and Philippe looking down on his subjects with a satisfied smile curving his puffed lips. He insisted on parading across the plaza as if we were already King and Queen, though the Cortes had yet to rule. A decision was expected that day. For Philippe, final approval could not come quickly enough. I myself dreaded it. With full powers, what kind of monster would he become? The sweet Philippe, the youth who loved saying yes, had all but been subsumed within the imperious glutton to whom no one dared say no. Heaven help the Spanish people who would have him as their King.

  Once inside the stone walls of the palace, we proceeded to the staircase that led to my quarters. There the canopy was lowered and pretence of our happy union was abandoned. Philippe turned his back to me as one of his men removed his robe. I made to go upstairs.

  Philippe caught my wrist.

  I turned around.

  He smiled, almost nervously. “I wonder if you would like to go hunting. I’m training a new falcon.”

  “What happened to Delilah?”

  “I like new things. So are you coming?”

  I looked down at my captured wrist, then into his eyes. “No. Thank you.”

  His smile disappeared. “Yes. Stupid of me to ask. You hate birds.”

  I wished to laugh.

  He let me go. “It won’t do for my Queen to hate me, you know,” he said coldly.

  I was mindful of the gazes of his guards. “I don’t hate you, Philippe.”

  He shrugged with a nonchalance that did not quite reach his eyes. “It won’t do for my Queen to despise me, then.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I’m not a fool, Juana.”

  “It’s not that I don’t wish for”—I sought words—“another way of being.”

  “I wish for that, too!”

  I gazed at his lovely golden face, so cruel in its innocence. He seemed to have no recollection of the hurt and shame he had inflicted on me over the years. He was genuinely puzzled why I should be reluctant to be near him.

  “I want to be closer to you, Philippe. I want us to be happy together. But I’m not
sure that it is possible.”

  “Of course it is.” He put his hands on my breasts, then nuzzled my neck.

  I shied as does a horse newly broken. Knowing that the guards were watching only heightened my discomfort. “Can we not ever simply talk?”

  “Talk?” he said, his breath hot against my skin. “What is the fun in that?”

  “You would be surprised.”

  “Plenty of women want to do more than just chat with me. But it’s you whom I want to be with.” He ran his hands down my body, then stopped.

  “What is this?” He pulled back and placed his palms about my belly as if gauging its girth. “You are thick. I have felt this upon you before. Are you with child?”

  The guards leaned on their halberds, watching with interest. I held my breath, enduring his examination like a mare in a marketplace.

  “Why did you not tell me?” He stopped his groping. His surprise sharpened into angry suspicion. “Is it another man’s? By God, I’ll kill you both.”

  “There is no other. Remember,” I said under my breath, “you took me by force on the ship.”

  The pouches by his mouth drew into tight lines. “It is hardly by force if it’s one’s wife.” He glanced at his men. One side of his mouth curled in a smile. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like it.”

  I turned away my head. He pushed it forward.

  “Be glad for this child. It makes me look good to have my wife fat with my seed. I will show you much honor.”

  He was taking the throne that was rightfully mine, the throne that my mother wished me to have, and I was to be glad to play the role of his broodmare? “How nice.”

  He waved at his guards. “Get out of here! All of you. Now.” He turned to me as they clanked back in the direction from which we had come. “Damn it, woman, why can’t you ever be proud of me? Would it kill you to acknowledge, just once, all that I have achieved?”