Daughters of Spain

by Виктория Холт

  ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I pray you sit down. Has something happened?’

  ‘Yes, Mother. It has happened again. I’m going to have another child.’

  ‘But this is excellent news, my darling.’

  ‘Is it not! Philip will be pleased.’

  ‘We shall all be pleased. You must rest more than you have been doing.’

  Juana’s lips trembled. ‘If I rest he will be with other women.’

  Isabella shrugged aside the remark as though she believed it was foolish.

  ‘We must be more together,’ she said. ‘I feel the need to rest myself and, as you must do the same, we will rest together.’

  ‘I do not feel the need of rest, Mother. I’m not afraid of childbirth. I’ve grown used to it, and my babies come easily.’

  Yes, thought Isabella. You who are unsound of mind are sound enough of body. It is your children who are born strong, and those of darling Juan and my dearest Isabella who die.

  She went to her daughter and put her arm about her. Juana’s body was quivering with excitement; and Isabella knew that she was not thinking of the child she would have, but of the women who would be Philip’s companions while she was incapacitated.

  * * *

  By December of that year Juana, six months pregnant, was growing large. Philip shuddered with distaste when he looked at her, and made no secret of his boredom.

  He told her casually one day: ‘I am leaving for Flanders next week.’

  ‘For Flanders!’ Juana tried to imagine herself in her condition making that long winter journey. ‘But … how could I travel?’

  ‘I did not say you. I said I was going.’

  ‘Philip! You would leave me!’

  ‘Oh come, you are in good hands. Your sainted mother wishes to watch over you when your child is born. She does not trust us in Flanders, you know.’

  ‘Philip, wait until the child is born, then we will go together.’

  ‘It’s due in March. By God, do you expect me to stay in this place three more months? Then it will be another month or more before you are ready to leave. Four months in Spain! You couldn’t condemn me to that. I thought you loved me.’

  ‘With all my heart and soul I do.’

  ‘Then do not make trouble.’

  ‘I would give you everything I had to give.’

  ‘No need to part with that, my dear. All you have to do is say a pleasant goodbye to me next week. That is what I want from you.’

  ‘Oh Philip … Philip …’ She sank to her knees and embraced his legs. He threw her off, and she lay sprawling on the floor, grotesque in her condition.

  He closed his eyes so that he need not look at her, and hurried away.

  * * *

  Nothing could make him change his mind. Isabella had begged him to stay with a humility which was rare with her, but he was adamant. His duty lay in Flanders, he declared.

  He turned to Ferdinand. ‘I shall return by way of France,’ he said.

  ‘Would that be wise?’ Ferdinand asked.

  ‘Most wise. The King of France is a friend of mine.’

  While Isabella deplored his insolence, Ferdinand did not, because he could not stop wondering what advantage might accrue through this journey of his son-in-law’s into French territory.

  ‘It might be possible,’ said Ferdinand, ‘for you to negotiate with the King of France on my behalf.’

  ‘Nothing would please me better,’ answered Philip, secretly deciding that any negotiations he concluded with Louis were going to be to his own advantage rather than Ferdinand’s.

  ‘We could ask for certain concessions,’ said Ferdinand, ‘since Charles is affianced to Claude; and why should these two not be given the titles of King and Queen of Naples?’

  ‘It is an excellent idea,’ answered Philip. ‘In the meantime let the King of France appoint his own governor for his portion, and I will govern on behalf of yourself. As Charles’s father, how could you make a better choice?’

  ‘This needs a little consideration,’ said Ferdinand.

  Philip smiled and answered:’ You have a week in which to make up your mind.’

  Juana had sunk into deepest melancholy. All the wildness had gone out of her. This was a mood which Isabella had not seen before. Her daughter scarcely ate; Isabella did not believe she slept very much. She thought of nothing but the fact that Philip was returning to Flanders and leaving her in Spain.

  * * *

  January and February had passed, and Juana did not rouse herself from her dejection. She would sit for hours at her window, looking out as though she were hoping for the return of Philip.

  She appeared to loathe all things Spanish, and when she did speak, which was rarely, it was to complain of her room, her surroundings, her attendants.

  Isabella visited her often, but Juana had nothing to say, even to her mother. Oddly enough, in spite of her refusal to eat what was brought to her and the fact that she took scarcely any exercise, she remained healthy.

  It was a cold March day when her pains began, and Isabella, who had demanded to be told as soon as this happened, was close at hand when the child was born.

  Another boy, a healthy, lusty boy.

  How strange life was. Here was another healthy child for this poor deluded girl.

  Juana quickly recovered from the ordeal, and now that her body was light again she seemed a little happier.

  When her parents came to her she held the child in her arms and declared that he was very like his father. ‘But I see my own father in him,’ she added. ‘We shall call him Ferdinand.’

  Ferdinand was delighted with the boy. He seemed to be quite unaware of the strangeness of his daughter. She was capable of bearing sturdy sons – that was enough for him.

  Chapter XVI

  JUANA THE MAD

  Isabella had hoped that when the child was born Juana would cease to fret for Philip and turn her interest to the baby. This was not so. Juana did not change. She scarcely looked at the child. Her one desire was to rejoin Philip.

  ‘You are not strong enough,’ said her mother. ‘We could never allow you to make the long journey in your present condition.’

  ‘What is he doing while I am not there?’ demanded Juana.

  ‘Much the same as he would do if you were there, I doubt not,’ replied Isabella grimly.

  ‘I must go,’ cried Juana.

  ‘Your father and I will not allow it until you are stronger.’

  So Juana sank once more into melancholy. Sometimes for whole days she said nothing. At other times she could be heard shouting her resentment in her apartments.

  Isabella gave instructions that she must be watched.

  ‘She so longs to rejoin her husband,’ she explained, ‘that she may attempt to leave. The King and I are determined that she must be fully recovered before she does so.’

  A month after the birth of little Ferdinand, Philip in Lyons had made the treaty between the Kings of Spain and France; but it was clear that it meant very little and, as the armies moved in to take possession of their portions of the divided Kingdom of Naples, it became obvious that conflict was close.

  It broke out later that year; and the minds of the Sovereigns were concentrated on the new war.

  Isabella however contrived to spend as much time as possible with Juana. She was growing increasingly afraid of leaving her, for since the departure of Philip Juana’s affliction was becoming more and more apparent. Now it was no use pretending that she was normal. The Court was aware of her mental instability; in a very short time the rumours would be spreading throughout the country.

  Juana had written many pleading letters to her husband. ‘They will not let me come to you,’ she told him. ‘It is for you to bid me come. Then they cannot stand in my way.’

  It was on a November day when she received the letter from Philip. It was ungracious, but it was nevertheless an invitation to return to Flanders. If she thought it worth while making a sea journey at this time; or
if she was ready to come through France, a country which was hostile to Spain, why should she not do so?

  Juana read the letter and kissed it. Philip’s hand had touched the paper. That made it sacred in her mind.

  She threw off her melancholy.

  ‘I am leaving,’ she cried. ‘I am leaving at once for Flanders.’

  Her attendants, terrified of what she would do, sent word to the Queen of her new mood.

  The Court was then in residence at Medina del Campo, and Isabella had insisted that Juana follow the Court that she herself might be near her daughter whenever possible. Shortly she must leave for Segovia, and when she heard this news she was thankful that she had not already left.

  She went at once to Juana’s apartments and found her daughter with her hair loose about her shoulders and her eyes wild.

  ‘What has happened, my child?’ asked the Queen gently.

  ‘Philip has sent for me. He commands me to go.’ Holy Mother, prayed the Queen, does he then wish to rid himself of her? To suggest she should go at this time of the year, with the weather at sea as it is! And how could she travel through France at such a time?

  ‘My dearest,’ she said, ‘he does not mean now. He means that when the spring comes you must go to him.’

  ‘He says now.’

  ‘But you could not go in this inclement weather. You would probably be shipwrecked.’

  ‘I could go across France.’

  ‘Who knows what would happen to you? We are at war with France.’

  ‘The King is Philip’s friend. He would not harm Philip’s wife.’

  ‘He would not forget that you are your father’s daughter.’

  Juana twisted a strand of her long hair and pulled it hard in her vehemence. ‘I will go. I will go.’

  ‘No, my darling. Be calm. Let your mother decide.’

  ‘You are against me,’ cried Juana. ‘You are all against me. It is because you are jealous, it is because I am married to the handsomest man in the world.’

  ‘My dearest, I pray you be silent. Do not say such things. You do not mean them. Oh, my Juana, I know you do not mean them. You are overwrought. Let me help you to your bed.’

  ‘Not to bed. To Flanders!’

  ‘In the spring, my dear, you shall go.’

  ‘Now!’ screamed Juana, her eyes dilating. ‘Now!’

  ‘Then wait here awhile.’

  ‘You will help me?’

  ‘I would always help you. You know that.’

  Juana suddenly flung herself into her mother’s arms. ‘Oh Mother, Mother, I love him so much. I want him so much. You, who are so cold … so correct … how can you understand what he is to me?’

  ‘I understand,’ said the Queen. She led her daughter to her bed. ‘You must rest tonight. You could not set off on a journey tonight, could you?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘We will see. But tonight you must rest.’

  Juana allowed herself to be led to her bed. She was murmuring to herself: ‘Tomorrow I will go to him. Tomorrow …’

  Isabella laid the coverlet over her daughter.

  ‘Where are you going?’ demanded Juana.

  ‘To order a soothing drink for you.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ whispered Juana.

  Isabella went to the door of the apartment and commanded that her physician be brought to her.

  When he came she said: ‘A sleeping draught for my daughter.’

  The physician brought it and Juana drank it eagerly.

  She longed for sleep. She was exhausted with her longing, and sleep would bring tomorrow nearer.

  Isabella sat by the bed until she slept.

  It has come at last, she told herself. I can no longer hide the truth. Everyone will know. I must have a guard set over her. This is the first step to Arevalo.

  Her face was pale, almost expressionless. The greatest blow of all had fallen She was surprised that she could accept it with such resignation.

  * * *

  It was past midday when Juana awoke from her drugged sleep.

  She immediately remembered the letter which she had received from Philip.

  ‘I am going home to Flanders,’ she said aloud. ‘It is today that I go.’

  She made to rise, but a feeling of great lassitude came over her and she lay back on her pillows contemplating, not the journey to Flanders, but the end of it, the reunion with Philip.

  The thought was so intoxicating that she threw off her lassitude and leaped out of bed.

  She shouted to her attendants: ‘Come! Help me to dress. Dress me for a journey. I am leaving today.’

  The women came in. They looked different, a little furtive perhaps. She noticed this and wondered why.

  ‘Come along,’ she ordered. ‘Be quick. We are leaving today. You have much to do.’

  ‘Highness, the Queen’s orders were that you were to rest in your apartment today.’

  ‘How can I do that when I have a journey to make?’

  ‘The Queen’s instructions were …’

  ‘I do not obey the Queen’s instructions when my husband bids me go to him.’

  ‘Highness, the weather is bad.’

  ‘It will take more than weather to keep me from him. Where is the Queen?’

  ‘She left for Segovia, and she has given all here these instructions: We are to look after you until her return, and then she will talk with you about your journey.’

  ‘When does she return?’

  ‘She said that we were to tell you that as soon as her State duties were done at Segovia she would be with you.’

  ‘And she expects me to wait until she returns?’

  Juana was pulling at the stuff of the robe which she had wrapped about her when she rose from her bed.

  ‘We fear, Highness, that there is no alternative. Instructions have been given to all.’

  Juana was silent. A cunning look came into her eyes, but she composed herself and she noticed that the attendants showed an immense relief.

  ‘I will speak with the Queen on her return,’ she said. ‘Come, help me to dress and do my hair.’

  She was quiet while they did this; she ate a little food; then she took her seat at the window, and for hours she looked out on the scene below.

  By that time the melancholy mood had returned to her.

  * * *

  It was night. Juana woke suddenly and there were tears on her cheeks.

  Why was she crying? For Philip. They were keeping her from Philip when he had asked her to return. They made excuses to keep her here. Her mother was still in Segovia. She did not hurry to Medina del Campo because she knew that when she did come she must make arrangements for her daughter’s departure.

  It was a plot, a wicked, cruel plot to keep her from Philip. They were all jealous because she had married the most handsome man in the world.

  She sat up in bed. There was pale moonlight in the room. She got out of bed. She could hear the even breathing of her attendants in the adjoining room.

  ‘I must not wake them,’ she whispered. ‘If I do they will stop me.’

  Stop her? From doing what?

  She laughed inwardly. She was not going to wait any longer. She was going … now.

  There was no time to waste. There was no time to dress. She put a robe about her naked body and, her feet still bare, she crept from the room.

  No one heard her. Down the great staircase … out to the hall.

  One of the guards at the door gasped as though he saw a ghost, and indeed she looked strange enough to be one, with her hair flowing wildly about her shoulders and the robe flapping about her naked body.

  ‘Holy Mother …’ gasped the guard.

  She ran past him.

  ‘Who is it?’ he demanded.

  ‘It is I,’ she answered. ‘Your Sovereign’s daughter.’

  ‘It is indeed. It is the Lady Juana herself. Your Highness, my lady, what do you here? And garbed thus! You will die of the cold. It is a bitter night.’ />
  She laughed at him. ‘Back to your post,’ she commanded. ‘Leave me to my duty. I am on my way to Flanders.’

  The frightened guard shouted to his sleeping companions, and in a few seconds he was joined by half a dozen of them.

  They saw the flying figure of their heiress to the throne running across the grounds towards the gates.

  ‘They’re locked,’ said one of the men. ‘She’ll not get any farther.’

  ‘Raise the alarm,’ said one. ‘My God, she’s as mad as her grandmother.’

  * * *

  Juana stood facing them, her back against the buttress, her head held high in defiance.

  ‘Open the gates,’ she screamed at the Bishop of Burgos who had been brought hurrying from his apartments in the Palace to deal with this situation.

  ‘Highness,’ he told her, ‘it is impossible. The Queen’s orders are that they shall not be opened.’

  ‘I give you orders,’ shouted Juana.

  ‘Highness, I must obey the orders of my Sovereign. Allow me to call your attendants that they may help you back to your bed.’

  ‘I am not going back to my bed. I am going to Flanders.’

  ‘Later, Your Highness. For tonight …’

  ‘No, no,’ she screamed. ‘I’ll not go back. Open the gates and let me be on my way.’

  The Bishop turned to one of the men and said: ‘Go to Her Highness’s apartments and get her women to bring warm clothes.’

  The man went away.

  ‘What are you whispering?’ cried Juana. ‘You are jealous of me … all of you. That is why you keep me here. Open those gates or I will have you flogged.’

  One of her women now approached.

  ‘Highness,’ she wailed, ‘you will die of the cold if you stay here. I pray you come back to bed.’

  ‘You want to stop me, do you not? You want to keep me away from him. Do not think I cannot understand. I saw your lascivious eyes upon him.’

  ‘Highness, please, Highness,’ begged the woman.

  Another woman arrived with some warm clothing. She tried to slip a heavy cloak about Juana’s shoulders. Juana seized it and with a wild cry threw it at them.