The Last Queen (49 page)

causes me great sorrow. I would have come sooner to assist you. Yet as you must

know, I had to leave Castile because my kingdom and very life had been

threatened. I send you this missive by the faithful offices of my lord the admiral

and ask you not to come to Valencia, as I plan to leave on the morrow. I suggest

we meet in Tortoles, where I’m assured there has been no sickness from the

plague. Until then, my daughter, pray for your good health, and trust that we’ll

soon be reunited in happiness. Given on this 29th of August, 1507,

I, Fernando de Aragón.

I lifted my eyes to the admiral. I felt a fragile joy I was almost too afraid to

acknowledge. “He wants us to meet in Tortoles.”

He smiled. “And Your Highness‟s answer is?”

“Yes. My answer is yes!” I threw my arms about his neck. “I will meet with my

father and together we will claim my throne.”

――――――――――――

I LEFT HORNILLOS THE NEXT EVENING, HAVING SENT THE ADMIRAL ahead to

Tortoles to find me the best accommodations available. Upon my arrival, I was taken

to a two-story house on the edge of the town.

Beatriz, Soraya, Doña Josefa, and I went to work, opening my battered coffers

that contained my plate and linens, and airing my embroidered pillows from Flanders

and wool tapestries. We spread rushes mixed with lavender and thyme on the floors

and sat together at night repairing my gowns. I decided on one with an ebony satin

bodice inset with onyx beads for my meeting with my father but had Soraya replace

the draping sleeves with fitted, crimson damask ones. And my coif needed a new veil,

with some pearls to adorn it. My father always liked to see me in finery.

On the morning of his arrival, my ladies awoke me before dawn. They bathed me

and dressed my hair. After they laced me into my gown, they set the coif on my head,

adjusted the fall of veiling, and stepped back.

I turned to them, plucking at my skirts. “Well?”

“Your Highness looks beautiful,” said Beatriz, though she made the mistake of

glancing away. I strode to my dressing table, picked up my silver hand mirror. I the

cracked tarnished glass, my face swam like a reflection in murky water― so pale and

gaunt, I could not contain my gasp.

“
Dios Mio,
” I said. “I look as if I‟d been to hell itself.”

“You have. There‟s no use pretending otherwise.”

She never minced her words; with a faint smile, I set the mirror back on the

dresser. “Is Catalina dressed yet? Papá will want to see her.”

“Doña Josefa attends to her.” Beatriz took me by the arm. “Come, let‟s go to the

courtyard. That way, we‟ll be the first to see His Majesty when he approaches.”

――――――――――――

BY MIDMORNING the sun was vehement.

We took shelter in the shade of the portico, where dust clung to our gowns and

perspiration stuck our petticoats to our thighs. When we finally heard muffled shouts

in the distance, I sent Soraya to the gates. She peered out. “I can see them!” she cried

over her shoulder to me. “Many lords ride to the house.”

I moistened my parched lips. Many lords. Probably everyone who had plotted

against me. In my anticipation of this moment, I hadn‟t paused to consider that my

father might arrive with an escort. But then Cisneros must have hastened to greet

him, Villena, Benavente, and the constable as well, all eager to curry favor where favor

could be found.

I braced myself. No matter how much it cost me, I would not let them see how

much I dreaded their presence. Let them find only cold indifference; let them wonder

if once I was safe on my throne they would find much to answer for.

All of a sudden, the entourage was before the gate, an impressive collection of

men whose cloaks draped over their mounts‟ hindquarters, the bright scarlet and gold

and blue of their insignias glistening with unnatural brilliance against the bone-white

sky. Villena and Benavente were among them; so was the constable. I had seen him

skulking in the ranks of Phillips army at Burgos, then in Burgos when Philip died. It

seemed he had indeed been spying for my father.

Then I saw my father. he rode at their head on a stallion caparisoned in green

velvet. My knees turned to water. I flashed on an icy-cold day on a charred field

outside Granada, what seemed an eternity ago, where I‟d waited on tiptoes for him in

all my innocence. Then, he had ridden with his head bare and with my brother like an

angel at his side. Now, his features were shadowed by his black cap, the lone jewel

pinned to its brim winking in the light. Her turned to speak to a man behind him.

Then he dismounted, his boots hitting the dust with an audible thump. The others

followed suit. As each lord leapt from his horse, my heart beat faster and faster, until

it seemed it would burst from my chest.

He turned to us. My ladies sank into curtsies. I stood immobile, staring as though

he were a mirage that might vanish at any moment. He straightened his shoulders and

began walking across the courtyard.

Slowly, with a composure that belied my trepidation, I moved to him.

He stopped. He removed his cap. The sunlight glinted on his balding head, his

pate tanned copper by the Neapolitan sun. He‟d grown a beard, its chestnut sheen

liberally sprinkled with gray; he looked shorter and stouter, yet his stance was the

same, achingly familiar, his legs bowed and his gloved hands on his hips, his leonine

head tilted.

I clutched my skirts above my ankles and broke into a run, my coif flying off

unheeded.

Brightness glistened in his eyes as I came before him. His face was deeply scored.

“
Madrecita,
” he said, “
Mi madrecita, al fin―”
He pulled me to him. “I am home,”

He said, as his arms closed about me. “I have come home to you.”

Before I closed my eyes, I saw the admiral among the lords. He inclined his head

gently.

――――――――――――

WE SAT IN THE
SALA,
the remains of our supper on the table. The lords had

departed to their separate lodgings at my father‟s request; after serving us, my ladies

retired from sight.

Strangely, through supper we spoke only of safe things. I asked him about my

son, whom he had left in safekeeping in Aragón, and of his trip (“Naples is a

hellhole,” he laughed, “but a rich hellhole, at that.”). Our five years of separation were heavy between us, and we were both reluctant to break the illusion that we simply

enjoyed a long-overdue reunion, until the time came when we could avoid it no

longer.

Rising from his chair, he took up his goblet of wine and paced to the doors

leading to the patio. With the fall of night., clusters of flowering jasmine had released their fragrance and it wafted through the open doors. He closed his eyes. “Jasmine. It

always reminds me of Isabel.”

I sat silent. Hearing my mother‟s name on his lips made me hurt.

He turned back to me, shaking his head. “Forgive me. I did not mean to cause

you any discomfort. I spoke without thinking.”

“I know, Papá.” I met his gaze. “You can speak of her, if you like.”

“No,” he said with a wry laugh. “Best to speak of you, yes?” He returned to the

table, set down his goblet. “I do not wish to burden you further. I want you to feel

safe and I understand that won‟t happen overnight, not after everything you‟ve

suffered.”

I gave him a smile. “I will not break, Papá. And I have questions only you can

answer.”

He regarded me with bemusement. “Questions?” He reached again for his goblet,

drained its contents, and immediately refilled it from the decanter. He had consumed

more than I recalled him drinking. Times past, he‟d all but abstained save for formal

occasions.

“Very well,” He straightened his shoulders. “Ask your questions.”

I took a breath. “Why did you leave Spain without trying to see me?”

To my relief, I did not sound resentful. Not until this moment had I full realized

how bewildering his actions were to m e, how much I had needed him during my

struggle to survive my husband and win my throne.

He frowned. “I thought you knew. Philip forced me. He threatened to invade

Aragón. I do not have the power I held with your mother. Even as regent, I still

needed the
grandes’
support. And they sided completely with your husband.”

“And Cisneros, did he act as your spy?”

“Yes. He kept me informed of everything that transpired, up until that Cortes

session where you defied Philip. Then, for some reason he has not explained, he

ceased to write.”

“There‟s no surprise there. He tried to finish what Philip started. I think he

wanted to rule Castile, perhaps through one of my sons.”

“No doubt. The old vulture has certainly added a few new plumes to his roost

since I saw him last, though he did come to me as soon as I arrived to explain he only

sought to protect the realm. In fact, most of the nobles have begged my forgiveness.”

I bristled. “It‟s
my
forgiveness they should seek.”

He nodded, giving me a pensive look. “They assume I will seek to reclaim my

regency. I have not said anything. Castile has a queen to rule it now. I have no

aspirations for myself.”

I absorbed these words in silence. I did not want to probe further, but I knew I

would never rest until I heard the answers from him, and him alone. “I have one

more thing to ask, Papá.”

“Yes?”

“Did you―?” My voice caught. “Did you have Besançon―?”

I had no idea why I asked this. I must have sought to expunge my own heart, to

scare away my fears with the thought that I was my father‟s daughter and had only

done what was necessary. I knew that had I not acted as I did, Philip would have

destroyed Spain. But there was still night when I woke gasping, seeing again my hands

as they coldly crumbled the herbs into powder and sprinkled it into the wine,

watching it float like smoke for a moment before it blended with the red liquid. How

else could I have known that those herbs grabbed in a moment of terror would do my

bidding? How had I known that with a mere two goblets, I would be freed of Philip‟s

tyranny forever? How else had I found the strength to kill my husband?

He stepped close to me. “Do you truly think me capable of such a deed?”

“He said he was poisoned,” I replied. “I heard him tell Philip. Philip believed

him.”

My father‟s eyes turned hard. “Then your husband was almost as much a fool as

that old archbishop. I don‟t much care either way what they believed. But in answer to

your question, no, I did not poison him. Though Christ only knows if anyone

deserved it, that man did.”

I fought back a rush of conflicting emotions. How could I have doubted him?

Had I lost so much of myself that I had ceased to trust my own father? And yet his

answer unsettled me. I could never tell him the truth now. I could never confess what

I had done.

It was a deed I must carry forever, to atone for on the day of my own death.

“Forgive me,” I murmured, averting my eyes. “I― I had to ask.”

He leaned to me, cupped my chin. “Besançon died by God‟s hands, not mine, just

like your husband― which is a form of justice in and of itself, eh?”

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose it is.”

“Good. I could not bear it if you thought ill of me.” He turned away. I thought he

might pour himself more wine. Instead, with his back to me he said without warning,

“I too have a question now. Do you wish to rule as queen?”

I hesitated, quelling the immediate urge to say yes, to take on my own burdens

and steer the path of my destiny from this day forth. I had experienced too much to

succumb to another potentially devastating mistake made in heated pride, particularly

one that could cost me everything I fought to obtain. The truth was, not even my

mother had ascended the throne alone. She had already wed my father, who helped

her win Castile from her foes, and they had initiated their reign together. Spain had

never had a widowed sovereign queen before.

“I do wish to rule,” I finally said. “But I know many would prefer one of my sons

on the throne. You ruled Castile with Mamá for years. What do you advise?”

A pensive silence followed my words. Then he laughed shortly. “I can‟t pretend to

advise anyone. I‟d made too many mistakes. Besides, you‟ve been forced into too

many decisions that were not your own. You should decide now what is best for you.”

“Very well, then. Then what about the codicil?”

His brow furrowed. “Codicil?”

“Yes. The one Mamá left. It stated you would rule Castile as regent until I was

invested as queen. Its terms are still valid, are they not?”

He rubbed his bearded chin. “I don‟t know. She originally devised it because she

feared your husband would seize everything for himself. Now that he‟s dead, I‟m not

sure it applies.”

“What if we altered it, then? Aragón and Castile should stay united. I could give

you a premier place on my council, Papá. You needn‟t leave again. We could rule as

father and daughter, rid Castile of the last of the Flemish, and see the Cortes

summoned for my coronation.”

His smile was odd, a mere curve of his lips. “Are you saying you never intend to