Daughters of Spain

Chapter XV THE RETURN OF JUANA

At last Philip and Juana were on their way to Spain.

When Ferdinand received a letter from Philip he came raging into Isabella’s apartments.

‘They have begun the journey,’ he said.

‘Then that should be cause for rejoicing,’ she answered him.

‘They are travelling through France.’

‘But they cannot do that.’

‘They can and they are doing it. Has this young coxcomb no notion of the delicate relationship between ourselves and France? At this present time this might give rise to … I know not what.’

‘And Charles?’

‘Charles! They are not bringing him. He is too young.’ Ferdinand laughed sharply. ‘You see what this means? They are not going to have him brought up as a Spaniard. They are going to make a Fleming of him. But to go through France! And the suggestion is that there might be a betrothal of Charles and Louis’s infant daughter, the Princess Claude.’

‘They would not make such a match without our consent.’

Ferdinand clenched his fists in anger. ‘I see trouble ahead. I fear these Habsburg alliances are not what I hoped for.’

Isabella answered: ‘Still, we shall see our daughter. I long for that. I feel sure that when we talk together I shall know that all the anxiety she has caused us has been because she has obeyed her husband.’

‘I shall make it my task to put this young Philip in his place,’ growled Ferdinand.

After that Isabella eagerly awaited news of her daughter’s progress. There were letters and dispatches describing the fêtes and banquets with which the King of France was entertaining them.

At Blois there had been a very special celebration. Here Philip had confirmed the Treaty of Trent between his father, the Emperor Maximilian, and the King of France; one of the clauses of this treaty was to the effect that the King’s eldest daughter, Claude, should be affianced to young Charles.

It was a direct insult to Spain, Ferdinand grumbled. Had Philip forgotten that Charles was the heir of Spain? How dared he make a match for the heir of Spain without even consulting the Spanish Sovereigns!

The journey through France was evidently so enjoyable that Philip and Juana seemed in no hurry to curtail it.

Ferdinand suspected that the sly Louis was detaining them purposely to slight him and Isabella. Trouble was brewing between France and Spain over the partition of Naples, and both monarchs were expecting conflict to break out in the near future. So Louis amused himself by detaining Ferdinand’s daughter and his son-in-law in France, and binding them to him by this Treaty of Trent and the proposed marriage of Charles and Claude.

But by the end of March news came that Philip and Juana with their train were approaching the Spanish border.

Soon I shall see my Juana, Isabella assured herself. Soon she would be able to test for herself how far advanced was this wildness of her daughter.

As Isabella was preparing to go to Toledo, where she would meet Juana, there was news from England, disquieting news.

Catalina had written often to her mother and, although there had been no complaints, Isabella knew her daughter well enough to understand her deep longing for home. Etiquette would forbid her to compare her new country with that of her birth, or to mention her unhappiness, but Isabella knew how Catalina felt.

Arthur, Catalina’s young husband, it seemed, was kind and gentle. So all would be well in time. In one year, Isabella assured herself, or perhaps in two, Spain will seem remote to her and she will begin to think of England as her home.

Then came this news which so disturbed her that she forgot even the perpetual anxiety of wondering what Juana would be like.

Catalina had travelled with her young husband to Ludlow, from which town they were to govern the Principality of Wales. They were to set up a Court there which was to be modelled on that of Westminster. Isabella had been pleased to picture her sixteen-year-old daughter and the fifteen-year-old husband ruling over such a Court. It would be good practice for them, she had said to Ferdinand, against that day when they would rule over England.

Catalina had written an account of the journey from London to Ludlow; how she had ridden pillion behind her Master of Horse, and when she was tired of this mode of travelling had been carried in a litter. She had been delighted by the town of Ludlow; and the people, she wrote, seemed to have taken her to their hearts, for they cheered her and Arthur whenever she and he appeared among them.

‘My little Catalina,’ Isabella murmured, ‘a bride of six months only!’

She wondered whether the marriage had yet been consummated or whether the King of England considered his son as yet too young. It would have been more suitable if Arthur had been a year older than Catalina instead of a year younger.

Ferdinand was with her when the news arrived. She read the dispatch, and the words danced before her eyes.

‘Prince Arthur became stricken by a plague before he had been long in Ludlow. He fell into a rapid decline and, alas, the Infanta of Spain is now a widow.’

A widow! Catalina! Why, she was scarcely a wife.

Ferdinand’s face had grown pale. ‘But this is the Devil’s own luck!’ he cried. ‘God in Heaven, are all our marriage plans for our children to come to nothing!’

Isabella tried to dismiss a certain exultation which had come to her. Catalina a widow! That meant that she could come home. She could be returned to her mother as her eldest sister, Isabella of Portugal, had been.

Into Toledo rode Isabella and Ferdinand, there to await the arrival of Juana and Philip. The bells of the city were chiming; the people were crowding into the streets; they were ready to welcome not only their Sovereigns but their Sovereigns’ heir.

Toledo cared nothing that Juana was a woman. She was the rightful successor to Isabella and they would accept her as their Queen when the time came.

The Queen’s nervousness increased as the hour of the meeting with her daughter drew near.

I shall know, she told herself, as soon as I look at her. If there has been any change, it will immediately be visible to me. Oh, Juana, my dear daughter, be calm, my love. I pray you be calm.

Then she reminded herself that soon she would have Catalina home. What purpose could be served by her staying in England as the widow of the dead Prince? She must come home to her mother, so that she might more quickly recover from the shock her husband’s death must have caused her.

It was a beautiful May day when Philip and Juana rode into Toledo. At the doors of the great Alcazar Ferdinand and Isabella stood waiting to receive them.

Isabella’s eyes immediately went to her daughter. At first glance there appeared to be only that change which would seem inevitable after the ordeals of childbearing. Juana had given birth to a daughter, yet another Isabella, before she left Flanders. She had aged a little; and she had never been the most beautiful of their children.

And this was her husband. Isabella felt a tremor of fear as she looked at this fair young man who came forward with such arrogance. He was indeed handsome and fully aware of it. My poor Juana, thought Isabella. I hope it is not true that you love this man as distractedly as rumour tells me you do.

They were kneeling before the Sovereigns, but the Queen took her daughter and drew her into her arms. This was one of the rare occasions when Isabella disregarded etiquette. Love and anxiety were everything. She must hold this daughter in her arms, this one who had caused her more anxiety than any of the others, for she had discovered that she did not love her the less because of this.

Juana smiled and clung to her mother for a few seconds.

She is glad to be home! thought the Queen.

The brief ceremony was over, and Isabella said: ‘I am going to have my daughter to myself for a little while. Give me this pleasure. Philip, your father-in-law will wish to talk with you.’

Isabella took her daughter to that chamber in which, just over twenty years ago, she had been born.

‘Juana,’ Isabella held her daughter against her, ‘I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you. We have had so much sorrow since you left us.’

Juana was silent.

‘My dearest,’ went on the Queen, ‘you are happy, are you not? You are the happiest of my daughters. Your marriage has been fruitful, and you love your husband.’

Juana nodded.

‘You are too overcome with happiness at being home to speak of it. That is so, is it not, my love? My happiness equals yours. How I have thought of you since you went away. Your husband … he is kind to you?’

Juana’s face darkened, and the expression there set the Queen’s heart leaping in terror.

‘There are women … always women. There were women in Flanders. There have been women on the way. There will be women in Spain. I hate them all.’

‘While he is in Spain,’ said Isabella sternly, ‘there must be no scandal.’

Juana laughed that wild laughter which was reminiscent of her grandmother.

‘You would not be able to keep them away. They pursue him everywhere. Are you surprised? Is there a more handsome man in the world than my Philip?’

‘He has good looks, but he should remember his dignity.’

‘They won’t let him. It is no fault of his. They are always there.’ Juana clenched her hands together. ‘Oh, how I hate women!’

‘My dear, your father shall speak to him.’

Juana let out another peal of loud laughter. ‘He would not listen.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘He cares not that for anyone … not for my father, nor the King of France. Oh, you should have seen him in France. The women of Blois, and indeed all the towns and villages through which we passed … they could not resist him … they followed him, imploring him to take them to his bed …’

‘And he did not resist?’

Juana turned angrily on her mother. ‘He is but human. He has the virility of ten ordinary men. It is no fault of his. It is the women … the cursed women.’

‘Juana, my dear, you must be calm. You must not think too much of these matters. Men, who perforce must leave their wives now and then, often find consolation with others. That is but nature.’

‘It is not only when he has to leave me,’ said Juana slowly.

‘There, my dear, you must not take these matters to heart. He has done his duty by you. There are children.’

‘Do you think I care for that? Duty! Do I want duty as a bedfellow? I want only Philip, I tell you. Philip … Philip … Philip …’

Isabella looked furtively about her. She was terrified that Juana’s wild shouts might be heard. She must prevent rumour spreading through the Alcazar.

One thing was certain: marriage had done nothing to calm Juana.

They must prepare now to take the oath as heirs to Castile. This ceremony would take place in the great Gothic Cathedral, and Isabella was afraid that Juana’s wildness would show itself during the ceremony.

She sent for her son-in-law and she thought that, as he entered her apartment, his manner was insolent, but she quickly reminded herself that Flemish ways were not those of Spain; and she remembered how at times she had been faintly shocked by the manners of his sister, Margaret, who had been a good creature.

She dismissed all her attendants so that she might be quite alone with her son-in-law.

‘Philip,’ she said, ‘I have heard rumours which disturb me.’

Philip raised his insolent and well-arched eyebrows. How handsome he is! she thought. Isabella had never seen a man so perfectly proportioned, of such clear skin, such arrogance, such an air of masculinity, such suggestion of power and knowledge that he could do everything better than anyone else.

If Juana had gone to Portugal, to gentle Emanuel, how much better that would have been.

‘My daughter is devoted to you, but I understand you are less so to her. There have been unfortunate affaires.’

‘I can assure Your Highness that they have been far from unfortunate.’

‘Philip, I must ask you not to be flippant on a matter which to me is so serious. My daughter is … is not of a serene nature.’

‘Ha!’ laughed Philip. ‘That is one way of describing it.’

‘How would you describe it?’ asked Isabella fearfully.

‘Unbalanced, Madam, dangerous, tottering on the edge of madness.’

‘Oh, no, no … that is not so. You are cruel.’

‘If you wish me to make pretty speeches, I will do so. I thought you asked me for the truth.’

‘So … that is how you have found her?’

‘That is so.’

‘She is so affectionate towards you.’

‘Too affectionate by far.’

‘Can you say that of your wife?’

‘Her affection borders on madness, Madam.’

Isabella longed to dismiss this young man; she found herself loathing him. She was longing to go back in time and, if she could do that, she would never have allowed this marriage to take place.

‘If you treated her with gentle kindness,’ she began, ‘as I always tried to do …’

‘I am not her mother. I am her husband. She asks for more than gentle kindness from me.’

‘More than you are prepared to give?’

He smiled at her sardonically. ‘I have given her children. What more can you ask than that?’

It was no use pleading with him. He would continue with his amours. Juana was nothing to him but the heiress of Spain. If only he were nothing to her but Maximilian’s heir it would be better for her. To her he was the very meaning of her existence.

She said: ‘I am anxious about the ceremony. This wildness of hers must not be visible. I do not know how the people would react. It is not only here in Castile that she must be calm. There will be the ceremony in Saragossa to follow. You will know that the people of Aragon were none too kind to her sister Isabella.’

‘But they accepted her son Miguel as their heir. We have Charles to offer them.’

‘I know. But Charles is a baby. I want them to accept you and Juana as our heirs. If she will be dignified before them, I believe they will. If not, I cannot answer for the consequences.’

Philip’s eyes narrowed. Then he said: ‘Your Highness need have no fear. Juana will behave with the utmost decorum before the Cortes.’

‘How can you be sure of this?’

‘I can be sure,’ he answered arrogantly, ‘I can command her.’

When he had left her Isabella thought: There is so much he could do for her. But he does not. He is cruel to her, my poor bewildered Juana.

Isabella found that she hated this son-in-law; she blamed his cruel treatment for the sad change in her daughter.

Philip came into his wife’s apartments in the Toledo Alcazar. Juana, who had been lying down, leapt to her feet, her eyes shining with delight.

‘Leave us! Leave us!’ she cried, fluttering her hands; and Philip stood aside to let her women pass, smiling lasciviously at the prettiest one, calculatingly. He would remember her.

Juana ran to him and took his arm. ‘Do not look at her. Do not look at her,’ she cried.

He threw her off. ‘Why not? She is a pleasant sight.’

‘Pleasanter than I am?’

Her archness sickened him. He almost told her that he found her looks becoming more and more repulsive.

‘Let me look at you,’ he said; ‘that will help me to decide.’

She lifted her face to his – all eagerness, all desire – pressing her body against him, her lips parted, her eyes pleading.

Philip held her off. ‘I have had a talk with your mother. You have been telling her tales about me.’

Terror showed in her face. ‘Oh no, Philip. Oh no … no, no! Someone has been carrying tales. I have said nothing but good of you.’

‘In the eyes of your sainted mother I am a philanderer.’

‘Oh … she is so prim, she does not understand.’

Philip gripped her wrist so tightly that she cried out, not in pain but in pleasure. She was happy for him to touch her, even though it might be in anger.

‘But you understand, do you not, my dear wife? You do not blame me.’

‘I don’t blame you, Philip, but I hope …’

‘You don’t want another child yet, do you?’

‘Yes, I do. We must have children … many, many children.’

He laughed. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘we have to undergo this ceremony with the Cortes. You know that?’

‘Yes, to declare us heirs. That will please you, Philip. It is what you want. No one else could give you so much as that. I am the heiress of Castile and, as my husband, you share in my inheritance.’

‘That is so. That is why I find you so attractive. Now listen to me. I want you to behave perfectly at the ceremony. Be quiet. Do not laugh, do not smile. Be serious. All the time. If you do not I shall never touch you again.’

‘Oh, Philip. I will do everything you say. And if I do …’

‘If you give satisfaction I will stay with you all through the night.’

‘Philip, I will do anything … everything …’

He touched her cheek lightly. ‘Do as I say, and I shall be with you.’

She threw herself against him, laughing, touching his face. ‘Philip, my handsome Philip …’ she moaned.

He put her from him.

‘Not yet. You have not shown me that you’ll give me what I want. After the ceremony we shall see. But one smile from you, one word out of place, and that is the end between us.’

‘Oh, Philip!’

He shook himself free of her. Then he left her and went to find the pretty attendant.

The ceremonies both at Toledo and Saragossa had passed without a hitch. The people of Saragossa had accepted Juana without protest. She already had her son Charles, and it was unlikely that he would not be of an age to govern by the time Ferdinand was ready to pass on the Crown to him.

Isabella was delighted that the ceremonies had passed so smoothly. She had been terrified of an outburst from Juana.

On the other hand she knew that Philip had ordered his wife to behave with decorum. Perhaps no one else had noticed the glance of triumph that Juana had given her husband once during the ceremony, but Isabella had seen it. It touched her deeply; it was almost like a child’s saying: See how good I am.

So much she would do for him. What he could do for her if he would! She loved him with such abandon; if he were only good and kind he could save her from disaster.

Perhaps if Juana remained in Spain it might be possible to nurse her back to health. Isabella had been untiring in her watchfulness over her own mother. She had paid frequent visits to Arevalo to make sure that all that could be done was being done for that poor woman. If she had Juana with her she would watch over her even as she had watched over her mother.

She would suggest this at an appropriate time, but she did not believe for one moment that Philip would remain in Spain; and how could she persuade Juana to stay if he did not?

She tried to think of more pleasant matters. Soon she would have her little Catalina home. Negotiations were now going on with England. Half of Catalina’s dowry had been paid, but Ferdinand had refused to pay the other half. Why should he when Catalina was now a widow and was coming home to her family?

Oh, to have her back! What joy that would be! It would compensate a little for all this trouble with Juana.

Perhaps good fortune is coming to me at last, thought the Queen. If I can keep Juana with me, if Catalina comes home, I shall have regained two of my daughters.

There was news from England. Isabella and Ferdinand received it together.

As Isabella read the letter a great depression came over her, but Ferdinand’s expression was shrewd and calculating. The news in the letter, which filled Isabella with sadness, was to him good news.

‘Why not?’ cried Ferdinand. ‘Why not? What could be better?’

‘I had hoped to have her home with me,’ sighed Isabella.

‘That would be most unsettling for her. It is great good fortune that Henry has a second son. We must agree at once to this marriage with young Henry.’

‘He is years younger than Catalina. Arthur was her junior by one year.’

‘What matters that? Catalina can give Henry many children. This is excellent.’

‘Let her come back home for a while. It seems to me somewhat indecent to talk of marrying her to her husband’s brother almost before he is cold in his grave.’

‘Henry is eager for this marriage. He hints here that, if we do not agree to Catalina’s union with young Henry, it will be a French Princess for the boy. That is something we could not endure. Imagine! At this time. War over the partition of Naples pending, and who can know what that wily old Louis has up his sleeve! The English must be with us, not against us … and they would surely be against us if we refused this offer and young Henry married a French girl.’

‘Agree to the marriage, but let there be an interval.’

‘Indeed yes, there must be an interval. It will be necessary to get a dispensation from the Pope. He’ll give it readily enough, but it will take a little time.’

‘I wonder what our Catalina thinks of this?’

Ferdinand looked at his wife slyly. Then he took another letter from his pocket.

‘She has written to me,’ he said.

Eagerly Isabella seized the letter. She felt a little hurt because, on this important matter, Catalina had written to her father, but immediately she realised that it was the seemly thing to do. In this matter of disposing of his daughter it was Ferdinand, the father, who had the right to make the final decision.

‘I have no inclination for a further marriage in England,’ wrote Catalina, ‘but I pray you do not take my tastes or desires into your consideration. I pray you act in all things as suits you best …’

Isabella’s hand shook. She read between the lines. My little daughter is homesick … homesick for me and for Spain.

It was no use thinking of her return. Isabella knew that Catalina would not leave England.

She had a premonition then that when she had said goodbye to her daughter at Corunna that was the last she would see of her on Earth.

Almost immediately she had shaken off her morbid thoughts.

I am growing old, she told herself, and the events of the last years have dealt me great blows. But there is much work for me to do; and I shall have her letters for comfort.

‘There should be no delay,’ Ferdinand was saying. ‘I shall write to England immediately.’

These journeys through Spain with the Court, that they might be acclaimed Heir and Heiress of Castile, quickly became irksome to Philip; and because he made no secret of his boredom this affected Juana also.

‘How sickened I am by these ceremonies,’ he exclaimed petulantly. ‘You Spanish do not know how to enjoy life.’

Juana wept with frustration because her country did not please him. She too declared her desire to go back to Flanders.

‘I will tell you this,’ Philip said; ‘as soon as all the necessary formalities are over, back we shall go.’

‘Yes, Philip,’ she answered.

Her attendants, some of whom were her faithful friends, shook their heads sadly over her. If only, they said to each other, she would not betray the depth of her need for him. He cared nothing for her and did not mind who knew it. It was shameful.

None felt this more deeply than the Queen. Often she shut herself in her apartments, declaring that matters of State occupied her. But when she was alone she often lay on her bed because she felt too exhausted to do anything else. The slightest exertion rendered her breathless, and her body was tortured by pain. She did not speak to her doctors about this, telling herself that she was merely tired and needed a little rest.

She prayed a great deal in the quietness of her apartments; and her prayers were for her children, for little Catalina who, with the serenity which she had learnt must be the aim of an Infanta of Spain, was accepting her betrothal to a boy who was not only five years her junior but also her brother-in-law. Isabella was glad that young Henry would not be ready for marriage for a few years.

She felt that Catalina would look after herself. The discipline of her childhood, the manner in which she had learned to accept what life brought her, would stand her in good stead. It was Juana who frightened her.

One day Juana burst in upon her when she was at prayer. She rose stiffly from her knees and looked at her daughter, who was wild-eyed and excited.

‘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.