A few minutes later the page returned with Ferdinand’s envoy.

“Don Luis Ferrer,” he announced.

And Ferdinand’s envoy was bowing before the man who was certain that before long he would be sole ruler of Castile.


* * *

THE CELEBRATIONS were magnificent. Juan Manuel had arranged them to appeal to his master. He wished to show his gratitude for all the benefits which had come his way since he had entered Philip’s service; he wished him to know that he would continue to lay all his skill at his master’s feet.

Juana was allowed to partake in the celebrations.

Juan had said: “It would be unwise at this stage to shut her away completely. Wait until more fortresses have come into our hands.”

“Rest assured,” said Philip, “there will be others as important as Segovia and Burgos.”

“Let her show the people that she is truly mad. Then they cannot complain.”

Philip agreed with this. But he had made up his mind that he was going to put her away in as complete a seclusion as that in which her grandmother had passed the last years of her life.

Juana joined in the feasting. There were days when she was very gay, and others when she was overcome by her melancholy. There were times when she calmly received the homage of all; there were others when she shut herself away in her apartments.

She called her father’s envoy, Luis Ferrer, to her and demanded to hear news of her father, of whether he spoke often of her or any of her sisters; of how he lived with his new wife.

Luis Ferrer was eager to talk to her of Ferdinand, and Manuel was afraid that he was trying to bring about a meeting between father and daughter which, he was sure, could only result in harm to Philip.

“We should watch this Luis Ferrer,” he said to Philip. “It is my belief that the fellow is here for no good purpose.”

The peak of the celebrations was planned to take place on a warm September day. There was to be a banquet more lavish than any of those of the last few days, and afterwards there would be ball games, because Philip excelled at these and he was very eager to show the Castilians what he called his superior Flemish skill.

Juana was present at the banquet. She had rarely seen her husband so gay, and she thought how beautiful he was and how in comparison all others—men and women—seemed ugly and lacking in grace.

Beside her at the table was Luis Ferrer, and she was glad of this because she knew that it disturbed Philip to see them together, and that meant that, while she was with Ferrer, at least Philip was thinking of her.

As soon as the banquet was over the ball games began and here Philip certainly did excel, for he beat all his opponents. Yet how could one be sure, Juana wondered, whether his opponents felt it would be wise to let him win? Nevertheless he played with great skill and she was momentarily happy to see him flushed and taking a boyish pride in his achievements.

He was very hot when the game was won, and he called for a drink. No one was quite sure afterwards who gave him that drink; one thing was certain: he drank deep.

During the dancing and pageantry which followed, several people noticed that he seemed a little tired. But then it had been a strenuous ball game.

When she retired that night Juana lay in her bed hoping he would come to her, although she knew he would not; in four months’ time she could expect the birth of a child, so he would not come—unless of course he wished to placate her, which he seemed nowadays inclined to do at certain times.

There in the quiet of her apartment Juana began to think of the sadness of her life and to ask herself if there was not a curse on the House of Spain. She had heard such a legend at the time of her sister’s death. Her brother, Juan, was dead and his heir had been still-born; her sister, Isabella, had died in childbed and her child had followed her to the grave. That left Juana, Maria and Catalina. Maria might be happy in Portugal, but Catalina certainly was not so in England. As for herself surely none was as unhappy as she was.

She thought sadly of Catalina’s woes. Her sister had talked of them.

“But I did not listen,” whispered Juana. “I could only think of my own miseries which I know are far greater than hers. For what greater tragedy could befall a woman than to have a husband whom she adores with a passionate intensity which borders on madness, but who cares so little for her that he is planning to declare her mad and put her from him?”

There were strange noises in the palace tonight. She could hear the sound of footsteps and whispering voices.

“Shall I wake the Queen?”

“She should know.”

“She would want to be with him.”

Juana rose from her bed and wrapped a robe about her.

“Who is there?” she called. “Who is whispering there?”

One of her women came in, looking startled.

“The doctors have sent word, Highness…” she began.

“Doctors!” cried Juana. “Word of what?”

“That His Highness is in a fever and a delirium. They are bleeding him now. Would Your Highness care to go to his bedside?”

Juana did not wait to answer; she sped through the apartments to those of Philip.

He was lying on his bed, his fair hair made darker with sweat, and his beautiful blue eyes looked blankly at her. He was murmuring, but none understood what he said.

She knelt by the bed and cried: “Philip, my dearest, what has happened?”

Philip’s lips moved, but his glassy eyes stared beyond her.

“He does not know me,” she said. She turned to the physicians. “What does this mean? What has happened?”

“It is a chill, Highness. Doubtless His Highness became too hot during the ball game and drank too much cold water. That can produce a fever.”

“A fever! So it is a fever. What are you doing for him?”

“We have bled him, Highness. But the fever persists.”

“Then bleed him again. Do not stand there doing nothing. Save him. He must not die.”

The physicians smiled knowledgeably. “Your Highness is unduly disturbed. This is but a slight fever. His Highness will soon be playing another ball game to delight his subjects.”

“He is young,” said Juana, “and he is healthy. He will recover.”

She was calm now, because she felt exultant. It was his turn now to be at her mercy. She would let no one else nurse him. She would do everything herself. Now that he was ill she was indeed Queen of Castile and mistress of this palace. Now she would be the one to give the orders and, no matter whom she commanded, they must obey.


* * *

ALL THROUGH the rest of the night she was with him, and in the morning he seemed a little better.

He opened his eyes and recognized her sitting there.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You had a little fever.” She laid a cool hand on his brow. “I have been sitting by your bed since they told me. I am going to nurse you back to health.”

He did not protest; he lay looking at her, and she thought how defenseless he seemed, with the arrogance gone from him, and his usually ruddy cheeks pale. She felt very tender towards him, and she said to herself: “How I love him! Beyond all things. Beyond my children, beyond my pride.”

He was aware of her feelings, and even now, weak as he was, he relished his power over her.

“I shall nurse you until you are quite recovered. I shall allow no other woman in the room.”

His lips twitched faintly in a smile, and she thought he was remembering the early days of their relationship when he had found her more desirable than he did now.

He tried to raise himself but he was very weak and, as he moved, he grimaced with pain.

“It is in my side,” he said in answer to her question and, as he sank back, she saw the beads of sweat which had broken out on his smooth brow and across the bridge of his handsome nose.

“I will call the physicians,” she said. “I will send for Dr. Parra. I believe him to be the best in the country.”

“I feel safe…with you,” said Philip, and there was a wry twist to his lips.

“Ah, Philip,” she said gently, “you have many enemies, but you need not fear while I am here.”

That seemed to comfort him and she told herself exultantly: He rejoices that I am here. My presence comforts him. He knows I will protect him. For a time he loves me.

She smiled almost roguishly. “You do not think me mad now, Philip?”

She took his hand which was lying on the coverlet, and he returned the pressure feebly because he felt so weak.

She thought: When you are strong and well you will mock me again. You will try to convince them that I am mad. You will try to put me in prison because you want my crown all for yourself. But now…you need me and you love me, just a little.

She was smiling. Yes, he had taken all her pride. He loved her once for her crown; and now he loved her for the safety he could feel in her presence.

But I love him with all my being, she reminded herself, so that I care not for what reason he loves me, if only he but will.

She rose and sent at once for Dr. Parra.

No one else should come near him. She would nurse him herself. She would forbid all other women to come into this sickroom. She would give the orders now. Was she not the Queen of Castile?


* * *

IT WAS FOUR DAYS before Dr. Parra reached Burgos, and by that time Philip’s fever had increased. He was now quite unaware of where he lay or who tended him. There were days when he did not speak at all but lay in a coma, and others when he muttered incoherently.

Juana remained in the sickroom, clinging to her determination that no one but herself should wait on him. He took no food but occasionally sipped a little drink, and Juana would allow no one to offer this but herself.

None could have been more calm than she was at that time. Gone was all the hysteria; she moved about the sickroom, the most efficient of nurses, and all the time she was praying that Philip would recover.

But after seven days of fever his condition grew rapidly worse, and Dr. Parra ordered that cupping glasses be applied to his shoulders and purgatives administered. These instructions were carried out, but the patient did not rally.

He had now fallen into a lethargy from which it was impossible to waken him; only now and then would he groan and put a hand to his side, which indicated that he suffered pain.

On the morning of the 25th September of that year, 1506, black spots appeared on his body. The doctors were baffled, but there were strong suspicions now throughout the palace that Philip had drunk something more than water on that day when, overheated by the sport, he had asked for a drink.

There were whispers now of: “Who brought the drink?” None could be sure. Perhaps Philip remembered, but he was too weak to say.

Philip had many enemies, and the greatest of these was Ferdinand, who had been forced to surrender his rights in Castile. Ferdinand was far away, but men like Ferdinand did not do such deeds themselves; they found others to do the work for them.

It was remembered that, shortly before Philip had been taken ill, Ferdinand’s envoy, Luis Ferrer, had come to Burgos. But it was well not to talk too much of this, for, if Philip died and Juana were proved mad, then Ferdinand would undoubtedly become the Regent of Castile.

So it was only in secret that people asked themselves who had poisoned Philip the Handsome. In public it was said that he was suffering sorely from a fever.


* * *

HE WAS DEAD. Juana could not believe it. The doctors had said so, but it must not be.

He was so young, only twenty-eight years of age, and he had been so full of vigor. It was not possible.

They were surrounding her, telling her of their sorrow, but she did not hear them; she saw only him, not as he was now, drained of all life, but young, handsome, mocking, full of the joy of being alive.

He is not dead, she said to herself. I will never believe that. I will never leave him. He shall stay with me always.

Then she thought: I can keep him to myself now. I can send them all away. I am the ruler of Castile, and there is none to stand beside me and try to snatch my crown from me.

They were weeping; they were telling her they suffered with her. How foolish they were! As if they could suffer as she suffered!