Daughters of Spain - Plaidy Jean (онлайн книга без TXT) 📗
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.
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.
