History's Great Queens 2-Book Bundle: The Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici by C.W. Gortner Page A
Authors: C.W. Gortner
Ads: Link
husband-to-be.”
“Oh, Juana, I am sad to see you go!” Juan embraced me. Against his frail body, I heard him say, “I will pray for you, my sister.”
I set a hand briefly to his cheek before I turned to my father.
It was the moment I most dreaded. I feared it would cost me my last shred of painstaking composure and I resolved not to leave him with the memory of a tearful child. Yet as I saw him standing there by my mother, his cloak whipping about him and his face under its cap shadowed by his own hidden pain, I had a sudden vision of myself as a little girl, wrapping my arms about that strong body. All of a sudden, it hurt to breathe.
“Papá,” I said. He swept me into his arms, enveloping me. “Be strong,
mi madrecita.
Be brave, as only you can be. Never let them think Spain doesn’t rule in your heart.”
“I will. I promise.” I felt a vast emptiness when he drew back from me.
My mother stepped forth. “Come, Juana. I will see you to your ship.”
AS THE SUN MELTED in a ball of scarlet fire into the horizon, my armada lumbered out to sea, propelled by vast billowing sails. The waters transformed from murky emerald to diamond azure; foam sprayed up against the prows as the ships plunged forward.
An algid wind tugged at my cloak. I did not move from my vigil on the deck, straining to keep the receding mountains in sight, even as night crept in, trailing shadows and mist. Soon Spain sank away into nothingness.
THE TRIP TOOK THREE WEEKS LONGER THAN EXPECTED, AFTER A gale struck and separated my fleet. Exhausted by the close quarters, the lack of fresh food, and my women’s ceaseless prayers for a safe arrival, on September 15 I gratefully set foot in Flanders.
A crowd waited to receive me, their resounding cheers scattering pigeons from rooftops. I waved as I rode through the town of Arnemuiden to a house prepared for me, where I fell into bed. I awoke the next morning to a headache, sore throat, and news that the carrack carrying my trousseau had scraped against a shoal and sunk. Everything, and everyone, aboard had been lost.
“What shall we do?” wailed Doña Ana. “All your gowns, your jewels, your slippers and headdresses: gone! You have nothing to wear for your meeting with the archduke.”
I sneezed. Beatriz gave me a handkerchief. “Surely, there’s something in my coffers,” I said.
“Like what?” said Doña Ana. “You’re not possibly thinking of one of those old wool gowns you insisted on bringing? They smell of dirt and smoke.”
“They smell of Granada,” I replied with an impatience born of too many hours on the sea with my duenna. “I also know we packed a red velvet and cloth of gold somewhere. Either should suffice. In the meantime, we’ll just have to purchase some fabric to make new gowns. We’re in Flanders, are we not? Cloth is this nation’s trade.”
“Your red velvet is inappropriate for travel, and the cloth of gold too extravagant. As for purchasing cloth, we’re not merchants to debase ourselves thus.”
By the Cross, she could be difficult! I sat up in bed. “If I need clothing, then we must pay for it.” I paused. “And where in all this is the archduke?”
Tense silence ensued. Then Doña Ana said briskly, “You mustn’t worry. His Highness the archduke has been apprised of our arrival and is—”
“Hunting,” interjected Beatriz, with a wry smile. “When we failed to arrive as scheduled, he thought our departure had been delayed and he went to hunt boar. His sister, the archduchess Margaret, sent word while you slept. We are to proceed to Lierre, where she waits to receive us.”
I stared at my lady for a moment before I pressed a hand to my lips in mirth. Here I was discussing my choice of raiment and my husband-to-be was off hunting! Not the most auspicious start to our union, I thought, even as I said, “Well, then it hardly matters what I wear, does it?”
Despite Doña Ana’s protest, I chose one of my
“Oh, Juana, I am sad to see you go!” Juan embraced me. Against his frail body, I heard him say, “I will pray for you, my sister.”
I set a hand briefly to his cheek before I turned to my father.
It was the moment I most dreaded. I feared it would cost me my last shred of painstaking composure and I resolved not to leave him with the memory of a tearful child. Yet as I saw him standing there by my mother, his cloak whipping about him and his face under its cap shadowed by his own hidden pain, I had a sudden vision of myself as a little girl, wrapping my arms about that strong body. All of a sudden, it hurt to breathe.
“Papá,” I said. He swept me into his arms, enveloping me. “Be strong,
mi madrecita.
Be brave, as only you can be. Never let them think Spain doesn’t rule in your heart.”
“I will. I promise.” I felt a vast emptiness when he drew back from me.
My mother stepped forth. “Come, Juana. I will see you to your ship.”
AS THE SUN MELTED in a ball of scarlet fire into the horizon, my armada lumbered out to sea, propelled by vast billowing sails. The waters transformed from murky emerald to diamond azure; foam sprayed up against the prows as the ships plunged forward.
An algid wind tugged at my cloak. I did not move from my vigil on the deck, straining to keep the receding mountains in sight, even as night crept in, trailing shadows and mist. Soon Spain sank away into nothingness.
THE TRIP TOOK THREE WEEKS LONGER THAN EXPECTED, AFTER A gale struck and separated my fleet. Exhausted by the close quarters, the lack of fresh food, and my women’s ceaseless prayers for a safe arrival, on September 15 I gratefully set foot in Flanders.
A crowd waited to receive me, their resounding cheers scattering pigeons from rooftops. I waved as I rode through the town of Arnemuiden to a house prepared for me, where I fell into bed. I awoke the next morning to a headache, sore throat, and news that the carrack carrying my trousseau had scraped against a shoal and sunk. Everything, and everyone, aboard had been lost.
“What shall we do?” wailed Doña Ana. “All your gowns, your jewels, your slippers and headdresses: gone! You have nothing to wear for your meeting with the archduke.”
I sneezed. Beatriz gave me a handkerchief. “Surely, there’s something in my coffers,” I said.
“Like what?” said Doña Ana. “You’re not possibly thinking of one of those old wool gowns you insisted on bringing? They smell of dirt and smoke.”
“They smell of Granada,” I replied with an impatience born of too many hours on the sea with my duenna. “I also know we packed a red velvet and cloth of gold somewhere. Either should suffice. In the meantime, we’ll just have to purchase some fabric to make new gowns. We’re in Flanders, are we not? Cloth is this nation’s trade.”
“Your red velvet is inappropriate for travel, and the cloth of gold too extravagant. As for purchasing cloth, we’re not merchants to debase ourselves thus.”
By the Cross, she could be difficult! I sat up in bed. “If I need clothing, then we must pay for it.” I paused. “And where in all this is the archduke?”
Tense silence ensued. Then Doña Ana said briskly, “You mustn’t worry. His Highness the archduke has been apprised of our arrival and is—”
“Hunting,” interjected Beatriz, with a wry smile. “When we failed to arrive as scheduled, he thought our departure had been delayed and he went to hunt boar. His sister, the archduchess Margaret, sent word while you slept. We are to proceed to Lierre, where she waits to receive us.”
I stared at my lady for a moment before I pressed a hand to my lips in mirth. Here I was discussing my choice of raiment and my husband-to-be was off hunting! Not the most auspicious start to our union, I thought, even as I said, “Well, then it hardly matters what I wear, does it?”
Despite Doña Ana’s protest, I chose one of my
Similar Books
