Katharine, The Virgin Widow - Plaidy Jean - Страница 47
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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!
She looked regal now. There was no sign of wildness in her face. She was calmer than any of them.
“He shall be carried to the hall, and there he shall lie in state,” she said. “Wrap him in his ermine robes and put a jewelled cap on his head. He will be beautiful in death as he has been in life.”
They obeyed her. They wrapped him in his ermine robe, which was lined with rich brocade; they placed the jewelled cap on his head and they laid a diamond cross on his breast. He was put on a catafalque covered with cloth of gold and carried down to the hall. There a throne had been set up and he was seated upon this so that he looked as though he were still alive. Then the candles were lighted and the friars sang their dirges in the hall of death.
Juana lay at his feet, embracing his legs; and there she remained through the night.
And when the body was embalmed and placed in its lead coffin she refused to leave it.
“I shall never leave him again,” she cried. “In life he left me so often; in death he never shall.”
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