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.
The thought was so intoxicating that she threw off her lassitude and leaped out of bed.
She shouted to her attendants: ‘Come! Help me to dress. Dress me for a journey. I am leaving today.’
The women came in. They looked different, a little furtive perhaps. She noticed this and wondered why.
‘Come along,’ she ordered. ‘Be quick. We are leaving today. You have much to do.’
‘Highness, the Queen’s orders were that you were to rest in your apartment today.’
‘How can I do that when I have a journey to make?’
‘The Queen’s instructions were …’
‘I do not obey the Queen’s instructions when my husband bids me go to him.’
‘Highness, the weather is bad.’
‘It will take more than weather to keep me from him. Where is the Queen?’
‘She left for Segovia, and she has given all here these instructions: We are to look after you until her return, and then she will talk with you about your journey.’
‘When does she return?’
‘She said that we were to tell you that as soon as her State duties were done at Segovia she would be with you.’
‘And she expects me to wait until she returns?’
Juana was pulling at the stuff of the robe which she had wrapped about her when she rose from her bed.
‘We fear, Highness, that there is no alternative. Instructions have been given to all.’
Juana was silent. A cunning look came into her eyes, but she composed herself and she noticed that the attendants showed an immense relief.
‘I will speak with the Queen on her return,’ she said. ‘Come, help me to dress and do my hair.’
She was quiet while they did this; she ate a little food; then she took her seat at the window, and for hours she looked out on the scene below.
By that time the melancholy mood had returned to her.
It was night. Juana woke suddenly and there were tears on her cheeks.
Why was she crying? For Philip. They were keeping her from Philip when he had asked her to return. They made excuses to keep her here. Her mother was still in Segovia. She did not hurry to Medina del Campo because she knew that when she did come she must make arrangements for her daughter’s departure.
It was a plot, a wicked, cruel plot to keep her from Philip. They were all jealous because she had married the most handsome man in the world.
She sat up in bed. There was pale moonlight in the room. She got out of bed. She could hear the even breathing of her attendants in the adjoining room.
‘I must not wake them,’ she whispered. ‘If I do they will stop me.’
Stop her? From doing what?
She laughed inwardly. She was not going to wait any longer. She was going … now.
There was no time to waste. There was no time to dress. She put a robe about her naked body and, her feet still bare, she crept from the room.
No one heard her. Down the great staircase … out to the hall.
One of the guards at the door gasped as though he saw a ghost, and indeed she looked strange enough to be one, with her hair flowing wildly about her shoulders and the robe flapping about her naked body.
‘Holy Mother …’ gasped the guard.
She ran past him.
‘Who is it?’ he demanded.
‘It is I,’ she answered. ‘Your Sovereign’s daughter.’
‘It is indeed. It is the Lady Juana herself. Your Highness, my lady, what do you here? And garbed thus! You will die of the cold. It is a bitter night.’
She laughed at him. ‘Back to your post,’ she commanded. ‘Leave me to my duty. I am on my way to Flanders.’
The frightened guard shouted to his sleeping companions, and in a few seconds he was joined by half a dozen of them.
They saw the flying figure of their heiress to the throne running across the grounds towards the gates.