‘They’re locked,’ said one of the men. ‘She’ll not get any farther.’
‘Raise the alarm,’ said one. ‘My God, she’s as mad as her grandmother.’
Juana stood facing them, her back against the buttress, her head held high in defiance.
‘Open the gates,’ she screamed at the Bishop of Burgos who had been brought hurrying from his apartments in the Palace to deal with this situation.
‘Highness,’ he told her, ‘it is impossible. The Queen’s orders are that they shall not be opened.’
‘I give you orders,’ shouted Juana.
‘Highness, I must obey the orders of my Sovereign. Allow me to call your attendants that they may help you back to your bed.’
‘I am not going back to my bed. I am going to Flanders.’
‘Later, Your Highness. For tonight …’
‘No, no,’ she screamed. ‘I’ll not go back. Open the gates and let me be on my way.’
The Bishop turned to one of the men and said: ‘Go to Her Highness’s apartments and get her women to bring warm clothes.’
The man went away.
‘What are you whispering?’ cried Juana. ‘You are jealous of me … all of you. That is why you keep me here. Open those gates or I will have you flogged.’
One of her women now approached.
‘Highness,’ she wailed, ‘you will die of the cold if you stay here. I pray you come back to bed.’
‘You want to stop me, do you not? You want to keep me away from him. Do not think I cannot understand. I saw your lascivious eyes upon him.’
‘Highness, please, Highness,’ begged the woman.
Another woman arrived with some warm clothing. She tried to slip a heavy cloak about Juana’s shoulders. Juana seized it and with a wild cry threw it at them.
‘I’ll have you all flogged,’ she cried. ‘All of you. You have tried to keep me from him.’
‘Come inside the Palace, Highness,’ implored the Bishop. ‘We will send immediately for the Queen, and you can discuss your departure with her.’
But Juana’s mood had again changed. She sat down and stared ahead of her as though she did not see them. To all their entreaties she made no reply.
The Bishop was uncertain what to do. He could not command Juana to return to her apartments, yet feared for her health and even her life, if she remained out of doors during this bitter night.
He went into the Palace and sent for one of his servants.
‘Leave at once for Segovia. You cannot go by the main gates. You will be quietly conducted through a secret door. Then with all haste go to the Queen. Tell her what has happened … everything you have seen. Ask her for instructions as to how I shall proceed. Go quickly. There is not a moment to lose.’
All through that night Juana remained at the gates of the Palace. The Bishop pleaded with her, even so far forgot her rank as to storm at her. She took no notice of him and at times seemed unaware of him.
The distance between Medina del Campo and Segovia was some forty miles. He could not expect the Queen to arrive that day, nor perhaps the next. He believed that if Juana spent another night in the open, inadequately clothed, she would freeze to death.
All through the next day she refused to move but, as night fell again, he persuaded her to go into a small dwelling on the estate, a hut-like place in which it would be impossible for them to imprison her. There she might have some shelter against the bitter cold.
This Juana eventually agreed to do, and the second night she stayed there; but as soon as it was light she took her place at the gates once more.
When the news of what was happening was brought to Isabella she was overcome with grief. Since her arrival at Segovia she had been feeling very ill; the war, her many duties, the disappointment about Catalina and the persistently nagging fear for Juana were taking their toll of her.
She would return to Medina at once, but she feared that feeble as she was she would be unable to make enough speed.
She called Ximenes to her and, because she feared his sternness towards her daughter, she sent also for Ferdinand’s cousin Henriquez.
‘I want you to ride with all speed to Medina del Campo,’ she said. ‘I shall follow, but necessarily more slowly. My daughter is behaving … strangely.’
She explained what was happening, and within an hour of leaving her the two set off, while Isabella herself made preparations to depart.
When Ximenes and Henriquez arrived at Medina, the Bishop received them with the utmost relief. He was frantic with anxiety, for Juana still remained, immobile, her features set in grim purpose, her feet and hands blue with cold, seated on the ground with her back against the buttress by the gate of the Palace.
When the gates were opened to admit Ximenes and Henriquez she tried to rise, but she was numb with the cold and the gates had been shut again before she could reach them.
Ximenes thundered at her; she must go to her apartments at once. It was most unseemly, most immodest for a Princess of the royal House to be seen wandering about half clad.
‘Go back to your University,’ she cried. ‘Go and get on with your polyglot Bible. Go and torture the poor people of Granada. But leave me alone.’
‘Your Highness, it would seem that all sense of decency has deserted you.’
‘Save your words for those who need them,’ she spat at him. ‘You have no right to torture me, Ximenes de Cisneros.’
Henriquez tried with softer words.
‘Dearest cousin, you are causing us distress. We are anxious on your account. You will become ill if you stay here thus.’
‘If you are so anxious about me, why do you stop my joining my husband?’
‘You are not stopped, Highness. You are only asked to wait until the weather is more suited to the long journey you must make.’
‘Leave me alone,’ she snarled.
Then she hung her head and stared at the ground, and would not answer them.
Ximenes was pondering whether he would not have her taken in by force, but it was not easy to find those who would be ready to carry out such instructions. This was the future Queen of Spain.
He shuddered when he thought of her. She was inflicting suffering on her body as he himself had so many times. But for what different purpose! He had mortified his flesh that he might grow to greater saintliness; she mortified hers out of defiance because she was denied the gratification of her lust.
Juana spent the next night in the hut, and again at daybreak she was at her post at the gates. And that morning Isabella arrived.
As soon as the Queen entered she went straight to her daughter. She did not scold her, or speak of her duty; she merely took Juana into her arms, and for the first time Isabella broke down. The tears ran down her cheeks as she embraced her daughter. Then, still weeping, she took off her heavy cloak and wrapped it about Juana’s cold form.
Then Juana seemed to forget her purpose. She gave a little cry and whispered: ‘Mother, oh my dear Mother.’
‘I am here now,’ said Isabella. ‘All is well. Mother is here.’
It was as though she were a child again. The years seemed to drop from her. She was the wild Juana who had been guilty of some mischief, who had been punished, and who was frightened and uncertain and wanted only the comfort and reassurance her mother could give.
‘We are going inside now,’ said the Queen. ‘Then you and I will talk. We will make plans and discuss all that you wish to discuss. But, my darling, you are so cold and you are so weak. You must do what your mother says. Then you will be strong and well enough to join your husband in Flanders. If you are sick you could not, could you? Nor would he want a sick wife.’
Isabella, with those few words, had been able to do what the fire of Ximenes, the persuasion of Henriquez and the entreaties of Burgos had failed to do.