Her arm about her daughter, the Queen led Juana into the Palace.
Now that the final blow had fallen on Isabella – that which she had dreaded for so long and which could now not be denied – her health gave way.
She was so ill that for days she could do nothing but keep to her bed. She was unable to make her journeys with Ferdinand, and this was indeed an anxious time for Spain, for the French were threatening invasion.
With the coming of the spring Juana left for Flanders. Isabella said a fond farewell to her daughter, certain that she would never see her again. She did not attempt to advise her, because any advice she gave would not be heeded.
Isabella was aware that her grip on life was no longer very strong.
Even as she embraced Juana she was telling herself that she must put her affairs in order.
Juana rode joyfully to the coast. The people cheered as she went. There were many in the country villages who did not know of her madness, and who believed that she had been cruelly kept a prisoner, separated from her husband.
As she went, smiling graciously, there was nothing of the mad woman about her. When she was peacefully happy, Juana appeared to be completely sane; and she was happy now because she was going to be with Philip.
There was a delay at Laredo before the sea journey could be attempted, and during that time Juana began to show signs of stress, but before her madness could take a grip of her she was at sea.
What joy it was to be in Brussels again. She was a little worried when Philip did not come to the coast to meet her. Those of her attendants who knew the signs of wildness watched her intently and waited.
In the Palace Philip greeted her casually as though they had not been separated for months. But if she were disappointed she was so delighted to be near him again that she did not show this.
He spent the first night of her arrival with her and she was ecstatically happy; but it was not long before she discovered that his attention was very much occupied elsewhere.
He had a new mistress, one on whom he doted, and it did not take Juana very long to discover who this was. There were many malicious tongues eagerly waiting for the opportunity to point the woman out to her.
When Juana saw her, waves of anger rose within her. This woman had the physique of a Juno. She was a typical Flemish beauty, big-hipped, big-breasted, with a fresh complexion, but the most startling thing about her was her wonderful golden hair; abundant, it fell curling about her shoulders to beyond her waist, and it was clear that she was so proud of it that she invariably wore it loose and was actually setting a new fashion at the Court.
For days Juana watched that woman, hatred growing within her. For nights when she lay alone hoping that Philip would come to her she thought of that woman and what she would do to her if she could lay her hands upon her.
Philip neglected her completely now and the frustration of being so near him and yet denied his company was as great as that of being a prisoner in Medina del Campo.
Philip had to leave Court for a few days, and to Juana’s great joy he did not take his golden-haired mistress with him.
With Philip away Juana could give her orders. She was his wife, the Princess of Spain, the Archduchess of Flanders. He could not take that away from her and give it to the long-haired wanton.
Juana was wild with excitement. She summoned her women to her, and demanded that her husband’s mistress be brought before her.
There she stood, insolent, knowing her power, fully realising Juana’s love and need of Philip; in her eyes was a look of pitying insolence as though she were remembering all that she enjoyed with Philip, which favours were denied to his wife.
Juana cried: ‘Have you brought the cords I asked for?’
And one of the women answered that she had.
‘Then send for the men,’ ordered Juana. And several of the men servants, who had been waiting for this summons, having been warned that it would come, entered the apartment.
Juana pointed to Philip’s mistress. ‘Bind her. Bind her, hand and foot.’
‘Do no such thing,’ cried the woman. ‘It will be the worse for you if you do.’
Juana in her frenzy assumed all the dignity which her mother had always been at great pains to teach her. ‘You will obey me!’ she said quietly. ‘I am the mistress here.’
The men looked at each other and, as the flaxen-haired beauty was about to run from the apartment, one of them caught her and held her fast. The others, following his lead, did as Juana had commanded, and in a few minutes the struggling woman was pinioned, and the stout cords wound about her body. Trussed, she lay at the feet of Juana, her great blue eyes wide with horror.
‘Now,’ said Juana, ‘send for the barber.’
‘What are you going to do?’ cried the woman.
‘You will see,’ Juana told her; and she felt the wild laughter shake her body; but she controlled it. If she were going to take her revenge she must be calm.
The barber entered, carrying the tools of his trade.
‘Place this woman on a chair,’ said Juana.
Again that wild laughter surged up within her. Often she had imagined what she would do with one of Philip’s women if she ever had one at her mercy. She had imagined torture, mutilation, even death for one of those who had caused her so much suffering.
But now she had a brilliant idea. This was going to be the best sort of revenge.
‘Cut off her hair,’ said Juana. ‘Shave her head.’
The woman screamed, while the barber stood aghast, staring at that rippling golden glory.
‘You heard what I said,’ screeched Juana. ‘Do as I say, or I will have you taken to prison. I will have you tortured. I will have you executed. Obey me at once.’
The barber muttered: ‘Yes, yes … Your Grace … yes, yes, my lady.’
‘She is mad, mad,’ screamed the frightened woman, who could imagine few greater tragedies than the loss of her beautiful hair.
But the barber was at work and there was little she could do about it. Juana commanded two of the other men to hold her still, and soon the beautiful locks lay scattered on the floor.
‘Now shave her head,’ cried Juana. ‘Let me see her completely bald.’
The barber obeyed.
Juana was choking with laughter. ‘How different she looks! I do not recognise her. Do you? She’s no beauty now. She looks like a chicken.’
The woman who had shrieked her protests in a manner almost as demented as Juana’s now lay gasping in her chair. She was clearly suffering from shock.
‘You may release her,’ said Juana. ‘You may take her away. Bring a mirror. Let her see how much she owed to those beautiful golden curls of which I have robbed her.’
As the woman was carried out, Juana gave way to paroxysms of laughter.
Philip strode into his wife’s apartments.
‘Philip!’ she cried and her eyes shone with delight.
He was looking at her coldly and she thought: So he went to her first; he has seen her.
Then a terrible fear came to her. He was angry, and not with his mistress for the loss of the beautiful hair which he had found so attractive, but with the one who had been responsible for cutting it off.
She stammered: ‘You have seen her?’ And in spite of herself, gurgling, choking laughter rose in her throat. ‘She … she looks like … a chicken.’
Philip took her by the shoulders and shook her. Yes, he had seen her. He had been thinking of her during the journey to Brussels, thinking with pleasure of the moment of reunion; and then to find her … hideous. That shaved head instead of those soft flaxen curls! He had found her repulsive and had not been able to hide it. He had seen the deep humiliation in her face and had but one desire – to get away from her.