Chapter Twenty-Seven

J oanna studied the faces around her. It wasn't often she saw bishops, ambassadors, and the courtiers struck as though watching a storm of shooting stars.

But that was the effect Maximilian had on them. It was as if he were some kind of deity who was blessing them with his presence.

And it was Joanna next to whom he'd wanted to sit at the head of the table with Philip on his opposite side. He'd only had one other request for the banquet in his honor, stating there must be no blueberries of any kind, claiming to have had a very bad experience on one occasion.

"The Venetian ambassador is quite taken with you," Maximilian said, giving Joanna a lopsided smile.

"I am pleased. We spoke at length this afternoon." She brushed bread crumbs from her lap, her black, velvet dress smooth beneath her palms.

"He considers you to be a wise and prudent queen."

Joanna thought about his words for a moment. "It is my intention to rule with wisdom and always put the good of my people first when making decisions. I have faith that God will be at my side."

"And what of the last few months?"

"I do not know what you mean." She popped an almond into her mouth.

"The ambassador said that he was quite taken with your beauty and with your healthy complexion, considering your illness of late."

"My illness?" She paused. "Surely, he means ‘pregnancy' and ‘confinement.'"

"That is what I hoped." Maximilian paused. "But unfortunately, I believe your father is still spreading rumors that you are loca and that is what the ambassador was referring to."

"They are but rumors. There is no truth."

"There is no truth to the contrary when you have not been seen in your homeland for so long. In fact, Ferdinand, your father, put out a statement saying…" He paused, as though recollecting. "The illness is such that the said Queen Do?a Joanna, our lady, cannot govern."

Anger welled inside of her.

Maximilian went on. "What is worse is the Cortes believe him and are happy to let him rule in your absence due to your state of mind."

"He is wrong. You sit beside me now. Do I appear sane or crazy? Tell me. Which?"

"Perfectly and unequivocally sane." Maximilian bit into an apple and smiled as he chewed. "And educated and astute and quite honestly, to use another of the ambassador's words, sublime."

"Good. For I am sublime." She tipped her chin. Her father was certainly managing to cause her trouble across the miles. "It is just as well we will journey to Castile soon so I can quash these untruths and set the Cortes straight."

"Indeed."

She pursed her lips and pushed her plate aside.

"Do not be downcast, my dearest."

"It is hard not to be gloomy when one's mind is questioned by the masses."

"I have learned many things over the years." Maximilian set a stuffed fig on her plate and drew it back in front of her. "And one of them is that your mind is one of the few things you do actually have control over."

"Go on."

He sipped his wine. "When something happens, good or bad, you get to choose how to react to it. For example, if you disagree with someone—a friend, a husband or wife—you can choose whether to fly into a rage or sit and discuss it."

She pursed her lips. What had Philip been saying to him?

"Personally," he went on, "I prefer rational thinking, though I have found, and this is just me, that I often need to step away, calm down, and then go back to the conversation."

"Why do you say these things?"

"Because I can see that you have a quick and brilliant mind, the way my dear wife had." He paused, sucking in a breath. "And that can scare people, make them unkind to you because they fear you are more intelligent than them. Just look at your father. He is trying to take control of what is yours by saying you are unfit of mind when in actual fact he is scared of your mind."

"He is wrong that I am unfit."

"I know that. Philip knows that. Everyone around you, in this grand banqueting room, knows that, but do not give the gossips any grains to grind." He set his big, warm hand over hers and squeezed. "Maintain dignity and grace, even when you want to scream and shout and smash things to pieces."

Her heart was pounding, her dress suddenly hot and itchy. "I was raised to display dignity and grace." Oh, but it was hard to quash the need to scream and shout when she feared her husband was unfaithful or her lucidity was questioned.

"You were raised as a princess, an infanta , yes, but now you have a much bigger weight upon your shoulders."

"It is true I had not expected to become queen. With a brother and sister older than I, the crown was a distant prospect."

"And I didn't expect that, either, when your parents approached me with a suggestion of marriage to my son. I didn't think for one moment that you would be queen."

"And had I been the eldest daughter? My chances of taking the crown greater, then what would you have said?"

"Still a most definite yes ." He touched his chest, his fingers skimming the Habsburg crest elaborately embroidered on his tunic. "It is clear you were meant to be with my son, no matter what."

"My love," Philip said, leaning forward. "We should do something to cheer you, and something fun for the children. What do you suggest?"

"Jousting!" Maximilian said quickly. "By moonlight."

"By moonlight?" Joanna laughed at the idea.

"I do not wish a spectacle for the masses when I knock my son from his horse." Maximilian chuckled.

Philip laughed. "You think you can, huh?"

"Hey!"

"The children sleep when the sun sets," Joanna said with a smile. "They are resting now. If they don't, tomorrow will be unbearable for the nursemaid."

"Then it will be a festival solely for you, my dearest," Maximilian said. "To wipe the gloom from your face in preparation for your journey to Castile, where your people eagerly await their queen."

*

Two nights later, under a full moon and a sky alive with tiny bats, Joanna sat next to Beatriz with a blanket over her lap. Lanterns were lit around the arena, casting shadows on the sandy floor. The central fence was draped in flags bearing the saw-toothed red cross of Burgundy.

At either end, horses in armor stood pawing the ground, as though keen to get the secret event started. Atop a bay was Philip, his suit of armor glinting, and at the opposite end, his father, Maximilian, on a gray horse with armor heavily decorated with the Habsburg crest. He was being tended by Belmonte, while Thomas adjusted Philip's stirrups.

"What if they kill each other?" Beatriz worried.

"Oh, it is only a bit of fun." Joanna flapped her hand in the air. She'd seen Philip joust at festivals. His strength and skill was obvious. "To cheer me up, apparently."

"I've heard that Maximilian is quite the expert in the saddle," Beatriz said.

"Do not doubt my husband." Joanna sipped from a goblet of wine. "He is younger and stronger, remember, and equally skilled."

"That is true." Beatriz fiddled with her rosary, the beads softly tapping together. "But I do hope they don't get hurt."

Excitement gripped Joanna. She didn't think Maximilian would endanger Philip—he loved him. That was clear to see in the way he spoke to him, clasped him into rough hugs, and admired the way Philip spoke of his plans for the future and the way he'd managed disputes in the past.

"It is so good that Maximilian visited," Joanna said. "He has boosted Philip's mood. He was so depressed about not being named king."

Beatriz nodded. "It displeased him very much. And now I see him smiling and his determination to right the situation resolute. His confidence has grown with his father's attention."

"He was confident and capable before Maximilian arrived." Joanna rubbed her hands together. "Look, they are starting. It is so exciting."

The two men had picked up their lances, the weight of them evident in the way they lurched until they settled into place. Philip's bay snorted and flicked his head impatiently. Maximilian's horse hopped on the spot, as though struggling to contain its own excitement.

Belmonte and Thomas stepped away from the horses to take a seat behind a rope. Belmonte was tense. She could tell by the way he held his shoulders.

"Are you ready?" Maximilian shouted.

"I am ready for anything!" Philip called back.

"Joanna," Maximilian called. "Give us your applause and cheers, for this show is for you."

Joanna stood and clapped. "And what a show it is."

"And… begin!" Thomas shouted.

It was as if the two horses understood the command because they accelerated from standstill to gallop in a few paces, each tearing down opposite sides of the rail so that they were going to pass in only a matter of seconds.

Each man held his lance forward, the tip aimed over the rail, ready to unseat the other.

She held her breath and knotted her fingers. Her heart was thudding as the horses drew closer, closer, closer.

And then they passed, the lances not making contact at all.

"Oh, that was very nearly a hit," Beatriz said as the horses slowed.

"Go again!" Philip called, spinning around, his lance still held out like a long needle.

Maximilian didn't answer, but he too turned his horse. Within seconds, they were racing toward one another.

Joanna clapped and hopped on the spot. "Go on, Philip! You can do it."

A sharp clang sung through the night air. Contact. Philip's lance had grazed Maximilian's side.

Beatriz gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth.

Maximilian wobbled to the left, the weight of his armor clearly making it hard to right himself. But he did and was soon straight again and his lance forward.

Philip was laughing as he once again turned on the dusty ground. "Have you had enough, old man?"

"Who are you calling ‘old'?" Maximilian shouted back.

"And go!" Thomas shouted, holding both arms in the air. "Best out of three."

The horses were off, dirt flicking up behind them. Lances were at the ready, the riders tipped forward determinedly.

This time, the noise of metal on metal was near deafening. Each lance delivered a brutal blow that knocked the other rider from his horse.

Philip was first to land on the hard ground, his armor clanking as he rolled to a halt on his belly.

Maximilian landed a split second after him, flat on his back, his lance landing over his legs.

Belmonte and Thomas raced forward. Two stablehands grabbed the horses.

Beatriz let out a yelp. "Oh, dear Lord. Whatever damage has been done?"

"They are wearing the finest armor," Joanna said, watching as Philip was helped to roll over and sit. "They will be unharmed."

Maximilian sat, removed his helmet, and passed it to Belmonte. "Son?"

"Father." Philip coughed. "You had a lucky aim that time."

"As did you." Maximilian chuckled and stood stiffly, metal tapping on metal. He made his way to Philip.

"Anything broken?" he asked as Philip got to his feet.

"Only my winning streak."

"Ah, son." Maximilian play-punched his chest. "We will call it a tie. Then there will be no breaking of any streak."

"Yes, it was a tie," Joanna said. "And a very good contest at that."

"Did you enjoy it, our queen?" Maximilian called.

"Oh, yes, very much, didn't we, Beatriz?"

"Mmm, yes, I suppose."

Joanna signaled to the sky. "The night is young. What next to entertain me?"

Philip shook his head and smiled. "Do you not think the King of the Romans, and myself, Archduke of Austria, Duke of Burgundy and King—"

"I know. I know you are very busy during the day, but not right now." She grinned "How about some falconry?"

"At night?" Maximilian removed his heavy gloves. "I am not sure that is wise."

"Mm, okay, how about archery?"

"My love, sensible suggestions only," Philip said. "How would we see the target?"

Joanna laughed; she was indeed having fun. "Perhaps a tug-of-war. Thomas and Belmonte can join in."

"Oh, yes, that's a good idea—safe too." Beatriz nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, let's do that."

"Excellent." Maximilian flung up his arms. "Let us begin. Let us entertain the queen. Where is the rope?"