Katharine, the Virgin Widow

The Mysterious Death of Philip

PHILIP WAS TRIUMPHANT. NOW HE WOULD RIDE INTO Valladolid and all should proclaim him as the ruler of Castile. As for Juana, he had determined to shut her away. He had long been wearied by her passion and possessiveness; Ferdinand had surrendered Castile. So why should he hesitate to go forward and take it; and since Juana was an encumbrance, why not rid himself of her by shutting her away as her grandmother had been shut away before her?

Philip usually acted on impulse, and he immediately called together the most influential noblemen of Castile, and when they were assembled he told them how concerned he was regarding his wife’s mental state.

“I have pondered this matter deeply, as you may well imagine,” he went on, “and it is my considered judgment that the Queen’s interests could best be served if she were allowed to live in retirement. My greatest desire is to do what is best for her, and on this account I ask you all to sign a declaration agreeing to her retirement into seclusion.”

There was silence among the nobles. They could not forget that the Queen was the daughter of the great Isabella and that this young man’s only claim to the crown was through his marriage with Juana and the fact that he was the father of Charles, the boy who would immediately become their King should Juana die.

Was it not possible, they asked themselves, that cunning men might trick them? Could they be sure that Juana was mad?

The Admiral of Castile, who was Ferdinand’s cousin, spoke for that faction which was in doubt.

“It would seem that, although the Queen’s mind is said to be at times deranged, there are many who declare her to be sane; and we must all remember that she is the true Queen of Castile and heir of Isabella. Before agreeing to such measures I should wish to have an interview with the Queen.”

Philip was nonplussed. He had no wish for Juana to come face to face with these men. How could he be sure of what she would say to them? He might threaten Juana or bribe her with offers of his company as he had on other occasions; but Juana was growing suspicious. If she were mad she was not without cunning. She guessed that he was considering putting her away, and that was something against which she would fight with all her strength.

But he dared not refuse to allow the Admiral to see the Queen.

JUANA LIFTED LEADEN EYES to the Admiral’s face. He was regarding her with kindness; he was trying to tell her that he was her cousin; that it grieved him to see Castile ruled by one who was not related to them except by his marriage to her.

“You have recently seen my father?” asked Juana at length.

“Yes, Highness. I said farewell to him but yesterday. That was at Tudela. He is now on his way to Aragon.”

“It seems so strange. I did not see him. It is so many years since I have seen him; yet I, his daughter, did not see him.”

“That is strange, Highness, and sad.”

Her eyes were melancholy.

“So much that is strange would seem to happen to me now,” she said sadly. “I should have been so happy to see my father, even though he has a new wife now and I cannot understand how he could have replaced my mother. But I should dearly have liked to see him again. God guard him always.”

“Highness, we of Castile wish to see you govern side by side with your husband.”

She nodded.

“That is the wish of us all. Our great Queen Isabella appointed you her heir. It was her wish that you should govern Castile with your husband beside you. But, as her daughter, you are our Queen.”

At the mention of her mother Juana’s expression lightened a little.

“It was her wish,” she said. “Here in Castile I recall the past so much more readily than I did in Flanders. It was her wish, was it not? And it is true that I am Queen of Castile.”

“It is true, Highness,” answered the Admiral.

When he left her he went to his friends and gave them his opinion.

“She seemed as lucid as one could wish. We must guard against ambitious men.”

THE KNOWLEDGE CAME to Juana one morning when she awoke after a restless night which she had spent alone.

He wants to be rid of me, she thought. He is planning to put me away.

Where had he spent the night? With one of his women doubtless. He had never considered her feelings, and he wanted her out of his sight. It was not because she was in the way of his having other women, but because he wanted her crown. He did not wish to be merely her consort. He wanted to rule alone.

She would not part with her crown. It was the one possession which made her desirable to him.

The dull melancholy had left her eyes. They sparkled with purpose. She would show him now that she was ready to fight, that she was not as stupid as he thought.

He came to her apartments, all smiles.

They were to make a solemn entry into Valladolid, and he dared not go without her. The people were suspicious of him; they wanted to see their Queen. They would not accept his word for her madness, but wanted to judge for themselves.

Ah, Philip, she thought, you may be master of Castile’s Queen but you are not yet master of Castile.

He took her hand and kissed it; how gracious he could be, how charming! She yearned to throw herself into his arms, but she was able to restrain herself because she kept thinking of the castle of Arevalo where her grandmother had lived out her clouded days.

Not for me! she wanted to shout. I am Queen of Castile and I will not allow you to put me away.

“Are you ready for the ceremony?” he asked.

“Ready,” she countered, “and determined to accompany you.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Are you, Philip? I thought you were hoping that you would go alone.”

“But why should you have such an idea?”

She smiled, saying nothing, and the quietness of her smile alarmed him. Could it be that he was losing his hold over her?

“I thought that in your condition…”

“But three months’ pregnant. That is nothing, Philip.”

He could scarcely bear to look at her, he was so dismayed. Now that he wished her to show her madness she was being perfectly restrained. She did not cling to him as he had become accustomed to her doing. She seemed almost aloof. It was that Admiral of Castile who had put notions into her head. He would have to go a little warily where she was concerned.

He put his arms about her and held her against him. “I am concerned for your health,” he said, and when he felt her body quiver a triumphant smile curved his lips. The old power was still there. She was fighting a desperate battle to resist it, but he was determined it should be a losing battle.

“Your concern is appreciated,” she said, “the more so because it is rare.”

“Oh come, Juana, you know how fond I am of you.”

“I did not know. Perhaps because your ways of showing it are so strange.”

“You have allowed yourself to be jealous…unnecessarily.”

“That was foolish of me,” she said. “Now that I am in Castile I remember so much my mother taught me. I hear that there are two banners. I should like to see them.”

“They shall be brought to you,” said Philip, hiding his chagrin. This new calmness, this undoubted sanity, was more disturbing than her madness, and he was going to strain every effort to have her put away because, if she persisted like this, he would find himself in a similar position to that endured by Ferdinand in his relationship with Isabella. That was something Philip would never endure.

But for the time he must act cautiously.

The banners were brought and Juana studied them. “But it would seem,” she said, “that there are two rulers of Castile. There is only one; that is the Queen.”

“Have you forgotten that I am your husband?” demanded Philip hotly.

“In the past you have forgotten that more readily than I have. My husband you are indeed; that is why you ride beside me as my consort. But there is only one ruler of Castile.”

What could he say? He was surrounded by strong men who would be ready to fly to her support against him. Philip had not believed this situation possible; but when they came to Valladolid, Juana rode as the Queen of Castile, and her companion was not the King but merely her consort.

Mounted on her white jennet, dressed in the sable robes of royalty, Juana delighted the people of Valladolid. They remembered that this was the daughter of their own Isabella; and their cheers were for their Queen.

PHILIP WAS DISSATISFIED. The Cortes had declared its allegiance to Queen Juana and had stated its willingness to accept Philip only as her consort.

Philip fumed with rage.

“The Queen is mad!” he cried. “She is not in the least like her mother. Sometimes I wonder who is the madder—the Queen or the people who insist on making her their ruler.”

The Admiral of Castile stood firm.

“I and many others with me will not allow this iniquitous deed to be done,” he said. “We shall never stand aside and see our Queen sent into seclusion that others may rule in her stead.”

Philip saw that it was no use expecting help from the Castilian nobles; he turned to his own supporters, the chief of whom was Juan Manuel, who saw that with Philip as ruler many rich pickings would fall into his hands. He was continually at Philip’s side and he assured him that in good time they would achieve their end, and Juana would be forced into retirement leaving the field clear for Philip.

Philip was lavishly generous to those whom he considered to be his friends, and recklessly he distributed revenues to them which should have gone to the maintenance of the state. Juan Manuel, on whom he relied as on no other, was becoming richer every week; but Juan was rapacious; he had been led to Philip’s side because he believed that Ferdinand had denied him the honors due to him, and he could not grasp enough.

He greatly desired the Alcazar of Segovia which was in the charge of the Marquis and Marchioness of Moya—the latter was that Beatriz de Bobadilla who had been Isabella’s greatest friend—and Philip, deciding that the Alcazar should be given to Juan Manuel as a reward for his fidelity, sent orders to the Marquis and Marchioness to leave the Alcazar immediately.

The command was delivered into the hands of the intrepid Beatriz de Bobadilla, who retorted that the Alcazar should be handed over to one person only, and that was Isabella’s daughter, Queen Juana.

Philip was furious when he heard this and sent troops ahead to take the Alcazar, while he himself prepared to follow them, Juana with him.

Juana’s resistance was beginning to break down. The effort of remaining calm had been too much for her. If she could have overcome her passionate need of Philip she could have continued in her calm restraint; but he was always there, always taunting her, understanding how she needed him and enjoying baiting her in this way. He was luring her to display her hysteria before the nobles of Castile who had declared her to be sane. She knew this, but she could not always fight against it. And when he mocked her, she wanted to throw herself into his arms, as she had done on so many previous occasions, and implore him to be a good and faithful husband to her.

“Philip,” she said, “why are you so eager to take the Alcazar of Segovia?”

“Because that insolent woman has denied it to us.”

“She is a formidable woman. I remember her in my childhood. She would even advise my mother.”

“She will see that we will brook none of her insolence.”

“Yet she was a good friend. Should you not leave her in peace out of respect to my mother?”

“I leave no one in peace to insult me.”

His mouth tightened and the newly realized fear came back to her.

“Why do you want the Alcazar of Segovia?”

He did not answer. “I know,” she cried. “It is because you want to make me a prisoner there. Segovia will be for me what Arevalo was to my grandmother. You are going to shut me away…away from the world. You are going to make them believe I am mad.”

Still he did not answer.

She went on wildly: “I will go no further. I will not be put away. I am not mad. I am the Queen. You wish to take my crown from me, but you shall not.”

Philip laid a hand on her jennet’s bridle, but she hit him. She heard his low, devilish laugh.

Now she was really alarmed; now she was certain that her premonition was true. He was going to imprison her in Segovia and announce to the world that she was no longer capable of living among ordinary people.

She slid down from her jennet and lay on the ground.

“I will not go a step farther towards Segovia,” she announced.

The cavalcade had halted and Philip was delighted. Now there was going to be one of those scenes which surely must convince all who saw it of her madness.

“Mount your jennet,” he said quietly. “They will be waiting for you at Segovia.”

There seemed to be a grave threat behind his words which terrified her, and she lay writhing on the ground.

Philip leaped from his horse and bent over her with a show of tenderness.

“Juana,” he said audibly, “I pray you remount. Do you want everyone to say that you are mad?”

She looked into his eyes and she was afraid of him; and yet she knew that her great fear was not that she would be shut away from the world but that she would be shut away from him.

She rose obediently and mounted her jennet; then she turned away from the party and cried: “I shall not enter Segovia, because I know that you plan to lock me away in the Alcazar there.”

Then she galloped ahead of them across country and back again, refusing to ride towards Segovia or back the way they had come.

Dusk had fallen and night came; and Juana continued to ride back and forth over the country round Segovia, determined not to enter the town.

Philip thought: If ever anyone doubted her madness, can they do so any longer?

Nothing could have pleased him more.

Such conduct in the Queen of Castile could scarcely be called sanity.

PHILIP’S TROOPS had driven Beatriz de Bobadilla from Segovia, and the Alcazar was now in the possession of Juan Manuel.

There was a certain discontent throughout Castile that this foreigner should come among them and take their castles with their revenues and distribute them among his friends. Soon, it was said, all the strongholds of Castile would be in the hands of Philip’s followers, and the old Castilian nobility would have no power in the land.

Philip had decided against going into Segovia, as Juana showed such fear of the place, and had gone instead to Burgos where he, Juana and their party lodged at the palace of the Constable of Castile, who belonged to the Enriquez family and was related to Ferdinand.

In view of Juana’s strange conduct on the way to Segovia Philip felt justified in putting guards outside her apartments, so that she was to some extent under supervision.

The Constable’s wife, who was the hostess to the party, expressed her concern that the Queen should be treated so, and as a result Philip ordered her to leave the palace.

This seemed the utmost arrogance, and the whisperings against the Queen’s consort intensified; but Philip cared little for this and laughed with Juan Manuel at the Castilians. He had the troops and they would enforce his wishes. He did not doubt that before long he would have Juana put right away finally and he himself would be accepted as ruler in very truth.

“In the meantime,” he said, “we should celebrate our victories, my dear Juan. The Alcazar of Segovia has fallen into our hands; and now we might say that the same has happened to this palace of Burgos. Once we have rid ourselves of that interfering woman the place is ours. Do you not think that that is worthy of a little celebration?”

“Very worthy, Highness,” agreed Juan.

“Then see to it. Arrange a banquet, a ball; and I will show these Spaniards how the Flemings can beat them at all sport.”

“It shall be done.”

While they talked together a page arrived to tell Philip that an envoy from Ferdinand had arrived at Burgos.

“Let him be brought to me,” said Philip; and when the page had gone he smiled at Juan Manuel.

“What dispatches are these my worthy father-in-law sees fit to send me, I wonder?”

“Oh, there is nothing to fear from him. The old lion has had his teeth drawn. He will find it a different matter being merely King of Aragon instead of Spain.”

“My mother-in-law kept the fellow in his place. She must have been a strong-minded woman.”

Juan Manuel looked serious for a moment. When he remembered the great Queen Isabella he could not help wondering what she would say if she could see him now, a traitor to her husband.

He shrugged aside the thought; Ferdinand’s conduct would not have pleased her either, he reflected. It seemed to him that if the great Queen could come alive again she would be so saddened by her husband’s conduct that she would have little thought to spare for Juan Manuel.

Philip was his master now, and it was Philip whose interests were his own.

“It will be interesting to see what dispatches this fellow has brought,” went on Philip. “You may remain, and we will study them together.”

A few minutes later the page returned with Ferdinand’s envoy.

“Don Luis Ferrer,” he announced.

And Ferdinand’s envoy was bowing before the man who was certain that before long he would be sole ruler of Castile.

THE CELEBRATIONS were magnificent. Juan Manuel had arranged them to appeal to his master. He wished to show his gratitude for all the benefits which had come his way since he had entered Philip’s service; he wished him to know that he would continue to lay all his skill at his master’s feet.

Juana was allowed to partake in the celebrations.

Juan had said: “It would be unwise at this stage to shut her away completely. Wait until more fortresses have come into our hands.”

“Rest assured,” said Philip, “there will be others as important as Segovia and Burgos.”

“Let her show the people that she is truly mad. Then they cannot complain.”

Philip agreed with this. But he had made up his mind that he was going to put her away in as complete a seclusion as that in which her grandmother had passed the last years of her life.

Juana joined in the feasting. There were days when she was very gay, and others when she was overcome by her melancholy. There were times when she calmly received the homage of all; there were others when she shut herself away in her apartments.

She called her father’s envoy, Luis Ferrer, to her and demanded to hear news of her father, of whether he spoke often of her or any of her sisters; of how he lived with his new wife.

Luis Ferrer was eager to talk to her of Ferdinand, and Manuel was afraid that he was trying to bring about a meeting between father and daughter which, he was sure, could only result in harm to Philip.

“We should watch this Luis Ferrer,” he said to Philip. “It is my belief that the fellow is here for no good purpose.”

The peak of the celebrations was planned to take place on a warm September day. There was to be a banquet more lavish than any of those of the last few days, and afterwards there would be ball games, because Philip excelled at these and he was very eager to show the Castilians what he called his superior Flemish skill.

Juana was present at the banquet. She had rarely seen her husband so gay, and she thought how beautiful he was and how in comparison all others—men and women—seemed ugly and lacking in grace.

Beside her at the table was Luis Ferrer, and she was glad of this because she knew that it disturbed Philip to see them together, and that meant that, while she was with Ferrer, at least Philip was thinking of her.

As soon as the banquet was over the ball games began and here Philip certainly did excel, for he beat all his opponents. Yet how could one be sure, Juana wondered, whether his opponents felt it would be wise to let him win? Nevertheless he played with great skill and she was momentarily happy to see him flushed and taking a boyish pride in his achievements.

He was very hot when the game was won, and he called for a drink. No one was quite sure afterwards who gave him that drink; one thing was certain: he drank deep.

During the dancing and pageantry which followed, several people noticed that he seemed a little tired. But then it had been a strenuous ball game.

When she retired that night Juana lay in her bed hoping he would come to her, although she knew he would not; in four months’ time she could expect the birth of a child, so he would not come—unless of course he wished to placate her, which he seemed nowadays inclined to do at certain times.

There in the quiet of her apartment Juana began to think of the sadness of her life and to ask herself if there was not a curse on the House of Spain. She had heard such a legend at the time of her sister’s death. Her brother, Juan, was dead and his heir had been still-born; her sister, Isabella, had died in childbed and her child had followed her to the grave. That left Juana, Maria and Catalina. Maria might be happy in Portugal, but Catalina certainly was not so in England. As for herself surely none was as unhappy as she was.

She thought sadly of Catalina’s woes. Her sister had talked of them.

“But I did not listen,” whispered Juana. “I could only think of my own miseries which I know are far greater than hers. For what greater tragedy could befall a woman than to have a husband whom she adores with a passionate intensity which borders on madness, but who cares so little for her that he is planning to declare her mad and put her from him?”

There were strange noises in the palace tonight. She could hear the sound of footsteps and whispering voices.

“Shall I wake the Queen?”

“She should know.”

“She would want to be with him.”

Juana rose from her bed and wrapped a robe about her.

“Who is there?” she called. “Who is whispering there?”

One of her women came in, looking startled.

“The doctors have sent word, Highness…” she began.

“Doctors!” cried Juana. “Word of what?”

“That His Highness is in a fever and a delirium. They are bleeding him now. Would Your Highness care to go to his bedside?”

Juana did not wait to answer; she sped through the apartments to those of Philip.

He was lying on his bed, his fair hair made darker with sweat, and his beautiful blue eyes looked blankly at her. He was murmuring, but none understood what he said.

She knelt by the bed and cried: “Philip, my dearest, what has happened?”

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.”

Then it seemed that the madness was with her once more.

THEY CARRIED HER to her apartment from which all light was shut out. She was exhausted, for she would neither sleep nor eat. It was only because she was weak that they were able to remove her from the coffin. For several days she sat in her darkened room, refusing all food; she did not take off her clothes; she spoke to no one.

“Assuredly,” said all those of her household, “her sanity has left her.”

While she remained thus shut away, the coffin was taken from the hall of the Palace of Burgos to the Cartuja de Miraflores and, when she heard that this had been done, she hurriedly left her darkened room.

Now she was the Queen again, preparing to follow the coffin with all speed, giving orders that mourning should be made and that this was to resemble the garb of a nun, because she would be remote for ever from the world which did not contain her Philip.

When she arrived at the church she found that the coffin had already been placed in a vault, and she ordered that it should immediately be brought out.

She would have no disobedience. She reminded all that she was the Queen of Castile and expected obedience. So the coffin was brought from the vault.

Then she cried: “Remove the cerecloths from the feet and the head. I would see him again.”

And when this was done, she kissed those dead lips again and again and held the feet against her breast.

“Highness,” whispered one of her women, “you torture yourself.”

“What is there for me but torture when he is no longer with me?” she asked. “I would rather have him thus than not at all.”

And she would not leave the corpse of her husband, but stayed there, kissing and fondling him, as she had longed to during his life.

She would only leave after she had given strict orders that the coffin should not be closed. She would come again the next day and the next, and for as long as the coffin remained in this place she would come to kiss her husband and hold his dead body in her arms.

And so she did. Arriving each day from the Palace of Burgos, there she would remain by the coffin, alternately staring at that dead figure in the utmost melancholy, and seizing it in her arms in a frantic passion.

“It is true,” said those who watched her. “She is mad…. This has proved it.”