“Did it not?” said Carlos.
“Sit at my feet.”
He sat, and she let her fingers run through his hair.
“He had thick hair,” she said. “Ripples and curls. He was the loveliest man in the world. Who are you? You’re not Philip.”
“He is Carlos, this little one. Philip is his father.”
“Carlos … Not that Carlos! Not my son. Not Caesar.”
“No … no. I am your great-grandson. The son of Philip.”
“My Carlos took him from me … He took my Philip. He said: ‘My Mother, you cannot keep a dead body with you forever. I must take him away for decent burial.’ But my Philip was not dead. I would sit by the coffin and I would have it open … and I would kiss his lips … He could not escape me then. He could not run to other women then.”
“The Emperor who took your Philip away is this little one’s grandfather. There is another Philip now. He is this little one’s father. Carlos hates that Philip. He hopes he will soon die.”
“Your Philip, Carlos? Your Philip. He is not my Philip. They said I must marry my Philip and I wept and I stormed. I could weep and storm, little Carlos. Oh … I could. And my father … Great Ferdinand … the King of Aragon … he said I was mad when it was good for me to be mad … Good for me … Who cared for me? It was good for him that I should be mad … and sometimes it was good that I should be sane … Mad … sane … mad … sane …”
“They look at Carlos as though he is mad.”
“Mad … sane … mad … sane,” she murmured.
“You hated your Philip, did you not?” asked Carlos.
“Hated because I loved … loved because I hated. I sat by the coffin. I’d take off the lid and kiss him … fondle him … I said: ‘You cannot leave me now, Philip. Where are your women now?’ Ha … ha …”
Carlos joined in her laughter, then held up his fingers to his lips to remind her of the need for quiet.
“I would let no woman come near the coffin,” she murmured.
“Why not?”
“I could not trust him. He was full of cunning. I thought he might slip out …
“Could death?” asked Carlos.
“They have taken him from me … Carlos …”
“Not this Carlos. The other one … the father of my father. Not this Carlos. He loves you. This little one is your friend.”
“This is my friend, this little one.”
“He wants to bring his Aunt Juana here and live with you forever.”
“Carlos … you will live with me here, then?”
“Yes … yes … When Philip goes to England, Carlos will run away … he will come to you …”
“They wished to send me to England.”
“No, no … It is Philip who goes to England.”
“They said the King of England cannot marry a mad woman. I was mad then, you see, little one. Mad … sane … mad … sane …
“The father of Carlos is going to England. He is to marry the Queen.”
“Henry Tudor wished to marry me. King Henry the Seventh of England. They said he was such a good man that he would make me sane again … mad … sane … mad …
“Great-grandmother, you must not laugh so. They will hear, and send Carlos away from you.”
“They poisoned him, you know.”
“Whom did they poison, Great-grandmother?”
“My Philip. My father sent his agents to poison my Philip.”
“Then you hate your father. Carlos hates
“It was after a banquet that he died. They said it was a fever … but I know what it was.”
“Poison!” cried Carlos.
“I stayed by his side and none could move me from him. And when they said he was dead, I had him set upon a catafalque covered in cloth of gold, the color of his hair. I wrapped him in brocade and ermine. I sat beside him … through the days and nights. They could not tear me from him. Do you know who did it?”
“Your father? And you hate him?”
“My father’s friend and counselor. What was his name? I forget it. He was an Aragonese gentleman. I know! It was Mosen Ferer. He was a wicked man. They set him in charge of me … He said I was a heretic and he tortured me.”
