For a Queen's Love: The Stories of the Royal Wives of Philip II by Jean Plaidy

that? But what do you here? Did I not tell you I would be alone with my children?”
    The man looked at Philip, who signed for him to go. In a few seconds the Prince and Princess were alone with the mad Queen.
    “Do not kneel now.” Her voice was quiet and quavering. “Do not kneel to poor Juana. Philip … oh, Philip, are you like that other Philip? Are you like
my
Philip … he who, they tell me, is dead? But he is not dead. He comes here. He comes often. He rises from his coffin and he comes to me … She trembles still … that child. She is overcome by my majesty. That is what this Philip tells me. He knows how to say the words which appeal … which appease. He is rightly named … Philip! My Philip would come to me after he had spent the night with one of them … fat Flemish women. They were the sort he liked … fat, ugly strumpets. He would come to my apartments, fresh from his love, and he would say: ‘You’re the prettiest woman in Flanders … or Ghent … or wherever we were. There’s none can compare with my Queen Juana …’ Philip. Philip.” The cackling laughter broke out again.
    Philip said: “Grandmother, we have come, my wife and I, to ask your blessing.”
    “Why do you come to me … to me? … Who cares for poor Juana now? … When they wanted me mad, they made me mad … and whenthey wanted me sane … I was sane. That was my father and my husband … between them they used me … mad … sane … mad … sane … What’s it to be today?”
    “Grandmother, this is my bride, Maria Manoela …”
    “She’s plump and pretty … and she’s your bride. What is your name, boy? What did you say?”
    “I am Philip …”
    “Philip. Philip.” She peered about the room. “He will not come out today. It is because you are here. He is hiding behind the curtains. It is a pity. I should have liked you to see him. Philip … Philip the Handsome … the prettiest man in Zeeland … or Flanders … or Spain … wherever we were. I did not tell him that. There were too many to tell him. Child … child … come here, child.”
    Maria Manoela hung back, but Philip pushed her gently forward and Juana took her by the wrist. Suddenly Maria Manoela felt her chin grasped by the bony hand.
    “Plump and pretty. As he liked them … But dark. He liked them fair. You are looking for him … you sly creature. Yes you are. Take her away. I’ll not have women here. Can you see him? He comes in and laughs at me. They have tried to take him from me. He was in his coffin, but I kept him with me … and when it was night and all had left me I would look into the coffin and he would talk to me … laugh at me … boast about his women. He is so beautiful. I wanted to die when he was with the others … and when he came back I forgave him all … I was mad for him … sane for him … And you … you with your plump, pretty face have come to look for him …” The mad eyes were wild with sudden fury. Philip put an arm about Maria Manoela and drew her away. She caught her breath in a sobbing gasp and hastily she crossed herself.
    “Nay, nay,” said Philip in his calm, clear voice. “Maria Manoela is my bride. Your husband is dead, dear Grandmother. It is many years since he died, and now we come to ask your blessing on our union.”
    Juana lay back in her chair and the tears began to run down her cheeks. “Is it true, then? Is he dead? Is there no longer life in his beautiful body?”
    “Grandmother, it is true. He is dead.”
    The mirthless laughter rang out. “Come here. Come closer … both of you. He is dead, they say. That is what they say. But I will tell you a secret. He is here now … here in this room. He is laughing at us … He is kissing the fat Flemish women in the tapestry. One day I set it on fire. That’ll spoil his game, I said. And it did.” She glared at Maria Manoela. “Who is this girl?”
    “My wife, Grandmother. Your granddaughter, Maria Manoela. Your daughter’s daughter.”
    “My