The Dead Queen

1 - Black Death

There was a day she felt like she didn't know who she was. She didn't recognize her reflection in the mirror. Ines was only 18 at the time, it was the great journey day and she barely imagined what was to come. 

She adjusted the blue dress with some help of her maid. The blue from the House of Castro, richly embroidered. She was beautiful. But she looked at herself in the mirror and saw a stranger there.

Maybe it was the new wig she was wearing. Something so new and so old, Ines thought, combing the beautiful hair of a dead woman. When had she died? What would have happened to the owner of that hair?

Sometimes she had these morbid thoughts, and they never left her. A peasant woman must have died, and her hair was pulled out so that noble women like Ines could wear it. They always did that. Wigs were morbid and sad, she thought. And it seemed unfair to have their hair removed from their remains, their dignity as women.

She remembered the two princesses of Burgundy, accused of adultery in France decades ago. The king shaved their heads and exposed the bald women to the public. Nothing could be more humiliating for a woman at that time. Would adulterous princes receive equivalent punishment? As if women were less worthy than men, she thought. 

But that black wig, in contrast to Ines' white, ruddy skin, made her even more beautiful. She looked like someone else. She looked like her cousin, Constance. 

Just by looking at her, she could feel her anxiety. Not only because she knew her cousin well, but because she could always felt what people felt. She felt places too, as they could absorb people's feelings. It was a strange skill. Sometimes, she felt bad, she fainted. More than a gift, it was a course. So she never told anyone about it.

Constance also had black hair, but now she insisted on wearing blonde wigs. Almost as blond as Ines' real hair. And Constance preferred her cousin to touch it. The maids tried hard, but nothing compared to Ines. Constance thought she didn't know how to create good hairstyles, that her hair didn't obey her.

She approached her cousin, her blond braids covered with dozens of pearls, carefully prepared by Ines, covered by a veil, which matched her beautiful silk dress. She looked at herself in the glass mirror too. The veil moved with her anxiety, Constance's chest heaving. Her day has come.

"Do I look like a princess?", she asked uncertainly.

"You are already a princess", smiled Ines, adjusting the pearls in her cousin's hair.

It was August 1339. After so many years of wars between Castile and Portugal, finally King Alfonso XI allowed Constance to consummate her marriage. Finally, she would see, for the first time, the man she married by proxy. Constance had been waiting for that moment for years. Shouldn't she be happy then? She was too nervous to be happy, she thought.

Constance didn't know if she was worthy of the role of Princess of a great kingdom, or if Peter would like her. He had rejected Blanche of Castile, promised to him years ago. And Blanche had ended up single and lonely. It's said he was a tough man, as angry as his father. And Portuguese never used to like Castilians, especially after Alfonso XI waged war against them all.

"At least, I know you'll be there by my side," Constance consoled herself, looking at her cousin.

"I always will be", Ines smiled at her in the mirror.

The truth is that Ines was not as naive as her cousin. Constance had been forced by the King of Castile to live for years with nuns in the Castle of Toro. Probably, living as a nun isolated her from the world of seduction, men and flirtings. All she knew was written in some innocent chivalric romances. 

For the rest, men were an unknown field for Constance, and she didn't know how to act, because she had never done so. And because she had never done it, she couldn't trust her abilities as a woman. Her first flirt would take place at the altar, in full ceremony; therefore, she was that anxious, thought Ines.

The cousin had already secretly kissed suitors, and now she had sworn her love to Philip of Guzmán, when he visited Ines in Albuquerque. 

As soon as Philip discovered that Ines was moving to Lisbon, he immediately rode for days to Albuquerque, to deliver a love song especially for her. Philip ordered a song almost as beautiful as those of Ines' father, because he knew how much she adored them.

She was very moved by his gesture and promised that she would return so they could get married as soon as he received the family properties. They were both young. But they would live together, married with a noble surname in Albuquerque, next to her adoptive mother, she planned.

Despite not being a legitimate noblewoman like Constance, Ines was still the daughter of the Chief Minister of the King of Castile. She was illegitimate, but she was still a Castro, noble surname. She knew she deserved a good marriage, although she didn't think about it much. 

First, she would serve Constance in Portugal as a lady-in-waiting, would take care of her and live a great adventure in an unknown country. This last part was what she liked most: the unknown. Ines kept Philip's poem and left the room, as if looking for a breath of fresh air.

She soon joined Constance's entourage of ladies, squires and knights and sat in her litter. All the ladies were very excited, whispering about men, laughing, especially Brites and Catarina.

At the end of the second day, no more excitement. Women were covered with dust and tired. Constance was exhausted. Anxiety had not allowed her to sleep. Ines watched her, worried.

"Everything will be fine," she whispered in her ear, amid the sounds of merchants, buyers and the ladies' voices. Constance smiled at Ines.

Along the way, the horses stopped abruptly. There were many people, screams, confusion. The main knight guard left the ladies, ordering the group of people on the way to let them pass, on behalf of the kingdoms of Castile and Portugal. The ladies were scared. Ines was the first who came down and got closer to see what it was. And what it was could be painful to see.

The knight approached, talked to the men. It was a group of peasants, in front of a woman tied to the top of a tree trunk. She looked dead. The woman was very thin, bald, visibly tortured. People shouted, "Cursed witch!", "Bastard!" and things like that for her. If she was dead or unconscious, why did they still scream? Didn't they have mercy? 

The woman appeared to be a Gypsy. Her body, full of lashes and scratches. But the most frightening were the black spots. As soon as the knight noticed them, he returned frightened, as did the others.

"It's the plague!", cried the knight, forcing the animals to advance over people and move on. Startled, all the women covered their faces with handkerchiefs, and Constance started to cry over hers. So many years waiting to consummate her marriage, to assume the role of Princess, and now she was facing the black death?

Soon the ladies held on to the rosaries, praying to the Virgin without stopping. Everyone had heard of the plague, the black death, divine punishment that would kill you in a few days. And it was a terrible death. The disease seemed distant, a small peasant thing, but the King of Portugal's mother, the holy Queen Isabel, had died of the plague only a few years ago, Brites recalled.

A while later, the knight explained what happened. The plague had reached that location, and the peasants believed that the woman, a Gypsy, had created the plague by poisoning the local water.

"Poor woman", lamented Ines sadly, remembering the state of her body.

"We don't know if she was to blame," said Catarina.

"We don't know ..." agreed Constance, wiping away her tears.

"Yes, of course ... When something bad happens, it's always the women, the Gypsies and Jews!", defended Ines. The others remained silent, praying quietly.

Ines reminded them that Queen Isabel, popularly known as "The Holy Queen", had been totally dedicated to the poor and excluded ones, following the example of Christ. Someone who would never allow them to crucify and kill a poor Gypsy.

The others said nothing. Ines felt guilty for not going out and defending the gypsy, pulling her out of that damn trunk. But the fear of the plague was greater, she regretted.