He cleared his throat again, but before he could speak Don Fernando waved his hand. "Yes, yes, I see the point. Not that my brother Philip wouldn't be delighted to provide me with an heir-but that would rather defeat the whole purpose of the enterprise, wouldn't it?"
His eyes narrowed slightly. "So… I need a wife who's no older than her mid-twenties, and in good health. Of the remaining six, which do you think are the best prospects?"
"Best, in what terms, Your Highness? In an ideal world, there's no question-the two Austrians, especially the older sister. By all accounts, and I've collected quite a few, they are both in good health-even very vigorous health, by the standards of most highborn women-and both of sound mind. The older daughter Maria Anna even has something of a reputation for her intellect, if not the younger. And"-here he suppressed a smile-"they are also quite comely."
Don Fernando scowled. "I don't care about their looks. Well. Not much. I need a wife who'll produce children."
The prince's pronouncement was in the finest tradition of capable royalty. It was also complete nonsense. Don Fernando was a very vigorous young man and he was no more indifferent to the comeliness of women than any other twenty-three year old male in good health. Given his training, of course, he never ogled such women. But Rubens had not failed to notice the prince's rapt interest whenever a woman as beautiful as-to give just one recent example-Rebecca Abrabanel came into his presence.
Don Fernando would never pursue the matter, to be sure. He was far too self-controlled for such foolishness. Leaving aside the fact that the Abrabanel was married, and apparently faithful to her husband, she was a Jewess. So, the prince made no advances, and did not ogle. But he certainly… observed.
Privately, Rubens understood perfectly well that he had to find a bride for Don Fernando who would be sufficiently attractive for the prince to spend enough time in her bed to succeed in his royal duties. Dynasties died out for many reasons, and the ill health or infertility of the wife was only one of them. Lack of interest on the part of the husband would do just as well to wither a royal line.
But Rubens left all that unsaid. Like any vigorous and capable twenty-three-year-old prince, Don Fernando was also sensitive about his youth. He would not take kindly to the suggestion that he was not, actually, a wise old Nestor.
So, he went back to the subject at hand. "As I say, those two-especially the older sister-would be the ideal one from your point of view. However, they are also the daughters of Emperor Ferdinand II. Who is, ah…"
"A religious fanatic," stated the cardinal-infante curtly. "To the point of bigotry."
"Well… yes, unfortunately. So I can see no likelihood that he would ever agree to such a match. Given that, under the best of circumstances, it would cause a severe strain to be put upon the Habsburg dynasty across Europe-to which he also belongs. He'd view it as a capitulation to the Dutch Protestants. Who are not even Lutherans, but Calvinists."
Don Fernando made a face. "I find it hard to see where a marriage to an Austrian Catholic would constitute a 'capitulation' to Dutch Calvinists. But…" He sighed. "Yes, I can see where he would view it that way. By producing a fissure in the solid ranks-not so solid as that!-of the Habsburgs, the premier family of Catholicism, I would indirectly be giving succor to the enemy of the true faith."
He raised his hand and almost clutched his blonde hair, as if he might pull it out by the roots. "Aaaah! Am I the only member of my powerful and widely scattered family who studies those up-time books, and is capable of drawing intelligent conclusions from them? Are all other Habsburgs village idiots accidentally wearing royal finery?"
He lowered the hand and glared up at Rubens-or rather, glared at the world, with Rubens just happening to be in his line of sight. "Is the lesson so difficult to read, in those up-time histories? Every dynasty that survived-some of them even prospered-did so by abandoning the attempt to enforce religious beliefs and behavior. Am I not right?"
"Well… In Europe, certainly." Pieter did not add what he could have, that all those dynasties had also survived because they abandoned their attempts to rule as well, and satisfied themselves with simply reigning. Rubens knew that Don Fernando even understood that himself, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, but was not really prepared to accept it yet. And perhaps never would be, though he lived to the age of eighty.
The prince slapped the armrest of his chair with exasperation. "Yet they won't give it up! No matter the cost!"
He shifted the glare about the room, transferring it momentarily from one portrait to another hanging in the salon. They were all portraits of Habsburgs, and they covered every wall. There had been a lot of Habsburgs, over the centuries.
Then he looked back at Rubens and, with the same exasperation, waved at a nearby chair. "Oh, sit down, Pieter. Surely we can dispense with royal protocol at such moments."
Rubens made no move toward the chair. "Actually, we can't, Your Highness. In the absence of a meal or some such acceptable-"
"There's only the two of us!"
The artist glanced meaningfully at the three servants and two soldiers who stood not so far away; the servants, next to the table holding wine and other refreshments; the soldiers, by the entrance. Except for Don Fernando's last outburst, they'd been speaking softly enough that neither the servants nor the soldiers could have understood the conversation. But they were not blind. And, almost certainly, at least one of them was accepting pay from some foreign spy-including Spain, as they now must, in the category of "foreign."
Understanding the meaning of the glance, the prince sighed and sagged a little in chair. "Damned silliness," he muttered. "And I can assure you that once I-"
But he broke off that line of thought, with the self-discipline to be expected from a grandson of Philip II. Instead, he levered himself erect in his chair. Stiffly erect.
"Very well, Pieter. We'll continue as before. Are you sure your correspondence with Alphonso is in no risk of interception?"
"Not entirely. But the cardinal is a circumspect man, whose letters can always be interpreted innocently. And for those occasions when they can't, he will use his sister in Vienna as his intermediary. She can communicate with us through your aunt Isabella. The archduchess and Dona Mencia are old friends, so no one will think it odd that they have an extensive correspondence."
Don Fernando smiled. "The formidable Dona Mencia. I met her several times, you know? I was very young, at the time. She quite intimidated me."
And that, too, Rubens decided to let pass without comment. As it happened, he maintained his own correspondence with Dona Mencia also. He would not have described her as formidable so much as very shrewd. Of course, he had the advantage of enjoying the same years of age that she did, rather than encountering her as a lad.
It was all he could do not to sigh himself. Dona Mencia was now the close attendant to the older of the two Austrian arch-duchesses, and she seemed to have discerned already-such a canny woman!-Rubens' strategy, even though he had said nothing directly to her at all.
So he presumed, at any rate. For there could only be two explanations for Dona Mencia's constant praises of Maria Anna, archduchess of Austria and the Holy Roman Empire. The young woman's intelligence; her physical vigor; her courtesy and consideration for others; her exceptionally thorough education; even her beauty, if the old woman was to be believed-and she probably could.
The first explanation was that Dona Mencia understood and supported the goal of Rubens and his patron Don Fernando. And felt strongly enough on the subject of her mistress Maria Anna that she pursued the subject despite knowing full well herself, as she must, how impossible such a match would be under the circumstances.