‘Strife! You call the strutting of this coxcomb, Philip, strife!’
‘Remember who he is, Beatriz. He could make a great deal of trouble for us. And my poor Juana …’
‘One day,’ Beatriz said, ‘you will find some reason to call her home. Then you will explain her duty to her.’
Isabella shook her head. It had never been easy to explain to Juana anything which she did not want to understand. She had a feeling that life in Flanders was changing Juana … and not for the better. Was it possible for such as Juana to grow more stable? Or would her mind, like her grandmother’s, gradually grow more and more wayward?
‘So many troubles,’ mused Isabella. ‘Our poor sad Margaret is like a ghost wandering about the Palace, looking for her happy past. And Juana … But do not let us talk of her. Then there is my frustrated Admiral with his convicts. I fear too there will be great trouble in Naples. Is there no end to our afflictions?’
‘No end to our afflictions, and no end to our joys,’ said Beatriz promptly. ‘You will soon be holding your grandchild in your arms, my Queen. And when you do so you will forget all that has gone before. Isabella’s son will mean as much to you as Juan’s would have done.’
‘You are my comforter, Beatriz, as you ever were. I trust we can spend more time together before we must part.’
Chapter X
THE BIRTH OF MIGUEL
Toledo lay before them. Neither Isabella nor Ferdinand, riding at the head of the cavalcade, could help feeling pride in this city. There it stood perched on a lofty granite plateau which from this distance looked as though it had been moulded to the shape of a horseshoe among the mountains above the Tagus. A perfect fortress city, for it could only be reached on the north side by way of the plain of Castile. At every other point the steep rock would prevent entry.
There was little that was Spanish in its architecture, for the Moors seemed to have left their mark on every tower, on every street.
But Isabella was not concerned with her city of Toledo; her thoughts were of the meeting which would shortly take place.
I shall be happy, she told herself, when I see Isabella and assure myself that this pregnancy has not weakened her.
‘You grow impatient,’ Ferdinand whispered, a smile on his lips.
‘And you too?’
He nodded. He was impatient for the birth of the child. If it were a son, the unhappy deaths of Juan and his offspring would be of little significance. The people would be glad to accept the son of Isabella and Emanuel as the heir.
‘If it is a boy,’ he said, ‘he must stay with us in Spain.’
‘Perhaps,’ ventured Isabella, ‘our daughter should stay with us also.’
‘What! You would separate husband and wife!’
‘I see,’ said Isabella, ‘that you are thinking there should be more children; and how could Isabella and Emanuel beget children if they were not together!’
‘That is true,’ replied Ferdinand. His eyes strayed to those three girls in the party – Margaret, Maria and Catalina. If his daughters had but been boys … But never mind, if Isabella had a male heir, this would be some solution of their troubles.
They were entering the town. How could she ever do so, Isabella asked herself, without remembering that it was the birthplace of Juana? That memorable event had occurred on a November day when the city looked different from the way it did this day in springtime. When she had first heard the cry of her little daughter she had not guessed what anxieties were to come because of her. Perhaps it would have been better if the child, to which she had given birth here in Toledo in the year 1479, had been stillborn as poor Margaret’s child had been. She felt an impulse to call Margaret to her and tell her of this. How foolish of her! Her grief was nowadays often weakening her sense of propriety.
They were at the gates of the city and the Toledans were coming out of their homes to welcome them. Here were the goldsmiths and silversmiths, the blacksmiths, the weavers and embroiderers, the armourers and the curriers, all members of the guilds of this city which was one of the most prosperous in Spain.
Thus it had been at that time when she and Ferdinand had come here to inspect the work on San Juan de los Reyes which they had given to the city. She remembered well the day they had seen the chains of the captives whom they had liberated when they conquered Malaga. These chains had been hung outside the walls of the church for significant decoration; they rested there today and they should remain there for ever – a reminder to the people that their Sovereigns had freed Spain from Moorish domination.
They would go to the church, or perhaps that of Santa Maria la Blanca, and give thanks for the safe arrival of the King and Queen of Portugal.
She would be happy among those horseshoe arches, among those graceful arabesques; there she would ask to be purged of all resentment against the sorrows of the last year. She would be cleansed of self-pity, and ready for the miracle of birth, the recompense which was to be the son her dearest Isabella would give to her and Spain.
It was meet that the Archbishop of Toledo should be in the city to greet them – gaunt, emaciated Ximenes de Cisneros, his robes of state hanging uneasily on his spare figure.
Isabella felt a lifting of her spirits as she greeted him. She would tell her old confessor of her weakness; she would listen to his astringent comments; he would scorn her mother-love as unworthy of the Queen; he would deplore her weakness in questioning the will of God.
Ferdinand’s greeting of the Archbishop was cool. He could never look at him without recalling that the office with all its pomp and grandeur might have gone to his son.
‘It does me good to see my Archbishop,’ murmured Isabella graciously.
Ximenes bowed before her, but even his bow had arrogance. He set the Church above the State.
Ximenes rode beside the Queen through the streets of Toledo.
With what great joy the Queen embraced her daughter Isabella!
This was when they were alone after the ceremonial greeting which had been watched by thousands. Then they had done all that was required of them, this mother and daughter, bowing graciously, kissing hands, as though they were not yearning to embrace and ask a thousand questions.
The Queen would not allow herself to look too closely at her daughter; she was afraid that she might see that which had made her anxious and betray her anxiety.
But now they were alone and the Queen had dismissed all her attendants and those of her daughter, for she told herself they must have this short time together.
‘My dearest,’ cried the Queen, ‘let me look at you. Why, you are a little pale. And how is your health? Tell me exactly when the little one is expected.’
‘In August, Mother.’
‘Well, that is not long to wait. You have not told me how you are.’
‘I feel a little tired, and rather listless.’
‘It is natural.’
‘I wonder.’
‘What do you mean? You wonder! A pregnant woman has a child to carry. Naturally she does not feel as other women do.’
‘I have seen some women seem perfectly healthy in pregnancy.’
‘Nonsense. It differs from woman to woman and from birth to birth. I know. Remember I have had five children of my own.’
‘Then perhaps this tiredness is nothing.’
‘And your cough?’
‘It is no worse, Mother.’
‘You think I am foolish with all my questions?’
‘Mother, it is good to hear those questions.’ Isabella suddenly flung herself into her mother’s arms and, to the Queen’s dismay, she saw tears on her daughter’s cheeks.