‘Your child!’

‘Margaret is with child, Father.’

Ferdinand could not hide the joy which illumined his face. Juan saw it and understood.

‘You see, Father,’ he said, ‘if I go, I shall leave you consolation.’

A child! It made all the difference. Why had they not told him before? The situation was not so cruel as he had feared, since Margaret carried the heir to Spain and her Habsburg inheritance.

For the moment Ferdinand forgot to fear that his son might be dying.

But now that he was in his own room he thought of Juan, his gentle son, and how Isabella had doted on her ‘angel’. Juan had never caused them anxiety except over his health. He had been a model son, clever, kindly and obedient.

Ferdinand found that even the thought of the heir whom Margaret carried could not compensate for the loss of his son.

What was he going to tell Isabella? He thought tenderly of his wife who had given such love and devotion to their family. How was he going to break the news to her? She had wept bitterly because she was losing Isabella; she suffered continual anxiety over Juana in Flanders. She was thinking now of the days when Maria and Catalina would be torn from her side. If Juan died … how could he break the news to Isabella?

There was a knock at his door. He started forward and flung it open.

He knew what this message meant even before the man spoke.

‘The physicians think you should come to the Prince’s bedside to say goodbye to him, Highness.’

Ferdinand nodded.

Juan lay back on his pillows, a faint smile on his lips. Margaret was kneeling by his bed, her face buried in her hands. Her body looked as still as that of her dead husband.

Ferdinand faced his daughter-in-law. She seemed much older than the girl who only a few months before had married Juan. Her face was expressionless.

Ferdinand said gently: ‘There is the child to live for, my dear.’

‘Yes,’ answered Margaret, ‘I have the child.’

‘We shall take great care of you, my dear daughter. Let us comfort each other. I have lost the best of sons; you have lost the best of husbands. Your fortitude wins my admiration. Margaret, I do not know how to send this terrible news to his mother.’

‘She will wish to know the truth with all speed,’ Margaret said quietly.

‘The shock would kill her. She has no idea that he was suffering from anything but a mild fever. No, I must break this news gently. I am going to write to her now and tell her that Juan is ill and that you are with child. Two pieces of news, one good one bad. Then I will write again saying that Juan’s condition is giving cause for anxiety. You see, I shall gradually break this terrible news to her. It is the only way she could bear it.’

‘She will be heartbroken,’ Margaret murmured, ‘but I sometimes think she is stronger than any of us.’

‘Nay. At heart she is only a woman … a wife and mother. She loves all her children dearly, but he was her favourite. He was her son, the heir to everything we have fought for.’ Ferdinand suddenly buried his face in his hands. ‘I do not know how she will survive this shock.’

Margaret did not seem to be listening. She felt numb, telling herself that this had not really happened and that she was living through some hideous nightmare. She would wake soon to find herself in Juan’s arms and they would rise from their bed, go to the window and look out on the sunlit patio. They would ride again through the cheering crowds in the streets of Salamanca. She would laugh and say: ‘Juan, last night I had a bad dream. I dreamed that the worst possible thing which could befall me happened to me. And now I am awake, in the sunshine, and I am so happy to be alive because I know how singularly my life has been blessed since I have you.’

Ferdinand felt better when he was taking action. No sooner had he dispatched the two messengers than he called a secretary to him.

‘Write this to Her Highness the Queen,’ he commanded.

And the man began to write as the King dictated:

‘A terrible calamity has occurred in Salamanca. His Highness the King has died of a fever.’

The man stopped writing and stared at Ferdinand.

‘Ah, my good fellow, you look at me as though you think I am mad. No, this is not madness. It is good sense. The Queen will have to learn sooner or later of the death of the Prince. I have been considering how best I can break this news. I fear the effect it will have on her, and in this way I think I can soften the terrible blow. She will have had my two letters telling her of our son’s indisposition. Now I will ride with all speed to her. I shall send a messenger on ahead of me with the news of my death. That would be the greatest blow she could sustain. While she is overcome with the horror of this news I will stride in and confront her. She will be so overjoyed to see me that the blow of her son’s death will be less severe.’

The secretary bowed his head in melancholy understanding, but he doubted the wisdom of Ferdinand’s conduct.

However, it was not for him to criticise the action of his King, so he wrote the letter and, shortly afterwards, left Salamanca.

Isabella had said her last farewells to her daughter and Emanuel; the Infanta of Spain, now the Queen of Portugal, had set out with her husband and her retinue on the way to Lisbon.

How tired she was! She was becoming too old for long journeys, and taking leave of her daughter depressed her. She was extremely worried by the news of Juana which filtered through from Flanders. And now Juan was unwell.

The first of the messages arrived. Margaret was with child. The news filled her with joy; but the rest of the message said that Juan was unwell. The health of her children was a continual anxiety to her, and the two elder ones had always been delicate. Isabella’s cough had caused her mother a great deal of misgiving; Juan had been almost too frail and fair for a young man. Perhaps she had been so concerned about Juana’s mental condition that she had worried less about the physical health of the two elder children than she otherwise would have done. Maria and Catalina were much stronger; perhaps because they had been born in more settled times.

The second letter came almost immediately after the first. It appeared that Juan’s condition was more serious than they had at first thought.

‘I will go to him,’ she said. ‘I should be at his side at such a time.’

While she was giving orders to the servants to make ready for the journey to Salamanca another messenger arrived.

She was bewildered as she read the letter he brought. Ferdinand … dead! This could not be. Ferdinand was full of strength and vitality. It was Juan who was ill. She could not imagine Ferdinand anything but alive.

‘Hasten,’ she cried. ‘There is not a moment to lose. I must go with all speed to Salamanca to see what is really happening there.’

Ferdinand! Her heart was filled with strangely mingling feelings. There were so many memories of a marriage which had lasted for nearly thirty years.

She was bewildered and found it difficult to collect her thoughts.

Was it possible that there had been some mistake? Should she read Juan for Ferdinand?

She was sick with anxiety. If Juan were dead she would no longer wish to live. He was her darling whom she wished to keep by her side for as long as she lived. He was her only son, her beloved Angel. He could not be dead. It would be too cruel.

She read the message again. It clearly said the King.

Juan … Ferdinand. If she had lost her husband she would be sad indeed. She was devoted to him. If that great love which she had borne in the beginning had become a little battered by the years, he was still her husband and she could not imagine life without him.