Daughters of Spain (17 page)

Ferdinand received the messengers from Salamanca.

He read the letter from Margaret. Juan ill! But he had been perfectly well when he set out on his honeymoon. This was the hysterical fear of a young bride. Juan was a little exhausted; perhaps being married could be exhausting to a serious young man who, before his wedding, had lived an entirely virtuous life. Ferdinand's marriage had presented no such problems; but he was ready to concede that Juan was different from himself in that respect.

But there was another letter. This was signed by two physicians. The Prince's health was giving them cause for alarm. They believed he had contracted a malignant fever and that he was so ill that his parents should come immediately to his bedside.

Ferdinand looked grave. This was no hysteria; Juan must be really ill.

It was inconvenient. Emanuel and his daughter Isabella were still celebrating their marriage, and it would give rise to great anxiety if both he and the Queen left them abruptly to go to Juan's bedside.

Ferdinand went to Isabella's apartment, wondering how best he could break the news. She smiled as he entered, and he felt tenderness towards her. She looked a little older; the sorrow of parting with Juana, and now Isabella, had etched a few more lines on her face. When Ferdinand had his own way, as he had over this matter of Isabella's marriage, he had time to
feel affection for his Queen. She was a good, devoted mother, he reminded himself, and if she erred in her conduct towards her children it was on the side of over-indulgence.

He decided to suppress the physicians' letter and show her only that of Margaret. Thus he could avoid arousing too much anxiety at this moment.

'News,' he announced, 'from Salamanca.'

Her face lit up with pleasure.

'I heard,' she said, 'that the people have given them a welcome such as they have rarely given any before.'

'Yes, that is true,' answered Ferdinand, 'but ...'

'But ...?' cried the Queen and the alarm shot up in her eyes.

'Juan is a little unwell. I have a letter here from Margaret. The poor child writes quite unlike the calm young lady she pretends to be.'

'Show me the letter.'

Ferdinand gave it to her, and put his arm about her shoulders while she read it.

'You see, it is the hysterical outburst of our little bride. If you ask me, our Juan finds being a husband to such a lively girl a little exhausting. He is in need of a rest.'

'A fever!' said the Queen. 'I wonder what that means ...?'

'Over-excitement. Isabella, you are getting anxious. I will go at once to Salamanca. You remain here to say your farewell to Isabella and Emanuel. I will write to reassure you from Salamanca.'

Isabella considered this.

'I know,' went on Ferdinand, 'that if I do not go you will continue anxious. And if we both go, we shall have all sorts of ridiculous rumours spreading throughout the country.'

'You are right, Ferdinand. Please go to Salamanca with all
speed. And write to me ... as soon as you have seen him.'

Ferdinand kissed her with more tenderness than he had shown her for a long time. He was very fond of her when the submissive wife took the place of the Queen.

As Ferdinand rode through the town of Salamanca he was greeted with silence. It was almost as though the University town was one of mourning.

The physicians were waiting for him, and he had but to look at them to sense their alarm.

'How is my son?' he asked brusquely.

'Highness, since we wrote to you his fever has not abated, but has in fact grown worse.'

'I will go to his bedside at once.'

He found Margaret there and noticed that several of the women in the room were weeping, and that the expressions on the faces of the men were so doleful that it appeared as though Juan were living through his last hours.

Ferdinand glowered at them, anger swamping his fear. How dared they presume that Juan was going to die. Juan must not die. He was the heir to united Spain, and there would be trouble in Aragon if there was not a male heir. He and Isabella had only daughters beside this one son. After all their hopes and plans Juan must not die.

Margaret's face was white and strained but she was composed, and Ferdinand felt a new affection for his daughter-in-law. But the sight of Juan's wan face on the pillow frightened him.

He knelt by the bed and took Juan's hand.

'My son, what is this bad news I hear?'

Juan smiled at him. 'Oh, Father, so you have come. Is my mother here?'

'Nay. Why should she come because you have a little indisposition? She is at the frontier, speeding your sister on her way to Portugal.'

'I should have liked to have seen her,' said Juan faintly.

'Well, you will see her soon enough.'

'She will have to come soon, I think, Father.'

Ferdinand's angry voice boomed out: 'But why so?'

'You must not be angry with me, Father, but I think I feel death close to me.'

'What nonsense! Margaret, it is nonsense, is it not?'

Margaret said stonily: 'I do not know.'

'Then I do!' cried Ferdinand. 'You are going to recover ... and quickly. By God, are you not the heir to the throne ... the only male heir? There would be a pretty state of affairs if you left us without a male heir.'

Juan smiled faintly. 'Oh, Father, there will be others. I am not so very important.'

'I never heard such nonsense. What of Aragon? Tell me that. They will not have a female sovereign, as you know. You must therefore consider your duty and not talk of dying and leaving us without a male heir. I will see your physicians at once. I will command them to cure you of this ... honeymoon fever ... at once.'

Ferdinand rose and stood glowering affectionately at his son. How he had changed! he thought uneasily. Juan had never been a strong boy as he himself had been, as young Alfonso was. Holy Mother, what a pity that boy was not his legitimate son. Action was needed here ... drastic action.

Ferdinand stalked from the room, beckoning the physicians
to follow him; and in the ante-room before the bedchamber he shut the door and demanded: 'How sick is he?'

'Very sick, Highness.'

'What hope is there of his recovery?'

The physicians did not answer. They were afraid to tell Ferdinand what they really thought. As for Ferdinand, he was afraid to probe further. He had as much affection for his son as he was capable of, but mingled with it was the thought of the part that son had to play in his own ambitions. 'I think,' he said, 'that my son has overtaxed his strength. He has had his duty to do both day and night. He has had to be a good Prince to the people and a good husband to the Archduchess. It has been too much for him. We will nurse him back to health.'

'Highness, if this sickness has been brought on through his exhaustion perhaps it would be well to separate him from his bride. This would give him a chance to grow strong again.'

'Is that the only remedy you can suggest?'

'We have tried every other remedy, and the fever grips him the more firmly.'

Ferdinand was silent for a while. Then he said: 'Let us go back to the sickroom.'

He stood at the foot of Juan's bed and tried to speak jocularly.

'The doctors tell me that you have become exhausted. They propose keeping you very quiet, and even Margaret shall not visit you.'

'No,' said Margaret, 'I must stay with him.'

Juan put out a hand and gripped that of his wife. He held it tightly and, although he did not speak, it was clear that he wished her to remain with him.

Ferdinand stared at his son's hand and noticed how thin his
wrist had become. He must have lost a great deal of weight in a very short time. Ferdinand was realising at last that his son was very ill indeed.

Yes, he thought, he is very attached to Margaret. They must stay together, for ill as he is there might yet be time to beget an heir. A child conceived in the passion of fever was still a child. If Juan could give Margaret a child before he died, his death would not be such a tragedy.

'Have no fear,' he said. 'I could never find it in my heart to separate you.'

He turned and left them together. He was now more than uneasy; he was decidedly worried.

He could not sleep that night. Juan's condition had worsened during the day and Ferdinand found that he was sharing the general opinion of all those about the Prince.

Juan was very seriously ill.

When he had said good night to him Juan had put his burning lips to his father's hand and had said: 'Do not grieve for me, Father. If I am to die, and I think I am, I shall go to a better world than this.'

'Do not say such things,' Ferdinand had answered gruffly. 'We need you here.'

'Break the news gently to my mother,' whispered Juan. 'She loves me well. Tell her that her Angel will watch over her if it is possible for him to do so. Tell her that I love her dearly and that she has been the best mother anyone ever had. Tell her this for me, Father.'

'You shall tell her such things yourself,' retorted Ferdinand.

'Father, you must not grieve for me. I shall be in the happier
place. Grieve more for those I leave. Comfort my mother and care for Margaret. She is so young and she does not always understand our ways. I love her very dearly. Take care of her ... and our child.'

'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.