This child was the sequel of the Emperor’s visit, and before Charles left Spain there was yet another baby; this time the child was a boy.
Philip knew that the birth of his brother made him a little less important in the eyes of Spain. If he should become still more delicate, they would not be quite so anxious now.
Often he would steal into the nursery and look at the little boy in the cradle, imagining him, instead of himself, growing up, listening to the Emperor telling him of the dominions he would one day inherit.
The Emperor had returned to his dominions abroad, where his presence was urgently needed because of the menace of the Kings of France and England, and the spreading Lutheranism among the German Princes.
It was a year or so after his departure when Philip, on entering the nursery one day, found his little brother lying on the floor in a strange position. He thought at first that the child was playing some game.
“Get up,” he cried. “You will hurt yourself if you kick like that.”
Bending over the child, Philip saw that his face was distorted; his eyes rolled, showing the whites so that he looked grotesquely unlike himself. It was clear that he did not know his brother. He had bitten his tongue, and there was blood and foam at the side of his mouth and dribbling down his chin. A spasm seemed to pass through his body; he kicked furiously and lashed out with his arms. As Philip watched in horror, the little body became quite rigid and the breathing seemed to stop. Then the boy’s legs began to jerk spasmodically; he started to breathe again; his face became bloated and he was gasping for his breath.
Philip called out in horror and Leonor came running in. She took one look at the child and crossed herself.
“We must do something,” cried Philip. “What ails him?”
“Stand back!” cried Leonor. “The devils within him might leap out … and into you. That is what these evil- wishers would like. Stand back, I say.”
“But he will injure himself. Look, Leonor. How can we help him?”
“We can do nothing but pray … pray the saints to help us fight this evil. I have seen him thus before. It passes. The evil spirits tire within him … and they let him rest. But each time he grows weaker. Go! I beg of you, go … lest they leave him and enter you … which is what they are trying to do.”
Philip, obedient as ever, went to his own apartments.
Ruy was there, and Philip was glad of that. He sank on to a stool and told Ruy what he had seen.
“There are people here who wish me ill, who wish my family ill. Some witch has cast a spell upon my brother.”
Ruy said nothing for a while. He was thinking that they would soon begin to look for the ill-wisher. Their eyes would fall upon some person … someone whom they wished to accuse. That person would be taken before the Inquisition, his body—or hers—broken in the torture chambers until a confession was extorted. But the explanation was simple. Ruy knew it. Not far away in the Alcazar of Tordesillas was a mad woman; and could madness be passed on just as the color of the eyes and the hair was passed on? Philip had his father’s yellow hair and blue eyes. Why should not Philip’s brother have inherited his grandmother’s madness?
“What are you thinking, Ruy?”
Ruy spoke boldly. “It might be that someone has not put a spell upon him. He might have been born with this weakness.”
It was impossible to know what was behind the mild blue eyes, but the Prince was waiting for his friend to continue.
“He is not strong,” went on Ruy. “There are sicknesses of the mind as well as of the body. Sometimes the body wastes away, sometimes the mind. It might have nothing to do with witchcraft.”
“Why should my brother be born with weakness? My father is strong, is he not? My mother also is strong.”
“Yes, but …”
Philip knew. He had heard gossip about his grandmother. He knew now that she was not dead. He knew that there was a secret about her that was kept from him. He would not admit to Ruy that he did not know the nature of that secret.
He tried a shot in the dark. “You think of my grandmother?”
The shot hit its mark. Ruy bowed his head.
Philip tried to curb his curiosity. It would not become a prince to ask questions, concerning his own family, of a subject. But now he felt the shadow of his grandmother closer to him.
And when, a few weeks later, his brother died, it seemed closer than ever before.
THREE
P
“You are twelve, my son. A fair age for a prince. We must get you a wife.”
Philip murmured his thanks. None would have guessed his apprehension. The duties of a prince were numerous. Now the burden of possessing a wife was to be added to them.
“I have a fine match for you,” said the Emperor.
Philip waited. There had been other matches that had come to nothing. That was how it was with the suggested matches of princes. Everything depended on politics, on war and peace. Events might throw him a lovely
