accepted the prize as victor, although he disliked doing so, knowing that his victory had been arranged. The spectators knew it too; he was aware of their cynical glances.
He knew they whispered about him. “The solemn Spaniard was never able to break a lance in even combat. Lances have to be made soft when set against him, that he may wear the victor’s crown.”
The Emperor was uneasy, but he was too wise to arrange more jousts and tourneys with more faked victories for Philip.
In spite of his exasperation, he was full of affection for his son. Philip’s grasp of statecraft was as sure as ever; he was never brilliant, but always intelligent. While he had a plan to follow he would plod steadily on, but if he had to make a decision, as surely every leader must, he would take so long to reach it that valuable opportunities were lost. No flashing genius this, but what admirable determination, what power of control, what steady, plodding virtue. When he contemplated Philip, Charles was reminded of Francois Premier merely by the wide gulf between the two. Francois had been witty and brilliant, but where had that led him? Once it had taken him to Pavia; and some said that his love of pleasure had driven him earlier to his grave than he might otherwise have gone. And Henri Deux, the son of Francois, who now ruled France, was another such as Philip—slow, steady, almost completely faithful to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers. Henri was not unlike Philip, and he was proving that he could successfully rule a kingdom. It might be that there was no need to worry about Philip; but Philip must please these foreigners; Philip might rule Spain as well as Henri ruled France, but Philip had an additional task; he must ingratiate himself with strangers if he was to succeed to the position held by Charles.
Every day father and son spent hours together. Every lesson of government and statecraft which the Emperor had learned at great cost and bitter experience, he passed on to Philip, and Philip absorbed this instruction with that thoroughness which was a part of his nature.
There were family gatherings, with Mary of Hungary giving her views. Eleonore was trying hard to bring about a match between her daughter and Philip. There were festivities and entertainments, and always Charles was trying to show the Flemings that his son was becoming more and more like them. He selected the most comely women for his son’s approval, but while the Emperor was able to make his choice with the greatest ease, Philip hesitated.
There were titters in the court, and in the quietness of private apartments there was much bawdy chatter concerning the Prince of Spain.
This would not do, the Emperor decided. He knew that if he were to declare his son to be the future Emperor, the people of Brussels at least would rise against the judgment.
In desperation, Charles sent for a certain woman whom he knew well. She was by no means virtuous, but of what use to Philip at this stage was a virtuous woman! She was beautiful and there was about her a childishness combined with a motherliness which was very appealing. The Emperor looked at her with some regret as he gave her his instructions, for he would have liked her for himself.
To this lady he said: “The Prince is a strange man. Few understand him. He seems cold, and so he is; but there is passion somewhere within him. His religion has kindled it; so could a woman. He loved his wife but she died. Appeal to his chivalry. He has plenty to spare for ladies in distress, and I doubt not that before long you will be his mistress.”
She turned her beautiful face to the Emperor and smiled. “Your Imperial Highness need have no fears. I will do this.”
“Fears!” cried the Emperor. “I have no fears, dear lady. I have only regrets.”
Strangely enough, he was in love, but this love was quite different from the emotion he had felt for Maria Manoela; nor was it in the least like the steady affection he had shared with Isabel. This was an intoxication, an introduction to the delights of the flesh such as he had never known existed. His new mistress was expert in the ways of love, and under her tuition Philip was slowly changing. There was, he discovered, a voluptuous side to his nature. He saw no reason why he should not indulge it since his father approved. Charles had said: “My son, you are becoming a man of the world, and that is a good thing to be.”
But Philip was no lecherous philanderer; he was faithful to his mistress, and when she had his child he was as delighted as he had been at the birth of Isabel’s children.
Meanwhile eighteen months had passed, and the Emperor had shown no inclination to part with him. There were continual negotiations, not only with regard to Philip’s marriage, but also with the division of the family inheritance.
At length it was decided that Charles’s brother Ferdinand should succeed Charles as Emperor, but, on the death of Ferdinand, Philip should be given the Imperial crown. Maximilian, Ferdinand’s son, should act as Regent in Austria while Philip governed Spain, although Philip was to remain supreme over the Italian States.
“It is not what I would have wished for you,” said Charles when he and Philip were alone together, “but it is the best we can get; and now, my son, it might be well if you returned to Spain, for you must not overlong neglect your Spanish subjects. There is one matter which all wish to see settled. Have you decided who your wife shall be?”
Charles looked up with some amusement at his son’s face. Philip could never make up his mind quickly.
At length he spoke: “I think … Maria of Portugal.”
“Wisely chosen!” cried Charles. “There is a big dowry there. I should dispatch Ruy Gomez da Silva into Portugal to discuss matters. Let us hope her brother, King John, will be as liberal with his sister’s dowry as he was with that of his daughter, your little Maria Manoela, whose dowry stood us in such good stead. Then after the Augsburg Diet is concluded you can start your journey back to Spain. It will not do to let Master Max rule too long in your stead.”
“No, Father.”
“I shall be very sorry to see you go. And I know at least one other who will be heart-broken. It was a pleasant little friendship, was it not? She has changed you. I envy your youth. Don’t forget, my son, to take your pleasures. You have responsibilities and anxieties before you. Leaven them with pleasure, as I have always done.”
Charles sighed and looked sadly at his gouty feet. He spat out the leaf he had been holding in his mouth and took a fresh one.
He was thinking that he himself had been rejuvenated by this change in Philip.
And in that mood they went to Augsburg for the Diet.
