how she had screamed from her window, ordering the guards to kill one another.
Carlos was unfit for marriage.
Philip himself must have another son; if he did so, this marriage of Carlos with Elisabeth of Valois would be unnecessary. The important matter at issue was alliance with France, and Philip was the one who needed a wife. Why not continue with the French marriage, but with a different bridegroom!
He reached for the marriage contract. It was so simple. All he need do was substitute the name of Don Philip, King of Spain, for that of Don Carlos, Prince of the Asturias.
And what would the King and Queen of France say to such an exchange of bridegrooms? He could rely on their attitude. Instead of marrying their daughter to a weakling boy who had no power they would be offered alliance with the most powerful monarch in the world. What would any ambitious father and mother say to such a project?
And what would Elisabeth herself say to such a dazzling prospect?
But did it matter what such a child would say? She would of course obey first her parents and then her husband.
The more Philip thought of the project, the more he liked it.
She came to him, her face, as usual, half-hidden; and there was a terrible fear in her heart. She knew why he had improved so much during the last months; she knew of the picture in the locket, which was his perpetual solace.
She dreaded telling him, yet she knew he must not hear the bad news from any other. Who knew what wildness would take possession of him? He would be capable of a murderous assault on anyone who told him what had been decided.
She came to him while he was studying a book written in French.
“Carlos!” she cried. “Little One!”
He looked at her haughtily. He was not Little One now. He was grown up. He was about to be a husband.
“Carlos, there is sad news, dear one. It is hard to tell.”
“My father is coming home,” he said scowling.
“Yes, yes. I doubt not that he will be home. Carlos, he is to marry.”
“Ha! Then we shall both be bridegrooms. Who is it to be? The Queen of England? I am sorry for her … though they say she is a fury herself. Ha … ha …”
“Do not laugh like that, Carlos. It is not to be the Queen of England.”
“Juana … Juana … why do you look at me like that? Why do you look so sad and frightened?”
“Because, my darling, I have such bad news for you.”
“For me? Oh! He is going to stop my marriage. He hates me. He hates me to be happy. He will keep Isabella from me. But I will run away. I will go to her. I will go to the King, her father, and tell him how they treat me here.”
“No, Carlos, no. Your father has decided that … you are too young to marry, and …”
Carlos let out a howl which was like that of a wild animal. He ran to Juana and began beating her with his fists.
“Stop … stop!” she cried. “You have not heard, Carlos. Do you want me to tell you? I thought it better that you should hear from me.”
He glared at her, and all his misery showed in his face.
“Isabella …” he muttered. “Isabella …”
“Yes. But I cannot tell you till you lie down.”
His lips were twitching and there was foam at his mouth. But he allowed her to lead him to a couch, and there he lay while she knelt and took his hand. It was clammy and the pulse was erratic.
“Carlos, my Little One. I would give my life to spare you this. Your father … he is going to marry Isabella himself.”
He did not speak. He just lay with eyes wide open; she thought he had not understood, and she began to pray: “Holy Virgin, help me to comfort him. Holy Mother, help him, because he needs your help so much …”
Now he was speaking. The words came through his clenched teeth; but he did not pray. Juana felt her limbs go stiff with horror as she heard his words.
“Hate … hate … hate … I will kill him. This has decided it. I will kill him … with mine own hands …”
Then the tears rolled down his cheeks, and suddenly he turned on to his face and began to bite the cushions on the couch; strange noises came from his lips; his clenched fists were shaking; he twisted and turned, and as he rolled over she saw his face. There was blood on his chin, and his eyes were staring inhumanly.
He did not see her. He saw nothing but the pictures conjured up in his distorted mind. He had forgotten his love for Isabella in his hatred for his father.
Juana ran from the room. He was in one of those terrible fits which had afflicted Juana’s own small brothers. And as she ran, calling for attendants, she could not shut out of her mind those words of the young Prince concerning his father:
“I will kill … kill him … with mine own hands!”
