Prompt action was needed as it never had been needed before.
Philip turned and hurried from the room.
Within an hour he had decided that Don Carlos was not being educated in accordance with his rank. He was to leave Toledo at once for Alcala del Henares, that he might have the benefit of the best teachers at the University there.
Don Juan and Don Alexander should accompany him, and there should not be a day’s delay.
Those were the King’s commands.
THREE
P
He must think of those days which had followed the death of his first wife, and he could not rid himself of the superstitious fear that in love he was doomed to frustration. First Maria Manoela had died. Was it now to be Isabella?
Very little else seemed of any real importance to him now. His troops had suffered a great defeat at Tunis, and it seemed as if the Turks’ hold on the Mediterranean was becoming firmer. Here was a blow against the Faith itself. The Infidel was encroaching on Europe; and no Spaniard, remembering the tragic history of his country, could feel complacent. The Netherlands were clearly preparing to break into open revolt. Yet Philip could think of nothing but Isabella.
In the first months of her pregnancy he had had a silver chair made for her so that she might not tire herself by walking. In it she had been carried everywhere. He had to face the truth; for all her vivacity, she was not strong and she seemed to droop and fade like a flower in the heat of the sun.
Then had come the miscarriage. There was to be no child, and Isabella’s life was in danger.
He went to her bedchamber and sat by her bed. Day and night he stayed there, hoping that she would open her eyes and smile at him.
At times it seemed almost unbearably like that other occasion. But this was different. She was not going to die, and eventually she began to recover. She was very thin and her black hair seemed too heavy for her little head to carry; she wore it loose about her shoulders, for to have it piled on her head tired her so.
His only pleasure at that time was in arranging for her convalescence. He himself decided how she should rest, what she should eat. The women about her marveled, for the King of Spain had become a more devoted nurse than any of them.
The Queen was aware of this, and sometimes she would look at Philip with anxious puzzled eyes. One day she said to him: “It is a sad thing when a Queen cannot bear her husband sons.”
“You are a child yourself,” answered Philip. “And I am not old. There are many years left to us, for which I daily thank God.”
“What if I should
“My dear, you must not say such things. Of course you will. I know you will.”
“It may be that I shall not.”
“We will not think of such a thing.”
“Is it not better to face facts, Philip?”
“You have become solemn during your illness, Isabella.”
“Nay. This thought has been with me often. The King of England put away his wives because they could not bear him sons.”
“He cut off the head of one because he wanted another woman. Have no fear, Isabella. I am not the King of England.”
“But you are the King of Spain; and the King of Spain needs sons even as did the King of England.”
“I have one son.”
“Carlos!”
“Oh, I admit I should like to have others … yours and mine, my dear. That I should like more than anything. But it will happen yet. Shall we lose heart because of one failure?”
“Philip, there is something you must know. You should have known before.”
“Well, Isabella?”
“The King of England could not get sons, and some say it was because his body was diseased. He suffered from
“I have heard that.”
“My grandfather suffered from that same disease. He died of it.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“Perhaps I am not the right wife for you.”
Her eyes were blank; he could not read the thoughts behind them. Did some part of her long for escape? Words came to his lips—tender and pleading. But all he said was: “You are. Of course you are. You are my wife. Is that not enough?”
She would not look at him. She said slowly: “But if I cannot give you sons … if I should be unable to give you sons …”
