For a Queen's Love: The Stories of the Royal Wives of Philip II

what must surely be done in disobedience to the King? Surely, they would reason, if she wished to send a message to her kinswoman she should not have to do it in secret unless it was against the wishes of the King.

There was one alternative, and however unwise it might be she must take it. She must warn Jeanne.

Carlos had lately been collecting horses. She knew that he had been making wild plans to escape from Spain to France or Austria, taking with him one or two of his attendants, whom he believed he could trust. He was constantly sending away horses from his stables and bringing in new ones. There were a few men who would be faithful to the Prince, for even if they did not love and respect him, they believed that he would one day come to the throne.

Yes, Carlos had it in his power to help her now; and there was no one else whom she could trust.

She sought him out and told him that she wished to speak to him privately; she asked if he would take a walk with her in the gardens.

When they were safe from eavesdroppers, she said: “Carlos, I want your help. I need it badly.”

Carlos was delighted.

“I will do anything,” he assured her. “You have but to ask me.”

“I must have horses and riders. Perhaps two horses and two trusty men. You will not betray me, Carlos?”

“Dearest Isabella, they could torture me on the chevalet and I would never betray you.”

“I knew it, Carlos. God bless you. You are my friend.”

“You never had a truer friend, Isabella.”

“Then promise you will be calm, for we need calmness.”

“I will be calm. Look at me, Isabella. See how calm I am.”

“Yes, Carlos, I see. I should not burden you with this, but I can trust no one else. The King must not know.”

Now Carlos was eager. He had a secret with Isabella, and Philip was shut out. This was one of his happiest dreams come true.

“I have to get a message to my aunt, the Queen of Navarre. She must be warned to leave Navarre at once and ride to Paris, and she must take her son with her, for there is a plan to capture her and hand her to the Inquisition.”

Carlos’s eyes gleamed. “My father plans that,” he said. “He is angry because the French do not fight the Huguenots as he would have them do. Isabella, shall we fight with the Huguenots? Are we heretics, then?”

“Nay, Carlos. It is not that. We are good Catholics. But she is my dear kinswoman and I cannot bear to think of them torturing her. It makes me so unhappy. Perhaps I am a bad Catholic, but when I see strangers hurt I become desperately unhappy, and I would rather die myself than see my aunt taken. I would risk God’s displeasure if need be.”

“We will defy them all, Isabella.”

“Carlos, you have the horses. Will you help me to get a message to her?”

“At once. Oh, Isabella, thank you … thank you for making me so happy. We will send two riders and each shall take a different route. I would I could go myself … Then you would see what I would do for you.”

“I see it now, Carlos.”

“I can send riders whom none will miss. I … I … You see …” He began to laugh suddenly and wildly.

“Carlos,” she begged, “do not laugh like that. You will spoil everything. Be calm and clever as you have been.”

He was silent at once. “I will be calm and clever. And I will be happy because in this we are together … you and I, Isabella … against Philip.”

She shivered, and, gripping her arms, he looked up into her face and cried: “I am happy … happy … happy, Isabella. I am happy tonight.”

He looked sane now, and almost handsome. She wanted to weep, not only for his madness, but for that other madness which made men delight in torturing each other.

FOUR

The memory of the part she played in saving Jeanne from the Inquisition never left Isabella. It was one of the most momentous things she had ever done, and marked a turning point in her life.

Philip never discovered the part she had played in foiling his plans. He knew that Jeanne had been warned of his intentions in time to enable her to escape, with her son, out of Navarre into the heart of France and safety. Isabella often wondered what his reactions would have been to her deception. There were times when she felt a little remorse, but she only had to recall the cruelty of the auto-da-fe to justify her actions; and she never doubted for a moment that if she were presented with a similar situation she would meet it in the same way.

Her feelings toward Philip had necessarily changed. How could she love a man who had been ready to send a noble woman like Jeanne—or any person, man or woman for that matter—to the flames? It was merely because Jeanne, a woman whom she had known and loved, was involved that this had been brought home to her. Even in his tenderest moments she would think: If I became a heretic, he would condemn me to the flames.

If that was piety she preferred human frailty.