Chapter One

1496

Castile, Spain

"W hat are you reading now, Joanna? You always have your head in a book."

Joanna raised her eyebrow at her brother. "Listen to this." She held the book a little higher and cleared her throat.

"Go on, then," John said, flicking at a fly. "Keep reading." The meadow was alive with insects—butterflies, bees, and small, red beetles that headbutted into each other. "Though I should imagine you know Mother's gift from Columbus by heart, you've read it so often."

Joanna ignored him. "‘They brought us parrots and balls of cotton and spears and many other things, which they exchanged for glass beads and hawks' bells.'" She paused. "I am not sure why he took hawks' bells."

John shrugged.

Joanna went on. "‘They willingly traded everything they owned. They were well-built, with good bodies and handsome features. They do not bear arms, and do not know them, for I showed them a sword, they took it by the edge and cut themselves out of ignorance.'" She held up her hand. "Imagine that. Cutting yourself on a sword because you have never seen one and know not of its danger."

"Imagine." He plucked a long, dry blade of grass and chewed on the end. He lay back on the grass and closed his eyes.

"‘They have no iron,'" she continued. "‘They would make fine servants. With fifty men, we could subjugate them all and make them do whatever we want.'"

"Mother would never allow it," John said.

"I agree. She has told Columbus that any people he discovers are Spanish subjects and cannot be enslaved." She sighed and shook her head. "She also means to ensure they are all Catholic, or converted to Catholicism."

"Be careful of your tone, Joanna."

"Why must I?"

"You know why. Our parents are pious monarchs. They plan to spread the word of God and His salvation through Jesus Christ throughout the new world. Any sign of heresy, no matter how slight, will not be good for you. Look what happened to the Moors."

"Indeed." She closed the book, lay down beside her brother, and squinted up at a cloud shaped like a horse's head moving from east to west in a deep-blue sky. "And look what happened to us."

"What do you mean?"

"We have had to pray and live by God's rules every day since we were born."

"Seriously." He turned to his side. "Do not let our parents hear you speak this way. I fear for you if you do. You will be strung up with weights on your feet and flogged."

She raised her arms over her head and pointed her toes. "The spring sunshine is lovely today."

"We should have gone hunting." He lay back down.

"I felt like being lazy." Joanna had taken a long ride the day before, on her favorite mare, Gianna, and now she was tired. It had been a wonderful ride accompanied by her groomsman, Raul. She'd spotted a fish eagle and a herd of wild boar.

A sudden commotion behind them had John sitting bolt upright. "What the…?"

"I have been looking everywhere for you." Catherine's head appeared above the long grass. She'd abandoned her headwear and would no doubt be scolded by Beatriz for it. But she did look lovely with her long, strawberry-blonde curls flowing out behind her. "Why do you always hide from me?"

"We do not," John said, flopping back down. "We were simply resting. Or trying to."

"I want to rest with you." Catherine pouted and placed her hands on her hips.

"You'd be bored," Joanna said. "We're not nearly as interesting as playing on your clavichord."

"That is really boring." Catherine dropped to her knees with a dramatic huff.

"Oh, come now." Joanna reached for her younger sister and hugged her close, tickling her ribs as she did so. "You love the clavichord even more than learning numbers."

Catherine giggled and squirmed, her small limbs slippery. "I do not love, either. Get off me. Get off me."

"You don't mean that." Joanna kissed Catherine's temple and held her tighter.

Catherine squealed then laughed harder. A skylark took to the air, twittering above them.

"Stop it. You are disturbing the peace," John said sternly.

Joanna stopped tickling her sister but kept her held in a hug.

"You are always so bossy, John," Catherine said, catching her breath.

"That is because one day, I will be King of Asturias. Therefore, I must practice being stern and commanding."

"Maybe you should practice your law and languages with as much conviction," Joanna said.

"I have done my lessons with De Miranda this week."

"To his satisfaction?" Joanna asked, pulling a face at Catherine.

Catherine giggled then sat up and held out her finger, clearly hoping a small, blue butterfly that was fluttering nearby would land on it.

"He was as satisfied as he is with your studies," John said, "if not more so."

Joanna said nothing. John wasn't as committed to his education as she was to her own. Perhaps she was blessed that she found it effortless to remember history, heraldry, and philosophy. Mathematics and languages came easily, as did reciting poetry and playing musical instruments.

Catherine stood, her summer gown creased now and her cheeks pink. She followed the butterfly toward an ancient olive tree.

"Do you ever wonder what they will be like?" Joanna asked, keeping watch on her little sister.

"Who?"

"You know who."

"Our betrothed?" John sat and flicked away the strand of grass he'd been chewing. "Yes, of course I do."

"And do you wish that you could choose your own wife? Rather than our parents choosing for you?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"A simple one."

"It is not a simple one. We are the children of Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castile, which makes our matrimonial choices of great import. Whom we marry won't just affect our lives, but that of the new Kingdom of Spain."

Joanna was quiet.

"And you should not complain," John went on. "For it is peasants who choose their spouses. We are royalty."

"I wish I were a peasant." She sighed dramatically and folded her arms.

"What has gotten into you today?" He reached for her hand and tugged it from the crook of her elbow. "You concern me so with the way you speak. If it were to fall on anyone's ears but mine, then…" He frowned.

Joanna studied her brother. His auburn hair was already lightening in the spring sun and his brown eyes were lined with black lashes. He had a sprinkle of freckles on his nose and cheeks that would become more noticeable over the summer months.

For a moment, she compared his eyes to Raul's. They were similar, though Raul's were darker, like shiny hazelnuts, and he looked at her with an intensity that made her think he could see into her royal soul. "Nothing has gotten into me," she said, turning away.

"There is something. Please. I beg you. Tell me."

"It's just…" She bit on her bottom lip.

"Joanna."

"I heard Father talking."

"And?"

"France's grip on Naples is tightening. The French king also has his sights set on Granada."

"King Charles is a greedy man."

"Who is taking what he wants." She touched her brother's cheek. "And the rest of Europe will not watch on without action."

"I can tell your mind is busy." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Go on."

"We are of age now, our parents have been reaching out to secure our marriages, and I feel the announcement is drawing close."

"You do?"

"Yes. We must align ourselves with border allies to defeat France. Grow in territory and in power. We need the support of Rome."

"You are wise, sister of mine," he said. "To think of such things." He laughed. "Perhaps you should be king and not I."

She also laughed, the tension suddenly lifting from her. "I am far too pretty to be king, though I dare say I could rule with the skill of any man."

"I will have to write to you, when you are married in a distant land, and ask for your consultation."

"You will have forgotten all about me."

"No." His smile dropped. "Please don't think that. You are my sister, my friend, and dear to my heart. I will never forget about you and will always pray for your health and happiness."

"As I will yours." She squeezed his hand.

"I'm hungry." Catherine was beside them again. "Have you got any bread?"

"No." Joanna stood. "But we'll get you some, and some olives and jam too." She held out her hand and Catherine slipped her small one into it. "Come on, John, back to the castle."

"And, no doubt, extra lessons in canon and civil law."

"You love it, really." She linked her arm with his and they made their way up the meadow.

Beatriz was waiting for them, the silvery embroidery on her long, stiff, blue gown glinting in the sunshine. "Children," she said, plucking a fluffy grass seed from Catherine's hair. "You must make haste. Your parents are waiting for you."

"They are?" Joanna said. "Why? What has happened?"

"A letter has arrived and—" She shook her head. "I cannot say more. It is for the king and queen to discuss with you and I know nothing of it, not really."

Joanna gave her brother a lingering look.

"Do you think it could be…?" He held out his palms. "What we were just speaking of?"

"Maybe it was God's way of telling us first." She touched the cross that hung around her neck. "Making our paths easier."

"I don't know what you are talking about." Beatriz tutted. "But you must go and smarten yourselves up before being presented to your parents. Come. Come. This way." She held out her arms and seemed to herd them toward their bedchambers. "Maria is already preparing."

"Can I have some bread and olives?" Catherine asked. "While you brush my hair?"

"Yes, they, too, are awaiting you. Quickly now. And whatever have you done with your hair, child? And once again, your headdress is gone."

*

One hour later, Joanna stood in a line with her siblings in the Great Hall. Her mother and father—perched on ornate, golden chairs—wore jeweled crowns and red robes. Behind them, an intricate tapestry held the Trastámara family crest and due to the high windows that let in little light, the room was aglow with candles.

A heavy, serious atmosphere hung like a dense fog weighing everything down.

"Where is Isabella?" John whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Our grieving sister… is in her room starving herself, I should think." Joanna frowned, but the truth was she worried for their older sister, who had lost her young, Portuguese husband in a riding accident.

"Finally, you are here." The queen's voice filled the room.

"We are sorry to keep you waiting." John dipped his head and kissed the back of his mother's hand. He then stood beside Joanna so that all four children were in a line of age order. John, Joanna, Maria, and then Catherine, the youngest.

Joanna resisted the urge to fidget. The sheer number of nobles and priests standing around told her something momentous was about to be announced. It reminded her of when her older sister, Isabella, had been informed of her marriage to Prince Alfonso of Portugal. She'd left Castile not long after.

Her father, Ferdinand, held out his palms and raised his eyes heavenward. "God has spoken to us in the form of a letter, and now we know what we must do to defend Christendom and Spain."

The children were all quiet, even Catherine, who had a tendency to interrupt serious matters with tales of rabbits, foxes, and birds.

Joanna's heart rate picked up when De Leon, her father's elderly head bishop, stepped forward with a tightly rolled scroll held in the grip of his gnarled fingers.

"This," Ferdinand said, holding up the scroll that had just been passed to him, "is the final piece of the puzzle." He looked at each of his children in turn. "Do you want to know what puzzle?"

It seemed to be a rhetorical question, so Joanna stayed quiet.

Catherine, after a heartbeat, said, "I like puzzles. Beatriz and I, we did a—"

"Quiet, my love," the queen said, touching her finger to her lips. "This is important, for all of you. You must listen closely."

Catherine reached for her sister Maria's hand.

"This letter is from the Holy Roman Emperor, Maximilian of Austria." The king pursed his lips, as though waiting for his words to sink into everyone's minds. "And completes our plans for your marriages." He looked at each child in turn.

Joanna wanted to glance at John but forced herself to stare straight ahead. Her marriage was not as important as his. The best Joanna could hope for was not to have to travel too far—for she would go and live in her husband's land—and that he would be tolerable in conversation and not as ugly as an old toad.

"My only son, my heir, John, Prince of Asturias," the king said, "your match has been agreed upon, much to our satisfaction." He looked at his wife with a smile then turned back to John. "You will marry the Archduchess Margaret of Austria. Daughter of Archduke Maximilian and Duchess Mary of Burgundy."

"Thank you, Father," John said with a bob of his head and showing no emotion at all.

"And Joanna." The king tipped his head and studied Joanna.

She held his eye contact. She wanted him to know she trusted his judgement and that her loyalty was to him alongside Aragon, Castile, and all of Spain.

"Maximilian has given his blessing that you will marry his son, Archduke Philip of Austria and ruler of Burgundian possessions under the guardianship of his father."

Although she managed to maintain her grace on the outside, Joanna's mind was spinning and her heart thudding. "I trust in God and you, wise King, that the match to Archduke Philip of Austria will be all that it should be." She bobbed her head low.

She'd heard of the archduke in the Low Countries—of course she had. King Charles had been squeezing into that territory for some time and did have possession of Burgundy.

If it were her in charge, she'd oust King Charles and not allow anyone to elbow their way into her lands. Perhaps when Philip inherited truly from his father, that was what his plan would be.

"Maria, my dear Maria. You are but a child." Ferdinand interrupted Joanna's thoughts. "Thomas of Scotland will be a good match when you are of age."

"Thank you, Father." Maria clasped her hands beneath her chin and looked down at the stone floor.

"And our littlest, sweetest, though probably noisiest daughter, Catherine." Ferdinand raised his eyebrows at Catherine, a smile playing on his lips.

"I try not to be noisy," Catherine said, her high-pitched, childish voice singing around the room like a songbird. "But I will try harder to be quiet."

"Enjoy childhood while you can." The queen smiled indulgently. "As long as you complete your lessons, your father and I have no problem with you enjoying yourselves. My angel"—she pointed at John—"is a good example to you younger children. Work hard and God will deliver for you. John has become everything we hoped he would."

"Yes, Mother," Catherine said, her pretty face set seriously. "I will."

"So Catherine of Aragon," Ferdinand said, indicating a nearby courtier to bring a tray of wine closer. He took a goblet. "You will marry at the earliest time that is respectable, Arthur Tudor, Prince of Wales."

"The Prince of Wales," little Catherine repeated. "Where is Wales?"

"It is next to England and governed by England," the queen said. "You will have much power when he becomes king and you will become Queen of England and its possessions."

Catherine's eyes widened. "I'll be a queen? Like you, Mother?"

"Yes. And I am sure you will make an excellent queen." Isabella swung her gaze over her children. "You will all make excellent spouses and rulers." She pressed her hand to her chest, over the rich, blue gown that was fitted close and right up to her neck. "I know that in my heart because God tells me so."