Chapter Eleven

S everal months later, Philip paced outside the bedchamber door. Likely, he thought, doing the exact same thing his father, Maximilian, had done on the day he'd arrived into the world. Creaking the same floorboards.

He clasped his fingers together at the base of his spine and turned, retracing his steps toward the urn of flowers perched upon a table. He'd wear the green rug out very soon.

A sudden, bone-chilling scream belted out from the bedchamber. It curdled his blood and pained his heart.

He stilled and stared at Thomas, who was pale and tapping his fingers together. "How much longer will this go on for, Thomas?"

"As long as it takes." Thomas downturned his mouth. "Could be days."

"In the name of the Lord, I hope not. I do not envy women childbirth." Philip scraped his hand through his hair then gestured to a courtier. "Bring us food, and drink. We have been here for hours." He paused. "And some for my wife. She must also be hungry."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"I do not think she will eat," Thomas said.

"I have to offer her something. I feel completely useless." Philip resumed pacing with his hands clasped behind his back.

Another scream and then silence—a silence that weighed on his shoulders as though his horse had toppled upon him. He held his breath and stared at the door.

What was happening?

His mind went through the worst scenarios. His wife was dead. His son was dead. Both were dead.

He gulped and pressed his palms on the door, wishing he could see through it.

And then a high-pitched wail—an infant's indignant scream—that filled his heart with joy.

Thomas jumped up and clasped Philip's shoulder. "It is over. You are a father."

"Thanks be to God." Philip crossed himself and spun to Thomas, who pulled him into a hug with much back slapping.

The wailing continued and several noblemen, including the bishop, rushed up to him. Each had smiles on their faces, each keen to rejoice at his son's arrival.

"It is great news," the bishop said.

"Congratulations." Belmonte shook his hand.

Wine was poured and a toast made.

Then Beatriz poked her head out of the door and set her gaze on Philip. "Your wife wishes to see you."

"In there?" Philip asked. "Now. Already?"

"Yes." Beatriz smiled. "Come."

"That is not usual," the bishop said. "This is women's time."

"She wants you," Beatriz said. " Really wants you."

"And likely will not settle until she sees her husband." Thomas directed at the bishop. "That is her way."

"Yes, that is true. I will go to her. I am archduke and she my wife. We can do as we please." Philip felt like he would burst with happiness as he strode in.

And the sight with which he was met caught his breath. Joanna sat up in bed, her hair cascading over her shoulders and at her breast a swaddled child suckling. At her side, a birthing woman from the village held a strip of wet muslin.

"My love." He rushed to Joanna. "You are well?"

"Yes." She smiled softly and nodded. "Just tired."

He stroked her hair from her warm brow and kissed her there. She had circles beneath her eyes. "You frightened me. It went on for so long and was so…loud."

"You have not heard a woman in labor before?"

"No."

"I heard my mother give birth to my sisters. I knew to expect great pain and I got it, in bucketfuls." She stroked the baby's round pink cheek. "But it was all worth it, and now she is here."

"‘She?" Had he heard her right? A daughter? A sinking feeling caught in his stomach, but quickly, he beat it away, not wanting to acknowledge the treacherous emotion.

"Yes. You have a daughter, Philip." She looked up at him with clear, curious eyes.

"Oh." He straightened. "I was convinced we were having a son."

"You hoped we were having a son." Her lips flattened and her eyes narrowed.

"Naturally. I need an heir to rule when I am gone."

"Do not speak of being gone." She reached for his hand. "And do not keep love from your daughter because she doesn't have a penis."

He thought for a moment, realigning the plans he'd had for a son arriving on this day.

"Philip." She withdrew her hand. "It is God's will we have a daughter first. A son will come next, I am sure of it." Her tone was sure and firm.

Again, he pushed down the rise of disappointment. He wouldn't let it take hold and he certainly wouldn't let his wife see it. Not after what she'd just been through. "You are right. We will have a son in due course." He paused. "What shall we call her?"

"If it were a boy, I'd planned on John, after my brother." She closed her eyes and pulled in a breath the way she always did when she spoke of her departed older sibling. "But now…"

"Please, do not upset yourself about John on this happy day." He kissed the top of her head. Her grief at John's passing had been hard to witness. The letter that had arrived from King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella heart-wrenching as they'd described his demise from weakened lungs.

"Eleanor," she said suddenly. "I like Eleanor. It was my great-grandmother's name."

He thought for a moment. "I see no reason why we shouldn't call her Eleanor. And I like it." He smiled down at the baby. "Hello, sweet Eleanor, and welcome to the world."

Joanna smiled and he relaxed. Her fractious state of late pregnancy had set him on edge. She'd been uncomfortable and demanding of his time. He hoped now that Eleanor was here, his wife would return to her usual fun and congenial state.

"We will write a letter to your parents," Philip said, watching the baby suckle at Joanna's breast. "And tell them of our news."

"They will be thrilled to be grandparents." She paused. "Happier news this time, after poor Margaret's ordeal."

Philip's heart squeezed for his dear, gentle sister. How awful she must have felt to go through labor but have a child without a breath at the end of it, and no husband to comfort her. He closed his eyes and hoped he would see her soon. Coming home would be good for her, he felt sure of it.

"Yes, with more children to come." Joanna went on. "I suspect my elder sister, Isabella, will be with child by now. Her marriage to Manuel of Portugal was some time ago."

Philip walked around the end of the bed then sat at her side and took her free hand. He kissed her knuckles.

Isabella had been in mourning for her first husband, Alfonso, and as a devotedly religious woman, she hadn't wanted to remarry. It had been on the insistence of her parents that she'd been sent back to Portugal to wed again and her plight played on Joanna's mind. "I am sure she is happy now, Joanna, as happy as we are."

"I wish I could believe you."

"You should. You should trust me."

She smiled and looked at the baby again.

"So I will go now and write a letter, have it sent by special envoy. Our child's arrival is stupendous news to be celebrated." He paused. "And while I write, I will also inform King Ferdinand that I am to hold the title of Prince of Asturias."

She looked up at him with wide eyes. "You will do what?"

"It is only right." He spoke measuredly, for it was something that had been playing on his mind. "Your brother, the prince, is dead, and as your husband, I am the only living male relative in the kingdom. The title should be mine."

"My father will never allow it."

"He will not have a choice. I claim the title."

"Just like that?" She frowned.

"Do you not believe it is mine?"

She was silent.

"Who else's should it be? We do not have a son." He nodded at baby Eleanor.

Joanna nibbled on her bottom lip. "Very well, write and ask him." She paused. "What does Maximilian say to this plan?"

"He agrees wholeheartedly." The truth was Philip hadn't spoken to his father about it, but he knew Maximilian well enough to know that staking a claim on any title with land would be approved of. Maximilian, like Philip, thrived on power and expansion of the Habsburgs.

"We should plan a Christening," Joanna said.

"Yes, a christening should be held at the earliest convenience. I will go and speak to the bishop now." He kissed Joanna's cheek and stroked the baby's downy hair. "And I thank God and Jesus and all the heavens for my wife and child coming through this day."

Two days later, the Aula Magna was swamped with guests, who had all come to meet the new princess and see her blessed into Christendom. A feast had been set out for afterward and the bishop stood on the plinth before the thrones with a Bible in his hand and a font at his side. He looked as though he might pop with his self-importance.

"For you." Thomas handed Philip a scroll. "It has just arrived by horse."

Philip took it and examined the seal. "It is from King Louis of France." Philip stepped aside from the crowd and turned to the wall to read it. "The new king is either declaring war or sending good wishes. Which is it to be?"

Thomas huffed. "I know what I'm hoping for."

Philip studied his friend. "You wish for war?"

"No." Thomas frowned. "I am a man of peace until pushed, as well you know. And why would he send soldiers here? His are all in Naples battling for control of Italian territory."

Philip didn't answer. It was no secret King Louis didn't like the Habsburgs, and since the new monarch's succession upon the death of King Charles, Philip hadn't been feeling as confident with France as a neighbor.

He broke the seal and unraveled the scroll.

Archduke Philip of Austria and Princess Joanna of Castile

It is with great pleasure that I congratulate you on your first child, a daughter. It is my wish that she grow to be a healthy and pious monarch who serves you well.

I would also like to extend a hand of friendship to you and your young family. Perhaps we could discuss this further if you came to stay at French court. It would be my request that your father, Maximilian, King of the Romans, also attend.

May God be with you.

King Louis XII of France

"That wasn't what I was expecting but not ungratefully received," Philip said, handing it to Thomas.

Thomas read it quickly, his lips twisting as he took in the words. "Only two days old and Eleanor is brokering diplomacy."

"It is the way of the modern world." Philip shrugged. "I heard he has reduced the pensions of his nobles and has plans to reduce corruption in the tax system with more judges and laws."

"I have faith that he will achieve that. He is proving to be a determined man." Thomas paused. "It will make for a rich country and an efficient system."

Philip nodded. "One with whom it would be good to be friends."

"I agree. Do you think your father will travel to France?"

"He may now it is no longer Charles in power. He had a deep dislike of Charles going back many years." Philip rubbed his freshly shaven chin. "A treaty that ensures peace and stability in our region can only be a good thing." He turned back to face the room. "I will write to my father this very day and explain the situation, and also to King Louis thanking him for his kind words."

"That would be prudent." Thomas paused. "If you do visit, would it be wise to take your wife?" He nodded at Joanna, who held the baby beside the bishop.

Eleanor's cream, lace gown was so long, it nearly reached the floor.

Philip thought about the question. "It is no secret that France and Spain do not see eye to eye, but Joanna isn't an heir. Her elder sister lives and may give birth to a son at any time."

"That is true."

Something in Thomas's tone had Philip facing him. "What are you not saying?"

"If you take the title Prince of Asturias as planned, then you are Spain visiting France."

Philip frowned.

"And taking your wife, from whom you have succeeded the title, will only remind King Louis of that."

"I will claim that title. It is my right."

"I am not disagreeing. What I am saying is it would be wise not to rub King Louis's nose in the fact the Habsburgs have made a powerful alliance with Spain and there is nothing he can do about it."

"The Habsburgs are making many alliances and will make many more." Philip suddenly grinned and clasped Thomas's shoulder. "Being seen to have much power is a good thing, right? I do not consider it a problem."

"Power is a responsibility I do not envy."

"Ah, but stick by my side, dear friend, and you will enjoy the fruits." He gestured to the grand Aula Magna with its gold gilding, tall, glass windows, and decorative fireplaces. "For this banqueting hall is all mine. It wasn't built by me, no—it was my mother's grandfather who commissioned it. But now it is mine to do with as I wish and one day it will be my son's."

"Or daughter's. Remember your mother inherited from her father and from what I hear—"

"Enough." Philip held up his hand. "I do not wish to speak of my mother on this day." He straightened his tunic and checked the brooch on his cape. "And I have things to do, a daughter to baptize."

"Yes, Your Grace." Thomas dipped his head. "I congratulate you on this happy day."