Chapter Ten

1527

Valladolid, Spain

"I sabella, please, do not worry yourself with these matters." Charles took his wife's hand in his. "I implore you."

"I am empress—how can I not worry?" She shook her head. She had lines beneath her eyes and her skin was pale. "It is my duty to worry and God will walk with me every step."

"I think, on this occasion, God would like you to hand over the burden of ruling to my shoulders."

She reached for the cup of hot water and honey she liked to have close by at all times. "Soon I will give birth and this will all be over."

His heart squeezed with fear. Every time he thought about his beloved wife going through the dangerous and painful ordeal of childbirth, the panic in him rose. How could he live if something were to happen to her? This was her first child. What if her body wasn't strong enough to cope with birthing? What if she bled, or died? Or the baby died? He could lose them both. Was there ever a scarier time in a man's life than this?

He didn't think so. He'd rather ride into battle without a weapon than face this. Rather come up against a pack of wolves when he was naked and alone in a forest. It would be considerably less terrifying.

But face it he must, and he didn't want Isabella to think he was fearful of the process. How could that help? Besides, they had created the situation. They'd wanted it. His desire for an heir was real and important. Though right now, as his wife rested her hand on her large, swollen belly and fluttered her eyes closed, exhaustion coming over her yet again, he wondered if it was worth risking her—any of it.

He would order the best surgeons and nurses. She would want for nothing, and when it was over she would rest and be pampered like no woman before her.

Quickly, he kissed the cross that sat around his neck and sent a prayer to God to look after his most precious possession at this dangerous time. He tried and failed to push down a wave of guilt that it was his seed that had put her in this position.

Isabella's ordeal started the very next day.

Charles had left her sleeping under Luisa's watchful eye and was with Alvaro discussing a letter from Ferdinand about war-torn Hungary and the threats to his brother's right to rule. The situation was complex and had become more complex for him, as emperor, only the week before. Not that he'd worried Isabella about his troops sacking Rome. He'd resisted, despite wanting her wisdom, and kept the ghastly situation under wraps, for now at least.

But he wouldn't be able to ignore it for long.

Just like he couldn't ignore the high-pitched scream of agony that echoed down the long corridor from their bedchamber.

"Oh, my Lord, have mercy." He'd been running but came to a rapid halt outside the door and stared at a knot in the wood. "What is going on in there?"

"A woman must fight hard to give birth to a child," Alvaro said, resting his hand on Charles's shoulder and also breathing fast after their run through the Pimentel Palace, the courtyards, and up the stone staircase. "But to give birth to a prince, a king and an emperor, that will require considerable strength."

Charles buried his face in his hands as another almighty scream bellowed through the door. His guts twisted and he screwed up his eyes. The sound was bloodcurdling. Pure torment. How could he have done this to her?

"Sit," Alvaro said. "There is nothing you can do but pray."

Charles allowed his most favored courtier, confidant, and friend to steer him to a polished, wooden bench. He sat heavily and then sipped from the goblet of strong wine that was placed in his hand by a member of staff. "I have prayed for her to give birth easily and quickly every day from the moment she told me she was pregnant." He shook his head. Had his prayers been unheard?

"Have faith. Your prayers will be answered."

"It doesn't sound like it." Charles stared at the door as another scream hollered out.

Alvaro didn't answer.

Charles took a few big gulps of wine. He had to try to distract himself. "I am greatly embarrassed by the imperial troops, Alvaro. Their behavior in Rome has made me look powerless. And now they hold Pope Clement hostage. It is a situation only the devil must have thought up for me."

Alvaro shook his head and poured them each more wine.

"What are you thinking, Alvaro?"

"Your Majesty, you expressed a keen desire to have your audience with the pope. Perhaps your troops have purposely hastened that meeting for you."

"Taken it into their own hands." Charles glanced at the bedchamber door. All was quiet…for now. "That may be, but their pillaging and brutal actions are unforgivable."

"Men need paying."

Charles's scowl deepened and he forced himself to think of matters of the empire rather than what his wife was going through—that was too scary. "The wayward troops have done a great disservice to God and the Catholic Church. The heretics will say it is a chink in our armor, a crack in loyalty. King Henry of England will be laughing at me."

Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open. A young maid ran out holding an empty pail.

"What is it?" Charles jumped up and rushed to her.

"We need more water to warm over the fire."

"I will get it." He grabbed the bucket and ran down the corridor. At least this was one thing he could do for Isabella.

When he returned at speed, all thoughts of the ransacking, and Pope Clement, and his enemies had left his mind.

The bedchamber was quiet and that was ominous. It was infinitely worse than the screaming.

"How is she?" he asked at the door as he passed in the water.

"Her Majesty is tired," the young maid, said shaking her head. "The babe is exhausting her."

A new rush of terror went through him. "Can she not deliver? Is she going to die?"

"Dona, bring that water here." A stern, older female voice came from the room.

"Your Majesty." Alvaro was at his side. "Let the women do their work."

"Dona!"

"Save her," Charles said to the maid and pointed into the room. "Do not let her die. Do not let her die. Save my wife, your empress. Save her!"

"Yes, Your Majesty." The maid bobbed politely then shut the door in his face.

It nearly broke his nose.

"They are doing all they can," Alvaro said. "We should pray your wife's suffering is soon over and she holds your healthy son in her arms."

"Yes." The whirlwind of emotions blustering through Charles were almost too much to handle. He was frightened but felt helpless to do anything about it. And he wasn't fearful for himself—it was for his wife and child, or was it? Because he needed her so much, it was like his need for air. He wanted to start and end each day with her for the rest of his life and he'd taken to praying that he'd die first so he didn't have to live without her—so he didn't turn into his mother, a grief-racked shadow of herself waiting for a reunion in heaven.

A long, low moan rumbled through the door. He heard excited shouts of encouragement, a woman imploring Isabella to keep going—Luisa's voice, he thought. And then all went quiet. It was as if the world had stopped moving and the clocks had stopped ticking.

"Holy Father, please…" He steepled his hands beneath his chin and closed his eyes.

Alvaro squeezed his shoulder.

Charles held his breath.

Then he heard it. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he was dreaming, if he heard it because he wanted to so badly. But no, it was definitely there. An infant's indignant cry filled the air. It was the happiest sound he'd ever heard.

And he couldn't help himself. He pushed into the room, desperate to check on his wife's condition. It was instinctive, a primitive urge. One that couldn't be contained.

She lay on the bed, her modesty covered with a sheet stained with smears of blood, and her head lifted watching Luisa wrap the baby.

"My love." He rushed to her. "Tell me you are unharmed, I beg you."

She saw him and her expression softened. She held out her hand to him. "I am unharmed. Exhausted and bruised, but I have breath in my lungs and my heart beats."

"Thanks be to the Lord." He kissed her damp brow and pushed her hair back from her hot cheeks. "I could not have paced for much longer before my boots wore out."

"Your torment sounds preferable to mine." She raised one eyebrow, the way she sometimes did when he said something she thought foolish.

He chuckled, but the noise faded in his throat as the babe was placed in Isabella's waiting arms.

"Your son, Emperor, a healthy baby boy."

"My son." Had he ever known such joy? Such pride? His son was perfect, from his little, round face; toothless gums; and screwed-up eyes to his chubby arms and tiny feet. "Isabella." He kissed her again then touched the child's cheek. "We have a son. You have given your people a new emperor."

"God has indeed blessed us." She smiled up at him. "What shall we call him?"

"I would like to name him after my father. Philip. He would have loved to have met his grandson, the future Holy Roman Emperor."

"Philip." She nodded.

"Is that an agreement?"

"Yes, my love, if that is what you wish. His name is Philip." She kissed the tip of the child's nose. "My son, who will take Spain and Portugal into a new golden age."

"And beyond."

"Yes, he will fight the heretics and the Ottomans for Christ's glory."

"A heavy weight for a babe in arms only minutes old," Luisa said, fussing with sheets. "But let me be the first to offer you my sincere congratulations."

"Thank you," Charles said. He looked at the older woman in the room, the person in whom he'd put absolute trust, because of her local reputation, to help his wife.

"She was strong, Your Majesty," the nurse said. "He is a big child, a child with attitude." She smiled, though her voice was stern. "Your wife will need the help of Luisa and Dona over the coming weeks and months. I suggest you let her rest and feed the child under their guidance."

"Shall I hire you a wet nurse?" he asked the question again, even though he knew what the answer would be.

"No." Isabella adjusted the baby's swaddling. "I am his mother and I am utterly devoted to providing everything he needs."

"As I am to you both." Again, he kissed his wife's head, closing his eyes and lingering as he sent a prayer of thanks. "I love you. I will visit you again later."

"I would like that." She looked up at him and in her eyes he saw a new love. A love that was not just for him, but also for their son. In that moment, he knew that had his destiny not been Holy Roman Emperor, he still would have always been destined to be with Isabella. She was the only woman for him and Philip was the son of whom he'd dreamed and for whom he'd waited.

He walked from the room with his head held high. How proud he would be telling his noblemen, the bishops, his enemies and doubters that he had a son. A strong son who would wear the imperial crown one day. A son who would defend God and the word of Christ with a Spanish armada if necessary.

He would write to his Aunt Margaret at once and tell her the good news. He'd use his fastest envoy. He'd let Ferdinand, baby Philip's uncle, know of his arrival, and then he'd make a trip to see his mother, let her know that she had a grandson whose life would be spent defending her devout faith. Maybe she would even smile at the thought. Perhaps she would like to see him.

Yes. He was sure Joanna would want a visit with her grandson. How long would it be until mother and babe could travel, he wasn't sure.

He left the bedchamber and bumped straight into Alvaro, who was loitering close to the door.

"Your Majesty," Alvaro said, stepping back. "I humbly apologize." His face was pale and he gnawed on his bottom lip.

"Do not apologize," Charles said, clapping. "This is a joyous day indeed, one that requires great celebration."

"It is?" Alvaro gave a tentative smile.

"Yes!" Charles laughed at his friend's nervous expression. "All is well and I have a son. We have a son, Isabella and I. And Spain has its new king. The empire its new emperor."

"All is well…a son." Alvaro's shoulders seemed to sag with relief. "I am so pleased for you. Congratulations."

Charles pulled him into a tight hug and slapped his shoulders several times. "Thank you. Thank you. I am the happiest man in the world."

"As you should be."

Charles pulled back and his expression fell serious. "And the most relieved, I won't lie. Those screams were awful."

Alvaro nodded.

"And I thank you for keeping me company, my friend."

"It is my born duty to serve you."

"Yet one more thing for which I am grateful on this most auspicious day." He gestured at the long corridor. "Though right now, while mother and baby regain strength, we have political matters of great import to address."

"This is true.

"And letters to write."

"I will help in any way I can, Your Majesty."

They set off down the corridor together. Charles felt like he was floating, such was his joy. Memories of Isabella's tormented screams faded, and in their place came an image of her holding their tiny, perfect son.

What a blessed man he was.