Chapter Twelve

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"M y love, I don't want to go, but I have to."

"I know." Isabella turned from her husband, hugging her tiny daughter close. She didn't want him to see the tears in her eyes.

"Momma." Philip looked up at her with large, blue eyes. "Momma, can we go and play in the courtyard?"

"Dona, please, could you take Philip?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Dona scooped up Philip and kissed his cheek. "Come with me. Let's count the butterflies. There are so many today on the flowers."

Philip nodded enthusiastically and wrapped his arms around Dona's neck. "Butterfly. Butterfly."

Isabella watched them leave the room and blinked rapidly. She had to stay strong. She was empress. Of course her husband would have to leave to attend to important business. She had agreed to this when she'd married an emperor. But leaving with this on the agenda? She would rather he'd been heading to Naples mid-siege. But this! This! It was foolhardy at best, suicidal at worst.

"Let me put Maria in her basket," Charles said, tenderly taking the sleeping child from Isabella's arms.

"Don't wake her," Isabella said stiffly. "I have spent many minutes getting her to sleep."

"I won't wake her," he said softly, a direct contrast to her icy tone.

Isabella watched as he cradled his daughter in his big arms and her heart softened, only to harden again at the thought of this being one of the last times he embraced Maria.

Tenderly, he laid the infant down, being careful not to let her lie on a crease. He stroked a few strands of hair from her brow, kissed her cheek, then stood and studied his daughter for a moment as though checking for signs of her waking.

"Come," he said, taking Isabella's hand and leading her onto the balcony. "We need to talk."

"I believe you said everything you wanted to say at dinner last night." Her jaw was tense, her stomach a tight ball of fear and frustration.

He sighed. "That may be, so you talk, Isabella. Tell me what you think."

"You know what I think." She gripped the wall and looked down into the courtyard, waiting for Dona and Philip to appear. A fountain splashed in the center, and pots of topiary stood in neat borders around it.

She clamped her lips together.

"Isabella." Charles stood next to her. But he didn't look at the courtyard. He stood with his back to it, his behind on the wall, and his arms crossed. "You know the terrible troubles the empire has had in Italy, and my need to be crowned by the pope is becoming ever more urgent."

She swallowed tightly. "Yes. I know that."

"The siege of Naples took its toll on relations. You know it did. I need to secure my allies."

"You have Andrea Doria negotiating and consulting on your behalf now."

"It is true, he has been a great asset since he switched allegiance from France to the empire."

"And you and Pope Clement have your treaty now. Surely, that counts for something."

"Of course it does. It gives me a window of opportunity of which I must take advantage." He paused. "And it is my vehement wish and goal to bring peace to Italy and repel the Turkish Ottoman advances."

"Quite the task for one man."

"It is not for one man alone. But I need to be there, to support Ferdinand, to delegate, to show strength. I need to go to Naples."

"Stop this talk of Naples! It is no longer a problem and it is under imperial rule." She shook her head and closed her eyes. They were going around in circles and avoiding the one thing that truly annoyed and scared her. She took a deep breath. "It is the hatred that simmers between you and Francis I find hard to bear. It shreds at my heart like a scythe through wheat."

"It is entirely his fault! This feud is all his fault," Charles snapped. "And you know it."

"This constant hostility is the fault of you both, as is this ridiculous idea for a duel." She clenched her fists in frustration. "The losses at Pavia were devastating for the French. So many noblemen died or were captured. And then you kept him prisoner, in what conditions, I do not know, for he almost died of a terrible fever. Then he has to withdraw from Naples like a dog with his tail between his legs. No wonder this hate is like a cauldron bubbling between you." She threw up her arms. "And you still have his sons held hostage. How can you not take some of the responsibility for the dispute?"

"His sons! That was your idea!" He pushed away from the balcony wall and turned to her, eyes wide, hands held out, palms up. "In heaven's name, it was your suggestion, Isabella."

"But I didn't know you would have them for so long. And what good has it done anyway? He doesn't care about them, his own sons, his heir. He has gone about his invasions and sieges as if they do not exist. His own flesh and blood."

"I could have had their heads chopped off, but I didn't. Perhaps he knows that I couldn't do such a thing to children." Charles frowned. "And what is more, I don't want those two boys spending all of their young lives in captivity."

"Kept like animals." She stepped away from him, stalking to the end of the balcony that gave a view over the town's orange roofs and then down into the lush valley. A honeysuckle climbing the wall next to her was alive with tiny, hovering bees. She couldn't see the beauty in anything, though. She was too angry.

"They are not being kept like animals," Charles said. "They have a highly regarded tutor and are taken out hunting. Not the case for many political prisoners, I'd wager."

She didn't answer.

"So a duel between the King of France and I is the only option," he went on forcefully. "Once I have been to Italy and secured the imperial title for our son, I will visit Francis and we will finish this once and for all. There will be one victor with no more Christian blood spilled in battles and wars. Either Francis will live or I will live. Either Francis will die or I will die. Then that will be the end of the matter."

Her heart squeezed. She'd hated those words the first time he'd uttered them. Now, in the harsh light of day, they were even worse. "What about your Christian blood?" She pressed her hand over her chest. "My husband's Christian blood, the emperor's Christian blood. Have you thought of that? If Francis defeats you in a duel and you die…then what? What will be left?"

"Ferdinand will rule in my place until Philip can take over." He set his jaw obstinately and stared at her.

Frustration gripped Isabella. Why couldn't he see how futile this was? How wasteful of his life, of her life, that he was potentially robbing their children of a father. "Charles!" she shouted. "When did you turn so utterly reckless?" She stomped up to him and looked up at his steely face. "Tell me. Tell me now."

"It is not reckless it is of sound judgment."

"It is not of sound judgment ." She banged her fist on his tunic, over his heart. "It is not. And you know it, in here. Where is the calm, considered man I knew so well but has now vanished?"

His frown deepened, but he didn't move. "You cannot change my mind."

"You have to see sense." Tears pricked her eyes. "You have to see it from my perspective. I love you. I know you must go away, but not to die. Don't leave me to die of sadness."

"I won't die. I will defeat him. Have faith."

"Husband, my faith is as strong as a person's faith can be…but this." She shook her head. "Don't do it."

"The challenge has been sent by envoy." His lips tightened. "To Francis himself and to the French Ambassador. I told him, ‘Had your king kept his word, we should have been spared this. It would be better for us two to fight out this quarrel hand to hand than to shed so much Christian blood.'"

"What? When? When did you send such letters?"

"This morning."

"No." She thumped his chest, then again and again. Soon, her fists were raining down on his tunic and her heart was breaking at the thought of losing him.

He stood his ground, taking what she had to give.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her throat tightened with sobs. "You royal fool." She gasped, banging him harder still. "Why would you do this? You are emperor. You have so many options at your disposal. You are emperor."

Her spine seemed to crumble and her knees weakened. Her mind was full of awful images of him bleeding onto the ground, the French soil drinking him up greedily.

"Isabella." He dragged her close, holding her. "You are stronger than this."

"No, no, you are wrong." She held his face in her hot palms and stared into his eyes. "Without you on God's Earth, I don't know how to be strong. I need you, Charles. I need you."

He used the back of his thumb to wipe away her tears. "You can be strong, for our children."

"They are your children too. They need their father."

"Have I not done my bit?"

"No…how can you say that? Philip needs you to teach him how to rule, how to be a good and pious man. Maria needs you to protect her, to help her find a marriage that isn't just for political gain, but for happiness. And…" Her words trailed off and she closed her eyes, sobs taking over. "And…"

"Shh, my love, I beg you." He rocked her in his arms. "I love you so much. I hate to see you cry."

His affection made her sob all the more. His loss would devastate her. Steal the breath from her lungs and the beat from her heart. How could he do this?

"I promise to come back to you," he said.

"How can you promise such a thing?" She sniffed. "You can't…so don't."

"I will return."

"When?"

He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "That, I cannot say."

She turned away from him and pressed her hand to her belly.

"Isabella. Are you unwell?"

"I believe I am with child again."

"My love." He was behind her, close. "That is wonderful news."

"You may never get to see him."

"Please. I beg you." He set his hands on her shoulders. "Do not say such a thing."

"If you cannot tell me when you will be back…if at all, then yes, I can say it. It is my right to say such a thing."

*

Charles left two days later.

Isabella spent the next three days with her cheeks tear-stained and unable to eat or sleep. It was as though she were sitting on the edge of a cliff, feet hanging over the edge. The only thing that kept her from jumping was her children's sweet faces and their tiny bodies cuddled up to her at night.

But then on the fourth day, she woke early and walked out onto the balcony. She stood by the honeysuckle and stared into the distance. This time, she saw clearly what was there.

A huge bird of prey circled. For a moment, she wondered if it was a gyrfalcon, but then that thought shifted and in its place something else began to grow.

An idea. A potential solution. A cunning plan.

She rushed back inside and into her private solar, leaving Dona with the children.

Could she do it? Should she do it?

She clasped her hands beneath her chin and sank to her knees. "Heavenly Father, give me guidance, give me strength, for I do this for the sake of the emperor, your eternal and faithful servant. The King of Christendom." She steadied her breathing. "In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, I do this with the best of intentions and the hope of preventing sorrow, pain, and the spilling of blood. Amen."

Standing, she straightened her gown, sucked in a deep breath, then sat at her desk. She withdrew two scrolls and uncurled the first. After dipping her quill, she began to write and she did not stop until two letters were complete. One, she addressed to her husband's aunt, Archduchess Margaret of Austria, and the other to Louise de Savoy, the mother of King Francis I of France.

Carefully, she sealed them with hot wax then applied her stamp.

Who better than to sort out this ridiculous situation than two mothers—for Margaret was like a mother to Charles.

Neither woman would want the duel. They'd see it for what it was. Bravado. Bluster. Swagger. Daring. Foolishness.

If anyone could stop it, it would be these two powerful ladies who had sway, persuasion, intelligence, and now a common enemy…the duel.

Isabella rang for a servant. She'd get the letters sent by envoy this very day. There was no point in delaying, for she might change her mind about sending them. Or Charles would get to France much earlier than expected and the letters would arrive too late.

No. They needed to be on horseback within the hour and heading north. It was her only hope, the only option that didn't have only half a chance of success.