Chapter One

1525

Pavia, Northern Italy

C harles sat astride his warhorse and stared through the dawn mist at the violent, bloody scene unfolding before him.

The town of Pavia had been under siege by King Francis of France for the entire winter, but now the time had come to fight back.

And fighting was what Charles's landsknechts—savage mercenaries from Germany—did best. With pikes, hammers, swords, and daggers, they steamed through the French infantry with the imperialist flags flapping wildly above them and their swords slashing and pikes stabbing.

Lannoy, Viceroy of Naples and Charles's military commander, urged his horse forward. "Be careful, Your Majesty," he shouted over his shoulder to Charles. "The landsknechts are ruthless killers. And they have been known to switch sides mid-battle if the other offers more gold."

"They have been well paid. They will be loyal to their emperor," Charles shouted. In truth, he only had enough money to pay them for a few more days, which was why he'd had no choice but to come up with a plan.

He'd ordered engineers to break through the fortified walls surrounding Pavia so that his men and the landsknechts, plus Spanish and Neapolitan soldiers, could break out with surprise on their side, and attack Francis's armies dotted around the vast park.

It was reported King Francis himself was close by, perhaps in nearby Mirabello Castle.

Alfonso, sat astride a huge, black horse with yellow and red feathers rising from its armor, pressed his steed forward. "Your grandfather has a lot to answer for, Your Majesty, since it was he who created this landsknecht army for sale. It is said that even the devil himself won't let them into hell because he is so afraid of them and—"

A rattle of field guns rushed forward, clattering and banging, instructions being shouted to the men dragging them through the mud. Alongside, soldiers with long guns marched into the fog.

"I will take the guns and arquebusiers south so we can attack on the left flank," Alfonso called over the din. "God be with you."

"And with you." Charles commanded his horse on, keeping pace with Lannoy.

Overhead, the sun, a dusky, white orb, barely penetrated the dawn haze. With each step, a new scene of battle unfolded in Charles's vision. "I believe we have driven a wedge between the two French camps."

"Yes, Your Majesty, in only a few hours." Lannoy broke into a canter. "We should make for Mirabello Castle and see if the king is still holed up there."

Charles followed Lannoy, his horse jumping over a dead body and then a ditch with a macabre bloody stream running through it. His own body was alive with the fight. He was a skilled warrior. And now, with the scent of victory in the air, it was hard not to be excited. Oh, how he'd enjoy the look on Francis's face when he learned that his troops had been defeated and his plan to take Pavia and beyond had been foiled.

As they moved past the woodland and irrigation ditches, it was clear his soldiers had the upper hand all around them. Charles urged his horse faster and then a cluster of French troops in plumed helmets and full plate armor, set in four ranks, came into view. Heavy lances at the front, then lighter lances, swords, spears, maces, and finally, the archers at the back.

"They are well-armed," Charles shouted to Lannoy, "and include Black Band defectors."

"Yes, but our troops are fresh and there are many more of us. And Alfonso has blocked their assistance. They are on their own."

Charles drew to a halt. "We should charge."

Lannoy also stopped, his horse pawing the floor and snorting. "Yes, but, Your Majesty, you must wait here."

"No, I will fight my fight." He banged his fist against his armored chest.

"I beg of you not to. You are emperor and I cannot let it be my legacy that I allowed you to fight to your death."

"I cannot ask men to do something I am not prepared to do," Charles shouted.

"These men are paid to fight and die—they are doing their jobs. Your job is to rule, to unite Christendom. Please. Wait here. I implore you."

Much as it irked Charles because he was itching to wield his sword against the brazen French, he knew his commander was right.

"Good," Lannoy said, taking Charles's silence as agreement. He turned to the infantrymen and raised his right hand. "There is no hope left except in God. Men, follow me and do as I do."

The roar of the charge rang in Charles's ears and he struggled to stop his horse from joining the stampede. He turned the creature in circles and weaved it this way and that, its hooves splashing in the soggy ground and its armor clanking.

Through the mist, cries of agony swirled and the clatter of metal on metal echoed. Horses free of their riders made for the treeline bloody and stumbling. Several French soldiers disappeared after them, retreating, fleeing.

It seemed as though the battle went on for hours, though in truth, Lannoy and the imperial landsknechts made quick work of the French troops, slaying them where they'd stood in formation.

"Your Majesty!" One of Lannoy's commanders appeared at Charles's side. He was missing the armor on his right arm and his bloodied hand clutched a dagger. "Lannoy…he…"

"He is dead?" Charles called.

"No, no… Come, this way… You must come with me…" The commander swung around and took off at a gallop.

Charles didn't hesitate. He took chase wondering what on Earth had happened for Lannoy to send for him when not long ago, he'd insisted he, as emperor, hold back.

He rode for only a hundred yards before he saw the chaos.

Lannoy's horse was rearing and plunging as Lannoy swung his sword violently through the air at a bunch of bloodthirsty soldiers. "I order you to back down! Back down, I say!"

"What is going on?" Charles asked, riding into the fray.

It was then he saw him.

King Francis.

A streak of blood slashed over the king's large nose and his cape was torn. His armored vest was mud-strewn and his sword baked in blood.

Charles drew to a swift halt at his side, sandwiching the king between himself, Lannoy, and the commander.

Francis stared up at Charles, his dark eyes flashing.

"Sire," Charles said, the full enormity of the situation dawning on him. "Are you severely wounded?"

"No, hardly at all," Francis said, gripping his sword hilt.

"Good, then that is how it shall remain." Charles removed his helmet, tucked it beneath his arm, and turned his attention to his angry mob of Spanish and Neapolitan soldiers.

"Arquebusiers," he shouted. "My countrymen, my brave soldiers, there will be no more death today, for there has been enough before the sun has even broken through the dawn clouds."

The shouting around him quieted and he made eye contact with as many men as he could. It wasn't hard, as they were all looking at him with admiration and curiosity, clearly surprised the Holy Roman Emperor had suddenly appeared on the battlefield.

"The King of France is among us, it is true," Charles shouted, "but we have succeeded in our mission and are victorious in not only freeing the town of Pavia from the winter-long siege but also in capturing the most prized prisoner of all." He looked down at Francis and raised his eyebrows. "One we must take alive, for that triples his value to us."

"Kill him. Kill him," someone shouted.

"No!" Charles spotted the heckler. "I order, as your emperor, that he be unharmed."

"Why shouldn't we kill him?" Another soldier with blood running from his temple shouted. "He is our enemy."

"Because wars are not just fought on the field with pikes and swords," Charles said. "They are also fought in chambers with words and politics, and it is the words and politics that will, from this point, bring peace and prosperity to all of Italy." He banged his hand on his chest. "I tell you this from my heart: The Italian wars that have caused so much suffering can go on no longer if I have the French king as my prisoner. Kill him here, now, and you will spawn another king, one who may regroup." He looked down at Francis again as the crowd quieted. His words were clearly resonating.

King Francis was staring up at Charles with a defiant set to his jaw.

Victory had a sweet taste. "I do believe," Charles said to Francis with a grin, "that you, Your Majesty, are in a position of checkmate."

*

Charles stood at the base of the steps leading to the Convent of Santa Clara and took a deep breath.

It had been a long time since he'd visited his mother, Joanna, and as usual, he was apprehensive. He was never sure what mood she'd be in, though he would put several gold coins on it not being jovial. It never was.

"Your Majesty." A nun stood before him, her hands clasped. "The queen is ready for you."

He nodded curtly then climbed the wide, stone steps. He had in his pocket a silver necklace with a glass pendant that he'd bought in Italy. He hoped she'd like it, even if she never wore it.

"Brother! You are here."

"Catherine!" He stopped in his tracks. "I will ask a question to the contrary. What are you still doing here?"

"Brother, I…" His youngest sister looked down at her black gown and shifted from one foot to the other. "It's just that I…"

"It's just that you what? You deliberately disobeyed me?"

"No, not intentionally, but Mother, she couldn't do without me. She needs me here."

"But I told you…" He marched up to her, battling to control the volume of his voice. "No, make that I ordered you to leave for Portugal, some time ago, to marry King John. I had agreed it with him."

"I know and I am sorry I did not go."

"You are sorry. You. Are. Sorry." He removed his cap and pushed his hand through his hair. "That is not good enough. I have paid your dowry and Eleanor is long since back in Castile. I had expected this union to take place while I was otherwise engaged fighting the Italian war. I cannot do everything, sister. I need to know my instructions will be followed, by you, my family, at least. Of all people. You."

She stared up at him with wide eyes.

He fought the urge to bellow at her and kept his voice low, though it was rather growling. "I expect to be obeyed, Catherine."

"I am sorry, really, I am. And—"

"It is not her fault, Charles."

Charles turned at the sound of the Queen of Castile's voice. It was quiet and thready, but still, he'd know it anywhere. "Mother."

"Son." She held out her hands, palms down. Her long, black gown touched the floor and her black, velvet headdress was decorated with pearls.

He walked up to her and took her pale, slender hands in his. He raised the right one to his lips and kissed her. "You are well?"

"I am but a half a person. It is only by God's will that I am still strong enough to take one breath after another."

He chose to ignore her statement, for she appeared in reasonable health. "I have for you a gift. From Italy." He placed the necklace in her palm.

She studied it. "Your father gave me one like this, a long time ago."

"So you like it?"

She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I thank you for thinking of me."

"I always think of you, Mother."

"I don't know why. It is not what I deserve from you."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I left you with your Aunt Margaret, all of those years ago. Abandoned as a young boy."

"It couldn't be helped. You and Father came to Spain to claim the throne, as was your duty." He gestured to a chair beside the fire. "Come, let us sit."

Joanna did as he'd asked and Catherine placed a woven, red blanket over their mother's lap.

"And Margaret is a devoted and loving aunt," Charles went on, keen to unburden his mother of this worry. "I wanted for nothing—neither did my sisters. Mechelan was a safe and beautiful home for us and we had the best tutors, fine food, and many hunting expeditions."

"That pleases me." Joanna nodded slowly. "Have you seen your brother of late?"

"Ferdinand? No, I am just back from a voyage. I came straight here."

"Some of the people of Castile still want him as their king," Joanna said, holding Charles's eye contact with remarkable surety. "They shout for it in the squares and beside the castle walls. I hear them. Often."

Charles sat back in his chair and wrapped his fingers tightly around the arms. "I have spent years here," he said with studied control of the tone of his voice, "learning their customs, their language, making good on my promise to make Spain the bedrock of my empire." He shook his head. "And the thanks I get is that they dare question me?"

"They dare." Joanna signaled for wine with a click of her fingers.

A servant gave her a goblet then offered Charles one.

He waved it away.

"They came to me," Joanna said with a shrug.

"Who came to you?" He sat forward.

"The rebels. They wanted me to sign away my rights as queen and pass on the crown and power to Ferdinand."

Charles bristled at the nerve of the rebels. If he found out who it had been, he'd have them hung for treason. "And what did you do?" He hardly dared ask.

Joanna was quiet as she sipped on her wine.

"Mother? Tell me."

"I ordered them to leave. I told them I would not betray my son, the emperor. Not for anything on God's Earth."

"Thank you." He paused. "But I am the rightful heir to the Kingdom of Spain. I am the King of Spain. That will not be taken away from me."

"But the people of Castile, some of them, see Ferdinand as theirs. He grew up here, in Spanish court with his grandparents, the king and queen. They don't know you, Charles. They barely see you."

"Because I am overseas fighting Spain's battles, Mother. You know that."

"Yes, I do." She took another sip of her drink. "But you must be more present."

"Tell me truthfully, in your heart, that you believe it is I who should be king."

"Naturally, I believe that. You are my eldest son. Your father wished this for you and much more." She smiled sadly. "I wish he were here to see your achievements." Her eyes misted.

"Please, don't upset yourself, Mother," Catherine said, resting her hand on Joanna's lap.

"Sweet girl," Joanna said, touching Catherine's face. "You give me strength. All of my children do." She turned back to Charles. "I have discussed it with Ferdinand. I've told him to accept the crown as yours no matter what happens. I don't think he'll dispute it."

"I hope not." Charles's mind was whirring. He needed his brother on his side. He had enemies aplenty. What he needed was loyal aides, people upon whom he could depend, and who better than his siblings? "I will honor him with the Order of the Golden Fleece, to show my respect."

"That is a wise move, son."

"And send him to Flanders, to Aunt Margaret. She will be glad to know him and her council is astute."

"I agree that it would be good for him to go to Flanders, but he cannot go, not yet."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"My son, you do not have a legitimate heir. You are not married. These people cannot tolerate a king with no successor, no child even on the horizon."

"You suppose that I marry today and impregnate my bride tonight?"

Joanna's lips curved, almost into a smile. "Stranger things happen in God's rich tapestry of life."

He frowned and nodded at Catherine. "Speaking of weddings, Catherine must go to hers. King John of Portugal has waited long enough. It is my hope he has not changed his mind entirely, for I have paid the dowry."

"But I—?" Catherine's eyes widened. "But…"

"There are no but s, sister." Charles held up his hand. "You must perform your royal duty and marry for the good of the Habsburg bloodline."

"Marry for your empire, you mean." Catherine frowned.

"Your future children will benefit from the empire, do not forget that," Charles snapped.

Catherine's bottom lip protruded.

"You wish to refuse me, your emperor?"

"No, I wish to refuse you, my brother." She stood and placed her hands on her hips. "I wish to stay here with Mother."

"You can't. You will journey to Portugal tomorrow."

"No."

He stood and stared into her eyes. "Yes. I command it."

"No!"

"Yes, you will."

"I hate you," she cried. "I hate you. You send everyone away. Ferdinand, Eleanor, Isabella, and now me. You will be left sad and alone, your heart empty and barely beating. And I will not feel sorry for you. It is what you deserve."

"Catherine!" Joanna said. "Do not speak to Charles this way."

"But, Mother, it is true. I do not wish to leave you and marry a man I have never met."

"Child." Joanna set her drink to one side and stood. "I told you this day would come, and it has." She paused. "I suggest you go and make preparations to travel. Your new husband awaits."

"What? You also are sending me away!" Catherine glared at her mother and then at Charles. "This is the end of my life, you know that. I should kill myself now."

"Catherine," Charles said, reaching for her.

"No, leave me alone." She gathered her dress and stomped from the room.

When she'd gone from view Joanna shook her head. "I will miss her."

"I know, but I will visit you often, I promise. As often as I can when I am here in Spain."

"I would like that." She took his hand. "I should also like it if you visited with a wife, Charles, and the sooner, the better."