A Royal Tale

Raised voices in an excited fury echoed through to her spacious room, where she was now sprawled out like a broken doll on her bed. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, her annoyance for diplomacy radiated through each of her limbs before settling like a bolder in the pit of her stomach. The words, spoken in muffled voices and hushed tones, were always about her and the inevitable. The instructions reverberated in her head like a never-ending symphony of badly orchestrated music: Princess Isabella must marry, further extending the alliance between Spain and England, and thus, securing all of the protection that the powerful Britannia would allow, a security that was needed now more than ever, assured the oldest adviser of the court.

Slowly, Isabella’s small feet touched the cold castle floor as she tiptoed towards the sound, daring to open the heavy door to peer inside of the buzzing room. Her father’s eyes bulged in defiance as he wrapped his fingers around the silver chalice.

“Isabella is but a child, Marco. Moreover, she knows nothing of this Edward of England.” The King’s voice became strained, and his breath grew labored. His throat tightened, causing him to wheeze and begin violently coughing, desperately fighting for air as he grabbed his chest. “I have heard wicked talk about Edward and his fondness for men.” Continuing in a voice louder than his health condition would usually allow, “I will not have my only daughter involved in an unhappy marriage and a scandal!”

“Your majesty, your daughter is a grown woman now,” and with a bit of a laugh Marco added, “The rumors are nothing more than slanderous gossip. I assure you.”

Her stomach knotted in heavy anxiety at the mere sound of Marco’s voice and she held back the tears that were threatening to trickle from her dark brown eyes. Oh, how much she hated this! The first thing that she would do when she was forced to become Queen is exile Marco, she thought with a barely concealed vengeance. Her eyes now darted around the room for him, her guardian and comfort, hoping to see him object to this stupidity.

Just as those thoughts formed in her head, a gentle embrace was felt around her midriff. Smiling slightly, she tilted her head upwards, looking into his hypnotic and calming eyes before she buried her face in his chest.

“They are sending me away to marry,” she screeched in misery before she collapsed into him, quietly sobbing.

I couldn’t stop this, My Princess,” he stated with a hint of failure in his voice as he pulled her close. He continued, “The King has given me permission to go with you if you would like.”

Smiling slightly through her tears, she asked with a trembling voice as she grabbed his hand in hope, “Will you stay with me in England indefinitely?”

Beaming at her with affection, he replied, “My home is with you, and it always has been,” as he quickly kissed her on the forehead in reassurance.

*****

The violent and ceaseless rocking and swaying of the vessel started on the third day of the voyage, culminating to this never-ending torment upon the blue waters of the powerful Atlantic. The waves crashed against the sides of the mighty Spanish ship like a cannon, and it was useless for Isabella to even attempt to stand, never mind walk across the rickety floor. For the past two nights, she languished in her bed below deck, longing for the comfort of her familiar bed in Spain and simply wishing to hear her father’s strong voice again.

Choking out a barely concealed emotional goodbye before boarding the ship with Antonio, her trusted advisor and companion, Isabella realized how truly frail and old her father looked. Memories danced in her mind of his ability to rally the courage in the military, quickly inspiring the gallant young men to lay down their life for their country. Reaching the ears of thousands of Spanish countrymen, his speeches were renowned across Europe. His dashing wit and humor often made him a favorite at royal celebrations as he quickly inspired allegiance in many foreign diplomats. Now, her father appeared to be but a shadow of his former self, defeated by both time and the passage of his love, The Queen. The only hope for his safety, and indeed, the security of Spain rested with Isabella. The responsibility weighed heavily on her soul, and taking Antonio’s hand for comfort, she vowed to herself that she would forge this alliance with King Edward of England in this new and strange land, looking at the vast ocean with courage.

Now, her inward resolve had waned as she fought back the nausea that attempted to overtake her body again. Anxious voices could be heard above as the crew shouted at each other, desperately attempting to keep the large ship afloat. As she fought off a lingering wave of sickness, Isabella heard footsteps quickly descending the wooden stairs.

Marco’s harsh and commanding voice made her turn her head. He was addressing her, but her sickness only allowed her to comprehend a few intermittent words. “Responsibility…duty…future Queen…speech,” came his monotone voice as he hurriedly pushed her towards the wooden stairs. Tightly grabbing the wooden banister in her pale hand, she slowly placed one foot on the bottom step before Antonio appeared before her.

“What’s this,” came his comforting voice. “You are unwell, and you must lay down,” came his instructions as he took her hand to lead her back to the pile of blankets, simultaneously glaring at Marco with a searing hate in his dark eyes.

“Antonio, may I remind you that your loyalty is with Spain,” commanded Marco. Glancing at Isabella, he continued, “She will be meeting her future husband soon.”

“The good Edward of England has waited nine days to see his bride. Surely, he can wait a few more hours while she recovers from this horrible swaying,” Marco sarcastically responded with a deep and exaggerated bow.

*****

Vitriol flowed from his anxiety ridden mind through the ink in his quill. His thoughts were clouded by the slanderous and evil gossip that echoed from the mouths of his people and mounted the heavy stone walls of the castle. She must give him a son, an heir to the throne of England, and continue his royal bloodline. Grimacing, he scratched out the ultimatum, shoved the note in an envelope, and set off to meet Fernando, the one with whom he would share moments of secrecy.

Looking upon his wife with pity for a moment, tears filled his blue eyes. Exhaling deeply, the gravity of the situation surrounded him like a curse. Quickly depositing the note on her bedside table, he made his way to the front of the large estate, summoning his servants to ready one of his impressive and gorgeous black stallions.

The morning sunshine stung her eyes as she fought to stay adrift in her dreams for a few more seconds. Giving into the inevitable, she emerged from her soft blankets, letting her vision adjust to her shadowy surroundings. She fixated on the mysterious envelope for only a second before she nervously ripped it open with shaking hands:

You must produce a son not only to secure the futures of our subjects, but to also fulfil your divine duties as a Queen and above all as a woman. I don’t pretend to have no culpability in your infertility, and I understand that your affections lie with someone else as does mine, however, our birth right makes our physical union an unavoidable reality. We, being of royal blood, cannot follow our hearts and, first and foremost, we must obey our obligations to our populace.

I want to assure you that I will be just and generous with you in all future endeavors. Be forewarned, however, if my command is not obeyed, there will be deadly consequences for you and your handsome suitor, Antonio.

Extending her slender hand towards her protector and love, she shoved the note into his palm. As his eyes read the cryptic message, a slow smile spread across his face.

“Hanging,” stated Isabella as her sleepy and calm expression slowly transformed into one of fear and sorrow. She continued, “We are both to be killed if we publicly embarrass him.”

His dark eyes bore into hers as he softly kissed her lips. “You are my world,” he lovingly whispered as if he contained a prophecy known to him alone.