On their way to the balls and banquets, which were given in their honour, the Prince and his bride would pass through the streets, and the people of Salamanca were given an opportunity to show their delight in the heir to the throne.

In Salamanca there was nothing but gaiety and loyalty to the royal pair.

Margaret looked on with serene eyes.

It was pleasant to know that the people loved her and her husband. She suspected that they loved the excitement of ceremony even more, but she did not tell Juan this. She was perhaps a little more cynical than he was.

He delighted in the people’s pleasure, not because he wanted adulation – this worried him because he did not think himself worthy of it – but because he knew that his parents would hear of the reception which was being given them and how much it would please them.

They had danced at the ball given in their honour and were now in their own apartment.

Margaret was not tired; she could have danced all night because she was happier than she had ever been in her life. She looked at Juan and thought: Now this is the time to share this happiness with him, for it is his as well as mine and will please him as much as it pleases me.

She had not wanted to tell him until she was sure, but now she believed there could not be a doubt.

She sat down on the bed and looked at him. She had waved away the attendants who would have helped them to bed, wanting none of their ceremonies. She shocked them, she knew; but it was not important. Juan accepted her free Flemish manners and others must do the same. Those attendants who had come with her from Flanders found it difficult to settle happily in Spain. ‘The continual ceremonies,’ they complained, ‘they are not only wearying but ridiculous.’ She had answered: ‘You must understand that to them our customs seem coarse, which is perhaps worse than ridiculous. There is a saying: When you are in Rome you must do as the Romans do. I would say to you, the same applies to Spain.’

Yet she thought, if they cannot adapt themselves to Spanish ways they must go home. I, who am so happy, would not have them otherwise.

‘Juan,’ she said, ‘I fancy I shocked the company a little tonight.’

‘Shocked them?’

‘Oh come, did you not notice raised eyebrows? My Flemish ways astonished them.’

‘What does it matter as long as you pleased them?’

‘Did I please them?’

‘You pleased me – let us leave it at that.’

‘But Juan, you are so easy to please. Perhaps I shall have to learn to be more solemn, more of a Spaniard, more like the Queen. I must try to model myself upon your mother, Juan.’

‘Stay as you are,’ he said, kissing her lips. ‘That will please me best.’

She leaped up and began to dance a pavana with the utmost solemnity. Then suddenly her mood changed.

‘This,’ she said, ‘is how we should dance it in Flanders.’

She performed such a wild travesty of the Spanish dance that Juan burst out laughing.

‘Come, dance with me,’ she said, and held out her hands to him. ‘If you dance very nicely I will tell you a secret.’

As he stood beside her she noticed that he looked exhausted and that his face was unusually flushed.

‘Juan,’ she said, ‘you are tired.’

‘A little. It was hot in the ballroom.’

‘Your hands are burning.’

‘Are they?’

‘Sit down. I shall help you to bed. Come, I will be your valet.’

He said, laughing: ‘Margaret, what will your attendants think of your mad ways?’

‘That I am Flemish … merely that. Did you not know that the people of Flanders are people who love to joke and laugh rather than stand on ceremony? They’ll forgive me my oddities simply because I’m Flemish. And when they know my news they’ll be ready to forgive me everything.’

‘What news is this?’

‘Come, can you not guess?’

‘Margot!’

She leaned towards him and kissed him gently on the forehead.

‘Long life and happiness to you, little father,’ she whispered.

That was a never-to-be-forgotten night.

‘I shall always love Salamanca,’ said Margaret.

‘We’ll bring him to Salamanca as soon as he is old enough,’ Juan told her.

‘We will send him to the University here and we will tell the people that we love their town because there we spent some of the happiest days and nights of our honeymoon.’

‘There I first knew that he existed.’

They laughed and made love again; they felt more serious, more responsible people. They were no longer merely lovers; they were almost parents, and felt awed at the prospect.

It was dawn when Margaret awoke. It was as though something had startled her. She did not know what. The city was wakening to life. The students were already in the streets.

Margaret had a feeling that something was wrong.

She sat up in bed. ‘Juan!’ she cried.

He did not answer her at once, and she bent over him calling him again.

The flush was still in his cheeks and as she laid her face against his she was struck by the heat of it.

‘Juan,’ she whispered, ‘Juan, my dearest. Wake up.’

He opened his eyes and she felt that she wanted to sob with relief to see him smile at her.

‘Oh Juan, for the moment I thought something was wrong.’

‘What could be wrong?’ he asked, taking her hand.

His fingers seemed to scorch her flesh.

‘How hot you are!’

‘Am I?’ He began to raise himself but, even as he did so, he fell back on the pillows.

‘What is wrong, Juan? What ails you?’

He put his hand to his head. ‘It is a dizziness,’ he said.

‘You are sick,’ she cried. She sprang from the bed and wrapped a robe about her trembling body. She ran to the door calling: ‘Come quickly. The Prince is ill.’

The physicians stood at his bedside.

His Highness had contracted a fever, they said. He would soon recover with their remedies.

All that day Margaret sat by his bedside. He watched her tenderly, trying hard to assure her with his glances that all was well.

But she was not deceived; and all through the next night she sat with him.

In the early morning he was delirious.

The physicians conferred together.

‘Highness,’ they said to her, ‘we think that a message should be sent to the King and Queen without delay.’

‘Let it be done with all speed,’ said Margaret quietly.

While the messengers galloped to the frontier town of Valencia de Alcantara, Margaret sat at the bedside of her husband.

Ferdinand received the messengers from Salamanca.

He read the letter from Margaret. Juan ill! But he had been perfectly well when he set out on his honeymoon. This was the hysterical fear of a young bride. Juan was a little exhausted; perhaps being married could be exhausting to a serious young man who, before his wedding, had lived an entirely virtuous life. Ferdinand’s marriage had presented no such problems; but he was ready to concede that Juan was different from himself in that respect.

But there was another letter. This was signed by two physicians. The Prince’s health was giving them cause for alarm. They believed he had contracted a malignant fever and that he was so ill that his parents should come immediately to his bedside.

Ferdinand looked grave. This was no hysteria; Juan must be really ill.

It was inconvenient. Emanuel and his daughter Isabella were still celebrating their marriage, and it would give rise to great anxiety if both he and the Queen left them abruptly to go to Juan’s bedside.

Ferdinand went to Isabella’s apartment, wondering how best he could break the news. She smiled as he entered, and he felt tenderness towards her. She looked a little older; the sorrow of parting with Juana, and now Isabella, had etched a few more lines on her face. When Ferdinand had his own way, as he had over this matter of Isabella’s marriage, he had time to feel affection for his Queen. She was a good, devoted mother, he reminded himself, and if she erred in her conduct towards her children it was on the side of over-indulgence.