He decided to suppress the physicians’ letter and show her only that of Margaret. Thus he could avoid arousing too much anxiety at this moment.

‘News,’ he announced, ‘from Salamanca.’

Her face lit up with pleasure.

‘I heard,’ she said, ‘that the people have given them a welcome such as they have rarely given any before.’

‘Yes, that is true,’ answered Ferdinand, ‘but …’

‘But …?’ cried the Queen and the alarm shot up in her eyes.

‘Juan is a little unwell. I have a letter here from Margaret. The poor child writes quite unlike the calm young lady she pretends to be.’

‘Show me the letter.’

Ferdinand gave it to her, and put his arm about her shoulders while she read it.

‘You see, it is the hysterical outburst of our little bride. If you ask me, our Juan finds being a husband to such a lively girl a little exhausting. He is in need of a rest.’

‘A fever!’ said the Queen. ‘I wonder what that means …?’

‘Over-excitement. Isabella, you are getting anxious. I will go at once to Salamanca. You remain here to say your farewell to Isabella and Emanuel. I will write to reassure you from Salamanca.’

Isabella considered this.

‘I know,’ went on Ferdinand, ‘that if I do not go you will continue anxious. And if we both go, we shall have all sorts of ridiculous rumours spreading throughout the country.’

‘You are right, Ferdinand. Please go to Salamanca with all speed. And write to me … as soon as you have seen him.’

Ferdinand kissed her with more tenderness than he had shown her for a long time. He was very fond of her when the submissive wife took the place of the Queen.

As Ferdinand rode through the town of Salamanca he was greeted with silence. It was almost as though the University town was one of mourning.

The physicians were waiting for him, and he had but to look at them to sense their alarm.

‘How is my son?’ he asked brusquely.

‘Highness, since we wrote to you his fever has not abated, but has in fact grown worse.’

‘I will go to his bedside at once.’

He found Margaret there and noticed that several of the women in the room were weeping, and that the expressions on the faces of the men were so doleful that it appeared as though Juan were living through his last hours.

Ferdinand glowered at them, anger swamping his fear. How dared they presume that Juan was going to die. Juan must not die. He was the heir to united Spain, and there would be trouble in Aragon if there was not a male heir. He and Isabella had only daughters beside this one son. After all their hopes and plans Juan must not die.

Margaret’s face was white and strained but she was composed, and Ferdinand felt a new affection for his daughter-in-law. But the sight of Juan’s wan face on the pillow frightened him.

He knelt by the bed and took Juan’s hand.

‘My son, what is this bad news I hear?’

Juan smiled at him. ‘Oh, Father, so you have come. Is my mother here?’

‘Nay. Why should she come because you have a little indisposition? She is at the frontier, speeding your sister on her way to Portugal.’

‘I should have liked to have seen her,’ said Juan faintly.

‘Well, you will see her soon enough.’

‘She will have to come soon, I think, Father.’

Ferdinand’s angry voice boomed out: ‘But why so?’

‘You must not be angry with me, Father, but I think I feel death close to me.’

‘What nonsense! Margaret, it is nonsense, is it not?’

Margaret said stonily: ‘I do not know.’

‘Then I do!’ cried Ferdinand. ‘You are going to recover … and quickly. By God, are you not the heir to the throne … the only male heir? There would be a pretty state of affairs if you left us without a male heir.’

Juan smiled faintly. ‘Oh, Father, there will be others. I am not so very important.’

‘I never heard such nonsense. What of Aragon? Tell me that. They will not have a female sovereign, as you know. You must therefore consider your duty and not talk of dying and leaving us without a male heir. I will see your physicians at once. I will command them to cure you of this … honeymoon fever … at once.’

Ferdinand rose and stood glowering affectionately at his son. How he had changed! he thought uneasily. Juan had never been a strong boy as he himself had been, as young Alfonso was. Holy Mother, what a pity that boy was not his legitimate son. Action was needed here … drastic action.

Ferdinand stalked from the room, beckoning the physicians to follow him; and in the ante-room before the bedchamber he shut the door and demanded: ‘How sick is he?’

‘Very sick, Highness.’

‘What hope is there of his recovery?’

The physicians did not answer. They were afraid to tell Ferdinand what they really thought. As for Ferdinand, he was afraid to probe further. He had as much affection for his son as he was capable of, but mingled with it was the thought of the part that son had to play in his own ambitions. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that my son has overtaxed his strength. He has had his duty to do both day and night. He has had to be a good Prince to the people and a good husband to the Archduchess. It has been too much for him. We will nurse him back to health.’

‘Highness, if this sickness has been brought on through his exhaustion perhaps it would be well to separate him from his bride. This would give him a chance to grow strong again.’

‘Is that the only remedy you can suggest?’

‘We have tried every other remedy, and the fever grips him the more firmly.’

Ferdinand was silent for a while. Then he said: ‘Let us go back to the sickroom.’

He stood at the foot of Juan’s bed and tried to speak jocularly.

‘The doctors tell me that you have become exhausted. They propose keeping you very quiet, and even Margaret shall not visit you.’

‘No,’ said Margaret, ‘I must stay with him.’

Juan put out a hand and gripped that of his wife. He held it tightly and, although he did not speak, it was clear that he wished her to remain with him.

Ferdinand stared at his son’s hand and noticed how thin his wrist had become. He must have lost a great deal of weight in a very short time. Ferdinand was realising at last that his son was very ill indeed.

Yes, he thought, he is very attached to Margaret. They must stay together, for ill as he is there might yet be time to beget an heir. A child conceived in the passion of fever was still a child. If Juan could give Margaret a child before he died, his death would not be such a tragedy.

‘Have no fear,’ he said. ‘I could never find it in my heart to separate you.’

He turned and left them together. He was now more than uneasy; he was decidedly worried.

He could not sleep that night. Juan’s condition had worsened during the day and Ferdinand found that he was sharing the general opinion of all those about the Prince.

Juan was very seriously ill.

When he had said good night to him Juan had put his burning lips to his father’s hand and had said: ‘Do not grieve for me, Father. If I am to die, and I think I am, I shall go to a better world than this.’

‘Do not say such things,’ Ferdinand had answered gruffly. ‘We need you here.’

‘Break the news gently to my mother,’ whispered Juan. ‘She loves me well. Tell her that her Angel will watch over her if it is possible for him to do so. Tell her that I love her dearly and that she has been the best mother anyone ever had. Tell her this for me, Father.’

‘You shall tell her such things yourself,’ retorted Ferdinand.

‘Father, you must not grieve for me. I shall be in the happier place. Grieve more for those I leave. Comfort my mother and care for Margaret. She is so young and she does not always understand our ways. I love her very dearly. Take care of her … and our child.’