Lisbon, Portugal. 6th of August, 1522.
“No, João! My mind is set!” shouted Isabella of Portugal as she stood up, “Do not attempt to change it.”
“Sister, please,” said João, standing up as well, “Think about what you are saying. You cannot join a convent!”
“I can and I will,” Isabella responded with conviction, dragging her skirts as she walked away from him, trying to put as much distance between them. She knew he would attempt to grab her and shake her, trying to make her see reason, and she would not allow him to do so, because perhaps this is what it took to convince her not to join a nunnery as she planned, “I have always said, João. Either Caesar or nothing. Now that Charles has married that English courtier, I will be content with nothing and serve my true Lord: God.”
João sighed. This is what he wanted to avoid. Since they were little, their mother had filled Isabella’s head with tales about their cousin Charles and the glittering future that awaited her. Their father had tried to stop it, but the Queen was insistent on getting the precious match for her daughter, insisting even on her deathbed that they should make it so. Because of it, Isabella was determined to marry only Charles of Austria or join a convent if he decided to marry someone else, as he had already done.
“Do not let that man ruin your prospects!” said João, “There is still a chance for you. There are more marriages to be made, better marriages.”
“Better than Charles?” She chuckled, “Do not lie to me, João. He is the Holy Roman Emperor and the King of Spain. In Europe, there is no one more powerful than him.”
“I don’t mean better in the sense of power, which he does not lack, but in the sense of character. Charles has shown himself to be untrustworthy, breaking off his engagement like that. He is not a man I would wish to see you being married to.”
Isabella smiled, “Don’t let Leonor see you talking like that about her brother.”
João smiled back. Leonor had entered her confinement, to rest and be away from men until her child was born, but still. If she heard him talk about her own brother in such a way, she would be far from pleased, that he could be sure.
He stepped forward and took Isabella’s hand in his, holding it tightly. He looked up, looked at those blue eyes just like his, inherited from their mother and sighed. Isabella also understood what was left unsaid between them, the years of a close friendship between siblings. “Please, don’t let him stand in your way, don’t let him keep you from true happiness,” he begged. João didn’t want to see his sister cloistered away with the women. He wanted to see her married, with children, and happy, as he had promised his father he would make it happen. If not with Charles, then with someone else, though he could not think of anyone high enough to marry the eldest sister of the King of Portugal.
“Charles was my only chance of true happiness,” she replied, sadly.
“Sister…” He shook his head. Isabella should not have let herself fall in love with the image of Charles, as the marriage between them had never been a sure thing, only a possibility, far away with all of the engagements Charles found himself in over the years, “Give me one chance. Just one chance.”
“What?” She frowned.
“Give me one year to find you a good husband,” he said, “One year. If I fail, I will allow you to join the convent of your choosing.”
Isabella sighed and settled herself on the back of her feet. She knew this was the only option he would give her, because, no matter what she said or did, João could forbid her from joining a nunnery and marry her off to anyone he chose. This was her only choice to do as she wanted.
“Very well, brother,” she said, “One year."
Whitehall, England. 8th of August, 1522.
Catherine of Aragon tried to keep herself from smiling all day, knowing that people would notice such a change in her, but it was very happy. She was happy, so so happy, and the court deserved to know because this news would delight them as well.
For the first time in four years, she was with child again. Two months had gone by without her courses, with her experiencing sickness in the morning, tender breasts. The physicians and midwives were certain of her new pregnancy, just as she was, as certain as she was the last six times. A woman could only go through so many lying-ins without recognizing the signs on herself.
She was with child. With child! God had answered her prayers at last. She would have to do a pilgrimage to say thanks or donate extensively. It was the only way she knew to celebrate such joyous news. Oh, how happy she was.
And it would be a son. She could feel it, deep in her belly, but just to make sure, she nibbled extensively on asparagus, as they were said to make a boy. A son. She had promised Henry a son and she would deliver him. The wait had only made the news sweeter and more welcoming.
The night after the midwife visited her, Catherine had an intense dream. In it, she played with a boy, a little boy with red hair and blue eyes like Mary’s. He called her mama and she called him John. It was clear to her that the dream had been sent by God, to tell her that she would have a son. A son!
Oh, the name was far from ideal, and it would take a time before she convinced Henry to agree to it, as he would certainly prefer Henry or Edward for his heir, but she knew she could do it. Henry listened to her, as she was his constant princess, his loyal wife.
Catherine also knew that her age was against her. Most women at thirty-seven did not bear more children, both for their health and for their inability to procreate, and the King’s mother died at her own age, giving birth to a short-lived daughter. Henry was very worried for her, but she knew she had to give him a son to save his kingdom from falling into chaos after his death. Who else could give him an heir if not his wife?
As to better her chances, she would rest and eat well, as recommended by Dr Linacre. When the time came for her confinement, Catherine would lie in at Hampton Court, which Cardinal Wolsey gracefully offered for her use, and deliver Henry the son he needed.
She could do this. She knew she could.