I. Un Milagro, Un Milagro Principe.
A SON OF SPAIN (AND AUSTRIA)
22nd of June, 1498. Salamanca, Castile.
Seated beside the Princess' bed was her one time mother-in-law, Queen Isabel of Castile herself, hunched over the side of the bed, allowing her son's widow to practically crush her hand with the strength of her squeezes, whispering a strange jumble of quiet prayers and demands for her to push, all in good spirit of course. The Castilian Queen then placed her free hand atop of the Dowager Princess' forehead, feeling her hand instantly become drenched in a clammy moisture and a feverish heat.
Isabel removed her hand as quickly as she had put it there. "She's burning, fetch her a cold cloth at once." she demanded to one of the midwives, who obeyed her orders instantly. I mean, who wouldn't? Not only was she her queen, but she was quite possibly the greatest queen of all time. "Margarita, dear, you must push." she encouraged, "for the sake of this baby. Your son. My grandson!"
Margaret of Austria and Burgundy, usually known as Margarita in Spain, rested for a few moments, allowing herself to pluck up the strength to push once more. A powerful, determined push followed, accompanied with an ear shattering scream that rumbled the entire palace. This was the last push. Margaret could feel it, she could feel the baby's head only moments away from entering this world. It happened so quickly for everyone else, but for Margaret it felt like hours. Endless hours of pushing and screaming or endless hours of being told to push and scream, but alas, it happened.
Doña Elvira de Osorio was the woman that had the honour of being the first person to hold the baby. The heir or heiress to both Castilla and Aragon.
Margaret struggled for a moment, trying to gather the words. "What is it?" she demanded, "What is it?".
Doña Elvira handed the newborn to another midwife to be cleansed of it's mother's blood. "It is a boy, your highness!" she cried, "and a healthy one at that!"
An instant wave of relief swept over Margaret, flowing from her head to her toes and then rolling off of her body and a smile began to form on her face. She had a son. A Son of Spain. "Give him to me!" she ordered. "Give him to me now, please!".
Queen Isabel rose from the stool that sat beside Margaret's bed, taking her grandson, now cleaned, from the midwife, holding him in her arms for a few moments as she began to feel tears of joy well up in her dull blue eyes, a flash of grief for her son, Prince Juan passing her as she gazed upon his infant child who reminded her so much of him.
Isabella passed her grandson to his mother, who too felt even more tears well up in her eyes, except this time they were tears of joy. "I am a mother." she whispered softly to herself. It felt like everyone had disappeared for Margaret. That the only two that remained in the room were Margaret and her son, who she had just remembered needed a name.
"Juan." she said, not a trace of hesitation nor uncertainty in her voice. "I will name him Juan, for his father."
The Queen couldn't agree more with the choice of name for the newborn Prince of Asturias. "It is fine name for a fine boy." she remarked. "a fine boy with a fine mother." she smiled at her former daughter-in-law, who's chestnut curls had to be swept away from her eyes so that she could see.
There was an abrupt knock at the door, a heavy knock. "Enter." Isabella called back in reply. At once, the door were swung open by a page.
As it goes, the young page boy announced the entrance of two more important Spanish royals. The Infanta Maria, who was currently being mooted as a potential bride for the Scottish King, and Infanta Catalina, who was likely to be married to the English Tudor Prince, both of the girl's being the former sisters-in-law to the Austrian Archduchess and so, the new Infante's aunts. He had two more aunts, as well as an uncle, but they all either were married off and living abroad or giving birth to what everyone hoped to be the next King of Portugal across the peninsula.
"We have named him Juan." Isabel smiled at her daughters, bending over to kiss Juan's forehead. "For his father."
The pair of teenage infanta's, who were all but vibrating with excitement to meet their new nephew, were promptly at Margaret's side, marvelling at John as if he were some sort of tropical species from the Indies or the Moorish lands. "I can't wait to have a son one day." remarked the Infanta Maria.
"Me neither." agreed Infanta Catalina.
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