A slight breeze whipped through the royal apartments, caressing the face of Princess Beatriz, and whipping her black hair about her. The wind was no consolation to a marriage of unhappiness, however, although Aragonese pride would not allow her to show it.
Yes, Beatriz was a Princess of Aragon, and wed to the Dauphine of France. But now, only a short four months after her wedding, she was with child and awaiting an escort to take her back to her homeland, with the blessing of her father-in-law, Phillipe of France.
Her moment of blissfulness was interrupted by her dear friend, Isabel; an Aragonese woman she'd known since her childhood. The soft voice spoke up, and Beatriz's heart leapt at the words, "The escort is ready, Madame."
Beatriz had never felt so content – bearing a French heir, returning to her homeland. Even on the long ride – she was five months pregnant upon her arrival – she was content.
The heralds announced her arrival and she could hear her people – her father's people – cheering her carriage. She felt warm and loved, whereas in France she felt tolerated. What a difference it made!
"The people love you, Madame!" Isabel said in French. A wave of sadness overwhelmed Beatriz – they were more French than Aragonese now.
"Yes, I certainly believe they do. But we will only stay a short time. Their joy will be short-lived." Beatriz sighed and cast her eyes downward. There was more reason than one that it would be a short-lived joy. Spies had reported that Spain was eager to take her beloved Aragon, and there was nothing she could do. Rather, there was nothing her husband would do.
When she saw her mother, now in her fifties, dignified and queenly, Beatriz could not conceal her happiness. She embraced her mother in front of the whole court, and when she finally pulled back, there were so many more to hug. She had only one sister remaining at court, with the other three married to nobility, and so she knelt to her eleven year old sister and embraced her. Blue eyes, dark hair, and tanned skin; yes, they were much more alike than their other siblings.
¿"es verdad, hermana? Es usted con el niño?" Maria, her sister, asked. Beatriz could not contain her smile.
"Yes, I am with child."
¡"Maria! Pregunte a su hermana otra vez en francés." Her mother was scolding the child for not asking in Beatriz's language, French. It saddened Beatriz to hear that her mother no longer considered her one of the royal family.
"soeur est vérité ? Vous êtes avec l'enfant?" her sister repeated.
"Oui, et laissez-nous prient que l'enfant est un mâle." That was true enough, sadly. Beatriz would be happy with a girl, but the French needed a male heir. Though, as she was only eighteen, and her husband twenty-one, they would have many years to conceive many children; unfortunately.
"My dear daughter," her mother started. "I am sorry your father and brother cannot be here to receive you, for they are at the frontlines." Her mother's voice was sorrowful, and her eyes were a black void.
"The frontlines?" Beatriz found herself startled, for she had not expected war to come so soon! Soon news would reach the French and they would force her to return to safety, in French lands. So soon!
"Yes, my daughter. Spain has entered into an alliance with The Holy Roman Empire, with the marriage of their Princess Isabel to Prince Ludwig. Your father feared this moment and rode out with the army to fight them himself. Your brother Alfonso insisted on accompanying him. They should have fought the battle by now. We only await the news."
Beatriz felt weak at the thought of it. "Our alliance – your alliance – with the French; what of it? Surely my husband and his father would not ignore the cry of their own relatives?"
Her mother Isabella frowned and told Maria to retire, along with the other members of the court. Now just she and her mother stood in the throne room, and when all were gone, her mother sank to her throne and sighed. "Your husband has forgotten his own wife's family. He has not responded to our two emissaries, and we're reduced to little more than begging for help." Oh, the shame her father-in-law had wrought on her family! Beatriz shook with fury, whilst her mother continued. "We thought if you were there you may convince them to help, but they had already sent you…"
They had fooled her! She sank to the ground in her robes and wept. Her mother commanded her in a strong voice, to "Rise and be a true Princess, lest you shame yourself upon the ground!" And Beatriz did just that. "My daughter, rest now; I will awake you if we receive news."
But no news came, until it came in a horrible form. The Aragonese army arrived with its King, and the Spanish army was, as described by the King himself, "within distance of reaching out to strangle us all". By then, Beatriz was nine months along and expected to go to childbed at any moment. She could not leave the country for fear of being intercepted by the Spanish army that now besieged them.
"That roused the French into coming," Isabel, her friend, laughed hatefully. She had become bitter during their siege, and often resorted to insulting the King of France and his son, Beatriz's husband. "Their heir is about to be delivered into Spanish hands, literally!"
Beatriz was in childbed and even now hearing of all the troubles. Jesu, would they not cease their criticisms? Her head pressed against the pillow and she screamed loudly, pulling at the sheets with her hands.
Finally, the child was delivered and she heard her cry. Yes, her cry. She could tell that the child was a Princess, and she cared not. Her child lived! They handed her to the future Queen of France, and she smiled. The child had her blue eyes and black hair, and the babe's complexion was crème like her father's.
For one moment, all was peaceful and quiet. Then the baby wailed, and it served as a subtle reminder that, no matter what joy occurs, the world moves on.
"Beatrix Isabella, Princess of France. Beatrix for myself, and her grandmother, who is also Beatrix." It had taken her twenty-two days to name her daughter, when it had become apparent that the child would live and that she would need to be christened as soon as possible, in case the Spanish should storm the castle.
The christening was not lavish, for Beatriz had opposed such a thing; "If the people are starving," she had said, "we do not need to spend wildly on a babe that cares not if it is lavish."
The christening was short, and the guests – the little nobility left, plus a few churchmen – began to disperse. Soon, Beatriz was left alone, to appreciate the silence and the freedom that came with the independence. She stayed there, trying to take in the chapel, to preserve this place in her mind. Some time later, she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.
"Your Highness, Princess Beatrix." French words! She whirled to see a tall man, wearing too many jewels. "I came from your father-in-law; you and your infant must leave Barcelona immediately."
Beatriz was taken aback. She summoned up the French words and began to speak, "At least allow me to go to my family, to bid them goodbye. It will be the last time I see them." It was then that she realized it was true, that they were under siege and would most likely be killed. For her daughter, she had to leave.
"Your Highness, I would much like to allow you that moment, but time is scarce. The boat awaits, but when the Spanish Armada sees it attempting to leave they will seize it. I beg you to come."
Beatriz felt her ire rising, "I will be ready soon, and if I must forfeit the family Our Lord has given me, I will at least take my royal attendants. Send for my child, and my maiden Isabel, for they are together."
Without giving him a chance to protest, Beatriz left the chapel, and made her way to her chambers. But when she entered, she found her sister Maria waiting, with Beatrix and Isabel. "Your Highness, I saw the French emissary and avoided him. But I found Maria here, already."
Maria looked at her guiltily, and then burst into a series of wails and sobs. "I heard father saying that he plans to open the gates for the Spanish, for they have our sister's captive!"
News had reached them that the royals had been captured at their manors, but they had been assumed killed. In fact, spies had reported that what looked to be graves were buried outside Barcelona, and that they expected the bodies to be emptied there. It seemed implausible that the women were still alive.
"Can our father not see past this ploy? Oh, than it is true, we must leave for France!" Beatriz was dismayed and the crying of Maria was not alleviating her stress. She sent Isabel to fetch her ladies-in-waiting and the wet nurse. She was then to retrieve the French emissary and bring him to her chambers.
Beatrix was being held by Maria, and whilst they were distracted, Beatriz sat down at her personal space and began to write. She had always been skilled in writing and speech.
My loving and loved family,
It is with great dismay that I flee without even a goodbye. The French arrived to spirit me away by boat (much as they did when they came to fetch me to wed the Prince). I take Maria, your other most loving daughter, to safety, where she will be treated as a true royal, and not as a prisoner.
I will beseech my family in France to liberate you, as they should have done before I arrived here six months ago. I can only send my love and faith to you, and pray to God that you may be delivered safely from Spanish hands.
Your loving daughter,
Beatriz of Aragon
It was done. She called in another servant, one that she thought she could trust, and sent him with detailed instructions, that he would not deliver it until the last possible moment, into the hands of whatever royal was available, preferably the King or Queen. Then he was gone.
Soon, Isabel and the other four ladies – Marie, Agnes, Antoinette, and Joan – arrived, along with the wet nurse. The emissary was behind them, and when the almost all of her possessions were packed and ready, the party, including her sister Maria, set out for the designed location, which was along the coast. They could see the Spanish campfires and it sent a shiver through all of them.
Soon, however, after they all were aboard, the boat set out. When they saw the coast of France, the party rejoiced. Although it was unknown to them at the time, at that moment the Royal Family of Aragon was being hanged, down to the last grandchild, who was only five.