For a Queen's Love: The Stories of the Royal Wives of Philip II Read Online Free Page A

Avila?”
    “Because you are to be breeched, my love.”
    “I am to wear the clothes of a man. Well, why cannot I do that here?”
    “Ah, my Philip. It is because you are a prince. You have to forget you are a little boy now. You have to be the people’s Philip for a while. They wish to see you. They wish to say, ‘He is growing up, our little Prince. He is not a baby anymore.’ And they want to see the breeching done. They will be content with nothing less.”
    He shivered. He hated ceremonies. He was afraid when he rode through the town on his little mule and the people stared at him and shouted his name. He was always afraid that they would be displeased with him, that they would catch him laughing or see a tear in his eye. If they did and they gossiped about it, he would be disgraced for ever.
    It was summer when they set out on the journey south from Valladolid.
    On his mule, whose saddle was richly jeweled, rode Philip; about him was the bodyguard of soldiers and holy monks with the nobles of the court who were not fighting with his father in the Imperial dominions. In litters hung with rich cloth rode the Queen and her ladies;among these was Leonor, with little Maria on her lap. Oh, to be a girl and not the heir of Spain! thought Philip. That was an ignoble thought, and he would have to confess, among his other sins, that it had come to him. But how could he help wishing it as he rode past the peasants’ hovels, and the ragged people came out to look at them with strange expressions in their glittering eyes! Sometimes he felt that they were preparing to snatch his saddle from under him because they were hungry and the sight of so much riches maddened them. He felt frightened, which was wrong, for a prince must not be afraid. He felt sorry for them, which was wrong, for a prince must feel nothing but the need to preserve the dignity of his high office.
    Beside him rode a boy considerably older than himself, a dark-eyed, sleek-haired Portuguese boy. Philip was drawn toward this boy because there was a look of merriment in his eyes and a dignity, which did not change when he met the Prince’s gaze. He was courteous, yet not obsequious. Philip asked his name.
    “It is Ruy Gomez da Silva, Highness.”
    He was all Portuguese; Philip knew that. “Keep riding beside me,” said Philip.
    Ruy Gomez said: “Your Highness is gracious.” And his eyes seemed to say that it was something of a joke that a little boy of four years old should be Highness to one of his great age and wisdom.
    He did look wise. How old was he? wondered Philip. Thirteen possibly, or even fourteen. A great age, that seemed; and a good age too, for he was not so old that he was a man, yet he was free from the bewilderment of babyhood, which still hung about Philip. Ruy was at the age when he had cut his way through the maze of youth and was not too old to remember the difficulties of one still struggling through it.
    “Look!” said Philip. “Look at the blue hills in the distance.”
    “They are several miles away yet, Highness. When we reach them we shall know our journey is almost at an end.”
    Philip looked shyly at the boy; he wanted to ask what those hills were, but he must not expose his ignorance to a subject.
    Ruy read his thoughts as, it seemed to Philip afterward, he did so often.
    “Those are the Sierra de Guadarrama, my Prince.”
    “Yes,” said Philip hastily. “Yes.”
    “They seem to recede as we approach them,” said the bold boy. “Many things seem like that, your Highness.”
    How was that? Philip wondered. How could things seem farther away when they grew nearer. He would not ask. He must remember that a prince does not expose his ignorance to a subject. He turned away with a hint of haughtiness, but when he looked quickly back, the black eyes smiled into his.
    Avila was built on a plateau, and as they climbed toward it the inhabitants came out to welcome them. Ahead rode the standard-bearers and the procession was a