Festina Lente

Chapter Ninety-One: Contagion

15th of October 1535 - Convent of Las Descalzas Reales, Madrid, Spain

Staring at the falling snow from the window of her chambers, Isabella of Portugal pondered her role in the misfortune that seemed to have come to the country that she now called her home. 

A sickness had swept across the lands and the royal court had been forced to disband in an attempt to avoid the sickness that was claiming so many lives. 

News had arrived that morning that the former Queen of Aragon, Germaine of Foix had been claimed along with her daughter Isabel by the sickness that ravaged their lands. 

Perhaps this was punishment for Charles' actions, God was angry with them so he sent a sickness to their lands so that they would not be able to strike against Charles' enemies who continued to steal his lands. 

Closing her eyes and resting a hand on the small bump that made itself known, Isabella had not announced her newest pregnancy; it hadn't felt like the right time when so many around them seemed to be dying. 

It had been days since she had seen anyone but her ladies, even her beloved husband had not graced her with his presence since they had entered the lockdown. 

Isabella had requested that he come break his morning fast with her, or that he might enjoy her company in the evenings with one of her ladies playing the lute to entertain them. 

Nothing she said seemed to entice her husband to her chambers, nor allow her to enter his. 

Since the birth of Infanta Joanna during the summer, it had been on rare occasions that Isabella got to enjoy her husband's company; he had been hinder in his attempts to strike back against the alliance that had formed against him. 

Their treasury had taken quite a hit and with Ferdinand's intentions now revealed, it meant that Charles' plan of attack had been further delayed before the sickness had swept in. 

"Your Majesty," a voice said interrupting Isabella's thoughts, she blinked surprised that someone had managed to approach her and she looked up to see Francis Borgia, her equerry looking rather nervous. 

He lingered by the door to her chamber, his eyes darting around the chamber seeing who was inside and taking in the Empress' limited household.

"What is it?" Isabella asked concerned, she rose to her feet knowing that he would not have come to her at such a late hour unless it was urgent; her mind conjuring all sorts of things that could have brought him to her. 

She feared for her children. Philip, Maria, and Joanna were her world and she had done everything in her power to make sure that they were kept safe from the contagion that was swallowing their country whole. 

"It is the Emperor, he has taken ill," Francis informed her, it was only right that his mistress was informed of such things especially if the worst was to come and the country found itself without it's King. 

The Prince of Asturias was only eight years old and in no way prepared to take over ruling from his father especially given the international state of affairs. 

Isabella was silent for a moment as she stared at Francis, her heart dropping into her stomach before she surged into action and started to make her way out of her chambers. 

She cared not how she looked as she started to run towards the chambers of her husband, her household following after her as Francis tried to call for her to stop. 

His panicked calls of concern reached deaf ears as Isabella continued on her way, the empty halls a reminder that the sickness had reached into her home and now might claim her husband.