Princess of the Black Death | ✔️

Chapter XXV

Autumn 1345, Tower of London, England

Isabella and Joan were recalled to London with no other information for their meeting other than it was directly from the King. They dressed formally, had several trunks packed for their trip because they didn't know the trip lengtg, and set off in a royal carriage for the day's journey back to London.

When they arrived, they were escorted to the throne where King Edward III waited for them. A herald announced them.

"Ah, daughters, good to see you again," he said. "You are both growing to be pretty young maidens. I have big news I must share. I have found allies against the French with the king of Castile and León. Alfonso XI is a formidable ally, who has expanded his own kingdom's borders and is good to his people. He agrees and will support the fact that I am the rightful king of France. To secure our alliance, Joan, you shall marry Alfonso's son."

"I shall?" she blurted out. She had waited her whole life to be betrothed and married upon the wishes of her father. She just hadn't expected it to be cemented at that very moment. Isabella glared at her, and then Joan remembered her place. She curtseyed. "I am honoured, Father. I will be a good wife as you and mother have guided me."

She searched her memory of geography and her map lessons. Where was Castile and León? What was the climate there? What language did they speak?

What was even her betrothed's name?

"Oh, Father, please tell me everything!" Joan lit up. There was a prince somewhere across the sea that was promised to her. She instantly wondered everything about him, what he looked like, and was he kind, smart, gentle, and romantic?

"Come look at my map," the King gestured to the girls to follow him to his map room nearby. He unfurled a large scroll onto the table. "Castile and León are here, on the Iberian Peninsula." King Edward pointed. "South of France. Any enemy of France is a friend to me. It's going to be hot there and sunnier, and you'll never deal with snow there. I have not been to the Spanish countries. You will write to us what it is like."

"You are very lucky," Isabella said.

This map looked familiar, and she wondered if she had looked at a map of Castile before.

"Do you know anything about him, the boy I will marry?" Joan asked her father.

"His name is Peter, but you will know him better by his Spanish name, Pedro, as he shall likely call you by your Spanish name, Juana. He is your age, luckily. That should make it easier for you to get along well."

"Oh," she said, thinking how his name sounded nice. Peter, also known as Pedro. Peter, like the saint. She wondered how long it would take her to answer to a Spanish name. "What do they speak there?"

"Castilian, so we will send for a tutor. You won't marry for at least a year, so you have time to prepare. You will learn their language, their customs. You will be Castilian in your heart by the time you leave English soil. Now, let's prepare for dinner to celebrate the Princess of Castile."

So it was declared, so it was to be. The alliance was signed. She was to be a wife and one day a queen. She would be strong and brave like her mother. She would be a mother herself.

Joan felt like she had grown up in one evening. They spent all night and the next day discussing the betrothal. This was the biggest news of her life. She was the first child to have a marriage plan.

Over the next few weeks, a tutor from Castile arrived to teach her not only Castilian but Leonese, Basque, and Galician-Portuguese.

"So many languages!" Joan exclaimed.

"It's a rich and varied country," the tutor said. "The languages are similar. You want to speak all the tongues of your people because you will care for them all. We will start with the official language first."

"What is Peter like?" Joan finally got the courage to ask.

"He is pale, with light hair and blue eyes. He is fairly tall for a boy of 11 and will likely be much taller when he is grown," he said.

"Oh, I wish I could see his portrait," she said.

"He reads all the time and is a good patron of the arts. He works hard with his father to run two kingdoms. He will be a good king, and you have a good match."

Joan's heart melted. She wished she could skip through the lessons and meet this mystery boy who sounded so pleasant. She tried to picture him, but the picture was blurry except for a nice style.

Over the next few months, Joan had learned some basic language knowledge and began to correspond with Pedro. She told him what life was like in England (with translation help from the tutor) and slowly and carefully read his reply back a month later. His handwriting was elegant but with thick lines, his words romantic but bold.

"I cannot wait to meet you, my darling," he wrote.

Joan blushed. She just knew he was handsome and that she would love him. She felt her marriage could be as loving as her parents' was.

In the next month, a minstrel arrived with his next letter.

"I have sent my best musician to play you songs from my homeland. You can begin to love the land where you will be queen," Pedro wrote.

Joan almost fainted as her heart overwhelmed her. How very lucky she was! The music was beautiful, and the minstrel played the lute and cymbals, sometimes ringing a bell on cheerful songs. Joan didn't understand the words, but she clapped along to the rhythm.

The letters continued, but no wedding time was yet set. When Joan asked her parents, they just told her to be patient.

She was already anxious to meet her future husband and get to know him. Much like how she thought she would marry one of the sons of the Holy Roman Emperor, she knew nothing was official until it was done. No match was set until after the ceremony and the consummation. She longed to leave England, ready for her life to start now that she was prepared for it.

She was ready for the rest of her life to begin. She pictured decades of it—children, grandchildren, a well-worn crown on her head—all empty dreams of an innocent girl.