Isabella stared out the window of her room. Outside, the rising sun painted the clouds a brilliant orange. Shades of rose and purple dissolved into sapphire as morning dawned. The glory of the heavens did nothing to ease Isabella’s grouchy mood.
Men only think of war and marriage.
“Isabella!” Her mother marched into the room. “Why are you not ready to be presented to King John’s emissary?”
“I am only thirteen-years-old, Mama. I am not old enough to marry anyone.”
“You have a place in history, Isabella, a responsibility.” Bona Sforza’s tone was cold. “The Hapsburgs press us from Austria. Your father thinks they are our friends, but they are not. They want more land and more power. If they have their way, Poland will join Greece and Rome—just another fallen empire. John Zápolya is a strong wall between the Austrians and Poland. Charles and his brother, Archduke Ferdinand, control half of Hungary, and they look to rule Poland next. We must align ourselves with Zápolya.”
Isabella crossed her eyes and put her hands over her ears. “These things make me very irritated, Mama. Kings and kingdoms may occupy your every waking moment, but I couldn’t care less.” Isabella turned back to the window.
“Isabella!” Her mother stomped her foot. “You will follow my wishes. I am your mother and your queen. I will tolerate no resistance in this matter. Now, get dressed!”
Bona stormed out of the room. As Isabella finished getting dressed, she heard the queen in the hallway berating Maria for not having Isabella ready. Isabella put her hands on her hips and stuck out her tongue, her only means of defying her strong-willed mother.
The young maid entered. She stared at Isabella’s extended tongue for a moment and then giggled, her hand over her mouth. Isabella giggled, too. Soon, both girls were convulsed with laughter.
“Isabella!” Her mother’s voice cut through their laughter. The girls composed themselves, avoiding eye contact lest mirth overtake them again, and set about to make Isabella presentable for the Hungarian ambassador.
“Isabella, may I present King John Zápolya’s ambassador, Stephen Bathory. He will arrange the wedding between you and the king of Hungary. It is a great honor for he is Vavoldé of Transylvania himself.”
Bathory had dressed in a silk jacket adorned with white fur and overlaid by a flowing red robe. A black hat sat atop his head, and black silk trousers stuffed into leather boots completed his outfit.
Bona remained beside Isabella, her hand on Isabella’s shoulder. The princess nodded and then stood still, hands at her side, trying to avoid laughing.
He is an altogether ridiculous figure of a man.
“I am honored to meet such a lovely girl.” Bathory gave Isabella a mincing bow. “King John is eagerly looking forward to this marriage. An alliance between the great countries of Poland and Free Hungary will be most profitable.”
“Your Eminence…” Isabella lifted her chin. “I am not knowledgeable about these things, for I am only thirteen years of age.” She felt her mother’s hand squeeze her shoulder.
“Hmm…” The ambassador frowned. “I must say a slight age disparity exists. I was not aware of this.”
Isabella smiled. “How old is the king, Your Eminence?”
“He is forty-five, Princess.”
“Forty-five?” Isabella’s nose wrinkled.
Bona’s fingers dug into her shoulder, and Isabella managed a smile. “I am glad he is such a renowned personage. He must have accomplished many things in his long life.”
The ambassador returned her smile. He looked Isabella over and waved his hand dismissively. “Well, after all, the discrepancy in ages is of little matter. You are a lovely girl, and the two of you will make a handsome couple. John is a great king, a warrior. He has kept the Turks from conquering Europe.”
Isabella looked straight into his eyes. “But he is a vassal to Suleiman.”
The ambassador’s mouth tightened while Bona’s fingers dug even deeper into Isabella’s shoulder.
“And why are we discussing affairs of state with a thirteen-year-old girl?”
From behind them, Sigismund’s hearty laugh broke the sudden chill in the room. “I’m sorry I am late, wife, but I seem to have arrived just in time.” He put his hand on Bathory’s shoulder. “I warned you, Ambassador. My daughter, Isabella, is not your typical young girl. Her teachers are the greatest in Europe, and she speaks four languages. The king of Hungary will have his hands full.” Sigismund grew serious. “A marriage of state between Eastern Hungary and Poland will change everything in Europe.” The two men exchanged a knowing glance.
“Come, Your Eminence, let us go to lunch. I must show you the Governor’s Parlor.” Sigismund took the ambassador’s arm, and the two men walked away, deep in conversation.
“Daughter!” Bona spun Isabella around and held her by both shoulders. “You must control your tongue. Your little rejoinder was not diplomatic. You did not endear yourself to the ambassador.”
“But, Mother, the king of Hungary is thirty-two years older than I am. He will be more of a grandfather to our children than a father. I do not want this.”
“Do you think what you want matters, Isabella?”
“But I want to marry for love. I want...”
“For love?” Bona laughed out loud. “Who taught you that?”
“No one, Mother. Johannes teaches me Latin and cosmology and lets me help him create a map of Hungary. Pieter teaches me of spiritual matters. But they do not teach me of love.”
“Who teaches you of such things?”
“My heart, Mother, my heart.”
“Your heart? Faugh! You need not love John Zápolya to give him heirs, Isabella. And those heirs will extend the Jagiellon line. Now go and prepare for the state dinner.”
Isabella turned to leave.
“And Isabella…”
Isabella turned back to her mother.
“Never let me hear about what your heart wants again.”
Isabella sat on the couch in her room. The day had turned gloomy, matching her frame of mind. It reminded her of a morning during her recent stay in Vilnius. She had gone out alone. It was a chilly day, and she followed a path that wandered through the snow blanketing the hills of Lithuania.
As she walked, two young girls had hurried past her. They carried bundles of sticks and laughed as they went along their way. They wore long muslin dresses, warm woolen coats, and they had woven scarves wrapped around their necks. The girls smiled and waved, not recognizing the princess. She waved back. As she did, she realized she envied them their freedom.
Isabella sighed. Others might think her position and privilege were a blessing, but they burdened her. She might be Princess Isabella of Poland, but she did not want to be a pawn in Europe’s endless power struggles.
She longed for the uncomplicated life of a commoner and imagined rising every morning with her husband in their cozy thatched-roof hut. They’d eat a simple breakfast of porridge and hot tea and then go out to the small barn behind their house to milk the cows and goats. She pictured a child following her into the barn for a cup of the warm frothy milk. Later, she would churn the rest into butter for the fresh bread she would make every day.
Isabella’s cat jumped up on her bed. “Ah, Bacuri. You might enjoy the life of a barn cat—plenty of mice to eat, piles of hay to sleep in and lots of adventures around a farm.”
The cat meowed and jumped off the bed.
“Not interested? Well, I am.”
Isabella rose and wandered to the bookshelf to find something to read, but not the books on Christian Humanism that Master Pieter had given her to study. She picked up another book, one her mother had given her, one written in Old French, a language Isabella knew well, titled “The Travels of Marco Polo.”
Stretched across her bed, she turned the pages, picturing the lands of the Middle East and Central Asia that Marco Polo visited on his way to China. His adventures carried her away to the fantastic court of Kublai Khan, but after a while, she tired even of this.
Closing the book, she fell onto her pillow and cried. This was not the life she would have chosen if she’d had a choice. “Father in heaven,” she pleaded, “please help me. I do not want to marry John Zápolya.”
Hearing the rattle of cartwheels on the cobblestones in the courtyard below her room, she climbed off the bed and walked to the window. She peered out from behind the drapes and saw the master of the stables speaking to a bearded man in simple clothing.
The stranger was standing in front of a rough cart while tired looking muddy horse stood in the traces with its head down. A young girl sat in the cart beside bundles and a few household goods. Next to the bearded stranger stood a tall young man with long hair and broad shoulders. He had a handsome face, and he looked strong. He appeared to be observing the workmen as they labored at their tasks.
Isabella watched as his gaze followed the line of the balconies. Before she could step back from the window, he caught sight of her. Even from her room, Isabella could see his sky-blue eyes, eyes that contrasted against darkened skin that had seen much time beneath the sun.
Isabella did not know why but she blushed and drew back. She waited a moment and then peeked out again.
The stable master pointed toward the stables, and the bearded man nodded and bowed. He beckoned, and the two men led the cart away. The young man glanced up again at Isabella’s window and smiled.
Isabella ducked back. When she looked again, the little group was headed toward the stables. As they left the courtyard, the first supper gong announced dinner and Maria hurried into her room.
“You do not want to make your mother angry again, Princess. We must get you ready for dinner.”
Isabella finished changing her clothes. When the second gong sounded, she hurried toward the grand dining hall, but she was not thinking of dinner—only of the travelers, and of the handsome young man, and the bluest eyes she had ever seen. As she walked her heart was racing, and she knew that no matter what her parents said, she did not want to marry King John Zápolya… ever!