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The third Duke of Alba was used to being hated. It came with the territory; he prided himself on being the most efficient sword God ever had forged to fight in the cause of His Servants, the monarchs of Spain. He was also used to being feared, indeed, relied on it, and on being obeyed. Granted, the last habit had been increasingly disrupted, ever since taking over the regency of the Netherlands. The previous regent, his lord's sister, had told him it would be. Indeed the lady Margaret of Parma had expressed herself most repeatedly to the effect that the Duke's methods would not result in the quiet, obedient and above all unquestioningly Catholic Netherlands his Majesty King Philip desired, but in an eternity of bloodshed and yet more rebels. But then, the Lady Margaret was a woman and as such had a soft soul. Well, now she had returned to Italy and could live a more womanly life there, while Alba did what was necessary to finally pacify the Netherlands.
He was engaged in the business of doing just that in the summer of 1569 when his secretary notified him of a minor inconvenience. The war commissary Hieronymus Kegel, a German who had been transferred from the old Emperor's service to that of King Philip a while ago, had died due to an accident. Since Kegel had been in charge of supplying arms and provisions, he needed to be replaced immediately, but Alba knew how to delegate and usually would have trusted to his staff to find a suitable new candidate for the office, so he was surprised that his secretary brought it to his attention.
"There's something else, Don Fernando," his secretary said. "Concerning the widow."
"Well, if I am to sign a letter of condolence, then of course I will," the Duke said, "though given what you just told me, the man didn't die in battle but managed to hurt himself with his own sword when stumbling."
"No, that's not it. It's just that, well. It seems that the widow has a connection to the noble House of Austria."
Now the secretary had his Duke's undivided attention. "Explain," said Alba in the voice that bode doom to a great many Dutch heretics.
"Your Grace, she appears to be the mother of his Grace Don Juan", the secretary replied, with pearls of sweat appearing on his face. Well, it was the middle of summer.
Now, Alba had been distinguishing himself in the service of the House of Austria since the old Emperor fought the Ottomans at the Battle of Tunis. He was well aware that the late Charles V. , while having been a most Christian husband, had not lived a celibate life both before his marriage or as a widower. Indeed, the Lady Margaret, Alba's predecessor in the Netherlands, had been the product of just such a liason. Alba also knew that Don Juan, whose star was fastly rising in the Spanish army, had been acknowledged by King Philip as his half brother. But if he considered the matter at all, he had assumed that Juan's mother would have been a Spanish lady. He still did not understand why his secretary was making such a fuss. Did he truly think Alba had nothing better to do than to gossip about the late Emperor's occasional lapses?
"And this should be a concern of mine, why?" he asked, letting irritation slip into his tone.
"Because," the secretary whispered, and then, in a hurry, finally burst out with what he'd been holding back, "because she wants money from the Spanish crown. She says she was never paid the dowry she was promised, which didn't matter as long as her husband was alive, since he had such a well paying office. But now that he's dead, she has three more children and a household of seventeen people to support. And her own expenses. Therefore, she wants the dowry of 5000 Florin. Plus interest."
"What kind of widow is this?" Alba thundered. "She should be praying for the soul of her late husband! And from her own salvation from hell, for the sin of fornication!"
Thinking about this somewhat further, he could see a clear solution. "She should enter a nunnery," he said. "At least once the children are old enough. How old are they, anyway?"
He learned that the oldest boy was fourteen and the girl, who was the youngest, was nine. This admittedly made the immediate retirement of the former Goodwife Kegel somewhat tricky.
"Besides, Don Fernando", his secretary added, "the lady is hardly ancient herself. Around forty years, I should say, quite comely still, and in excellent health. I would not be surprised if she intends to wed again. Especially if she is not granted the money she seeks."
Suddenly, Alba had a horrible vision. It entailed the face of his King when learning that his openly acknowledged half brother was now the step son of some innkeeper or shoemaker.
"Very well," he said grudgingly. "I shall write to his Majesty, and ask that she should be paid whatever she was granted if her claims prove to be true. And then, I trust, we will never hear of this woman Kegel again."
"Blomberg," the secretary murmured.
"What was that?"
"Her name, Don Fernando. Her husband's name was Hieronymus Kegel, it is true, but in the letter in which she seeks payment from the Spanish crown, she signs herself Barbara Blomberg."
As it turned out, King Philip was willing to grant Barbara Blomberg her dowry, but he instructed the Duke of Alba to suggest to her that while her children should, of course, have the benefit of a good education, said education was ideally found within the walls of a cloister, as was indeed a life in contemplation fit for a widow. At the very least, Barbara Blomberg should consider removing herself from such a turbulent place as Brussels and retire into the country.
Alba found himself ever so slightly annoyed at the phrase "turbulent". Brussels wasn't turbulent, it was under his control. As was the rest of the country. Granted, there were still some minor upsets. Some perhaps not so minor ones, too; his "Council of Troubles" had by now passed the number nine thousand when it came to trials of suspected heretics and rebels. But still. Complete peace in the Netherlands was just around the corner and would soon be achieved.
It was therefore with a somewhat uneven temper that he received the news from this secretary that Barbara Blomberg did not want to leave Brussels at all, and certainly not to enter a nunnery.
"She does want to send her oldest son to the university here, too", Alba's secretary helpfully added.
"Does she."
"Don Fernando, you know I am only here to serve you, but you see, there has been more tragedy in Dona Barbara's life. Her younger son has drowned. She is absolutely heartbroken, and needs to be close to her other children."
"She could be close to them in a nunnery, and since when is she Dona Barbara? Is the woman a commoner, or is she not?"
"She is, of course she is," his secretary agreed, "but I thought... well, since she is the mother of the most noble Don Juan, and he is a prince of the blood..."
"He's not," Alba said shortly. "He is a noble, but his Majesty has not seen it fit to make him a Prince of Spain yet."
Possibly because Philip's only son, Don Carlos, had died a year before Barbara Blomberg's husband in circumstances no one wanted to talk about, which meant Philip had no living male heir. No legitimate heir, in any case, and this was the century for ambitious bastards, one of whom had even risen as high as the throne of St. Peter.
All in all, it really wasn't a situation where one wanted to put a foot wrong with the royal family.
Since his secretary looked suspiciously impressed by the "comely" widow, Alba decided to send a priest next. Not immediately, though. He wasn't a monster, after all. He'd give her time to mourn this middle child, and then some good clerical counsel would set her straight. After all, everyone listened to priests.
While complete and utter peace in the Netherlands refused to happen, the most noble Don Juan de Austria defeated the Ottomans in the battle of Lepanto. The Pope himself praised him as sent to save Christianity. Even Protestants deigned to be vaguely impressed. And everyone wanted to know everything about where he came from, this half brother of the Spanish King.
"Don Fernando, I know you're busy...."
"Then go away."
"...but his Majesty has written to tell you that you really should insist his brother's mother should go to a nunnery. "
"There is hardly a nunnery left in this whole rotten heretic country!"
"In Spain," the secretary finished, with a grey face. He'd seen the latest numbers. Without regular taxes from the Netherlands, Spanish finances were collapsing. And there would not be any regular taxes while the Dutch insisted on rebelling.
"He wants her to move to Spain."
Alba was tempted to declare that King Philip should write and say so to the Emperor's former mistress himself if it was that important to him, but of course he would never be so impudent towards his sovereign. It must be the cursed Dutch who were getting to him.
"What does the priest we've been sending to her say?"
"Well," the secretary stammered, "she's been telling him all about how there was trouble getting her heritage from Ratisbon, and so he's written there on her behalf and..."
Don Juan's mother, it seemed, was a heartless, opportunistic hussy. There was nothing for it; the Duke of Alba would have to talk to her himself. It would be inconvenient, but at least it would finally finish this matter. After all, children were starting to cry in the streets when he rode by. He might as well put his reputation to good use.
The woman who curtsied in front of him was indeed still comely. She was also impeccably dressed in widow's weeds, even if the laces at her sleeves were a bit more fine than necessary, and she did not wear a hood, which meant he could see her well dressed auburn hair without noticeable grey streaks as she rose.
"Goodwife Kegel", Alba began, determined to make it clear he would not let her get away with any "Dona Barbara" ennoblement.
"Blomberg," she said, with a very melodic voice. The late Emperor, who had loved music, would have enjoyed hearing her talk, even with that German accent. "Your Grace. I loved my late husband, truly I did, but I also loved my dear departed parents, and since I have not heard from my brothers for many a year and do not know whether they are still alive, I feel it is my duty to honor the name my parents have given me."
"Well, that is very dutiful of you," Alba said, who couldn't care less what she called herself, if it wasn't "Sister Barbara, " but there are matters we need to discuss, and as my time is very limited..."
"Oh, I know your Grace is a busy man", the woman said, interrupting him for a second time. No one interrupted the Duke of Alba. At least, no one had done so since the Lady Margaret of Parma had left the Netherlands for good. "Which is why I have no doubt your Grace will tell me at once what I need to know."
"What you need to know?" Alba repeated, startled. She looked at him with eyes that were of a bright blue.
"How to reach my oldest son," Barbara Blomberg said blithely. "I want him to know how much I rejoice in his heroic deeds, along with the rest of Christianity. Alas, I would not know where to send such a letter. Until I can do so, I have decided to celebrate his success with the rest of my neighborhood in feast, wine and song, and of course we're all praying for him at mass."
Alba stared at her. His latest attempt at tax raising had resulted in nearly all the towns of Holland and Zeeland joining the cursed rebel William of Orange against him. "With what money, Mistress, are you paying for these feasts?" he asked faintly. Barbara Blomberg beamed at him.
"With mine, of course. But I did tell everyone it was a gracious donation by the King of Spain."
Alba felt the urge to make the sign of the cross.
"You could join your son in Spain", he said, with what certainly was not the beginnings of desparation. "Surely this would be any mother's greatest wish. There are wonderful nunneries in Spain, some near Valladolid where Don Juan has estates."
"I don't speak Spanish, Your Grace," Barbara Blomberg said, having been conversing in French with Alba so far. "Not a single word. My other son and my daughter do not, either, and I would want them to finish their education here. Besides, if his late Majesty the Emperor is an example, then one retires to a Spanish cloister to die, and this is hardly a fate I aspire to, not for many years to come. "
Fine, Alba thought. Time to let go of all politeness. She had wanted it this way.
"Woman, you are a subject of the Spanish Crown. And the Spanish Crown says you are to move to Spain! Are you telling me that you are refusing an order from your lord and sovereign King Philip?"
"No," she replied softly, but before Alba could draw another satisfied breath, she added: "No, I'm not, and he is not, I fear."
"You are - what?"
"I am no subject of the Spanish Crown," Barbara Blomberg said serenely. "For you see, I was born in Ratisbon, which is a free city of the Holy Roman Empire. Now, for as long as his late Majesty Emperor Charles ruled both Spain and the Empire, he was assuredly my sovereign. When he abdicated, he made his Majesty King Philip King of Spain, that is true. But he made his noble brother Ferdinand the next Emperor. I would never refuse a direct order of my lawful sovereign, Your Grace. But my current sovereign is his Majesty Emperor Ferdinand, not King Philip."
This had to be a nightmare. It just had to be. He, Don Fernando Àlvarez de Toledo y Pimentel, third Duke of Alba, could not possibly be disputing legalities with a common woman from bloody Ratisbon in godforsaken Germany.
"Will you forward a letter of mine to my dear son Juan, your Grace?" Barbara Blomberg asked.
Let Don Juan deal with her, Alba thought. They deserved each other.
Don Luis de Zúniga y Requesens entered Brussels on a note of cautious optimism. Granted, circumstances in the Netherlands were dire. His predecessor as Regent, the Duke of Alba, had written "get me out of this position, or if this should prove to be impossible, then shoot me", which hardly fitted the "iron Duke" , as everyone called him. But one had to face the facts: Alba was getting old. He, Requesens, was twenty years younger than Alba. He had proven himself as his dear friend Juan's General Lieutenant at the battle of Lepanto. He also had proven his diplomatic abilities as Spain's envoy to the Holy Father himself. He would be able to deal with the Dutch rebels. In fact, he was planning to offer a complete amnesty to all who were willing to return to the one true Catholic faith. That surely should settle everything. He'd end the most bloody, drawn out conflict King Philip had faced in record time, and he would manage to solve a minor problem for his friend Juan to boot.
"My dear Luis," Juan had told him, "to tell you the truth, I don't know what to make of her. I have no memories of her, since his late Majesty had me raised by Dona Maddalena and Don Quijada. But surely, she must be longing for a quiet, peaceful life at her age, and where better to find it than in a nunnery in Spain? I know she has refused so far, but then, Alba being Alba, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd made it sound like going to prison. You'll explain, won't you?"
"Of course, Don Juan."
He'd sort things out, Requesens told himself. He'd manage the Netherlands and Barbara Blomberg both.
Victory was imminent. If he'd ever been sure of something, it was of this. What could possibly go wrong?