Part 1 [Author's note: Several fine writers, such as Paul J McAuley in 'Pasquale's Angel' and Jack Dann in 'The Memory Cathedral' have hypothesized a Point of Divergence where Leonardo da Vinci does more inventing. It is a PoD used by other, lesser writers as well. But the PoD still hasn't debased the currency of Alternative History as much as 'Lee Wins at Gettysburg' or 'Guderian Takes Moscow'. I guess it's still good for one more round of transactions.]

January 26 1623, On board the Bilbao-Madrid Express. Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack! Charles' first impressions of Spain had not been entirely favorable. The Prince of Wales had expected Bilbao to look more prosperous, given the cities of Spain had all the gold of the Americas to draw upon. Yet some of the houses and public buildings had looked quite shabby. Perhaps it was due to the cost of waging the War. The War. It always came back to the War. Last year Charles had imagined himself as a paladin, fighting in the Palatinate for the Protestant cause. Ah! The rash folly of youth. His father had now explained to him that he was to become a peacemaker, to unite the two most powerful families, Protestant and Catholic, in Christendom. Charles looked again at the cameo of the Infanta Maria. He prayed she would look as pretty in life as in her picture. Charles rubbed his new beard. Buckingham assured him that the goatee was all the fashion on the Continent. The Crown Prince was not so sure. Such a silly little thing. This was a craze that would never return. At least the good citizens of Bilbao had made some effort for their royal visitor. Bunting had fluttered from some of the larger buildings; various flags flew including the occasional Cross of St George and Cross of St Andrew. Local dignitaries had made ready to greet Charles, Buckingham and the rest of their delegation. Final the boring speeches were over and Charles and his party boarded the express locomotive[1] to Madrid. They would arrive the evening of the next day. Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack!

April 25 1623, Madrid "Thethe engagement arrangementth theem to be dragging out," said King Philip IV in a firm, deep Castilian accent. Don Gaspar de Guzmán, the Count of Olivares smiled, "Indeed, your majesty. And what a blessing it is too." "Blething!?" the king roared. "Indeed your majesty. It is most unlikely that the English will agree to our terms, which are to allow the return of Catholic worship to that unhappy land." "Tho all thith ith jutht toying with the heart of my daughter?" "Statecraft, your majesty, statecraft," soothed Olivares, "While King James' son is in Spain the English king will do nothing to help his son-in-law, the arch-heretic Frederick. While James is the titular leader of the Protestant princes his hands are tied as the armies of your uncle the Emperor drive Frederick from his last European foothold." "Thtatecraft," muttered Philip. The Hapsburg monarch knew better than to ask further questions. His head would grow fuzzy as Olivares described the intricacies of the Catholic League and the Protestant Union and their respective relationships with the Franconia Circle. Or was it the Catholic Union and the Protestant League? Why did statecraft and finances have to play such a prominent part in warfare these days? Why couldn't it just be like a game of chess, with cannon and armored trains moving about the board while the players made sound effects with their mouths? The king resolved to do something nice for his daughter when this was all over. Find her a handsome, Catholic prince with a huge patrimony. Meanwhile, let Maria enjoy her little outings with her erstwhile suitor.

April 25 1623, on board the Segovia-Madrid Royal Special Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack! Charles, Buckingham, the Infanta Maria and her lady-in-waiting sat together in the royal carriage. Haven't we had a lovely day, Charles thought to himself, as the day-trip to Segovia drew to a close. The fresh mountain air after the fetid fug of the Spanish capital. And another day with this most beautiful princess. Damn this courtly etiquette that prevents me from speaking to her alone! How I wish I could tell her the words her heart must be longing to hear! The princess, too, was showing subtle signs of a carnal appetite. "I desire some jamón," she declared. "At once, your highness," her lady-in-waiting agreed and, hitching up her skirts, made for the dining carriage. "And a spot of té, too, if you please, Manuela!" called Charles. But it was too late. Manuella had left the carriage." "Not to worry, your highness," smiled Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, "I shall fetch you some forthwith." The prince was alone in the carriage with the princess. Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack!

April 26 1623, Madrid "He what!" roared the king. "With my daughter! Doethn't he have a mithtreth for that?" Olivares' expression was that of a man who had just eaten a turd tortilla and had to declare it delicious. "Gondomar, our ambassador in London, tells us that King James does not set much of an example for his son in that regard. There, the courtly favorites are all pretty, young men." Philip smiled despite his anger. He remembered Gondomar's reports of James publicly fondling Buckingham. "What thiththieth thethe English are!" Olivares brought the conversation down to earth, "Not entirely sissies your majesty. James did father a son, the Prince Charles. And we have to face the possibility that Charles may have just fathered a child, too." The king tore at his hair, "My daughter, ruined! What ith to be done?" Olivares paused. It was time to proclaim the omelet tasty. "We can agree to the most recent English position in the marriage negotiations. Your daughter remains Catholic, as do members of her household. Spain will be allied with England yet we will not wage war against the Emperor even if James does." Philip nodded his head grudgingly. The he growled, "Why were the young couple left unchaperoned?" The king's first minister sighed. "Gondomar told us that Buckingham was a fool. An arriviste from the lowest ranks of the aristocracy. Yet I suspect he has made a fool of us all." Philip gestured menacingly, "Such a man must take a care, to fool his betters. He must take a care that he doesn't suffer a misadventure." [To be continued]

[1] From the Spanish 'loco': insane and the Latin 'motivus': move. King Philip I of Castile is credited with coining the word when he told the inventor, "You'd have to be mad to want to go on that thing." His wife, Joanna, had no such compunctions in joining Leonardo on his last ride. By the time of our story is set travelling by rail is as safe as sailing.