In Granada, on July 20, 1501, the infant Miguel, the heir to Castile, Aragón, and Portugal, not yet two and never strong, died, in his grandmother’s arms. ‘Such great grief,’ wrote Marineo Sículo, who was there, ‘has swept over our most Christian princes and the whole court that no one has been able to approach the Queen, for the King and the Queen are bowed down in deep distress.’ A month later Mártir told a friend, ‘The death of the little infante Miguel has disheartened his grandparents profoundly. They declare themselves powerless any longer to support with serenity of mind so many blows of fortune. … Nevertheless, they conceal those dark feelings all they can, and show themselves in public with smiling and serene countenance. It is not difficult, however, to divine what goes on inside them.’ Bernáldez again found comparison for Isabel’s misery in Mary’s sufferings: ‘… the third stab of grief was the death of Miguel, her grandson, with whom she had consoled herself.’ And he added, ‘From those times she lived without pleasure, her life and health foreshortened.’