Spain for the Sovereigns

by Виктория Холт

  The colour deepened in Ferdinand’s bronzed cheeks.

  ‘You bring news of the King of Aragon?’

  ‘Long live Don Ferdinand, King of Aragon!’ was the answer.

  ‘It is so?’ said Ferdinand, and he drew himself up to his full height while he tried to think of his sorrow and all that the loss of one of the best friends he could ever have would mean to him. He turned away as though to hide his emotion. But the emotion was not entirely grief, and he did not want the man to see how much it meant to him to have inherited the throne of Aragon.

  He turned back and put his hand over his eyes. ‘I pray you leave me now,’ he said quietly.

  He waved his hand, and those who had been with him retired also.

  He sat down at a table and buried his face in his hands. He was trying to think of his father, who had schemed for him – murdered for him – and all those occasions when John of Aragon had given him advice and help. He remembered his father at his mother’s bedside when she had been afraid because she believed that the ghost of Carlos, Ferdinand’s murdered stepbrother, had been there at the bedside. Carlos had died, it was generally believed, at the hands of his father and stepmother, so that their son Ferdinand might find no one to stand in his way to the throne.

  This man was dead now. Never again could Ferdinand turn to him for guidance. The father who had loved him, surely as few were loved, was now no more. Every action of his had been for the advancement of Ferdinand; not only was Ferdinand his idolised son but the son of the woman whom he had loved beyond all else in the world.

  Even in dying he gave Ferdinand a crown.

  Isabella had heard the news and came in haste to the apartment.

  He glanced up as she approached. She looked grave; and he thought then that there could not be a woman in the world who disguised her feelings as successfully as Isabella.

  She knelt at his feet; she took his hand and kissed it. She was offering him solace for the loss of his father and at the same time homage to the King of Aragon.

  ‘It has come, Isabella,’ he said, ‘as I feared.’ He might have added, and as I hoped. For he had certainly longed to feel the crown upon his head.

  He felt a flicker of irritation against her because, being aware of his own mercenary feelings at this time, he could blame Isabella for them. It was Isabella’s determination to remain supreme in Castile that made it so necessary for him to be a king in his own right – not merely of Sicily, but of the great province of Aragon.

  Now that had happened and, when he should be grieving for his father, he found himself elated.

  ‘You must not grieve,’ said Isabella. ‘He would not have it so. Ferdinand, this is a great occasion. I am Queen of Castile; you are King of Aragon. All that I have is yours; all that you have is mine. Now almost the whole of Spain is united.’

  ‘The whole of Spain apart from that accursed Moorish kingdom – ours . . . ours, Isabella.’

  ‘We have a son who will be King of Spain, Ferdinand. I remind you of this, because I know how you suffer at this moment.’

  Ferdinand was suddenly aware of his loss. He said: ‘He was so good to me. No one ever had a better father.’

  ‘I know,’ she said; and she lifted her kerchief to her eyes.

  But she was thinking: Castile and Aragon – we reign over almost the whole of Spain. Our destiny is being fulfilled. We are God’s chosen rulers.

  And he was thinking: I am a king . . . a king in my own right. King of Aragon, to stand side by side with the Queen of Castile.

  * * *

  The King of Aragon was no longer quite so insistent on the deference which must be paid to him. It was clear that he was the King. . . the King in his own right. He had a crown which he did not owe to his wife.

  Isabella was delighted to see this change in him. She believed it augured well for their future. Ferdinand would not now grudge her her power in Castile.

  If the war for the Succession could only be settled once and for all, Isabella would be ready to set her kingdom in order; but as long as Alfonso boasted of his intention to set Joanna on the throne of Castile in place of Isabella there could be no peace.

  Yet her hopes for the future were high. She had her family – her charming Isabella, her healthy little Juan, so normal, both of them – and she for a brief spell had Ferdinand with her, a contented Ferdinand no longer looking for slights: Don Ferdinand, the King of Aragon.

  It was during those spring months that Isabella once more discovered that she might expect a child.

  * * *

  Isabella found it necessary to visit the fortified towns on the borders of Castile and Portugal.

  As she travelled from place to place she brooded on the sad state of her kingdom. Robbers were still numerous on the road. The Hermandad was doing good work, but while war threatened it was impossible to find the necessary funds to keep the organization going. The position was not as serious as it had once been, but there must be continual vigil in the frontier towns.

  Beatriz came from Segovia to be with her.

  ‘You should rest,’ said Beatriz. ‘Eight months after the birth of Juan and you become pregnant again!’

  ‘It is a queen’s duty, Beatriz,’ Isabella reminded her friend with a smile, ‘to ensure that the royal line is continued.’

  ‘And to take care of herself that she may perform this duty,’ retorted Beatriz. ‘Has Your Highness forgotten another occasion, when you lost your child?’

  Isabella smiled. She allowed Beatriz to speak to her in this rather hectoring manner because she knew that it was the outward sign of a great affection. Perhaps no one in Castile loved her, reflected Isabella, as did this forthright, bold Beatriz de Bobadilla.

  ‘It is not for me to think of the peril to myself,’ she said calmly. ‘If I am timid, how can I expect my friends to be otherwise?’

  Beatriz attempted once more to dissuade Isabella from making these journeys, which were not only arduous but dangerous; but Isabella firmly implied that she wished to hear no more; and although Beatriz was by nature overbearing and Isabella so calm, Beatriz always realised when the moment had come to say no more and to drop the role of privileged friend for that of humble confidante.

  It was while Isabella was inspecting the border fortifications that she received a communication from the Infanta Dona Beatriz of Portugal. The Infanta, who was Isabella’s maternal aunt, deplored the fact that Castile and Portugal, whose sovereigns were so closely related, should be continually at war. She would be grateful, she wrote, if Isabella would meet her, and if together they could discuss some means of making peace between the two countries.

  Isabella was eager for the meeting, and she immediately agreed to it.

  Meanwhile, with Ferdinand and her counsellors, she drew up the peace terms.

  * * *

  Isabella, not yet incapacitated by pregnancy, rode to the border town of Alcantara, where Dona Beatriz of Portugal was waiting for her.

  The ladies embraced and, because each was so eager to bring about peace, they wasted no time in celebrations but began their discussions immediately.

  ‘My dear Dona Beatriz,’ said Isabella, as they sat together in the council chamber, ‘the Portuguese Army was beaten in the field, and should it come against us once more we should be confident of annihilating it.’

  ‘That is true,’ said Dona Beatriz, ‘but let us not consider the possibility of war. Let us turn our thoughts to peace.’

  ‘By all means,’ was the answer. ‘The first clause that we should insist on would be that Alfonso gives up the title and armorial bearings of Castile which he has assumed.’

  ‘That is reasonable. I feel sure he will agree to that.’

  ‘There must be no more claims from or on behalf of Joanna, and the King must no longer consider himself betrothed to her. Moreover, he must never again aspire to her hand.’

  Dona Beatriz frowned. ‘He has a great fondness for Joanna,’ she said.

  ‘And for the crown of
Castile,’ replied Isabella dryly, ‘to which he pretends to believe she has a claim.’

  ‘I can put this clause before him,’ said Beatriz. ‘It will be for me to persuade him to accept it.’

  ‘You are convinced of the justice of it?’

  ‘I am convinced that there must be peace between Castile and Portugal.’

  ‘Between Castile and Aragon and Portugal,’ said Isabella with a smile. ‘We are stronger now.’

  ‘I will remind the King of that also.’

  ‘As for Joanna,’ went on Isabella, ‘she must either leave Portugal or be betrothed to my son, Juan.’

  ‘Juan! He is not yet a year old . . . and she . . . she is now a young woman.’

  ‘It is a condition,’ said Isabella. ‘We will give her six months to decide whether she will leave Portugal or be betrothed to my son. If, when he reaches a marriageable age, she prefers to enter a convent, I shall not stand in her way. If she did enter a convent it would be necessary for her to take the veil’

  Beatriz looked long into the smiling face of Isabella, and she thought: We are discussing the life of a young girl who, although she has been a menace to Isabella, is in herself innocent. Yet Isabella, herself so happy in her marriage and her family, is so determined to be secure upon the throne, that she is not only denying this girl any hope of the crown but of the normal life of a woman. The face Isabella showed to the world was completely enigmatic. It would be well not to be deceived by that gentle façade.

  ‘It is a hard choice for a young girl,’ mused Beatriz. ‘Betrothal to a baby or the veil!’

  ‘It is an important condition,’ said Isabella.

  ‘I can put these terms before Joanna,’ said Beatriz, ‘and before the King. I can do no more.’

  ‘That is understood,’ said Isabella. ‘All Castilians who have fought with the King of Portugal for Joanna will be pardoned and, to show that I and my husband wish for friendship with Portugal, my daughter, the Infanta Isabella, shall be betrothed to Alonso, son of the Prince of Portugal.’

  ‘So these are your conditions,’ said Beatriz. ‘I do not think it will be easy to obtain the King’s consent to all of them.’

  ‘I deplore war,’ Isabella told her. ‘But it will be necessary for the King to agree to all these conditions if we are to have peace. He must remember that he was defeated in the field. He will know that, eager as Castile is for peace, it does not need it so desperately as does Portugal.’

  The two ladies took their leave of each other, Beatriz travelling westward to Lisbon, Isabella eastward to Madrid.

  Isabella waited. The conditions were hard, but they were necessarily so, she told herself, to secure lasting peace. She was sorry for Joanna, who had been a helpless puppet in the hands of ambitious men, but the comfort and happiness of one young woman could not be considered when the prosperity of Castile was at stake.

  Isabella was large with her child when news came that Alfonso had accepted her terms.

  Her spirits were high. The War of the Succession, which had lasted four years, was over.

  And very soon another child would be born to her and Ferdinand.

  * * *

  The city of Toledo was set high on a plateau of stone which appeared to have been carved out of the surrounding mountains in the gorge of the Tagus. Only on the north side was it accessible by a narrow isthmus which connected it with the plain of Castile. In no other city in Isabella’s Castile was there more evidence of Moorish occupation.

  Isabella could never visit her city of Toledo without reiterating the vow that one day she would wrest from the Moors those provinces of Spain which were still under their domination, and that the flag of Christian Spain should float over every city.

  But, to remind her of the state of her country, not far from this very palace of Toledo in which she now lay was that great rock, from which it was the custom to hurl alleged criminals. Many would meet their fate at the rock of Toledo before Castile would be safe for honest men and women to live in.

  A tremendous task lay before her, and as soon as she had left this childbed she must devote herself to stabilising her country. Nothing should be spared, she had decided. She would be harsh if harshness were needed, and all her honest subjects would rejoice. She had sworn to rid Castile of its criminals, to make the roads safe for travellers by imposing such penalties on offenders that even the most hardened robber would think twice before offending.

  But now there was the child about to be born.

  It would be soon, and she was unafraid. One grew accustomed to childbearing. The pains of birth she could bear stoically. She had a daughter and son, and she no longer had any uneasy feelings regarding a child she would bear. Her mother was living in a dark world of her own at Arevalo, and the dread that the children should be like her had disappeared. Why should they be? Isabella was in full possession of her mental powers. No one in Castile was more balanced, more controlled than the Queen. Why, then, should she fear?

  The pains were becoming more frequent. Isabella waited a while before she called to her women.

  It was some hours later when, in the fortress town of Toledo, Isabella’s second daughter and third child was born.

  She called her Juana.

  * * *

  Joanna knew herself to be deserted. Alfonso had agreed to Isabella’s terms, and she had been offered her choice: a marriage with a boy who was still a baby, or the veil.

  Joanna knew that only would that marriage take place if by the time Prince Juan was in his teens there were still people to remember her cause in Castile. She wondered what sort of marriage she could hope for with a partner so many years younger than herself.

  The peace of the cloister seemed inviting; but to take the veil, to shut herself off from the world for ever! Could she do that?

  Yet what alternative was Isabella offering her? Shrewd Isabella who, so gently and with seeming kindness, could drive a poor bewildered girl into a prison from which there was no escape!

  She must resign herself. She would take the veil. It was the only way to end conflict. How unhappy were those who, by an accident of birth, could never be allowed to live their lives as they would choose to do.

  ‘I think,’ she said to her attendants, ‘that I will prepare myself to go to the convent of Santa Clara at Coimbra.’

  The visiting embassy called upon her when her decision was made known.

  The leaders of this embassy were Dr Diaz de Madrigal, a member of Isabella’s Council, and Fray Fernando de Talavera, her confessor.

  Talavera gave Joanna his blessing.

  ‘You have chosen well, my daughter,’ he said. ‘In the convent of Santa Clara you will find a peace which you have never known outside the convent walls.’ Joanna smiled wanly.

  She knew then how fervent had been Isabella’s wish that she would take this course,

  * * *

  Alfonso came to her to take his last farewell.

  ‘My dearest,’ he said, taking both her hands and kissing them. ‘So this is the end of all our hopes.’

  ‘It is perhaps better so,’ said Joanna. ‘Many seem to be of that opinion.’

  ‘It leaves me desolate,’ declared Alfonso. ‘My dearest Joanna, I had made so many dreams.’

  ‘Too many dreams,’ said Joanna wistfully.

  ‘What shall I do when you are immersed in your convent? What shall I do when there is an impenetrable barrier between us?’

  ‘You will govern your country and doubtless make another marriage.’

  ‘That I shall never do,’ cried Alfonso. His eyes kindled, and Joanna guessed that he was conceiving a new plan to marry her in spite of the Pope, in spite of the agreement he had made with Isabella.

  Joanna shook her head. ‘You have agreed to these terms,’ she said. ‘There can be no going back. That would result in a war which might prove disastrous to Portugal.’

  ‘Must I let you go?’

  ‘Indeed you must.’

  Alfonso’s looks became mel
ancholy. He had abandoned the idea of defiance. He now said: ‘Since you are to incarcerate yourself in a convent, I shall spend the rest of my days in a monastery. As it must be the veil for you, it must be the Franciscan habit for me.’

  She smiled at him sadly. ‘You remember, Alfonso,’ she said, ‘that on a previous occasion you came near to entering a monastery. On that occasion, you changed your mind.’

  ‘This time I shall not change,’ said Alfonso, ‘for this is the only way I can bear the loss of my lady Joanna.’

  * * *

  Never before had Isabella felt so confident, never so sure of her powers.

  She had summoned a Cortes to meet at Toledo, and here new laws had been discussed and introduced. Isabella had made it clear that she intended to crush the power of the nobles and to eliminate crime in her dominions as far as possible.

  The Santa Hermandad must be extended; only if it were efficient could crime be dealt with, and Isabella was certain that only harsh punishment, meted out to proved offenders, could deter others from following their example. Officers of the Hermandad were sent to every village in Castile, where they took up residence so that order there might be maintained. Two alcaldes were set up in every village. This had to be paid for, and a house tax of 18,000 maravedis was imposed on every hundred householders.

  But Isabella was fully aware of the fact that she could not punish with great severity those who carried out their crimes in a small way and allow those who offended on a larger scale to escape.

  During the reigns of her father and half-brother many sinecures had been created, and those men who had supported these kings had received large incomes as a reward. Isabella was determined that such drains on the exchequer should cease. Those who supported her must do so for love of their country, not for monetary reward. Thus Isabella deprived Beltran de la Cueva of a yearly income of a million and a half maravedis, in spite of the fact that he had turned from Joanna, alleged to be his daughter, to offer his services to Isabella; the Duke of Alva lost 600,000 maravedis, the Duke of Medina Sidonia 180,000 and Ferdinand’s relative, Admiral Henriquez, 240,000.