Castile for Isabella

by Виктория Холт

  ‘You mean... you and I will do so?’ asked the King.

  ‘If your Highness would graciously listen to my advice, how gladly would I give it.’

  Weak tears were in Henry’s eyes. The long quarrel was over. The wily Villena had left the opposite camp and was his man once more.

  * * *

  The meeting took place at an inn which was known as the Venta de los Toros de Guisando. Toros de Guisando took its name from the stone figures of bulls which had been left on this spot by the invading armies of Julius Caesar, as their Latin inscriptions indicated.

  Here Henry embraced Isabella with great warmth and was delighted to see that she was not unmoved by their meeting.

  ‘Isabella,’ he said, ‘we meet in sorrow. The saints know I bore no resentment against Alfonso. It was not he who put the crown on his own head; others did that. Like you, I long for peace. Is it impossible for us to achieve that for which we so fervently long?’

  ‘No, brother,’ said Isabella, ‘it shall not be impossible.’

  ‘I have heard, my dear,’ said Henry, ‘that you have refused to allow yourself to be proclaimed Queen of Castile. You are both wise and good.’

  ‘Brother,’ answered Isabella, ‘there could be only one monarch of Castile at this time, and you are by right that monarch.’

  ‘Isabella, I see that we shall come to terms.’

  This was very touching, thought the Archbishop, but it was time to discuss practical details.

  ‘The first and most important item on our declaration is that the Princess Isabella be proclaimed heir to the crowns of Castile and Leon,’ he said.

  ‘I agree to that,’ said Henry.

  Isabella was astonished by his alacrity, for it could only mean that he accepted the fact that his wife’s little daughter was not his.

  ‘It would be necessary,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘that a free pardon be given to all who had taken part in the struggle.’

  ‘Gladly I give it,’ cried Henry.

  ‘It grieves me to say this,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘but the conduct of the Queen is not that which can commend itself to her people.’

  The King shook his head sadly. Since Beltran had become so immersed in politics, it was true that Joanna had looked for lovers who had been more willing to make her the first consideration in their lives – and found them.

  ‘We should require,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘that there be a divorce and the Queen sent back to Portugal.’

  Henry hesitated. He was wondering how he was going to face an enraged Joanna after agreeing to this. But he trusted in his ability to shift that responsibility on to other shoulders. After all, Joanna could find lovers in Portugal as readily as she did in Castile. He would assure her that it was none of his doing – if he had to tell her of the discussion.

  He met Villena’s gaze and a look of understanding passed between them.

  ‘I... give my consent,’ said Henry.

  ‘A Cortes should be invoked for the purpose of giving the Princess Isabella the title of heiress to the crowns of Castile and Leon.’

  ‘It shall be done,’ said Henry.

  ‘And,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘the Princess Isabella shall not be forced to marry against her wishes; nor must she do so without the consent of yourself.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Henry.

  ‘Then,’ cried the Archbishop, ‘is the Princess Isabella the heir to the crowns of Castile and Leon.’

  * * *

  Beatriz could rejoice that her mistress had now been acclaimed as heiress to the crowns.

  This was the surest way to soothe her grief, for Isabella was now suppressing her emotions in order that she might dedicate herself to the enormous task which, should she reach maturity, would almost certainly be hers.

  Isabella was determined that under her rule Castile should become great.

  She gave herself up to meditation and prayer; she was studying the history of her country and others. This dedication was, said Beatriz to Mencia, like a raft to a drowning creature.

  Only thus could she grow away from the terrible shock of Alfonso’s death, which had seemed doubly hard to bear because, after she had heard of his death, she had had the great joy of seeing him alive, only to lose him a few hours later.

  Beatriz was determined to watch over her mistress. There would be many, she believed, ready to bring tasty trout to her table. There were the adherents of Queen Joanna and her daughter, who could wish for nothing which would serve them better than the death of Isabella.

  But Isabella was not going to die. Beatriz had determined on that, and Beatriz was a very determined woman.

  Isabella, heiress to the crowns of Castile and Leon, was not now merely the sister of the self-appointed King Alfonso. Now there were many to seek her hand in marriage.

  Ambassadors from England arrived in Spain. They were seeking a bride for Richard of Gloucester, the brother of their King Edward IV, who himself, before his marriage to Elizabeth Grey, had considered Isabella as a possible Queen. Isabella would suit Richard very well.

  ‘Why,’ said Beatriz, ‘if you made this match, it is possible that one day you might be Queen of England.’

  ‘But how could I serve Castile if I were England’s Queen?’ demanded Isabella.

  There was a suitor from France. This was the Duke of Guienne, the brother of Louis XI; and he, since at this time Louis was without heirs, was next in succession to the throne of France.

  ‘You would be Queen of France,’ said Beatriz.

  But Isabella only shook her head and smiled.

  ‘You still think of Ferdinand?’

  ‘I have always considered myself betrothed to Ferdinand.’

  ‘You have made an image of him,’ Beatriz told her anxiously. ‘What if it should be a false one?’

  ‘I do not believe that can be so.’

  ‘But, Princesa, how can you be sure? There are so many disappointments in life.’

  ‘Listen to me, Beatriz,’ said Isabella fervently. ‘Marriage with Ferdinand is the only marriage for me. By it we shall unite Castile and Aragon; do you not realise what that will mean for Spain? Sometimes I believe that it is part of a great design – a Divine design. You see how every obstacle in Ferdinand’s progress to the throne of Aragon is being cleared away. And so, it would seem, is my way to the throne of Castile. Can that be a mere coincidence? I do not think so.’

  ‘You think then that you and Ferdinand are the elect of God.’

  Isabella clasped her hands together and lifted her eyes, and Beatriz caught her breath at the rapt expression she saw on her mistress’s face.

  Then Isabella said: ‘I believe it is God’s will to make an all-Christian Spain. I believe that He wishes that to be a strong Spain. I believe that Ferdinand and I, when we are united, will do His Will and that we shall drive from this land all who do not belong to the Holy Catholic Church.’

  ‘You mean that together you and Ferdinand will convert or drive out every Jew and Moor from this country; that you will bring to the Christian Faith all those who follow other religions? What a mighty task! For centuries there have been Arabs in Spain.’

  ‘That is no reason why they should continue to remain here.’

  Beatriz was doubtful. Isabella, seeming so strong, was yet vulnerable. What if her Ferdinand were not the man she believed him to be? What if he were as lecherous as Don Pedro, as weak as her half-brother Henry?

  ‘You will be strong. You will be capable of this, I know,’ said Beatriz. ‘But your partner must be equally strong and devoted to the Faith. How can we know that he is?’

  ‘You doubt Ferdinand?’

  ‘I know little of Ferdinand. Isabella, face the truth. What do you know of him?’

  ‘I know this: that he is my betrothed husband and I will take no other.’

  Beatriz was silent awhile. Then she said: ‘Why do you not send a man to Aragon... that he may meet Ferdinand and tell you what you wish to know of him. Let him go there and let
him go to France. Let him see the Duke of Guienne and discover what manner of man he is – and let him see Ferdinand and report on him. You could send your chaplain, Alonso de Coca. You could trust him.’

  Isabella’s eyes sparkled.

  ‘I will send him, Beatriz,’ she said. ‘But not because I need reassurance. I will send him that you may be assured that Ferdinand is the husband – and the only husband – for me.’

  * * *

  The Marquis of Villena called on his uncle, the Archbishop of Toledo. Villena was a little uneasy, because he was unsure of his uncle’s reaction to the turn in events.

  Villena was a sly statesman; the Archbishop was a brave fighter and a man who, while seeking self-advancement, must believe in his cause. He was not the man – as his nephew was – to change his loyalties merely because they suited the immediate purpose.

  Villena therefore began cautiously: ‘Isabella would never be the puppet that Alfonso was.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said the Archbishop. ‘We have a real Queen here. One whom it will be our pleasure to serve. My only regret is that she refused to allow herself to be proclaimed Queen. She was right, of course, morally right. But I cannot help thinking that it would have been advantageous for our country if Isabella wore the crown which now is set so unbecomingly on Henry’s head.’

  Villena remained silent. His uncle rejoiced in that quality of Isabella’s which he deplored. Villena did not want a woman of purpose to rule Castile. He wanted a puppet whom he could direct. It was not easy to explain this to his fiery uncle.

  ‘I do not think,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘that Alfonso’s death is such a great calamity after all. I think that in Alfonso’s sister we have our Queen. I give my allegiance to her and I believe she is beginning to understand that I wish to serve her.’ The Archbishop laughed. ‘She is inclined to distrust me. Was I not on the side of the rebels? And Isabella is so loyal to the crown, so determined to uphold its dignity, that she deplores rebels.’

  ‘Why, Uncle,’ said Villena, ‘you have allowed the young woman to bewitch you.’

  ‘I admit she impresses me deeply. I feel delighted to serve her.’

  ‘But, Uncle, what can a girl know of the governing of a country?’

  ‘Depend upon it, nephew, she will never attempt to do that which is beyond her power. And I do assure you that the governing of the country is something she will quickly learn. Why, Isabella is dedicated to her task – and that is how all Kings and Queens should approach their duties.’

  ‘H’m,’ said Villena. ‘You have become mild, Uncle.’

  ‘Mild! Never! But I stand firmly beside our future Queen. And if any attack her, you will not have to complain of the mildness of Alfonso Carillo.’

  ‘Well, well, you are happy with this turn of events then.’

  ‘I feel more confident of the future of Castile than I ever did before.’

  Villena quickly took his leave of his uncle.

  He had nothing to say to him; he knew they had arrived at a great divergence of opinion.

  They would no longer work together; they were on opposite sides.

  * * *

  When Villena left the Archbishop, he made his way to Henry’s apartments.

  Henry received him eagerly. He could not show his gratitude sufficiently, so delighted was he to have Villena back in his camp.

  Joanna the Queen had left him now. She had been so furious that he had agreed to divorce her that she had gone to Madrid, where she now lived scandalously, taking lover after lover as though in defiance of the verdict which had been passed on her at Toros de Guisando. It had been no use Henry’s explaining to Joanna that he had no intention of keeping his word in regard to what had been laid down at the meeting with Isabella; Joanna was so furious, because he could even have pretended to agree to divorce her, that she had gone off in a rage.

  That was of no great matter, for she had long brought him more uneasiness than pleasure; he was happy enough with his own mistresses, and he took care to choose those who would not dabble in politics.

  And now here was his dear friend Villena, returned to be his friend and adviser, and so happily take charge of everything and instruct him as to what had to be done.

  Villena explained that he had left his uncle and that the Archbishop had given his allegiance to Isabella, as he Villena had to Alfonso.

  ‘He is a single-minded man,’ said Villena. ‘He can blind himself to his own advantages at times. After all, he is a man of the Church and he needs to have faith in something. He has now put that faith in Isabella. She has managed to appeal to his sense of righteousness. It is regrettable, Highness, for we have lost a useful ally.’

  ‘My dear Villena, I believe you will do very well without him.’

  ‘That may be. But I am a little disturbed about our Isabella. I was hoping a marriage with England or France would attract her. It would be comforting to know that she was no longer in Castile.’

  Henry nodded.

  ‘It would be so very simple, if she were not here,’ went on Villena, ‘to proclaim the little Joanna heiress to the throne.’

  ‘So much easier,’ admitted Henry.

  ‘Well, she declines England; she is preparing to decline France. You know why. She has set her heart on Ferdinand.’ Villena’s face hardened. Not on any account was he going to allow the match with Aragon to become an accomplished fact. That would be the end of his ambitions, he knew. Isabella and Ferdinand together would be formidable opponents of his plans. Villena knew exactly what he wanted. A puppet King, a puppet heir, and himself the most powerful man in Castile. Where could he find a more suitable puppet King than Henry, where a more pliable puppet heiress than La Beltraneja? It was awkward to have to switch loyalties in this way, but he saw no help for it. Isabella had clearly shown that she would not be his puppet. Therefore Isabella must go.

  ‘We cannot have meddlesome Ferdinand here. He would be ruling Castile in no time. That is why I propose to send an embassy into Portugal. Alfonso, I have reason to believe, will be ready to renew his suit.’

  ‘It is an excellent plan,’ said Henry. ‘If Isabella married him she would be Queen of Portugal.’

  ‘And that would take her finally from the Castilian scene,’ added Villena.

  ‘Then let us send an embassy to Portugal.’

  ‘Highness, I have already forestalled your command. The embassy has left for Portugal.’

  ‘You always do exactly what I would do myself,’ said Henry.

  ‘It is my greatest pleasure, Highness. And I have further news. Many powerful noblemen, including the Mendozas, disagree with the treaty of Toros de Guisando. They declare that the Infanta Joanna has not been proved illegitimate and that she, not Isabella, is the true heir to the throne.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Henry mildly.

  ‘I think,’ went on Villena slyly, ‘that when our Isabella has left for Portugal we shall have no difficulty in proclaiming your little daughter heir to the throne.’

  ‘It is what I would wish,’ said Henry. ‘Then, with Isabella in Portugal and Joanna proclaimed heiress of the throne of Castile, there would be no more strife. We should have peace.’

  * * *

  Beatriz came hurrying to her mistress’s apartment in the Castle at Ocaña, in which Isabella was resident.

  ‘Highness, Alonso de Coca has returned.’

  ‘Then bring him to me at once,’ said Isabella.

  The chaplain was brought to her presence and Isabella received him with affection.

  ‘It seems long since you went away,’ she told him.

  ‘Highness, it was only the desire to obey your command which kept me, so great was my longing for Castile.’

  Beatriz was chafing with impatience.

  ‘Come, sit down,’ said Isabella, ‘and you shall tell me what you saw in the Courts of France and Aragon.’

  Alonso de Coca then began to tell his mistress of the manners of the French Court, and how the shabby King was so parsimonious
that even his own courtiers were ashamed of him.

  Beatriz cried. ‘And what of the Duke of Guienne?’

  Alonso de Coca shook his head. ‘Why, Infanta, he is a feeble man, more like a woman than a man in manner. Moreover, his legs are weak so that he cannot dance, and he seems almost deformed. His eyes are weak also; they water continually, which gives the impression that he is always in tears.’

  ‘I do not think I should care much for such a husband,’ said Isabella looking demurely at Beatriz. ‘And what of your stay at the Court of Aragon? Did you set eyes on Ferdinand?’

  ‘I did, Highness.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said the impatient Beatriz, ‘what of Ferdinand? Do his eyes water? Is he weak on his legs?’

  Alonso de Coca laughed. ‘Ah, my Princesa, ah, my lady, Ferdinand bears no resemblance to the Duke of Guienne. His figure is all that the figure of a young Prince should be. His eyes flash; they do not water. His legs are so strong that he can do more than dance; he can fight beside his father and win the admiration of all by his bravery. He is fair of face and high of spirit. He is that Prince who could be most worthy of a young, beautiful and spirited Princess.’

  Isabella was looking in triumph at Beatriz, who grimaced and murmured: ‘Well, I rejoice. I rejoice with all my heart. It is not as I feared. I say now: “Long life and happiness to Isabella and Ferdinand.”’

  * * *

  One of the pages came hurrying to the apartment of Beatriz, where she was chatting with Mencia de la Torre.

  The page was white and trembling, and Beatriz was alarmed. She knew that, when anything disturbing happened, the servants always wished her to break the news to Isabella.

  ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘My lady, a paper was nailed to the gates last night.’

  ‘What paper was this?’

  ‘Shall I have it brought to you, my lady?’

  ‘With all speed.’

  The page went out, and Beatriz turned to Mencia. ‘What now?’ she murmured. ‘Oh, I fear that our Princess is far from the arms of her Ferdinand.’