Standing behind the throne, Villena smiled.
I stood silent, stunned. They had found out. How naïve I had been! I should have known they would be watching me like hawks. What would they do now? How could I escape whatever trap they had prepared for me?
When I finally spoke, I sounded hoarse. “I regret to have caused you distress, but by the terms of our treaty I do retain the right—”
“No.” Enrique cut me off. “You have no right save that which I see fit to give you.” He regarded me with an icy composure that was far more disconcerting than his previous flares of temper. He’d obviously been waiting a long time to enact this revenge; he was wilier than anyone had supposed. He had fooled us all.
“That treaty of ours,” he continued, “was a farce, a grave insult to my dignity. I should have arrested the traitors and beheaded the lot. They left me a beggar in my own realm, forced to seek terms with those who abused my trust. I was humiliated.”
This time, I could not stop myself from taking a step back as he stood, looming over me with his shoulders hunched, so immense he seemed to fill the room.
“Your brother should have died on the scaffold,” he said. “He escaped my wrath but you, beloved sister—you shall not, not if you dare defy me again.”
I couldn’t take my gaze from him, not even when I heard Villena drawl, “The king was forced to sign the treaty of Guisando under duress. Princess Joanna, his child by his queen, is by right of birth the true heiress of Castile.”
I said to Enrique, “So now you once again believe she is your daughter?”
He bit his lip; he’d not forgotten his confession to me years ago. But before I could exploit the advantage, Villena added, “But we are willing to keep you in the succession if you agree to marry where we deem fit.”
“We?” I turned to him in stony disbelief.
“Yes.” Villena tripped to a side table and took up a red leather portfolio. He brandished it in my direction. “Your Highness shall wed Afonso V, king of Portugal.”
While his pronouncement was not unexpected—the queen had espoused this match for me before—it felt as if I’d been kicked in the stomach. Enrique had taken the path he knew I was least likely to accept, which meant there could be no doubt he sought revenge. Captivity would have been preferable; at least in a prison, I could hope for rescue. But marriage to the Portuguese king, often called El Africano for his seafaring exploits, brother to Queen Juana—it was exactly what Carrillo had warned me against. I would be a prisoner for life, barred from inheriting Castile, while Villena turned the realm into his private trough.
“No.” I spoke before I knew it, a sudden core of strength taking shape inside me. “Absolutely not. Though I owe fealty to my king, I can never consent to such a match.”
“Who are you, to speak thus?” spat Villena. “If we say you’ll wed King Afonso, then you will. By all that is holy, either you obey us or you will suffer the consequences.”
I met his stare. “By all that is holy, my lord, you are not my king.”
“But I am.” Enrique stared hard at me. “I am your king and brother; and I say you will do this. In fact, I command it.”
I regarded him in silence. I saw nothing in his stance to denote any loss of control brought on through weeks of manipulation by Villena. Enrique was treating me as if I were one of his helpless creatures in his menageries, though I suspected he would have felt more for a captive animal’s suffering than he did for mine.
In that moment my last remnant of affection for him, which I’d tried so hard to retain, which had kept me from assuming Alfonso’s cause and inured me to Carrillo’s disdain, was extinguished. I saw only a man unworthy to rule this ancient realm and I was not afraid anymore. Not of him.
“I will consider this request, as it comes from my king,” I said, ignoring Villena. “Now, by your leave, may I depart for my house in Ocaña? The air here does not suit me.”
Villena started to bark something but Enrique held up his hand. “No,” he replied, without looking away from me. “Let her go. Send an escort with her to Ocaña. I believe she can just as easily consider my orders from there.”
“Sire, she will try to escape,” said Villena. “Remember, she is a liar; like all women, she has Eve’s own cunning. Keep her here, under guard, until spring, when we are due to negotiate the terms of our Portuguese alliance—”
“I will not escape,” I interrupted, keeping my gaze fixed on Enrique. “You have my solemn word as your sister.”
He returned my stare for a long moment before he gave a curt nod. I sank to the floor in a curtsey. If they thought they’d cajoled me into submission, so be it.
For I would never let them seize control of my fate.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Villena undertook my escort to Ocaña, along with two hundred armed men. I kept my head high as we entered the city, where the people had gathered to welcome me back, the women and children with bouquets of autumn flowers and the men with their caps doffed. Their spontaneous cheers sputtered and faded when they saw me surrounded by pikes and helmets; their surprise soon turned to outright alarm when they found themselves playing unwilling host to Villena’s posse, who would remain in Ocaña to ensure I did not flee.
Villena may not have dared to set his men in my palace but he’d managed to lure Mencia de Mendoza back into service. I found her waiting in my rooms the moment I entered. As she swept into a curtsey, she announced that she had been appointed my matron of honor by the king, now that Beatriz resided in Segovia with her husband.
Inés scowled. Our adventures at court had finally created a bond between us and her spine was rigid at the sight of the woman who had first hired her to spy and whom she had turned against in order to serve me.
“You will not attend my lady in her bedchamber,” she announced. “That is my duty.”
Mencia’s lips pursed. She was about to say something no doubt disagreeable about her noble status and Inés’s utter lack thereof, when I stopped her cold. “You will see to our supper now, Doña de la Cueva.” My deliberate use of her married name and the order to perform a menial task did not go unnoticed; with another, stiffer curtsey, she stormed off.
“Sweet Mother save us,” said Inés as she unfastened my cloak. “Why is she here?”
“The same reason she first sent you to me: to spy, of course.” I went to my oak desk, wondering if Mencia had already rifled through it. Before I had left for court, I’d hidden a portfolio with copies of my letters to Fernando and his replies, as well as copies of the archbishop’s correspondence with King Juan of Aragón, and my own with Torquemada; it was all in a secret compartment under the bottom drawer. To my relief, I saw that Mencia had not yet found it. But now that she was here, nothing in my palace would remain private for long.
“Inés,” I said, and she turned to me, alert. I handed her the portfolio. “Give this to Cárdenas. Tell him to hide it in the stables.” I allowed myself a smile. “I believe Mencia thinks of herself as too much of a lady to go digging in horse muck.”
Inés left. Alone in my chambers, I paced. What was I going to do? What could I do? With Villena’s men scattered throughout the city and Mencia in my house, how was I going to elude their trap? Villena had returned to Segovia, but only after threatening me with an unpleasant end if I dared leave Ocaña for any reason. Winter approached; nothing of import could transpire while the winds and snows blew, but by March, at the latest, they would meet with the Portuguese. They could conclude their arrangements within days and immediately have me sent for. I could find myself betrothed to King Afonso before my eighteenth birthday, in April.
I dug my nails into my palms to stop myself from spiraling into useless rumination. I would not let it happen. I must escape. I must elude them and find a safe place. Enrique and I were now at war; it might be undeclared but war it was, nonetheless.
For, no matter what my half brother threatened, I would wed no one but Fernando.
IT WAS A moonless n
ight, frigid and hushed as March nights in Castile often were, the land still dormant under the grip of winter.
Inés had told me Chacón would bring Carrillo through the city gates in disguise; a nervous chuckle escaped me when I heard this. However would Chacón manage it? Surely the archbishop was the most recognizable man in the realm—a formidable figure in his signature crimson cape, his sword strapped to his waist. I couldn’t envision him going anywhere unperceived. But the letters we’d exchanged through Cárdenas, who’d braved freezing gales to slip in and out of Ocaña with the stealth of a hawk, had assured me Carrillo would find a way.
Now I waited, walking back and forth across the worn floor, nervously eyeing the door which might bring me my escape—or my doom.
Over the last five months, while Cárdenas carried my covert missives and Ines waged a domestic battle with Mencia, the number of guards about my palace had increased like locusts. It soon began to look as if Villena had dispatched a veritable army to Ocaña. When I was denied permission to visit my mother in Arévalo for Epiphany, I finally ventured to ask Mencia why there were so many soldiers in the streets—indeed, outside our very gates.
She replied with a feigned air of indifference, “I believe there’s been an uprising in the south, led by the rebel marquis of Cádiz. His Majesty and Villena must travel to Andalucía to contend with him. Naturally, their utmost concern while they are gone is Your Highness’s continued safety.”
“Naturally,” I said dryly, but inside me, hope flared. Cádiz was a notorious troublemaker, a temperamental grandee with vast swaths of land in Andalucía and a lifelong enmity for his rival, the duke of Medina Sidonia. Together, these two southern nobles had wreaked more havoc than the Moors had. Their quarrel could upset the precarious balance of power in the region, and such a threat to the realm’s stability would preclude meeting with the Portuguese. With Enrique and Villena gone for at least a month—for Sevilla was much farther away from Castile than Portugal—the timing was perfect for me to carry out my escape.
Carrillo must have felt the same, for within days Cárdenas brought word from the archbishop. My valises were packed with essentials; Ines took them to the stables to hide them under the straw. We then spent several anxious weeks pretending to go about our daily activities, overseeing the house, embroidering, reading, and retiring shortly after nightfall to save candles—all of which was calculated to drive Mencia into a state of desperate boredom. When Ines reported that Mencia had taken up with one of the soldiers, a brawny youth with whom she stole off to frolic every night, I had to stifle my rather unseemly delight.
“And she’s a married woman,” Inés sniffed. “Common harlots have more scruples.”
I told myself that the circumstances were extraordinary and Mencia’s lack of scruples could not matter to me, not when her distraction could serve my purpose; and so I feigned utter indifference to the love bites on her throat and her satisfied leer.
Tonight she was once again absent, having slipped out the moment she heard me close my bedchamber door. Inés had hurried downstairs to open the gates; we could only pray that the soldiers who usually patrolled our area had chosen to get out of the cold and seek diversion in one of the plaza taverns. The notches in the candle on my sideboard showed it was past two in the morning. Surely the sentries would not still be outside the palace at this late hour—
I paused, hearing footsteps on the stairs. I went still. The horrifying thought that it was Villena’s men made my blood run cold. Word could have leaked out that I was writing to Carrillo; they were undoubtedly watching him in Yepes, as much as they watched me here. After all, they’d discovered my letters to Aragón. Dios mío, what if they had come to arrest me now?
I stifled my gasp when the knock sounded on my door. Then I heard Inés whisper, “My lady? My lady, it is us,” and I unlocked the bolt to reveal her in the corridor, along with two large figures dressed in long hooded capes.
I sighed with relief as they strode in. Both wore Franciscan habits under their cloaks and I immediately recognized one of the men as Chacón. When the larger man tore back the cowl covering his face, I smiled. “Welcome to Ocaña, my lord Archbishop.”
Carrillo snorted, his thick brows drawn together in his habitual frown. “I told you they’d try to do you some harm.” His gaze raked my chamber. “God have mercy, it’s like a pauper’s den in here. Is this the best they could find for the next queen of Castile?”
I found it amusing that after nearly a year of absence, he remained irascible as ever. “It was quite suitable,” I said, “until Villena decided to fill it with informants.”
“Villena is a snake,” he growled, as though the marquis no longer shared any blood of his. “I’m going to cut him into pieces as soon as I see you settled in your proper state.”
I glanced at Chacón; my steward explained, “Just before we left Yepes, his lordship received warning through my lord the Admiral. Villena actively plots to—”
“Treason!” blasted Carrillo, making me wince. “That mincing lap-dog nephew of mine dares to accuse me of treason! Well, here I am! Let him come arrest me, the shit.” He guffawed. “That is, if our Andalucían friends Medina Sidonia and Cádiz don’t make mincemeat of him first. Or better yet, throw him over the walls of Málaga for the Moors to have their pleasure with.”
“My lord,” said Chacón sternly, “Her Highness is present.”
Carrillo paused. His florid cheeks turned redder. “Ah, yes. Forgive me. I’m a crude old man, lacking in refinement.”
I inclined my head. “It is late. Perhaps we should …?” I let my words linger; I had no idea what their plans were, but even I knew traveling friars did not go about with armed escorts, or, for that matter, refugee princesses. Their disguise wasn’t going to facilitate my escape.
As I searched the archbishop’s expression, my heart sank. “You’re not taking me with you.”
Carrillo paced to the sideboard to pour a goblet. He did not appear pleased that my decanter contained only fresh, clear water. It was one of my whims; whenever clean water could be found (and there was plenty of it in cities with working aqueducts) I insisted it should take the place of wine in my chambers. I disliked how wine affected men’s reason and watched in amusement as Carrillo drank with a grimace. “It’s not advisable,” he said, setting his goblet down. “Not yet. Too many of Villena’s men are still roaming about, not only here, but all over Castile. That bugger seems to have eyes in the back of his head. And the situation with Aragón isn’t resolved yet. There are still several important details to work out.”
“Such as what?” I contained a surge of irritation. “You told me King Juan was outraged that Enrique sought another alliance for me. I thought he’d decided to favor my cause and send a representative to us with Aragón’s full capitulations, formalizing the betrothal.”
Carrillo nodded. “He did, yes. We have his capitulations, but I’m not yet satisfied. We’ve the issue of your dowry yet to settle and the papal dispensation of consanguinity to procure, as you and Fernando are second cousins; not to mention the manner in which you’ll assume the throne. Castile must always hold precedence over Aragón; we cannot afford to be embroiled in their realm’s ceaseless feuding with France or to deplete our treasury in their defense. Such issues take time and—”
“I don’t care about dowries,” I interrupted. “As for the dispensation, surely His Holiness the pope will not refuse us. And as to how I will assume the throne, we can settle that at a later date. God willing, I’m not going to become queen anytime soon.”
The corners of Carrillo’s mouth turned downward. He said in a flat voice, “After everything he has done, you would still grant that spineless worm his right to the crown?”
“He is our king; he has that right until the day he dies. I’ll not wage war on him as Alfonso did. But neither shall I consent to whatever arrangements he sees fit to make for me.” I paused, regarding Carrillo with impatience. “I thought I had made it clear that al
l I want is to marry the prince I’ve chosen and reside in a safe place without Villena spying on me.”
“Then I suggest you move outside Castile,” he retorted. “For if you insist on upholding Enrique’s right to the throne, there’ll be no safety in this realm for you, not once you marry Fernando.”
My pent-up rage was growing so hot I could practically feel it scalding my throat. I could not believe he had come here merely to chastise me. Was he so arrogant he thought he could browbeat me like a child into doing his will? If so, he was making a grave mistake.
Chacón and Inés had gone still, watching the archbishop and me face each other like combatants. Then Carrillo released one of his dramatic sighs. Reaching into his habit pocket, he removed a messenger’s leather cylinder.
All of a sudden I was holding my breath.
He gave an uneasy chuckle. “No harm in waiting a little at first, eh, just in case Your Highness should happen to change her mind.”
I exhaled through my teeth. Taking the cylinder from him, I went to my desk and opened the lid, tapping out a rolled parchment with dangling seals. I scanned its long paragraphs, barely registering the convoluted clauses, the agreements and counter-agreements detailing the minutiae of status that underpinned every royal union. Instead, I looked at the bottom of the page. There, scrawled in the handwriting I had come to know so well, was: Yo, Fernando de Aragón.
He had signed our betrothal. He still wanted me.
I could not move. The moment I signed this paper, there would be no turning back. Though I had no desire to usurp his throne, Enrique would see this as a declaration of war; he had forbidden me to seek any arrangement without his leave, and once he heard of my defiance, his retaliation would be swift. I was about to risk everything for a prince I had not seen in years—my place in the succession, my future as queen, perhaps my very life.
My hand paused over the quill in my ink pot. “And the dispensation …?” I asked.
The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile Page 17