by Jean Plaidy
‘You must do as you wish, but how glad I shall be when all this strife is at an end.’
‘Leave this matter to me, Highness. Once we have curbed our haughty Isabella . . . once she is safely despatched to Portugal or . . . elsewhere . . . then, I promise you, there shall be peace in this land.’
‘I pray the saints it will be soon,’ sighed Henry.
When the embassy arrived at Saragossa, John of Aragon found himself in a quandary.
He sent for Ferdinand.
‘Here is a pretty state of affairs,’ he said. ‘I hear from the Archbishop of Toledo that Villena is trying to prevent the match; and the Archbishop fears he will succeed unless the marriage takes place immediately. He suggests that you set out at once for Valladolid.’
‘Well, Father, I am ready.’
John of Aragon groaned. ‘My son, how can you go into Castile as Isabella’s bridegroom, when there are no more than three hundred enriques in the treasury? What sort of figure will you cut!’
Ferdinand looked grave. ‘I cannot go as a beggar, Father.’
‘I do not know how else you can go. I had hoped that there would be a little respite to enable me to get the money for your journey. I am making you King of Sicily so that you will enter Castile with the rank of King, but how can we possibly send you without the necessary pomp, the glittering garments and all that you will need for your wedding?’
‘Then we must wait . . .’
‘To delay could be to lose Isabella. Villena is working with all his might against the match. I believe his plan is to rid Castile of Isabella – perhaps by marriage, perhaps by other methods – and no doubt set up La Beltraneja in her place. My son, you may have to fight your way to Isabella . . .’ John stopped, and a smile spread across his face. ‘Why, Ferdinand, I think I have the solution to our problem. Listen to me. I will tell you briefly and then we will lay this plan before a secret council.’
‘I am eager to hear what you propose, Father,’ said Ferdinand.
‘The frontier from Almazin to Guadalajara will be dangerous for you to cross. It is the property of the Mendoza family which, as you know, supports La Beltraneja. If you travelled as yourself, with the embassy, nobles and servants, you would find it impossible to cross that frontier unobserved.
But what say you, my son, if you went with a party of merchants? What if you were disguised as one of their servants? I’ll warrant then that you would travel to Valladolid unmolested.’
Ferdinand wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘In the attire of a servant, Father!’
John put his arm about the young man’s shoulder.
‘It is the answer,’ he cried. ‘You will remember, Ferdinand, that a kingdom is at stake. Now I consider this, I see that it is the only manner in which you could hope to reach Isabella in safety. And think! It provides us with the excuse we need. What folly to equip you as a King when you travel as a merchant’s lackey!’
As soon as the innkeeper received the party of merchants he noticed their lackey. The fellow had an insolent air, and it was clear that he thought himself superior to the position he occupied.
‘Here, fellow,’ cried the innkeeper when the merchants were being ushered to the table, ‘you’ll need to go to the stables and see that your masters’ mules are being watered and fed.’
The arrogant fellow’s eyes flashed, and for a moment the innkeeper thought he struck an attitude as though he would draw his sword – if he possessed one.
One of the merchants intervened. ‘My good host, let your grooms attend to our mules . . . water and feed them while we ourselves are at table. As for our servant here, he will wait upon us.’
‘As you wish, good sirs,’ was the answer.
‘And,’ went on the merchant, ‘bring in the dishes. Our man will do the rest. We would be left in peace to eat our meal as we have business to discuss.’
‘I am at your service, my masters.’
When the landlord had left them, Ferdinand grimaced.
‘I fear I make an indifferent lackey.’
‘Considering that Your Highness has never played the part before, you do it very well.’
‘Yet I fancy the man believes me to be an unusual servant, and that is what we must avoid. I shall be glad when the role is ended. It becomes me not.’
Ferdinand touched the rough cloth of his serving-man’s doublet with distaste. He was young enough to be vain of his personal appearance, and because all through his life he had lived in fear of losing his inheritance, his dignity was especially dear to him. He was less philosophical than his father, and less able to stomach the indignity of creeping into Castile like a beggar. He had to accept the fact that Castile and Leon were of greater significance than Aragon; and it went hard with him that he, a man and prospective husband, should have to take second place with his future wife.
It should not continue to be so, he told himself, once he and Isabella were married.
‘It will not be long, Highness,’ he was told, ‘that you have to masquerade thus. When we reach the castle of the Count of Trevino in Osma it will not be necessary for you to travel thus ignobly. And Trevino is waiting for us with a right good welcome.’
‘I can scarcely wait for our arrival at Osma.’
The innkeeper had come in to usher into the room a servant who carried a steaming dish of olla podrida. It smelt good, and for a moment the men sniffed at it so hungrily that Ferdinand, who had been leaning against the table talking to the merchants, forgot to adopt the attitude of a servant.
So surprised was the innkeeper that he stopped and stared.
Ferdinand immediately understood and tried to put on a humble air, but he felt he had betrayed himself.
When he was again alone with his friends, he said: ‘I hope the innkeeper does not suspect that we are not what we pretend to be.’
‘We will soon deal with him, Highness, should he show too much curiosity.’
Ferdinand said it would be better if he were not addressed as Highness until the journey was over.
As they were eating their meal, one of the men looked up suddenly and saw a face at the window. It disappeared immediately, so that he was not sure whether it had been that of the innkeeper or one of his servants.
‘Look! The window,’ he said quietly; but the others were too late to see the face.
When he explained what he had seen dismay fell on the company.
‘There can be no doubt,’ said Ferdinand, ‘that we are under suspicion.’
‘I will go out and slit the throat of the inquisitive innkeeper and all his servants,’ cried one member of the band.
‘That would indeed be folly,’ said another. ‘Perhaps the same idle curiosity is shown here towards all travellers. Eat as fast as you can and we will be gone. It may well be that someone has already sent a message to our enemies, telling them of our arrival at this inn.’
‘They could not possibly see anything strange in a party of merchants . . . No, it is curiosity, nothing more. Come, let us eat in peace.’
‘Eat certainly,’ said Ferdinand, ‘but there is too much at stake to linger. Doubtless I have betrayed us by my manners. Let us hasten away from this place. We will pass the night out of doors or in some inn which we feel will be quite safe . . . but not here.’
They ate hurriedly and in silence, and one of their party called in the innkeeper and settled the account.
They left the inn and rode on, but when they had gone some distance they began to laugh at their fears. The innkeeper and his servants were oafs who would know nothing of the coming of the heir of Aragon into Castile, and they had allowed themselves to be frightened without cause.
‘Spend the night out of doors!’ cried Ferdinand. ‘Certainly not. We will find an inn and have a good night’s sleep there.’
The man who had paid the innkeeper gave a sudden cry of dismay.
He had pulled up his mule, and the others pulled up with him.
‘The purse,’ he said, ‘I must have left it
on the dining table!’
They were all dismayed, for the purse contained the money to defray their expenses during the journey.
‘I must go back for it,’ he said.
There was a short silence.
Then Ferdinand said: ‘What if they did suspect? What if they make you their prisoner? No. We are well away from that inn. We will go on, without money. Castile is too big a prize to be lost for the sake of a few enriques.’
It was far into the night when they arrived outside the castle of the Count of Treviño.
Inside the castle there was tension.
The Count had given his instructions. ‘We must be prepared for an attack by our enemies. They know that we are for Isabella and that we shall offer shelter to the Prince of Aragon when he passes on his way to Valladolid. It may well be that the King’s men will attempt to storm the castle and take possession of it so that they, not we, will be here when Ferdinand arrives. Therefore keep watch. Let no one enter. Guard well the drawbridge and be ready on the battlements with your missiles.’
So the castle was bristling with defences when Ferdinand and his party arrived.
They were very weary and exhausted, for they had ridden through the night and the day without money to buy a meal; and when they came to the castle gates Ferdinand gave a great shout of joy.
‘Open up!’ he cried. ‘Open up! And delay not.’
But one of the guards watching from the battlements, determined to defend the castle against the Count’s enemies, believed that the King’s men were below.
He dislodged one of the great boulders which had been placed on the battlements for this purpose and sent it hurtling down to kill the man who had advanced a few paces ahead of the group.
This was Ferdinand; and the guard’s timing was sure.
Down came the massive boulder.
‘Highness!’ shouted one of the party who was watching Ferdinand, and there was such a shrill note of urgency in his voice that Ferdinand, alerted, jumped clear.
He was only just in time for the boulder landed on the spot where he had been standing, and Ferdinand had escaped death by only a few feet.
Startled into anger, Ferdinand called: ‘Is this the welcome that you promised us? I come to you, I, Ferdinand of Aragon, having travelled far in disguise, and you do your best to kill me after promising me succour!’
There was consternation in the castle. Torches appeared and faces were seen peering from the battlements.
Then there was shouting and creaking as the drawbridge was lowered, and the Count of Treviño himself hurried forward to kneel and ask pardon for the mistake which might so easily have turned the whole enterprise into tragedy.
‘You shall have my pardon as soon as you give us food,’ cried Ferdinand. ‘We are starving, my men and I.’
The Count gave orders to his servants; and across the drawbridge and into the great hall went Ferdinand’s party; and there, at a table laden with food which had been prepared for them, the travellers refreshed themselves and laughed together at their adventures. For the most dangerous part of the journey was over. Tomorrow they would set forth with an armed escort supplied, at Isabella’s command, by the Count of Treviño. Then it would be on to Dueñas, where Ferdinand would cease to be regarded as a humble lackey, and where he would find many noblemen rallying to his cause, eager to accompany him to Valladolid and Isabella.
THE MARRIAGE OF ISABELLA
In the house of Juan de Vivero, the most magnificent in Valladolid, which had been lent to Isabella on her triumphant entry into that city, she now waited.
This was, she believed, so far the most important moment of her life. For years she had dreamed of her marriage with Ferdinand. But for her own determination she would have long since been married elsewhere. And now Ferdinand was only a few miles from her, and this very night he would stand before her.
It was not easy to control her emotion. She must be calm; she must remember that she was not merely a Princess of Castile – she was its future Queen.
She had a large dowry to bring her husband, and on that account she rejoiced. But in spite of her dignity and position she was anxious as to whether she herself would appeal to Ferdinand, for this was to be the perfect marriage. Not only was it to be a welding together of Castile and Aragon, to make a stronger and all-Christian Spain; it was to be the mating of two people, whose interests and affections must be so entwined that they were as one person.
It was this second factor which gave her cause for anxiety. I know I shall love Ferdinand, she told herself; but how can I be sure that he will love me?
He had lived the life of a man, although he was a year her junior; and she, although she had trained herself to understand state matters, had lived the sheltered life which had been necessary if she were not to be contaminated by her brother’s licentious Court.
The Admiral and the Archbishop had talked seriously to her concerning the impending interview.
‘Do not forget,’ said the Archbishop, ‘that while he can only make you Queen of Aragon, you can make him King of Castile and Leon. What is Aragon compared with Castile and Leon? You must never let him forget that you bring more to this marriage than he does, that it is you who will be Queen, and that his title of King will be one of courtesy.’
‘I do not think,’ said Isabella gently, ‘that a marriage such as this should begin by jostling for position.’
‘I trust,’ said the Archbishop testily, ‘that you are not going to be overpowered by his good looks.’
‘I trust,’ replied Isabella, with a smile, ‘that I am going to be pleased with them.’
The Archbishop regarded her with some sternness. He had admired her very much, and it was for this reason that he had decided to support her, but he wanted her to remember that it was he who was largely responsible for putting her where she was, and if she wanted to retain his co-operation she must listen to his advice – and take it.
He did not intend to allow Ferdinand to assume too much power, to take that place as chief adviser to Isabella which he, Alfonso Carillo, Archbishop of Toledo, had held.
‘It might seem advisable,’ he said now, ‘that Ferdinand should be asked to perform some act of homage – merely to show that, as far as Castile and Leon are concerned, he is in an inferior position.’
Isabella smiled, but her voice was firm. ‘I shall certainly not ask my husband for any such homage,’ she declared.
The Archbishop left her in a far from pleased frame of mind, and prepared himself to receive Ferdinand, who was shortly to arrive from Dueñas with as few as four of his attendants.
It was midnight when Ferdinand arrived at the house of Juan de Vivero.
Clothes had been lent to him, so he came not as the merchants’ lackey but as King of Sicily.
The Archbishop received him and, when they met, Ferdinand was glad that his shrewd father had had the foresight to bestow the title of King upon him, for there was an arrogance about the Archbishop of Toledo which was not lost on Ferdinand. He hoped the man had not imparted the same quality to Isabella. Yet even as this thought entered his mind, Ferdinand smiled. He had a way with women – and Isabella, for all that she was the heiress of Castile and Leon, was a woman.
‘The Princess Isabella is waiting to receive you,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I will conduct you to her presence.’
Ferdinand inclined his head and the Archbishop led the way to Isabella’s apartments.
‘His Highness Don Ferdinand, King of Sicily and Prince of Aragon.’
Isabella rose to her feet and stood for a few seconds, trembling with the force of her emotions.
And there he was – Ferdinand in the flesh, the dream become a reality, as handsome as she had imagined him (no, more so, she hastened to tell herself; for how could any person – imagined or real – compare with this young man who now stood before her?).
Ferdinand, seventeen years old, with fair hair and a complexion toned to bronze by exposure to the sun and air, a grown m
an in physique, slender and perfectly proportioned! His brow was high and broad, his expression alert; and he was too young and unmarked as yet for that alertness to be construed as cupidity.
Isabella was conscious of a great gladness, for the Ferdinand she saw before her had stepped right out of her dreams.
Ferdinand was gracious; he took her hand, bowed low over it; then he lifted his eyes to her face and there was a smile in them, for he too was not displeased.
What a joyous thing it was, he thought, when a royal person need not take someone who was aged and ugly. Here she was, his Isabella, the best possible match in Spain, and she was only one year older, and looked younger, than he was.
He saw a young woman somewhat tall, with a complexion as fair as his own, and bright hair with a gleam of red in it which was enchanting. And what pleased him most was the gentle manner, the almost mild expression in the blue eyes.
Charming Isabella, so suitable, so young and – he believed – so malleable.
Ferdinand, in his swaggering youth, told himself that he would very soon be master of Castile, Leon – and Isabella.
‘I welcome you with all my heart,’ said Isabella. ‘Castile and Leon welcome you. We have long awaited your coming.’
Ferdinand, who had retained her hand, with a swift gesture pressed an impassioned kiss upon it which brought a faint colour into Isabella’s cheeks and a shine to her eyes. ‘I would,’ he said, ‘that I had come months ago . . . years ago . . .’
‘Suffice it that you are here. I pray you sit with me.’
Together they went to the two ornate chairs which had been set side by side like two thrones.