by Jean Plaidy
Henry lifted his hand.
‘There is one whose place she usurps. This is my daughter, the Princess Joanna, now a child in her ninth year. Her mother has come here today to swear with me that the Princess is my daughter; and you will, when you have heard and accepted her testimony, agree with me that there can be only one heiress, the Princess Joanna.’
‘The Princess Joanna!’ chanted the audience. ‘Castile for Joanna!’
‘I am now going to ask the Queen to swear on oath that the Princess Joanna is the legitimate heiress of Spain.’
Joanna rose to her feet. She was still a beautiful woman but the lines of depravity were firmly etched on her face now, and there was a certain insolence in her demeanour which was far from queenly. Joanna was aware that all present knew of the retinue of lovers who attended her in Madrid, and of the children who had been the result; and quite clearly she was indifferent to this.
Now she cried: ‘I swear the Princess Joanna is the daughter of the King and no other.’
‘Castile for Joanna!’ cried the assembly.
Then the King rose and took his wife’s hand. ‘I swear with the Queen that the Princess Joanna is my daughter and no other.’
‘Castile for Joanna!’
The King then turned to the French ambassadors, among whom was the Count of Boulogne. The Count came forward.
‘It is our pleasure,’ said Henry, ‘formally to announce the betrothal of my daughter Joanna to the Duke of Guienne, brother of the King of France, and with the approval of the nobles of Castile the ceremony of betrothal will now take place, with the Count of Boulogne standing proxy for his master.’
‘Long live the Duke of Guienne!’ was the cry. ‘Castile for Joanna!’
Meanwhile, in the house of Juan de Vivero, Isabella was preparing for her confinement.
She was in a state of bliss. She shut herself in with her happiness. She was reading history; it was necessary to profit from the experience of others. She was studying state matters; and as usual she spent a great deal of time with her confessor and at prayers. Her life was divided between the study, which she believed to be necessary for a ruler who had a mighty task before her, and the domestic affairs of a wife and mother. Isabella had determined that in neither role should she fail.
It was delightful to sit with Ferdinand and talk of the reforms she intended to bring to Castile. When she heard stories of the terrible state of affairs, which existed in the country districts as well as in the towns, she would work out plans for righting this state of affairs. She planned to bring a new order to Castile; and she would with the aid of Ferdinand.
These intimate little conferences were all the more delightful because they were shared only by the two of them. Previously all political discussions had been presided over by the Archbishop of Toledo. Isabella had turned to him, trusting his loyalty and wisdom. But with the coming of Ferdinand it was with Ferdinand she wished to discuss affairs.
What could be more pleasant than a conference which was also a tête-à-tête for lovers!
The Archbishop found it far from pleasant.
On one occasion, when Ferdinand was on his way to Isabella’s apartments, he met the Archbishop also bound for the same destination.
‘I am going to the Princess,’ said Ferdinand, implying that the Archbishop must wait awhile.
Alfonso Carillo, always a hot-tempered man, reminded Ferdinand that he was Isabella’s chief adviser. ‘She herself, I doubt not, will tell you that, but for me, she would never have been proclaimed heiress to the throne.’
Ferdinand was young and also hot-tempered. He said: ‘My wife and I do not intend to be disturbed. We will send for you when we need you.’
The eyes of the Archbishop widened with horror.
‘I think, Highness,’ he said, ‘that you forget to whom you speak.’
‘I forget?’
‘I would ask you to consult the Princess Isabella. She will tell you what she owes to my loyalty and advice.’
Ferdinand retorted: ‘You will find that I am not to be put in leading strings as has been the case with some sovereigns of Castile.’
The Archbishop bowed his head to hide his smouldering anger, and turned away to prevent an outburst which might have proved disastrous.
He muttered to himself: ‘Before you attempt to escape from leading strings, my young cockerel, make sure that you are a sovereign of Castile.’
Ferdinand went on angrily to Isabella’s apartment, where she was lying on her bed, her women about her.
Ferdinand stormed: ‘I have just left that insolent fellow. One would think he was King of Castile. He will have to learn a little humility if he is to hold his place.’
‘Ferdinand . . .’ said Isabella, and anxiety showed in her eyes. She held out her hand. ‘It would be wise, I think, to go cautiously. He is much older than we are. He is wise, and he has been loyal.’
‘I care not!’ blazed Ferdinand. ‘I would ask him to remember to whom he speaks.’
‘Nevertheless,’ replied Isabella, ‘our position is by no means stable.’
Some of that indignation which Ferdinand had felt towards the Archbishop was now directed towards Isabella. Was she telling him what he should do? She was only a woman, and he was her husband.
‘I think,’ began Ferdinand coolly, ‘that you may safely trust me to deal with such matters.’
But Isabella had cried out.
‘It is the pains, Highness,’ said one of the women, coming forward. ‘They grow more frequent now.’
Isabella lay in her bed, her child in her arms.
Ferdinand stood by the bed, smiling down at her.
‘A daughter, Ferdinand,’ she said. ‘It should have been a son.’
‘I would rather have this daughter than any son,’ declared Ferdinand in the first flush of parenthood.
‘Then I am completely happy.’
‘We shall have sons.’
‘Oh yes, we shall have sons.’
Ferdinand knelt by the bed in a sudden rush of emotion.
‘There is one thing only that matters, my love. You have come through this ordeal.’
Isabella touched his hair with her hand. ‘Did you doubt that I would?’
‘Loving you as I did, I must needs fear.’
‘No,’ said Isabella. ‘Have no fear in future, Ferdinand. For something within me tells me that you and I will have many children and that there are long useful years before us.’
‘Oh, Isabella, you put me to shame. You think always of your duty.’
‘What a happy woman I am when it is my duty to love and serve you . . . and Castile.’
He kissed her hand with mingling fervour and tenderness.
‘We shall call this little one Isabella,’ he said; ‘and we shall hope that she will resemble her mother.’
When King John of Aragon heard of Ferdinand’s quarrel with the Archbishop of Toledo he was disturbed.
He wrote immediately to Ferdinand.
‘Have a care, my son. You are unwise to offend a man of such influence. I advise you to placate him immediately, and in future act with great caution.’
But John knew Ferdinand. He was impulsive and too young perhaps for the position in which he found himself. He would find it very difficult to placate the Archbishop, and it might well be that the prelate was beginning to waver in his loyalties.
I must be kept informed of affairs in Castile, John told himself.
The situation was full of dangers. Could it be that the young couple did not notice this? Many great families were supporting the claims of La Beltraneja, and Castile was divided on this matter of the succession. What could be more alarming? And here was Ferdinand jeopardising the friendship of one of the most forceful and powerful of his supporters.
John himself was enjoying a little respite from his troubles.
The Duke of Lorraine, whom the Catalans had appointed as their ruler, had died and all his children were too young to take his place. Thus the Ca
talans were without a leader, and John saw his chance of settling their differences and restoring order; but the Catalans would not give in so easily. The result of their resistance was the rigorous blockade of Barcelona which eventually brought them to a mood for negotiations.
When John entered their city he was shocked by the terrible signs of famine which he saw, and being as eager for peace as the people of Barcelona themselves he went to the Palace and there swore to respect the constitution of Catalonia.
The ten-years-long civil war was over, and John felt as though the ghost of his first-born had at last been laid.
This peace was not achieved until the end of the year 1472, and during this time the situation in Castile had continued to give him cause for anxiety.
The daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand – little Isabella – was now two years old; poverty at the little Court at Dueñas was acute, and John was very anxious as to the fate of his son; he longed to have him with him, yet he realised the need for him to stay in Castile. Isabella had her adherents and John had heard that many of them had deserted the cause of the King and La Beltraneja when the Duke of Guienne had died in May of that year. At the same time the situation was alarming.
Then further conflict broke out in Aragon.
When John had borrowed money from Louis XI of France, Louis had taken as security the provinces of Roussillon and Cerdagne, the inhabitants of which now complained bitterly of their foreign masters and sent to John telling him that, if he would liberate them, they would very willingly become his subjects once more.
John immediately rallied to the cause, while Louis, incensed by what was happening, sent an army into Aragon.
The Archbishop of Toledo presented himself to Ferdinand and Isabella.
Ferdinand scarcely disguised the irritation the Archbishop aroused in him.
Ferdinand was worried and, because of this, so was Isabella. She had assured him that his father was the bravest of soldiers and the shrewdest of strategists, and he had no need to fear. But Ferdinand remembered the age of his father, and his uneasiness persisted. They were discussing the new turn of affairs in Aragon when the Archbishop was ushered in.
Carillo was secretly pleased with himself. He was seriously considering whether he would not abandon the cause of Isabella and join that of La Beltraneja. He felt that with the King and La Beltraneja there would be no interference in the conduct of affairs, except of course from his nephew the Marquis of Villena. But they understood each other; they were of a kind; the same blood ran in their veins; neither would interfere in the other’s province. He, Carillo, would be immeasurably useful to the other side if he changed now.
Yet he was not eager to change sides again; he had not his nephew’s easy conscience. Yet the need to lead was all-important. He was ready to support a failing cause, providing he might take the lead. He could not endure to be in a subordinate position, and since the coming of Ferdinand he had felt himself to be forced into one.
Now, as he stood before Ferdinand and Isabella, he expressed his deep concern regarding events in Aragon.
Ferdinand thanked him coolly. ‘My father is a seasoned warrior,’ he said. ‘I doubt not that he will be victorious.’
‘Yet the French are capable of throwing a powerful force into the field,’ answered the Archbishop.
Isabella looked alarmed and glanced at her husband, who had flushed and was beginning to grow angry.
‘I would suggest,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘that if you should decide it was your duty to go to your father’s help, we of Castile would provide you with men and arms.’ He turned to Isabella. ‘I know that Your Highness would put no obstacle in the way of this help to your father-in-law, and that I speak with your authority.’
Ferdinand was torn between his emotions, and he was too young to hide them entirely – much to the amusement of the Archbishop. He was delighted at the prospect of helping his father, and at the same time he was annoyed that the Archbishop should imply that he could only be provided with men and arms at Isabella’s command.
Isabella drew a deep breath. She was so happy with her husband and her two-year-old little daughter; and the thought of Ferdinand’s going into battle terrified her. She looked quickly at Ferdinand.
He had turned to her. ‘How could I bear to leave you?’ he said.
Isabella answered: ‘You must do your duty, Ferdinand.’
Ferdinand thought of riding into Aragon, where he would not be treated as the consort of the Queen but as the heir to the throne. It was tempting. Moreover he was fond of his father, who was too old to engage in battle.
There was the Archbishop smiling at them benignly. He would delay changing sides for a while. With Ferdinand out of the way he would feel much happier, and Ferdinand would go to Aragon.
‘Yes,’ said Ferdinand slowly. ‘I must do my duty.’
It was long since Beatriz de Bobadilla had seen Isabella, and she often thought of her and longed for the old companionship.
Life had changed for Beatriz since those days when she had been Isabella’s most intimate maid of honour. She found herself in a difficult position, because her husband was an officer of Henry’s household, and there was such a wide division in the country – on one side the supporters of the King, on the other those of Isabella.
Andres de Cabrera had been made Governor of the town of Segovia, and the Alcazar which he occupied there was the depository of the King’s treasure. Andres was therefore in a very trusted position; so it was very difficult for his wife to communicate with Isabella.
Beatriz fumed incessantly about this state of affairs.
She was devoted to her husband, but she had a great affection for Isabella, and Beatriz never did anything by half-measures. She must be a devoted friend as well as a devoted wife.
Often she discussed the country’s affairs with her husband and forced him to agree that there could be no prosperity in a land which, while there were two factions disagreeing as to who was the heiress to the throne, must continually be trembling on the brink of civil war.
On one occasion when Andres was smarting over the overbearing behaviour of the Marquis of Villena, Beatriz seized the opportunity for which she had been looking.
‘Andres,’ she said, ‘it occurs to me that, were it not for this man Villena, now Grand Master of St James, there might be an end to this strife.’
‘Ah, my dear,’ replied Andres, shaking his head, ‘there are still the two heiresses. You cannot have peace when there is a division of opinion as to whether the Princess Isabella or the Princess Joanna has the right to the title.’
‘The Princess Joanna – La Beltraneja!’ scoffed Beatriz. ‘Everyone knows she is a bastard.’
‘But the Queen swore . . .’
‘The Queen swore! That woman would swear to anything, just for a whim. You know, Andres, that Isabella is the rightful heiress to the crown.’
‘Hush, my dear. Remember we serve the King, and the King has given the succession to his daughter Joanna.’
‘Not his daughter!’ cried Beatriz, clenching her right fist and driving it into the palm of her left hand. ‘Nor does he believe it. Did he not at one time make Isabella his heiress? The people want Isabella. Do you know, I believe that if we could bring Isabella to Henry – in the absence of Villena – we could make him accept her as his heiress, and there would be no more nonsense about La Beltraneja. Would this not be a good thing for the country?’
‘And for you, Beatriz, who would have your friend with you.’
‘I should like to see her again,’ mused Beatriz almost gently. ‘I should also like to see her little daughter. I wonder if she resembles Isabella.’
‘Well,’ said Andres, ‘what do you plot?’
‘Henry comes here often,’ said Beatriz.
‘He does.’
‘Sometimes without Villena.’
‘That is so.’
‘What if Isabella were here too? What if we arranged a meeting between them?’
&
nbsp; ‘Isabella! Come here . . . into the enemy’s camp!’
‘You would call my house the enemy’s camp? Any who sought to make her their prisoner in my house would have to kill me before they did so.’
Andres laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘You talk too lightly of death, my dear.’
‘It is Villena who rules this land. He rules the King. He rules you.’
‘That he does not. That he never shall do.’
‘Well, then, why should we not invite Isabella here? Why should she not meet Henry?’
‘It would be necessary to ask Henry’s permission first,’ warned Andres.
‘Well, I would undertake to get that . . . provided he came here without Villena.’
‘You would play a dangerous game, my dear.’
‘That for danger!’ cried Beatriz, snapping her fingers. ‘Have I your permission to speak to the King when he next comes here alone?’
Andres laughed. ‘My dear Beatriz,’ he said, ‘I know that when you ask for my permission it is merely a formality. So you have decided to speak to Henry at the first opportunity?’
Beatriz nodded. ‘I have decided,’ she said.
She knew it would not be difficult.
She asked the King for permission to talk with him when next he came to stay at the Segovia palace and Villena was busy in Madrid.
‘Highness,’ she began, ‘will you forgive my boldness in raising a certain question?’
Henry was alarmed, immediately afraid that his peace was about to be disturbed.
Beatriz ignored his worried expression and hurried on. ‘I know Your Highness, like myself, loves peace beyond all things.’
‘You are right in that,’ agreed Henry. ‘I wish for no more conflict. I wish those about me would accept what is, and leave it at that.’
‘Some would, Highness, but there are others, close to you, who make strife. Yet it would be quite easy to have peace throughout Castile tomorrow.’
‘How so?’ Henry wanted to know.