Castile for Isabella

CHAPTER XI THE HEIRESS TO THE THRONE

In the Convent of Santa Clara Isabella gave herself up to mourning.

She would sit thinking of the past when she and her mother had retired to Arevalo with little Alfonso. Now her mother lived, but could one call that existence living? And she, Isabella, was left to face a turbulent world.

There were times when she envied the young nuns who were about to take the veil and shut themselves off for ever from the world.

‘I wish,’ she told Beatrix, ‘that I could so resign myself.’

But Beatrix, who was always outspoken, shook her head. ‘No, my Infanta, you do not wish this. You know that a great future awaits you, and you would never turn your back on your destiny. Not for you the life of the cloistered nun. One day you will be a Queen. Your name will be honoured and remembered in the generations to come.’

‘Who can say?’ murmured Isabella. ‘Might you not have made the same prophecy for my poor Alfonso?’

She had not been long at the convent when she had a visitor. The Archbishop of Toledo himself, representing the confederacy which was in revolt against the King, had travelled to the convent to see her. She received him with reserve and he was unusually humble.

‘Condolences, Highness,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I know how you suffer through our great loss. I and my friends mourn with you.’

‘Yet,’ said Isabella, ‘had Alfonso never been acclaimed King of Castile he might be alive at this hour.’

‘It is true that he would not have been in Cardeñosa, and perhaps would not have contracted the plague.’

‘Or eaten trout!’ said Isabella.

‘Ah, these are dangerous times,’ murmured the Archbishop. ‘That is why we need a firm government, a royal leader of integrity.’

‘The times must be dangerous in a country where two rulers are set up. I think that my brother might not have died if he had had God’s blessing on his enterprise.’

‘But if, as you hint, Highness, his death was due to trout, that is the result of the criminality of man surely, not the justice of God.’

‘It may be,’ said Isabella, ‘that if God had looked with favour on Alfonso’s accession, he would have prevented his death.’

‘Who shall say,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I come to remind Your Highness of the evil state of Castile and of the need for reform.’

‘There is no need to remind me of that,’ said Isabella, ‘for I have heard reports of the state of our country which fill me with such dismay that I could not forget them if I tried.’

The Archbishop bowed his head. ‘Highness,’ he said, ‘we desire to proclaim you Queen of Castile and Leon.’

‘I thank you,’ said Isabella, ‘but while my brother Henry lives no one else has a right to wear the crown. Too long has there been conflict in Castile, which was largely due to the fact that it has two sovereigns.’

‘Highness, you cannot mean that you refuse to be proclaimed Queen!’

‘That is exactly what I mean.’

‘But... this is incredible.’

‘I know it to be right.’

‘Why, Highness, were you Queen you could immediately begin to set right all that is wrong in Castile. My nephew and myself would be beside you. It could be the beginning of a new era for Castile.’

Isabella was silent. She visualised all that she longed to do for her country. She had often planned how she would strengthen the Hermandad; how she would attempt to bring her people back to a more religious life, how she would establish a Court which would be in direct opposition to that of her brother.

‘Our present Queen,’ murmured the Archbishop, ‘is becoming notorious on account of the lecherous life she leads. There was a time when she was content with one lover; now there must be many. Do you not see, Highness, what a bad example this sets our people?’

‘Indeed I see,’ said Isabella.

‘Then why do you hesitate?’

‘Because, however good one’s intentions, they will fail unless built on a foundation which is just. Were I to take what you offer me, I know I should be doing what is wrong. Therefore, I reject your offer.’

The Archbishop was stunned; he had not believed in the true piety of Isabella, and he did not think she would be proof against this offer of the crown.

‘What would please me,’ she went on, ‘would be to achieve reconciliation with my half-brother. It is the strife between two warring factions which is responsible for our troubles. Let us have peace and, since you believe the Queen’s daughter to be illegitimate, I am next in the order of succession.’

The Archbishop lifted his head.

‘You agree with this?’ she asked.

‘Indeed I agree, Highness. It is at the root of all our troubles.’

‘Then, since you are assured of the Queen’s adultery, I should be proclaimed heiress to the throne. Then there would be an end to this war, and matters would stand as it is proper that they should.’

‘But Highness, it is the throne itself that we are offering you.’

‘I shall never take it,’ Isabella told him firmly, ‘while my half-brother Henry lives.’

And the astonished Archbishop was at length made to realise that she meant what she said.

His sister wanted to see him, mused Henry. Well, she had changed from the quiet little girl whose sedate manners had put a barrier of reserve between them.

She was an important person now. Villena and the Archbishop wanted to make her Queen – and it seemed that only Isabella’s firm resolve that this should not be had prevented their crowning her as they had Alfonso.

Isabella had declared that she wanted peace.

Peace! thought Henry. None could want that more than I do.

He was ready to barter any of his possessions, ready to agree to whatever was suggested, for the sweet sake of peace.

He wanted Villena to be his friend again; he had great faith in Villena. The Cardinal Mendoza, who, from the time of that ceremony outside the walls of Avila, had supported Henry’s cause with all the vigour of a strong nature, was not his friend as Villena had once been; he stood in awe of the Cardinal. As for Beltran de la Cueva, Duke of Albuquerque, he was more Joanna’s friend than Henry’s; they supported each other, those two; and often Henry felt they were not with him.

Now Villena and the Archbishop of Toledo, with Isabella replacing Alfonso as their figurehead, were asking for a meeting; and a meeting there should be.

He was surprised to receive a visit from Villena on the eve of the meeting. As soon as he was shown into Henry’s presence, Villena begged to be left alone with the King.

Henry was only too willing to agree. The occasion reminded him of so many in the past.

‘Highness,’ said Villena, kneeling before Henry, ‘I have great hopes that all may soon be as it once was between us.’

Ready tears came to Henry’s eyes. ‘Rise, my friend,’ he said. ‘Tell me what is in your mind.’

‘You are going to be asked to agree to certain proposals at Toros de Guisando. Highness, it may be difficult for you to agree to these proposals.’

Villena had stood up and was smiling at the King as he used to in the days of their friendship.

A flicker of weariness crossed Henry’s face.

‘But,’ went on Villena, ‘would you take my advice?’

‘Gladly I would consider it,’ said Henry.

‘Highness, if there should be some condition which seems to you impossible, do not allow it to cause you too much concern.’

‘You mean?’

‘That it is necessary to make peace now. If at a later date you feel that the conditions which were imposed upon you were unfair...’ Villena lifted his shoulders.

Henry smiled. He was delighted to have Villena on his side again. Villena was a man who would take over the direction of state affairs completely, a man who struck fear into all who came into contact with him; it would be greatly desirable to place everything in his capable hands once more.

‘It is desirable, Highness, that we should have peace at this time.’

‘Greatly desirable,’ agreed Henry.

‘Then you will agree to these terms; and afterwards, if we decide they are untenable, we shall re-examine them.’

‘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.’

‘She should send for him,’ said Mencia. ‘He would surely come.’

‘You forget that at Toros de Guisando she promised that she would not marry without the consent of the King, as he in turn promised that she should not be forced into marriage against her will. Do you not see that it could quite well be that Isabella will never marry at all, for such conditions, it seems, could produce a deadlock. It is for this reason that she does not communicate with Aragon. Isabella would keep her promise. But I wonder what has happened, and what paper this is.’

The page returned and handed it to Beatriz.

She read it quickly and said to Mencia: ‘This is the work of her enemies. They declare that the proceedings at Toros de Guisando were not valid, that the Princess Joanna has not been proved illegitimate and is therefore heiress to the throne. They do not accept Isabella.’

Beatriz screwed up the paper in her hands.

She murmured: ‘I see stormy days ahead for Isabella... and Ferdinand.’

It was an angry Marquis of Villena who rode to Ocaña to visit Isabella.

He was determined to show her that she must obey the King’s wishes – which were his own – and that she had offended deeply by her refusal of the King of Portugal.

She had received the Archbishop of Lisbon in her castle at Ocaña and, when he had put forward the proposals of his master, she had told him quite firmly that she had no intention of marrying the King of Portugal. The Archbishop of Lisbon had retired to his lodgings in Ocaña in great pique, declaring that this was a direct insult to his master.

It was for this reason that Villena came to Isabella.

She received him with dignity, yet she did not seek to hide the fact that she considered it impertinent of Henry, who at the meeting at Toros de Guisando had agreed that she should not be forced to marry without her consent, to send Villena to her thus.

‘Princesa,’ said Villena when he was shown into her presence. His manner was almost curt, which was doubtless his way of telling her that he did not consider her to be heiress to the throne. ‘The King wishes you to know that he deeply deplores your attitude towards Alfonso, King of Portugal’

‘I do not understand why he should,’ said Isabella. ‘I have explained with courtesy that I decline his suit. I could do no more nor less than that.’

‘You decline his suit! On what grounds?’

‘That the marriage would not be one of my choosing.’

‘It is the wish of the King that you should marry the King of Portugal.’

‘I am sorry that I cannot fall in with the King’s wishes in this respect.’

‘It is the King’s command that you marry the King of Portugal.’

‘The King cannot so command me and expect me to obey. Has he forgotten our agreement at Toros de Guisando?’

‘Your agreement at Toros de Guisando! That, my dear Princesa, is not taken very seriously in Castile.’

‘I take it seriously.’

‘That will avail you little, if no one else does. The King insists that you marry the King of Portugal.’

‘And I refuse.’

‘I am sorry, Infanta, but if you do not agree I may be forced to make you my prisoner. The King would have you remain in the royal fortress at Madrid until you obey his command.’

Isabella’s heart beat fast with alarm. They would make her a prisoner. She knew what could happen to prisoners whom they wanted out of the way. She looked calmly at Villena, but her outward appearance belied the fear within her.

She said: ‘You must give me a little time to consider this.’

‘I will leave you and return tomorrow,’ said Villena. ‘But then you must tell me that you consent to this marriage. If not...’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘It would grieve me to make you my prisoner, but I am the King’s servant and I must obey his commands.’

With that he bowed and left her.

When he had gone she sent for Beatriz and told her all that had taken place.

‘You see,’ she said, ‘they are determined to be rid of me. And they will be rid of me in one way or another. I have been offered a choice. I may go to Portugal as the bride of Alfonso, or I must go to Madrid as the King’s prisoner. Beatriz, I have a feeling that, if I go to Madrid, one day my servants will come to me and find me as we found Alfonso.’

‘That shall not be!’ declared Beatriz hotly.

‘And the alternative... marriage with Alfonso? I swear I would prefer the Madrid prison.’

‘We have delayed too long,’ said Beatriz.

‘Yes,’ said Isabella, and her eyes began to sparkle, ‘we have delayed too long.’

‘The King,’ went on Beatriz, ‘no longer carries out the vows he made at Toros de Guisando.’

‘So why should I?’ demanded Isabella.

‘Why indeed! A messenger could be sent into Aragon. It is time you were betrothed. I will go to the Archbishop of Toledo and Ferdinand’s grandfather, Don Frederick Henriquez, and tell them you wish to see them urgently.’

‘That is right,’ said Isabella. ‘I will send an embassy into Aragon.’

‘This is no time,’ Beatriz declared, ‘for feminine modesty. This is a marriage of great importance to the state. Ferdinand’s father has asked for your hand, has he not?’

‘Yes, he has, and I shall send my embassy to tell him that I am now ready for marriage.’

‘It is time Ferdinand came to Castile. But, Isabella, Villena is here, and he is a determined man. It may well be that, before we have news from Ferdinand, he will have carried out his threat and you will be in that Madrid prison.’ Beatriz shuddered. ‘They will have to take me with you. I will taste everything before it touches your lips.’

‘Much good would that do!’ cried Isabella. ‘If they were attempting to poison me, they would poison you. What should I do without you? No. We will not fall into their hands. We will stay out of their Madrid prison. And I think I know how.’

‘Then pray tell me, Highness, for I am in dreadful suspense.’

‘Villena would have to take me out of Ocaña, and the people of Ocaña love me... not the King. If we let it be known that I am threatened, they would rally to me and make it impossible for Villena to take me away.’

‘That is the answer,’ Beatriz agreed. ‘You may leave this to me. I shall see that it is known throughout the town that Villena is here to force you into a marriage which is distasteful to you, and that you have sworn to take as husband none other than handsome Ferdinand of Aragon.’

The streets of Ocaña were crowded. People stood outside the castle and cheered themselves hoarse.

‘Isabella for Castile!’ they cried. ‘Ferdinand for Isabella!’

The children formed into bands; they made banners which they carried high. On some of these they had drawn grotesque figures to represent the middle-aged King of Portugal, and on others the young and handsome Ferdinand.

Sly songs were sung, extolling the beauty and bravery of Ferdinand, and jeering at the decrepit and lustful old man of Portugal.

And the purposes of these processions and their songs were: ‘We support Isabella, heiress to the crowns of Castile and Leon. And where Isabella wishes to marry, there shall she marry; and we will rise in a body against any who seek to deter her.’

The Marquis of Villena, watching the processions from a window of his lodgings, ground his teeth in anger.

She had foiled him... as yet, for how could he convey her through those rebellious crowds – his prisoner? They would tear him to pieces rather than allow him to do so.

The Archbishop of Toledo and Don Frederick Henriquez were with Isabella.

The Archbishop had declared himself to be completely in favour of the Aragonese match.

For, as he explained, this would be the means of uniting Castile and Aragon, and unity was needed throughout Spain. Isabella’s dream of an all-Catholic Spain had become the Archbishop’s dream. He brought all his fire and fanaticism and laid them at her feet.

‘The embassy,’ he said, ‘must be despatched into Aragon with all speed. Depend upon it, our enemies are growing restive. They will do all in their power to further the Portuguese match; and that, Highness, would be disastrous, as would any marriage which necessitated your leaving Castile.’

‘I am in entire agreement with you,’ said Isabella.

‘Then,’ cried Don Frederick Henriquez, ‘why do we hesitate? Let the embassy set out at once, and I’ll warrant that, in a very short time, my grandson will be riding into Castile to claim his bride.’

Thus it was that when Villena and the Portuguese envoys rode disconsolately out of Ocaña, Isabella’s embassy was riding with all speed to Aragon – and Ferdinand.