Castile for Isabella

CHAPTER XIII 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 man 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.

‘You have had a hazardous journey,’ said Isabella. And when he told her of his adventures at the inn and at the Count of Treviño’s castle, Isabella turned pale at the thought of what could so easily have happened to him.

‘It is of no importance,’ Ferdinand murmured. ‘You do not know it, but I have often with my father faced death in battle.’

‘But now you are safely here,’ said Isabella; and there was a note of exultation in her voice. She believed that this marriage had certainly been made in Heaven and that nothing on Earth could prevent its taking place.

The Archbishop, who was standing by listening to this conversation, was growing a little impatient.

‘The marriage,’ he reminded them, ‘is not yet an accomplished fact. Our enemies will, even now, do all in their power to prevent it. It must take place at the earliest possible moment, and I suggest four days hence.’

Ferdinand threw a passionate glance at Isabella who, taken off her guard by the prospect of such an early date for their marriage, returned it.

‘There should,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘be a solemn betrothal immediately, and it is for this reason that Your Highness has ridden to Valladolid at this late hour.’

‘Then,’ said Isabella, ‘let us proceed with all speed.’

The Archbishop then solemnly declared them betrothed, and there, before those very few witnesses, Ferdinand and Isabella ceremoniously joined hands.

So shall it be until death shall part us, Isabella told herself; and she was aware of a greater happiness than she had hitherto known.

There was great activity in the house of Juan de Vivero. Here was to be celebrated the marriage of the heiress of Castile to the heir of Aragon.

There was need of the utmost haste. There was so little time in which to prepare; and at any moment they might expect interruption by the King’s soldiers, come to prevent the marriage which the Marquis of Villena had determined should not take place.

Isabella was alternatively in a state of bliss and anxiety.

Four days seemed like four weeks; and every commotion in the courtyard, any shout from below, set her trembling with fear.

Apart from the fact that her half-brother’s men might arrive at any moment, there were other causes for anxiety. She had very little money; Ferdinand had none at all. How could they celebrate a marriage without money?

And this was the most important marriage in Spain.

Celebration there must be, but how could they decorate the house, how could they provide a banquet without money?

There was only one thing to be done; they must borrow. It was not a very happy start, thought Isabella.

She could not discuss this with Ferdinand, for after that midnight meeting and solemn betrothal he had gone back to Dueñas, there to await the day of his entry into Valladolid as bridegroom at the public ceremony.

But the money was found. That had not been so difficult after all.

Why, reasoned many to whom the problem was put, this is the heiress of Castile and Leon. One day she will be Queen, and then she will not forget those who provided the money for her wedding.

But there was a matter which gave even greater concern.

There was a degree of consanguinity between Isabella and Ferdinand, and therefore, before they could marry, it was necessary to procure a dispensation from the Pope.

Since this had not yet come to her, Isabella appealed to the Archbishop of Toledo.

‘I fear,’ she said, ‘that we must postpone the marriage.’

‘Postpone the marriage!’ cried the Archbishop in amazement. ‘That is impossible. If we postpone it, I can say with certainty it will never take place. Your brother and my nephew will take good care that we never again get as near to it as we are now.’

‘There is one thing of the utmost importance which you have forgotten. The dispensation has not yet come from the Pope.’

The Archbishop was genuinely alarmed, but he gave no sign of this. He wondered whether it was possible to get a dispensation from the Pope, who was the friend of Henry and Villena.

‘Would you marry Ferdinand if the Pope refused the dispensation?’ asked the Archbishop cautiously.

‘It would be impossible,’ replied Isabella. ‘How could I marry without it?’

‘The marriage would be binding.’

‘We should be censured by Holy Church. How could we hope for a successful marriage if we began it by opposing the ecclesiastical canons?’

The Archbishop paused. Here was a new light on Isabella’s character. Devout, he had always known her to be. Well, others were devout – inasmuch as they attended Mass regularly and did not ignore the tenets of the Church. But who would allow the rules of the Church to come between them and their desires? Isabella would, it seemed.

The Archbishop made a quick decision.

‘Have no fear,’ he said. ‘We shall have the dispensation in good time. I have made all concerned aware of the urgency.’

‘My good friend,’ murmured Isabella, ‘what should I do without you?’

The Archbishop returned her smile. He hoped she would remember those words and not seek to take his power from him and bestow it on Ferdinand.

In his private apartments the Archbishop was writing. He wrote slowly and with the utmost care.

Eventually he laid down his pen and studied what he had written.

It was a perfect dispensation. Isabella would never doubt that it had come from the Pope.

The Archbishop shrugged his shoulders.

There were times when bold men had to take matters into their own hands. He had to lead the heiress of Castile and Leon the way she must go; and that way was through marriage with Ferdinand. And if Isabella was too scrupulous a woman of the Church, there must be times when a little deceit must be employed.

The Archbishop rolled up the scroll and went to Isabella’s apartments.

‘I have great joy in telling Your Highness that the dispensation has arrived.’

‘Oh, how happy that makes me!’ Isabella held out a hand and the Archbishop handed her the scroll.

He watched her anxiously while she glanced at it; but she was too happy to study it with very much attention.

He took it from her and rolled it up.

‘Is it not wonderful,’ she said, ‘how one by one obstacles are removed from our paths. I was afraid even at this late hour that something would happen to prevent the marriage. The Holy Father is very much the friend of my brother and the Marquis, and I was filled with fear that he might refuse the dispensation. But God has moved his heart – and we have it. It often seems to me that it is the Divine will that Ferdinand and I should marry, for it would appear that whenever we are faced with what might be insuperable obstacles, miracles happen.’

The Archbishop bowed his head. He was a man who believed that when Divine Providence failed to provide the holy miracle, an earthly one devised by shrewd men could be substituted.

In the hall of the house of Juan de Vivero many had assembled to watch the wedding ceremony performed by the Archbishop of Toledo.

The hall had been as richly decorated as was possible, but this might have been the wedding of the daughter of a petty nobleman. It seemed incredible that it could be that of the prospective Queen of Castile.

But it was the best that could be done on borrowed money and in such haste; and if the radiance of jewels and fine brocades was missing, its absence seemed unimportant on account of the shining happiness on the faces of the bride and groom.

They looked beautiful – so young, so healthy and handsome. Surely, said the observers, this hasty marriage was the most romantic that had ever taken place in Spain. And if there would not be the celebrations which usually heralded and followed such ceremonies, what did it matter? At last Castile and Aragon were united; and the townsfolk of Valladolid shouted themselves hoarse with delight when the handsome pair left the house to go to Mass and later dined in public that all might see them and bear witness to the joy they had in each other.

There came that time when they were alone together, and their contentment with each other was not abated.

Ferdinand, experienced young man of the world, and Isabella a little apprehensive, but so ready to follow where he should lead her!

Ferdinand believed that he would mould this woman to his way of thinking. His Isabella was a paragon of many virtues. She was virginal yet passionate; she was possessed of great dignity, yet she was his to command.

‘I did not know,’ he said, ‘that such good fortune could be mine.’

‘I knew,’ said Isabella. And she smiled that slow dedicated smile, thinking of all the vicissitudes of her hazardous life which only her courage and her belief in her future had made victory over those circumstances possible.

No, Isabella was not surprised that at last she had married the man of her choice, and that he promised to be all for which she had hoped.

She believed firmly that it had always been intended that this should be so.

‘Ferdinand,’ she said, ‘we will work together always. We shall be as one. All I have is yours; all you have is mine. Is that not wonderful to contemplate?’

Ferdinand kissed her with rising passion and said that it was indeed – for she had so much more to offer than he had.

‘Isabella,’ he said, ‘my wife, my love! What a truly wonderful thing it is that in addition to all your beauty, all your virtue, you should also have... Castile. But,’ he added, ‘even if you were not the future Queen of Castile, if you were a serving-wench in a tavern, I should love you still, Isabella. Would you love me if I could not bring you Aragon?’

He did not wait for an answer. He was so sure of his ability to conquer her.

But Isabella was thoughtful. She loved him with all her heart, but she did not think it would be possible for the future Queen of Castile to love a tavern man.

Ferdinand had lifted her into his arms. He was so strong that he could do this easily; and his warm breath was on her cheek.

There was no need to answer Ferdinand’s questions, for she was swept into a new adventure which overwhelmed her senses and subdued her dignity and her love of truth – temporarily.

Ferdinand, the adventurer, the man of action, believed himself to be the all-conquering male to whom the weak female must ever be subservient.

Isabella was subconsciously aware of this. Her marriage must be perfect; in the council and in the bedchamber there must be continued harmony.

Thus at the time she was pliant, so eager to learn, so earnestly anxious to please. It was certain that in the bedchamber Ferdinand must be master; he must be the one to lead her step by step along the diverse sensuous paths.

Ferdinand had often told himself that even though Isabella was the future Queen of Castile she was also a woman. He did not know that although she was a woman, she would never forget that she was the future Queen of Castile.