Castile for Isabella

CHAPTER XV ISABELLA AND FERDINAND

On the thirteenth day of December, in that year 1474, a procession consisting of the highest of the nobility and clergy of Castile made its way to the Alcazar of Segovia.

There, under a canopy of rich brocade, homage was paid to Isabella, Queen of Castile.

They had come to escort her to the city’s square where a platform had been set up.

Isabella, in her royal robes, mounted her jennet and was led there by the magistrates of the city, while one of her officers walked before her carrying the sword of state.

When she reached the platform she dismounted and ascended the structure, there to take her place on the throne which had been set up for her.

When she looked out on that great assembly she was deeply moved. This, she felt, was one of the truly great moments in her life, and it was for this that she had been born.

She had two regrets – one disappointing, one very bitter. The first was that Ferdinand was not here to share this triumph with her because he had, only a few weeks before Henry’s death, received an urgent call from his father and had joined him in Aragon; the other was that her mother could not be aware of what was happening to her daughter this day.

And as Isabella sat there on that throne, Queen of Castile by the desire of the people of Segovia, it was her mother’s voice which she heard ringing in her ears: ‘Never forget, you could be Queen of Castile.’

She had never forgotten.

She heard the bells peal out; she saw the flags fluttering in the breeze; she heard the guns boom forth. All these were saying: Here is the new Queen of Castile.

There were many to kneel before her, to kiss her hand and swear their loyalty; and she in her turn told them, in that sweet, musical, rather high-pitched young and almost innocent voice, that she would do all in her power to serve them, her subjects, to bring back law and order to Castile, and to be a worthy Queen.

The voices of the crowd rang out: ‘Castile! Castile for Isabella! Castile for the King Don Ferdinand and his Queen Doña Isabella, Queen Proprietor of the Kingdoms of Castile and Leon!’

She felt warmed by their mention of Ferdinand; she would be able to tell him how they had called his name. That would please him.

Then she descended from the platform and placed herself at the head of the procession, when it made its way to the Cathedral.

Isabella listened to the chanting of Te Deum; and earnestly she prayed for Divine guidance, that she might never falter in her duties towards her kingdoms and her people.

Ferdinand came with all speed from Aragon, and joyously Isabella received him.

Was it her fancy, or did he hold his head a little higher? Was he a little more proud, a little more masterful than before?

In the midst of his passion he whispered to her: ‘First you are my wife, Isabella. Do not forget that. Only second, Queen of Castile.’

She did not contradict him, for he did not expect an answer. He had spoken as though he made a statement of fact. It was not true. If she had never known it before, it had become clear to her after the ceremony in the square and the Cathedral.

But she loved him tenderly and with passion. She was a wife and a mother, but the crown was her spouse, and the people of Castile – the suffering and the ignorant – they were her children.

She would not tell him now. But in time he must come to understand. He would, for he too had his duty. He was younger than she was, and for all his experience he was perhaps not so wise, though not for all the world would she tell him so.

He will understand, she assured herself, but he is younger than I – not only in years – and perhaps I am more serious by nature. It will take a little time before he understands as I do.

His grandfather, the Admiral Henriquez, was delighted at the turn of events.

He placed himself at the service of his grandson.

The day after Ferdinand’s return he presented himself and embraced the young husband with tears in his eyes.

‘This is the proudest moment of my life. You will be King of Aragon. You are already King of Castile.’

Ferdinand looked a little sulky. ‘One hears much talk of the Queen of Castile, little of its King.’

‘That is a matter which should be set right,’ went on the Admiral. ‘Isabella has inherited Castile, but that is because the Salic law does not exist in Castile as it does in Aragon. If it were accepted here, you, as the nearest male claimant to the throne, through your grandfather Ferdinand, would be King of Castile – and Isabella merely your consort.’

‘That is so,’ agreed Ferdinand, ‘and it is what I would wish. But everywhere we go it is Isabella... Isabella... and they never forget to remind me that she is the reina proprietaria. It is almost as though they accept me on sufferance.’

‘It shall be changed,’ said the Admiral. ‘Isabella will do all that you ask of her.’

Ferdinand smiled smugly. He was remembering her passionate reception of him, and he believed it to be true.

‘It shall be done. She adores me. She can deny me nothing.’

Isabella listened in dismay.

He was laughing, his arm about her, his lips against her hair. ‘So, my love, this shall be done. The King and his beloved consort, eh? It is better so. You, who are so reasonable, will see this.’

Isabella felt dismay smite her, but her voice was firm, though sad, when she replied: ‘No, Ferdinand, I do not see it.’

He released her, and his frown was ugly.

‘But surely, Isabella...’

She wanted to cry out: Do not use that cold tone when you speak to me. But she said nothing. Instead she saw again the people in the square... the people who had suffered during the evil reign of her half-brother. And still she said nothing.

He went on: ‘So you hold me in such little esteem!’

‘I hold you in the greatest esteem,’ she told him. ‘Are you not my husband and the father of my child?’

Ferdinand laughed bitterly. ‘Brought here as a stallion! Is that what I mean to you? Let him do what he has been brought for – after that he is of little account.’

‘But how can you say this, Ferdinand? Do I not ask your advice? Do I not listen? Do we not rule these kingdoms together?’

Ferdinand stood up to his full height. For the first time she noticed the lights of cupidity in his eyes, the arrogance of his mouth; yet these faults in him did not make her love him less, although they confirmed her belief that she herself must rule Castile and Leon.

‘I am your husband,’ he said. ‘It is you who should listen to my advice.’

‘In some matters, yes,’ she answered gently. ‘But have you forgotten that I am the Queen of Castile?’

‘Forget it! How can I! You will not allow me to do that, I can see that I demean myself by staying here. I can see that I am of no account whatsoever. Madam, Highness, I no longer wish to remain. Is it necessary for me to ask permission of the Queen of Castile to retire?’

‘Oh Ferdinand... Ferdinand...’ she cried; and the tears started to her eyes.

But he had bowed abruptly and left her.

It was the first quarrel, but she realised how easily there might have been others.

He had believed until this moment that he would have no difficulty in relegating her to second place.

She wanted to go and find him, to tell him that all that she possessed was his. She wanted to say: What do I care for power, if in gaining it I lose your love?

But she remembered his face as he had stood there. Ferdinand, a little vain, a little greedy. Handsome, virile Ferdinand who lacked the modesty, the dedicated desire to serve which were Isabella’s.

There would only be one ruler of Castile from this moment until the end of her days; and that must be Isabella.

So she waited, fighting back her tears, trying to soothe her anguish.

It is not pleasure that is important; it is not happiness, she reminded herself. It is doing one’s duty in that state of life to which God has called one.

The Court knew of the quarrel between Isabella and Ferdinand.

The Archbishop of Toledo smiled slyly and shrewdly. Here was a situation after his own heart. The Admiral had put these ideas into the head of that young bantam, and the Archbishop was going to vanquish the Admiral; and if it meant Ferdinand’s retirement to Aragon in a sulk, that could not be helped.

The Archbishop was delighted at the prospect of dousing the arrogance of master Ferdinand.

‘There is no law in Castile,’ he told the council, ‘to prevent a woman from inheriting the crown. Therefore there can be no question of Isabella’s becoming merely the consort of King Ferdinand. It is Ferdinand who is the consort of Queen Isabella.’

Ferdinand was furious.

‘I shall not stay here to be so insulted,’ he declared. ‘I shall return to Aragon.’

The news spread through the Palace, and reached Isabella.

‘Ferdinand is preparing to return to Aragon... for ever.’

Ferdinand was somewhat alarmed by the storm he had raised.

He was piqued and humiliated, but his father would call him a fool if he returned to Aragon. And a fool he would be.

He was hot-tempered and impulsive. He should never have declared his intention of returning. Now he would either have to go or make his position even more humiliating by remaining.

Already the news was spreading beyond the Palace. A rift between Isabella and Ferdinand, because Ferdinand wishes to take precedence and Isabella refuses to allow it!

He felt bewildered, for the first time realising that he was after all only a very young man.

Outside the Palace little groups of people had gathered. They were waiting for the news that the marriage, which had seemed so ideal, was broken and that Ferdinand was to go back to Aragon.

He had seen them from the windows. He had seen the sneers on their faces. They would boo him out of Castile, for they were all firmly behind Isabella.

But what could he do?

His servants were waiting for orders.

‘I shall return to Aragon,’ he had cried before them all. ‘I cannot wait to shake the dust of Castile from my shoes!’

And now... they were waiting.

Someone was coming into the room; he did not turn from the window.

‘Ferdinand,’ said a voice, soft and very loving.

Then he turned and saw Isabella. She had waved all his servants out of the room and they were alone.

He looked at her sullenly for a few seconds, and her heart beat faster with her love for him, because he looked at that moment like a spoilt child, like their own little Isabella.

‘Why, Ferdinand,’ she said, ‘we should not be bad friends.’

He could not meet her eye. ‘It seems to be your wish,’ he mumbled.

She came to him and took his hand. ‘No, it is far from my wish. I was so happy, and now I am no longer so.’

She knelt at his feet and was looking up at him.

For a few seconds he believed she had come to beg his pardon, to offer him all he asked, if he would stay with her. Then he realised that until this moment he had not known Isabella. He had known a gentle woman, a woman who longed to please him, who loved with mingling tenderness and passion; and because he had been too much aware of Ferdinand to be aware of Isabella, he had thought he understood her.

She took his hand and kissed it. ‘Ferdinand,’ she said, ‘why should there be this trouble between us? We are quarrelling over power as children quarrel over sweetmeats. One day you will be King of Aragon, and it may be that you will sometimes ask me to help you with some problem in the governing of your country. I know I shall do the same as regards mine. Why, if you had your will in this matter and the Salic law was introduced into Castile, our little Isabella would no longer be heir to Castile and Leon. Think of that, Ferdinand. Come, my husband, do not, I beg you, I implore you, carry out your threat to leave me. For I need you. How can I rule these kingdoms without you? I shall need you a hundred times a day in our life together. Ferdinand, it is I, Isabella, who ask you... stay.’

He looked at her then. There were tears shining in her eyes, and she knelt to him; but even as she knelt she remained Queen of Castile.

She was offering him a way out of his predicament. How could he return to Aragon except ignobly? She was saying: ‘How can I live happily without you, Ferdinand, I who need you so?’

He said: ‘Perhaps I have been hasty. It is not easy for a man...’

‘No, it is not easy,’ she said eagerly, and she thought of him, Ferdinand, the beloved of his mother and father – and of herself. It was not easy for him to be merely the Queen’s consort when he believed he should be King. ‘But you are King of Sicily now and one day, Ferdinand, you will be King of Aragon. And Aragon and Castile will be as one. Ferdinand, we must not allow the great happiness we have brought to each other to be spoilt. Think of the great happiness we shall bring to Castile and Aragon.’

‘I believe you are right,’ he said.

Then she smiled, and her smile was radiant.

‘And since you say that you need me so much...’

‘Ferdinand, I do, I do!’ she cried.

Then she was on her feet and in his arms; and they clung together for a few moments.

She released herself and said: ‘You see, Ferdinand, we are so young and there is so much to do, and our lives lie before us...’

‘It is true, Isabella,’ he said, and touched her cheek, looking at her as though he saw her afresh and that he had discovered something hitherto unknown to him.

‘I want everyone to know that all is well,’ she said, ‘that everyone can be as happy as we are.’

She drew him to the window and the people below saw them standing there.

Isabella put her hand in that of Ferdinand. He raised it to his lips and kissed it.

There was immediate understanding.

‘Castile!’ cried the people. ‘Castile for Isabella... and Ferdinand!’