Castile for Isabella

CHAPTER II JOANNA OF PORTUGAL, QUEEN OF CASTILE

John Pacheco, Marquis of Villena, was on his way to answer a summons from the King.

He was delighted with the turn of events. From the time he had come to Court – his family had sent him to serve with Alvaro de Luna and he had entered the household of that influential man as one of his pages – he had attracted the notice of the young Henry, heir to the throne, who was now King of Castile.

Henry had delighted in the friendship of Villena, and John, Henry’s father, had honoured him for his service to the Prince. He had been clever and was in possession of great territories in the districts of Toledo, Valencia and Murcia. And now that his friend Henry was King he foresaw greater glories.

On his way to the council chamber he met his uncle, Alfonso Carillo, Archbishop of Toledo, and they greeted each other affectionately. They were both aware that together they made a formidable pair.

‘Good day to you, Marquis,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I believe we are set for the same destination.’

‘Henry requested me to attend him at this hour,’ answered Villena. ‘There is a matter of the greatest importance which he desires to discuss before making his wishes publicly known.’

The Archbishop nodded. ‘He wants to ask our advice, nephew, before taking a certain step.’

‘You know what it is?’

‘I can guess. He has long been weary of her.’

‘It is time she returned to Aragon.’

‘I am sure,’ said the Archbishop, ‘that you, my wise nephew, would wish to see an alliance in a certain quarter.’

‘Portugal?’

‘Exactly. The lady is a sister of Alfonso V, and I have heard nothing but praise of her personal charms. And let us not dismiss these assets as frivolous. We know our Henry. He will welcome a beautiful bride; and it is very necessary that he should welcome her with enthusiasm. That is the best way to ensure a fruitful union.’

‘There must be a fruitful union.’

‘I agree it is imperative for Castile... for Henry... and for us.’

‘You have no need to tell me. I know our enemies have their eyes on Arevalo.’

‘Have you heard news of events there?’

‘There is very little to be learned,’ Villena replied. ‘The Dowager is there with her two children. They are living quietly, and my friends there inform me that the lady has been more serene of late. There have been no hysterical scenes at all. She believes herself to be safe, and is biding her time; and, while this is so, she devotes herself to the care of her children. Poor Isabella! Alfonso is too young as yet to suffer from such rigorous treatment. I hear it is prayers... prayers all the time. Prayers, I suppose, that the little lady may be good and worthy of any great destiny which may befall her.’

‘At least the Dowager can do little mischief there.’

‘But, uncle, we must be ever watchful. Henry is ours and we are his. He must please his people or there will be those ready to call for his abdication and the setting up of young Alfonso. There are many in this kingdom who would be pleased to see the crown on Alfonso’s baby brow. A Regency! You know how seekers after power could wish for nothing better than that.’

‘I know. I know. And our first task is to rid the King of his present wife and provide him with a new one. When the heir is born a fatal blow will have been struck at the hopes of the Dowager of Arevalo. Then it will matter little what she teaches her Alfonso and Isabella.’

‘You have heard of course...’ began Villena.

‘The rumours... indeed yes. The King is said to be impotent, and it is due to him – not Blanche – that the marriage is unfruitful. That may be. But let us jump our hurdles when we reach them, eh? And now... here we are.’

The page announced them, and Henry came forward to meet them, which was characteristic of Henry; and whilst this show of familiarity pleased both men they deplored it as unworthy of the ancient traditions of Castile.

‘Marquis! Archbishop!’ cried Henry as they bowed before him. ‘I am glad you are here.’ He waved his hand, signifying to his attendants that he wished to be entirely alone with his two ministers. ‘Now to business,’ he went on. ‘You know why I have asked you here.’

The Marquis said: ‘Dearest Sire, we can guess. You wish to serve Castile, and to do this you have to take steps which are disagreeable to you. We offer our respectful condolence and assistance.’

‘I am sorry for the Queen,’ said Henry, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘But what can I do for her? Archbishop, do you think it will be possible to obtain a divorce?’

‘Anticipating your commands, Highness, I have given great consideration to this matter, and I am sure the Bishop of Segovia will support my plan.’

‘My uncle has solved our problem, Highness,’ said Villena, determined that, while the Archbishop received the King’s grateful thanks, he himself should not be forgotten as chief conspirator.

‘My dear Archbishop! My dear, dear Villena! I pray you tell me what you have arranged.’

The Archbishop said: ‘A divorce could be granted por impotencia respectiva.’

‘Could this be so?’

‘The marriage has been unfruitful, Highness.’

‘But...’

‘There need be no slur on the royal virility, Highness. We might say that some malign influence brought about this unhappy state of affairs.’

‘Malign influence?’

‘It could be construed as witchcraft. We will not go too deeply into that, but we feel sure that all would agree, in the circumstances, that Your Highness should repudiate your present wife and take another.’

‘And Segovia is prepared to declare the marriage null and void!’

‘He will do that,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I myself will confirm it.’

Henry laughed. ‘There could surely not be a better reason.’

He repeated. ‘Por impotencia respectiva...’ And then: ‘Some malign influence.’

‘Let us not worry further on that point,’ said Villena. ‘I have here a picture of a delectable female.’

Henry’s eyes became glazed as he looked at the picture of a pretty young girl, which Villena handed him; his lips curved into a lascivious smile. ‘But... she is enchanting!’

‘Enchanting and eligible, Highness, being none other than Joanna, Princess of Portugal, sister of Alfonso V, the reigning monarch.’

‘I can scarcely wait,’ said Henry, ‘for her arrival in Castile.’

‘Then, Sire, we have your permission to go ahead with these arrangements?’

‘My dear friends, you have not only my permission; you have my most urgent command.’

The Marquis and the Archbishop were smiling contentedly as they left the royal apartments.

The Queen begged an audience with the King. One of her women had brought the news to her that the Marquis and the Archbishop had been closeted with the King, and that their discussion must have been very secret, as the apartments had been cleared before it began.

Henry received her with warmth. The fact that he would soon be rid of her made him almost fond of her.

‘Why, Blanche my dear,’ he said, ‘you look distressed.’

‘I have had strange dreams, Henry. They frightened me.’

‘My dear, it is folly to be afraid of dreams in daylight.’

‘They persist, Henry. It is almost as though I have a premonition of evil.’

He led her to a chair and made her sit down, while he leaned over her and laid a gentle and caressing hand on her shoulder.

‘You must banish these premonitions, Blanche. What harm could come to the Queen of Castile?’

‘There is a feeling within me, Henry, that I may not long be the Queen of Castile.’

‘You think there is a plot afoot to murder me? Ah, my dear, you have been brooding about the Dowager of Arevalo. You imagine that her friends will dispatch me so that her little Alfonso shall have my crown. Have no fear. She could not harm me, if she would.’

‘I was not thinking of her, Henry.’

‘Then what is there to fear?’

‘We have no children.’

‘We must endeavour to remedy that.’

‘Henry, you mean this?’

‘You fret too much. You are over-anxious. Perhaps that is why you fail.’

She wanted to say: ‘But am I the one who fails, Henry? Are you sure of that?’ But she did not. That would anger him, and if he were angry he might blame her; and who could say what might grow out of such blame?

‘We must have a child,’ she said desperately.

‘Calm yourself, Blanche. All will be well with you. You have allowed your dreams to upset you.’

‘I dream of going back to Aragon. Why should I dream that, Henry? Is not Castile my home!’

‘Castile is your home.’

‘I dream of being there... in the apartment I used to occupy. I dream that they are there... my family... my father, Eleanor, my stepmother holding little Ferdinand – and they approach my bed. I think they are going to do me some harm. Carlos is somewhere in the Palace and I cannot reach him.’

‘Dreams, my dear Blanche, what are dreams?’

‘I am foolish to give them a thought, but I wish they did not come. The Marquis and the Archbishop were with you, Henry. I hope they had good news for you.’

‘Very good news, my dear.’

She looked at him eagerly; but he would not meet her gaze; and because she knew him so well, that fact terrified her.

‘You have a great opinion of those two,’ she said.

‘They are astute – and my friends. I know that.’

‘I suppose you would put their suggestions to a Council... before you accept them.’

‘You should not worry your head with state affairs, my dear.’

‘So it was state affairs that they discussed with you.’

‘It was.’

‘Henry, I know I have been an unsatisfactory wife to you because of my inability to bear children, but I love you and I have been very happy in Castile.’

Henry took her hands and drew her to her feet. He put his lips to her forehead and then, putting an arm about her shoulders, he led her to the door.

It was her dismissal.

It was kindly; it was courteous. He could not treat me thus, she assured herself, if he were planning to rid himself of me. But as she went back to her own apartments she felt very unsure.

When she had gone, Henry frowned. He thought: One of them will have to break the news to her. The Archbishop is the more suitable. Once she knows, I shall never see her again.

He was sorry for her, but he would not allow himself to be saddened.

She would return to her father’s Court of Aragon. She had her family to comfort her.

He picked up the picture of Joanna of Portugal. So young! Innocent? He was not sure. At least there was a promise of sensuality in that laughing mouth.

‘How long?’ he murmured. ‘How long before Blanche goes back to Aragon, and Joanna is here in her place?’

The procession was ready to set out from Lisbon, but the Princess Joanna felt no pangs at leaving her home; she was eager to reach Castile, where she believed she was going to enjoy her new life.

Etiquette at the Court of Castile would be solemn, after the manner of the Castilians, but she had heard that her future husband entertained lavishly and that he lived in the midst of splendour. He was a man devoted to feminine society and, if he had many mistresses, Joanna assured herself that that was due to the fact that Blanche of Aragon was so dull and unattractive.

But she had no intention of putting too strong a curb upon him. She was not herself averse to a little amorous adventuring; and if Henry strayed now and then from the marriage bed she would not dream of reproaching him, for if she were lenient with him so must he be with her, and she foresaw an exciting life in Castile.

Here in Lisbon she was, in her opinion, too well guarded.

Therefore it was with few regrets that she prepared to leave. She could look from the windows of the castle of São Jorge on to the town and say goodbye quite happily. She had little love for the town, with its old cathedral, close to which it was said that St Anthony was born. The saints of Lisbon meant little to her. What cared she if after his martyrdom Saint Vicente’s body was brought to Lisbon along the Tagus in a boat which was guided by two black crows? What did she care if the spirit of St Anthony was supposed to live on and help those who had lost something dear to them to recover it? These were merely legends to her.

So she turned away from the window and the view of olive and fig trees, of the Alcaçova where the Arab rulers had once lived, of the mossy tiles of the Alfama district and the glistening stream of the Tagus.

Gladly would she say farewell to all that had been home, for in the new land to which she was going she would be a Queen – Queen of Castile.

Soon they would depart, travelling eastwards to the border.

Her eyes were glistening as she took the mirror which was held to her by her maid of honour; she looked over her shoulder at the girl, whose eyes danced as merrily as her own.

‘So, Alegre, you too are happy to go to Castile?’

‘I am happy, my lady,’ answered the girl.

‘You will have to behave with decorum there, you know.’

Alegre smiled mischievously. She was a bold creature, and Joanna, who herself was bold and fond of gaiety, had chosen her for this reason. Her nickname, Alegre, had been given her some years before by one of the Spanish attendants: the gay one.

Alegre had had adventures: some she recounted; some she did not.

Joanna grimaced at the girl. ‘When I am Queen I must become very severe.’

‘You will never be that with me, my lady. How could you be severe with one who is as like yourself in her ways as that reflection is like your own face?’

‘I may have to change my ways.’

‘They say the King, your husband, is very gay...’

‘That is because he has never had a wife to satisfy him.’

Alegre smiled secretly. ‘Let us hope that, when he has a wife who satisfies him, he will still be gay.’

‘I shall watch you, Alegre, and if you are wicked I shall send you home.’

Alegre put her head on one side. ‘Well, there are some charming gentlemen at your brother’s Court, my lady.’

‘Come,’ said Joanna. ‘It is time we left. They are waiting for us down there.’

Alegre curtsied and stood aside for Joanna to pass through the apartment.

Then she followed her down to the courtyard, where the gaily-caparisoned horses and the loads of baggage were ready to begin the journey from Lisbon to Castile.

Before Joanna began the journey Blanche had set out for Aragon.

It seemed to her that the nightmare had become a reality, for in her dreams she had feared exactly this.

It was twelve years since she had left her home to be the bride of Henry; then she had been fearful, even as she was now. But she had left Aragon as the bride of the heir to Castile; her family had approved of the match, and she had seen no reason why her life should end in failure.

But how different it had been, making that journey as a bride, from returning as a repudiated wife, one who had failed to provide the necessary heir to a throne.

She thought now of that moment when she had been no longer able to hide the truth from herself, when the Archbishop had stood before her and announced that her marriage was annulled por impotencia respectiva.

She had wanted to protest bitterly. She had wanted to cry out: ‘What use to throw me aside? It will be the same with any other woman. Henry cannot beget children.’

They would not have listened to her, and she could have done her cause no good. What was the use of protesting? She could only listen dully and, when she was alone, throw herself upon her bed and stare at the ceiling, recalling the perfidy of Henry who, at the very time when he was planning to be rid of her, had implied that they would always be together.

She was to return to her family, who would have no use for her. Her father had changed since his second marriage; he was completely under the spell of her stepmother. All they cared for was the advancement of little Ferdinand.

And what would happen to her... she who would have no friend in the world but her brother Carlos? And what was happening to Carlos now? He was at odds with his father, and that was due to the jealousy of his stepmother.

What will become of me at my father’s Court? she asked herself as she made the long and tedious journey to the home of her childhood; and it seemed to her then that the nightmares she had suffered had been no dreams; when she had been tortured by them she had been given a glimpse of the future.

Life in the Palace of Arevalo had been going smoothly.

We are happier here, thought young Isabella, than we were in Madrid. Everybody here seems serene and not afraid any more.

It was true. There had been none of those frightening interludes when the Queen lost control of her feelings. There was even laughter in the Palace.

Lessons were regular, of course, but Isabella was quite happy to receive lessons. She knew she had to learn if she were to be ready for her great destiny. Life ran to a set of rules. She rose early and retired early. There were many prayers during the day, and Isabella had heard some of the women complaining that to live at Arevalo was to live in a nunnery.

Isabella was contented with her nunnery. As long as they could live like this and her mother was quietly happy and not frightened, Isabella could be happy.

Alfonso was developing a personality of his own. He was no longer a gurgling, kicking baby. It was a great pleasure to watch him take his first steps, Isabella holding out her arms to catch him should he stumble. Sometimes they played these games with one of the women; sometimes with the Dowager Queen herself, who occasionally would pick up the little boy and hug him tightly. Then the ever alert Isabella would watch her mother for the tell-tale twitching of the mouth. But Alfonso would utter lusty protests at being held too tightly, and often an emotional scene was avoided in this way.

Isabella missed her father; she missed her brother Henry; but she could be happy like this if only she could keep her mother quiet and contented.

One day she said: ‘Let us stay like this... always...’

But the Dowager Queen’s lips had tightened and begun to twitch, so that Isabella realised her mistake.

‘You have a great destiny,’ began the Dowager Queen. ‘Why, this baby here...’

That was when she picked up Alfonso and held him so tightly that he protested, and so, fortunately, his protests diverted the Queen from what she was about to say.

This was a lesson. It showed how easily one could stumble into pitfalls. Isabella was aghast on realising that she, whose great desire was to avoid hysterical scenes, had almost, by a thoughtless remark, precipitated one of them.

She must never cease to be watchful and must not be deceived by the apparent peace of Arevalo.

There came a terrifying day when their mother visited the two children in the nursery.

Isabella knew at once that something unfortunate had occurred, and her heart began to hammer in an uncomfortable way. Alfonso was, of course, unaware that anything was wrong.

He threw himself at his mother and was picked up in her arms. The Queen stood holding him strained against her, and when Alfonso began to wriggle she did not release him.

‘Highness...’ he cried, and because he was proud to be able to say the word he repeated it. ‘Highness... Highness...’

It seemed to Isabella that Alfonso was shouting. That was because everything was so quiet in the apartment.

‘My son,’ said the Queen, ‘one day you will be King of Castile. There is no doubt of it.’

‘Highness... you hurt me...’ whimpered Alfonso.

Isabella wanted to run to her mother and explain that she was holding Alfonso too tightly, and to remind her how much happier they were when they did not talk about the future King or Queen of Castile.

To Isabella it seemed that the Queen stood there a long time, staring into the future, but it could not have been more than a few seconds, or Alfonso’s whimper would have become a loud protest.

Meanwhile the Queen said nothing; she stared before her, looking angry and determined, as Isabella remembered so well to have seen her in the past.

Then the little girl could bear it no longer; perhaps because it was so long since she had had to restrain herself, or because she was so very eager to preserve the peace of Arevalo.

She went to her mother and curtsied very low. Then she said: ‘Highness, I think Alfonso is hungry.’

‘Hungry, Highness,’ wailed Alfonso. ‘Highness hurts Alfonso.’

The Queen continued to stare ahead, ignoring their appeal.

‘He has married again,’ she resumed. ‘He thinks he will beget a child. But he never will. How could he? It is impossible. It is the just reward for the life he has led.’

It was the old theme which Isabella had heard many times before; it was a reminder of the past; it warned her that the peace of Arevalo could be shattered in a moment.

‘Alfonso hungry,’ wailed the boy.

‘My son,’ the Queen repeated, ‘one day you shall be King of Castile. One day...’

‘Don’t want to be King,’ cried Alfonso. ‘Highness squeezing him.’

‘Highness,’ whispered Isabella earnestly, ‘shall we show you how far Alfonso can walk by himself?’

‘Let them try!’ cried the Queen. ‘They will see. Let them try! The whole of Castile will be laughing at them.’

Then, to Isabella’s relief, she set Alfonso on his feet. He looked at his arms and whimpered.

Isabella took his hand and whispered: ‘Walk, Alfonso. Show Highness.’

Alfonso nodded gleefully.

But the Queen had begun to laugh.

Alfonso looked at his mother and crowed with pleasure. He did not understand that there were more kinds of laughter than one. Alfonso only knew about laughing for amusement or happiness, but Isabella knew this was the frightening laughter. After the long peace it had returned.

One of the women had heard and came into the apartment. She looked at the two children, standing there watching their mother. Then she retired and very soon a physician came into the room.

Now the Queen was laughing so much that she could not stop. The tears were running down her cheeks. Alfonso was laughing too; he turned to Isabella to make sure that she was joining in the fun.

‘Highness,’ said the physician, ‘if you will come to your bedchamber I will give you a potion which will enable you to rest.’

But the Queen went on laughing; her arms had begun to wave about wildly. Another physician had now joined them.

With him was a woman, and Isabella heard his quiet order. ‘Take the children away... immediately.’

But before they went, Isabella saw her mother on the couch, and the two doctors holding her there, while they murmured soothing words about rest and potions.

There was no escape, thought Isabella, even at Arevalo. She was glad Alfonso was so young that, as soon as he no longer saw his mother, he forgot the scene they had just witnessed; she was glad that he was too young to understand what it might mean.

Henry was happy in those first weeks of his marriage. He had arranged ceremonies and pageants of such extravagance as had rarely been seen before in Castile. So far he had not displeased his subjects, and when he rode among them at the head of some glittering cavalcade, towering above most of his retinue, his crown on his red hair, they cheered him vociferously. He knew how to dispense smiles and greetings so that they fell on all, rich and poor alike.

‘There is a King,’ said the people of Castile, ‘the like of whom we have not seen for many a year.’

Some had witnessed the departure of Blanche and had pitied her. She looked so forlorn, poor lady.

But, it was agreed, the King had his duties to Castile. Queen Blanche was sterile, and however virtuous queens may be, virtue is no substitute for fertility.

‘Poor Henry!’ they sighed. ‘How sad he must be to have to divorce her. Yet he considers his duty to Castile before his own inclination.’

As for Henry he had scarcely thought of Blanche since she had left. He had been delighted to dismiss her from his thoughts, and when he saw his new wife his spirits had soared.

He, who was a connoisseur of women, recognised something beyond her beauty... a deep sensuality which might match his own, or at least come near to it.

During those first weeks of marriage he scarcely left her. In public she delighted his subjects; in private she was equally satisfactory to him.

There could not have been a woman more unlike poor Blanche. How glad he was that he had had the courage to rid himself of her.

Behind the sparkling eyes of the new Queen there was a certain purpose, but that was not evident as yet. Joanna was content at first merely to play the wife who was eager to please her husband.

Attended by the maids of honour whom she had brought with her from Lisbon, she was always the centre of attraction, Full of energy, she planned balls and pageants of her own to compete with those which the King gave in her honour, so that it appeared that the wedding celebrations would go on for a very long time.

Always to the fore among those who surrounded the new Queen was Alegre. Her dancing, her spontaneous laughter, her joy in being alive, were already beginning to attract attention.

Joanna watched her with some amusement.

‘Have you found a Castilian lover yet?’ she asked.

‘I think so, Highness.’

‘Pray tell me his name.’

‘It would scarcely be fair to him, Highness, for he does not yet know of the delights in store for him.’

‘Am I to presume that this man has not yet become your lover?’

‘That is so,’ answered Alegre demurely.

‘Then he must be a laggard, for if you have decided, why should he hold back?’

‘Who shall say?’ murmured Alegre. Then she laughed and went on: ‘It is a great pleasure to all of us who serve Your Highness to note how devoted the King is to you. I have heard that he has had hundreds of mistresses, yet when he is with you he is like a young man in love for the first time.’

‘My dear Alegre, I am not like you. I would not tolerate laggards in love.’

Alegre put her head on one side and went on: ‘His Highness is so enamoured of you that he seems to have forgotten those two cronies of his, Villena and the Archbishop... almost.’

‘Those two!’ said the Queen. ‘They are for ever at his elbow.’

‘Whispering advice,’ added Alegre. ‘I wonder if they have advised him how to treat you. It would not surprise me. I fancy the King does little without their approval. I believe he has become accustomed to listening to his two dear friends.’

Joanna was silent, but she later remembered that conversation. She was faintly irritated by those two friends and advisers of the King. He thought too highly of them and she considered he was ridiculously subservient to them.

That night, when she and the King lay together in their bed, she mentioned them.

‘I fancy those two are possessed of certain conceits.’

‘Let us not concern ourselves with them,’ the King answered.

‘But, Henry, I would not see you humbled by any of your subjects.’

‘I... humbled by Villena and Carillo! My dear Joanna, that is not possible.’

‘They sometimes behave as though they are the masters. I consider that humiliating for you.’

‘Oh... you have been listening to their enemies.’

‘I have drawn my own conclusions.’

He made a gesture which indicated that there were more interesting occupations than discussing his ministers. But Joanna was adamant. She believed those two were watching her too intently, that they expected her to listen to their advice, or even instructions, simply because they had played some part in bringing her to Castile. She was not going to tolerate that; and now, while Henry was so infatuated with her, was the time to force him to curb their power.

So she ignored his gestures and sat up in bed, clasping her knees, while she told him that it was absurd for a King to give too much power to one or two men in his kingdom.

Henry yawned. For the first time he was afraid she was going to be one of those tiresome, meddling women, and that would be disappointing, as in many ways she was proving to be satisfactory.

It was the next day when, making his way to his wife’s apartment, he encountered Alegre.

They were alone in one of the ante-rooms and Alegre dropped a demure curtsy at his approach. She remained with her head bowed, but as he was about to pass on she lifted her eyes to his face, and there was a look in them which made him halt.

He said: ‘You are happy here in Castile?’

‘So happy, Highness. But never so happy as at this moment when I have the undivided attention of the King.’

‘My dear,’ said Henry with that characteristic and easy familiarity, ‘it takes little to make you happy.’

She took his hand and kissed it, and as she did so she again raised her eyes to his. They were full of provocative suggestion which it was impossible for a man of Henry’s temperament to ignore.

‘I have often noticed you in the Queen’s company,’ he said, ‘and it has given me great pleasure to see you here with us.’

She continued to smile at him.

‘Please rise,’ he continued.

She did so, while he looked down at her neat, trim figure with the eyes of a connoisseur. He knew her type. She was hot-blooded and eager. That look was unmistakable. She was studying him in a manner which he might have considered insolent if she had not possessed such superb attractions.

He patted her cheek and his hand dropped to her neck.

Then suddenly he seized her and kissed her on the lips. He had not been mistaken. Her response was immediate, and that brief contact told him a good deal.

She was ready and eager to become his mistress; and she was not the sort of woman who would seek to dabble in state matters; there was only one thing of real importance in her life. That short embrace told him that.

He released her and went on his way.

Both of them knew that, although that was their first embrace, it would not be their last.

Under the carved ceiling in the light of a thousand candles the King was dancing, and his partner was the Queen’s maid of honour.

Joanna watched them.

The woman would not dare! she told herself as she recalled a conversation concerning Alegre’s lover, who had not then known the role which was waiting for him. The impudence! I could send her back to Lisbon tomorrow. Does she not know that?

But she was mistaken. Alegre was by nature lecherous, and so was Henry; they betrayed it as they danced, and when two such people danced together... But that was the point. When two such people as Alegre and Henry were together there could be but one outcome.

She would speak to Henry tonight. She would speak to Alegre.

She was not aware that she was frowning, nor that a young man whom she had noticed on several occasions had come to take his stand close to her chair.

He was tall – almost as tall as Henry, whose height was exceptional. He was strikingly handsome with his blue-black hair, and eyes which were brilliantly dark; and yet his skin was fairer than red-headed Henry’s. Joanna had considered him as one of the handsomest men at her husband’s Court.

‘Your Highness is troubled?’ he asked. ‘I wondered if there was aught I could do to take the frown from your exquisite brow.’

She smiled at him. ‘Troubled! Indeed I am not. I was thinking that this is one of the most pleasant balls I have attended since coming to Castile.’

‘Your Highness must forgive me. On every occasion when I have had the honour to be in your company I have been deeply conscious of your mood. When you smiled I was contented; when I fancy I see you frown I long to eliminate the cause of that frown. Is that impertinence, Highness?’

Joanna surveyed him. He spoke to her with the deference due to the Queen, but he did not attempt to disguise the admiration she aroused in him. Joanna hovered between disapproval and the desire to hear more from him. She forgave him. The manners of Henry’s Court were set by the King; as a result they had grown somewhat uninhibited.

She glanced towards the dancers and saw Henry’s hand was laid on Alegre’s shoulder caressingly.

‘She is an insolent woman... that!’ said the young man angrily.

‘Sir?’ she reproved.

‘I crave Your Highness’s pardon. I allowed my feelings to get the better of me.’

Joanna decided that she liked him and that she wanted to keep him beside her.

‘I myself often allow my feelings to get the better of the dignity expected of a Queen,’ she said.

‘In such circumstances...’ he went on hotly. ‘But, what amazes me is – how is this possible?’

‘You refer to the King’s flirtation with my woman? I know him; I know her. I can assure you there is nothing to be amazed about.’

‘The King has always been devoted to the ladies.’

‘I had heard that before I came.’

‘It was once understandable. But with such a Queen... Highness, you must excuse me.’

‘Your feelings have the upper hand again. They must be strong and violent indeed to be able to subdue your good manners.’

‘They are very strong, Highness.’ His dark eyes were warm with adoration. She forgave Henry; she even forgave Alegre, because if they had not been so overcome by desire for each other she would not at this moment be accepting the attentions of this very handsome young man.

He was, she congratulated herself, far more handsome than the King; he was younger too, and the marks of debauchery had not yet begun to show on his features. Joanna had always said that if she allowed the King to go his own way, she would go hers, and she could imagine herself going along a very pleasant way with this young man.

‘I would know the name,’ she said, ‘of the young man of such powerful passions.’

‘It is Beltran de la Cueva, who places himself body and soul in the service of Your Highness.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I am tired of looking on at the dance.’ She stood up and put her hand in his; and while she danced with Beltran de la Cueva, Joanna forgot to watch the conduct of the King and her maid of honour.

The Queen was in her apartment, and her ladies were preparing her for bed.

She noticed that Alegre was not among them.

The sly jade! she thought. But at least she has the decency not to present herself before me tonight.

She asked one of the others where the girl was.

‘Highness, she had a headache, and asked us, if you should notice her absence, to crave your pardon for not attending. She felt so giddy she could scarce keep on her feet.’

‘She is excused,’ said the Queen. ‘She should be warned though to take greater care on these occasions.’

‘I shall give her your warning, Highness.’

‘Tell her that if she becomes careless of her... health, it might be necessary to send her back to Lisbon. Perhaps her native air would be beneficial to her.’

‘That will alarm her, Highness. She is in love with Castile.’

‘I thought I had noticed it,’ said the Queen.

She was ready now for her bed. They would lead her to it and, when she was settled, leave her. Shortly afterwards the King, having been similarly prepared by his attendants, would come to her as he had every night since their marriage.

But before her ladies had left her, the King’s messenger arrived.

His Highness was a little indisposed and would not be visiting the Queen that night. He sent her his devoted affection and his wishes that she would pass a good night.

‘Pray tell His Highness,’ she said, ‘that I am deeply concerned that he should be indisposed. I shall come along and see that he has all he needs. Although I am his Queen, I am also his wife, and I believe it is a wife’s duty to nurse her husband through any sickness.’

The messenger said hastily that His Highness was only slightly indisposed, and had been given a sleeping draught by his physician. If this were to be efficacious he should not be disturbed until morning.

‘How glad I am that I told you of my intentions,’ declared Joanna. ‘I should have been most unhappy if I had disturbed him.’

The King’s messenger was ushered out of the Queen’s bedchamber, and her ladies, more silently than usual, completed the ceremony of putting her to bed and left her.

She lay for some time contemplating this new state of affairs.

She was very angry. It was so humiliating to be neglected for her maid of honour; and she was sure that this was what was happening.

What should she do about it? Confront Henry with her discovery? Make sure that it did not occur again?

But could she do this? She had begun to understand her husband. He was weak; he was indolent; he wanted to preserve the peace at all costs. At all costs? At almost all costs. He was as single-minded as a lion or any other wild animal when in pursuit of his lust. How far would he allow her to interfere when it was a matter of separating him from a new mistress?

She had heard the story of her predecessor. Up to the last poor Blanche had thought she was safe, but Henry had not scrupled to send her away. Blanche had had twelve years’ experience of this man and she, Joanna, was a newcomer to Castile. Perhaps she would be unwise to unleash her anger. Perhaps she should wait and see how best she could revenge herself on her unfaithful husband and disloyal maid of honour.

She was, however, determined to discover whether they were together this night.

She rose from her bed, put on a wrap and went into that apartment next to her own where her women attendants slept.

‘Highness!’ Several of them had sat up in their beds, alarm in their voices.

She said: ‘Do not be alarmed. One of you, please bring me a goblet of wine. I am thirsty.’

‘Yes, Highness.’

Someone had gone in search of the wine, and Joanna returned to her room. She had made her discovery; the bed which should have been occupied by Alegre was empty.

The wine was brought to her, and she gazed absently at the flickering candlelight playing on the tapestried walls, while she drank a little and began to plot some form of retaliation.

She was very angry to think that she, Joanna of Portugal, had been passed over for one of her servants.

‘She shall be sent back to Lisbon,’ she muttered. ‘No matter what he says. I shall insist. Perhaps Villena and the Archbishop will be with me in this. After all, do they not wish that I shall soon be with child?’

And then she heard the soft notes of a lute playing beneath her window, and as she listened the lute-player broke into a love song which she had heard at the ball on this very night.

The words were those of a lover, sighing for his mistress, declaring that he would prefer death to repudiation by her.

She took the candle and went to the window.

Below was the young man who had spoken to her so passionately at the ball. For a few moments they gazed at each other in silence; then he began to sing again in a deep voice, vibrating and passionate.

The Queen went back to her bed.

What was happening in some apartment of this Palace between her husband and her maid of honour was now of small importance to her. Her thoughts were full of Beltran de la Cueva.