Castile for Isabella

CHAPTER V LA BELTRANEJA

The March sunshine shone through the windows of the Chapel in the Palace of Madrid on to the brilliant vestments of those taking part in the most colourful ceremony Isabella had ever witnessed. She was awed by the chanting voices, by the presence of glittering and important men and women.

She was not unconscious of the tension in the atmosphere, for she was wise enough to know that the smiling faces were like the masks she had seen worn at the fêtes and tournaments which had heralded this event.

The whole Court pretended to rejoice because of the birth of Isabella’s little niece, but Isabella knew that those smiling masks hid the true feelings of many people present at this christening.

There stood her half-brother Henry, looking very tall indeed and somewhat untidy, with his reddish hair straggling out beneath his crown. Beside him stood his half-brother, nine-year-old Alfonso.

Alfonso was quite handsome, thought Isabella, in his robes of state. He appeared to be solemn too, as though he knew that many people would be looking his way on this occasion. It seemed to Isabella that Alfonso was one of the most important people present – more important than the baby herself perhaps – and Isabella knew why. She could never entirely escape from that high-pitched voice of her mother’s, reminding them that, should the people decide they had had enough of Henry, they would turn to Alfonso.

Isabella herself had an important part to play in the christening.

With the baby’s sponsors, of whom she was one, she stood beside the font. The others were the Frenchman, Armignac, and the brilliantly clad Juan Pacheco, Marquis of Villena, and his wife. It was the Marquis who held her attention. Through eavesdropping whenever possible, she had heard his name mentioned often and she knew a great deal about him.

Echoes of conversations came back to her. ‘He is the King’s right hand.’ ‘He is the King’s right eye.’ ‘Henry does not take a step without consulting the Marquis of Villena.’ ‘Ah, but have you heard that... lately there has been a little change?’ ‘It cannot be...’ ‘Oh, but they say it is so. Now that is a joke.’

It was so interesting. Far more interesting here at Court, where she could actually see the people who had figured so largely in the rumours she had overheard at Arevalo.

The Marquis was smiling now, but Isabella felt that his mask was the most deceitful of them all. She sensed the power of the man and she wondered what he would look like when he was angry. He would be very formidable, she was sure.

Now the heavy, dark brows of Alfonso Carillo, the Archbishop of Toledo, were drawn together in a frown of concentration as he performed the christening ceremony and blessed the baby girl who had been carried to him under a canopy by Count Alba de Liste.

There was another whom Isabella could not fail to notice. This was a tall man, who might be said to be the handsomest man present; his clothes were more magnificent than those of any other; his jewels glittered with a brighter lustre – perhaps because there were so many of them. His hair was so black that it held a bluish tinge, his eyes were large and dark, but he had a fine fair skin which made him look very young.

He was particularly noticeable, standing close to Henry, for he was almost as tall as the King; and, thought Isabella, if one did not know who was the real King and was asked to pick him out from all those assembled, one would pick Beltran de la Cueva, who had recently been made Count of Ledesma.

The Count was another of those people who were attracting so much attention, and as he watched the baby under the canopy, many watched him.

Unaccustomed though she was to such ceremonies, Isabella gave no sign of the excitement which she was feeling; and, if it appeared that there was a certain watchfulness directed at those three – the King, the Queen and the new Count of Ledesma – Alfonso and Isabella also had their share of this attention.

The thought was in many minds on that day that, if the rumours which were beginning to be spread through the Court were true – and there seemed every reason that they should be – these two children were of the utmost significance. And the fact that the boy was so handsome, and clearly showed he was eager to do what was expected of him, was noted. And so, also, was the decorous behaviour of the young girl, as she stood with the other sponsors, rather tall for her eleven years, her abundant hair – with the reddish tinge inherited from her Plantagenet ancestors – making a charming frame for her placid face.

In a small ante-chamber adjoining the chapel, the Archbishop of Toledo, whilst divesting himself of his ceremonial robes, was in deep conversation with his nephew, the Marquis of Villena.

The Archbishop, a fiery man, who would have been more suited to a military than an ecclesiastical career, was almost shouting: ‘It is an impossible situation. I never imagined anything so fantastic, so farcical in all my life. That man... standing there looking on...’

Villena, the wily statesman, had more control over his feelings than his uncle had over his. He lifted a hand and signed towards the door.

‘Why, nephew,’ said the Archbishop testily, ‘the whole Court talks of it, jeers at it, and the question is asked: “How long will those who want to see justice done endure such a situation?”’

Villena sat on one of the tapestry-covered stools and sardonically contemplated the tips of his shoes. Then he said: ‘The Queen is a harlot; the child is a bastard; the King is a fool; and the people in the streets cannot long be kept in ignorance of all that. Perhaps there have been wanton Queens who have foisted bastards on foolish kings before this. What I find impossible to endure is the favour shown to this man. Count of Ledesma! It is too much.’

‘Henry listens to him on all occasions. Why, in the name of God and all His saints, does he behave with such stupidity?’

‘Perhaps, Uncle, because he is grateful to their Beltran.’

‘Grateful to his wife’s lover, to the father of the child who is to be foisted on the nation as his own!’

‘Grateful indeed,’ said Villena. ‘I fancy our Henry did not care to see himself as one who cannot beget a child. Beltran is so obliging: he serves the King in every way... even to providing the Queen with his bastard to set upon the throne. We know Henry is incapable of begetting children. None of his mistresses has produced a child. After twelve years he was divorced from Blanche on the grounds that both were impotent. And he has been married to Joanna for eight years. It is surprising that Beltran and his mistress have taken so long.’

‘We must not allow the child to be foisted on the nation.’

‘We must go carefully, Uncle. There is time in plenty. If the King continues to shower honours on Beltran de la Cueva, he will turn more and more from us. Very well then, we will turn more and more from him.’

‘And lose our places at Court, lose all that we have worked for?’

Villena smiled. ‘Did you notice the children in chapel? What a pleasant pair!’

The Archbishop was alert. He said: ‘It would never do. You could never set up young Alfonso while Henry is alive.’

‘Why not... if the people are so disgusted with him and his bastard?’

‘Civil war?’

‘It might be arranged more simply. But, Uncle, as I said, there is no need to act immediately. Keep your eyes on those two... Alfonso and Isabella. They made a good impression on all who beheld them. Such pleasant manners. I declare our mad Dowager Queen has made an excellent job of their upbringing.

They already have all the dignity of heirs to the throne. Depend upon it, their mother would raise no objection to our schemes. And what struck you most about them, Uncle? Was it the same as that which struck me? They were so docile, both of them, so... malleable.’

‘Nephew, this is dangerous talk.’

‘Dangerous indeed! That is why we will not be hasty. Rumour is a very good ally. I am going to send for your servant now to help you dress. Listen to what I say in his hearing.’

Villena went to the door and, opening it, signed to a page.

In a few moments the Archbishop’s servant entered. As he did so, Villena was saying in a whisper which could easily be heard by anyone in the room: ‘It is to be hoped the child resembles her father in some way. What amusement that is going to cause throughout the Court. La Beltraneja should be beautiful, for her true father, I believe, is far more handsome than our poor deluded King; and the Queen has beauty also.’

‘La Beltraneja,’ mused the Archbishop, and he was smiling as the servant took his robe.

Within a few days the baby was being referred to throughout the Palace and beyond as La Beltraneja.

In the apartments of the Dowager Queen her two children stood before her, as they had been summoned. Isabella wondered whether Alfonso was as deeply aware as she was of the glazed look in their mother’s eyes, of the rising note in her voice.

The christening ceremony had greatly excited her.

‘My children,’ she cried; then she embraced Alfonso and over his head surveyed Isabella. ‘You were there. You saw the looks directed at that... at that child... and at yourselves. I told you... did I not. I told you. I knew it was impossible. An heir to the throne of Castile! Let me tell you this: I have the heir of Castile here, in my arms. There is no other. There can be no other.’

‘Highness,’ said Isabella, ‘the ceremony has been exhausting for you... and to us. Could you not rest and talk to us of this matter later?’

Isabella trembled at her temerity, but her mother did not seem to hear her.

‘Here!’ she cried, raising her eyes to the ceiling as though she were addressing some celestial audience, ‘here is the heir to Castile.’

Alfonso had released himself from the suffocating embrace. ‘Highness,’ he said, ‘there may be some who listen at our door.’

‘It matters little, my son. The same words are being spoken all over the Court. They are saying the child is the bastard daughter of Beltran de la Cueva. And who can doubt it? Tell me that... tell me that, if you can! But why should you? You will be ready to accept the power and the glory when it is bestowed on you. That is the day I long for. The day I see my own Alfonso King of Castile!’

‘Alfonso,’ said Isabella, quietly, authoritatively, ‘go and call the Queen’s women. Go quickly.’

‘It will not be long,’ went on the Dowager Queen, who had not noticed that Isabella had spoken, nor that her son had slipped from the room. ‘Soon the people will rise. Did you not sense it in the chapel? The feeling... the anger! It would not have surprised me if the bastard had been snatched from under her silken canopy. Nothing... nothing would have surprised me...’

‘Holy Mother,’ prayed Isabella, ‘let them come quickly. Let them take her to her apartment. Let them quieten her before I have to see her held down by the doctors and forcibly drugged to quieten her.’

‘It cannot go on,’ cried the Queen. ‘I shall live to see my Alfonso crowned. Henry will do nothing. He will be powerless. His folly in showering honours on the bastard’s father will be his undoing. Did you not see the looks? Did you not hear the comments?’ The Queen had clenched her fists and had begun beating her breast.

‘Oh let them come quickly,’ prayed Isabella.

When her mother had been taken away she felt exhausted. Alfonso lingered and would have talked to her, but she was afraid to talk to Alfonso. There were so many imminent dangers, she felt certain, and in the great Palace one could never be sure who was hidden away in some secret place to listen to what was said.

It was highly dangerous, she knew very well, to discuss the displacement of kings while they still lived; and if it were true – which of course it was – that she and Alfonso had been brought to Court so that their brother might be sure that they should not be the centre of rebellion, it was certain that they were closely watched.

She put on a cloak and went out into the gardens. Those occasions when she could be alone were rare and, she knew, would become more so, for she must not expect to enjoy the same freedom here at Court as she had in the peace of Arevalo.

Still, as yet, she was regarded as but a child and she hoped that she would continue to be so regarded for some time to come. She did not want to be embroiled in the rebellious schemes which tormented her mother’s already overtaxed brain.

Isabella believed firmly in law and order. Henry was King because he was the eldest son of their father, and she thought it was wrong that any other should take his place while he lived.

She stared down at the stream of the Manzanares and then across the plain to the distant mountains; and as she did so she became aware of approaching footsteps and, turning, saw a girl coming towards her.

‘You wish to speak with me?’ called Isabella.

‘My lady Princesa, if you would be so gracious as to listen.’

This was a beautiful girl with strongly marked features; she was some four years older than Isabella and consequently seemed adult to the eleven-year-old Princess.

‘But certainly,’ said Isabella.

The other knelt and kissed Isabella’s hand, but Isabella said: ‘Please rise. Now tell me what it is you have to say to me.’

‘My lady, my name is Beatriz Fernandez de Bobadilla, and it is very bold of me to make myself known to you thus unceremoniously; but I saw you walking alone here and I thought that if my mistress could behave without convention, so might I.’

‘It is pleasant to escape from convention now and then,’ said Isabella.

‘I have news, my lady, which fills me with great joy. Shortly I am to be presented to you as your maid of honour. Since I learned this was to be I have been eagerly awaiting a glimpse of you, and when I saw you at the ceremony in the chapel I knew that I longed to serve you. When I am formally presented I shall murmur the appointed words which will convey nothing... nothing of my true feelings. Princesa Isabella, I wanted you to know how I truly felt.’

Isabella stifled the disapproval which these words aroused in her. She had been brought up to believe that the etiquette of the Court was all-important; but when the girl lifted her eyes she saw there were real tears in them, and Isabella was not proof against such a display of emotion.

She realised she was lonely. She had no companion to whom she could talk of those matters which interested her. Alfonso was the nearest to being such a companion, but he was too young and not of her own sex. She had never enjoyed real companionship with her mother, and the thought of having a maid of honour who could also be a friend was very appealing.

Moreover in spite of herself, she could not help admiring the boldness of Beatriz de Bobadilla.

She heard herself say: ‘You should have waited to be formally presented, but as long as no one sees us... as long as no one is aware of what we have done...’

This was not the way in which a Princess should behave, but Isabella was eager for this friendship which was being offered.

‘I knew you would say that, Princesa,’ cried Beatriz. ‘That is why I dared.’

She stood up and her eyes sparkled. ‘I could scarcely wait for a glimpse of you, my lady,’ she went on. ‘You are exactly as I imagined you. You will never have reason to regret that I was chosen to serve you. When we are married, I beg you let it make no difference. Let me continue to serve you.’

‘Married?’said Isabella.

‘Why yes, married. I am promised to Andres de Cabrera, even as you are promised to Prince Ferdinand of Aragon.’

Isabella flushed slightly at the mention of Ferdinand, but Beatriz hurried on: ‘I follow the adventures of Prince Ferdinand with great interest, simply because he is betrothed to you.’

Isabella caught her breath and murmured: ‘Could we walk a little?’

‘Yes, my lady. But we should be careful not to be seen. I should be scolded for daring to approach thus, if we were.’

Isabella for once did not care if they were discovered, so urgently did she desire to talk of Ferdinand.

‘What did you mean when you said you had followed the adventures of Prince Ferdinand?’

‘That I had gleaned information about him on every possible occasion, Princesa. I gathered news of the troublous state of affairs in Aragon, and the dangers which beset Ferdinand.’

‘Dangers? What dangers?’

‘There is civil war in Aragon, as you know, and that is a dangerous state of affairs. They say it is due to the Queen of Aragon, Ferdinand’s mother, who would risk all she possesses in order to ensure the advancement of her son.’

‘She must love him dearly,’ said Isabella softly.

‘Princesa, there is no one living who is more loved than young Ferdinand.’

‘It is because he is so worthy.’

‘And because he is the only son of the most ambitious woman living. It is a mercy that he has emerged alive from Gerona.’

‘What is this? I have not heard of it.’

‘But, Princesa, you know that the Catalans rose against Ferdinand’s father on account of Carlos, Ferdinand’s elder brother whom they loved so dearly. Carlos died suddenly, and there were rumours. It was said he was hastened to his death, and this had been arranged so that Ferdinand should inherit his father’s dominions.’

‘Ferdinand would have no hand in murder!’

‘Indeed no. How could he? He is only a boy. But his mother – and his father too, for she has prevailed upon him to become so – are overweeningly ambitious for him. When his mother took Ferdinand into Catalonia, to receive the oath of allegiance, the people rose in anger. They said that the ghost of Ferdinand’s half-brother, Carlos, walked the streets of Barcelona crying out that he was the victim of murder and that the people should avenge him. They say that miracles have been performed at his grave, and that he was a saint.’

‘He asked for my hand in marriage,’ said Isabella with a shudder. ‘And shortly afterwards he died.’

‘Ferdinand is intended for you.’

‘Yes, Ferdinand and no other,’ said Isabella firmly.

‘It was necessary for the Queen of Aragon and her son Ferdinand to fly from Barcelona to Gerona; and there, with Ferdinand, she took possession of the fortress. I have heard that the fierce Catalans almost captured that fortress, and only the Queen’s courage and resource saved their lives.’

‘He was in such danger, and I did not know it,’ murmured Isabella. ‘Tell me... what is happening to him now?’

Beatriz shook her head. ‘That I cannot say, but I have heard that the war persists in the dominions of the King of Aragon and that King John and Queen Joan will continue to be blamed for the murder of Carlos.’

‘It is a terrible thing to have happened.’

‘It was the only way for Ferdinand to become his father’s heir.’

‘He knew nothing of it,’ affirmed Isabella. ‘He can never be blamed.’

And to herself she said: Nor could Alfonso be if they insisted on putting him in Henry’s place.

‘I think,’ she said aloud, ‘that there are stormy days ahead for both Castile and Aragon – for Ferdinand and perhaps for me.’

‘A country divided against itself provides perpetual danger,’ said Beatriz solemnly; then her eyes sparkled. ‘But it will not be long before Ferdinand comes to claim you. You will be married. I shall be married. And, Princesa, you said that, when we were, we should still be... friends.’

Isabella was astonished that she could be so touched by this offer of friendship.

She said in subdued tones: ‘I think it is time that I returned to my apartments.’

Beatriz sank to her knees and Isabella swept past her. But not before Beatriz had lifted her face and Isabella had given her a swift, almost shy smile.

From that moment Isabella had a new friend.

The Queen’s little daughter lay on her silken cushions under a canopy in the state apartments, and one by one the great nobles came forward to kiss her hand and swear allegiance to her as heiress of the throne of Castile.

Beltran de la Cueva looked down at her with satisfaction. His position was unique. So many suspected that he was the baby’s father, and yet, instead of this suspicion arousing the wrath of the King, it had made Henry feel more kindly towards him.

He could see a glorious future before him; he could still remain the Queen’s very good friend, the King’s also. And the child – now generally known as La Beltraneja – was to inherit the throne.

He fancied he had behaved with great skill in a difficult situation.

As he stood smiling with satisfaction his eyes met those of the Archbishop of Toledo, and he was quickly conscious of the smouldering anger there.

Rant as much as you like, my little Archbishop! thought Beltran. Plot with your sly nephew whose nose has been considerably put out of joint during this last year. I care not for you... nor does the King nor the Queen, nor this baby here. There is nothing you can do to harm us.

But Beltran de la Cueva, gallant courtier though he was, so expert in the jousts, such an elegant dancer, lacked the sly cunning necessary to make of himself a statesman. He did not know that, even while they kissed the baby’s hand and swore allegiance, the Archbishop and his nephew were planning to have her proclaimed illegitimate and oust her father from the throne.

The Marquis of Villena called on the King. Henry was with his favourite mistress. There had been many since Alegre, and if she had been mentioned in his hearing it was doubtful whether he would now have remembered her name.

Henry had grown more indolent with the years. He was pleased that the royal cradle was at last occupied, and did not want to raise the question as to how this could have come about. Suffice it that there was an heir to the throne.

There were entertainments to be planned – those orgies which were growing more and more wild in an endeavour by those, whose duty it was, to tempt his jaded palate.

What new schemes, Henry was wondering, had they thought of this time? What pleasures would they show him that could give him new sensations, or could help him to recapture the old?

Then the Marquis of Villena was announced and with him, to Henry’s dismay, was that villainous uncle of his, the Archbishop. Reluctantly and with a show of irritation Henry dismissed his mistress.

‘We crave leave to speak to you, Highness, on a very important matter,’ said Villena.

Henry yawned. Angry lights shot up in the Archbishop’s eyes but Villena flashed a warning glance at him.

‘I think, Highness,’ said the Marquis, ‘that this matter is one to which it would be well to give your close attention.’

‘Well, what is it?’ Henry demanded ungraciously.

‘Grave suspicions have been cast on the legitimacy of the little Princess.’

Henry shrugged his shoulders. ‘There are always rumours.’

‘These are more than rumours, Highness.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘We fear something will have to be done. The peace of the country is threatened.’

‘If people would stop meddling we should have peace.’

‘The people must be assured,’ said the Archbishop, ‘that the heiress to the throne is the legitimate heiress.’

‘The Princess is my daughter. Is not my daughter the legitimate heir to the throne?’

‘Only if she is your daughter, Highness.’

‘You are not going to say that another child was smuggled into the Queen’s bed?’

‘Rather, Highness,’ said Villena with a snigger, ‘that another lover was smuggled therein.’

‘Gossip! Scandal!’ muttered Henry. ‘A plague on them. Have done. Let us accept what is. There is an heiress to the throne. The people have been crying out for an heir; now they have one let them be satisfied.’

‘They’ll not be satisfied with a bastard, Highness,’ said the fierce Archbishop.

‘What is this talk?’

‘Highness,’ said Villena, almost placatingly, ‘you should know that throughout the Court the Princess is known by the name of La Beltraneja – after the man who, the majority are beginning to declare, is her father, Beltran de la Cueva.’

‘But this is monstrous,’ said the King with a mildness which exasperated the Archbishop.

‘Your Highness,’ went on Villena, ‘puts yourself in a difficult position by showering honours on the man who is believed to have cuckolded you.’

Henry laughed. ‘You are angered because honours and titles have gone to him which you believe should have found their way to you two. That is the point, is it not?’

‘Your Highness surely will admit that it is unseemly to honour the man who has deceived you and attempted to foist his bastard upon you?’

‘Oh, have done. Have done. Let the matter be, and let us have peace.’

‘I am afraid, Highness, that is not possible. Certain of your ministers are demanding an enquiry into the birth of the child you are calling your daughter.’

‘And if I forbid it?’

‘Highness, that would be most unwise.’

‘I am the King,’ said Henry, hoping his voice sounded strong yet fearing that it was very weak.

‘Highness, it is because we wish you to remain King that we beg you to give this matter your closest attention,’ whispered Villena.

‘Let them leave me in peace. The matter is done with. There is a Princess in the royal cradle. Leave it at that.’

‘It is impossible, Highness. There is also a Prince in the Palace now, your half-brother Alfonso. There are many who say that, should the new-born child be proved a bastard, he should be named as your successor.’

‘This is all very wearying,’ sighed Henry. ‘What can I do about it?’

Villena smiled at the Archbishop. ‘There was a time, Highness,’ he said gently, ‘when I heard that question more often on your lips. Then you knew. Highness, that you could rely upon me. Now you put your faith and trust in a pretty young gentleman who makes scandals with the Queen herself. Highness, since you have asked me, this is my advice: Cease to honour Beltran de la Cueva so blatantly. Let him see that you doubt the honourable nature of his conduct. And allow a commission of churchmen – which I and the Archbishop will nominate – to enquire into the legitimacy of the child.’

Henry looked about hopelessly. The only way to rid himself of these tiresome men and to bring back his pretty mistress was to agree.

He waved his hand impatiently. ‘Do as you wish... do as you wish,’ he cried. ‘And leave me in peace.’

Villena and the Archbishop retired well satisfied.

It had become clear to all astute observers of the Castilian scene that the Marquis of Villena would not lightly abandon his hold upon the King, and if the King and Queen persisted in their allegiance to Beltran de la Cueva, Villena would raise such a strong party against them that it might well lead to civil war.

There was one who watched this state of affairs with great satisfaction. This was the Marquis of Villena’s brother, Don Pedro Giron, a very ambitious man who was a Grand Master of the Order of Calatrava.

The Knights of Calatrava belonged to an institution which had been established as long ago as the twelfth century.

The Order had sprung into being because of the need to defend Castile against Moorish conquerors. Calatrava stood on the frontiers of Andalusia, which was occupied by the Moors, and the town, which commanded the pass into Castile, became of paramount importance. The Knights Templar had attempted to hold it, but, unable to withstand the constant and ferocious attacks of the Mussulmans, had abandoned it.

The reigning King of Castile, Sancho, the Beloved, offered the town to any knights who would defend it from the Moors, and certain monks from a Navarrese convent immediately took possession. The situation captured the imagination of the people and many rallied to the defence of the town, so enabling it to be held against all attacks.

The monks then founded an order which consisted of knights, monks and soldiers; and this they named the Knights of Calatrava; it was recognised by Pope Alexander III as a religious Order in 1164, adopted the rules of St Benedict and imposed strict discipline on its community.

The first and most important rule of the community was that of celibacy. Its members were to follow the rule of silence, and to live in great austerity. They ate meat only once a week; but they were not merely monks; they must remember that their Order had come into being through their prowess with the sword; and it was their custom to sleep with their swords beside them, ready to go into action against the Moors at any moment when they might be called upon to do so.

Don Pedro Giron, while enjoying the prestige his position in the Order brought to him, had no intention of carrying out its austere rules.

He was a man of tremendous political ambition and he did not see why, since his brother the Marquis was reckoned to be the most important man in Castile – or had been deemed so before the coming of the upstart Beltran de la Cueva – he should not bask in his brother’s glory and use the influence of the Marquis to better his own position.

He was ready to obey his brother’s wishes, to rouse the people to revolt if need be, to spread any rumour that his brother wished to be spread. Nor did he hesitate to follow his own life of pleasure, and he had a score of mistresses. Indeed the Grand Master of Calatrava was noted throughout Castile for his licentious habits. None dared criticise him; if he saw a flicker of disapproval on any face he would ask the offender if he knew his brother the Marquis of Villena. ‘We are great friends, my brother and I. We are jealous of the family honour. His enemies are mine and mine are his.’

Consequently most people were too much in awe of the powerful Villena to continue the criticism of his somewhat disreputable brother. He was greatly amused by the scandal which the Queen of Castile had caused in the Court.

It pleased him to consider that Queens were as frail as other women, and as he was a vain man, he began to fancy himself as the lover of Joanna. She however was besottedly devoted to Beltran de la Cueva, and he himself was not an overwhelmingly handsome or attractive man.

Then one day he saw Isabella, the Dowager Queen of Castile, walking in the grounds, and he considered her.

She was still an attractive woman; he had heard rumours of her wildness and how it was sometimes necessary to lure her from her moods of hysteria by means of soothing powders and potions.

His brother the Marquis was turning more and more from King Henry and his Queen, which meant that he was turning towards the young Alfonso and Isabella. There was no doubt that the Dowager Queen, who was obviously ambitious for her children, would welcome the friendship of the Marquis of Villena.

And if she is a wise woman, mused Don Pedro, she will be eager to be on the best of terms with all our family.

So he watched her on more than one occasion, and it seemed to him that his latest mistress had little charm for him. She was a beautiful girl, but he had set his heart on sharing the bed of a Queen.

He swaggered about the Court, seeing himself as another Beltran de la Cueva.

At last he could contain his patience no longer; he found an opportunity of speaking alone to the Dowager Queen.

He had formally requested a private interview, and this was granted him.

As he dressed himself with the utmost care, as he demanded flattering compliments from his valets – who gave them slavishly, realising that if they did not it would be the worse for them – it did not occur to him that he could fail in his plans regarding the Dowager Queen.

The Dowager Queen was with her daughter.

She had sent for Isabella, although she knew that Don Pedro Giron was on his way to visit her.

When Isabella saw her mother, she was quick to notice the suppressed excitement shining in her eyes. Yet, there was no hint of the madness. Something had made her happy, and Isabella had come to know that it was depression and frustration which brought on those attacks of madness.

‘Come here, daughter,’ said the Dowager Queen. ‘I have sent for you because I wish you to be aware of what is going on about us.’

‘Yes, Highness,’ said Isabella demurely. She was aware, more than she had ever been. Her constant companion, Beatriz de Bobadilla, was proving to be very knowledgeable on Court matters, and life had become full of intrigue and interest since Beatriz had formally been presented to her as her maid of honour. Now Isabella knew of the scandal concerning Queen Joanna and the birth of the baby who, many were beginning to say, was not the true heiress of Castile.

‘I do not think it can be long now before your brother is proclaimed the King’s successor,’ said the Dowager Queen. ‘There are protests from all directions. The people are not going to accept Beltran de la Cueva’s daughter as their future Queen. Now, my dear Isabella, I have called you to me because I am expecting an important visit very shortly. I did not send for Alfonso because he is too young, and this concerns him too deeply. You are going to be present during the interview, although you will not be seen. You will be hidden behind the hangings there. You must stand very still, that none may know that you are present.’

Isabella caught her breath in fear. Was this a new version of that wildness? Her mother, actually arranging that she should eavesdrop!

‘Very soon,’ went on the Dowager Queen, ‘the brother of the Marquis of Villena is to call upon me. He will come as his brother’s messenger. I know the reason for his coming. It is to tell me that his brother’s adherents are going to demand that Alfonso be acknowledged as Henry’s heir. You will hear how calmly I accept his statements. It will be a lesson to you for the future, daughter; when you are Queen of Aragon you will have to receive ambassadors of all kinds. There may be some who bring startling news to you. You must never betray your emotions. Whatever the news... good or bad... you must accept it as a Queen, as you will see me do.’

‘Highness,’ began Isabella, ‘could I not remain in your presence? Must I hide myself?’

‘My dear child, do you imagine that the Grand Master of Calatrava would disclose his mission in your presence! Now... obey me immediately. Come. This will hide you completely. Stay perfectly still, and listen to what he has to say. And particularly note my acceptance of the news.’

Feeling that it was some mad game she was being forced to play, a game not in accord with her dignity, which had increased since her coming to Court, Isabella allowed herself to be placed behind the hangings.

After a few minutes Don Pedro was ushered into the apartments of the Dowager Queen.

‘Highness,’ he said, kneeling, ‘it is gracious of you to receive me.’

‘It gives me pleasure,’ was the answer.

‘I had a feeling within me, Highness, that I should cause you no offence by coming to you thus.’

‘On the contrary, Don Pedro. I am ready to listen to your proposition.’

‘Highness, have I your permission to sit?’

‘Assuredly.’

Isabella heard the scrape of chair-legs as they sat down.

‘Highness.’

‘Well, Don Pedro?’

‘I have long been aware of you. On those happy occasions when I have been at some ceremony which Your Highness attended I have been aware of no one else.’

There was a strange silence in the room, not lost on the hidden Isabella.

‘I trust that you, Highness, have not been completely unaware of me.’

The Dowager Queen answered, and her voice showed she was bewildered: ‘One would not be unaware of the brother of such a personage as the Marquis of Villena.’

‘Ah, my brother. Highness, I would have you know that his interests are mine. We are as one... in our desire to see peace in this Kingdom.’

Now the Queen felt and sounded happier. ‘I had guessed that, Don Pedro.’

‘Would it surprise you, Highness, if I told you that there have been occasions when my brother, the Marquis, has discussed his policies with me and listened to my advice?’

‘It would not. You are Grand Master of a Holy Order. Naturally you should be able to advise your brother... spiritually.’

‘Highness, there is one thing I would work for... body and soul... that is the acceptance of your son the Infante Alfonso as heir to the throne of Castile. I would see the little bastard girl, now known as the heir, proclaimed for what she is. It need not be long before this happens... if...’

‘If, Don Pedro?’

‘I have made Your Highness aware of the influence I have with my brother, and you know full well the power he wields in this land. If you and I were friends, there is nothing I would not do... not only to have the boy proclaimed heir, but to... I must whisper this... Come, sweet lady, let me put my lips to your ear... to depose Henry in favour of your son Alfonso.’

‘Don Pedro!’

‘I said, my dearest lady, if we were friends.’

‘I do not understand you. You speak in riddles.’

‘Oh, you are not so blind as you would have me believe. You are still a beautiful woman, dear lady. Come... come... I hear you lived most piously at that deadly place in Arevalo... but this is the Court. You are not old... nor am I. I think we could bring a great deal of pleasure to each other’s lives.’

‘I think, Don Pedro,’ said the Dowager Queen, ‘that you must be suffering from a temporary madness.’

‘Not I, dear lady, not I. As for yourself you would be completely well if you lived a more natural life. Come, do not be so prudish. Follow the fashion. By the saints, I swear you will never regret the day you and I become lovers.’

The Dowager Queen had leaped to her feet. Isabella heard the urgent scrape of her chair. She heard also the note of alarm in her mother’s voice. Looking through the folds of brocade she saw a purple-faced man who seemed to her to symbolise all that was beastly in human nature. She saw her mother – no longer calm – afraid and shocked beyond her understanding.

Isabella knew that unless the man was dismissed her mother would begin to shout and wave her arms, and he would witness one of those wild scenes which she, Isabella, was so anxious should not be seen except by those whom she could trust.

Isabella forgot the instruction that she was to remain hidden. She stepped from her hiding-place into the room.

The purple-faced man with the evil expression stared at her as though she were a ghost. Indeed it must have seemed strange to him that she had apparently materialised from nowhere.

She drew herself to her full height and never before had she looked so much a Princess of Castile.

‘Sir,’ she said coldly, ‘I ask you to leave... immediately.’

Don Pedro stared at her incredulously.

‘Is it necessary,’ went on young Isabella, ‘for me to have you forcibly removed?’

Don Pedro hesitated. Then he bowed and left them.

Isabella turned to her mother, who was trembling so much that she could not speak.

She led her to a chair and stood beside her, her arms about her protectively.

She whispered gently: ‘Dearest Highness, he has gone now. He is evil... but has left us. We will never see him again. Do not tremble so. Let me take you to your bed. There you will lie down. He has gone now, that evil man.’

The Dowager Queen stood up and allowed Isabella to take her arm.

From that moment Isabella felt that she was the one who must care for her mother, that she was the strong one who must protect her brother and her mother from this wicked Court, this whirlpool of intrigue which was threatening to drag them down to... what? She could not imagine.

All she knew was that she was capable of defending herself, of bridging the dangerous years through which she must pass before she was safe as the bride of Ferdinand.

The Dowager Queen sent for Isabella. She had recovered from the shock of Giron’s proposals and was no longer stunned; she was very angry.

‘I am sorry, my daughter,’ said the Queen, ‘that you should have overheard such a revolting outburst. That man shall be severely punished. He shall very soon regret the day he submitted me to such indignity. You are coming with me to the King, to bear witness of what you overheard.’

Isabella was alarmed. She fully realised that the Grand Master of the Order of Calatrava had behaved disgracefully, but she had hoped that, once the man had been dismissed from her mother’s presence, his conduct might be forgotten; for remembering it could only serve to over-excite her mother.

‘We are going to Henry now,’ said the Dowager Queen. ‘I have told him that I must see him on a matter of great importance, and he has agreed to receive us.’ The Dowager Queen looked at her daughter, and tears came into her eyes.

‘My dear Isabella,’ she said, ‘I fear you are fast leaving childhood behind you. That is inevitable, since you must live at this Court. I could wish, my dear, that you and I and your brother could return to Arevalo. I think we should be so much happier there. Come.’

Henry received them with a show of affection.

He complimented Isabella on her appearance. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘my little sister is no longer a child. She grows every day. We are a tall family, Isabella; and you are no exception.’

He greeted his stepmother with equal warmth, although he was wondering what grievance had brought her – he felt sure it was a grievance.

‘Henry,’ said the Dowager Queen, ‘I have a complaint to make... a complaint of a most serious nature.’

The King put on an expression of concern, but Isabella, who was watching closely, saw that it thinly veiled one of exasperation.

‘I have been insulted by Don Pedro Giron,’ said the Dowager Queen dramatically.

‘That is very shocking,’ said Henry, ‘and I am grieved to hear it.’

‘The man came to my apartment and made outrageous proposals.’

‘What were these proposals?’

‘They were of an immoral nature. Isabella will bear witness, for she heard all that was said.’

‘He made these proposals in Isabella’s presence then?’

‘Well... she was there.’

‘You mean he was not aware that she was there?’

‘No... he was not. I know, Henry, that you will not allow such outrageous conduct to go unpunished.’

Henry shifted his gaze from his stepmother’s face. He said, ‘He did not... attack you?’

‘He attacked my good name. He dared presume to make immoral suggestions to me. If Isabella had not come from her hiding-place in time... I think it is very possible that he might have laid hands on me.’

‘So Isabella was in hiding?’ Henry looked sternly at his half-sister.

‘I thank the saints that she was!’ cried the Queen. ‘No woman’s virtue is safe when there are such men at Court. My dear son, you will, I know, not suffer such conduct to go unpunished.’

Henry said: ‘Dear Mother, you excite yourself unnecessarily. I have no doubt that you protected your virtue from this man. You are still a beautiful woman. I cannot entirely blame him – nor must you – for being aware of that. I am sure, if you consider this matter calmly, you will come to the conclusion that the best of men sometimes forget the honour due to rank when beauty beckons.’

‘This is carnal talk,’ cried the Queen. ‘I beg of you not to use it before my daughter.’

‘Then I marvel that you should bring her to me when making such a complaint.’

‘But I told you she was there.’

‘She had been concealed... by your wishes, or was it some sly prank of her own? Which was it, eh? You tell me, Isabella.’

Isabella looked at her mother; she dared not lie to the King, yet at the same time she could not betray her mother.

Henry saw her embarrassment and was sorry for her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Do not fret, Isabella. Too much is being made of very little.’

‘Do you mean,’ screeched the Queen, ‘that you will ignore the insulting behaviour of this man towards a member of the royal family?’

‘Dear Mother, you must be calm. I have heard how excited you become on occasions, and it has occurred to me that it might be advisable if you left Court for some place where events which excited you were less likely to occur. As for Don Pedro Giron, he is the brother of the Marquis of Villena, and therefore not a man who can be lightly reprimanded.’

‘You would allow yourself to be ruled by Villena!’ cried the Queen. ‘Villena is important... more important than your father’s wife! It matters not that she has been insulted. It is the brother of the great Villena who has done it, and he must not be reprimanded! I had thought Villena was of less importance nowadays. I thought there was a new sun beginning to rise, and that we must all fall down and worship it. I thought that since Beltran de la Cueva – that most obliging man – became the friend of the King... and the Queen... the Marquis of Villena was not the man he had once been.’

Isabella half closed her eyes with horror. Previously the scenes had been threatening in the private apartments. What would happen if, in the presence of the King, her mother began to shout and laugh!

She longed to take her mother by the hand, to whisper urgently that they should beg permission to go; and only the rigorous training she had received prevented her from doing so.

Henry saw her distress and was as eager to put an end to this discussion as she was.

‘I think,’ he said gently, ‘that it would be well if you considered returning to Arevalo.’

His quiet tone had its effect on the Dowager Queen. She was silent for a few seconds, then she cried out: ‘Yes, it would be better if we returned to Arevalo. There I was safe from the lewdness of those whom Your Highness is pleased to honour.’

‘You may leave when you wish,’ said Henry. ‘I only ask that my little sister and brother remain at Court.’

Those words completely subdued the Queen.

Isabella knew that they had touched her with a terrible fear. One of the worst terrors of her mother’s wild imagination had always been that her children might be separated from her.

‘You have leave to retire,’ said Henry.

The Queen curtsied; Isabella did the same; and they returned in silence to their apartment.