Castile for Isabella

CHAPTER VIII OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF AVILA

A brilliant cavalcade was riding northwards to the shores of the River Bidassoa, the boundary between Castile and France, and a meeting-place close to the town of Bayonne.

In the centre of this procession rode Henry, King of Castile, his person glittering with jewels, and his Moorish Guard dazzling in their colourful uniforms.

His courtiers had done their utmost to rival the splendour of their King, although none, with the exception of Beltran de la Cueva, had been able to do so. Still, it was a splendid concourse that gathered to meet King Louis XI of France, his courtiers and his ministers.

This meeting had been arranged by the Marquis of Villena and the Archbishop of Toledo, the purpose of it being to settle the differences between the Kings of Castile and Aragon.

When John of Aragon had come into conflict with Catalonia over his treatment of his eldest son Carlos, Prince of Viana, Henry of Castile had thrown in certain men and arms to help the Catalans. Now, Villena had decided that there should be peace and that the King of France should be the mediator in a reconciliation.

Villena and the Archbishop had their own reasons for arranging this meeting between the Kings. Louis wished it and the two statesmen, having a profound respect for Louis’ talents, had accepted certain favours from him in return for which they must not be unmindful of his wishes when at their master’s Court.

Louis was a man who was eager to have a say in the affairs of Europe. He was determined to make France the centre of Continental politics, the most powerful of countries, and he deemed it necessary therefore to lose no opportunity of meddling in his neighbours’ affairs if he could do so to the advantage of France.

He was interested in the affairs of Aragon, for he had lent the King of that Province three hundred and fifty thousand crowns, takng as security for the loan the provinces of Roussillon and Cerdagne. If there were to be peace between Castile and Aragon he was anxious that it should be brought about with no disadvantage to France. It was for this reason that he had his ‘pensioners’ – such as Villena and the Archbishop of Toledo – in every country in which he could place them.

Louis was in his prime, for it was but some three years since he had ascended the throne at the age of thirty-eight, and he was already making good the ravages of the Hundred Years War. He knew Henry for a weak King growing more and more foolish as the years passed, and he could not but believe that, in conference, he would get the better of him, particularly as this King of Castile’s two chief advisers were ready to accept bribes from himself, the King of France.

When Louis and Henry met there arose an immediate hostility between their followers.

Henry, magnificently attired, his company glittering in gold brocade and with the dazzle of their jewels, made a strange contrast to the sombrely clad French King.

Louis had made no concession to the occasion and wore the clothes he was accustomed to wear at home. He delighted in making himself the least conspicuous of Frenchmen, and consequently favoured a short worsted coat with fustian doublet. His hat had clearly served him as well and as long as any of his followers; in it he wore a small image of the Virgin – not in glittering diamonds or rubies as might have been expected, but of lead.

French eyes smiled at the garments of the Castilians; there were suppressed guffaws and murmurs of ‘Fops! Popinjays!’

The Castilians showed their disgust of the French; and asked each other whether there had been a mistake, and it was the king of the beggars not the King of the French who had come to greet their King.

Tempers were hot and there was many a fracas.

Meanwhile the Kings themselves took each other’s measure and were not greatly impressed.

Louis stated his terms for the peace, and these were not entirely favourable to Castile. Henry however, always eager to take that line which demanded the least exertion on his part, was eager for one thing only: to have done with the conference and return to Castile.

There was a great deal of grumbling among his followers.

‘Why,’ they asked each other, ‘was our King ever allowed to make this journey? It is almost as though he must pay homage to the King of France and accept his judgement. Who is this King of France? He is a moneylender – and a seedy-looking one at that.’

‘Who arranged this conference? What a question! Who arranges everything at Court? The Marquis of Villena, of course, with that rascal, his uncle, the Archbishop of Toledo.’

During the journey back to Castile, Henry’s adviser, the Bishop of Cuenca, and the Marquis of Santillana, who was head of the powerful Mendoza family, came to the King and implored him to re-consider before he allowed himself to enter into such humiliating negotiations again.

‘Humiliating!’ protested Henry. ‘But I should not consider my meeting with the King of France humiliating.’

‘Highness, the King of France treats you as a vassal,’ said Santillana. ‘It is unwise to have too many dealings with him; he is a wily old fox; and, as you will agree, the conference has brought little good to Castile. Highness, there is another matter which you should not ignore: Those who arranged this conference serve the King of France whilst feigning to serve Your Highness.’

‘That is a serious and dangerous accusation.’

‘It is a dangerous situation, Highness. We are certain that the Marquis and the Archbishop are in league with the King of France. Conversations between them have been overheard.’

‘It is difficult for me to believe this.’

‘Did they not arrange this conference?’ asked Cuenca. ‘And what advantage has it brought to Castile?’

Henry looked bewildered. ‘Are you suggesting that I bring them before me and confront them with their villainies?’

‘They would deny the accusation, Highness,’ Santillana put in. ‘That does not mean that they would speak the truth. We can bring you witnesses, Highness. We are assured that we are not mistaken.’

Henry looked from his old teacher, the Bishop of Cuenca, to the Marquis of Santillana. They were trustworthy men, both of them.

‘I will ponder this matter,’ he said.

They looked dismayed, and he added: ‘It is of great importance, and I believe that, if you are right, I should not continue to give these men my confidence.’

The Archbishop of Toledo stormed into the apartments of his nephew.

‘Have you heard what I have?’ he demanded.

‘I understand from your expression, Uncle, that you refer to our dismissal’

‘Our dismissal! It is preposterous. What will he do without us?’

‘Cuenca and Santillana have persuaded him that they will prove adequate substitutes.’

‘But why... why...?’

‘He objects to our friendship with Louis.’

‘Fool! Why should we not listen to Louis and give Henry our advice?’

Villena smiled at his fiery uncle. ‘It is a common failing among kings,’ he murmured, ‘and perhaps not only kings. They insist that those who serve them should serve no other.’

‘And does he think that we are going to lie down meekly under this... this insult?’

‘If he does, he is more of a fool than we thought him.’

‘Your plans, nephew?’

‘To call together a confederacy, to proclaim La Beltraneja illegitimate, to set up Alfonso as the heir to the throne... or...’

‘Yes, nephew, or... what?’

‘I do not know yet. It depends how far the King will proceed in this intransigent attitude of his. I can visualise circumstances in which it might be necessary to set up a new King in his place. Then, of course, we should put little Alfonso on the throne of Castile.’

The Archbishop nodded, smiling. As a man of action he was impatient to go ahead with the scheme.

Villena smiled at him.

‘All in good time, Uncle,’ he warned. ‘This is a delicate matter. Henry will have his supporters. We must act with care; but never fear, since Henry listens to others, he shall go. But the displacement of one King by another is always a dangerous operation. Out of such situations civil wars have grown. First we will test Henry. We will see if we can bring him to reason, before we depose him.’

Queen Joanna paced angrily up and down the King’s apartments.

‘What are they doing, these ex-ministers of yours?’ she demanded. ‘Oh, it was time they were dismissed from their posts. They are against us... do you not see? They are trying to push you aside and set up Alfonso in your place. Oh, it was folly not to force Isabella to go to Portugal. There she would at least have been out of the way. How do we know what she says to that brother of hers? You can be assured that she repeats the doctrines of her mad mother. She is priming Alfonso, telling him that he should be the heir to the throne.’

‘They cannot do this... they cannot do this,’ wailed Henry. ‘Have I not my own child!’

‘Indeed you have your own child. I gave you that child. And there were not many women in Castile who could have managed that. Look at your trials and failures with your first wife. Now you have your child. Our little Joanna will remain heiress to the throne. We will not have Alfonso.’

‘No,’ said the King. ‘There is little Joanna. She is my heir. There is no law in Castile to prevent one of the female sex taking the crown.’

‘Then we must be firm. One of these days Villena will march to the executioner’s knife, and he’ll take that villainous old Archbishop with him. In the meantime we must be firm.’

‘We will be firm,’ echoed Henry uncertainly.

‘And not forget those who are ready to stand firmly beside us.’

‘Oh yes, I wish there were more to stand firmly with us. I wish there need not be this strife.’

‘We shall be strong. But let us make sure of the strength of our loyal supporters. Let us give them our grateful thanks. You are grateful, are you not, Henry?’

‘Yes, I am grateful’

‘Then you must show your gratitude.’

‘Do I not?’

‘Not sufficiently.’

Henry looked surprised.

‘There is Beltran,’ the Queen went on. ‘What honours has he had? The Count of Ledesma! What is that for one who has worked with us... for us... unflinchingly and devotedly? One to whom we should be for ever grateful. You must honour him further.’

‘My dear, what do you suggest?’

‘That he be made Master of Santiago.’

‘Master of Santiago! But that is the greatest of honours. He would be endowed with vast estates and revenues. Why, he would have the largest armed force in the Kingdom put into his hands.’

‘And it is too much, you think?’

‘I think, my dear? It is the people who will think it is too much.’

‘Your enemies?’

‘It is necessary to placate our enemies.’

‘Coward! Coward! You have always been a coward! You fret over your enemies and forget your friends.’

‘I am willing to honour him, my dear. But to make him Master of Santiago... !’

‘It is too much... too much for your friend! You would rather give it to your enemies!’

The Queen put her hands on her hips and laughed at him.

Now she was ready to begin pacing the apartment again. She was going to start once more on that diatribe which he had heard many times before. He was a coward; he deserved his imminent fate; when he was thrust from his throne he would remember that he had spurned her advice; he placated his enemies, and those who served him with every means at their disposal – like Beltran de la Cueva – were forgotten.

Henry lifted his hands as though to ward off this spate of accusation.

‘That is enough,’ he said. ‘Let him have it. Let us bestow on Beltran the Mastership of Santiago.’

Now the new party was in revolt. It was humiliating enough, they said, to be forced to suspect the legitimacy of the heiress to the throne, but to see the King so far forget his dignity as to heap honours on the man who was generally accepted as her father was intolerable.

Castile trembled on the edge of civil war.

Valladolid was entered by the rebels and several of Villena’s party of confederates declared that they were holding the city against the King, However, the citizens of Valladolid, while deploring the weakness of the King, were not ready to ally themselves with Villena; and they expelled the intruders. But when Henry, travelling to Segovia, very narrowly escaped being kidnapped by the confederates, he was thoroughly alarmed. He, who had worked hard at nothing except avoiding trouble, now found himself in the midst of it.

Villena wrote to him. He was grieved, he said, that enemies had come between them. If the King would see him and the heads of his party he would do his utmost to put an end to the strife which trembled so near to civil war.

The King had deplored the loss of Villena’s counsel. Villena had been the strong man Beltran could never be. Beltran was charming, and his company pleasant; but Henry needed the strength of Villena to lean on; and when he received this communication he was anxious to meet his ex-minister.

Villena, delighted at the turn of events, met Henry. With Villena came his uncle, the Archbishop, also the Count Benavente.

‘Highness,’ Villena addressed Henry when they were gathered together, ‘the Commission, which has been set up to test the legitimacy of the Princess Joanna, has grave doubts that she is your daughter. In view of this we deem it wise that your half-brother Alfonso be proclaimed as your heir. You yourself must abandon your Moorish Guard and live a more Christian life. Beltran de la Cueva is to be deprived of the Mastership of Santiago. And finally your half-brother Alfonso is to be delivered into my hands that I may be his guardian.’

‘You ask too much,’ Henry told him sadly. ‘Too much.’

‘Highness,’ urged Villena, ‘it would be wise for you to accept our terms.’

‘The alternative?’ asked Henry.

‘Civil war, I greatly fear, Highness.’

Henry hesitated. It was so easy to agree, but he had later to face an enraged Joanna, who was determined that her daughter should have the crown. Then Henry slyly thought of a way of pleasing both Joanna and Villena.

‘I agree,’ he said, ‘that Beltran de la Cueva shall be deprived of the Mastership of Santiago and that you shall become the guardian of Alfonso. He shall be proclaimed heir to the throne, but there is a condition.’

‘What condition is this?’ asked Villena.

‘That he shall, in due course, marry the Princess Joanna.’

Villena was startled. The heir to the throne marry the King’s illegitimate daughter! Well, on consideration it was not a bad suggestion. There would always be some to declare that La Beltraneja had been falsely so called; there would also be others who, seeking a cause for which to make trouble, would choose hers. Moreover, it would be some years before La Beltraneja was of an age to marry. By that time, if necessary, other arrangements could be made.

‘I do not see,’ said Villena, ‘why this should not be.’

Henry felt pleased with his little effort of diplomacy. He could now more easily face the Queen.

Alfonso sat at his sister’s feet, watching her as she worked at her embroidery. Beatriz de Bobadilla was with her.

Alfonso had lately made a habit of spending a great deal of time in his sister’s apartments.

Poor Alfonso, mused Isabella; he is old enough to understand the intrigues which split the Court in two; and he knows that he – even more than I – is at their very core.

‘Alfonso,’ she said. ‘You must not brood. It does no good.’

‘But I have a feeling that I shall not be allowed to stay here much longer.’

‘Why should they take you away?’ asked Beatriz. ‘They know you are safe here.’

‘Perhaps they do not greatly care for my safety.’

‘You are wrong in that,’ said Isabella. ‘You are very important to them.’

‘I wish,’ said Alfonso, ‘that we were a more normal family. Why could not we all have been the children of our father’s first wife! Then I think Henry would have loved us as you and I love each other. Why could not Henry have taken a wife who was more like a Queen, and had many sons about whose parentage there would have been no question!’

‘You want everyone to be perfect in a perfect world,’ murmured Beatriz with a smile.

‘No, not perfect... merely normal,’ said Alfonso sadly. ‘Do you know that the heads of the confederacy are meeting the King this day?’

‘Yes,’ said Isabella.

‘I wonder what they will decide.’

‘We shall soon know,’ said Beatriz.

‘These confederates,’ went on Alfonso, ‘they have chosen me... me... as their figurehead. I do not want to be part of the confederacy. All I want is to stay here and enjoy my life. I want to go riding; I want to fence and play games. I want to sit with you two and talk now and then, not about unpleasant things... but about comfortable, cosy things.’

‘Well, let us do that,’ said Isabella. ‘Let us now be cosy... comfortable.’

‘How can we,’ demanded Alfonso passionately, ‘when we can never be sure what is going to happen next?’

There was silence.

What a pity, thought Isabella, it is that princes and princesses cannot always be children. What a pity that they have to grow up and that people often fight over them.

‘Do the people hate Henry so much?’ asked Alfonso.

‘Some of them are displeased,’ Beatriz answered him.

‘They have reason to be,’ Isabella spoke with some vehemence. ‘I have heard that it is unsafe to travel through the countryside without an armed escort. This is terrible. It is an indication of the corrupt state into which our country is falling. I have heard that travellers are captured and held to ransom, and that even noble families have taken up this evil trade and ply it shamelessly.’

‘There is the Hermandad, which has been set up to restore law and order,’ said Beatriz. ‘Let us hope it will do its work well’

‘It does what it can,’ Isabella pointed out. ‘But it is a small force as yet; and everywhere in our country villainies persist. Oh, Alfonso, what a lesson this is to us. If ever we should be called upon to rule we must employ absolute justice. We must never install favourites; we must set good examples and never be extravagant in our personal demands; we must always please our people while helping them to become good Christians.’

A page had come into the room.

He bowed before Isabella and said that the Marquis de Villena with the Archbishop of Toledo were below; they were asking to be received by the Infante Alfonso.

Alfonso looked sharply at his sister. His eyes appealed. He wanted to say that he could not be seen; for these were the two men whom he feared more than any others, and the fact that they had come to see him filled him with dread.

‘You should receive them,’ said Isabella.

‘Then I will do so here,’ said Alfonso almost defiantly. ‘Bring them to me.’

The page bowed and retired, and Alfonso turned in panic to his sister.

‘What do they want of me?’

‘I know no more than you do.’

‘They have come from their audience with the King.’

‘Alfonso,’ said Isabella earnestly, ‘be careful. We do not know what they are going to suggest. But remember this: You cannot be King while Henry lives. Henry is the true King of Castile; it would be wrong for you to put yourself at the head of a faction which is trying to replace him. That would mean war, and you would be on the wrong side.’

‘Isabella...’ Tears filled his eyes, but he dared not shed them. ‘Oh, why will they not let us alone! Why do they torment us so?’

She could have answered him. She could have said: Because in their eyes we are not human beings. We are lay figures placed at certain distances from the throne. They want power and they seek to obtain it through us.

Poor, poor Alfonso, even more vulnerable than she was herself.

The page was ushering in the Marquis of Villena and the Archbishop of Toledo, who seemed astonished to find Isabella and Beatriz there; but Alfonso immediately put on the air of an Infante and said: ‘You may tell me your business. These ladies share my confidence.’

The Marquis and the Archbishop smiled almost obsequiously, but their respect could only disturb the others.

‘We come from the King,’ said the Archbishop.

‘And you have a message from His Highness for me?’ Alfonso enquired.

‘Yes, you are to prepare to leave your apartments here for new ones.’

‘Which apartments are these?’

‘They are mine,’ said the Marquis.

‘But I do not understand.’

For answer the Marquis came forward, knelt and took Alfonso’s hand.

‘Principe, you are to be proclaimed heir to the throne of Castile.’

A faint colour crept into Alfonso’s cheeks.

‘That is preposterous. How can I be? My brother will beget children yet. Moreover he has a daughter.’

The Archbishop gave his short rasping laugh. He deplored wasting time.

‘Your brother will never beget children,’ he said, ‘and a commission, set up to study the matter, has grave doubts that the young Joanna is his daughter. In view of this we have insisted that you be proclaimed the heir, and my nephew here has permission to take you under his guardianship that you may be trained in all the duties which, as King, will be yours.’

There was a short silence, and when Alfonso spoke, his tone was bleak. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I am to settle under your wing.’

‘It shall be my greatest pleasure to serve Your Highness.’

Then Alfonso smiled in momentary hopefulness. ‘I am capable of looking after myself, and I am very happy here in my apartments next to my sister’s.’

‘Oh,’ laughed the Marquis, ‘there will not be much change. We shall merely look after you and see that you are prepared for your role. You will see much of your sister. There will be no attempt to curtail your pleasures.’

‘How can you know that?’

‘Dear Highness, we will make sure of it.’

‘What if my pleasure is to stay as I am and not come under your guardianship?’

‘Your Highness is pleased to joke. Could you leave at once?’

‘No. I wish to be with my sister a little longer. We were talking together when you interrupted us.’

‘We crave Your Highness’s pardon,’ said Villena in false concern. ‘We will leave you to finish your conversation with your sister, and we will await your pleasure in the ante-room. You should bring your most trusted servant with you. I have already given him instructions to prepare for your departure.’

‘But you... you gave instructions!’

‘In matters like this one must act with speed,’ said the Archbishop.

Alfonso appeared resigned. He watched the two schemers retire, but when he turned to Isabella and Beatriz, they were both struck by the look of despair in his face.

‘Oh, Isabella, Isabella,’ he cried, and she put her arms about him and held him close.

‘You see,’ he went on, ‘it has come. I know what they will try to do. They will make me King, And I do not want to be King, Isabella. I am afraid of them. I shall have forced upon me that which is greatly coveted. All Kings should be wary, but none so much as those who are forced to wear the crown before it is theirs by right. Isabella, perhaps one day someone will do to me what was done to Carlos... to Blanche...’

‘These are morbid fancies,’ Isabella chided him.

‘I do not know,’ said Alfonso. ‘Isabella, I am afraid because I do not know.’

Joanna stormed into her husband’s apartments.

‘So you have allowed them to dictate to you!’ she cried. ‘You have allowed them to bring about the disinheritance of our daughter, and put up that sly young Alfonso in her place.’

‘But do you not see,’ cried Henry piteously, ‘that I have insisted on his betrothal to Joanna?’

The Queen laughed bitterly. ‘And you think they will allow that? Henry, are you a fool. Do you not see that, once you have proclaimed Alfonso your heir, you will have no say in deciding whom he shall marry? And the very fact that you allow him to be proclaimed your heir can only be because you accept these vile slanders against me and your daughter.’

‘It was the only way,’ murmured Henry. ‘It was either that or civil war.’

He was thinking sadly of Blanche, who had been so meek and affectionate. Physically she had not excited him, but what a peaceful companion she had been. Poor Blanche! She had left this stormy life; she had been sacrificed to her family’s ambition. One could almost say, Most fortunate Blanche, for there was no doubt that she would find a place in Heaven.

If I had never divorced her, he thought now, she might be alive at this time. And should I have been worse off? It is true there is a child now – but is she mine, and what a storm of controversy she is arousing!

‘You are a coward,’ cried the Queen. ‘And what of Beltran? What will he think of this? He deserves to be Master of Santiago, and now you have agreed to deprive him of the title.’

Henry spread his hands helplessly. ‘Joanna, would you see Castile torn in two by civil war?’

‘Would it be if it had a King at its head instead of a lily-livered poltroon!’

‘You go too far, my dear,’ said Henry mildly.

‘At least I will not be dictated to by these men. As for Beltran, unless you wish to offend him mortally, there is only one thing you can do.’

‘What is that?’

‘You have taken from him with one hand; therefore you must give with the other. You have sworn to deprive him of the Mastership of Santiago, therefore you should make him Duke of Albuquerque.’

‘Oh but... that would be tantamount to... to...’

‘To opposing your enemies! Indeed it would. And if you are wise there is one other thing you will do. You will prevent your enemies from plotting your downfall. For, depend upon it, their scheme is not merely to set up an heir of their choosing in place of your own daughter, but to oust you from the throne.’

‘You may well be right.’

‘And what will you do about it? Sit on your throne... waiting for disaster?’

‘What can I do? What would happen if we were plunged into civil war?’

‘We should fight, and we should win. But at least you are the King. You could act quickly now. These people are not popular. Most hate the Marquis of Villena. Look what happened when he and his friends tried to seize Valladolid. You are not unpopular with the people, and you are the rightful King. Have these ringleaders of revolt quickly and quietly seized. When their leaders are in prison the people will not be so ready to rebel against their King.’

The King gazed at his fiery wife. ‘My dear,’ he said, slowly, ‘I think perhaps you may be right.’

The Marquis of Villena was alone when the man was shown into his presence.

The visitor was wrapped in a concealing cloak and, when he removed it, revealed himself as one of the King’s Guards.

‘Forgive the unceremonious intrusion, my lord,’ he said, ‘but the matter is urgent.’

He then repeated the conversation which he had overheard between the King and Queen.

Villena nodded. ‘You have done your work well,’ he said. ‘I trust you were not recognised on your way here. Go back to your post and keep us informed. We shall find means to prevent these arrests which the King now plans.’

He dismissed his spy and immediately called on the Archbishop.

‘We are leaving at once,’ he said, ‘for Avila. There is not a moment to lose. I, with Alfonso, will meet you there. We shall take immediate action. De la Cueva is to be created Duke of Albuquerque in compensation for the loss of the Mastership of Santiago. This is the way the King observes his pledges!’

‘And when we reach Avila with the heir to the throne, what then?’

‘Alfonso will no longer be the heir to the throne. He will ascend it. At Avila we will proclaim Alfonso King of Castile.’

Alfonso was pale, not with the strain of the journey, but with a fear of the future. He had spent long hours on his knees praying for guidance. He felt so young; it was a pitiable situation for a boy of eleven years to have to face.

There was no one whose advice he could ask. He could not reach those whom he loved. His mother’s mind was becoming more and more deranged and sunk in oblivion, and, even if he were allowed to see her, it would be doubtful whether he would be able to explain to her his need. And when he thought of his childhood, his mother’s voice seemed to come echoing down to him: ‘Do not forget that one day you could be King of Castile.’ So even if he could make her understand what was about to happen she would doubtless express great pleasure. Was this not what she had always longed for?

But Isabella – his dear, good sister – she would advise. Isabella was anxious to do what was right, and he had a feeling that Isabella would say: ‘It is not right for you to be crowned King, Alfonso, while our brother Henry lives, for Henry is undoubtedly the son of our father and is therefore the rightful heir to Castile. No good can come of a usurpation of the crown, for, if God had willed that you should be King, He would have taken Henry as He took Carlos that Ferdinand might be his father’s heir.’

‘No good can come of it,’ murmured Alfonso. ‘No good... no good.’

This city enclosed in its long grey walls depressed him. He looked out on the woods of oak and maple and those hardy trees which had been able to withstand the cruel winter.

Avila seemed to him a cruel city, a city of granite fortresses, set high above the plains, to receive the full force of the summer sun and the biting winds of a winter which was notoriously long and rigorous.

Alfonso was afraid, as he had never been afraid in his life.

‘No good can come of this,’ he repeated.

The June sun was hot. From where he stood surrounded by some of the most important nobles of Castile, Alfonso could see the yellowish grey walls of Avila.

Here on the arid plain within sight of the city a strange spectacle was about to be enacted and he, young Alfonso, was to play an important part in it.

He experienced a strange feeling as he stood there. That clear air seemed to intoxicate him. When he looked at the city above the plain he felt an exultation.

Mine, he thought. That city will be mine. The whole of Castile will be mine.

He looked at those men who surrounded him. Strong men, all men who were eager for power; and they would come to him and take his hand, and when they took it they would offer him allegiance, for they intended to make him their King.

To be King of Castile! To save Castile from the anarchy into which it was falling! To make it great; perhaps to lead it to great victories!

Who knew, perhaps one day he might lead a campaign against the Moors. Perhaps in the years to come people would link his name with that of the Cid.

And as he stood there on the plain outside Avila, Alfonso found that his fear was replaced by ambition, and that he was now no unwilling participator in the strange ceremony which was about to take place.

Crowds had gathered on the plain. They had watched the cavalcade leave the gates of the city; at its head had been the Marquis of Villena and beside him was the young Alfonso.

On the plain there had been set up scaffolding and on this a throne had been placed. Seated on the throne was a life-sized dummy, representing a man, clad in a black robe; and on the head had been put a crown, in its hand a sceptre. A great sword of state was placed before it.

Alfonso had been led to a spot some distance from the scaffolding whilst certain noblemen, who had formed the procession which had been led by Villena and Alfonso, mounted the scaffolding and knelt before the crowned dummy, treating it as though it were the King.

Then one of the noblemen stepped to the front of the platform, and there was a tense silence among the multitude as he began to read a list of the crimes which had been committed by King Henry of Castile. The chaos and anarchy which persisted in the land were attributed to the King’s evil rule.

The people continued to listen in silence.

‘Henry of Castile,’ cried the nobleman, turning to the figure on the throne, ‘you are unworthy to wear the crown of Castile. You are unworthy to be given royal dignity.’

Then the Archbishop of Toledo stepped on to the platform and snatched the crown from the head of the figure.

‘You are unworthy, Henry of Castile, to administer the laws of Castile,’ went on the voice.

The Count of Plascencia then took his place on the platform and removed the sword of state.

‘The people of Castile will no longer allow you to rule.’

The Count of Benavente took the sceptre from the dummy’s hand.

‘The honour due to the King of Castile shall no longer be yours, and the throne shall pass from you.’

Diego Lopez de Zuñiga picked up the dummy and threw it down on to the scaffolding, setting his foot upon it.

The people then were caught up in the hysteria which such words and such a spectacle aroused in them.

Someone in the crowd shouted: ‘A curse on Henry of Castile!’ And the rest took up the cry.

Now the great moment had come for Alfonso to take his place on the platform. He felt very small, there under that blue sky. The town looked unreal with its granite ramparts, squat posterns and belfries.

The Archbishop lifted the boy in his arms as though he would show him to the people.

Alfonso appeared beautiful in the eyes of those watching crowds; this innocent boy appealed to them and tears came to the eyes of many assembled there because of his youth and the great burden which was about to be placed upon him.

The Archbishop announced that it had been decided to deprive the people of their feeble, criminal King, but in his place they were to be given this handsome, noble boy whom, now that they saw him, they would, he knew, be willing to serve with all their hearts.

And there on the plains before Avila there went up a shout from thousands of throats.

‘Castile! Castile for the King, Don Alfonso!’

Alfonso was set upon the throne on which, shortly before, the dummy had been.

The sword of state was set before him, the sceptre placed in his hand, and the crown upon his head. And one by one those powerful nobles who had now openly declared their intention to make him King of Castile, came forward to swear allegiance as they kissed his hand.

The words echoed in Alfonso’s brain.

‘Castile for the King, Don Alfonso!’