Виктория Холт - Castile for Isabella

But they were children in a Court in which conflict raged. In such a Court, thought Isabella, the difficulty is to know who are your friends, who your enemies. Whom could she trust except Beatriz? It seemed that greater wisdom came to her and she understood that the only way to be sure whose side people were on was to consider their interests and motives.

She knew that the King and Queen wished to see her leave the country. The reason was plain. They had realised that differences of opinion concerning the rights of the Queen’s baby daughter to the throne could bring the country to civil war. Therefore they wanted the little Princess’s rivals out of the way. They could not remove Alfonso yet; that would be too drastic a step. But how easy it was to marry off Isabella and so remove her in a seemly way from the sphere of action.

The Marquis of Villena was against Isabella’s marriage with Ferdinand for very strong personal reasons. A great deal of the property which he now held had once belonged to the House of Aragon, and he guessed that if Ferdinand attained influence in Castile, some means would be found of removing that property from the Marquisate of Villena and bringing it into the possession of its original owners.

There was, however, one person in Castile who Isabella believed would welcome the marriage between herself and Ferdinand. This was Don Frederick Henriquez, who was Admiral of Castile and father of the ambitious Joan Henriquez, Ferdinand’s own mother.

The Admiral would naturally support the marriage between his grandson and one who was only separated from the throne of Castile by a few short steps.

There could be no doubt then where the Admiral’s sympathies would lie; and, if anyone in Castile could help her now, this was the man.

Isabella had learned her first lesson in statecraft.

She would send for Frederick Henriquez, Admiral of Castile, a man of great experience; he would be able to tell her exactly how she stood in regard to the suggested marriage with Alfonso of Portugal.

* * *

In the great apartment lighted by a hundred torches which threw shadows on the tapestried walls, Isabella came to pay her respects to the visiting King of Portugal.

She held her head high as she walked towards the dais where the two Kings sat; and even though she felt that her wildly beating heart would leap into her throat and suffocate her, she yet managed to retain a certain serenity.

‘I am for Ferdinand and Ferdinand is for me,’ she told herself even at this moment, as she had been telling herself while her women had prepared her for the interview.

Henry took her into his arms and she was held against his scented and jewel-decorated robes of state. He called her ‘our dearest sister’; and he was smiling with what most people would believe to be real affection.

Queen Joanna looked glitteringly beautiful; and of course Beltran de la Cueva was in attendance behind the chairs of the King and Queen, darkly handsome, dazzlingly clad, and... triumphant.

Now she saw the man whom they were eager to make her husband, and she shivered.

He seemed very old and repulsively ugly to the thirteen-year-old girl.

I will not, I will not, she told herself. If they force me, I will take a knife and kill myself rather than submit.

In spite of these wild thoughts her hand did not tremble as it was taken by the King of Portugal.

His eyes were a little glazed as they rested on her – this young virgin, with innocence shining in her eyes. A delectable morsel, thought the King of Portugal, and one who could conceivably bring a crown with her.

There was trouble in Castile. Wicked Joanna! What had she been about? He could guess. And this Beltran de la Cueva was such a handsome fellow that one could hardly blame Joanna. She should have arranged it, though, so that there were no suspicions. Yet why should he regret that! It was very possible that this delicious young girl would one day be the heiress of Castile. There was a young brother, but he might be killed in battle; for there would certainly be battles in Castile before long. And the baby Joanna? Oh, Isabella’s chances were fair enough.

Isabella’s eyes met his and she flinched. His lips were a little wet as though his mouth was watering at the sight of her.

Isabella’s whole being called out in protest, but she respectfully returned the smiles of her brother, his Queen, and the Queen’s brother, who so clearly was not averse to taking her as wife.

Henry said: ‘Our Isabella is overcome with joy at the prospect which awaits her.’

‘She has scarcely slept for excitement since we made her aware of her great good fortune,’ put in the Queen.

‘She is conscious of the great honour done to her,’ went on Henry, ‘and now that she has seen you I know she will be doubly eager for the match. That is so, is it not, sister?’

‘Highness,’ said Isabella earnestly, ‘would you not consider it indecorous of a young woman to discuss her marriage before she was betrothed?’

Henry laughed. ‘Isabella has been very carefully nurtured. She lived the life of a nun before she joined us here at Court.’

‘I know of no better upbringing,’ said Alfonso V of Portugal. His eyes continued to wander over Isabella, so that she felt he was already picturing her in many different situations of intimacy which she could only vaguely imagine.

‘My dear Isabella,’ said the Queen, ‘your brother and I will not be as strict with you as your mother was at Arevalo. We shall allow you to dance with the King of Portugal. You shall become friends before he takes you back with him to Lisbon.’

Isabella forced herself to speak then. She said in a loud, clear voice, which could be heard by those courtiers who were in the room but some little distance from the royal group: ‘We cannot be sure yet that the betrothal will be agreed upon.’

Henry looked surprised, the Queen angry, and the King of Portugal nonplussed.

But Isabella boldly resumed: ‘I know you have not forgotten that, as a Princess of Castile, my betrothal could not take place without the consent of the Cortes.’

‘The King gives his consent,’ said Joanna quickly.

‘That is true,’ said Isabella, ‘but, as you are aware, it is essential that the Cortes also give consent.’

‘The King of Portugal is my brother,’ retorted Joanna haughtily. ‘Therefore we can dispense with the usual formality.’

‘I could not allow myself to be betrothed without the consent of the Cortes,’ Isabella affirmed.

It was the weariness in Henry’s face, rather than the anger and astonishment in those of the Queen and the King of Portugal, which told Isabella how right the old Admiral had been when he assured her that the only way in which the King and Queen dare marry her off would be to do so at great speed, before the Cortes had time to remind them that they must have a say in the matter.

And, the Admiral had added, it was hardly likely that the Cortes would give their consent to Isabella’s marriage with the Queen’s brother. The people had little love for the Queen; they had always considered her levity most unbecoming, and now with the scandal concerning the parentage of her little daughter about to break, they would blame her more than ever.

The Cortes would never consent to a marriage repugnant to their Princess Isabella, and so desired by their weak and lascivious King and his less weak but hardly less lascivious wife.

When Isabella left the audience chamber she knew that she had planted dismay in the hearts of two Kings and a Queen.

How right the Admiral of Castile had been! She had learned a valuable lesson, and once again she thanked God for saving her for Ferdinand.

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.