Виктория Холт - Castile for Isabella

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!’

Isabella was distraught. She was torn between her love for her brother Alfonso and her loyalty towards her half-brother Henry.

She was in her sixteenth year, and the problems which faced her seemed too complex for a girl of her limited experience to solve.

She could trust few people. She knew that she was watched by many, that her smallest gestures were noticed, and that even in her intimate circle she was spied upon.

There was one whom she could trust, but Beatriz herself had been a little absent-minded lately. It was understandable; she had been married to Andres de Cabrera, and it was inevitable that the preoccupation of Beatriz with her new status should somewhat modify the devotion she was ready to give to her mistress.

I must be patient, thought Isabella; and she continued to dream of her own marriage, which surely could not be long delayed.

But this was not the time, when Alfonso had been placed in such a dangerous position, to think of her own selfish hopes.

There was civil strife in Castile, as there must be when two Kings claimed the throne. Sides must be taken, it seemed, by everybody; and although there were many in the kingdom who disapproved of Henry’s rule, the theatrical ceremony outside the walls of Avila seemed to many to be revolutionary conduct in the worst taste. Henry was the King, and Alfonso was an impostor, declared many of the great nobles of Castile. At the same time there were many more who, not having been favourites of the King and Queen, were ready to seek their fortunes under a new monarch who must have a regency to help him govern.

Henry was almost hysterical with grief. He hated bloodshed and was determined to avoid it if possible.

‘A firm hand is needed, Highness,’ his old tutor, the Bishop of Cuenca, warned him.

Henry turned on him with unusual anger. ‘How like a priest,’ he declared, ‘not being called upon to engage in the fight, to be very liberal with the blood of others!’

‘Highness, you owe it to your honour. If you do not stand firm and fight your enemies, you will be the most humiliated and degraded monarch in the history of Spain.’

‘I believe that it is always wiser to settle difficulties by negotiation,’ Henry retorted.

News was brought to him of the unrest throughout the country. In the pulpits and market squares the position was discussed. Was not a subject entitled to examine the conduct of his King? If the land was being drained of all its riches, if a state of anarchy had replaced that of law and order, had not the subject a right to protest?

From Seville and Cordova, from Burgos and Toledo, came the news that the people deplored the conduct of King Henry and were rallying to the support of King Alfonso and a regency.

Henry wept in his despair.

‘Naked came I from my mother’s womb,’ he cried. ‘And naked must I go down to the grave.’

But he deplored war and let it be known that he would be very happy to negotiate a settlement.

* * *

There was at least one other who was not very happy about the turn of events, although he had been largely responsible for it. This was the Marquis of Villena.

He had believed that the youthful Alfonso would be his creature, and that he himself would be virtually ruler of Castile.

But this was not so. Don Diego Lopez de Zuñiga, the Counts of Benavente and Plascencia – those noblemen who had played a leading part in the charade which had been acted outside the walls of Avila – were also seeking power.

The Marquis wondered whether it might not be a good idea to seek some secret communication with Henry and thus, by some quick volte-face, score an advantage over his old allies who were fast becoming his new rivals.

He was brooding on this when his brother, Don Pedro Giron, came to him.

Don Pedro was still smarting under the rebuff which had been given him some time before by Isabella’s mother. Grand Master of the Order of Calatrava though he was, he enjoyed the company of many mistresses; but there was not one who could make him forget the slight he had received at the hands of the Dowager Queen, nor could they collectively.

Don Pedro was a vindictive man; he was also a very vain man. The Dowager Queen had rejected his advances, and he often asked himself what he could do to anger her as much as she had angered him.

Poor mad thing, he said to himself. She did not know what was good for her.

It did soothe his vanity a little to remind himself that her madness was responsible for her rejection of him. It did please him a little to think of her living in retirement at Arevalo, sometimes, so he had heard, unaware of who she was and what was going on in the world.

He would like to get even with the girl too, that sedate little creature who had been hiding somewhere when he had made the proposals to her mother.

It was true that his brother, the great Marquis, sometimes talked to him of his plans.

‘All is not going well, brother?’ he asked on this occasion.

The Marquis frowned. ‘There are too many powerful men seeking more power. I found Henry easier to deal with.’

‘I have heard, brother, that Henry would give a great deal to have your friendship. He would be happy if you turned from Alfonso and his adherents back to him. Poor Henry, I have heard that he is ready to do a great deal for you if you would be his friend once more.’

‘Henry is a weak fool,’ said the Marquis.

‘Alfonso is but a boy.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Marquis, it is a pity that you cannot bind yourself more closely to Henry. Now, if you were not married already you might ask for the hand of Isabella in marriage. Such a connection would please the King, I am sure, and I do believe he would be ready to promise you anything to ensure your return.’

The Marquis was silent for a while. He continued to study his brother through half-closed eyes.

* * *

The Queen and the Duke of Albuquerque were with the King. One on either side of him they explained to Henry what he must do.

‘For,’ said the Queen, ‘you wish to end this strife. If you do not, there may be defeat for you. Alfonso is becoming more beloved of the people every day; which, my dear husband, is more than can be said for you.’

‘I know, I know,’ wailed Henry. ‘I am a most unhappy man, the most unhappy King that Spain has ever known.’

‘There must be an end to this strife, Highness,’ said the Duke.

‘It can be brought about,’ the Queen added.

‘Explain to me how. I would be ready to reward richly anyone who could put an end to our troubles.’

The Queen smiled at her lover over the bowed head of her husband.

‘Henry,’ she said, ‘there are two men who made the revolt, who lead the revolt. If they could be weaned from the traitors and brought to our side, the revolt would collapse. Alfonso would find himself without his supporters. Then our troubles would be over.’

‘You refer of course to the Marquis of Villena and the Archbishop,’ sighed Henry. ‘Once they were my friends... my very good friends. But enemies came between us.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Joanna impatiently. ‘They must be brought back. They can be brought back.’

‘How so?’

‘By making a bond, between our family and theirs, which is so strong that nothing can untie or break it.’

‘I repeat, how so?’

‘Highness,’ said Beltran almost nervously, ‘you may not like what we are about to suggest.’