Виктория Холт - Castile for Isabella

What had such men done for his father? Henry asked himself. There had been anarchy in the Kingdom and unpopularity for the King – civil war, with a large proportion of the King’s subjects fighting against him. If he had pursued pleasure as indefatigably as his son he could not have been more unpopular.

Henry was determined to go his own way and now, looking at Blanche, he was making up his mind that since she could not please him she must go.

She said in her gentle way: ‘So, Henry, the King is dying.’

‘It is so.’

‘Then very soon...’

‘Yes, I shall be King of Castile. The people can scarcely wait to call me King. If you look out of the window you will see that they are already gathering about the Palace.’

‘It is so sad,’ she said.

‘Sad that I shall soon be King of Castile?’

‘Sad, Henry, that you can only be so because of the death of your father.’

‘My dear wife, death must come to us all. We must take our bow at the end of the performance and move on, so that the next player may strut across the stage.’

‘I know it, and that is why I am sad.’

He came to her and laid an arm about her shoulders. ‘My poor, sweet Blanche,’ he said, ‘you are too sensitive.’

She caught his hand and kissed it. Temporarily, he deceived even her with his gentle manners. Later she might wonder what was going on in his mind as he caressed her. He was capable of telling her that she was the only woman he really loved at the very moment when he was planning to rid himself of her.

Twelve years of life with Henry had taught her a great deal about him. He was as shallow as he was charming, and she would be a fool to feel complacent merely because he implied that she still held a high place in his affections. She was aware of the life he led. He had had so many mistresses that he could not have been sure how many. He might, even at a moment when he was suggesting that he was a faithful husband, be considering the pursuit and seduction of another.

Lately she had grown fearful. She was meek and gentle by nature, but she was not a fool. She was terrified that he would divorce her because she had failed to bear a child, and that she would be forced to return to her father’s Court of Aragon.

‘Henry,’ she said on impulse, ‘when you are indeed King it will be very necessary that we have a son.’

‘Yes,’ he replied with a rueful smile.

‘We have been so unfortunate. Perhaps...’ She hesitated. She could not say: Perhaps if you spent less time with your mistresses we might be successful. She had begun to wonder whether it was possible for Henry to beget a child. Some said that this could be a result of a life of debauchery. She could only vaguely visualise what went on during those orgies in which her husband indulged. Was it possible that the life he had led had rendered him sterile?

She glanced at him; did she imagine this or had his gaze become a little furtive? Had he really begun to make plans to rid himself of her?

So she was afraid. She realised that she was often afraid. She dared not state frankly what was in her mind.

Instead she said: ‘There is trouble at my father’s Court.’

He nodded and made a little grimace. ‘It would seem that there must be trouble when a King has children by two wives. We have an example here at home.’

‘None could prevent your taking the crown, Henry.’

‘My stepmother will do her utmost, never fear. She is already making plans for her little Alfonso and Isabella. It is a dangerous thing when a King’s wife dies and he takes another... that is, when there are children of both first and second unions.’

‘I think, Henry, that my stepmother is even more ambitious than yours.’

‘She could scarcely be that; but let us say that she has as high hopes for her little Ferdinand as mine has for Alfonso and Isabella.’

‘I have news from home that she dotes on the child, and that she has influenced my father to do the same. Already I hear that he loves the infant Ferdinand more than Carlos, myself and Eleanor combined.’

‘She is a strong woman and your father is her slave. But never fear, Carlos is of an age to guard that which is his – as I am.’

Blanche shivered. ‘Henry, I am so glad I am not there... at my father’s Court.’

‘Do you never feel homesick?’

‘Castile became my home when we were married. I have no other home than this.’

‘My dear,’ he said lightly, ‘it makes me happy that you should feel thus.’

But he was not looking at her. He was not a man who cared to inflict cruelty; indeed he would go to great lengths to avoid anything which was unpleasant. That was why he found it difficult to face her now.

She was trembling in spite of her endeavours to appear calm. What would happen to her if she were sent back to her father’s Court, she wondered. She would be disgraced, humiliated – a repudiated wife. Carlos would be kind to her, for Carlos was the kindest of men. Eleanor would not be there, for her marriage with Gaston de Foix had taken her to France. Her father would not be her friend, for his affection was all for the brilliant and attractive Joan Henriquez who had given him young Ferdinand.

Carlos had inherited the Kingdom of Navarre from his mother; and, should Carlos die without heirs, Navarre would fall to Blanche herself as her mother, who had been the widow of Martin, King of Sicily, and daughter of Charles III of Navarre, had left Navarre to her children, excluding her husband from its possession.

She had, however, stated in her will that Carlos should, in governing the Kingdom, seek the good will and approbation of his father.

On his inheritance Carlos, since his father had not wished to give up the title of King of Navarre, had allowed him to keep it, but insisted that it was his own right to rule Navarre, which he did as its Governor.

So at this time Blanche was the heir of Carlos; and if he should die without issue, the right to govern Navarre would be hers, as also would be the crown.

She was foolish perhaps to let these fancies upset her; but she had a premonition that some terrible evil would befall her if she were ever forced to return to Aragon.

Here she felt safe. Henry was her unfaithful husband; she had failed to give him children, which was the whole purpose of marriages such as theirs; yet Henry was kind to her. Indolent, lecherous, shallow, he might be, but he would never use physical violence against her. And how could she know what would befall her if she returned to her father’s Court?

Now he was smiling at her almost tenderly.

Surely, she thought, he could not smile at me like that unless he had some affection for me. Perhaps, like myself, he remembers the days when we were first married; that must be why he smiles at me so kindly.

But Henry, although he continued to smile, was scarcely aware of her. He was thinking of the new wife he would have when he had rid himself of poor, useless Blanche; she would naturally be young, this new wife, someone whom he could mould to his own sensual pleasure.

Once my father is dead, he told himself, I shall have my freedom.

He took Blanche’s hand and led her to the window. They looked out and saw that he had been right when he had said the people were beginning to gather down there. They were waiting impatiently. They longed to hear that the old King was dead and that a new era had begun.

* * *

The King asked his physician, Cibdareal, to come closer.

‘My friend,’ he whispered, ‘it cannot be much longer.’

‘Preserve your strength, Highness,’ begged the physician.

‘Of what use? That I may live a few minutes more? Ah, Cibdareal, I should have lived a happier life, I should be a happier man now if I had been born the son of a mechanic, instead of the son of the King of Castile. Send for the Queen. Send for my son Henry.’

They were brought to his bedside and he looked at them quizzically.

The Queen’s eyes were wild. She does not regret the passing of her husband, thought the King; she regrets only the passing of power. ‘Holy Mother,’ he prayed, ‘keep her sane. Then she will be a good mother to our little ones. She will look after their rights. Let not the cares, which will now be hers, drive her the way her ancestors have gone... before her children are of age to care for themselves.’

And Henry? Henry was looking at him with the utmost compassion, but Henry’s fingers he knew were itching to seize the power which would shortly be his.

‘Henry, my son,’ said John, ‘we have not always been the best of friends. I regret that.’

‘I too regret, Father.’

‘But let us not brood on an unhappy past. I think of the future. I leave two young children, Henry.’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Never forget that they are your brother and sister.’

‘I will not forget.’

‘Look after them well. I have made provision for them, but they will need your protection.’

‘They shall have it, Father.’

‘You have given me your sacred promise and I can now go to my rest content. Respect my children’s mother.’

‘I will’

The King said that he was tired, and his son and second wife moved away from the bed while the priests came forward.

Within half an hour the news was spreading through the Palace:

‘King John II is dead. Henry IV is now King of Castile.’

* * *

The Queen was ready to leave the Palace.

Her women were clustered about her; one carried the baby in her arms; another grasped the hand of Isabella.

Muffled in her black cloak the little girl waited – listening, watching.

The Queen was in a mood of suppressed excitement, which caused Isabella great anxiety.

She listened to her mother’s shrill voice. ‘Everything must appear to be normal. No one must guess that we are going away. I have my children to protect.’

‘Yes, Highness,’ was the answer.

But Isabella had heard the women talking: ‘Why should we go as though we are fugitives? Why should we run from the new King? Is she mad... already? King Henry knows we are leaving. He makes no effort to detain us. It is of no consequence to him whether we stay here or go away. But we must go as though the armies of Castile are in pursuit of us.’

‘Hush... hush... . She will hear.’ And then, the whispers: ‘The little Isabella is all ears. Do not be deceived because she stands so quietly.’

So he would not hurt us, thought Isabella. Of course dear Henry would never hurt us. But why does my mother think he would?

She was lifted in the arms of a groom and set upon a horse. The journey had begun.

So the Queen and her children left Madrid for the lonely castle of Arevalo.

Isabella remembered little of the journey; the movement of the horse and the warm arms of the groom lulled her to sleep, and when she awoke it was to find herself in her new home.

Early next day her mother came into that apartment in which Isabella had slept, and in her arms she carried the sleeping Alfonso, and with her were two of her trusted attendants.

The Queen set Alfonso on the bed beside his sister. Then she clenched her fists together in the well-remembered gesture and raised her arms above her head as though she were invoking the saints.

Isabella saw her lips move and realised that she was praying. It seemed wrong to be lying in bed while her mother prayed, and Isabella wondered what to do. She half rose, but one of the women shook her head vigorously to warn her to remain where she was.

Now the Queen was speaking so that Isabella could hear her.

‘Here I shall care for them. Here I shall bring them up so that when the time comes they will be ready to meet their destiny. It will come. It will surely come. He will never beget a child. It is God’s punishment for the evil life he has led.’

Alfonso’s little fingers had curled themselves about Isabella’s. She wanted to cry because she was afraid; but she lay still, watching her mother, her blue eyes never betraying for a second that this lonely place which was now to be her home, and the rising hysteria in her mother, terrified her and filled her with a foreboding which she was too young to understand.

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

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