Spain for the Sovereigns

by Виктория Холт

  But now the Castilian army had been vastly improved and was ready to do battle with the enemy; and on her journeys through her kingdom Isabella gave herself up to the pleasure of a short respite where she would enjoy the hospitality of her dearest friend.

  When the news was brought to Beatriz de Bobadilla that the Queen was in the Alcazar she hurried to greet Isabella, and the two women embraced without formality.

  ‘This makes me very happy,’ said Beatriz emotionally. ‘I would I had known I might expect the honour.’

  ‘There would then have been no surprise.’ Isabella smiled.

  ‘But think of the anticipation I have missed!’

  ‘Beatriz, it is wonderful to see you. I would like to be alone with you as we used to be in the past.’

  ‘I will have food and wine sent to us, and we will take it in my small private chamber. I long to hear what has been happening to you.’

  ‘Pray lead me to that small private chamber,’ said Isabella.

  Beatriz laid her hand on the Queen’s arm as they went together to the small room of which Beatriz had spoken.

  ‘I pray Your Highness sit down,’ said Beatriz. ‘Soon we shall be served, and then . . . we will talk in comfort.’ Beatriz called: ‘Food and wine, for the Queen and myself . . . with all speed.’

  Isabella, smiling, watched her. ‘You have not changed at all,’ she said. ‘They all hold you in great awe, I’ll swear.’

  ‘Why should they not? They are my servants,’ said Beatriz, falling into the familiarity which had often existed between them.

  ‘And your husband, Andres too – do you still command him?’

  Beatriz laughed. ‘Andres obeys me, he says, because he values peace and it is the only way to get it. And Ferdinand? He is well?’

  ‘He is very well, Beatriz. What should I do without him?’

  Beatriz looked at the Queen, her head on one side, a smile playing about her mouth. So, thought Beatriz, she continues to adore that man. But not completely. Beatriz knew that Ferdinand had been disappointed not to have taken full authority from Isabella. Beatriz applauded the Queen’s resistance.

  ‘He fights for his kingdom as well as yours,’ said Beatrix, ‘for although you are Queen of Castile, he is your Consort.’

  ‘He has been magnificent. Beatriz, I do not believe there has ever been a soldier in Spain to compare with Ferdinand.’

  Beatriz laughed aloud; then her servants appeared with refreshments and her manner changed. Now the utmost respect must be paid to the Queen, and Beatriz dropped the easy familiar manner.

  But when they were alone again Beatriz said: ‘Isabella, you are looking a little tired. I hope you are going to stay here for some time that I may look after you, as I used to in the old days when we were together.’

  ‘Ah, those old days,’ sighed Isabella. ‘I was not a queen then.’

  ‘But we had some anxious times, nevertheless.’ Beatriz smiled reminiscently. ‘At least we do not have to worry that you will be snatched from Ferdinand and given to some husband who would be unacceptable to you!’

  ‘Thank God for that. Oh, Beatriz, I am a little worried about this battle that must soon take place.’

  ‘But you put your trust in Ferdinand.’

  ‘I do, indeed I do. But there are mighty forces against us.’

  ‘Ferdinand will succeed,’ said Beatriz. ‘He is a good soldier.’

  Beatriz was thoughtful for a few seconds. A better soldier than a husband, she was thinking; and he will be determined to succeed. He will not allow himself to be driven from Castile.

  ‘I was very sad,’ went on Beatriz, ‘when I heard that you had lost your child.’

  ‘It seems long ago.’

  ‘But a bitter blow.’

  ‘As the loss of a child must be. But there was no time to brood. It was all-important that we should get an army together; and we did it, Beatriz, even though it may well be due to that that the child was lost.’

  ‘It might have killed you,’ said Beatriz gruffly.

  ‘But I am strong, Beatriz; have you not yet learned that? Moreover, I am destined to be Queen of Castile.’

  ‘You are Queen of Castile.’

  ‘I have never really reigned yet. Since my accession there has been this trouble. Once it is settled I shall be able to do for Castile what I always longed to do.’

  ‘Castile will prosper when you are firmly on the throne, Isabella.’

  Isabella’s eyes were shining with purpose. She looked full of vitality at such times, thought Beatriz; it was rarely that those outside her intimate circle saw her so unreserved.

  ‘First,’ she was saying, ‘I shall abolish this disastrous anarchy. I shall bring law and order back to Castile. Then, when I have a law-abiding country, I shall do all in my power to make good Christians of my subjects. You remember Tomas de Torquemada, Beatriz?’

  Beatriz grimaced. ‘Who could forget him?’

  ‘You were harsh with him, Beatriz.’

  ‘He was too harsh with us all, including himself.’

  ‘He is a good man, Beatriz.’

  ‘I doubt it not. But I cannot forgive him for trying to suppress our laughter. He thought laughter was sinful.’

  ‘It was because he realised how necessary it was for me to avoid frivolous ways. I remember that one day, after confession, he made me promise that if ever it were in my power I would convert my kingdom to the true faith.’

  ‘Let us hope that in converting them you will not make them as lean and wretched looking as friend Tomas.’

  ‘Well, Beatriz, there is another task of mine when all is at peace. I will endeavour to free every inch of Spanish soil from Moslem rule; I will raise the flag of Christ over every Alcazar, over every town in Spain.’

  ‘I am sure you will do it,’ said Beatriz, ‘but only if you have some little regard for your health. Stay with me a while, dear Isabella. Give me the pleasure of looking after you myself. Please. I beg of you.’

  ‘How I should enjoy that!’ said Isabella. ‘But there is work to do. I have stolen these few short hours from my duty because I was in the neighbourhood of Segovia and could not resist the joy of seeing you. But tomorrow I must be on my way.’

  ‘I shall do my utmost to persuade you to stay.’

  But Isabella was not to be persuaded; the next day she set out for Tordesillas.

  * * *

  The battlefield was between Toro and Zamora, along the banks of the glittering Douro. The armies were now equally matched; Alfonso was old compared with Ferdinand, but his son, Prince John, had joined him and was in command of the cavalry.

  Ferdinand, surveying the enemy, determined to succeed or die in the attempt. Alfonso lacked Ferdinand’s zeal; it was characteristic of him to tire quickly of the causes for which he had originally been so enthusiastic. He had been long in Castile, and his presence was needed in his own country; his men were restive; they too had been a long time away from home. Alfonso had intended to make speedy war in Castile, drive Isabella, whom he called the usurper, from the throne and put his betrothed Joanna in her place. But the affair had been long drawn out; and already he was tiring of it. His son John was enthusiastic, but John had not much experience of war; and Alfonso longed for the end of this day’s battle.

  Ferdinand, riding between the Admiral of Castile and the Duke of Alva, cried aloud: ‘St James and St Lazarus!’ which was the old cry of Castile; and those Castilians in the Portuguese ranks who heard it, trembled. It was as though Ferdinand were reminding them that they were traitors.

  There was one riding furiously towards the enemy, who cared not for the old cry of Castile. The Archbishop of Toledo enjoyed battle, and he was determined to exploit this opportunity to the full.

  The battle had begun, and furiously it raged; it was as though every soldier in those armies knew what depended upon its issue.

  Ferdinand shouted to his men. They must fight. In the name of Isabella, they must fight. Their future and the future of their
Queen, the future of Castile, depended on them.

  There were many who remembered the Queen; they thought of the pregnant woman who had endured great discomfort to come to them that she might move them with her eloquence, that she might remind them of their duty to Castile. They remembered that these men who fought against them were their old enemies, the Portuguese, and those Castilians who had seen fit to fight against their own Queen.

  Lances were shattered, and swords were drawn; and men grappled hand to hand with one another in the melee.

  And Ferdinand’s heart leaped with joy, for he knew that the outcome of this day’s battle would be victory for him.

  But there were a few men in the Portuguese Army who were determined that it should not be so. Edward de Almeyda, the Portuguese flag bearer, was an example to all. He had snatched the Portuguese Emblem from Castilian soldiers who were about to trample it in the dust and, with a shout of triumph, held it aloft, a sign to all Portuguese that the day was not lost for Alfonso.

  But even as he rode away a Castilian soldier had lifted his sword and cut off the right arm which held the flag. But as it would have fallen, Almeyda, ignoring the loss of his right arm, had caught it in his left hand.

  ‘Joanna and Alfonso!’ he shouted as swords hacked at the arm which now held the flag aloft.

  With both arms shattered and bleeding he managed to transfer the standard to his mouth; and he was seen riding among his defeated fellow countrymen, armless, the standard in his mouth, for some minutes before he was unhorsed.

  Even such heroism could not save the day. Prince John was missing. Alfonso had also disappeared.

  Ferdinand found himself master of the field.

  * * *

  In the castle of Castro Nufio, some miles from the battlefield, the young Joanna waited in apprehension. She knew that this battle would prove decisive, and she believed that her affianced husband would be the victor.

  Then all hope of a peaceful existence for her would be over. She did not believe that Isabella would ever quietly stand aside and allow her to take the throne.

  What would happen to her if Isabella’s armies were victorious she could not imagine; all she knew was that neither solution could bring her much joy; and she greatly wished that she could have been allowed to stay in the Madrid convent, living a life which was governed by bells.

  All day she had waited for news. She had placed herself at a window in the fortified castle where she could command a good view of the surrounding country.

  Soon, she knew, a rider would appear, perhaps several; she would know then whether the result of the conflict was defeat or victory for Alfonso.

  It was almost dusk when her vigil was rewarded, and she saw a party of riders coming towards the castle. She stood alert, her eyes strained, and as they came nearer she recognised the leader of the party. It was Alfonso, and with him were four of his men.

  She knew what this must mean; for Alfonso did not come riding to Castro Nuno as a victor; it was obvious from his demeanour that he came as a fugitive.

  She hurried down, calling as she went: ‘The King is riding to the castle. He will be here in a few minutes.’

  From all over the castle men and women came hurrying into the hall, and Joanna was in the courtyard when Alfonso and his party rode in.

  Poor Alfonso! Indeed, he looked an old man today. He was dishevelled and dirty, his face grey; and for the first time she felt tender towards him.

  He leaped from his horse and threw the reins to a groom, crying: ‘The army is routed. We must leave almost immediately for Portugal.’

  ‘I am to go to Portugal?’ stammered Joanna.

  Alfonso put a hand on her shoulder. His eyes were suddenly alight with that quixotic expression which was not unendearing.

  ‘Do not despair,’ he said. ‘It is a defeat. A temporary defeat. I will win your kingdom for you yet.’

  Then he took her hand and they went into the castle.

  A few hours later, when Alfonso and his party had refreshed themselves, they left Castro Nuno and rode westward over the border into Portugal; and Joanna went with them.

  * * *

  Isabella was at Tordesillas when the news was brought to her. Ferdinand triumphant! The King of Portugal and his son John in flight! Through great endeavour and fervent prayer she had overcome yet another ordeal which in the beginning had seemed impassable.

  Never before had Isabella been so sure of her destiny as now.

  At the Convent of Santa Clara she gave thanks to God for this further proof of His favour. There in that beautiful building which had once been the palace of a king’s mistress she remained in her cell, on her knees, while she reminded herself that she owed this victory to the intervention of God. The atmosphere of the Convent of Santa Clara suited her mood. She, the triumphant Queen of Castile, was prostrated in humility, in that beautiful building with its Moorish baths which had once been the delight of Dona Maria de Padilla, who herself had delighted Pedro the Cruel; these walls, which must once have been the scene of voluptuous entertainments, now enclosed the refuge of silent-footed nuns.

  Isabella wanted all to know that the victory was due to Divine guidance. All her subjects must understand that she was now the undoubted ruler of Castile.

  The next day, in a loose and simple gown, her feet bare, Isabella led a procession to the Church of St Paul, where, in the greatest humility, she gave thanks to God for this victory which could leave no doubt that she, and she alone, was Queen of Castile.

  * * *

  Although the battle which had been fought between Toro and Zamora was decisive, it did not bring complete peace to Castile.

  Louis XI of France, who had come to the aid of Alfonso, was still giving trouble, and Ferdinand could not disband his army; and when Isabella studied the effect of the war, following on the disastrous reigns of her half-brother and her father, she knew that her task had hardly begun.

  It was September before she was able to spend a few days in Ferdinand’s company.

  She was in residence at the Madrid Alcazar and, when messengers brought her news that he was on the way, she set her cooks to prepare a banquet worthy of the victor.

  Isabella was not by nature extravagant and she knew that Ferdinand was not. How could they be when they considered the state of the exchequer; when they had had to work so hard to get together the means to fight their enemies? But although Isabella was cautious in spending money, she knew that there were times when she must put aside that caution.

  Those about her must understand the importance of this victory. They must not whisper among themselves that the Queen of Castile and her Consort were a parsimonious pair who did not know how to live like royalty.

  This would be the first real celebration she and Ferdinand together had had since the Battle of Toro, and everyone must be aware of its importance.

  Ferdinand came riding in triumph to the Alcazar, and Isabella was waiting to receive him.

  As she stood, surrounded by her ministers and attendants, and Ferdinand came towards her, her heart beat faster at the sight of him. He had aged a little; the lines were more deeply marked on his face; that alertness of his eyes was accentuated. But even in those first few seconds the rivalry was there between them. Ferdinand in battle was the supreme leader. Here in the Alcazar he was merely the Queen’s Consort. He had to adjust himself, and the adjustment was somewhat distasteful.

  He took Isabella’s hand, bowed over it and put his lips against it.

  ‘Welcome, my husband,’ she said, and her voice had lost its habitual calm. ‘Welcome, my dearest husband.’

  The heralds blew a few triumphant notes on their trompas and the drummers beat their baldosas.

  Then Isabella laid Ferdinand’s hand on her arm, and this was the signal for them to enter the castle.

  There was feasting and music, and Isabella was happier than she had been for a very long time.

  Ferdinand did not leave her side during the banquet and the ball which follo
wed, and she believed that he had such an affection for her that he ceased to fret because in Castile she was supreme.

  Isabella almost wished that she were not a queen on that night, and that she and Ferdinand could have retired in peace from their guests and spent an hour or so with their little seven-year-old Isabella.

  When the ball was at last over and they had retired to their apartments she reminded him that it was eight years almost to the month since they had married.

  ‘It is difficult to believe it is so long,’ said Isabella, ‘for in that eight years we have seen far too little of each other.’

  ‘When the kingdom is at peace,’ Ferdinand answered, ‘there will not be these separations.’

  ‘I shall be so much happier then. Oh, Ferdinand, what should I have done without you? You have brought victory to Castile.’

  ‘It is only my duty,’ he said. She saw the faintly sullen lines beginning to form about his mouth, and she went swiftly to him and put an arm about his shoulders.

  ‘We have a great task before us, Ferdinand,’ she said, ‘but I thank God that we are together.’

  He was a little mollified. ‘Now it is our task to deal with the French,’ he told her.

  ‘You think it will be difficult, Ferdinand?’

  ‘No, I do not think so. Louis has his hands full with the trouble between himself and Burgundy, and now that we have driven Alfonso back where he belongs he’ll have little heart for this fight.’

  ‘Soon, then, we shall have peace, and then, Ferdinand, begins our real task.’

  ‘I have news for you. Arevalo has made advances. I think he is prepared to forget the claims of Joanna and offer his allegiance to you.’

  ‘That is excellent news.’

  ‘It shows which way the wind blows, eh?’

  ‘And the Archbishop of Toledo?’