Castile for Isabella

by Виктория Холт

  ‘Nephew, this is dangerous talk.’

  ‘Dangerous indeed! That is why we will not be hasty. Rumour is a very good ally. I am going to send for your servant now to help you dress. Listen to what I say in his hearing.’

  Villena went to the door and, opening it, signed to a page.

  In a few moments the Archbishop’s servant entered. As he did so, Villena was saying in a whisper which could easily be heard by anyone in the room: ‘It is to be hoped the child resembles her father in some way. What amusement that is going to cause throughout the Court. La Beltraneja should be beautiful, for her true father, I believe, is far more handsome than our poor deluded King; and the Queen has beauty also.’

  ‘La Beltraneja,’ mused the Archbishop, and he was smiling as the servant took his robe.

  Within a few days the baby was being referred to throughout the Palace and beyond as La Beltraneja.

  * * *

  In the apartments of the Dowager Queen her two children stood before her, as they had been summoned. Isabella wondered whether Alfonso was as deeply aware as she was of the glazed look in their mother’s eyes, of the rising note in her voice.

  The christening ceremony had greatly excited her.

  ‘My children,’ she cried; then she embraced Alfonso and over his head surveyed Isabella. ‘You were there. You saw the looks directed at that... at that child... and at yourselves. I told you... did I not. I told you. I knew it was impossible. An heir to the throne of Castile! Let me tell you this: I have the heir of Castile here, in my arms. There is no other. There can be no other.’

  ‘Highness,’ said Isabella, ‘the ceremony has been exhausting for you... and to us. Could you not rest and talk to us of this matter later?’

  Isabella trembled at her temerity, but her mother did not seem to hear her.

  ‘Here!’ she cried, raising her eyes to the ceiling as though she were addressing some celestial audience, ‘here is the heir to Castile.’

  Alfonso had released himself from the suffocating embrace. ‘Highness,’ he said, ‘there may be some who listen at our door.’

  ‘It matters little, my son. The same words are being spoken all over the Court. They are saying the child is the bastard daughter of Beltran de la Cueva. And who can doubt it? Tell me that... tell me that, if you can! But why should you? You will be ready to accept the power and the glory when it is bestowed on you. That is the day I long for. The day I see my own Alfonso King of Castile!’

  ‘Alfonso,’ said Isabella, quietly, authoritatively, ‘go and call the Queen’s women. Go quickly.’

  ‘It will not be long,’ went on the Dowager Queen, who had not noticed that Isabella had spoken, nor that her son had slipped from the room. ‘Soon the people will rise. Did you not sense it in the chapel? The feeling... the anger! It would not have surprised me if the bastard had been snatched from under her silken canopy. Nothing... nothing would have surprised me...’

  ‘Holy Mother,’ prayed Isabella, ‘let them come quickly. Let them take her to her apartment. Let them quieten her before I have to see her held down by the doctors and forcibly drugged to quieten her.’

  ‘It cannot go on,’ cried the Queen. ‘I shall live to see my Alfonso crowned. Henry will do nothing. He will be powerless. His folly in showering honours on the bastard’s father will be his undoing. Did you not see the looks? Did you not hear the comments?’ The Queen had clenched her fists and had begun beating her breast.

  ‘Oh let them come quickly,’ prayed Isabella.

  * * *

  When her mother had been taken away she felt exhausted. Alfonso lingered and would have talked to her, but she was afraid to talk to Alfonso. There were so many imminent dangers, she felt certain, and in the great Palace one could never be sure who was hidden away in some secret place to listen to what was said.

  It was highly dangerous, she knew very well, to discuss the displacement of kings while they still lived; and if it were true – which of course it was – that she and Alfonso had been brought to Court so that their brother might be sure that they should not be the centre of rebellion, it was certain that they were closely watched.

  She put on a cloak and went out into the gardens. Those occasions when she could be alone were rare and, she knew, would become more so, for she must not expect to enjoy the same freedom here at Court as she had in the peace of Arevalo.

  Still, as yet, she was regarded as but a child and she hoped that she would continue to be so regarded for some time to come. She did not want to be embroiled in the rebellious schemes which tormented her mother’s already overtaxed brain.

  Isabella believed firmly in law and order. Henry was King because he was the eldest son of their father, and she thought it was wrong that any other should take his place while he lived.

  She stared down at the stream of the Manzanares and then across the plain to the distant mountains; and as she did so she became aware of approaching footsteps and, turning, saw a girl coming towards her.

  ‘You wish to speak with me?’ called Isabella.

  ‘My lady Princesa, if you would be so gracious as to listen.’

  This was a beautiful girl with strongly marked features; she was some four years older than Isabella and consequently seemed adult to the eleven-year-old Princess.

  ‘But certainly,’ said Isabella.

  The other knelt and kissed Isabella’s hand, but Isabella said: ‘Please rise. Now tell me what it is you have to say to me.’

  ‘My lady, my name is Beatriz Fernandez de Bobadilla, and it is very bold of me to make myself known to you thus unceremoniously; but I saw you walking alone here and I thought that if my mistress could behave without convention, so might I.’

  ‘It is pleasant to escape from convention now and then,’ said Isabella.

  ‘I have news, my lady, which fills me with great joy. Shortly I am to be presented to you as your maid of honour. Since I learned this was to be I have been eagerly awaiting a glimpse of you, and when I saw you at the ceremony in the chapel I knew that I longed to serve you. When I am formally presented I shall murmur the appointed words which will convey nothing... nothing of my true feelings. Princesa Isabella, I wanted you to know how I truly felt.’

  Isabella stifled the disapproval which these words aroused in her. She had been brought up to believe that the etiquette of the Court was all-important; but when the girl lifted her eyes she saw there were real tears in them, and Isabella was not proof against such a display of emotion.

  She realised she was lonely. She had no companion to whom she could talk of those matters which interested her. Alfonso was the nearest to being such a companion, but he was too young and not of her own sex. She had never enjoyed real companionship with her mother, and the thought of having a maid of honour who could also be a friend was very appealing.

  Moreover in spite of herself, she could not help admiring the boldness of Beatriz de Bobadilla.

  She heard herself say: ‘You should have waited to be formally presented, but as long as no one sees us... as long as no one is aware of what we have done...’

  This was not the way in which a Princess should behave, but Isabella was eager for this friendship which was being offered.

  ‘I knew you would say that, Princesa,’ cried Beatriz. ‘That is why I dared.’

  She stood up and her eyes sparkled. ‘I could scarcely wait for a glimpse of you, my lady,’ she went on. ‘You are exactly as I imagined you. You will never have reason to regret that I was chosen to serve you. When we are married, I beg you let it make no difference. Let me continue to serve you.’

  ‘Married?’said Isabella.

  ‘Why yes, married. I am promised to Andres de Cabrera, even as you are promised to Prince Ferdinand of Aragon.’

  Isabella flushed slightly at the mention of Ferdinand, but Beatriz hurried on: ‘I follow the adventures of Prince Ferdinand with great interest, simply because he is betrothed to you.’

  Isabella caught her breath and murmured: ‘Could w
e walk a little?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. But we should be careful not to be seen. I should be scolded for daring to approach thus, if we were.’

  Isabella for once did not care if they were discovered, so urgently did she desire to talk of Ferdinand.

  ‘What did you mean when you said you had followed the adventures of Prince Ferdinand?’

  ‘That I had gleaned information about him on every possible occasion, Princesa. I gathered news of the troublous state of affairs in Aragon, and the dangers which beset Ferdinand.’

  ‘Dangers? What dangers?’

  ‘There is civil war in Aragon, as you know, and that is a dangerous state of affairs. They say it is due to the Queen of Aragon, Ferdinand’s mother, who would risk all she possesses in order to ensure the advancement of her son.’

  ‘She must love him dearly,’ said Isabella softly.

  ‘Princesa, there is no one living who is more loved than young Ferdinand.’

  ‘It is because he is so worthy.’

  ‘And because he is the only son of the most ambitious woman living. It is a mercy that he has emerged alive from Gerona.’

  ‘What is this? I have not heard of it.’

  ‘But, Princesa, you know that the Catalans rose against Ferdinand’s father on account of Carlos, Ferdinand’s elder brother whom they loved so dearly. Carlos died suddenly, and there were rumours. It was said he was hastened to his death, and this had been arranged so that Ferdinand should inherit his father’s dominions.’

  ‘Ferdinand would have no hand in murder!’

  ‘Indeed no. How could he? He is only a boy. But his mother – and his father too, for she has prevailed upon him to become so – are overweeningly ambitious for him. When his mother took Ferdinand into Catalonia, to receive the oath of allegiance, the people rose in anger. They said that the ghost of Ferdinand’s half-brother, Carlos, walked the streets of Barcelona crying out that he was the victim of murder and that the people should avenge him. They say that miracles have been performed at his grave, and that he was a saint.’

  ‘He asked for my hand in marriage,’ said Isabella with a shudder. ‘And shortly afterwards he died.’

  ‘Ferdinand is intended for you.’

  ‘Yes, Ferdinand and no other,’ said Isabella firmly.

  ‘It was necessary for the Queen of Aragon and her son Ferdinand to fly from Barcelona to Gerona; and there, with Ferdinand, she took possession of the fortress. I have heard that the fierce Catalans almost captured that fortress, and only the Queen’s courage and resource saved their lives.’

  ‘He was in such danger, and I did not know it,’ murmured Isabella. ‘Tell me... what is happening to him now?’

  Beatriz shook her head. ‘That I cannot say, but I have heard that the war persists in the dominions of the King of Aragon and that King John and Queen Joan will continue to be blamed for the murder of Carlos.’

  ‘It is a terrible thing to have happened.’

  ‘It was the only way for Ferdinand to become his father’s heir.’

  ‘He knew nothing of it,’ affirmed Isabella. ‘He can never be blamed.’

  And to herself she said: Nor could Alfonso be if they insisted on putting him in Henry’s place.

  ‘I think,’ she said aloud, ‘that there are stormy days ahead for both Castile and Aragon – for Ferdinand and perhaps for me.’

  ‘A country divided against itself provides perpetual danger,’ said Beatriz solemnly; then her eyes sparkled. ‘But it will not be long before Ferdinand comes to claim you. You will be married. I shall be married. And, Princesa, you said that, when we were, we should still be... friends.’

  Isabella was astonished that she could be so touched by this offer of friendship.

  She said in subdued tones: ‘I think it is time that I returned to my apartments.’

  Beatriz sank to her knees and Isabella swept past her. But not before Beatriz had lifted her face and Isabella had given her a swift, almost shy smile.

  From that moment Isabella had a new friend.

  * * *

  The Queen’s little daughter lay on her silken cushions under a canopy in the state apartments, and one by one the great nobles came forward to kiss her hand and swear allegiance to her as heiress of the throne of Castile.

  Beltran de la Cueva looked down at her with satisfaction. His position was unique. So many suspected that he was the baby’s father, and yet, instead of this suspicion arousing the wrath of the King, it had made Henry feel more kindly towards him.

  He could see a glorious future before him; he could still remain the Queen’s very good friend, the King’s also. And the child – now generally known as La Beltraneja – was to inherit the throne.

  He fancied he had behaved with great skill in a difficult situation.

  As he stood smiling with satisfaction his eyes met those of the Archbishop of Toledo, and he was quickly conscious of the smouldering anger there.

  Rant as much as you like, my little Archbishop! thought Beltran. Plot with your sly nephew whose nose has been considerably put out of joint during this last year. I care not for you... nor does the King nor the Queen, nor this baby here. There is nothing you can do to harm us.

  But Beltran de la Cueva, gallant courtier though he was, so expert in the jousts, such an elegant dancer, lacked the sly cunning necessary to make of himself a statesman. He did not know that, even while they kissed the baby’s hand and swore allegiance, the Archbishop and his nephew were planning to have her proclaimed illegitimate and oust her father from the throne.

  * * *

  The Marquis of Villena called on the King. Henry was with his favourite mistress. There had been many since Alegre, and if she had been mentioned in his hearing it was doubtful whether he would now have remembered her name.

  Henry had grown more indolent with the years. He was pleased that the royal cradle was at last occupied, and did not want to raise the question as to how this could have come about. Suffice it that there was an heir to the throne.

  There were entertainments to be planned – those orgies which were growing more and more wild in an endeavour by those, whose duty it was, to tempt his jaded palate.

  What new schemes, Henry was wondering, had they thought of this time? What pleasures would they show him that could give him new sensations, or could help him to recapture the old?

  Then the Marquis of Villena was announced and with him, to Henry’s dismay, was that villainous uncle of his, the Archbishop. Reluctantly and with a show of irritation Henry dismissed his mistress.

  ‘We crave leave to speak to you, Highness, on a very important matter,’ said Villena.

  Henry yawned. Angry lights shot up in the Archbishop’s eyes but Villena flashed a warning glance at him.

  ‘I think, Highness,’ said the Marquis, ‘that this matter is one to which it would be well to give your close attention.’

  ‘Well, what is it?’ Henry demanded ungraciously.

  ‘Grave suspicions have been cast on the legitimacy of the little Princess.’

  Henry shrugged his shoulders. ‘There are always rumours.’

  ‘These are more than rumours, Highness.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘We fear something will have to be done. The peace of the country is threatened.’

  ‘If people would stop meddling we should have peace.’

  ‘The people must be assured,’ said the Archbishop, ‘that the heiress to the throne is the legitimate heiress.’

  ‘The Princess is my daughter. Is not my daughter the legitimate heir to the throne?’

  ‘Only if she is your daughter, Highness.’

  ‘You are not going to say that another child was smuggled into the Queen’s bed?’

  ‘Rather, Highness,’ said Villena with a snigger, ‘that another lover was smuggled therein.’

  ‘Gossip! Scandal!’ muttered Henry. ‘A plague on them. Have done. Let us accept what is. There is an heiress to the throne. The people have been
crying out for an heir; now they have one let them be satisfied.’

  ‘They’ll not be satisfied with a bastard, Highness,’ said the fierce Archbishop.

  ‘What is this talk?’

  ‘Highness,’ said Villena, almost placatingly, ‘you should know that throughout the Court the Princess is known by the name of La Beltraneja – after the man who, the majority are beginning to declare, is her father, Beltran de la Cueva.’

  ‘But this is monstrous,’ said the King with a mildness which exasperated the Archbishop.

  ‘Your Highness,’ went on Villena, ‘puts yourself in a difficult position by showering honours on the man who is believed to have cuckolded you.’

  Henry laughed. ‘You are angered because honours and titles have gone to him which you believe should have found their way to you two. That is the point, is it not?’

  ‘Your Highness surely will admit that it is unseemly to honour the man who has deceived you and attempted to foist his bastard upon you?’

  ‘Oh, have done. Have done. Let the matter be, and let us have peace.’

  ‘I am afraid, Highness, that is not possible. Certain of your ministers are demanding an enquiry into the birth of the child you are calling your daughter.’

  ‘And if I forbid it?’

  ‘Highness, that would be most unwise.’

  ‘I am the King,’ said Henry, hoping his voice sounded strong yet fearing that it was very weak.

  ‘Highness, it is because we wish you to remain King that we beg you to give this matter your closest attention,’ whispered Villena.

  ‘Let them leave me in peace. The matter is done with. There is a Princess in the royal cradle. Leave it at that.’

  ‘It is impossible, Highness. There is also a Prince in the Palace now, your half-brother Alfonso. There are many who say that, should the new-born child be proved a bastard, he should be named as your successor.’