Castile for Isabella

by Виктория Холт

  For answer the Marquis came forward, knelt and took Alfonso’s hand.

  ‘Principe, you are to be proclaimed heir to the throne of Castile.’

  A faint colour crept into Alfonso’s cheeks.

  ‘That is preposterous. How can I be? My brother will beget children yet. Moreover he has a daughter.’

  The Archbishop gave his short rasping laugh. He deplored wasting time.

  ‘Your brother will never beget children,’ he said, ‘and a commission, set up to study the matter, has grave doubts that the young Joanna is his daughter. In view of this we have insisted that you be proclaimed the heir, and my nephew here has permission to take you under his guardianship that you may be trained in all the duties which, as King, will be yours.’

  There was a short silence, and when Alfonso spoke, his tone was bleak. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I am to settle under your wing.’

  ‘It shall be my greatest pleasure to serve Your Highness.’

  Then Alfonso smiled in momentary hopefulness. ‘I am capable of looking after myself, and I am very happy here in my apartments next to my sister’s.’

  ‘Oh,’ laughed the Marquis, ‘there will not be much change. We shall merely look after you and see that you are prepared for your role. You will see much of your sister. There will be no attempt to curtail your pleasures.’

  ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘Dear Highness, we will make sure of it.’

  ‘What if my pleasure is to stay as I am and not come under your guardianship?’

  ‘Your Highness is pleased to joke. Could you leave at once?’

  ‘No. I wish to be with my sister a little longer. We were talking together when you interrupted us.’

  ‘We crave Your Highness’s pardon,’ said Villena in false concern. ‘We will leave you to finish your conversation with your sister, and we will await your pleasure in the ante-room. You should bring your most trusted servant with you. I have already given him instructions to prepare for your departure.’

  ‘But you... you gave instructions!’

  ‘In matters like this one must act with speed,’ said the Archbishop.

  Alfonso appeared resigned. He watched the two schemers retire, but when he turned to Isabella and Beatriz, they were both struck by the look of despair in his face.

  ‘Oh, Isabella, Isabella,’ he cried, and she put her arms about him and held him close.

  ‘You see,’ he went on, ‘it has come. I know what they will try to do. They will make me King, And I do not want to be King, Isabella. I am afraid of them. I shall have forced upon me that which is greatly coveted. All Kings should be wary, but none so much as those who are forced to wear the crown before it is theirs by right. Isabella, perhaps one day someone will do to me what was done to Carlos... to Blanche...’

  ‘These are morbid fancies,’ Isabella chided him.

  ‘I do not know,’ said Alfonso. ‘Isabella, I am afraid because I do not know.’

  * * *

  Joanna stormed into her husband’s apartments.

  ‘So you have allowed them to dictate to you!’ she cried. ‘You have allowed them to bring about the disinheritance of our daughter, and put up that sly young Alfonso in her place.’

  ‘But do you not see,’ cried Henry piteously, ‘that I have insisted on his betrothal to Joanna?’

  The Queen laughed bitterly. ‘And you think they will allow that? Henry, are you a fool. Do you not see that, once you have proclaimed Alfonso your heir, you will have no say in deciding whom he shall marry? And the very fact that you allow him to be proclaimed your heir can only be because you accept these vile slanders against me and your daughter.’

  ‘It was the only way,’ murmured Henry. ‘It was either that or civil war.’

  He was thinking sadly of Blanche, who had been so meek and affectionate. Physically she had not excited him, but what a peaceful companion she had been. Poor Blanche! She had left this stormy life; she had been sacrificed to her family’s ambition. One could almost say, Most fortunate Blanche, for there was no doubt that she would find a place in Heaven.

  If I had never divorced her, he thought now, she might be alive at this time. And should I have been worse off? It is true there is a child now – but is she mine, and what a storm of controversy she is arousing!

  ‘You are a coward,’ cried the Queen. ‘And what of Beltran? What will he think of this? He deserves to be Master of Santiago, and now you have agreed to deprive him of the title.’

  Henry spread his hands helplessly. ‘Joanna, would you see Castile torn in two by civil war?’

  ‘Would it be if it had a King at its head instead of a lily-livered poltroon!’

  ‘You go too far, my dear,’ said Henry mildly.

  ‘At least I will not be dictated to by these men. As for Beltran, unless you wish to offend him mortally, there is only one thing you can do.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘You have taken from him with one hand; therefore you must give with the other. You have sworn to deprive him of the Mastership of Santiago, therefore you should make him Duke of Albuquerque.’

  ‘Oh but... that would be tantamount to... to...’

  ‘To opposing your enemies! Indeed it would. And if you are wise there is one other thing you will do. You will prevent your enemies from plotting your downfall. For, depend upon it, their scheme is not merely to set up an heir of their choosing in place of your own daughter, but to oust you from the throne.’

  ‘You may well be right.’

  ‘And what will you do about it? Sit on your throne... waiting for disaster?’

  ‘What can I do? What would happen if we were plunged into civil war?’

  ‘We should fight, and we should win. But at least you are the King. You could act quickly now. These people are not popular. Most hate the Marquis of Villena. Look what happened when he and his friends tried to seize Valladolid. You are not unpopular with the people, and you are the rightful King. Have these ringleaders of revolt quickly and quietly seized. When their leaders are in prison the people will not be so ready to rebel against their King.’

  The King gazed at his fiery wife. ‘My dear,’ he said, slowly, ‘I think perhaps you may be right.’

  * * *

  The Marquis of Villena was alone when the man was shown into his presence.

  The visitor was wrapped in a concealing cloak and, when he removed it, revealed himself as one of the King’s Guards.

  ‘Forgive the unceremonious intrusion, my lord,’ he said, ‘but the matter is urgent.’

  He then repeated the conversation which he had overheard between the King and Queen.

  Villena nodded. ‘You have done your work well,’ he said. ‘I trust you were not recognised on your way here. Go back to your post and keep us informed. We shall find means to prevent these arrests which the King now plans.’

  He dismissed his spy and immediately called on the Archbishop.

  ‘We are leaving at once,’ he said, ‘for Avila. There is not a moment to lose. I, with Alfonso, will meet you there. We shall take immediate action. De la Cueva is to be created Duke of Albuquerque in compensation for the loss of the Mastership of Santiago. This is the way the King observes his pledges!’

  ‘And when we reach Avila with the heir to the throne, what then?’

  ‘Alfonso will no longer be the heir to the throne. He will ascend it. At Avila we will proclaim Alfonso King of Castile.’

  * * *

  Alfonso was pale, not with the strain of the journey, but with a fear of the future. He had spent long hours on his knees praying for guidance. He felt so young; it was a pitiable situation for a boy of eleven years to have to face.

  There was no one whose advice he could ask. He could not reach those whom he loved. His mother’s mind was becoming more and more deranged and sunk in oblivion, and, even if he were allowed to see her, it would be doubtful whether he would be able to explain to her his need. And when he thought of his childhood, his mother’s voic
e seemed to come echoing down to him: ‘Do not forget that one day you could be King of Castile.’ So even if he could make her understand what was about to happen she would doubtless express great pleasure. Was this not what she had always longed for?

  But Isabella – his dear, good sister – she would advise. Isabella was anxious to do what was right, and he had a feeling that Isabella would say: ‘It is not right for you to be crowned King, Alfonso, while our brother Henry lives, for Henry is undoubtedly the son of our father and is therefore the rightful heir to Castile. No good can come of a usurpation of the crown, for, if God had willed that you should be King, He would have taken Henry as He took Carlos that Ferdinand might be his father’s heir.’

  ‘No good can come of it,’ murmured Alfonso. ‘No good... no good.’

  This city enclosed in its long grey walls depressed him. He looked out on the woods of oak and maple and those hardy trees which had been able to withstand the cruel winter.

  Avila seemed to him a cruel city, a city of granite fortresses, set high above the plains, to receive the full force of the summer sun and the biting winds of a winter which was notoriously long and rigorous.

  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!’

  CHAPTER IX

  DON PEDRO GIRON

  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.