Castile for Isabella

by Виктория Холт

  ‘I fear,’ she said, ‘that we must postpone the marriage.’

  ‘Postpone the marriage!’ cried the Archbishop in amazement. ‘That is impossible. If we postpone it, I can say with certainty it will never take place. Your brother and my nephew will take good care that we never again get as near to it as we are now.’

  ‘There is one thing of the utmost importance which you have forgotten. The dispensation has not yet come from the Pope.’

  The Archbishop was genuinely alarmed, but he gave no sign of this. He wondered whether it was possible to get a dispensation from the Pope, who was the friend of Henry and Villena.

  ‘Would you marry Ferdinand if the Pope refused the dispensation?’ asked the Archbishop cautiously.

  ‘It would be impossible,’ replied Isabella. ‘How could I marry without it?’

  ‘The marriage would be binding.’

  ‘We should be censured by Holy Church. How could we hope for a successful marriage if we began it by opposing the ecclesiastical canons?’

  The Archbishop paused. Here was a new light on Isabella’s character. Devout, he had always known her to be. Well, others were devout – inasmuch as they attended Mass regularly and did not ignore the tenets of the Church. But who would allow the rules of the Church to come between them and their desires? Isabella would, it seemed.

  The Archbishop made a quick decision.

  ‘Have no fear,’ he said. ‘We shall have the dispensation in good time. I have made all concerned aware of the urgency.’

  ‘My good friend,’ murmured Isabella, ‘what should I do without you?’

  The Archbishop returned her smile. He hoped she would remember those words and not seek to take his power from him and bestow it on Ferdinand.

  * * *

  In his private apartments the Archbishop was writing. He wrote slowly and with the utmost care.

  Eventually he laid down his pen and studied what he had written.

  It was a perfect dispensation. Isabella would never doubt that it had come from the Pope.

  The Archbishop shrugged his shoulders.

  There were times when bold men had to take matters into their own hands. He had to lead the heiress of Castile and Leon the way she must go; and that way was through marriage with Ferdinand. And if Isabella was too scrupulous a woman of the Church, there must be times when a little deceit must be employed.

  The Archbishop rolled up the scroll and went to Isabella’s apartments.

  ‘I have great joy in telling Your Highness that the dispensation has arrived.’

  ‘Oh, how happy that makes me!’ Isabella held out a hand and the Archbishop handed her the scroll.

  He watched her anxiously while she glanced at it; but she was too happy to study it with very much attention.

  He took it from her and rolled it up.

  ‘Is it not wonderful,’ she said, ‘how one by one obstacles are removed from our paths. I was afraid even at this late hour that something would happen to prevent the marriage. The Holy Father is very much the friend of my brother and the Marquis, and I was filled with fear that he might refuse the dispensation. But God has moved his heart – and we have it. It often seems to me that it is the Divine will that Ferdinand and I should marry, for it would appear that whenever we are faced with what might be insuperable obstacles, miracles happen.’

  The Archbishop bowed his head. He was a man who believed that when Divine Providence failed to provide the holy miracle, an earthly one devised by shrewd men could be substituted.

  * * *

  In the hall of the house of Juan de Vivero many had assembled to watch the wedding ceremony performed by the Archbishop of Toledo.

  The hall had been as richly decorated as was possible, but this might have been the wedding of the daughter of a petty nobleman. It seemed incredible that it could be that of the prospective Queen of Castile.

  But it was the best that could be done on borrowed money and in such haste; and if the radiance of jewels and fine brocades was missing, its absence seemed unimportant on account of the shining happiness on the faces of the bride and groom.

  They looked beautiful – so young, so healthy and handsome. Surely, said the observers, this hasty marriage was the most romantic that had ever taken place in Spain. And if there would not be the celebrations which usually heralded and followed such ceremonies, what did it matter? At last Castile and Aragon were united; and the townsfolk of Valladolid shouted themselves hoarse with delight when the handsome pair left the house to go to Mass and later dined in public that all might see them and bear witness to the joy they had in each other.

  * * *

  There came that time when they were alone together, and their contentment with each other was not abated.

  Ferdinand, experienced young man of the world, and Isabella a little apprehensive, but so ready to follow where he should lead her!

  Ferdinand believed that he would mould this woman to his way of thinking. His Isabella was a paragon of many virtues. She was virginal yet passionate; she was possessed of great dignity, yet she was his to command.

  ‘I did not know,’ he said, ‘that such good fortune could be mine.’

  ‘I knew,’ said Isabella. And she smiled that slow dedicated smile, thinking of all the vicissitudes of her hazardous life which only her courage and her belief in her future had made victory over those circumstances possible.

  No, Isabella was not surprised that at last she had married the man of her choice, and that he promised to be all for which she had hoped.

  She believed firmly that it had always been intended that this should be so.

  ‘Ferdinand,’ she said, ‘we will work together always. We shall be as one. All I have is yours; all you have is mine. Is that not wonderful to contemplate?’

  Ferdinand kissed her with rising passion and said that it was indeed – for she had so much more to offer than he had.

  ‘Isabella,’ he said, ‘my wife, my love! What a truly wonderful thing it is that in addition to all your beauty, all your virtue, you should also have... Castile. But,’ he added, ‘even if you were not the future Queen of Castile, if you were a serving-wench in a tavern, I should love you still, Isabella. Would you love me if I could not bring you Aragon?’

  He did not wait for an answer. He was so sure of his ability to conquer her.

  But Isabella was thoughtful. She loved him with all her heart, but she did not think it would be possible for the future Queen of Castile to love a tavern man.

  Ferdinand had lifted her into his arms. He was so strong that he could do this easily; and his warm breath was on her cheek.

  There was no need to answer Ferdinand’s questions, for she was swept into a new adventure which overwhelmed her senses and subdued her dignity and her love of truth – temporarily.

  Ferdinand, the adventurer, the man of action, believed himself to be the all-conquering male to whom the weak female must ever be subservient.

  Isabella was subconsciously aware of this. Her marriage must be perfect; in the council and in the bedchamber there must be continued harmony.

  Thus at the time she was pliant, so eager to learn, so earnestly anxious to please. It was certain that in the bedchamber Ferdinand must be master; he must be the one to lead her step by step along the diverse sensuous paths.

  Ferdinand had often told himself that even though Isabella was the future Queen of Castile she was also a woman. He did not know that although she was a woman, she would never forget that she was the future Queen of Castile.

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE DEATH OF HENRY

  The first news of the marriage which reached Henry was brought by Isabella’s messenger.

  He read his half-sister’s letter and trembled.

  ‘But this,’ he moaned, ‘was exactly what we wished to prevent. Now we shall have Aragon against us. Oh, what an unlucky man I am! I wish I had never been born to be King of Castile.’

  He hesitated before showing Isabella’s letter to Vil
lena, dreading the storm that it would arouse.

  He let the letter drop from his hands, and fell to dreaming. He wished that he had not rid himself of Blanche. He thought of poor Blanche. How dreadful her last days must have been in the château of Ortes. Did she know that plans to murder her were afoot?

  ‘And if she had stayed in Castile, she would be alive now,’ he murmured. ‘And should I be worse off? I should not have my daughter... but is she mine? She is still known throughout the Court as La Beltraneja. Poor little girl! What trials await her!’

  Henry shook his head. It was a sad fate to be born as she had been born, to be the centre of controversy over a throne. There had been Alfonso...

  If he had not rid himself of Blanche, if he had tried to lead a better life, he would have been a happier man. Now there was nothing but scandal and conflict.

  His Queen, Joanna, had left him and was living scandalously in Madrid. He was constantly hearing stories about her adventures. She had had many lovers and there were several illegitimate children of these unions.

  Never had a man so urgently desired to live in peace; never had a man been so consistently denied it.

  He could not postpone passing on the news to Villena. The Marquis would hear of it from some other source if he delayed.

  He asked the page to bring Villena to his presence, and when the Marquis came, with a helpless shrug he handed him Isabella’s letter.

  Villena’s face became purple with rage.

  ‘The marriage has actually taken place!’ he cried.

  ‘That is what she says.’

  ‘But this is monstrous. Ferdinand in Castile! I know what we must expect from that young man. There is none more ambitious in the whole of Spain.’

  ‘I do not think Isabella would attempt to usurp the throne,’ said Henry mildly.

  ‘Isabella! What say will she have in affairs does Your Highness think? She will be led into revolt. Holy Mother, on one side this ambitious young husband, and on the other my uncle Carillo who is thirsting for battle. This marriage should have been prevented at all costs.’

  ‘So far there is little harm done.’

  Villena scowled and averted his gaze from the King.

  He said: ‘There is one thing we must do. The Princess Joanna is now nearly nine years old. We shall find a suitable bridegroom for her and she shall be declared the rightful heiress of Castile.’ He began to laugh. ‘Then our young gallant from Aragon may begin to wonder whether he has made such a brilliant marriage after all.’

  ‘But Isabella has many supporters. Valladolid is firmly behind her. So are many other towns.’

  ‘We have Albuquerque; we have the Mendozas. I doubt not that many others will rally to our cause. Would to God that your Queen would not create such scandal in Madrid! It lends some truth to the slander that the Princess Joanna is not your daughter.’

  ‘My dear Villena, do you believe she is?’

  Villena’s face grew a shade more purple.

  ‘I believe the Princess Joanna to be the true heir to the crowns of Castile and Leon,’ he retorted; ‘and by God and all his saints, ill shall befall any who reject that belief.’

  Henry sighed.

  Why, why, he pondered, were people so tiresome? Why must Villena be so fierce? Why must Isabella make this marriage which was so upsetting to them all?

  ‘Is there never to be peace?’ he demanded fretfully.

  ‘Yes,’ said Villena contemptuously, ‘when Isabella and her ambitious Ferdinand learn that they must stand aside for the true heiress of Castile.’

  ‘That,’ said Henry peevishly, ‘they will never learn.’

  But Villena was not listening. He was already busy with plans.

  * * *

  It was an unusual little Court at Dueñas. There was so little money that it was often difficult to pay for their food and that of their servants. Yet Isabella had never been so happy in her life.

  She was deeply in love with Ferdinand, and he was the most passionate and the most kind of husbands. He was delighted that her intelligence matched her physical charms and that she had a deep knowledge of political affairs.

  Perhaps those months seemed so precious to them both because they knew that they were transient. They would not always live in such humble state. The day must come when they would leave their humble lodgings and take up residence in one of the castles, and all the pomp and ceremonies which surrounded the sovereigns of Castile and Leon be theirs.

  Ferdinand longed for that day; and, in a way, so did Isabella. The delightful intimacies of this life would be lost perhaps, but for all her joy in it, Isabella must not forget that she and Ferdinand had been brought together, not for dalliance in sensuous pleasure, but to make of Spain a mighty country, to unite all Spaniards, to bring them to the true religion, to rid the country of its existing anarchy, to bring back law and order, and to release every acre of Spanish soil from the domination of the Infidel.

  And a few months after her marriage, Isabella, to her great joy, discovered that she was pregnant.

  Ferdinand embraced her with delight when he heard the news.

  ‘Why, my Isabella,’ he said, ‘you are indeed possessed of all the virtues. You are not only beautiful and of great intellect, you are fruitful! It is more than I dared hope for. But you look complacent, my love!’

  She was complacent. She knew that she would give birth to great rulers. It was her destiny to do so.

  * * *

  In the monastery of Loyola, not far from Segovia, the King with the Marquis of Villena, the Duke of Albuquerque and several members of the influential Mendoza family and other highly placed noblemen had gathered in the company of the French ambassadors.

  There was one present who was not often seen at such assemblies; this was Joanna, the Queen of Castile, who had come from Madrid to play a special part in these proceedings.

  Henry addressed the assembly, Villena on one side of him and his Queen on the other.

  ‘My friends,’ said the King, ‘we are gathered here for a special purpose and I pray you listen to me and give me your support. We are beset by conflict which could at any moment break into civil war. My half-sister Isabella – as did her brother Alfonso before her – has set herself up as heiress of Castile and Leon. I do not forget that at one time I named her heiress to the throne. That was in the treaty of Toros de Guisando. There she agreed not to marry without my approval. She has broken her word. Therefore I declare that the treaty of Toros de Guisando becomes null and void, and my sister Isabella is no longer heiress to the throne of Castile and Leon.’

  There was a murmur of approval in the gathering, led by Villena, Albuquerque and the Mendozas; it quickly became a roar.

  Henry lifted his hand.

  ‘There is one whose place she usurps. This is my daughter, the Princess Joanna, now a child in her ninth year. Her mother has come here today to swear with me that the Princess is my daughter; and you will, when you have heard and accepted her testimony, agree with me that there can be only one heiress, the Princess Joanna.’

  ‘The Princess Joanna!’ chanted the audience. ‘Castile for Joanna!’

  ‘I am now going to ask the Queen to swear on oath that the Princess Joanna is the legitimate heiress of Spain.’

  Joanna rose to her feet. She was still a beautiful woman but the lines of depravity were firmly etched on her face now, and there was a certain insolence in her demeanour which was far from queenly. Joanna was aware that all present knew of the retinue of lovers who attended her in Madrid, and of the children who had been the result; and quite clearly she was indifferent to this.

  Now she cried: ‘I swear the Princess Joanna is the daughter of the King and no other.’

  ‘Castile for Joanna!’ cried the assembly.

  Then the King rose and took his wife’s hand. ‘I swear with the Queen that the Princess Joanna is my daughter and no other.’

  ‘Castile for Joanna!’

  The King then turned to the French ambassad
ors, among whom was the Count of Boulogne. The Count came forward.

  ‘It is our pleasure,’ said Henry, ‘formally to announce the betrothal of my daughter Joanna to the Duke of Guienne, brother of the King of France, and with the approval of the nobles of Castile the ceremony of betrothal will now take place, with the Count of Boulogne standing proxy for his master.’

  ‘Long live the Duke of Guienne!’ was the cry. ‘Castile for Joanna!’

  * * *

  Meanwhile, in the house of Juan de Vivero, Isabella was preparing for her confinement.

  She was in a state of bliss. She shut herself in with her happiness. She was reading history; it was necessary to profit from the experience of others. She was studying state matters; and as usual she spent a great deal of time with her confessor and at prayers. Her life was divided between the study, which she believed to be necessary for a ruler who had a mighty task before her, and the domestic affairs of a wife and mother. Isabella had determined that in neither role should she fail.

  It was delightful to sit with Ferdinand and talk of the reforms she intended to bring to Castile. When she heard stories of the terrible state of affairs, which existed in the country districts as well as in the towns, she would work out plans for righting this state of affairs. She planned to bring a new order to Castile; and she would with the aid of Ferdinand.

  These intimate little conferences were all the more delightful because they were shared only by the two of them. Previously all political discussions had been presided over by the Archbishop of Toledo. Isabella had turned to him, trusting his loyalty and wisdom. But with the coming of Ferdinand it was with Ferdinand she wished to discuss affairs.

  What could be more pleasant than a conference which was also a tête-à-tête for lovers!

  The Archbishop found it far from pleasant.

  On one occasion, when Ferdinand was on his way to Isabella’s apartments, he met the Archbishop also bound for the same destination.