To my relief, Enrique strode to meet me. “Hermana,” he murmured. He leaned close to kiss my cheek, exuding a pungent odor of horseflesh, sweat, and unwashed skin. “I was deeply saddened by Alfonso’s death,” he said, “but I am overjoyed to see you after so long.”
His speech sounded rehearsed. I drew back as politely as I could, offering a wary smile in return. Now that we were together again, the memory of everything that had happened between us surged up in me, along with all the accompanying corrosive doubt. How could I ever trust this strange, malleable king, who had allowed so much to go wrong in his realm and led armies against his own brother, to defend a child he now assured everyone was not his?
“I am happy to see you, too,” I finally said, acutely aware of his curious regard. I’d forgotten how much I must have changed as well. During my last two years at court, he had barely seen me, and I was no longer that impressionable young girl he must recall. At that moment, I was finally grateful for Beatriz’s determination to outfit me in rich cloth; to Enrique, I must look as though I were about to assume his scepter and mount his throne.
A little fear, I had come to learn, went a long way toward instilling respect.
He pawed the ground with his boot, as if he’d stepped in something distasteful. His mouth turned inward, even as he said, “I am glad you’ve chosen to be obedient. As my heir, I will recognize you above all others, granting you the cities of Ávila, Medina del Campo, Escalona, and …” His speech faded. His expression assumed a pained uncertainty.
“Huete, Oviedo, Molina, Olmedo, and Ocaña,” I prompted. “As well as the means to maintain my household in any of those cities where I deem fit, and the right to refuse any marriage proposals that do not meet with my express desire and the Cortes’s approval.” I quoted directly from the settlements outlined in our treaty and he blinked in owlish surprise. “Yes,” he muttered. “Of course. Whatever you say.”
“I want only what we agreed upon. I ask for nothing more.”
The skin under one of his eyes twitched. Alarm crept through me; I suddenly heard the wind as it brushed over the hulking, lichen-spotted bulls, rustling the stunted pines nearby and snapping at the dark cloaks of the watching nobles.
Enrique had averted his gaze. I beckoned to Carrillo. As the archbishop marched to us with the treaty pinned to a portable desk held by Cárdenas, Villena slithered forth to assume his place beside Enrique, like an oily second shadow.
“If we are still in agreement …?” rumbled Carrillo, making it clear that he’d prefer to throw the desk with the treaty aside and brandish his sword.
I looked directly at Enrique. My mouth went dry. For an impossibly long moment, he did not move, did not speak. Then, to my relief, he took up the inked quill.
“I hereby declare the succession of this kingdom for Doña Isabella my sister,” he intoned, “who, by this document, will now be known as princess of Asturias and is thereby entitled to all properties, rents, and customs pertaining to said title. She is my sole legitimate heir, to be named queen after my death, as this document shall attest and as I shall see declared throughout the realm by proclamation and ratified by the official gathering of the Cortes.”
He bent over the desk to scrawl his signature across the page. Villena produced the signet seal of Castile, stamping it in red wax and affixing it to the document.
“And I, Isabella,” I said, when the quill was handed to me, “for the peace and repose of these realms, do hereby declare that the king my brother should have his title for as long as he shall live, while I, for the present, am content to be known as princess of Asturias, sole heiress of Castile.”
I too signed.
While the seals dried and the ink was sanded, Enrique and I embraced, and then each of the grandees knelt before me to offer their oath of allegiance. I kept smiling, even as I reflected that by this one act, Joanna had been officially declared a bastard, barred forever from the succession. How much harder would Queen Juana’s hatred against me burn, once she learned of this? What would little Joanna think of me, the aunt she had trusted, when she grew old enough to understand exactly what I had done to secure my place?
It was for Castile, I told myself; for our peace and safety, for the memory of my dead brother, and for the royal blood in my veins, which was unsullied by the taint of adultery.
I refused to brood, returning to Ávila at Enrique’s side to dine in the convent and celebrate our newfound accord. But in the back of my mind I kept seeing Alfonso, looking at me as he stood over the bloody corpses of the king’s leopards.
I ESTABLISHED MY household in the provincial city of Ocaña, in central Castile. It was not a major township; a dusty walled settlement on the edge of the meseta, Ocaña boasted a plaza, a parochial church, and crumbling Roman ruins. All in all, the city had barely two thousand inhabitants, but I needed money and its rents were the first I could draw upon as princess, while I waited for the creaking bureaucracy of the royal secretariat to implement my new status. Moreover, while not as ancient as Toledo or celebrated as Segovia, Ocaña was situated in such a manner that I could travel to either city once the Cortes assembled, yet it remained far enough away that I needn’t guard my every word. Here, there was no threat from eavesdropping courtiers eager to curry favor with Villena or the king.
The city staged a lovely parade to receive me, bringing out its best statue of the Virgin, dressed in blue velvet and lace, to bless my new home—a gracious three-story mansion with exposed timber-beamed ceiling and tiled rooms. The gallery opened onto an enclosed interior courtyard with a fountain, surrounded by ceramic pots overflowing with greenery. I appointed Chacón as my head steward; Beatriz became my maid of honor, with oversight of my chambers, while Inés de la Torre was named my lady-in-waiting. And Carrillo’s seventeen-year-old page, Cárdenas, with his large green eyes and thick blond curls, became my principal secretary.
Thus did I settle into my first household as princess of Asturias.
Beatriz started visiting Segovia on a regular basis, to requisition tapestries, silverware, and other suitable furnishings for our home. I suspected she and Andrés de Cabrera had been corresponding in secret, a suspicion soon confirmed when she returned one evening to inform me that Andrés had finally asked for her hand in marriage.
“And you said …?” I replied, hiding the sharp pang that pierced me at the thought of losing her.
“I told him it was too soon. Maybe later, when Your Highness has less need of me.”
“Beatriz, I’ll always have need of you. If you love this man as much as he obviously loves you, then you must stop making excuses and follow your heart.”
She regarded me with unabashed yearning. I’d never thought I would actually see this day, when my stalwart friend could look so forlorn. I had to curb the urge to tease her when she added, “But we’d have to reside in Segovia. He’s still governor of the alcazar and overseer of the royal treasury, though that devil Villena has tried more than once to oust him from his position solely because of Cabrera’s loyalty to you. And how could I move so far away from you?”
“I daresay it won’t be easy for either of us,” I said softly, “but we’ll manage.” I clasped her hand, adding with a wink, “Besides, having you near the treasury could be a blessing. Who knows when the day will come when I have urgent need of it?”
She laughed. “Andrés will guard it with his life for you!” She embraced me, releasing the tears I had tried to hold back. “Perhaps it will be your turn next,” she whispered. “I am sure that Fernando has not forgotten you.”
As she went to write to Cabrera, I turned to the window, suddenly pensive. It had been two months since Carrillo had sent our proposal to Aragón; all we’d received in return thus far was a formal communiqué from King Juan, whose eyesight had been restored by the perilous surgery Fernando had written about. While he’d expressed keen interest in exploring the proposed union, he had not committed to anything definite. Carrillo assured me the delay had to do wit
h my dowry arrangements. Aragón was perennially short of funds, and to wed a princess of Castile was no trifling matter. I hadn’t liked the way Carrillo sniffed as he said this. I couldn’t have cared less what Fernando brought to our marriage, providing I had his person, but Carrillo insisted on formalities being observed.
Fernando had also written to express his condolences over Alfonso and detail his ongoing struggle to regain the Pyrenean counties that Louis of France had usurped. But to my disappointment he made no mention of marriage. This was proper, of course, as the negotiations had to go through our appointed representatives, but still his omission hurt me far more than I’d expected. His letter seemed stilted and without his usual exuberance—almost as though he were reluctant—when I’d thought his very words would have leapt off the page in joy that I had finally broached the subject of our future together.
I began to fear something was amiss, so much so that I wrote to Fray Torquemada in secret to request his advice. After all, I was breaking my own treaty agreements with the king, because I should have first asked his leave before I even considered a marriage with Aragón. I had to know if I was making a grave error in judgment, if I had offended the Almighty by conspiring to woo Fernando behind Enrique’s back. Torquemada replied that he had already absolved me of all prior vows of obedience to the king because of Enrique’s own misdeeds. He advised me again to trust in my faith to guide me.
My conscience absolved, I considered summoning Carrillo from his residence at Yepes to demand an explanation for the delay, but I didn’t want him to know how much I had come to depend on this betrothal. I did not want anyone to think I nurtured romantic notions about a prince I’d met only once—notions I found hard to admit even to myself.
I thought of Fernando often, especially in the hours of the night. I wondered what he looked like now, how he fared, and if he ever thought of me. I had no illusion that he remained innocent of carnal knowledge. Men were not held to the same standard as women. While I didn’t relish the idea of him bedding others, I told myself I could endure it, if I was assured he would be faithful to me once we were wed.
Once we were wed …
It had become my litany, my beacon of hope, but as time passed without word from Fernando I began to doubt. Situations changed, and as Carrillo had said, political necessity, not personal desire, dictated the foundation of a royal union. Perhaps, as heiress of Castile, I was destined for a more important match than the penurious heir of Aragón, no matter how appealing he might be to me personally. Perhaps I should be seeking a prince who had enough power and riches to both protect my inheritance and help me subdue my enemies.
Yet even as I considered it, I knew I couldn’t envision being anyone else’s wife. Rich or poor, Fernando was everything I needed: Persistence like his could forge nations, and I could rely on his strength, his courage, and his refusal to let anything, or anyone, stand in his way. I could still remember the way he’d beckoned me by the fountain, his daring whisper. In an instance of apparent frivolity, he had offered me a precious gift, one that had sustained me through the tumultuous passage of these years, through danger, fear, and hope.
And, most important, he would be my ally, not my master. He would share my vision of the future yet not seek to relegate me to the background. He understood that I must reign in Castile in my own right, as he must in his realm of Aragón. He would be my king-consort here, just as I would be his queen-consort there. Together we could unite our realms, yet remain independent, never forced to prove that one of us was stronger.
Fernando had taught me how to trust myself.
And now, God willing, we would trust in each other.
IN OCTOBER 1468, Beatriz wed Andrés de Cabrera in Segovia. The ceremony was attended by all the prominent members of the court, as well as the king himself, as he wished to honor his loyal servant.
Beatriz looked radiant in a velvet dress of forest green, the color of constancy. Her abundant dark hair was wreathed with fresh flowers under a long silk veil, and my own rope of gray pearls—my wedding gift to her—was clasped about her throat. At her side Cabrera beamed so wide, it seemed the sun shone through him. His happiness caused me a moment of uncharitable envy, for I realized that my Beatriz, my childhood companion and lifelong friend, now belonged to him.
I observed Enrique during the festivities in the alcazar. I’d not seen him since the signing of our treaty at Guisando, and I found his odd darting glances at everyone but me, as well as his overall dishevelment, troubling. He looked as though he hadn’t bathed in weeks and his anxiety was evident in the ceaseless drumming of his fingertips on the table. Villena was at his side, sleek and overdressed as ever, murmuring who knew what deviltry into Enrique’s gullible ears.
When the tables were pulled back for the dancing, the marquis’s reptilian gaze locked on me from across the dais with unmistakable intent. I froze. Would he actually have the temerity to ask me to dance? I’d hoped to use the distraction in the court to approach Enrique and ask about the Cortes, whose assembly, though promised at Guisando, had not yet materialized. Carrillo had refused to come with me to Segovia to discuss this very thing; instead he roared into Ocaña only hours before our departure, after having sent several bristling missives, to shout at me that it was all a ruse and Enrique never meant to gather the procurators together to legally declare me heir.
“If you go,” he warned, “they’ll take you prisoner. I’ve heard that that whore Juana gave birth to another bastard and is trying to wheedle herself back into Enrique’s good graces. She escaped her captivity to find refuge with the Mendozas and now seeks rapport with Villena because he has the king’s ear. If you go to Segovia, you will regret it.”
I had paid him little attention for I was not about to miss my beloved friend’s wedding. But as Villena sidled up to me on his high-heeled shoes, I braced myself for the worst. While he held Enrique’s favor, I had to contend with him, but I would never let him bully me again, no matter what. The Cortes must be summoned. I would not accept anything less than a definitive date for an answer.
“His Majesty would have a word with Your Highness,” Villena informed me in his irritatingly nasal voice, after a bow that was so cursory it bordered on insulting. “It is a matter of some urgency. Would tomorrow morning suit?”
I assented; relieved he’d made no move to escort me to the floor. “Naturally. Tell His Majesty I am at his disposal.”
“That,” he replied, “remains to be seen.” Before I could respond he walked back to Enrique. As they whispered, Enrique looked at me for the first time that day.
The mistrust in his eyes chilled me to my bones.
I COULDN’T REST that night. I paced my rooms in the alcazar while poor Inés looked on, not knowing what to say or do to soothe me. She and I had not yet established a rapport, and though she served me with devotion, she was not my Beatriz. All she could think to do was brew endless drafts of chamomile, which, instead of producing their intended drowsiness, obliged me to pass water every half hour.
The walls of this gilded cage, where I had spent so much lonely and anguished time in my youth, seemed to close in around me. I kept seeing Queen Juana’s malicious smile in my mind, hearing Mencia de Mendoza’s triumphant laughter. Carrillo’s words repeated in my head like the dread roll of an execution drum: They will take you prisoner.
Why had I come here, when I knew what Enrique was capable of? I should have given Beatriz my gift in Ocaña, explained I could not see her wed in person. She would have understood; no one desired my safety more than she. But instead I’d disdained Carrillo’s warning. With habitual obstinacy, I’d refused to consider even for a minute that Enrique might go back on his word. Now I was trapped in his alcazar, just as I’d been during Alfonso’s rebellion, with only Cárdenas and Chacón to protect me. Carrillo was miles away; even if I sent word now, by the time he cajoled his allies to action, it would be too late.
I would be captive once again.
By the time daw
n crept over the horizon, I was ready to bolt from Segovia in my shift. I made myself take slow deep breaths as Inés dressed me. I chose a sedate blue velvet gown with draping canary-yellow sleeves and had Ines coil my hair into a tourmaline-studded net. Over my shoulders and bosom went an opaque silk partlet, edged in black lace-work. The regalia afforded me a sense of protection as Cárdenas and Chacón escorted me to the private sala where Enrique awaited me.
As we neared the oak double doors set below an elaborate arabesque, I said to Chacón, “If I do not come out in an hour, send Cárdenas to the archbishop’s palace at once.”
Chacón nodded, and Cárdenas’s beautiful green eyes fixed on me in adoration. I knew he would run barefoot to Yepes, if necessary, to alert Carrillo, and I felt a measure of relief that I was not without friends.
I entered the room to find Villena and Enrique waiting for me. There were no others present—no guards or attendants or hovering secretaries. I straightened my shoulders as I came before them. The very fact that I had been summoned here and they had cleared the room of prying ears and eyes indicated I was about to be dealt an upset.
“You have deceived me,” Enrique declared, without preamble.
I met his gaze, recalling how quickly and irrationally his suspicions could escalate. “Deceived you?” I said, feigning calm. “How so, my lord brother?”
“You lied to me. You said you would obey me in all matters, but then you went behind my back to seek betrothal with Fernando of Aragón. Please, do not try to deny it. We intercepted several of your letters, though after we read them we resealed them and let them go on to King Juan.” He tapped a finger on his throne’s gilded armrest. “You are evidently very committed to the prince and I too, as you know, am fond of him, but, of course, I cannot allow it. You will not marry anyone without my permission.”
The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile Page 16
