“It will be here by the time of the wedding. King Juan and I have already requested it from Rome.” Carrillo regarded me with unblinking eyes. Chacón and Ines were like statues by the door. It seemed as if the entire palace held its breath, the quiet so profound I could hear a dog barking somewhere in the fields outside my walls.
I closed my eyes, invoking my memory of Fernando as I’d last seen him, in Segovia, his brown eyes earnest as he took my hand. We can bind our realms closer together, restore peace….
I took the quill and inked it, carefully inscribing Yo, Isabel de Castilla at the bottom of the page.
It was done. For better or for worse, I was betrothed to Fernando.
I turned to Carrillo. “What of my living arrangements? Under the present circumstances, I can hardly remain here anymore.”
“No, you cannot.” He came to the desk, sanded the ink and blew it off. “I think Valladolid is the best place for you. The city has expressed its loyalty to you and we have trustworthy friends there. We’ll travel first to Madrigal and rest overnight. Hopefully, Fernando’s grandfather the admiral will have summoned his forces by the time we arrive. Valladolid is his domain; he’ll see that you’re protected there while we send the betrothal agreement to Aragón.”
“I see.” I fought back a smile. I should not have doubted him; petulant and calculating as he could be, no man knew better than Carrillo how to mount a defense.
He cleared his throat. “As I said, I saw no harm in waiting first. If you’d elected to go to battle for your throne, instead of to the altar, the admiral’s forces would have been just as useful.”
“Indeed,” I replied, “if you had your way.”
He met my gaze. “Instead, Your Highness has hers. Now, let us pray it doesn’t bring all of Castile down about our heads.” He rolled up the document for return to the cylinder. “I suggest you fetch your cloak. No time like the present to make your escape.”
THE SADDLED HORSES were waiting; after Cárdenas assisted me onto Canela, I pulled up my cloak’s fur-lined hood and cast a lingering gaze upon my palace. I’d not lived here long, but it was the first place I had called my own, and I did not want to leave it. I was weary of not being at home anywhere. Since I’d left Arévalo, I had felt like a lost soul in my own country.
At my side Inés said, “I’d give anything to see Mencia’s face when she returns from her rendezvous to find our rooms empty and us gone.”
I glanced at her; as her smile lit up her eyes, I found myself abruptly on the verge of laughter as well. “We can only hope it’ll prove as upsetting to her as she’s been to us.” I took a last look at my palace. “After all, it’s just walls, chairs, tables, and beds. We can always buy new ones.”
We followed the men out. The streets were deserted. A light rain drifted from the black sky. As we approached the city gates I had to remind myself that no one expected me to make my escape, certainly not today or at this hour. Villena had ordered the town surrounded and, to his mind, made enough noise to frighten a cornered princess and her attendants into submission. His guards would be lax, thinking me well in hand. But if anyone did try to detain us, Carrillo had warned me to break into a gallop and not stop until I reached Valladolid.
Three sentries were posted in a makeshift shelter by the gates, huddled with a wineskin over a smoking brazier. They looked up with ill-humored frowns as we neared.
“Didn’t we just let you in?” one of them said suspiciously, looking at Chacón.
My steward replied, “You did, and now we are leaving. As we explained, this lady’s father is gravely ill at our monastery and he has asked to see her.”
The sentry glanced past Cárdenas and Carrillo at me and Inés. I lowered my head, avoiding his stare. “I see two ladies. Are both their fathers dying in your monastery?”
Carrillo growled, “The lady has a maid with her, of course. Or haven’t you ever seen a lady with a maid before, you ignorant son of a swine?”
I tightened my hold on my reins as I saw the sentry’s face harden. It was not the right thing to say, I knew at once. By asserting his authority, Carrillo had only managed to insult the man and rouse suspicion.
“Look here,” the sentry said, “I just follow my orders. His lordship the marquis of Villena commanded that these gates stay closed from sunset to sunrise. I let you in once, against my better judgment—”
“You were paid,” interrupted Chacón, “and quite well, as I recall.”
“To open the gates once.” The sentry exchanged a wink with the others, whose leather-gloved hands had dropped to their swords. It would be hard to draw the weapons from the scabbards; even I knew that much. The cold tended to make blades stick. Still, a pitched fight in the middle of the night by the gates wouldn’t do us any favors, nor was I looking forward to riding over these men, and possibly risking injury to our horses.
“Now, if suitable arrangements can be made I’ll gladly open the gates again,” the sentry added, and though he sounded jovial in his thievery, I detected the threat underneath. Unless we complied, he was not going to touch those bolts, and, what’s more, he was likely to call for reinforcements.
Without warning, I kicked my horse forth and came before him. He stared up at me, startled and momentarily confused. I reached upward, and ignoring Carrillo’s stifled gasp, pulled back my hood. The sentry went still, except for his mouth, which gaped wide as if he suddenly found himself short of air.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked quietly.
He nodded, still without moving. I couldn’t tell whether he was truly so astonished he’d yet to formulate a reaction or already gauging this sudden twist in the situation, weighing the potential benefits and drawbacks.
“You should raise the alarm,” I said, “but as your future queen, though, God willing, it be many years hence, I know you will not. And in return, my good man, I shall not forget how you helped me on this night.” I reached into my saddlebag, retrieved and dropped a velvet purse at his feet. It clinked satisfactorily as it hit the cold ground.
The sound startled him into movement. He quickly bent over and retrieved it; a leer spread across his face when he drew back the purse’s cords to peer inside. He glanced over his shoulder at the others, who stood regarding us with wide eyes. “That’s more like it,” he said, and he made a little flourish toward me before barking at his men, “Go on, you heard the lady. Open the gates.”
The bolts were drawn back; we rode out quickly, into the dark open countryside. As soon as we had cleared the walls, Carrillo said testily, “That was hardly the moment to go and prove your rank. We could have been arrested.”
“Yes, we could have,” I replied. “But we weren’t. And the story will spread, hopefully right to Villena’s ears, of how I eluded his snare. Let him shiver in his boots, for a change.”
Chacón let out a rare gruff laugh. Ines whispered to me, “Were those your jewels?”
“Yes,” I whispered back. “As I said, we can buy new ones.”
And we spurred forth, to Valladolid.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Situated in the north-central part of Castile, Valladolid was a beautiful city on the Pisuerga River famous for rich wines, fertile croplands, and the splendid Gothic Church of Santa María the Ancient, with its thick Romanesque tower.
I took up residence in the palace of the Vivero clan, a grandee family loyal to the admiral. I was saddle sore from our three-day trip over treacherous back roads and through woodlands; we’d avoided any thoroughfares where royal patrols were likely to be searching, as we were under no delusion that my disappearance would go unreported. Mencia would have doubtless raised the alarm as soon as she returned to our deserted palace. But we depended on the fact that while messengers were dispatched to Enrique and Villena in Andalucía, and their outraged responses returned, we would have enough time to send our own embassy to Aragón with the signed betrothal documents. Within a few weeks at most, Fernando would be in Castile; he and I would wed. And not even V
illena, for all his wiles, could sunder those whom God had joined.
I had barely settled in when Fernando’s grandfather Don Fadrique Enríquez, Lord of Medina and Admiral of Castile, came to see me. In the painted sala, he bowed over my hand—a short, trim man with a completely bald pate and a kindly myopic gaze, dressed in the somber black damask favored by the kingdom’s elite. As one of the most powerful grandees in the land, the admiral had remained aloof from the internecine struggles of the court, because his eldest daughter had been Fernando’s mother, Juan II of Aragón’s beloved queen, and that made him a target of Villena’s ceaseless machinations.
I took one look at him, and I knew he did not bring good news. I also noted that he appeared taken aback to see only Ines at my side. As a rule, a princess usually had a retinue shadowing her every move.
“My lord the Archbishop Carrillo has taken up lodgings in the Convent of the Agustinas,” I explained, as the admiral was too polite to voice his concern. “He’s been busy with various matters pertaining to the betrothal.” I motioned to two high-backed carved chairs set before the greenery-filled hearth. “Have you broken your fast yet? Shall I fetch bread and cheese? We have fresh figs, as well.”
He shook his head. “No, no, Your Highness. Thank you. That will not be necessary.”
I smiled as he perched on the chair. I was prepared for almost anything, given the circumstances, and still when he spoke I had to stop myself from flinching.
“King Enrique has issued a warrant for your arrest. He claims you left Ocaña against his command, though you promised you would not. His men have been instructed to take you to the alcazar of Madrid, where you’ll be imprisoned. He plans to make his way back from Andalucía as soon as he can raise his siege on Cádiz’s city of Trujillo.”
I focused on maintaining my composure. Was my lot in life never to know more than a few days’ respite from pursuit?
“Your Highness has nothing to fear as yet,” the admiral went on, misinterpreting my silence. “Between us, the archbishop and I have more than eight hundred men at our disposal. Villena’s soldiers will not easily apprehend you. But I thought you’d want to know that the king is apprised of your actions and has every intention of stopping you.” He lowered his voice, despite the fact that we were quite alone save for Inés. “It goes without saying that he has declared numerous times that your union with Fernando of Aragón is strictly forbidden, and should you disobey him, he will consider it an act of treason.”
It was a shock to hear the words, though I couldn’t reasonably claim I hadn’t expected this. “Yes,” I said quietly, “thank you. I am indebted to you for your diligence.”
“Oh, it’s not diligence that brought me here,” he said, with sudden levity in his tone. He rose and moved to where he had deposited his cloak. From it he withdrew a shallow case covered in azure velvet. As he handed it to me, his smile deepened, enhancing the laugh lines at the sides of his eyes.
“A birthday gift,” he said. “From my grandson, His Highness of Aragón.”
Nestled within the case upon a lining of snow-white satin was the most magnificent ruby collar I’d ever seen. The blood-rich tabled stones exuded light as if tiny suns shone in their depths, and from the gold links in between each stone dangled large pink-gray pearls.
“It’s … breathtaking,” I said, in awe.
“And rather convenient,” piped Inés. “Her Highness was fresh out of jewels, as it turns out. It’ll come in quite handy for the wedding.”
As I saw the admiral’s smile fade, I closed the case. “I would prefer to thank Prince Fernando in person for his gift, but I see by your expression that I’ll not have that pleasure quite as soon as I hoped.”
He released a troubled sigh. “There are complications. The French have overrun the city of Girona. By virtue of his position as heir, Fernando must head the defense.” From his doublet he removed a sealed paper. “He asked me to deliver this to you.”
I took the paper in disbelief. Complications? I understood Aragón was besieged, but what was I supposed to do in the meantime? How was I to survive? Surely Fernando must realize I could not hold out indefinitely, that even now Enrique and Villena were moving against me, against us.
“You’ll naturally want to read the letter in private,” said the admiral. He bowed. “By your leave I’ll now go pay my respects to Carrillo. Perhaps later, we might dine together?”
I nodded, hiding my distress. “Yes, of course. I … I would be honored.”
“The honor is all mine,” he replied, with a gallantry that went straight to my heart. “Your Highness must not lose faith. My grandson will find his way to you, even if he has to cut through every man in the French army to get here.”
Inés accompanied him out. Alone in the sala, I cracked the letter’s seal. His calligraphy leapt at me, stark black on the paper, ink splotches denoting frustration with a poorly trimmed quill.
My dearest Isabella,
Your embassy has arrived and I now know that that which I’ve dreamed for so long, which I once thought might never come to pass, is a reality. We are to be man and wife. I cannot describe in words the joy I feel or my impatience to be at your side. But as my lord grandfather has by now told you, Aragón faces another ordeal, and I cannot desert her. My father is still brave even in his advanced years and would send me to you regardless, but what kind of man would I be, what kind of husband could you hope to expect, if I abandoned my realm to indulge my desire? I know you would never do such a thing, so therefore neither must I. God is on our side; this time, I shall defeat Louis and his French spiders, and take wing to where you are. Until then, know that not an hour goes by when you are not in my heart.
Be brave, Isabella. Wait for me.
There was no signature; there was no need. I let my tears come. I let them fall down my face and wash away my disappointment, my fear and anxiety and corrosive doubt.
I would wait. I would wait even if I had to lead an army myself. Fernando and I were destined for each other; we would find a way to be together, no matter the odds.
And once we united, nothing would part us, save death.
I CELEBRATED MY eighteenth birthday without fanfare. The news from Aragón had dampened my spirits and rumors came almost daily of some new menace to my person. Nothing concrete had materialized thus far but we knew Enrique’s southern exploit was not going well and, for the moment, threats were all he could issue. His men in Castile were disinclined to march into Valladolid to engage the admiral’s forces. But I had no doubt that as soon as the situation in Andalucía resolved, Villena and his wolves would come after me.
In late September, after a sweltering summer that dried up the Pisuerga’s tributaries and charred the harvest in the fields, I received word that my mother had fallen ill with fever. I’d not seen her in over a year and so I decided to go to Arévalo. Carrillo protested that it was unsafe for me to leave Valladolid, as neither he nor the admiral could vouch for my safety if I took to “gallivanting about Castile,” but five months of near-daily contact with the archbishop had worn my patience thin. Retorting that I hardly planned to undertake a progress of the realm, I insisted on preparing for the trip.
Yet just as I planned to depart, the long-awaited royal delegation arrived. By now, word of my betrothal to Fernando had become widespread; indeed, one of my first acts of defense had been to proclaim it via circulars in every major city, to demonstrate that I’d done nothing wrong and had nothing to hide. Now I had no other option than to make good on my declarations of innocence and agree to receive Enrique’s men.
I had donned gray velvet and the rubies of Aragón, their weight lending me comfort as the lords strode in. Carrillo and the admiral flanked me. I clenched my teeth at the unexpected sight of Villena; a surreptitious glance at Carrillo revealed that he likewise hadn’t known the marquis would be present. His expression turned so dark, I thought he might leap on Villena and throttle him with his bare hands, then and there.
I pre
empted him. “My lord marquis,” I said, my voice ringing loud and clear, “I sincerely hope you’ve come to request our forgiveness. Otherwise, let me warn you that we’ll not take kindly to words such as those you’ve used against us in the past.”
I basked in the pallor of his face. I had used the royal plural on purpose and he’d not anticipated it. Bien. I was determined that he find me a future queen, not the helpless infanta he had so often bullied.
Then he sneered, whipped from his accompanying groom’s hand an impressive-looking document, clattering with an assortment of seals.
“Herein is Your Highness’s amnesty,” he declared. “Due to unforeseen trouble in the south, His Majesty cannot be here in person but out of respect for your shared blood, he offers a full pardon for your rebellious acts, should you in return renounce your illegal and unsanctioned betrothal with Fernando of Aragón.”
“Miserable cur,” Carrillo spat. “You’re not fit to lick her boots—”
I held up a hand, detaining him. I stepped forward, glancing markedly toward the admiral. Don Fadrique inclined his head; he stood among sixty armed retainers, proof of the men I now had at my command.
Villena said, “Do you think to intimidate the king’s representative? I come with the full power of the crown. I could have Your Highness arrested this very hour.”
I halted a mere pace from where he stood, so close I detected the nauseating smell of his expensive musk, a hint of sweat underneath. I looked past him to the lords in his posse, many of whom I’d met or seen in my years at court. I hid a start of surprise when I recognized the queen’s former lover and Mencia’s husband, Beltrán de la Cueva. He had grown older, his lithe beauty coarsened, but his eyes were lucent as ever; as he averted his gaze, I could see his discomfort with the role he’d been compelled to enact.
The realization gave me strength. Villena might think to wield power over me, but I suspected these lords would not be here willingly, given a choice. Rapacious as they could be, few liked seeing a woman harassed, and as usual, Villena had made no effort to befriend the very men he now relied upon to support his dirty work.
The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile Page 18
