by Jean Plaidy
‘Please rise,’ he continued.
She did so, while he looked down at her neat, trim figure with the eyes of a connoisseur. He knew her type. She was hot-blooded and eager. That look was unmistakable. She was studying him in a manner which he might have considered insolent if she had not possessed such superb attractions.
He patted her cheek and his hand dropped to her neck.
Then suddenly he seized her and kissed her on the lips. He had not been mistaken. Her response was immediate, and that brief contact told him a good deal.
She was ready and eager to become his mistress; and she was not the sort of woman who would seek to dabble in state matters; there was only one thing of real importance in her life. That short embrace told him that.
He released her and went on his way.
Both of them knew that, although that was their first embrace, it would not be their last.
Under the carved ceiling in the light of a thousand candles the King was dancing, and his partner was the Queen’s maid of honour.
Joanna watched them.
The woman would not dare! she told herself as she recalled a conversation concerning Alegre’s lover, who had not then known the role which was waiting for him. The impudence! I could send her back to Lisbon tomorrow. Does she not know that?
But she was mistaken. Alegre was by nature lecherous, and so was Henry; they betrayed it as they danced, and when two such people danced together . . . But that was the point. When two such people as Alegre and Henry were together there could be but one outcome.
She would speak to Henry tonight. She would speak to Alegre.
She was not aware that she was frowning, nor that a young man whom she had noticed on several occasions had come to take his stand close to her chair.
He was tall – almost as tall as Henry, whose height was exceptional. He was strikingly handsome with his blue-black hair, and eyes which were brilliantly dark; and yet his skin was fairer than red-headed Henry’s. Joanna had considered him as one of the handsomest men at her husband’s Court.
‘Your Highness is troubled?’ he asked. ‘I wondered if there was aught I could do to take the frown from your exquisite brow.’
She smiled at him. ‘Troubled! Indeed I am not. I was thinking that this is one of the most pleasant balls I have attended since coming to Castile.’
‘Your Highness must forgive me. On every occasion when I have had the honour to be in your company I have been deeply conscious of your mood. When you smiled I was contented; when I fancy I see you frown I long to eliminate the cause of that frown. Is that impertinence, Highness?’
Joanna surveyed him. He spoke to her with the deference due to the Queen, but he did not attempt to disguise the admiration she aroused in him. Joanna hovered between disapproval and the desire to hear more from him. She forgave him. The manners of Henry’s Court were set by the King; as a result they had grown somewhat uninhibited.
She glanced towards the dancers and saw Henry’s hand was laid on Alegre’s shoulder caressingly.
‘She is an insolent woman . . . that!’ said the young man angrily.
‘Sir?’ she reproved.
‘I crave Your Highness’s pardon. I allowed my feelings to get the better of me.’
Joanna decided that she liked him and that she wanted to keep him beside her.
‘I myself often allow my feelings to get the better of the dignity expected of a Queen,’ she said.
‘In such circumstances . . .’ he went on hotly. ‘But, what amazes me is – how is this possible?’
‘You refer to the King’s flirtation with my woman? I know him; I know her. I can assure you there is nothing to be amazed about.’
‘The King has always been devoted to the ladies.’
‘I had heard that before I came.’
‘It was once understandable. But with such a Queen . . . Highness, you must excuse me.’
‘Your feelings have the upper hand again. They must be strong and violent indeed to be able to subdue your good manners.’
‘They are very strong, Highness.’ His dark eyes were warm with adoration. She forgave Henry; she even forgave Alegre, because if they had not been so overcome by desire for each other she would not at this moment be accepting the attentions of this very handsome young man.
He was, she congratulated herself, far more handsome than the King; he was younger too, and the marks of debauchery had not yet begun to show on his features. Joanna had always said that if she allowed the King to go his own way, she would go hers, and she could imagine herself going along a very pleasant way with this young man.
‘I would know the name,’ she said, ‘of the young man of such powerful passions.’
‘It is Beltran de la Cueva, who places himself body and soul in the service of Your Highness.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I am tired of looking on at the dance.’ She stood up and put her hand in his; and while she danced with Beltran de la Cueva, Joanna forgot to watch the conduct of the King and her maid of honour.
The Queen was in her apartment, and her ladies were preparing her for bed.
She noticed that Alegre was not among them.
The sly jade! she thought. But at least she has the decency not to present herself before me tonight.
She asked one of the others where the girl was.
‘Highness, she had a headache, and asked us, if you should notice her absence, to crave your pardon for not attending. She felt so giddy she could scarce keep on her feet.’
‘She is excused,’ said the Queen. ‘She should be warned though to take greater care on these occasions.’
‘I shall give her your warning, Highness.’
‘Tell her that if she becomes careless of her . . . health, it might be necessary to send her back to Lisbon. Perhaps her native air would be beneficial to her.’
‘That will alarm her, Highness. She is in love with Castile.’
‘I thought I had noticed it,’ said the Queen.
She was ready now for her bed. They would lead her to it and, when she was settled, leave her. Shortly afterwards the King, having been similarly prepared by his attendants, would come to her as he had every night since their marriage.
But before her ladies had left her, the King’s messenger arrived.
His Highness was a little indisposed and would not be visiting the Queen that night. He sent her his devoted affection and his wishes that she would pass a good night.
‘Pray tell His Highness,’ she said, ‘that I am deeply concerned that he should be indisposed. I shall come along and see that he has all he needs. Although I am his Queen, I am also his wife, and I believe it is a wife’s duty to nurse her husband through any sickness.’
The messenger said hastily that His Highness was only slightly indisposed, and had been given a sleeping draught by his physician. If this were to be efficacious he should not be disturbed until morning.
‘How glad I am that I told you of my intentions,’ declared Joanna. ‘I should have been most unhappy if I had disturbed him.’
The King’s messenger was ushered out of the Queen’s bedchamber, and her ladies, more silently than usual, completed the ceremony of putting her to bed and left her.
She lay for some time contemplating this new state of affairs.
She was very angry. It was so humiliating to be neglected for her maid of honour; and she was sure that this was what was happening.
What should she do about it? Confront Henry with her discovery? Make sure that it did not occur again?
But could she do this? She had begun to understand her husband. He was weak; he was indolent; he wanted to preserve the peace at all costs. At all costs? At almost all costs. He was as single-minded as a lion or any other wild animal when in pursuit of his lust. How far would he allow her to interfere when it was a matter of separating him from a new mistress?
She had heard the story of her predecessor. Up to the last poor Blanche had thought she was safe, but Henry had
not scrupled to send her away. Blanche had had twelve years’ experience of this man and she, Joanna, was a newcomer to Castile. Perhaps she would be unwise to unleash her anger. Perhaps she should wait and see how best she could revenge herself on her unfaithful husband and disloyal maid of honour.
She was, however, determined to discover whether they were together this night.
She rose from her bed, put on a wrap and went into that apartment next to her own where her women attendants slept.
‘Highness!’ Several of them had sat up in their beds, alarm in their voices.
She said: ‘Do not be alarmed. One of you, please bring me a goblet of wine. I am thirsty.’
‘Yes, Highness.’
Someone had gone in search of the wine, and Joanna returned to her room. She had made her discovery; the bed which should have been occupied by Alegre was empty.
The wine was brought to her, and she gazed absently at the flickering candlelight playing on the tapestried walls, while she drank a little and began to plot some form of retaliation.
She was very angry to think that she, Joanna of Portugal, had been passed over for one of her servants.
‘She shall be sent back to Lisbon,’ she muttered. ‘No matter what he says. I shall insist. Perhaps Villena and the Archbishop will be with me in this. After all, do they not wish that I shall soon be with child?’
And then she heard the soft notes of a lute playing beneath her window, and as she listened the lute-player broke into a love song which she had heard at the ball on this very night.
The words were those of a lover, sighing for his mistress, declaring that he would prefer death to repudiation by her.
She took the candle and went to the window.
Below was the young man who had spoken to her so passionately at the ball. For a few moments they gazed at each other in silence; then he began to sing again in a deep voice, vibrating and passionate.
The Queen went back to her bed.
What was happening in some apartment of this Palace between her husband and her maid of honour was now of small importance to her. Her thoughts were full of Beltran de la Cueva.
THE BETROTHAL OF ISABELLA
Isabella was aroused from her sleep. She sat up in bed telling herself that surely it was not morning yet, for it was too dark.
‘Wake up, Isabella.’
That was her mother’s voice and it sent shivers of apprehension through her. And there was her mother, holding a candle in its sconce, her hair flowing about her shoulders, her eyes enormous in her pale wild face.
Isabella began to tremble. ‘Highness . . .’ she began. ‘Is it morning?’
‘No, no. You have been asleep only an hour or so. There is wonderful news – so wonderful that I could not find it in my heart not to wake you that you might hear of it.’
‘News . . . for me, Highness?’
‘Why, what a sleepy child you are. You should be dancing for joy. This wonderful news has just arrived, from Aragon. You are to have a husband, Isabella. It is a great match.’
‘A husband, Highness?’
‘Come. Do not lie there. Get up. Where is your wrap?’ The Dowager Queen laughed on a shrill note. ‘I was determined to bring you this news myself. I would let no one else break it to you. Here, child. Put this about you. There! Now come here. This is a solemn moment. Your hand has been asked in marriage.’
‘Who has asked it, Highness?’
‘King John of Aragon asks it on behalf of his son Ferdinand.’
‘Ferdinand,’ repeated Isabella.
‘Yes, Ferdinand. Of course he is not the King’s elder son, but I have heard – and I know this to be the truth – that the King of Aragon loves the fingernails of Ferdinand more than the whole bodies of his three children by his first marriage.’
‘Highness, has he such different fingernails from other people then?’
‘Oh, Isabella, Isabella, you are a baby still. Now Ferdinand is a little younger than you are . . . a year, all but a month. So he is only a little boy as yet, but he will be as delighted to form an alliance with Castile as you are with Aragon. And I, my child, am contented. You have no father now, and your enemies at Madrid will do their utmost to keep you from your rights. But the King of Aragon offers you his son. As soon as you are old enough the marriage shall take place. In the meantime you may consider yourself betrothed. Now, we must pray. We must thank God for this great good fortune and at the same time we will ask the saints to guard you well, to bring you to a great destiny. Come.’
Together they knelt on the prie-Dieu in Isabella’s apartment.
To the child it seemed fantastic to be up so late; the flickering candle-light seemed ghostly, her mother’s voice sounded wild as she instructed rather than prayed to God and his saints about what they must do for Isabella. Her knees hurt; they were always a little sore from so much kneeling; and she felt as though she were not fully awake and that this was some sort of dream.
‘Ferdinand,’ she murmured to herself, trying to visualise him; but she could only think of those fingernails so beloved of his father.
Ferdinand! They would meet each other; they would talk together; make plans; they would live together, as her mother and the King had lived together, in a palace or a castle, probably in Aragon.
She had never thought of living anywhere other than in Madrid or Arevalo; she had never thought of having other companions than her mother and Alfonso, and perhaps Henry if they ever returned to Madrid. But this would be different.
Ferdinand. She repeated the name again and again. It held a magic quality. He was to be her husband, and already he had the power to make her mother happy.
The Queen had risen from her knees.
‘You will go back to your bed now,’ she said. ‘We have given thanks for this great blessing.’ She kissed her daughter’s forehead, and her smile was quiet and contented.
Isabella offered silent thanks to Ferdinand for making her mother so happy.
But the Queen’s mood changed with that suddenness which still startled Isabella. ‘Those who have thought you of little account will have to change their minds, now that the King of Aragon has selected you as the bride of his best-loved son.’
And there in her voice was all the anger and hate she felt for her enemies.
‘Everything will be well though now, Highness,’ soothed Isabella. ‘Ferdinand will arrange that.’
The Queen smiled suddenly; she pushed the little girl towards the bed.
‘There,’ she said, ‘go to bed and sleep peacefully.’
Isabella took off her wrap and climbed into the bed. The Queen watched her and stooped over her to arrange the bedclothes. Then she kissed Isabella and went out, taking the candle with her.
Ferdinand, thought Isabella. Dear Ferdinand of the precious fingernails, the mention of whose name could bring such happiness to her mother.
Joanna noticed that Alegre did not appear on those occasions when it was her duty to wait on the Queen. She sent one of her women to the absent maid of honour with a command to present herself at once. When Alegre arrived, Joanna made sure that no others should be present at their interview.
Alegre surveyed the Queen with very slightly disguised insolence.
‘Since you have come to Castile,’ said Joanna, ‘you appear to take your duties very lightly.’
‘To what duties does your Highness refer?’ The tone reflected the insolence of her manner.
‘To what duties should I refer but those which brought you to Castile? I have not seen you in attendance for more than a week.’
‘Highness, I had received other commands.’
‘I am your mistress. It is from me only that you should take orders.’
Alegre cast down her eyes and managed to look both brazen and demure at the same time.
‘Well, what do you say?’ persisted the Queen. ‘Are you going to behave in a fitting manner or will you force me to send you back to Lisbon?’
‘Highness, I do n
ot think it would be the wish of all at Court that I should return to Lisbon. I hear, from a reliable source, that my presence is very welcome here.’
Joanna stood up abruptly; she went to Alegre and slapped her on both sides of her face. Startled, Alegre put her hands to her cheeks.
‘You should behave in a manner fitting to a maid of honour,’ said Joanna angrily.
‘I will endeavour to emulate Your Highness, who behaves in the manner of a Queen.’
‘You are insolent!’ cried Joanna.
‘Highness, is it insolent to accept the inevitable?’
‘So it is inevitable that you should behave like a slut at my Court?’
‘It is inevitable that I obey the commands of the King.’
‘So he commanded you? So you did not put yourself in the way of being commanded?’
‘What could I do, Highness? I could not efface myself.’
‘You shall be sent back to Lisbon.’
‘I do not think so, Highness.’
‘I shall demand that you are sent back.’
‘It would be humiliating for Your Highness to demand that which would not be granted.’
‘You should not think that you know a great deal concerning Court matters merely because for a few nights you have shared the King’s bed.’
‘One learns something,’ said Alegre lightly, ‘for even we do not make love all the time.’
‘You are dismissed.’
‘From your presence, Highness, or from the Court?’
‘Go from my presence. I warn you, I shall have you sent back to Lisbon.’
Alegre curtsied and left. Joanna was very angry; she cursed her own folly in bringing Alegre with her; she should have guessed the creature would make trouble of some sort; but how could she have foreseen that she would have the temerity to usurp her own place in the royal bed?
She was thoughtful while her maids were dressing her. She felt she could not trust herself to speak to them, lest she betray her feelings.
It would be so undignified to let anyone know how humiliated she felt, particularly as her common sense told her that if she did not want trouble with the King she would have to accept the situation.
