Castile for Isabella

by Jean Plaidy

  Her seemingly indolent husband, while he remained indifferent to the affairs of the kingdom, would commit any folly to please his mistress of the moment. She would never forget the sad story of Blanche of Aragon, and she knew she would be foolish to let herself believe that, because he appeared to have an affection for herself, he would hesitate to send her back to Lisbon if she displeased him.

  After all, she was no more successful than Blanche had been in achieving the desired state of pregnancy. She was alarmed too by the whispers she had heard. Was it really true that Henry was unable to beget children? If so, what would be the fate of Joanna of Portugal? Would it be similar to that of Blanche of Aragon?

  She listened to the chatter of her women, which was clearly intended to soothe her.

  ‘They say he was magnificent.’

  ‘I consider him to be the handsomest man at Court.’

  Joanna said lightly: ‘And who is this magnificent and handsome personage?’

  ‘Beltran de la Cueva, Highness.’

  Joanna felt her spirits lifted, but studying her face in the mirror she saw with satisfaction that she gave no sign of this.

  ‘What has he done?’

  ‘Well, Highness, he defended a passage of arms in the presence of the King himself. He was victorious; and rarely, so we hear, has a man shown such valour. He declared that he would uphold the superior charms of his mistress against all others at this time or any time, and that he would challenge any who denied his words.’

  ‘And who is this incomparable woman? Did he say?’

  ‘He did not. It is said that his honour forbade him to. The King was pleased. He said that Beltran de la Cueva’s gallantry had so impressed him that he would build a monastery which should be dedicated to St Jerome to celebrate the occasion.’

  ‘What a strange thing to do! To dedicate a monastery to St Jerome because a courtier flaunts the charms of his mistress?’

  ‘Your Highness should have seen this knight. He was as one dedicated. And the King was so impressed by his devotion to the unknown lady.’

  ‘And have you any notion who this unknown lady is?’

  The women looked at each other.

  ‘Well?’ prompted Joanna.

  ‘Highness, all know that this knight is devoted only to one who could not return his love, being so highly placed. There could only be one lady at Court to answer that description.’

  ‘You mean . . . the Queen of Castile?’

  ‘Yourself, Highness. It is thought that the King was so pleased by this man’s devotion to yourself that he made this gesture.’

  ‘I am grateful,’ said Joanna lightly, ‘both to Beltran de la Cueva and to the King.’

  Joanna felt that in some measure her dignity had been restored, and she was conscious of infinite gratitude towards Beltran de la Cueva.

  Joanna had retired; she did not sleep. She knew that very soon the man who was clearly asking to become her lover would be standing below her window.

  It would be so easy. She need only give one little sign.

  Was it dangerous? It would be impossible to keep such an affair entirely secret. It seemed that there were few actions of Kings and Queens which could be safe from the light of publicity. Yet he had made that magnificent gesture for her.

  Moreover she had a notion that the King would not object to her taking a lover. Henry wanted to go his own promiscuous way, and she believed that what had irritated him in his first wife was her virtue. To a man such as Henry the virtue of one whom he was deceiving could be an irritation. What if the rumours were true and Henry was sterile? Would she be blamed as Blanche had been? Henry would be more likely to keep her as his wife if she remained charming and tolerant in spite of his scandalous way of life.

  There was another point; she had always been aware of her own sexual needs. The second Queen of Henry of Castile was quite different from the first.

  She felt reckless as she went slowly but deliberately towards the window.

  The night was dark and warm, soft with the scent of flowers. He was standing there as she had known he would be, and the sight of him excited her. None could say she would demean herself by taking such a lover. He was surely not only the handsomest but the bravest man at Court.

  She lifted a hand and beckoned.

  She could almost feel the waves of exultation which flowed from him.

  Beltran de la Cueva was well pleased with himself, but he was too clever not to understand that this new path on which he was embarking was full of dangers.

  The Queen had attracted him strongly since the time he had first seen her, and it had been one of his ambitions to make her his mistress; but he knew that his advancement would have to come from the King. He was pondering now how he could continue in the King’s good graces while at the same time he enjoyed his intimacy with the Queen.

  It was an odd state of affairs, since he was hoping to enjoy the King’s favour while he was the lover of the Queen. But Henry was a meek husband; he was a man who, while devoting himself to the lusts of the flesh, liked to see those about him acting in like manner. He was not one to cherish the virtuous; they irritated him, because he was a man with a conscience which he was trying to ignore, and the virtuous stirred that conscience.

  The future was hopeful, thought Beltran de la Cueva. He really did not see why he should not profit doubly from this new relationship with the Queen.

  It was impossible to keep it secret.

  The Queen had invited him to her bedchamber, and it was inevitable that one of her women would discover that these nightly visits were taking place; and one woman would pass on the secret to another, and sooner or later it would become Court gossip.

  He hid his anxiety from the Queen.

  He told her in the quiet of her bedchamber: ‘If the King should discover what has taken place between us, I do not think my life would be worth very much.’

  Joanna held him to her in a gesture of mock terror. It gave an added charm to their love to pretend it was dangerous.

  ‘Then you must not come here again,’ she whispered.

  ‘Do you think the fear of sudden death would keep me away?’

  ‘I know you are brave, my love, so brave that you do not consider the danger to yourself. But I think of it constantly. I forbid you to come here again.’

  ‘It is the only command you could give me which I would not obey.’

  Such conversations were stimulating to them both. He enjoyed seeing himself as the invincible lover; her self-esteem was reinstated. To be so loved by one who was reckoned to be the most attractive man at Court could make her quite indifferent to the love affair between her husband and maid of honour.

  Moreover she had heard that Henry was now dividing his attentions between Alegre and another woman of the Court; and this was gratifying.

  Henry must have heard of her own attachment to Beltran, and he showed not the slightest rancour; in fact he seemed a little pleased. Joanna was delighted with this turn of events. It showed that she had been right when she had decided that, if she allowed Henry to take his mistresses without a reproach from her, he would raise no objection if she occasionally amused herself with a lover.

  A very satisfactory state of affairs, thought the Queen of Castile.

  Beltran de la Cueva was also relieved. Henry had become more friendly than ever with him. A fascinating situation, he reassured himself, when he might expect advancement through the Queen and the King.

  Meanwhile the little girl was growing up in the Palace at Arevalo.

  When she looked back she thought pityingly of that Isabella who had lacked her Ferdinand, for Ferdinand had become as real to her as her brother, her mother or anyone within the Palace. Occasionally she heard scraps of news concerning him. He was very handsome; he was the delight of the Court of Aragon; the quarrel between his father and Ferdinand’s half-brother was all on account of Ferdinand. It was a continual regret to the royal House of Aragon that Ferdinand had not been born before Carl
os.

  Often when she was in a dilemma she would say to herself: ‘What would Ferdinand do?’

  She talked about him so much to Alfonso that her young brother said: ‘One would think he was really here with us. No one would believe that you had never seen Ferdinand.’

  Those words had their effect on Isabella. It was almost a shock to have it brought home to her that she had never seen Ferdinand. She believed too that she had departed from her usual decorum by talking of him so much. She must remedy that.

  But if she did not talk to him, that did not stop her thinking of him. She could not imagine life without Ferdinand.

  Because of him she determined to be a perfect wife, a perfect Queen, for she believed that one day Ferdinand would be King of Aragon in spite of his brother Carlos. She mastered the art of the needle and was determined not only to become an expert in fine needlework but to be a useful seamstress as well.

  ‘When I am married to Ferdinand,’ she once told Alfonso, ‘I shall make all his shirts. I shall not allow him to wear one that is made by another hand.’

  She was interested in affairs of state.

  She was no longer a child, and perhaps, when she was fifteen or sixteen, she would be married. Ferdinand was a year younger, which could cause some delay, for she would be the one to wait for him to reach a marriageable age.

  ‘Never mind,’ she consoled herself, ‘I shall have a little longer to perfect myself.’

  Now and then she heard news of her half-brother’s Court. Henry was a very bad King, she feared, and her mother had been right, no doubt, to insist that herself and her brother should go away and live like hermits. This was the best way to prepare herself for marriage with Ferdinand.

  As she had even as a very small child, she listened and rarely interrupted when she heard the conversation of grownup people; she tried to hide her interest, which was the surest way of making them forget she was present. One day she heard a great deal of whispering. ‘What a scandal!’

  ‘Who ever heard of such behaviour by an Archbishop!’ ‘And the Archbishop of St James at that!’ Eventually she discovered what this misdemeanour of an Archbishop had been. It appeared that he had been so struck by the charms of a young bride that he had attempted abduction and rape as she left the church after her marriage. The comments on this scandal were so illuminating. ‘What can one expect? It is merely a reflection of the manners of the Court. How can the King censure the Archbishop when he behaves equally scandalously? You have heard, of course, that his chief mistress is the Queen’s own maid of honour. They say she keeps an establishment which is as splendid as that of the Queen, and that people such as the Archbishop of Seville seek her favour.’

  ‘It is not as though she is the King’s only mistress. The latest scandal is that one of his ladies wished to become an abbess, if you please! And what does our loving King do? He dismisses the pious and high-born abbess of a convent in Toledo and sets up his paramour in her place. It is small wonder that there are scandals outside the Court when they so blatantly exist inside it.’

  Isabella began to learn from her mother and her teachers how the state of Castile was being governed; she was made aware of the terrible mistakes which were being made by her half-brother.

  ‘My child,’ said her pastor, ‘take a lesson from the actions of the King, and, if ever it should be your fate to assist in the government of a kingdom, make sure that you do not fall into like pitfalls. Taxes are being imposed on the people. For what reason? That the King may sustain his favourites. The merchants, who are one of the means of providing a country with its riches, are being taxed so heavily that they are prevented from giving the country of their best. Worst of all, the coinage has been adulterated. You must try to understand the importance of this. Where we had five mints we now have one hundred and fifty; this means that the value of money has dropped to a sixth of its previous value. My child, try to understand the chaos this can bring about. Why, if matters do not mend, the whole country will be on the verge of insolvency.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Isabella earnestly, ‘is my brother Henry to blame for this?’

  ‘The rulers of a country are often to be blamed when it falls on evil times. It is their duty to efface themselves for the love of their country. The duty of Kings and Queens to their people should come before their pleasure. If ever it should be your destiny to rule . . .’

  Isabella folded her hands together and said, ‘My country would be my first consideration.’ And she spoke as a novice might speak when contemplating the taking of her vows.

  And always on such occasions she imagined herself ruling with Ferdinand; she began to realise that this prospective bridegroom, who was so real to her in spite of the fact that she had never seen him, was the dominating influence in her life.

  Later came news that Henry had decided to lead a crusade against the Moors. There was nothing which could win the approval of the people so surely as an attempt to conquer the Moors. Spaniards smarted in the knowledge that for centuries the Arabs had remained in Spain, and that large provinces in the south were still under their domination. Since the days of Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar, the famous Castilian leader who had lived in the eleventh century and had been known as the Cid Campeador, Spaniards had looked for another great leader; and whenever one appeared who proposed to lead a campaign which was calculated to drive the Moors from the Iberian Peninsula the cry went up: ‘Here is the Cid reborn and come among us.’

  Thus, when Henry declared his intention of striking against the Moors, his popularity increased.

  He needed money for his campaigns, and who should provide it but his long-suffering people? The riches of the countryside were seized that armies might be equipped for the King’s campaign.

  Henry, however, was a soldier who could make a brave show, marching through the streets at the head of his troops, but was not so successful on the battlefields.

  Again and again his troops were routed; he returned from the wars, with his dazzling cavalcade making a brave show; but there were no conquests, and the Moors remained as strongly entrenched as ever.

  He declared that he was chary of risking the lives of his soldiers, for in his opinion the life of one Christian was worth more than those of a thousand Mussulmans.

  This was a sentiment which he hoped would find favour with the people; but they grumbled, particularly those in whose districts the fighting had taken place.

  It would seem, said these people, that the King makes war on us, not on the Infidel.

  And each day in the schoolroom at Arevalo Isabella would hear of the exploits of Henry, and must learn her lessons from them.

  ‘Never go to war,’ she was told, ‘unless you have a well-founded hope of victory. Fine uniforms do not necessarily make good soldiers. Before you go to war make sure that your cause is just and that it is wholeheartedly yours.’ ‘Never,’ said their preceptor, instructing Isabella and Alfonso, ‘had a prospective ruler a better opportunity of profiting from the folly of a predecessor.’

  The children were told why, on every count, Henry was a bad King. They were not told of his voluptuous adventures, but these were hinted at, and mistresses and ministers were spoken of under one category as Favourites.

  He was extravagant almost to the point of absurdity. His policy was to give bribes to his enemies in the hope of turning them into friends, and to his friends that they might remain friendly.

  Mistaken policies, both of them, Isabella and Alfonso were warned. Friends should be kept by mutual loyalty, and enemies met by the mailed fist and not by placatory gold.

  ‘Learn your lessons well, children. There may come a time when you will need them.’

  ‘And we must learn our lessons, Alfonso,’ said Isabella. ‘For it may well be that one day the people will have had enough of Henry; and if he has no son they will call upon you to take the throne of Castile. As for myself, one day I shall help Ferdinand to rule Aragon. We must certainly learn our lessons well.’

  S
o, gravely, they listened to what was told to them; and it seemed to them both that the years at Arevalo were the waiting years.

  Isabella sat thoughtfully over her needlework.

  At any moment, she thought, there may be change. At any moment the people may decide that they will have no more of Henry; then they will march to Arevalo and take away Alfonso to make him King.

  She had heard that the debasing of the coinage had caused chaos among certain sections of the community; and the result was that robbery had increased.

  Some of the noblest families in Castile, declaring themselves to be on the verge of bankruptcy, lost all sense of decency and took to robbery on the roads. Travelling was less safe than it had been for centuries; and castles, which had once been the homes of noble families, were now little less than robbers’ dens. Some of these nobles even attempted to put right their reverses by selling Christian men and women, whom they seized during raids on villages, as slaves to the Moors.

  Such conduct was quite deplorable, and it was clear that anarchy reigned in Castile.

  Much reform was needed; but all the King seemed to care about was his fancy-dress parades and the pleasure of his Favourites.

  Isabella prayed for the well-being of her country. ‘Ah,’ she told herself, ‘how different we shall be – Ferdinand and I – when we rule together!’

  One day her mother came to her in a mood of great excitement, and Isabella was reminded of the night when she had been called from her bed to give thanks because the King of Aragon had asked that she might be given in marriage to his son Ferdinand.

  ‘Isabella daughter, here is wonderful news. The Prince of Viana is asking for your hand in marriage. This is a brilliant offer. Not only is Carlos heir to Aragon, but Navarre is his also. My dear Isabella, why do you stare at me so blankly? You should rejoice.’

  Isabella had grown pale; she lifted her head and held herself at her full height, for once losing her sense of decorum. ‘You have forgotten, Highness,’ she said. ‘I am already betrothed to Ferdinand.’