Castile for Isabella

by Jean Plaidy

  But Beltran de la Cueva, gallant courtier though he was, so expert in the jousts, such an elegant dancer, lacked the sly cunning necessary to make of himself a statesman. He did not know that, even while they kissed the baby’s hand and swore allegiance, the Archbishop and his nephew were planning to have her proclaimed illegitimate and oust her father from the throne.

  The Marquis of Villena called on the King. Henry was with his favourite mistress. There had been many since Alegre, and if she had been mentioned in his hearing it was doubtful whether he would now have remembered her name.

  Henry had grown more indolent with the years. He was pleased that the royal cradle was at last occupied, and did not want to raise the question as to how this could have come about. Suffice it that there was an heir to the throne.

  There were entertainments to be planned – those orgies which were growing more and more wild in an endeavour by those, whose duty it was, to tempt his jaded palate.

  What new schemes, Henry was wondering, had they thought of this time? What pleasures would they show him that could give him new sensations, or could help him to recapture the old?

  Then the Marquis of Villena was announced and with him, to Henry’s dismay, was that villainous uncle of his, the Archbishop. Reluctantly and with a show of irritation Henry dismissed his mistress.

  ‘We crave leave to speak to you, Highness, on a very important matter,’ said Villena.

  Henry yawned. Angry lights shot up in the Archbishop’s eyes but Villena flashed a warning glance at him.

  ‘I think, Highness,’ said the Marquis, ‘that this matter is one to which it would be well to give your close attention.’

  ‘Well, what is it?’ Henry demanded ungraciously.

  ‘Grave suspicions have been cast on the legitimacy of the little Princess.’

  Henry shrugged his shoulders. ‘There are always rumours.’

  ‘These are more than rumours, Highness.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘We fear something will have to be done. The peace of the country is threatened.’

  ‘If people would stop meddling we should have peace.’

  ‘The people must be assured,’ said the Archbishop, ‘that the heiress to the throne is the legitimate heiress.’

  ‘The Princess is my daughter. Is not my daughter the legitimate heir to the throne?’

  ‘Only if she is your daughter, Highness.’

  ‘You are not going to say that another child was smuggled into the Queen’s bed?’

  ‘Rather, Highness,’ said Villena with a snigger, ‘that another lover was smuggled therein.’

  ‘Gossip! Scandal!’ muttered Henry. ‘A plague on them. Have done. Let us accept what is. There is an heiress to the throne. The people have been crying out for an heir; now they have one let them be satisfied.’

  ‘They’ll not be satisfied with a bastard, Highness,’ said the fierce Archbishop.

  ‘What is this talk?’

  ‘Highness,’ said Villena, almost placatingly, ‘you should know that throughout the Court the Princess is known by the name of La Beltraneja – after the man who, the majority are beginning to declare, is her father, Beltran de la Cueva.’

  ‘But this is monstrous,’ said the King with a mildness which exasperated the Archbishop.

  ‘Your Highness,’ went on Villena, ‘puts yourself in a difficult position by showering honours on the man who is believed to have cuckolded you.’

  Henry laughed. ‘You are angered because honours and titles have gone to him which you believe should have found their way to you two. That is the point, is it not?’

  ‘Your Highness surely will admit that it is unseemly to honour the man who has deceived you and attempted to foist his bastard upon you?’

  ‘Oh, have done. Have done. Let the matter be, and let us have peace.’

  ‘I am afraid, Highness, that is not possible. Certain of your ministers are demanding an enquiry into the birth of the child you are calling your daughter.’

  ‘And if I forbid it?’

  ‘Highness, that would be most unwise.’

  ‘I am the King,’ said Henry, hoping his voice sounded strong yet fearing that it was very weak.

  ‘Highness, it is because we wish you to remain King that we beg you to give this matter your closest attention,’ whispered Villena.

  ‘Let them leave me in peace. The matter is done with. There is a Princess in the royal cradle. Leave it at that.’

  ‘It is impossible, Highness. There is also a Prince in the Palace now, your half-brother Alfonso. There are many who say that, should the new-born child be proved a bastard, he should be named as your successor.’

  ‘This is all very wearying,’ sighed Henry. ‘What can I do about it?’

  Villena smiled at the Archbishop. ‘There was a time, Highness,’ he said gently, ‘when I heard that question more often on your lips. Then you knew. Highness, that you could rely upon me. Now you put your faith and trust in a pretty young gentleman who makes scandals with the Queen herself. Highness, since you have asked me, this is my advice: Cease to honour Beltran de la Cueva so blatantly. Let him see that you doubt the honourable nature of his conduct. And allow a commission of churchmen – which I and the Archbishop will nominate – to enquire into the legitimacy of the child.’

  Henry looked about hopelessly. The only way to rid himself of these tiresome men and to bring back his pretty mistress was to agree.

  He waved his hand impatiently. ‘Do as you wish . . . do as you wish,’ he cried. ‘And leave me in peace.’

  Villena and the Archbishop retired well satisfied.

  It had become clear to all astute observers of the Castilian scene that the Marquis of Villena would not lightly abandon his hold upon the King, and if the King and Queen persisted in their allegiance to Beltran de la Cueva, Villena would raise such a strong party against them that it might well lead to civil war.

  There was one who watched this state of affairs with great satisfaction. This was the Marquis of Villena’s brother, Don Pedro Giron, a very ambitious man who was a Grand Master of the Order of Calatrava.

  The Knights of Calatrava belonged to an institution which had been established as long ago as the twelfth century.

  The Order had sprung into being because of the need to defend Castile against Moorish conquerors. Calatrava stood on the frontiers of Andalusia, which was occupied by the Moors, and the town, which commanded the pass into Castile, became of paramount importance. The Knights Templar had attempted to hold it, but, unable to withstand the constant and ferocious attacks of the Mussulmans, had abandoned it.

  The reigning King of Castile, Sancho, the Beloved, offered the town to any knights who would defend it from the Moors, and certain monks from a Navarrese convent immediately took possession. The situation captured the imagination of the people and many rallied to the defence of the town, so enabling it to be held against all attacks.

  The monks then founded an order which consisted of knights, monks and soldiers; and this they named the Knights of Calatrava; it was recognised by Pope Alexander III as a religious Order in 1164, adopted the rules of St Benedict and imposed strict discipline on its community.

  The first and most important rule of the community was that of celibacy. Its members were to follow the rule of silence, and to live in great austerity. They ate meat only once a week; but they were not merely monks; they must remember that their Order had come into being through their prowess with the sword; and it was their custom to sleep with their swords beside them, ready to go into action against the Moors at any moment when they might be called upon to do so.

  Don Pedro Giron, while enjoying the prestige his position in the Order brought to him, had no intention of carrying out its austere rules.

  He was a man of tremendous political ambition and he did not see why, since his brother the Marquis was reckoned to be the most important man in Castile – or had been deemed so before the coming of the upstart Beltran de
la Cueva – he should not bask in his brother’s glory and use the influence of the Marquis to better his own position.

  He was ready to obey his brother’s wishes, to rouse the people to revolt if need be, to spread any rumour that his brother wished to be spread. Nor did he hesitate to follow his own life of pleasure, and he had a score of mistresses. Indeed the Grand Master of Calatrava was noted throughout Castile for his licentious habits. None dared criticise him; if he saw a flicker of disapproval on any face he would ask the offender if he knew his brother the Marquis of Villena. ‘We are great friends, my brother and I. We are jealous of the family honour. His enemies are mine and mine are his.’

  Consequently most people were too much in awe of the powerful Villena to continue the criticism of his somewhat disreputable brother. He was greatly amused by the scandal which the Queen of Castile had caused in the Court.

  It pleased him to consider that Queens were as frail as other women, and as he was a vain man, he began to fancy himself as the lover of Joanna. She however was besottedly devoted to Beltran de la Cueva, and he himself was not an overwhelmingly handsome or attractive man.

  Then one day he saw Isabella, the Dowager Queen of Castile, walking in the grounds, and he considered her.

  She was still an attractive woman; he had heard rumours of her wildness and how it was sometimes necessary to lure her from her moods of hysteria by means of soothing powders and potions.

  His brother the Marquis was turning more and more from King Henry and his Queen, which meant that he was turning towards the young Alfonso and Isabella. There was no doubt that the Dowager Queen, who was obviously ambitious for her children, would welcome the friendship of the Marquis of Villena.

  And if she is a wise woman, mused Don Pedro, she will be eager to be on the best of terms with all our family.

  So he watched her on more than one occasion, and it seemed to him that his latest mistress had little charm for him. She was a beautiful girl, but he had set his heart on sharing the bed of a Queen.

  He swaggered about the Court, seeing himself as another Beltran de la Cueva.

  At last he could contain his patience no longer; he found an opportunity of speaking alone to the Dowager Queen.

  He had formally requested a private interview, and this was granted him.

  As he dressed himself with the utmost care, as he demanded flattering compliments from his valets – who gave them slavishly, realising that if they did not it would be the worse for them – it did not occur to him that he could fail in his plans regarding the Dowager Queen.

  The Dowager Queen was with her daughter.

  She had sent for Isabella, although she knew that Don Pedro Giron was on his way to visit her.

  When Isabella saw her mother, she was quick to notice the suppressed excitement shining in her eyes. Yet, there was no hint of the madness. Something had made her happy, and Isabella had come to know that it was depression and frustration which brought on those attacks of madness.

  ‘Come here, daughter,’ said the Dowager Queen. ‘I have sent for you because I wish you to be aware of what is going on about us.’

  ‘Yes, Highness,’ said Isabella demurely. She was aware, more than she had ever been. Her constant companion, Beatriz de Bobadilla, was proving to be very knowledgeable on Court matters, and life had become full of intrigue and interest since Beatriz had formally been presented to her as her maid of honour. Now Isabella knew of the scandal concerning Queen Joanna and the birth of the baby who, many were beginning to say, was not the true heiress of Castile.

  ‘I do not think it can be long now before your brother is proclaimed the King’s successor,’ said the Dowager Queen. ‘There are protests from all directions. The people are not going to accept Beltran de la Cueva’s daughter as their future Queen. Now, my dear Isabella, I have called you to me because I am expecting an important visit very shortly. I did not send for Alfonso because he is too young, and this concerns him too deeply. You are going to be present during the interview, although you will not be seen. You will be hidden behind the hangings there. You must stand very still, that none may know that you are present.’

  Isabella caught her breath in fear. Was this a new version of that wildness? Her mother, actually arranging that she should eavesdrop!

  ‘Very soon,’ went on the Dowager Queen, ‘the brother of the Marquis of Villena is to call upon me. He will come as his brother’s messenger. I know the reason for his coming. It is to tell me that his brother’s adherents are going to demand that Alfonso be acknowledged as Henry’s heir. You will hear how calmly I accept his statements. It will be a lesson to you for the future, daughter; when you are Queen of Aragon you will have to receive ambassadors of all kinds. There may be some who bring startling news to you. You must never betray your emotions. Whatever the news . . . good or bad . . . you must accept it as a Queen, as you will see me do.’

  ‘Highness,’ began Isabella, ‘could I not remain in your presence? Must I hide myself?’

  ‘My dear child, do you imagine that the Grand Master of Calatrava would disclose his mission in your presence! Now . . . obey me immediately. Come. This will hide you completely. Stay perfectly still, and listen to what he has to say. And particularly note my acceptance of the news.’

  Feeling that it was some mad game she was being forced to play, a game not in accord with her dignity, which had increased since her coming to Court, Isabella allowed herself to be placed behind the hangings.

  After a few minutes Don Pedro was ushered into the apartments of the Dowager Queen.

  ‘Highness,’ he said, kneeling, ‘it is gracious of you to receive me.’

  ‘It gives me pleasure,’ was the answer.

  ‘I had a feeling within me, Highness, that I should cause you no offence by coming to you thus.’

  ‘On the contrary, Don Pedro. I am ready to listen to your proposition.’

  ‘Highness, have I your permission to sit?’

  ‘Assuredly.’

  Isabella heard the scrape of chair-legs as they sat down.

  ‘Highness.’

  ‘Well, Don Pedro?’

  ‘I have long been aware of you. On those happy occasions when I have been at some ceremony which Your Highness attended I have been aware of no one else.’

  There was a strange silence in the room, not lost on the hidden Isabella.

  ‘I trust that you, Highness, have not been completely unaware of me.’

  The Dowager Queen answered, and her voice showed she was bewildered: ‘One would not be unaware of the brother of such a personage as the Marquis of Villena.’

  ‘Ah, my brother. Highness, I would have you know that his interests are mine. We are as one . . . in our desire to see peace in this Kingdom.’

  Now the Queen felt and sounded happier. ‘I had guessed that, Don Pedro.’

  ‘Would it surprise you, Highness, if I told you that there have been occasions when my brother, the Marquis, has discussed his policies with me and listened to my advice?’

  ‘It would not. You are Grand Master of a Holy Order. Naturally you should be able to advise your brother . . . spiritually.’

  ‘Highness, there is one thing I would work for . . . body and soul . . . that is the acceptance of your son the Infante Alfonso as heir to the throne of Castile. I would see the little bastard girl, now known as the heir, proclaimed for what she is. It need not be long before this happens . . . if . . .’

  ‘If, Don Pedro?’

  ‘I have made Your Highness aware of the influence I have with my brother, and you know full well the power he wields in this land. If you and I were friends, there is nothing I would not do . . . not only to have the boy proclaimed heir, but to . . . I must whisper this . . . Come, sweet lady, let me put my lips to your ear . . . to depose Henry in favour of your son Alfonso.’

  ‘Don Pedro!’

  ‘I said, my dearest lady, if we were friends.’

  ‘I do not understand you. You speak in riddles.’

>   ‘Oh, you are not so blind as you would have me believe. You are still a beautiful woman, dear lady. Come . . . come . . . I hear you lived most piously at that deadly place in Arevalo . . . but this is the Court. You are not old . . . nor am I. I think we could bring a great deal of pleasure to each other’s lives.’

  ‘I think, Don Pedro,’ said the Dowager Queen, ‘that you must be suffering from a temporary madness.’

  ‘Not I, dear lady, not I. As for yourself you would be completely well if you lived a more natural life. Come, do not be so prudish. Follow the fashion. By the saints, I swear you will never regret the day you and I become lovers.’

  The Dowager Queen had leaped to her feet. Isabella heard the urgent scrape of her chair. She heard also the note of alarm in her mother’s voice. Looking through the folds of brocade she saw a purple-faced man who seemed to her to symbolise all that was beastly in human nature. She saw her mother – no longer calm – afraid and shocked beyond her understanding.

  Isabella knew that unless the man was dismissed her mother would begin to shout and wave her arms, and he would witness one of those wild scenes which she, Isabella, was so anxious should not be seen except by those whom she could trust.

  Isabella forgot the instruction that she was to remain hidden. She stepped from her hiding-place into the room.

  The purple-faced man with the evil expression stared at her as though she were a ghost. Indeed it must have seemed strange to him that she had apparently materialised from nowhere.

  She drew herself to her full height and never before had she looked so much a Princess of Castile.

  ‘Sir,’ she said coldly, ‘I ask you to leave . . . immediately.’

  Don Pedro stared at her incredulously.

  ‘Is it necessary,’ went on young Isabella, ‘for me to have you forcibly removed?’

  Don Pedro hesitated. Then he bowed and left them.

  Isabella turned to her mother, who was trembling so much that she could not speak.

  She led her to a chair and stood beside her, her arms about her protectively.