Castile for Isabella

by Jean Plaidy

  But Isabella boldly resumed: ‘I know you have not forgotten that, as a Princess of Castile, my betrothal could not take place without the consent of the Cortes.’

  ‘The King gives his consent,’ said Joanna quickly.

  ‘That is true,’ said Isabella, ‘but, as you are aware, it is essential that the Cortes also give consent.’

  ‘The King of Portugal is my brother,’ retorted Joanna haughtily. ‘Therefore we can dispense with the usual formality.’

  ‘I could not allow myself to be betrothed without the consent of the Cortes,’ Isabella affirmed.

  It was the weariness in Henry’s face, rather than the anger and astonishment in those of the Queen and the King of Portugal, which told Isabella how right the old Admiral had been when he assured her that the only way in which the King and Queen dare marry her off would be to do so at great speed, before the Cortes had time to remind them that they must have a say in the matter.

  And, the Admiral had added, it was hardly likely that the Cortes would give their consent to Isabella’s marriage with the Queen’s brother. The people had little love for the Queen; they had always considered her levity most unbecoming, and now with the scandal concerning the parentage of her little daughter about to break, they would blame her more than ever.

  The Cortes would never consent to a marriage repugnant to their Princess Isabella, and so desired by their weak and lascivious King and his less weak but hardly less lascivious wife.

  When Isabella left the audience chamber she knew that she had planted dismay in the hearts of two Kings and a Queen.

  How right the Admiral of Castile had been! She had learned a valuable lesson, and once again she thanked God for saving her for Ferdinand.

  OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF AVILA

  A brilliant cavalcade was riding northwards to the shores of the River Bidassoa, the boundary between Castile and France, and a meeting-place close to the town of Bayonne.

  In the centre of this procession rode Henry, King of Castile, his person glittering with jewels, and his Moorish Guard dazzling in their colourful uniforms.

  His courtiers had done their utmost to rival the splendour of their King, although none, with the exception of Beltran de la Cueva, had been able to do so. Still, it was a splendid concourse that gathered to meet King Louis XI of France, his courtiers and his ministers.

  This meeting had been arranged by the Marquis of Villena and the Archbishop of Toledo, the purpose of it being to settle the differences between the Kings of Castile and Aragon.

  When John of Aragon had come into conflict with Catalonia over his treatment of his eldest son Carlos, Prince of Viana, Henry of Castile had thrown in certain men and arms to help the Catalans. Now, Villena had decided that there should be peace and that the King of France should be the mediator in a reconciliation.

  Villena and the Archbishop had their own reasons for arranging this meeting between the Kings. Louis wished it and the two statesmen, having a profound respect for Louis’ talents, had accepted certain favours from him in return for which they must not be unmindful of his wishes when at their master’s Court.

  Louis was a man who was eager to have a say in the affairs of Europe. He was determined to make France the centre of Continental politics, the most powerful of countries, and he deemed it necessary therefore to lose no opportunity of meddling in his neighbours’ affairs if he could do so to the advantage of France.

  He was interested in the affairs of Aragon, for he had lent the King of that Province three hundred and fifty thousand crowns, takng as security for the loan the provinces of Roussillon and Cerdagne. If there were to be peace between Castile and Aragon he was anxious that it should be brought about with no disadvantage to France. It was for this reason that he had his ‘pensioners’ – such as Villena and the Archbishop of Toledo – in every country in which he could place them.

  Louis was in his prime, for it was but some three years since he had ascended the throne at the age of thirty-eight, and he was already making good the ravages of the Hundred Years War. He knew Henry for a weak King growing more and more foolish as the years passed, and he could not but believe that, in conference, he would get the better of him, particularly as this King of Castile’s two chief advisers were ready to accept bribes from himself, the King of France.

  When Louis and Henry met there arose an immediate hostility between their followers.

  Henry, magnificently attired, his company glittering in gold brocade and with the dazzle of their jewels, made a strange contrast to the sombrely clad French King.

  Louis had made no concession to the occasion and wore the clothes he was accustomed to wear at home. He delighted in making himself the least conspicuous of Frenchmen, and consequently favoured a short worsted coat with fustian doublet. His hat had clearly served him as well and as long as any of his followers; in it he wore a small image of the Virgin – not in glittering diamonds or rubies as might have been expected, but of lead.

  French eyes smiled at the garments of the Castilians; there were suppressed guffaws and murmurs of ‘Fops! Popinjays!’

  The Castilians showed their disgust of the French; and asked each other whether there had been a mistake, and it was the king of the beggars not the King of the French who had come to greet their King.

  Tempers were hot and there was many a fracas.

  Meanwhile the Kings themselves took each other’s measure and were not greatly impressed.

  Louis stated his terms for the peace, and these were not entirely favourable to Castile. Henry however, always eager to take that line which demanded the least exertion on his part, was eager for one thing only: to have done with the conference and return to Castile.

  There was a great deal of grumbling among his followers.

  ‘Why,’ they asked each other, ‘was our King ever allowed to make this journey? It is almost as though he must pay homage to the King of France and accept his judgement. Who is this King of France? He is a moneylender – and a seedy-looking one at that.’

  ‘Who arranged this conference? What a question! Who arranges everything at Court? The Marquis of Villena, of course, with that rascal, his uncle, the Archbishop of Toledo.’

  During the journey back to Castile, Henry’s adviser, the Bishop of Cuenca, and the Marquis of Santillana, who was head of the powerful Mendoza family, came to the King and implored him to re-consider before he allowed himself to enter into such humiliating negotiations again.

  ‘Humiliating!’ protested Henry. ‘But I should not consider my meeting with the King of France humiliating.’

  ‘Highness, the King of France treats you as a vassal,’ said Santillana. ‘It is unwise to have too many dealings with him; he is a wily old fox; and, as you will agree, the conference has brought little good to Castile. Highness, there is another matter which you should not ignore: Those who arranged this conference serve the King of France whilst feigning to serve Your Highness.’

  ‘That is a serious and dangerous accusation.’

  ‘It is a dangerous situation, Highness. We are certain that the Marquis and the Archbishop are in league with the King of France. Conversations between them have been overheard.’

  ‘It is difficult for me to believe this.’

  ‘Did they not arrange this conference?’ asked Cuenca. ‘And what advantage has it brought to Castile?’

  Henry looked bewildered. ‘Are you suggesting that I bring them before me and confront them with their villainies?’

  ‘They would deny the accusation, Highness,’ Santillana put in. ‘That does not mean that they would speak the truth. We can bring you witnesses, Highness. We are assured that we are not mistaken.’

  Henry looked from his old teacher, the Bishop of Cuenca, to the Marquis of Santillana. They were trustworthy men, both of them.

  ‘I will ponder this matter,’ he said.

  They looked dismayed, and he added: ‘It is of great importance, and I believe that, if you are right, I should not continue to give t
hese men my confidence.’

  The Archbishop of Toledo stormed into the apartments of his nephew.

  ‘Have you heard what I have?’ he demanded.

  ‘I understand from your expression, Uncle, that you refer to our dismissal’

  ‘Our dismissal! It is preposterous. What will he do without us?’

  ‘Cuenca and Santillana have persuaded him that they will prove adequate substitutes.’

  ‘But why . . . why . . .?’

  ‘He objects to our friendship with Louis.’

  ‘Fool! Why should we not listen to Louis and give Henry our advice?’

  Villena smiled at his fiery uncle. ‘It is a common failing among kings,’ he murmured, ‘and perhaps not only kings. They insist that those who serve them should serve no other.’

  ‘And does he think that we are going to lie down meekly under this . . . this insult?’

  ‘If he does, he is more of a fool than we thought him.’

  ‘Your plans, nephew?’

  ‘To call together a confederacy, to proclaim La Beltraneja illegitimate, to set up Alfonso as the heir to the throne . . . or . . .’

  ‘Yes, nephew, or . . . what?’

  ‘I do not know yet. It depends how far the King will proceed in this intransigent attitude of his. I can visualise circumstances in which it might be necessary to set up a new King in his place. Then, of course, we should put little Alfonso on the throne of Castile.’

  The Archbishop nodded, smiling. As a man of action he was impatient to go ahead with the scheme.

  Villena smiled at him.

  ‘All in good time, Uncle,’ he warned. ‘This is a delicate matter. Henry will have his supporters. We must act with care; but never fear, since Henry listens to others, he shall go. But the displacement of one King by another is always a dangerous operation. Out of such situations civil wars have grown. First we will test Henry. We will see if we can bring him to reason, before we depose him.’

  Queen Joanna paced angrily up and down the King’s apartments.

  ‘What are they doing, these ex-ministers of yours?’ she demanded. ‘Oh, it was time they were dismissed from their posts. They are against us . . . do you not see? They are trying to push you aside and set up Alfonso in your place. Oh, it was folly not to force Isabella to go to Portugal. There she would at least have been out of the way. How do we know what she says to that brother of hers? You can be assured that she repeats the doctrines of her mad mother. She is priming Alfonso, telling him that he should be the heir to the throne.’

  ‘They cannot do this . . . they cannot do this,’ wailed Henry. ‘Have I not my own child!’

  ‘Indeed you have your own child. I gave you that child. And there were not many women in Castile who could have managed that. Look at your trials and failures with your first wife. Now you have your child. Our little Joanna will remain heiress to the throne. We will not have Alfonso.’

  ‘No,’ said the King. ‘There is little Joanna. She is my heir. There is no law in Castile to prevent one of the female sex taking the crown.’

  ‘Then we must be firm. One of these days Villena will march to the executioner’s knife, and he’ll take that villainous old Archbishop with him. In the meantime we must be firm.’

  ‘We will be firm,’ echoed Henry uncertainly.

  ‘And not forget those who are ready to stand firmly beside us.’

  ‘Oh yes, I wish there were more to stand firmly with us. I wish there need not be this strife.’

  ‘We shall be strong. But let us make sure of the strength of our loyal supporters. Let us give them our grateful thanks. You are grateful, are you not, Henry?’

  ‘Yes, I am grateful’

  ‘Then you must show your gratitude.’

  ‘Do I not?’

  ‘Not sufficiently.’

  Henry looked surprised.

  ‘There is Beltran,’ the Queen went on. ‘What honours has he had? The Count of Ledesma! What is that for one who has worked with us . . . for us . . . unflinchingly and devotedly? One to whom we should be for ever grateful. You must honour him further.’

  ‘My dear, what do you suggest?’

  ‘That he be made Master of Santiago.’

  ‘Master of Santiago! But that is the greatest of honours. He would be endowed with vast estates and revenues. Why, he would have the largest armed force in the Kingdom put into his hands.’

  ‘And it is too much, you think?’

  ‘I think, my dear? It is the people who will think it is too much.’

  ‘Your enemies?’

  ‘It is necessary to placate our enemies.’

  ‘Coward! Coward! You have always been a coward! You fret over your enemies and forget your friends.’

  ‘I am willing to honour him, my dear. But to make him Master of Santiago . . . !’

  ‘It is too much . . . too much for your friend! You would rather give it to your enemies!’

  The Queen put her hands on her hips and laughed at him.

  Now she was ready to begin pacing the apartment again. She was going to start once more on that diatribe which he had heard many times before. He was a coward; he deserved his imminent fate; when he was thrust from his throne he would remember that he had spurned her advice; he placated his enemies, and those who served him with every means at their disposal – like Beltran de la Cueva – were forgotten.

  Henry lifted his hands as though to ward off this spate of accusation.

  ‘That is enough,’ he said. ‘Let him have it. Let us bestow on Beltran the Mastership of Santiago.’

  Now the new party was in revolt. It was humiliating enough, they said, to be forced to suspect the legitimacy of the heiress to the throne, but to see the King so far forget his dignity as to heap honours on the man who was generally accepted as her father was intolerable.

  Castile trembled on the edge of civil war.

  Valladolid was entered by the rebels and several of Villena’s party of confederates declared that they were holding the city against the King, However, the citizens of Valladolid, while deploring the weakness of the King, were not ready to ally themselves with Villena; and they expelled the intruders. But when Henry, travelling to Segovia, very narrowly escaped being kidnapped by the confederates, he was thoroughly alarmed. He, who had worked hard at nothing except avoiding trouble, now found himself in the midst of it.

  Villena wrote to him. He was grieved, he said, that enemies had come between them. If the King would see him and the heads of his party he would do his utmost to put an end to the strife which trembled so near to civil war.

  The King had deplored the loss of Villena’s counsel. Villena had been the strong man Beltran could never be. Beltran was charming, and his company pleasant; but Henry needed the strength of Villena to lean on; and when he received this communication he was anxious to meet his ex-minister.

  Villena, delighted at the turn of events, met Henry. With Villena came his uncle, the Archbishop, also the Count Benavente.

  ‘Highness,’ Villena addressed Henry when they were gathered together, ‘the Commission, which has been set up to test the legitimacy of the Princess Joanna, has grave doubts that she is your daughter. In view of this we deem it wise that your half-brother Alfonso be proclaimed as your heir. You yourself must abandon your Moorish Guard and live a more Christian life. Beltran de la Cueva is to be deprived of the Mastership of Santiago. And finally your half-brother Alfonso is to be delivered into my hands that I may be his guardian.’

  ‘You ask too much,’ Henry told him sadly. ‘Too much.’

  ‘Highness,’ urged Villena, ‘it would be wise for you to accept our terms.’

  ‘The alternative?’ asked Henry.

  ‘Civil war, I greatly fear, Highness.’

  Henry hesitated. It was so easy to agree, but he had later to face an enraged Joanna, who was determined that her daughter should have the crown. Then Henry slyly thought of a way of pleasing both Joanna and Villena.

  ‘I agree,’ he said,
‘that Beltran de la Cueva shall be deprived of the Mastership of Santiago and that you shall become the guardian of Alfonso. He shall be proclaimed heir to the throne, but there is a condition.’

  ‘What condition is this?’ asked Villena.

  ‘That he shall, in due course, marry the Princess Joanna.’

  Villena was startled. The heir to the throne marry the King’s illegitimate daughter! Well, on consideration it was not a bad suggestion. There would always be some to declare that La Beltraneja had been falsely so called; there would also be others who, seeking a cause for which to make trouble, would choose hers. Moreover, it would be some years before La Beltraneja was of an age to marry. By that time, if necessary, other arrangements could be made.

  ‘I do not see,’ said Villena, ‘why this should not be.’

  Henry felt pleased with his little effort of diplomacy. He could now more easily face the Queen.

  Alfonso sat at his sister’s feet, watching her as she worked at her embroidery. Beatriz de Bobadilla was with her.

  Alfonso had lately made a habit of spending a great deal of time in his sister’s apartments.

  Poor Alfonso, mused Isabella; he is old enough to understand the intrigues which split the Court in two; and he knows that he – even more than I – is at their very core.

  ‘Alfonso,’ she said. ‘You must not brood. It does no good.’

  ‘But I have a feeling that I shall not be allowed to stay here much longer.’

  ‘Why should they take you away?’ asked Beatriz. ‘They know you are safe here.’

  ‘Perhaps they do not greatly care for my safety.’

  ‘You are wrong in that,’ said Isabella. ‘You are very important to them.’

  ‘I wish,’ said Alfonso, ‘that we were a more normal family. Why could not we all have been the children of our father’s first wife! Then I think Henry would have loved us as you and I love each other. Why could not Henry have taken a wife who was more like a Queen, and had many sons about whose parentage there would have been no question!’