Castile for Isabella Read online

  Early next day her mother came into that apartment in which Isabella had slept, and in her arms she carried the sleeping Alfonso, and with her were two of her trusted attendants.

  The Queen set Alfonso on the bed beside his sister. Then she clenched her fists together in the well-remembered gesture and raised her arms above her head as though she were invoking the saints.

  Isabella saw her lips move and realised that she was praying. It seemed wrong to be lying in bed while her mother prayed, and Isabella wondered what to do. She half rose, but one of the women shook her head vigorously to warn her to remain where she was.

  Now the Queen was speaking so that Isabella could hear her.

  ‘Here I shall care for them. Here I shall bring them up so that when the time comes they will be ready to meet their destiny. It will come. It will surely come. He will never beget a child. It is God’s punishment for the evil life he has led.’

  Alfonso’s little fingers had curled themselves about Isabella’s. She wanted to cry because she was afraid; but she lay still, watching her mother, her blue eyes never betraying for a second that this lonely place which was now to be her home, and the rising hysteria in her mother, terrified her and filled her with a foreboding which she was too young to understand.

  CHAPTER II

  JOANNA OF PORTUGAL, QUEEN OF CASTILE

  John Pacheco, Marquis of Villena, was on his way to answer a summons from the King.

  He was delighted with the turn of events. From the time he had come to Court – his family had sent him to serve with Alvaro de Luna and he had entered the household of that influential man as one of his pages – he had attracted the notice of the young Henry, heir to the throne, who was now King of Castile.

  Henry had delighted in the friendship of Villena, and John, Henry’s father, had honoured him for his service to the Prince. He had been clever and was in possession of great territories in the districts of Toledo, Valencia and Murcia. And now that his friend Henry was King he foresaw greater glories.

  On his way to the council chamber he met his uncle, Alfonso Carillo, Archbishop of Toledo, and they greeted each other affectionately. They were both aware that together they made a formidable pair.

  ‘Good day to you, Marquis,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I believe we are set for the same destination.’

  ‘Henry requested me to attend him at this hour,’ answered Villena. ‘There is a matter of the greatest importance which he desires to discuss before making his wishes publicly known.’

  The Archbishop nodded. ‘He wants to ask our advice, nephew, before taking a certain step.’

  ‘You know what it is?’

  ‘I can guess. He has long been weary of her.’

  ‘It is time she returned to Aragon.’

  ‘I am sure,’ said the Archbishop, ‘that you, my wise nephew, would wish to see an alliance in a certain quarter.’

  ‘Portugal?’

  ‘Exactly. The lady is a sister of Alfonso V, and I have heard nothing but praise of her personal charms. And let us not dismiss these assets as frivolous. We know our Henry. He will welcome a beautiful bride; and it is very necessary that he should welcome her with enthusiasm. That is the best way to ensure a fruitful union.’

  ‘There must be a fruitful union.’

  ‘I agree it is imperative for Castile... for Henry... and for us.’

  ‘You have no need to tell me. I know our enemies have their eyes on Arevalo.’

  ‘Have you heard news of events there?’

  ‘There is very little to be learned,’ Villena replied. ‘The Dowager is there with her two children. They are living quietly, and my friends there inform me that the lady has been more serene of late. There have been no hysterical scenes at all. She believes herself to be safe, and is biding her time; and, while this is so, she devotes herself to the care of her children. Poor Isabella! Alfonso is too young as yet to suffer from such rigorous treatment. I hear it is prayers... prayers all the time. Prayers, I suppose, that the little lady may be good and worthy of any great destiny which may befall her.’

  ‘At least the Dowager can do little mischief there.’

  ‘But, uncle, we must be ever watchful. Henry is ours and we are his. He must please his people or there will be those ready to call for his abdication and the setting up of young Alfonso. There are many in this kingdom who would be pleased to see the crown on Alfonso’s baby brow. A Regency! You know how seekers after power could wish for nothing better than that.’

  ‘I know. I know. And our first task is to rid the King of his present wife and provide him with a new one. When the heir is born a fatal blow will have been struck at the hopes of the Dowager of Arevalo. Then it will matter little what she teaches her Alfonso and Isabella.’

  ‘You have heard of course...’ began Villena.

  ‘The rumours... indeed yes. The King is said to be impotent, and it is due to him – not Blanche – that the marriage is unfruitful. That may be. But let us jump our hurdles when we reach them, eh? And now... here we are.’

  The page announced them, and Henry came forward to meet them, which was characteristic of Henry; and whilst this show of familiarity pleased both men they deplored it as unworthy of the ancient traditions of Castile.

  ‘Marquis! Archbishop!’ cried Henry as they bowed before him. ‘I am glad you are here.’ He waved his hand, signifying to his attendants that he wished to be entirely alone with his two ministers. ‘Now to business,’ he went on. ‘You know why I have asked you here.’

  The Marquis said: ‘Dearest Sire, we can guess. You wish to serve Castile, and to do this you have to take steps which are disagreeable to you. We offer our respectful condolence and assistance.’

  ‘I am sorry for the Queen,’ said Henry, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘But what can I do for her? Archbishop, do you think it will be possible to obtain a divorce?’

  ‘Anticipating your commands, Highness, I have given great consideration to this matter, and I am sure the Bishop of Segovia will support my plan.’

  ‘My uncle has solved our problem, Highness,’ said Villena, determined that, while the Archbishop received the King’s grateful thanks, he himself should not be forgotten as chief conspirator.

  ‘My dear Archbishop! My dear, dear Villena! I pray you tell me what you have arranged.’

  The Archbishop said: ‘A divorce could be granted por impotencia respectiva.’

  ‘Could this be so?’

  ‘The marriage has been unfruitful, Highness.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘There need be no slur on the royal virility, Highness. We might say that some malign influence brought about this unhappy state of affairs.’

  ‘Malign influence?’

  ‘It could be construed as witchcraft. We will not go too deeply into that, but we feel sure that all would agree, in the circumstances, that Your Highness should repudiate your present wife and take another.’

  ‘And Segovia is prepared to declare the marriage null and void!’

  ‘He will do that,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I myself will confirm it.’

  Henry laughed. ‘There could surely not be a better reason.’

  He repeated. ‘Por impotencia respectiva...’ And then: ‘Some malign influence.’

  ‘Let us not worry further on that point,’ said Villena. ‘I have here a picture of a delectable female.’

  Henry’s eyes became glazed as he looked at the picture of a pretty young girl, which Villena handed him; his lips curved into a lascivious smile. ‘But... she is enchanting!’

  ‘Enchanting and eligible, Highness, being none other than Joanna, Princess of Portugal, sister of Alfonso V, the reigning monarch.’

  ‘I can scarcely wait,’ said Henry, ‘for her arrival in Castile.’

  ‘Then, Sire, we have your permission to go ahead with these arrangements?’

  ‘My dear friends, you have not only my permission; you have my most urgent command.’

  The Marquis and the A
rchbishop were smiling contentedly as they left the royal apartments.

  * * *

  The Queen begged an audience with the King. One of her women had brought the news to her that the Marquis and the Archbishop had been closeted with the King, and that their discussion must have been very secret, as the apartments had been cleared before it began.

  Henry received her with warmth. The fact that he would soon be rid of her made him almost fond of her.

  ‘Why, Blanche my dear,’ he said, ‘you look distressed.’

  ‘I have had strange dreams, Henry. They frightened me.’

  ‘My dear, it is folly to be afraid of dreams in daylight.’

  ‘They persist, Henry. It is almost as though I have a premonition of evil.’

  He led her to a chair and made her sit down, while he leaned over her and laid a gentle and caressing hand on her shoulder.

  ‘You must banish these premonitions, Blanche. What harm could come to the Queen of Castile?’

  ‘There is a feeling within me, Henry, that I may not long be the Queen of Castile.’

  ‘You think there is a plot afoot to murder me? Ah, my dear, you have been brooding about the Dowager of Arevalo. You imagine that her friends will dispatch me so that her little Alfonso shall have my crown. Have no fear. She could not harm me, if she would.’

  ‘I was not thinking of her, Henry.’

  ‘Then what is there to fear?’

  ‘We have no children.’

  ‘We must endeavour to remedy that.’

  ‘Henry, you mean this?’

  ‘You fret too much. You are over-anxious. Perhaps that is why you fail.’

  She wanted to say: ‘But am I the one who fails, Henry? Are you sure of that?’ But she did not. That would anger him, and if he were angry he might blame her; and who could say what might grow out of such blame?

  ‘We must have a child,’ she said desperately.

  ‘Calm yourself, Blanche. All will be well with you. You have allowed your dreams to upset you.’

  ‘I dream of going back to Aragon. Why should I dream that, Henry? Is not Castile my home!’

  ‘Castile is your home.’

  ‘I dream of being there... in the apartment I used to occupy. I dream that they are there... my family... my father, Eleanor, my stepmother holding little Ferdinand – and they approach my bed. I think they are going to do me some harm. Carlos is somewhere in the Palace and I cannot reach him.’

  ‘Dreams, my dear Blanche, what are dreams?’

  ‘I am foolish to give them a thought, but I wish they did not come. The Marquis and the Archbishop were with you, Henry. I hope they had good news for you.’

  ‘Very good news, my dear.’

  She looked at him eagerly; but he would not meet her gaze; and because she knew him so well, that fact terrified her.

  ‘You have a great opinion of those two,’ she said.

  ‘They are astute – and my friends. I know that.’

  ‘I suppose you would put their suggestions to a Council... before you accept them.’

  ‘You should not worry your head with state affairs, my dear.’

  ‘So it was state affairs that they discussed with you.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Henry, I know I have been an unsatisfactory wife to you because of my inability to bear children, but I love you and I have been very happy in Castile.’

  Henry took her hands and drew her to her feet. He put his lips to her forehead and then, putting an arm about her shoulders, he led her to the door.

  It was her dismissal.

  It was kindly; it was courteous. He could not treat me thus, she assured herself, if he were planning to rid himself of me. But as she went back to her own apartments she felt very unsure.

  When she had gone, Henry frowned. He thought: One of them will have to break the news to her. The Archbishop is the more suitable. Once she knows, I shall never see her again.

  He was sorry for her, but he would not allow himself to be saddened.

  She would return to her father’s Court of Aragon. She had her family to comfort her.

  He picked up the picture of Joanna of Portugal. So young! Innocent? He was not sure. At least there was a promise of sensuality in that laughing mouth.

  ‘How long?’ he murmured. ‘How long before Blanche goes back to Aragon, and Joanna is here in her place?’

  * * *

  The procession was ready to set out from Lisbon, but the Princess Joanna felt no pangs at leaving her home; she was eager to reach Castile, where she believed she was going to enjoy her new life.

  Etiquette at the Court of Castile would be solemn, after the manner of the Castilians, but she had heard that her future husband entertained lavishly and that he lived in the midst of splendour. He was a man devoted to feminine society and, if he had many mistresses, Joanna assured herself that that was due to the fact that Blanche of Aragon was so dull and unattractive.

  But she had no intention of putting too strong a curb upon him. She was not herself averse to a little amorous adventuring; and if Henry strayed now and then from the marriage bed she would not dream of reproaching him, for if she were lenient with him so must he be with her, and she foresaw an exciting life in Castile.

  Here in Lisbon she was, in her opinion, too well guarded.

  Therefore it was with few regrets that she prepared to leave. She could look from the windows of the castle of São Jorge on to the town and say goodbye quite happily. She had little love for the town, with its old cathedral, close to which it was said that St Anthony was born. The saints of Lisbon meant little to her. What cared she if after his martyrdom Saint Vicente’s body was brought to Lisbon along the Tagus in a boat which was guided by two black crows? What did she care if the spirit of St Anthony was supposed to live on and help those who had lost something dear to them to recover it? These were merely legends to her.

  So she turned away from the window and the view of olive and fig trees, of the Alcaçova where the Arab rulers had once lived, of the mossy tiles of the Alfama district and the glistening stream of the Tagus.

  Gladly would she say farewell to all that had been home, for in the new land to which she was going she would be a Queen – Queen of Castile.

  Soon they would depart, travelling eastwards to the border.

  Her eyes were glistening as she took the mirror which was held to her by her maid of honour; she looked over her shoulder at the girl, whose eyes danced as merrily as her own.

  ‘So, Alegre, you too are happy to go to Castile?’

  ‘I am happy, my lady,’ answered the girl.

  ‘You will have to behave with decorum there, you know.’

  Alegre smiled mischievously. She was a bold creature, and Joanna, who herself was bold and fond of gaiety, had chosen her for this reason. Her nickname, Alegre, had been given her some years before by one of the Spanish attendants: the gay one.

  Alegre had had adventures: some she recounted; some she did not.

  Joanna grimaced at the girl. ‘When I am Queen I must become very severe.’

  ‘You will never be that with me, my lady. How could you be severe with one who is as like yourself in her ways as that reflection is like your own face?’

  ‘I may have to change my ways.’

  ‘They say the King, your husband, is very gay...’

  ‘That is because he has never had a wife to satisfy him.’

  Alegre smiled secretly. ‘Let us hope that, when he has a wife who satisfies him, he will still be gay.’

  ‘I shall watch you, Alegre, and if you are wicked I shall send you home.’

  Alegre put her head on one side. ‘Well, there are some charming gentlemen at your brother’s Court, my lady.’

  ‘Come,’ said Joanna. ‘It is time we left. They are waiting for us down there.’

  Alegre curtsied and stood aside for Joanna to pass through the apartment.

  Then she followed her down to the courtyard, where the gaily-caparisoned horses
and the loads of baggage were ready to begin the journey from Lisbon to Castile.

  * * *

  Before Joanna began the journey Blanche had set out for Aragon.

  It seemed to her that the nightmare had become a reality, for in her dreams she had feared exactly this.

  It was twelve years since she had left her home to be the bride of Henry; then she had been fearful, even as she was now. But she had left Aragon as the bride of the heir to Castile; her family had approved of the match, and she had seen no reason why her life should end in failure.

  But how different it had been, making that journey as a bride, from returning as a repudiated wife, one who had failed to provide the necessary heir to a throne.

  She thought now of that moment when she had been no longer able to hide the truth from herself, when the Archbishop had stood before her and announced that her marriage was annulled por impotencia respectiva.

  She had wanted to protest bitterly. She had wanted to cry out: ‘What use to throw me aside? It will be the same with any other woman. Henry cannot beget children.’

  They would not have listened to her, and she could have done her cause no good. What was the use of protesting? She could only listen dully and, when she was alone, throw herself upon her bed and stare at the ceiling, recalling the perfidy of Henry who, at the very time when he was planning to be rid of her, had implied that they would always be together.

  She was to return to her family, who would have no use for her. Her father had changed since his second marriage; he was completely under the spell of her stepmother. All they cared for was the advancement of little Ferdinand.

  And what would happen to her... she who would have no friend in the world but her brother Carlos? And what was happening to Carlos now? He was at odds with his father, and that was due to the jealousy of his stepmother.

  What will become of me at my father’s Court? she asked herself as she made the long and tedious journey to the home of her childhood; and it seemed to her then that the nightmares she had suffered had been no dreams; when she had been tortured by them she had been given a glimpse of the future.