Castile for Isabella Read online

  * * *

  Life in the Palace of Arevalo had been going smoothly.

  We are happier here, thought young Isabella, than we were in Madrid. Everybody here seems serene and not afraid any more.

  It was true. There had been none of those frightening interludes when the Queen lost control of her feelings. There was even laughter in the Palace.

  Lessons were regular, of course, but Isabella was quite happy to receive lessons. She knew she had to learn if she were to be ready for her great destiny. Life ran to a set of rules. She rose early and retired early. There were many prayers during the day, and Isabella had heard some of the women complaining that to live at Arevalo was to live in a nunnery.

  Isabella was contented with her nunnery. As long as they could live like this and her mother was quietly happy and not frightened, Isabella could be happy.

  Alfonso was developing a personality of his own. He was no longer a gurgling, kicking baby. It was a great pleasure to watch him take his first steps, Isabella holding out her arms to catch him should he stumble. Sometimes they played these games with one of the women; sometimes with the Dowager Queen herself, who occasionally would pick up the little boy and hug him tightly. Then the ever alert Isabella would watch her mother for the tell-tale twitching of the mouth. But Alfonso would utter lusty protests at being held too tightly, and often an emotional scene was avoided in this way.

  Isabella missed her father; she missed her brother Henry; but she could be happy like this if only she could keep her mother quiet and contented.

  One day she said: ‘Let us stay like this... always...’

  But the Dowager Queen’s lips had tightened and begun to twitch, so that Isabella realised her mistake.

  ‘You have a great destiny,’ began the Dowager Queen. ‘Why, this baby here...’

  That was when she picked up Alfonso and held him so tightly that he protested, and so, fortunately, his protests diverted the Queen from what she was about to say.

  This was a lesson. It showed how easily one could stumble into pitfalls. Isabella was aghast on realising that she, whose great desire was to avoid hysterical scenes, had almost, by a thoughtless remark, precipitated one of them.

  She must never cease to be watchful and must not be deceived by the apparent peace of Arevalo.

  There came a terrifying day when their mother visited the two children in the nursery.

  Isabella knew at once that something unfortunate had occurred, and her heart began to hammer in an uncomfortable way. Alfonso was, of course, unaware that anything was wrong.

  He threw himself at his mother and was picked up in her arms. The Queen stood holding him strained against her, and when Alfonso began to wriggle she did not release him.

  ‘Highness...’ he cried, and because he was proud to be able to say the word he repeated it. ‘Highness... Highness...’

  It seemed to Isabella that Alfonso was shouting. That was because everything was so quiet in the apartment.

  ‘My son,’ said the Queen, ‘one day you will be King of Castile. There is no doubt of it.’

  ‘Highness... you hurt me...’ whimpered Alfonso.

  Isabella wanted to run to her mother and explain that she was holding Alfonso too tightly, and to remind her how much happier they were when they did not talk about the future King or Queen of Castile.

  To Isabella it seemed that the Queen stood there a long time, staring into the future, but it could not have been more than a few seconds, or Alfonso’s whimper would have become a loud protest.

  Meanwhile the Queen said nothing; she stared before her, looking angry and determined, as Isabella remembered so well to have seen her in the past.

  Then the little girl could bear it no longer; perhaps because it was so long since she had had to restrain herself, or because she was so very eager to preserve the peace of Arevalo.

  She went to her mother and curtsied very low. Then she said: ‘Highness, I think Alfonso is hungry.’

  ‘Hungry, Highness,’ wailed Alfonso. ‘Highness hurts Alfonso.’

  The Queen continued to stare ahead, ignoring their appeal.

  ‘He has married again,’ she resumed. ‘He thinks he will beget a child. But he never will. How could he? It is impossible. It is the just reward for the life he has led.’

  It was the old theme which Isabella had heard many times before; it was a reminder of the past; it warned her that the peace of Arevalo could be shattered in a moment.

  ‘Alfonso hungry,’ wailed the boy.

  ‘My son,’ the Queen repeated, ‘one day you shall be King of Castile. One day...’

  ‘Don’t want to be King,’ cried Alfonso. ‘Highness squeezing him.’

  ‘Highness,’ whispered Isabella earnestly, ‘shall we show you how far Alfonso can walk by himself?’

  ‘Let them try!’ cried the Queen. ‘They will see. Let them try! The whole of Castile will be laughing at them.’

  Then, to Isabella’s relief, she set Alfonso on his feet. He looked at his arms and whimpered.

  Isabella took his hand and whispered: ‘Walk, Alfonso. Show Highness.’

  Alfonso nodded gleefully.

  But the Queen had begun to laugh.

  Alfonso looked at his mother and crowed with pleasure. He did not understand that there were more kinds of laughter than one. Alfonso only knew about laughing for amusement or happiness, but Isabella knew this was the frightening laughter. After the long peace it had returned.

  One of the women had heard and came into the apartment. She looked at the two children, standing there watching their mother. Then she retired and very soon a physician came into the room.

  Now the Queen was laughing so much that she could not stop. The tears were running down her cheeks. Alfonso was laughing too; he turned to Isabella to make sure that she was joining in the fun.

  ‘Highness,’ said the physician, ‘if you will come to your bedchamber I will give you a potion which will enable you to rest.’

  But the Queen went on laughing; her arms had begun to wave about wildly. Another physician had now joined them.

  With him was a woman, and Isabella heard his quiet order. ‘Take the children away... immediately.’

  But before they went, Isabella saw her mother on the couch, and the two doctors holding her there, while they murmured soothing words about rest and potions.

  There was no escape, thought Isabella, even at Arevalo. She was glad Alfonso was so young that, as soon as he no longer saw his mother, he forgot the scene they had just witnessed; she was glad that he was too young to understand what it might mean.

  * * *

  Henry was happy in those first weeks of his marriage. He had arranged ceremonies and pageants of such extravagance as had rarely been seen before in Castile. So far he had not displeased his subjects, and when he rode among them at the head of some glittering cavalcade, towering above most of his retinue, his crown on his red hair, they cheered him vociferously. He knew how to dispense smiles and greetings so that they fell on all, rich and poor alike.

  ‘There is a King,’ said the people of Castile, ‘the like of whom we have not seen for many a year.’

  Some had witnessed the departure of Blanche and had pitied her. She looked so forlorn, poor lady.

  But, it was agreed, the King had his duties to Castile. Queen Blanche was sterile, and however virtuous queens may be, virtue is no substitute for fertility.

  ‘Poor Henry!’ they sighed. ‘How sad he must be to have to divorce her. Yet he considers his duty to Castile before his own inclination.’

  As for Henry he had scarcely thought of Blanche since she had left. He had been delighted to dismiss her from his thoughts, and when he saw his new wife his spirits had soared.

  He, who was a connoisseur of women, recognised something beyond her beauty... a deep sensuality which might match his own, or at least come near to it.

  During those first weeks of marriage he scarcely left her. In public she delighted his subjects; in privat
e she was equally satisfactory to him.

  There could not have been a woman more unlike poor Blanche. How glad he was that he had had the courage to rid himself of her.

  Behind the sparkling eyes of the new Queen there was a certain purpose, but that was not evident as yet. Joanna was content at first merely to play the wife who was eager to please her husband.

  Attended by the maids of honour whom she had brought with her from Lisbon, she was always the centre of attraction, Full of energy, she planned balls and pageants of her own to compete with those which the King gave in her honour, so that it appeared that the wedding celebrations would go on for a very long time.

  Always to the fore among those who surrounded the new Queen was Alegre. Her dancing, her spontaneous laughter, her joy in being alive, were already beginning to attract attention.

  Joanna watched her with some amusement.

  ‘Have you found a Castilian lover yet?’ she asked.

  ‘I think so, Highness.’

  ‘Pray tell me his name.’

  ‘It would scarcely be fair to him, Highness, for he does not yet know of the delights in store for him.’

  ‘Am I to presume that this man has not yet become your lover?’

  ‘That is so,’ answered Alegre demurely.

  ‘Then he must be a laggard, for if you have decided, why should he hold back?’

  ‘Who shall say?’ murmured Alegre. Then she laughed and went on: ‘It is a great pleasure to all of us who serve Your Highness to note how devoted the King is to you. I have heard that he has had hundreds of mistresses, yet when he is with you he is like a young man in love for the first time.’

  ‘My dear Alegre, I am not like you. I would not tolerate laggards in love.’

  Alegre put her head on one side and went on: ‘His Highness is so enamoured of you that he seems to have forgotten those two cronies of his, Villena and the Archbishop... almost.’

  ‘Those two!’ said the Queen. ‘They are for ever at his elbow.’

  ‘Whispering advice,’ added Alegre. ‘I wonder if they have advised him how to treat you. It would not surprise me. I fancy the King does little without their approval. I believe he has become accustomed to listening to his two dear friends.’

  Joanna was silent, but she later remembered that conversation. She was faintly irritated by those two friends and advisers of the King. He thought too highly of them and she considered he was ridiculously subservient to them.

  That night, when she and the King lay together in their bed, she mentioned them.

  ‘I fancy those two are possessed of certain conceits.’

  ‘Let us not concern ourselves with them,’ the King answered.

  ‘But, Henry, I would not see you humbled by any of your subjects.’

  ‘I... humbled by Villena and Carillo! My dear Joanna, that is not possible.’

  ‘They sometimes behave as though they are the masters. I consider that humiliating for you.’

  ‘Oh... you have been listening to their enemies.’

  ‘I have drawn my own conclusions.’

  He made a gesture which indicated that there were more interesting occupations than discussing his ministers. But Joanna was adamant. She believed those two were watching her too intently, that they expected her to listen to their advice, or even instructions, simply because they had played some part in bringing her to Castile. She was not going to tolerate that; and now, while Henry was so infatuated with her, was the time to force him to curb their power.

  So she ignored his gestures and sat up in bed, clasping her knees, while she told him that it was absurd for a King to give too much power to one or two men in his kingdom.

  Henry yawned. For the first time he was afraid she was going to be one of those tiresome, meddling women, and that would be disappointing, as in many ways she was proving to be satisfactory.

  * * *

  It was the next day when, making his way to his wife’s apartment, he encountered Alegre.

  They were alone in one of the ante-rooms and Alegre dropped a demure curtsy at his approach. She remained with her head bowed, but as he was about to pass on she lifted her eyes to his face, and there was a look in them which made him halt.

  He said: ‘You are happy here in Castile?’

  ‘So happy, Highness. But never so happy as at this moment when I have the undivided attention of the King.’

  ‘My dear,’ said Henry with that characteristic and easy familiarity, ‘it takes little to make you happy.’

  She took his hand and kissed it, and as she did so she again raised her eyes to his. They were full of provocative suggestion which it was impossible for a man of Henry’s temperament to ignore.

  ‘I have often noticed you in the Queen’s company,’ he said, ‘and it has given me great pleasure to see you here with us.’

  She continued to smile at him.

  ‘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 a
ngrily.

  ‘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.

  * * *