‘It shall not come to pass,’ said the King. ‘Do not distress yourself, my dear. Isabella is for Ferdinand, and we shall find some means of outwitting Carlos... as we have in the past.’

He smiled fondly at his wife. She was much younger than he was, and from the date of their marriage he had become so enamoured of her that his great desire was to give her all she wished. She was, he was sure, unique. Handsome, bold, shrewd – where was there another woman in the world to compare with her? His first wife, Blanche of Navarre, had been the widow of Martin of Sicily when he had married her. She had been a good woman, possessed of a far from insignificant dowry, and he had been well pleased with the match. She had given him three children: Carlos, Blanche and Eleanor, and he had been delighted at the time; now, having married the incomparable Joan Henriquez and having had issue by her in the also incomparable Ferdinand, he could wish – because Joan wished this – that he had no other children, so that Ferdinand would be heir to everything he possessed.

It was small wonder, he assured himself, that he should dote on Ferdinand. What of his other children? He was in continual conflict with Carlos; Blanche had been repudiated by her husband, Henry of Castile, and was now living in retirement on her estates at Olit, where, so Joan insisted, she gave assistance to her brother Carlos in his disagreements with his father; and there was Eleanor, Comtesse de Foix, who had left home many years before when she married Gaston de Foix, and was a domineering woman of great ambitions.

As for Joan, she doted on Ferdinand with all the force of a strong nature, and was resentful of any favours which fell to the lot of the other children.

In the first days of their union she had been gentle and loving, but from that day – it was the 10th March in the year 1452, some eight years ago – when her Ferdinand had been born in the little town of Sos, she had changed. She had become as a tigress fighting for her cub: and John, being so devoted to her, had become involved in this battle for the rights of the adored son of his second wife against the family of his first.

It was a sad state of affairs in any family when there was discord between its members; in a royal family this could be disastrous.

John of Aragon, however, could only see through the eyes of the wife on whom he doted, and therefore to him his son Carlos was a scoundrel.

This was not the truth. Carlos was a man of great charm and integrity. He was good-natured, gentle, honourable, and in the eyes of many people a perfect Prince. He was intellectual and artistic; he loved music; he could paint and was a poet; he was something of a philosopher and historian, and would have preferred to live quietly and study; it was the great tragedy of his life that he found himself drawn, against his will, into a bloody conflict with his own father.

The trouble had begun when Joan had asked that she might share the government of Navarre with Carlos, who had inherited this territory on the death of his mother, the daughter of Charles III of Navarre.

Joan’s intention was to oust Carlos from Navarre that she might preserve it for her darling Ferdinand, who was only a baby as yet but for whom her ambitions had begun to grow from the day of his birth. Joan’s manner was arrogant, and her policy was to create disturbance, so that the people would become dissatisfied with the rule of Carlos.

Joan was considerably helped in her desire to cause trouble by two ancient Navarrese families who for centuries had maintained a feud – concerning the origin of which neither was absolutely sure – which gave them the excuse to make forays into each other’s territory from time to time.

These families were the Beaumonts and the Agramonts. They saw, in the conflict between the Prince and his stepmother, an excuse to make trouble. The Beaumonts therefore allied themselves with Carlos, which meant that automatically the Agramonts gave their support to the Queen; as a result war had broken out and the Agramonts, being the stronger party, took Carlos prisoner.

Carlos was confined for some months, the prisoner of his father and stepmother; but eventually he escaped and sought refuge with his uncle, Alfonso V of Naples. Unfortunately for Carlos, shortly after his arrival there, Alfonso died and it was necessary for Carlos to attempt reconciliation with his father.

Joan was eager to keep the King’s heir in disgrace, and Carlos lingered in Sicily, where he became very popular, but when news of his popularity was brought to the Court of Aragon, Joan was disturbed. She saw a possibility of the Sicilians setting up Carlos as their ruler; and of course Joan had long ago decided that Sicily, together with Navarre and Aragon, should become the domain of her darling little Ferdinand.

It was necessary, she said, to recall Carlos to Aragon. So Joan and the King met Carlos at Igualada, and the meeting appeared to be such an affectionate one that all those who witnessed it rejoiced, for Carlos was popular wherever he went, and it was the desire of the majority that the family quarrel should cease and Carlos be declared without any doubt his father’s heir.

This was exactly what Joan intended to prevent, as in her opinion there was but one person who should be declared his father’s heir; and the people must be brought to accept this. She prevailed upon her husband to summon the Cortes and, there before it, declare his unwillingness to name Carlos his successor.

Carlos, bewildered and unhappy, listened to his advisers, who assured him that his best place, since his royal house of Aragon was against him, was to ally himself with that of Castile.

This could be done through marriage with the half-sister of Henry of Castile, little Isabella, who was now being carefully guarded at the Palace of Arevalo.

She was as yet a child, being some nine years old; and in addition she had been destined for Ferdinand. But the King of Castile and the child’s mother would be far more likely to smile on a match with the elder son of John of Aragon than the younger. Moreover, nothing could be calculated to flout the authority of his stepmother so completely as to snatch the bride she had intended for Ferdinand.

This was the plot, reports of which had reached Joan Henriquez; and it was on this account that she raged against Carlos, to her husband, and determined to bring about his destruction.

‘That poor child,’ she cried. ‘She is nine years old and Carlos is forty! It will be at least another three years before she is of an age to consummate the marriage. By that time he will be forty-three. Ferdinand is now eight years old. What a charming pair they would make! I hear she is a handsome girl; and Ferdinand... our dearest Ferdinand... surely, John, you must agree that there is not a more perfect child in Aragon, in Castile, in Spain, in the whole world!’

John smiled at her fondly. He loved her more deeply in those moments when her habitual calm deserted her and she showed the excessive nature of her love for Ferdinand. Then she became like another woman, no longer the Joan Henriquez who had such a firm grasp of state matters; then she was the predatory mother. Surely, thought John, there cannot be another child in Aragon who is loved as fiercely and deeply as our Ferdinand.

He laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Dearest,’ he said, ‘we will find some means of preventing this calamity. Isabella shall be for Ferdinand.’

‘But, husband, what if Henry of Castile decides to accept Carlos’ offer? What if he says Carlos is the rightful heir of Aragon?’

‘It is for me to decide who shall succeed me,’ said John.

‘There would be trouble if you should choose any other than the eldest son. Ferdinand is young yet, but when he grows up, what a warrior he will be!’

‘Alas, my dear, he is not grown up yet; and if Carlos married and there were children of the marriage....’

Joan’s eyes flashed with purpose. ‘But Carlos is not yet married. It will be some years before he can marry, if he waits for Isabella. She could not possibly bear a child for another four years at least. A great deal can happen in four years.’

The King looked into her face, and it seemed as though deep emotions within him were ignited by the passion he read in her eyes.

Ferdinand was the fruit of their union. For Ferdinand she was ready to give all that she possessed – her honour, her life itself.

There was exultation in her voice when she said: ‘I believe that I have been blessed with second sight, John. I believe a great destiny awaits our son. I believe that he will be the saviour of our country and that in years to come his name will be mentioned with that of the Cid Campeador. Husband, I believe that we should deserve eternal damnation if we did not do all within our power to lead him to his destiny.’

John grasped his wife’s hand. ‘I swear to you, my dearest wife,’ he said, ‘that nothing... nothing shall bar Ferdinand’s way to greatness.’


* * *

In her retreat at Olit, Blanche lived her quiet life.

She had two desires; one was that she might be allowed to pass her time in peace at this quiet refuge, the other that her brother Carlos might triumph over his stepmother and win his way back into their father’s good graces.

Occasionally she heard news of Castile. Henry had had no more good fortune with his new wife than he had had with Blanche. There was still no sign of an heir for Castile, and it was seven years since he had married the Princess of Portugal. She knew that Castile was almost in a state of anarchy; that there were armed bands of robbers on the roads and that rape and violence of all sorts were accepted in a light-hearted fashion, which could only mean that the country was bordering on chaos. She had heard rumours of the King’s scandalous way of life, and that his Queen was by no means a virtuous woman. Stories of her liaison with Beltran de la Cueva were circulated. Blanche feared that affairs in Castile were as chaotic and uncertain as they were in Aragon.