Isabella did not believe that she heard correctly. She was conscious of a rush of blood to her ears; she could hear and feel the mighty pounding of her heart. For a few seconds she believed she would faint.

‘Well, sister, I see that you are overcome by the magnificence of this offer. You are a personable young woman now, you know. And you deserve a good match. It is my great pleasure to provide it for you.’

Isabella lifted her eyes and looked at the King. He was smiling, but not at her. He knew of her obsession with the idea of the Aragonese marriage. He remembered hearing how upset she was when she heard that a match had been arranged for her with the Prince of Viana. It was for this reason that he had told her in a formal manner of the proposed marriage with Portugal.

As for the Queen, she was smiling brightly. The match was entirely to her liking. She wanted to see Isabella safely out of Castile, for while she remained there she was a menace to Joanna’s daughter. She would of course have preferred to remove young Alfonso, but that would have presented too many difficulties at the moment. However, the brother would now be weakened by the loss of his sister’s support.

One of them will be out of the way, mused Joanna.

Isabella spoke slowly but clearly, and no one in that chamber remained unimpressed by the calm manner in which she addressed them.

‘I thank Your Highness for making such efforts on my behalf, but it seems that a certain fact has been overlooked. I am already betrothed, and I and others consider that betrothal binding.’

‘Betrothed!’ cried Henry. ‘My dear sister, you take a childish view of these things. Many husbands are suggested for Princesses, but there is nothing binding in these suggestions.’

‘Nevertheless I am betrothed to Ferdinand of Aragon; and in view of this, marriage elsewhere is impossible.’

Henry looked exasperated. His sister was going to be stubborn, and he was too weary of conflict to endure it. If he had been alone with her he would have agreed with her that she was betrothed to Ferdinand, that the King of Portugal’s offer must be refused; and then, as soon as she had left him, he would have gone ahead with arrangements for the marriage, leaving someone else to break the news to her.

He could not do this, of course, in the presence of the Queen and his ministers.

‘Dear Isabella!’ cried Joanna. ‘She is but a child yet. She does not know that a great King like my brother cannot be refused when he asks her hand in marriage. You are fortunate indeed; you will be very happy in Lisbon, Isabella.’

Isabella looked from Villena to the Archbishop and then appealingly at Henry. None of them would meet her gaze.

‘The King of Portugal himself,’ said Henry, studying the rings on his fingers, ‘is coming to Castile. He will be here within the next few days. You must be ready to receive him, sister. I would have you show your pleasure and gratitude that he has chosen you for this high honour.’

Isabella stood very still. She wanted to speak her protests but it seemed to her that her throat had closed and would not let the words escape.

In spite of that natural calm, that extraordinary dignity, standing here in the audience chamber with the eyes of all the leading ministers of Castile upon her, she looked like an animal desperately seeking a means of escape from a trap which it saw closing about it.


* * *

Isabella lay on her bed; she had the curtains drawn about it that she might be completely shut in. She had prayed for long hours on her knees, but she did not cease to pray every hour of the day.

She had talked to Beatriz; and Beatriz could only look sad and say that this was the fate of Princesses; but she had tried to comfort her. ‘This is an obsession you have built up for Ferdinand,’ she told her. ‘How can you be sure that he is the only one for you? You have never seen him. You know nothing of him except what has come to you through hearsay. Might it not be that the King of Portugal will be a kind husband?’

‘I love Ferdinand. That sounds foolish to you, but it is as though he has grown up with me. Perhaps when I first heard his name I needed comfort, perhaps I allowed myself to build an ideal – but there is something within me, Beatriz, which tells me that only with Ferdinand can I be happy.’

‘If you do your duty you will be happy.’

‘I do not feel that it is my duty to marry the King of Portugal.’

‘It is what the King, your brother, commands.’

‘I shall have to go away from Castile... away from Alfonso... away from you, Beatriz. I shall be the most unhappy woman in Castile, in Portugal. There must be a way. They were determined to marry me to the Prince of Viana, but he died, and that was like a miracle. Perhaps if I prayed enough there might be another miracle.’

Beatriz shook her head; she had little comfort to offer. She believed that Isabella must now leave her childish dreams behind her; she must accept reality, as so many Princesses had been obliged to do before her.

And since Beatriz could not help, Isabella wished to shut herself away, to pray, if not to be saved from this distasteful marriage, to have the courage to endure it.

There was a movement in her room and she sat up in bed, whispering: ‘Who is there?’

‘It is I, Isabella.’

‘Alfonso!’

‘I came to you quietly. I did not want anyone to disturb us. Oh... Isabella, I am frightened.’

The bed curtains divided and there stood her brother. He looked such a child, she thought, and she forgot her own misery in her desire to comfort him.

‘What is it, Alfonso?’

‘There are plots and intrigues all about us, Isabella. And I... I am the centre of them. That is what I feel. They are going to send you away so that I shall not have the comfort of your presence and advice. Isabella... I am afraid.’

She held out her hand and he took it; then he threw himself into her arms and for a few seconds they clung together.

‘They are going to make me the heir to the throne,’ said Alfonso. ‘They are going to say the little Princess has no right to it. I wish they would leave me alone, Isabella. Why cannot they leave us in peace... myself to be as other boys, you to marry where you wish.’

‘They will never leave us in peace, Alfonso. We are not as other boys and girls. The reason is that our half-brother is the King of Castile and that many people believe the child, who is known as his daughter, is not a child of his at all. That means that we are in the direct line of succession. There are some to support Henry and his Queen... and there are others who will use us in their quarrel with the King and Queen.’

‘Isabella... let us run away. Let us go to Arevalo and join our mother there.’

‘It would be of no use. They would not let us remain there.’

‘Perhaps we could all escape into Aragon... to Ferdinand.’

Isabella considered this, imagined herself with her hysterical mother and her young brother arriving at the Court of Ferdinand’s father John. In Aragon there was a state of unrest. It might even be that John had decided to choose another bride for Ferdinand.

She shook her head slowly. ‘Our feelings, our loves and hates... they are not important, Alfonso. We must try to see ourselves... not as people... but as pieces in a game, to be moved this way and that... whichever is most beneficial to our country.’

‘If they would leave me alone and not try to force the King to make me his heir, surely that would be beneficial to the country.’

‘Terrible things are happening in Castile, Alfonso. The roads are unsafe; the people have no protection; there is much poverty. It may be that it would be beneficial if you were made King of Castile with a Regency to rule until you are of age.’

‘I do not want it, I do not want it,’ cried Alfonso. ‘I want us to be together... quietly and at peace. Oh, Isabella, what can we do? I am frightened, I tell you.’

‘We must not be frightened, Alfonso. Fear is unworthy of us.’

‘But we are no different from other people,’ cried Alfonso passionately.

‘We are. We are,’ insisted Isabella. ‘We make a mistake if we do not recognise this. It is not for us to harbour dreams of a quiet happiness. We have to face the fact that we are different.’

‘Isabella, people who are in the way of others with a wish to ascend the throne often die. Carlos, Prince of Viana, died. I have heard that was to make way for his young brother, Ferdinand.’

Isabella said slowly: ‘Ferdinand played no part in that murder... if murder there was.’

‘It was murder,’ said Alfonso. He crossed his hands on his chest. ‘Something within me tells me it was murder. Isabella, if they made me heir... if they made me King...’ He looked over his shoulder furtively; and Isabella thought of Carlos, the prisoner of his own father, feeling as Alfonso was now, looking over his shoulder as Alfonso looked, furtively, afraid of the greed and lust of men for power. ‘There was Queen Blanche too,’ went on Alfonso. ‘I wonder what she felt on her last day on Earth. I wonder what it felt like to be shut up in a castle, knowing that you have that which others want and only your death can give it to them.’

‘This is foolish talk,’ said Isabella.

‘But they are marrying you into Portugal. You will not be here to see what happens. I know they are making plans concerning me, Isabella. Oh... how I wish that I were not the son of a King. Have you ever thought, Isabella, how wonderful it must be to be the child of a simple peasant?’

‘To suffer hunger? To have to work hard for a cruel master?’