‘There is nothing so much to be feared in your life,’ said Alfonso, ‘as the knowledge that men are planning to take it from you. I think if you could ask poor Queen Blanche to confirm this, she would do so. I know, you see, Isabella. Because... I have read the thoughts in men’s eyes as they look at me. I know. They are sending you away because they fear you. I shall be left without a friend. For, Isabella, although the Archbishop tells me he loves me – and so does the Marquis of Villena – I do not trust them. You are the only one I can be sure of.’

Isabella was deeply moved.

‘Little brother,’ she said, and she seemed to draw strength and determination from Alfonso’s melancholy words. ‘I will not go to Portugal. I will find some means of avoiding this marriage.’

Alfonso, looking up at her and seeing the resolve in her face, began to believe that when Isabella made up her mind she could not be defeated.


* * *

It was when Alfonso had left her that inspiration came to Isabella.

She needed advice. She should discover whether she must inevitably accept this marriage with Portugal, or whether there was some way out of the situation.

She herself was a young girl, with little knowledge of the laws of the country, but she did suspect that the King and his adherents were endeavouring to rush her into this marriage and if this were so that they might have an ulterior reason for this haste.

She still believed that happiness for her lay in a marriage which had caught her childhood’s imagination when she had made an ideal of Ferdinand; but common sense told her that a marriage between Castile and Aragon could bring the greatest good to Spain. During the revolt in Catalonia there had been strife between Castile and Aragon; and Isabella had begun to realise that one of the reasons why the Moors still governed a great part of Spain was because of the quarrels among Spaniards.

United they might defeat the Infidel. Warring among themselves they became weakened. How much more satisfactory it would be if Spaniards united and fought the Moors instead of each other.

A marriage between Castile and Aragon then must be of the greatest advantage to Spain; and Isabella believed that if she and Ferdinand were united that would be the first step towards driving the Moors from the country. Therefore their marriage must be the one to take place.

She was certain that the Prince of Viana had met his death by Divine interference. Perhaps that had come about by way of poisoned broth or wine. But who dared question the designs of Providence? God had decided that Aragon was for Ferdinand. Had He also decided that Isabella was for Ferdinand?

God was more inclined to consider those who sought to help themselves, they being more worthy of His support than those who idly accepted whatever fate was thrust upon them.

Isabella accordingly made up her mind that she would work with all her might to evade this marriage with Alfonso V of Portugal.

She had more than her own desires to consider. Her brother Alfonso needed her. To some he might appear as the heir to the throne; to Isabella he was her frightened little brother. His father was dead; his poor unbalanced mother was shut away from the world. Who was there to care for little Alfonso but his sister Isabella?

But they were children in a Court in which conflict raged. In such a Court, thought Isabella, the difficulty is to know who are your friends, who your enemies. Whom could she trust except Beatriz? It seemed that greater wisdom came to her and she understood that the only way to be sure whose side people were on was to consider their interests and motives.

She knew that the King and Queen wished to see her leave the country. The reason was plain. They had realised that differences of opinion concerning the rights of the Queen’s baby daughter to the throne could bring the country to civil war. Therefore they wanted the little Princess’s rivals out of the way. They could not remove Alfonso yet; that would be too drastic a step. But how easy it was to marry off Isabella and so remove her in a seemly way from the sphere of action.

The Marquis of Villena was against Isabella’s marriage with Ferdinand for very strong personal reasons. A great deal of the property which he now held had once belonged to the House of Aragon, and he guessed that if Ferdinand attained influence in Castile, some means would be found of removing that property from the Marquisate of Villena and bringing it into the possession of its original owners.

There was, however, one person in Castile who Isabella believed would welcome the marriage between herself and Ferdinand. This was Don Frederick Henriquez, who was Admiral of Castile and father of the ambitious Joan Henriquez, Ferdinand’s own mother.

The Admiral would naturally support the marriage between his grandson and one who was only separated from the throne of Castile by a few short steps.

There could be no doubt then where the Admiral’s sympathies would lie; and, if anyone in Castile could help her now, this was the man.

Isabella had learned her first lesson in statecraft.

She would send for Frederick Henriquez, Admiral of Castile, a man of great experience; he would be able to tell her exactly how she stood in regard to the suggested marriage with Alfonso of Portugal.


* * *

In the great apartment lighted by a hundred torches which threw shadows on the tapestried walls, Isabella came to pay her respects to the visiting King of Portugal.

She held her head high as she walked towards the dais where the two Kings sat; and even though she felt that her wildly beating heart would leap into her throat and suffocate her, she yet managed to retain a certain serenity.

‘I am for Ferdinand and Ferdinand is for me,’ she told herself even at this moment, as she had been telling herself while her women had prepared her for the interview.

Henry took her into his arms and she was held against his scented and jewel-decorated robes of state. He called her ‘our dearest sister’; and he was smiling with what most people would believe to be real affection.

Queen Joanna looked glitteringly beautiful; and of course Beltran de la Cueva was in attendance behind the chairs of the King and Queen, darkly handsome, dazzlingly clad, and... triumphant.

Now she saw the man whom they were eager to make her husband, and she shivered.

He seemed very old and repulsively ugly to the thirteen-year-old girl.

I will not, I will not, she told herself. If they force me, I will take a knife and kill myself rather than submit.

In spite of these wild thoughts her hand did not tremble as it was taken by the King of Portugal.

His eyes were a little glazed as they rested on her – this young virgin, with innocence shining in her eyes. A delectable morsel, thought the King of Portugal, and one who could conceivably bring a crown with her.

There was trouble in Castile. Wicked Joanna! What had she been about? He could guess. And this Beltran de la Cueva was such a handsome fellow that one could hardly blame Joanna. She should have arranged it, though, so that there were no suspicions. Yet why should he regret that! It was very possible that this delicious young girl would one day be the heiress of Castile. There was a young brother, but he might be killed in battle; for there would certainly be battles in Castile before long. And the baby Joanna? Oh, Isabella’s chances were fair enough.

Isabella’s eyes met his and she flinched. His lips were a little wet as though his mouth was watering at the sight of her.

Isabella’s whole being called out in protest, but she respectfully returned the smiles of her brother, his Queen, and the Queen’s brother, who so clearly was not averse to taking her as wife.

Henry said: ‘Our Isabella is overcome with joy at the prospect which awaits her.’

‘She has scarcely slept for excitement since we made her aware of her great good fortune,’ put in the Queen.

‘She is conscious of the great honour done to her,’ went on Henry, ‘and now that she has seen you I know she will be doubly eager for the match. That is so, is it not, sister?’

‘Highness,’ said Isabella earnestly, ‘would you not consider it indecorous of a young woman to discuss her marriage before she was betrothed?’

Henry laughed. ‘Isabella has been very carefully nurtured. She lived the life of a nun before she joined us here at Court.’

‘I know of no better upbringing,’ said Alfonso V of Portugal. His eyes continued to wander over Isabella, so that she felt he was already picturing her in many different situations of intimacy which she could only vaguely imagine.

‘My dear Isabella,’ said the Queen, ‘your brother and I will not be as strict with you as your mother was at Arevalo. We shall allow you to dance with the King of Portugal. You shall become friends before he takes you back with him to Lisbon.’

Isabella forced herself to speak then. She said in a loud, clear voice, which could be heard by those courtiers who were in the room but some little distance from the royal group: ‘We cannot be sure yet that the betrothal will be agreed upon.’

Henry looked surprised, the Queen angry, and the King of Portugal nonplussed.

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.’