Виктория Холт - Castile for Isabella

Alfonso was deeply moved by his sister’s emotion. The fact that Isabella was usually so restrained made him aware of the depth of her feeling for him, and he was afraid he too would break down. He had to remind himself constantly that he was a King, and not a young boy any more.

He called to the innkeeper.

‘A special banquet,’ he cried, ‘in honour of my sister’s arrival! What can you put before us?’

‘Highness, I have some chickens... very good, very tender; and there are some trout...’

‘Do your best, and let there be a banquet such as you have never served before, because my sister is come, and that is a very important matter to me.’

Then he turned to Isabella and once more they embraced.

‘Isabella,’ whispered Alfonso, ‘how glad I am that we are once more together. Let it be so as often as we can arrange it. Sister, I need you with me. Without you... I am still a little unsure.’

‘Yes, yes, Alfonso,’ she answered in the same quiet and tense tone, ‘we must be together. We need each other. In future... we must not be apart.’

* * *

It was a merry supper that was served that night in the Cardeñosa inn.

The trout was delicious. Alfonso commented on its excellence and took a second helping.

Everyone was merry. It was pleasant, they said, to have been joined by the ladies, and they had heard that the Princess Isabella intended in future to accompany her brother on his journeys through his domain.

When they retired, Isabella and Beatriz talked about the day’s doings and marvelled that they could have left Avila in such distress and have found such joy, the very same day, in Cardeñosa.

Beatriz, combing her mistress’s hair, said: ‘Yet it surprises me how such rumours could be started.’

‘It is not difficult to understand, Beatriz. So many people in high places die suddenly that the story of another death is readily believed.’

‘That is so,’ agreed Beatriz and did not pursue the subject, for, she reasoned with herself, why spoil the day’s pleasure?

Yet she was a little uneasy. Avila was only two leagues from Cardeñosa, and the rumour had a good hold on the former. How could it have happened... so close?

But she was not going to brood on that terrible moment, when the news had been brought to her and she realised it was her duty to break it to Isabella.

* * *

Isabella awoke early and for a few moments could not remember where she was. Then the events of the day before came back to her mind. That strange day which had begun in such sorrow and had ended in joy.

She was of course in the Cardeñosa inn.

She lay thinking of that moment when Alfonso had come out of the inn and for a few seconds she had thought she had seen his ghost. Now, she thought, I shall always be with him. I shall make it my duty to care for him, for after all he is but a boy and my own brother.

Perhaps she would be able to influence him, to persuade him that he could be no true King while Henry lived. If he were declared heir to the throne, she would be perfectly content; for she believed without doubt that the little Joanna had no right to that title. From now on, she told herself, Alfonso and I will be together.

There was a knocking at her door and she called to whoever was there to enter.

Beatriz came in. She was pale and she looked distraught.

‘Highness,’ she said, ‘will you come to Alfonso’s bedchamber?’

Isabella started up in dismay. ‘What has happened?’

‘I have been asked to take you to him.’

‘He is ill!’

All the fears of yesterday were back with her.

‘They cannot awaken him,’ said Beatriz. ‘They do not understand what can have happened.’

Beatriz flung a robe about Isabella’s shoulders and they went to Alfonso’s chamber.

He lay in his bed, strangely unlike himself.

Isabella bent over him. ‘Alfonso... Alfonso, brother. It is Isabella. Wake up. What ails you?’

There was no response. The room was dark, for it had but one small window.

‘I cannot see him clearly,’ said Isabella touching his forehead. Its coldness startled her. She took his hand; and it dropped lifelessly back to lie on the counterpane.

Isabella turned in horror to Beatriz who stood behind her.

Beatriz moved closer to the figure on the bed. She put her hand to the boy’s heart and kept it there for some seconds while she wondered how she was going to say what she knew she must.

She turned to Isabella.

‘No,’ cried Isabella. ‘No!’

Beatriz did not answer. But Isabella knew that there was no way of turning from the truth.

‘But how... how?’ she cried. ‘But why... ?’ Beatriz put an arm about her. ‘We will send for the doctors,’ she said. She turned angrily on his page. ‘Why did you not send for the doctors before this?’

‘My lady, I came to wake him and he did not answer, and I was afraid; so I came for you. It is but a matter of ten minutes since I came into his room and found him lying thus. I came to you at once, knowing you would say how I should act.’

‘Fetch the doctors,’ Beatriz commanded. The page went, and Isabella looked at her friend with heavy eyes.

‘You know there is nothing the doctors can do, Beatriz?’

‘Dearest, I fear it is so.’

‘So...’ said Isabella, ‘I have lost him then. I have lost him after all.’

Beatriz embraced her and for a little while Isabella remained passive.

The doctors came into the room. Isabella watched them listlessly as they stood about the bed, and they exchanged significant glances with each other.

Beatriz felt her control was snapping. ‘Well, say something!’ she cried. ‘He is dead... dead... is he not?’

‘We fear so, my lady.’

‘And... nothing can be done?’

‘It is too late, my lady.’

‘Too late,’ whispered Isabella to herself. ‘How foolish I was to think I could help him, to think I could save him. How could I save him except by keeping him by my side day and night, by tasting every morsel of food before it touched his lips?’

Beatriz was crying: ‘But... how... how... ?’

That was a question they could not answer.

Isabella understood why she had heard the rumours in Avila. The planners had not been working in unison; something may have gone wrong at the inn while the carriers of the news went on and announced it in accordance with some preconceived plot.

Thus the news of Alfonso’s death had been circulated before it happened.

How could Alfonso have died so suddenly unless someone had deliberately cut short his life? A few hours ago he had been full of life and health; and now he was dead.

Dear Alfonso, dear innocent Alfonso, this was what he had feared in those early days when he had talked so much of the fate of others. And it had come to him... even as he had feared it would.

She trusted that he had not suffered much. It was incredible that she should have been close by, and that he should have awakened in his need while she was sleeping peacefully unaware.

She saw Beatrix’s smouldering eyes upon her. Beatriz would want to find those who had done this. She would want revenge.

But what would be the use? That would not bring Alfonso back to her.

In the Convent of Santa Clara Isabella gave herself up to mourning.

She would sit thinking of the past when she and her mother had retired to Arevalo with little Alfonso. Now her mother lived, but could one call that existence living? And she, Isabella, was left to face a turbulent world.

There were times when she envied the young nuns who were about to take the veil and shut themselves off for ever from the world.

‘I wish,’ she told Beatrix, ‘that I could so resign myself.’

But Beatrix, who was always outspoken, shook her head. ‘No, my Infanta, you do not wish this. You know that a great future awaits you, and you would never turn your back on your destiny. Not for you the life of the cloistered nun. One day you will be a Queen. Your name will be honoured and remembered in the generations to come.’

‘Who can say?’ murmured Isabella. ‘Might you not have made the same prophecy for my poor Alfonso?’

She had not been long at the convent when she had a visitor. The Archbishop of Toledo himself, representing the confederacy which was in revolt against the King, had travelled to the convent to see her. She received him with reserve and he was unusually humble.

‘Condolences, Highness,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I know how you suffer through our great loss. I and my friends mourn with you.’

‘Yet,’ said Isabella, ‘had Alfonso never been acclaimed King of Castile he might be alive at this hour.’

‘It is true that he would not have been in Cardeñosa, and perhaps would not have contracted the plague.’

‘Or eaten trout!’ said Isabella.

‘Ah, these are dangerous times,’ murmured the Archbishop. ‘That is why we need a firm government, a royal leader of integrity.’

‘The times must be dangerous in a country where two rulers are set up. I think that my brother might not have died if he had had God’s blessing on his enterprise.’

‘But if, as you hint, Highness, his death was due to trout, that is the result of the criminality of man surely, not the justice of God.’

‘It may be,’ said Isabella, ‘that if God had looked with favour on Alfonso’s accession, he would have prevented his death.’

‘Who shall say,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I come to remind Your Highness of the evil state of Castile and of the need for reform.’