THE MARRIAGE OF ISABELLA

In the house of Juan de Vivero, the most magnificent in Valladolid, which had been lent to Isabella on her triumphant entry into that city, she now waited.

This was, she believed, so far the most important moment of her life. For years she had dreamed of her marriage with Ferdinand. But for her own determination she would have long since been married elsewhere. And now Ferdinand was only a few miles from her, and this very night he would stand before her.

It was not easy to control her emotion. She must be calm; she must remember that she was not merely a Princess of Castile – she was its future Queen.

She had a large dowry to bring her husband, and on that account she rejoiced. But in spite of her dignity and position she was anxious as to whether she herself would appeal to Ferdinand, for this was to be the perfect marriage. Not only was it to be a welding together of Castile and Aragon, to make a stronger and all-Christian Spain; it was to be the mating of two people, whose interests and affections must be so entwined that they were as one person.

It was this second factor which gave her cause for anxiety. I know I shall love Ferdinand, she told herself; but how can I be sure that he will love me?

He had lived the life of a man, although he was a year her junior; and she, although she had trained herself to understand state matters, had lived the sheltered life which had been necessary if she were not to be contaminated by her brother’s licentious Court.

The Admiral and the Archbishop had talked seriously to her concerning the impending interview.

‘Do not forget,’ said the Archbishop, ‘that while he can only make you Queen of Aragon, you can make him King of Castile and Leon. What is Aragon compared with Castile and Leon? You must never let him forget that you bring more to this marriage than he does, that it is you who will be Queen, and that his title of King will be one of courtesy.’

‘I do not think,’ said Isabella gently, ‘that a marriage such as this should begin by jostling for position.’

‘I trust,’ said the Archbishop testily, ‘that you are not going to be overpowered by his good looks.’

‘I trust,’ replied Isabella, with a smile, ‘that I am going to be pleased with them.’

The Archbishop regarded her with some sternness. He had admired her very much, and it was for this reason that he had decided to support her, but he wanted her to remember that it was he who was largely responsible for putting her where she was, and if she wanted to retain his co-operation she must listen to his advice – and take it.

He did not intend to allow Ferdinand to assume too much power, to take that place as chief adviser to Isabella which he, Alfonso Carillo, Archbishop of Toledo, had held.

‘It might seem advisable,’ he said now, ‘that Ferdinand should be asked to perform some act of homage – merely to show that, as far as Castile and Leon are concerned, he is in an inferior position.’

Isabella smiled, but her voice was firm. ‘I shall certainly not ask my husband for any such homage,’ she declared.

The Archbishop left her in a far from pleased frame of mind, and prepared himself to receive Ferdinand, who was shortly to arrive from Dueñas with as few as four of his attendants.


* * *

It was midnight when Ferdinand arrived at the house of Juan de Vivero.

Clothes had been lent to him, so he came not as the merchants’ lackey but as King of Sicily.

The Archbishop received him and, when they met, Ferdinand was glad that his shrewd father had had the foresight to bestow the title of King upon him, for there was an arrogance about the Archbishop of Toledo which was not lost on Ferdinand. He hoped the man had not imparted the same quality to Isabella. Yet even as this thought entered his mind, Ferdinand smiled. He had a way with women – and Isabella, for all that she was the heiress of Castile and Leon, was a woman.

‘The Princess Isabella is waiting to receive you,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I will conduct you to her presence.’

Ferdinand inclined his head and the Archbishop led the way to Isabella’s apartments.

‘His Highness Don Ferdinand, King of Sicily and Prince of Aragon.’

Isabella rose to her feet and stood for a few seconds, trembling with the force of her emotions.

And there he was – Ferdinand in the flesh, the dream become a reality, as handsome as she had imagined him (no, more so, she hastened to tell herself; for how could any person – imagined or real – compare with this young man who now stood before her?).

Ferdinand, seventeen years old, with fair hair and a complexion toned to bronze by exposure to the sun and air, a grown man in physique, slender and perfectly proportioned! His brow was high and broad, his expression alert; and he was too young and unmarked as yet for that alertness to be construed as cupidity.

Isabella was conscious of a great gladness, for the Ferdinand she saw before her had stepped right out of her dreams.

Ferdinand was gracious; he took her hand, bowed low over it; then he lifted his eyes to her face and there was a smile in them, for he too was not displeased.

What a joyous thing it was, he thought, when a royal person need not take someone who was aged and ugly. Here she was, his Isabella, the best possible match in Spain, and she was only one year older, and looked younger, than he was.

He saw a young woman somewhat tall, with a complexion as fair as his own, and bright hair with a gleam of red in it which was enchanting. And what pleased him most was the gentle manner, the almost mild expression in the blue eyes.

Charming Isabella, so suitable, so young and – he believed – so malleable.

Ferdinand, in his swaggering youth, told himself that he would very soon be master of Castile, Leon – and Isabella.

‘I welcome you with all my heart,’ said Isabella. ‘Castile and Leon welcome you. We have long awaited your coming.’

Ferdinand, who had retained her hand, with a swift gesture pressed an impassioned kiss upon it which brought a faint colour into Isabella’s cheeks and a shine to her eyes. ‘I would,’ he said, ‘that I had come months ago... years ago...’

‘Suffice it that you are here. I pray you sit with me.’

Together they went to the two ornate chairs which had been set side by side like two thrones.

‘You have had a hazardous journey,’ said Isabella. And when he told her of his adventures at the inn and at the Count of Treviño’s castle, Isabella turned pale at the thought of what could so easily have happened to him.

‘It is of no importance,’ Ferdinand murmured. ‘You do not know it, but I have often with my father faced death in battle.’

‘But now you are safely here,’ said Isabella; and there was a note of exultation in her voice. She believed that this marriage had certainly been made in Heaven and that nothing on Earth could prevent its taking place.

The Archbishop, who was standing by listening to this conversation, was growing a little impatient.

‘The marriage,’ he reminded them, ‘is not yet an accomplished fact. Our enemies will, even now, do all in their power to prevent it. It must take place at the earliest possible moment, and I suggest four days hence.’

Ferdinand threw a passionate glance at Isabella who, taken off her guard by the prospect of such an early date for their marriage, returned it.

‘There should,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘be a solemn betrothal immediately, and it is for this reason that Your Highness has ridden to Valladolid at this late hour.’

‘Then,’ said Isabella, ‘let us proceed with all speed.’

The Archbishop then solemnly declared them betrothed, and there, before those very few witnesses, Ferdinand and Isabella ceremoniously joined hands.

So shall it be until death shall part us, Isabella told herself; and she was aware of a greater happiness than she had hitherto known.


* * *

There was great activity in the house of Juan de Vivero. Here was to be celebrated the marriage of the heiress of Castile to the heir of Aragon.

There was need of the utmost haste. There was so little time in which to prepare; and at any moment they might expect interruption by the King’s soldiers, come to prevent the marriage which the Marquis of Villena had determined should not take place.

Isabella was alternatively in a state of bliss and anxiety.

Four days seemed like four weeks; and every commotion in the courtyard, any shout from below, set her trembling with fear.

Apart from the fact that her half-brother’s men might arrive at any moment, there were other causes for anxiety. She had very little money; Ferdinand had none at all. How could they celebrate a marriage without money?

And this was the most important marriage in Spain.

Celebration there must be, but how could they decorate the house, how could they provide a banquet without money?

There was only one thing to be done; they must borrow. It was not a very happy start, thought Isabella.

She could not discuss this with Ferdinand, for after that midnight meeting and solemn betrothal he had gone back to Dueñas, there to await the day of his entry into Valladolid as bridegroom at the public ceremony.

But the money was found. That had not been so difficult after all.

Why, reasoned many to whom the problem was put, this is the heiress of Castile and Leon. One day she will be Queen, and then she will not forget those who provided the money for her wedding.

But there was a matter which gave even greater concern.