‘Henry knows this!’

‘He longs for peace. It will not be difficult to persuade him to it... if we can keep him from Villena.’

‘Beatriz, you are asking me to go to Henry. Do you remember how they tried to capture me, to imprison me? Do you remember what was done to Alfonso?’

‘I ask you to come to the Alcazar of Segovia. No harm could come to you there. Andres guards it... and I guard Andres.’

Isabella laughed.

‘You were always a forceful woman. Does Andres love you the less for it?’

Beatriz looked hard at her friend. ‘You, too, are strong,’ she said. ‘And Ferdinand, does he love you less for that?’

Beatriz noticed that a slight shadow crossed Isabella’s face as she said: ‘I do not know.’


* * *

Isabella rode into Segovia with the Archbishop of Toledo beside her.

Henry received her with warmth, and his eyes filled with tears as he embraced her. ‘You know, my dear sister, that all this strife is none of my making.’

‘I do know that, Henry,’ answered Isabella; ‘and the state of our country brings as much grief to me as it does to you.’

‘I long for peace.’ Henry said this with unaccustomed vehemence.

‘And I.’

‘Then, Isabella, why should we not have peace?’

‘Because there are jealous nobles who surround us... who jostle each other for power.’

‘But if we are friends, what else should matter?’

‘It is this affair of the succession, Henry. You know I am the true heiress of Castile. I am your half-sister... your only relation.’

‘But there is my daughter.’

‘You do not believe Joanna is that, Henry.’

‘Her mother swore it.’

‘You do not believe her, Henry.’

‘Who shall say? Who shall say?’

‘You see,’ said Isabella, ‘if you would but accept me as heir to the throne there would be no more strife. If you and I were friends and were seen together, how happy all would be in Castile and Leon.’

‘I long to see all happy.’

‘Then Henry, we could begin to right these wrongs; we could bring back law and order to the country. There is this senseless conflict as to who is the heir, when there are so many important reforms to be considered.’

‘I know. I know.’

The Archbishop came to them. He did not wait to be announced. He had assumed complete authority.

‘If you would walk through the city holding the bridle of the Princess’s palfrey, Highness, in an intimate manner, as brother to sister, it would give great joy to the people of Segovia.’

‘All I wish is to give them joy,’ Henry insisted.


* * *

The people of Segovia had vociferously expressed their delight at the sight of the King, walking through their streets and holding the bridle of his sister’s palfrey. Here was good news. The threat of civil war was over. The King had cast off the yoke of Villena; he was thinking for himself; he was surely going to accept Isabella as his heir.

When they returned to the Alcazar, the people gathered outside and shouted: ‘Castilla! Castilla! Castilla for Henry and Isabella!’

Henry, with tears in his eyes, saluted the people.

It was long since he had been so cheered.


* * *

Late that night Beatriz hurried to Isabella’s bedchamber.

Isabella had already retired.

‘Isabella,’ whispered Beatriz in her ear, ‘wake up. Someone has arrived who is waiting to see you.’

Isabella started up in bed. ‘What is this, Beatriz?’

‘Hush,’ said Beatriz. ‘The palace is sleeping.’

She then turned and beckoned, and Isabella saw a tall, familiar figure enter the apartment.

She gave a cry of gladness, for Ferdinand had thrown himself upon the bed, and she was in his arms.

Beatriz stood by, laughing.

‘He has come at a good moment,’ she said.

‘Any moment he comes is a good one,’ answered Isabella.

‘My dear Isabella,’ murmured Ferdinand.

Beatriz said: ‘There will be plenty of time later to show each other your pleasure. At the moment there is one other matter of importance to settle. Henry has received you, Isabella, but will he receive your husband? That is what we have to consider. And it will soon be known that Ferdinand has returned and that you are both here with the King. Once this reaches Villena’s ears, he will do his utmost to prevent the renewal of friendship between you all. Tomorrow morning early, you must seek an audience with Henry. You must persuade him to see Ferdinand.’

‘He will do so; I know he will.’

‘He must,’ said Beatriz. ‘It is imperative. He must be reconciled to you both. It will be Twelfth Day... is it tomorrow, or the next day? That is an excuse for a banquet. We shall give one – Andres and I – and when it is seen how friendly the King is towards you two, all will know that he acknowledges your marriage and accepts you as his heirs. I shall leave you now. But until the King has received Prince Ferdinand it should not be known, except by those whom we can trust, that he is here.’


* * *

Ferdinand had thrown off his travel-stained garments, and Isabella was in his embrace.

‘It seems so long since I saw you,’ he said.

‘There should not be these partings.’

‘Yet, if it is necessary, they must be. How is our daughter?’

‘Well and happy. How delighted she will be to see her father!’

‘Has she forgotten him?’

‘No more than I could. And Aragon?’

‘My father is a mighty warrior. He will always win.’

‘As you will, Ferdinand.’

There was need for silence, and after a while she said: ‘Was it not courageous of Beatriz to arrange this meeting between the King and ourselves!’

‘She is a courageous woman, I’ll grant you – but...’

‘You do not like Beatriz, Ferdinand. Oh, but that must not be. She is one of my dearest friends.’

‘She is unlike a woman. She has hectoring ways.’

‘That is her strength.’

‘I like not hectoring women,’ said Ferdinand.

The faintest alarm came to Isabella. In her life as a Queen there would be times when she must make her own decisions and all others must respect them.

But Ferdinand was home after a long absence; and she could not think of the difficulties which lay ahead. They were of the future and the present time had so much to offer.


* * *

Beatriz was exuberant. Her schemes for the reunion of Isabella and Ferdinand with the King had had as great a success as she had hoped for.

Henry was pliable, subject to be swayed by the prevailing wind; and here in Segovia with the guardian of his treasury, and the latter’s forceful wife, he appeared to be the firm friend of Ferdinand and Isabella.

He had ridden to the Twelfth Night celebrations between Ferdinand and Isabella, smiling and chatting with them as they rode, to the intense joy of the people. Through the streets they had ridden thus to the Bishop’s palace, between the Alcazar and the Cathedral, in which the Twelfth Night banquet was being held.

The banquet, supervised by the indefatigable Beatriz, was a success. Sweating serving men and women waited on the guests and minstrels played in the gallery. At the head of the table sat the King; on his right hand was Isabella, and on his left, Ferdinand.

Beatriz surveyed her beloved mistress and friend with beaming satisfaction, and Andres watched his wife.

He was aware of a certain tension, a certain watchfulness. It was inevitable, he told himself. All the conflict, all the strife, could not be dispersed by one brief meeting. Henry was eating and drinking with enjoyment, and his eyes were becoming a little glazed as they rested on one of the most sensuously beautiful of the women. Henry had not become a wise King in such a brief period of time; Isabella had not become secure in her place.

The banquet over, dancing began.

As Isabella was seated by the King, Beatriz hoped that he would lead the Princess in the dance. What could be more symbolic?

Yet Henry did not dance.

‘My dear sister,’ he murmured, ‘I feel a little unwell. You must lead the dance – you and your husband.’

So it was Isabella and Ferdinand who rose, and as they came into the centre of the hall others fell in behind them.

Beatriz hastened to the side of the King.

‘All is well, Highness?’ she asked anxiously.

‘I am not sure,’ said Henry. ‘I feel a little strange.’

‘It is too hot for Your Highness, perhaps.’

‘I know not. I seem to shiver.’

Beatriz beckoned to the beautiful young woman who had caught the King’s notice during the banquet; but Henry now seemed to be unaware of her.

‘Sit beside him,’ whispered Beatriz. ‘Speak to him.’

But the King had closed his eyes and had slumped sideways in his chair.


* * *

All night long the King lay groaning on his bed. He was in great pain, he declared.

News spread through Segoyia that the King was ill, and that the nature of his illness – vomiting, purging and stomach pains – pointed to poison.

There were silent men and women in the streets of Segovia; yesterday they had cheered; today they were solemn.

Could it be that the King had been lured to Segovia that he might be poisoned? And who was responsible for his condition?

There were many, who had helped at the banquet, who might wish him dead, for almost everyone present was a supporter of Isabella and Ferdinand.