Виктория Холт - Castile for Isabella

Tears of self-pity often filled Henry’s eyes, and his doctors sought to rouse him from his lethargy. But there was nothing now which could give him the desire to live. His mistresses no longer interested him. There was nothing in life to sustain his flagging spirits.

It became clear to all in the immediate Court circle that Henry had not long to live. Ambitious noblemen began to court Isabella. The Cardinal Mendoza and the Count Benavente, who had supported first Alfonso and then turned to La Beltraneja, now began to turn again – this time towards Isabella.

Isabella was the natural successor. Her character had aroused admiration. She was of a nature to make a good Queen, and she had a strong husband in Ferdinand.

So, among others, Mendoza and Benavente came to Court, there to await the passing of the old sovereign and the nomination of the new.

* * *

On a cold December night in the year 1474, Henry lay on his death-bed.

Ranged round his bed were the men who had come to see him die, and among them was the Cardinal Mendoza and the Count Benavente. In the background hovered the King’s secretary, Oviedo. He was uneasy, for he had something on his mind.

Mendoza whispered to Benavente: ‘He cannot last long. That was the death-rattle in his throat.’

‘He cannot have more than an hour to live. It is time he received the last rites.’

‘One moment. He is trying to say something.’

The Cardinal and the Count exchanged glances. It might well be that what the King had to say had better not be heard by any but themselves.

The Cardinal bent over the bed. ‘Your Highness, your servants await your orders.’

‘Little Joanna,’ murmured the King. ‘She is but a child. What will become of her?’

‘She will be taken care of, Highness. Do not fret on her account.’

‘But I do. We were so careless... her mother and I. She is my heiress... Little Joanna. Who will care for her? My sister Isabella is strong. She can look after herself... but little Joanna... she is my heiress, I tell you. She is my heiress.’

The Cardinal said quickly: ‘The King’s mind wanders.’ The Count nodded in agreement.

‘I have left a will,’ went on Henry. ‘In it I proclaim her my heir.’

‘A will!’ The Cardinal was startled, for this was an alarming piece of information. He and the Count were only waiting for the end of Henry that they might go and pay their homage to the new Queen Isabella. A will could complicate matters considerably.

‘It is with Villena...’ murmured the King. ‘I gave it to Viilena.’

‘There is no doubt that the King’s mind wanders,’ whispered the Count.

‘It is with Villena,’ muttered Henry. ‘He will look after her. He will save the throne for Joanna.’

One of the attendants came to the two men who stood by the bed, and asked if he should call the King’s Confessor.

‘The King’s mind wanders,’ the Cardinal told him. ‘He believes the Marquis of Villena to be here in the Palace.’

The King’s eyes had closed and his head had fallen a little to one side. His breathing was stertorous. Suddenly he opened his eyes and looked at the men about the bed. He obviously did not recognise them. Then he said, and the words came thickly through his furred lips: ‘Villena, where are you, my friend? Villena, come nearer.’

‘He is near the end,’ said the Cardinal. ‘Yes, call the King’s Confessor.’

* * *

As the Count and Cardinal left the chamber of death Oviedo hurried after them.

‘My lords, may I have a word with you?’

They paused to listen to the secretary.

‘The King has left in my keeping a document which greatly troubles me,’ said Oviedo. ‘It was in Villena’s possession, until he was dying. He then gave it to me to return to the King, but the King told me to lock it away; and this I have done.’

‘What document is this?’

‘It is the King’s last will, my lords.’

‘You should show it to us without delay.’

Oviedo led them into a chamber in which he stored his secret documents. He unlocked the box, produced the will and handed it to the Cardinal.

Had the Cardinal been alone he might have destroyed it; at the moment Benavente was his friend; but men changed sides quickly in Castile at this time, and he dared not destroy such a document while there were witnesses to see him do so.

Benavente read his thoughts, for they were his also.

Then the Cardinal said: ‘Tell no one of this document. Take it to the curate of Santa Cruz in Madrid and tell him to lock it away in a safe place.’

Oviedo bowed and retired.

The Count and Cardinal were silent for a few seconds; then the Cardinal said: ‘Come! Let us to Segovia, there to pay homage to the Queen of Castile.’

On the thirteenth day of December, in that year 1474, a procession consisting of the highest of the nobility and clergy of Castile made its way to the Alcazar of Segovia.

There, under a canopy of rich brocade, homage was paid to Isabella, Queen of Castile.

They had come to escort her to the city’s square where a platform had been set up.

Isabella, in her royal robes, mounted her jennet and was led there by the magistrates of the city, while one of her officers walked before her carrying the sword of state.

When she reached the platform she dismounted and ascended the structure, there to take her place on the throne which had been set up for her.

When she looked out on that great assembly she was deeply moved. This, she felt, was one of the truly great moments in her life, and it was for this that she had been born.

She had two regrets – one disappointing, one very bitter. The first was that Ferdinand was not here to share this triumph with her because he had, only a few weeks before Henry’s death, received an urgent call from his father and had joined him in Aragon; the other was that her mother could not be aware of what was happening to her daughter this day.

And as Isabella sat there on that throne, Queen of Castile by the desire of the people of Segovia, it was her mother’s voice which she heard ringing in her ears: ‘Never forget, you could be Queen of Castile.’

She had never forgotten.

She heard the bells peal out; she saw the flags fluttering in the breeze; she heard the guns boom forth. All these were saying: Here is the new Queen of Castile.

There were many to kneel before her, to kiss her hand and swear their loyalty; and she in her turn told them, in that sweet, musical, rather high-pitched young and almost innocent voice, that she would do all in her power to serve them, her subjects, to bring back law and order to Castile, and to be a worthy Queen.

The voices of the crowd rang out: ‘Castile! Castile for Isabella! Castile for the King Don Ferdinand and his Queen Doña Isabella, Queen Proprietor of the Kingdoms of Castile and Leon!’

She felt warmed by their mention of Ferdinand; she would be able to tell him how they had called his name. That would please him.

Then she descended from the platform and placed herself at the head of the procession, when it made its way to the Cathedral.

Isabella listened to the chanting of Te Deum; and earnestly she prayed for Divine guidance, that she might never falter in her duties towards her kingdoms and her people.

* * *

Ferdinand came with all speed from Aragon, and joyously Isabella received him.

Was it her fancy, or did he hold his head a little higher? Was he a little more proud, a little more masterful than before?

In the midst of his passion he whispered to her: ‘First you are my wife, Isabella. Do not forget that. Only second, Queen of Castile.’

She did not contradict him, for he did not expect an answer. He had spoken as though he made a statement of fact. It was not true. If she had never known it before, it had become clear to her after the ceremony in the square and the Cathedral.

But she loved him tenderly and with passion. She was a wife and a mother, but the crown was her spouse, and the people of Castile – the suffering and the ignorant – they were her children.

She would not tell him now. But in time he must come to understand. He would, for he too had his duty. He was younger than she was, and for all his experience he was perhaps not so wise, though not for all the world would she tell him so.

He will understand, she assured herself, but he is younger than I – not only in years – and perhaps I am more serious by nature. It will take a little time before he understands as I do.

* * *

His grandfather, the Admiral Henriquez, was delighted at the turn of events.

He placed himself at the service of his grandson.

The day after Ferdinand’s return he presented himself and embraced the young husband with tears in his eyes.

‘This is the proudest moment of my life. You will be King of Aragon. You are already King of Castile.’

Ferdinand looked a little sulky. ‘One hears much talk of the Queen of Castile, little of its King.’

‘That is a matter which should be set right,’ went on the Admiral. ‘Isabella has inherited Castile, but that is because the Salic law does not exist in Castile as it does in Aragon. If it were accepted here, you, as the nearest male claimant to the throne, through your grandfather Ferdinand, would be King of Castile – and Isabella merely your consort.’

‘That is so,’ agreed Ferdinand, ‘and it is what I would wish. But everywhere we go it is Isabella... Isabella... and they never forget to remind me that she is the reina proprietaria. It is almost as though they accept me on sufferance.’