Then the little girl could bear it no longer; perhaps because it was so long since she had had to restrain herself, or because she was so very eager to preserve the peace of Arevalo.

She went to her mother and curtsied very low. Then she said: ‘Highness, I think Alfonso is hungry.’

‘Hungry, Highness,’ wailed Alfonso. ‘Highness hurts Alfonso.’

The Queen continued to stare ahead, ignoring their appeal.

‘He has married again,’ she resumed. ‘He thinks he will beget a child. But he never will. How could he? It is impossible. It is the just reward for the life he has led.’

It was the old theme which Isabella had heard many times before; it was a reminder of the past; it warned her that the peace of Arevalo could be shattered in a moment.

‘Alfonso hungry,’ wailed the boy.

‘My son,’ the Queen repeated, ‘one day you shall be King of Castile. One day...’

‘Don’t want to be King,’ cried Alfonso. ‘Highness squeezing him.’

‘Highness,’ whispered Isabella earnestly, ‘shall we show you how far Alfonso can walk by himself?’

‘Let them try!’ cried the Queen. ‘They will see. Let them try! The whole of Castile will be laughing at them.’

Then, to Isabella’s relief, she set Alfonso on his feet. He looked at his arms and whimpered.

Isabella took his hand and whispered: ‘Walk, Alfonso. Show Highness.’

Alfonso nodded gleefully.

But the Queen had begun to laugh.

Alfonso looked at his mother and crowed with pleasure. He did not understand that there were more kinds of laughter than one. Alfonso only knew about laughing for amusement or happiness, but Isabella knew this was the frightening laughter. After the long peace it had returned.

One of the women had heard and came into the apartment. She looked at the two children, standing there watching their mother. Then she retired and very soon a physician came into the room.

Now the Queen was laughing so much that she could not stop. The tears were running down her cheeks. Alfonso was laughing too; he turned to Isabella to make sure that she was joining in the fun.

‘Highness,’ said the physician, ‘if you will come to your bedchamber I will give you a potion which will enable you to rest.’

But the Queen went on laughing; her arms had begun to wave about wildly. Another physician had now joined them.

With him was a woman, and Isabella heard his quiet order. ‘Take the children away... immediately.’

But before they went, Isabella saw her mother on the couch, and the two doctors holding her there, while they murmured soothing words about rest and potions.

There was no escape, thought Isabella, even at Arevalo. She was glad Alfonso was so young that, as soon as he no longer saw his mother, he forgot the scene they had just witnessed; she was glad that he was too young to understand what it might mean.


* * *

Henry was happy in those first weeks of his marriage. He had arranged ceremonies and pageants of such extravagance as had rarely been seen before in Castile. So far he had not displeased his subjects, and when he rode among them at the head of some glittering cavalcade, towering above most of his retinue, his crown on his red hair, they cheered him vociferously. He knew how to dispense smiles and greetings so that they fell on all, rich and poor alike.

‘There is a King,’ said the people of Castile, ‘the like of whom we have not seen for many a year.’

Some had witnessed the departure of Blanche and had pitied her. She looked so forlorn, poor lady.

But, it was agreed, the King had his duties to Castile. Queen Blanche was sterile, and however virtuous queens may be, virtue is no substitute for fertility.

‘Poor Henry!’ they sighed. ‘How sad he must be to have to divorce her. Yet he considers his duty to Castile before his own inclination.’

As for Henry he had scarcely thought of Blanche since she had left. He had been delighted to dismiss her from his thoughts, and when he saw his new wife his spirits had soared.

He, who was a connoisseur of women, recognised something beyond her beauty... a deep sensuality which might match his own, or at least come near to it.

During those first weeks of marriage he scarcely left her. In public she delighted his subjects; in private she was equally satisfactory to him.

There could not have been a woman more unlike poor Blanche. How glad he was that he had had the courage to rid himself of her.

Behind the sparkling eyes of the new Queen there was a certain purpose, but that was not evident as yet. Joanna was content at first merely to play the wife who was eager to please her husband.

Attended by the maids of honour whom she had brought with her from Lisbon, she was always the centre of attraction, Full of energy, she planned balls and pageants of her own to compete with those which the King gave in her honour, so that it appeared that the wedding celebrations would go on for a very long time.

Always to the fore among those who surrounded the new Queen was Alegre. Her dancing, her spontaneous laughter, her joy in being alive, were already beginning to attract attention.

Joanna watched her with some amusement.

‘Have you found a Castilian lover yet?’ she asked.

‘I think so, Highness.’

‘Pray tell me his name.’

‘It would scarcely be fair to him, Highness, for he does not yet know of the delights in store for him.’

‘Am I to presume that this man has not yet become your lover?’

‘That is so,’ answered Alegre demurely.

‘Then he must be a laggard, for if you have decided, why should he hold back?’

‘Who shall say?’ murmured Alegre. Then she laughed and went on: ‘It is a great pleasure to all of us who serve Your Highness to note how devoted the King is to you. I have heard that he has had hundreds of mistresses, yet when he is with you he is like a young man in love for the first time.’

‘My dear Alegre, I am not like you. I would not tolerate laggards in love.’

Alegre put her head on one side and went on: ‘His Highness is so enamoured of you that he seems to have forgotten those two cronies of his, Villena and the Archbishop... almost.’

‘Those two!’ said the Queen. ‘They are for ever at his elbow.’

‘Whispering advice,’ added Alegre. ‘I wonder if they have advised him how to treat you. It would not surprise me. I fancy the King does little without their approval. I believe he has become accustomed to listening to his two dear friends.’

Joanna was silent, but she later remembered that conversation. She was faintly irritated by those two friends and advisers of the King. He thought too highly of them and she considered he was ridiculously subservient to them.

That night, when she and the King lay together in their bed, she mentioned them.

‘I fancy those two are possessed of certain conceits.’

‘Let us not concern ourselves with them,’ the King answered.

‘But, Henry, I would not see you humbled by any of your subjects.’

‘I... humbled by Villena and Carillo! My dear Joanna, that is not possible.’

‘They sometimes behave as though they are the masters. I consider that humiliating for you.’

‘Oh... you have been listening to their enemies.’

‘I have drawn my own conclusions.’

He made a gesture which indicated that there were more interesting occupations than discussing his ministers. But Joanna was adamant. She believed those two were watching her too intently, that they expected her to listen to their advice, or even instructions, simply because they had played some part in bringing her to Castile. She was not going to tolerate that; and now, while Henry was so infatuated with her, was the time to force him to curb their power.

So she ignored his gestures and sat up in bed, clasping her knees, while she told him that it was absurd for a King to give too much power to one or two men in his kingdom.

Henry yawned. For the first time he was afraid she was going to be one of those tiresome, meddling women, and that would be disappointing, as in many ways she was proving to be satisfactory.


* * *

It was the next day when, making his way to his wife’s apartment, he encountered Alegre.

They were alone in one of the ante-rooms and Alegre dropped a demure curtsy at his approach. She remained with her head bowed, but as he was about to pass on she lifted her eyes to his face, and there was a look in them which made him halt.

He said: ‘You are happy here in Castile?’

‘So happy, Highness. But never so happy as at this moment when I have the undivided attention of the King.’

‘My dear,’ said Henry with that characteristic and easy familiarity, ‘it takes little to make you happy.’

She took his hand and kissed it, and as she did so she again raised her eyes to his. They were full of provocative suggestion which it was impossible for a man of Henry’s temperament to ignore.

‘I have often noticed you in the Queen’s company,’ he said, ‘and it has given me great pleasure to see you here with us.’

She continued to smile at him.

‘Please rise,’ he continued.

She did so, while he looked down at her neat, trim figure with the eyes of a connoisseur. He knew her type. She was hot-blooded and eager. That look was unmistakable. She was studying him in a manner which he might have considered insolent if she had not possessed such superb attractions.

He patted her cheek and his hand dropped to her neck.

Then suddenly he seized her and kissed her on the lips. He had not been mistaken. Her response was immediate, and that brief contact told him a good deal.