Виктория Холт - Castile for Isabella

Isabella was aroused from her sleep. She sat up in bed telling herself that surely it was not morning yet, for it was too dark.

‘Wake up, Isabella.’

That was her mother’s voice and it sent shivers of apprehension through her. And there was her mother, holding a candle in its sconce, her hair flowing about her shoulders, her eyes enormous in her pale wild face.

Isabella began to tremble. ‘Highness...’ she began. ‘Is it morning?’

‘No, no. You have been asleep only an hour or so. There is wonderful news – so wonderful that I could not find it in my heart not to wake you that you might hear of it.’

‘News... for me, Highness?’

‘Why, what a sleepy child you are. You should be dancing for joy. This wonderful news has just arrived, from Aragon. You are to have a husband, Isabella. It is a great match.’

‘A husband, Highness?’

‘Come. Do not lie there. Get up. Where is your wrap?’ The Dowager Queen laughed on a shrill note. ‘I was determined to bring you this news myself. I would let no one else break it to you. Here, child. Put this about you. There! Now come here. This is a solemn moment. Your hand has been asked in marriage.’

‘Who has asked it, Highness?’

‘King John of Aragon asks it on behalf of his son Ferdinand.’

‘Ferdinand,’ repeated Isabella.

‘Yes, Ferdinand. Of course he is not the King’s elder son, but I have heard – and I know this to be the truth – that the King of Aragon loves the fingernails of Ferdinand more than the whole bodies of his three children by his first marriage.’

‘Highness, has he such different fingernails from other people then?’

‘Oh, Isabella, Isabella, you are a baby still. Now Ferdinand is a little younger than you are... a year, all but a month. So he is only a little boy as yet, but he will be as delighted to form an alliance with Castile as you are with Aragon. And I, my child, am contented. You have no father now, and your enemies at Madrid will do their utmost to keep you from your rights. But the King of Aragon offers you his son. As soon as you are old enough the marriage shall take place. In the meantime you may consider yourself betrothed. Now, we must pray. We must thank God for this great good fortune and at the same time we will ask the saints to guard you well, to bring you to a great destiny. Come.’

Together they knelt on the prie-Dieu in Isabella’s apartment.

To the child it seemed fantastic to be up so late; the flickering candle-light seemed ghostly, her mother’s voice sounded wild as she instructed rather than prayed to God and his saints about what they must do for Isabella. Her knees hurt; they were always a little sore from so much kneeling; and she felt as though she were not fully awake and that this was some sort of dream.

‘Ferdinand,’ she murmured to herself, trying to visualise him; but she could only think of those fingernails so beloved of his father.

Ferdinand! They would meet each other; they would talk together; make plans; they would live together, as her mother and the King had lived together, in a palace or a castle, probably in Aragon.

She had never thought of living anywhere other than in Madrid or Arevalo; she had never thought of having other companions than her mother and Alfonso, and perhaps Henry if they ever returned to Madrid. But this would be different.

Ferdinand. She repeated the name again and again. It held a magic quality. He was to be her husband, and already he had the power to make her mother happy.

The Queen had risen from her knees.

‘You will go back to your bed now,’ she said. ‘We have given thanks for this great blessing.’ She kissed her daughter’s forehead, and her smile was quiet and contented.

Isabella offered silent thanks to Ferdinand for making her mother so happy.

But the Queen’s mood changed with that suddenness which still startled Isabella. ‘Those who have thought you of little account will have to change their minds, now that the King of Aragon has selected you as the bride of his best-loved son.’

And there in her voice was all the anger and hate she felt for her enemies.

‘Everything will be well though now, Highness,’ soothed Isabella. ‘Ferdinand will arrange that.’

The Queen smiled suddenly; she pushed the little girl towards the bed.

‘There,’ she said, ‘go to bed and sleep peacefully.’

Isabella took off her wrap and climbed into the bed. The Queen watched her and stooped over her to arrange the bedclothes. Then she kissed Isabella and went out, taking the candle with her.

Ferdinand, thought Isabella. Dear Ferdinand of the precious fingernails, the mention of whose name could bring such happiness to her mother.

* * *

Joanna noticed that Alegre did not appear on those occasions when it was her duty to wait on the Queen. She sent one of her women to the absent maid of honour with a command to present herself at once. When Alegre arrived, Joanna made sure that no others should be present at their interview.

Alegre surveyed the Queen with very slightly disguised insolence.

‘Since you have come to Castile,’ said Joanna, ‘you appear to take your duties very lightly.’

‘To what duties does your Highness refer?’ The tone reflected the insolence of her manner.

‘To what duties should I refer but those which brought you to Castile? I have not seen you in attendance for more than a week.’

‘Highness, I had received other commands.’

‘I am your mistress. It is from me only that you should take orders.’

Alegre cast down her eyes and managed to look both brazen and demure at the same time.

‘Well, what do you say?’ persisted the Queen. ‘Are you going to behave in a fitting manner or will you force me to send you back to Lisbon?’

‘Highness, I do not think it would be the wish of all at Court that I should return to Lisbon. I hear, from a reliable source, that my presence is very welcome here.’

Joanna stood up abruptly; she went to Alegre and slapped her on both sides of her face. Startled, Alegre put her hands to her cheeks.

‘You should behave in a manner fitting to a maid of honour,’ said Joanna angrily.

‘I will endeavour to emulate Your Highness, who behaves in the manner of a Queen.’

‘You are insolent!’ cried Joanna.

‘Highness, is it insolent to accept the inevitable?’

‘So it is inevitable that you should behave like a slut at my Court?’

‘It is inevitable that I obey the commands of the King.’

‘So he commanded you? So you did not put yourself in the way of being commanded?’

‘What could I do, Highness? I could not efface myself.’

‘You shall be sent back to Lisbon.’

‘I do not think so, Highness.’

‘I shall demand that you are sent back.’

‘It would be humiliating for Your Highness to demand that which would not be granted.’

‘You should not think that you know a great deal concerning Court matters merely because for a few nights you have shared the King’s bed.’

‘One learns something,’ said Alegre lightly, ‘for even we do not make love all the time.’

‘You are dismissed.’

‘From your presence, Highness, or from the Court?’

‘Go from my presence. I warn you, I shall have you sent back to Lisbon.’

Alegre curtsied and left. Joanna was very angry; she cursed her own folly in bringing Alegre with her; she should have guessed the creature would make trouble of some sort; but how could she have foreseen that she would have the temerity to usurp her own place in the royal bed?

* * *

She was thoughtful while her maids were dressing her. She felt she could not trust herself to speak to them, lest she betray her feelings.

It would be so undignified to let anyone know how humiliated she felt, particularly as her common sense told her that if she did not want trouble with the King she would have to accept the situation.

Her seemingly indolent husband, while he remained indifferent to the affairs of the kingdom, would commit any folly to please his mistress of the moment. She would never forget the sad story of Blanche of Aragon, and she knew she would be foolish to let herself believe that, because he appeared to have an affection for herself, he would hesitate to send her back to Lisbon if she displeased him.

After all, she was no more successful than Blanche had been in achieving the desired state of pregnancy. She was alarmed too by the whispers she had heard. Was it really true that Henry was unable to beget children? If so, what would be the fate of Joanna of Portugal? Would it be similar to that of Blanche of Aragon?

She listened to the chatter of her women, which was clearly intended to soothe her.

‘They say he was magnificent.’

‘I consider him to be the handsomest man at Court.’

Joanna said lightly: ‘And who is this magnificent and handsome personage?’

‘Beltran de la Cueva, Highness.’

Joanna felt her spirits lifted, but studying her face in the mirror she saw with satisfaction that she gave no sign of this.

‘What has he done?’

‘Well, Highness, he defended a passage of arms in the presence of the King himself. He was victorious; and rarely, so we hear, has a man shown such valour. He declared that he would uphold the superior charms of his mistress against all others at this time or any time, and that he would challenge any who denied his words.’