They were at the gates of the city and the Toledans were coming out of their homes to welcome them. Here were the goldsmiths and silversmiths, the blacksmiths, the weavers and embroiderers, the armourers and the curriers, all members of the guilds of this city which was one of the most prosperous in Spain.

Thus it had been at that time when she and Ferdinand had come here to inspect the work on San Juan de los Reyes which they had given to the city. She remembered well the day they had seen the chains of the captives whom they had liberated when they conquered Malaga. These chains had been hung outside the walls of the church for significant decoration; they rested there today and they should remain there for ever – a reminder to the people that their Sovereigns had freed Spain from Moorish domination.

They would go to the church, or perhaps that of Santa Maria la Blanca, and give thanks for the safe arrival of the King and Queen of Portugal.

She would be happy among those horseshoe arches, among those graceful arabesques; there she would ask to be purged of all resentment against the sorrows of the last year. She would be cleansed of self-pity, and ready for the miracle of birth, the recompense which was to be the son her dearest Isabella would give to her and Spain.

It was meet that the Archbishop of Toledo should be in the city to greet them – gaunt, emaciated Ximenes de Cisneros, his robes of state hanging uneasily on his spare figure.

Isabella felt a lifting of her spirits as she greeted him. She would tell her old confessor of her weakness; she would listen to his astringent comments; he would scorn her mother-love as unworthy of the Queen; he would deplore her weakness in questioning the will of God.

Ferdinand’s greeting of the Archbishop was cool. He could never look at him without recalling that the office with all its pomp and grandeur might have gone to his son.

‘It does me good to see my Archbishop,’ murmured Isabella graciously.

Ximenes bowed before her, but even his bow had arrogance. He set the Church above the State.

Ximenes rode beside the Queen through the streets of Toledo.


* * *

With what great joy the Queen embraced her daughter Isabella!

This was when they were alone after the ceremonial greeting which had been watched by thousands. Then they had done all that was required of them, this mother and daughter, bowing graciously, kissing hands, as though they were not yearning to embrace and ask a thousand questions.

The Queen would not allow herself to look too closely at her daughter; she was afraid that she might see that which had made her anxious and betray her anxiety.

But now they were alone and the Queen had dismissed all her attendants and those of her daughter, for she told herself they must have this short time together.

‘My dearest,’ cried the Queen, ‘let me look at you. Why, you are a little pale. And how is your health? Tell me exactly when the little one is expected.’

‘In August, Mother.’

‘Well, that is not long to wait. You have not told me how you are.’

‘I feel a little tired, and rather listless.’

‘It is natural.’

‘I wonder.’

‘What do you mean? You wonder! A pregnant woman has a child to carry. Naturally she does not feel as other women do.’

‘I have seen some women seem perfectly healthy in pregnancy.’

‘Nonsense. It differs from woman to woman and from birth to birth. I know. Remember I have had five children of my own.’

‘Then perhaps this tiredness is nothing.’

‘And your cough?’

‘It is no worse, Mother.’

‘You think I am foolish with all my questions?’

‘Mother, it is good to hear those questions.’ Isabella suddenly flung herself into her mother’s arms and, to the Queen’s dismay, she saw tears on her daughter’s cheeks.

‘Emanuel is good to you?’

‘No husband could be better.’

‘I noticed his tenderness towards you. It pleased me.’

‘He does everything to please me.’

‘Then why these tears?’

‘Perhaps … I am frightened.’

‘Frightened of childbirth! It is natural. The first time can be alarming. But it is the task of all women, you know. A Queen’s task as well as a peasant’s. Nay, more so. It is more important for a Queen to bear children than for a peasant to do so.’

‘Mother, there are times when I wish I were a peasant.’

‘What nonsense you talk.’

Isabella realised then that there were matters she could not discuss even with her mother. She could not depress her by telling her that she had a strange foreboding of evil.

She wanted to cry out: Our House is cursed. The persecuted Jews have cursed us. I feel their curses all about me.

Her mother would be shocked at such childishness.

But is it childishness? Isabella asked herself. In the night I feel certain that this evil is all about me. And Emanuel feels it too.

How could that be? Such thoughts were foolish superstition.

She fervently wished that she had not to face the ordeal of childbirth.


* * *

How tiring it was to stand before the Cortes, to hear them proclaim her the heiress of Castile.

These worthy citizens were pleased with her, because none who looked at her could be in any doubt of her pregnancy. They were all hoping for a boy. But if she did not give birth to a boy, still the child she carried would, in the eyes of the Toledans, be the heir of Spain.

She listened to their loyal shouts and smiled her thanks. How glad she was that she had been brought up to hide her feelings.

After the ceremony with the Cortes, she must be carried through the streets to show herself to the people. Then she was received in the Cathedral and blessed by the Archbishop.

The atmosphere inside the massive Gothic building seemed overpowering. She stared at the treasures which hung on the walls and thought of the rich citizens of Toledo who had reason to be grateful to her mother for restoring order throughout Spain where once there had been anarchy. In this town lived the finest goldsmiths and silversmiths in the world; and the results of their labours were here in the cathedral for all to see.

She looked at the stern face of Ximenes and, as she studied the rich robes of his office, the brocade and damask studded with precious jewels, she thought of the hair shirt which she knew would be worn beneath those fine garments, and shivered.

She tried to pray then to the Virgin, the patron saint of Toledo, and she found that she could only repeat: ‘Help me, Holy Mother. Help me.’

When they had returned to the Palace, Emanuel said she must rest; the ceremony had tired her.

‘There are too many ceremonies,’ he said.

‘I do not believe it is the ceremony which tires me, Emanuel,’ she said. ‘I think I should be equally tired if I lay on my bed all the day. Perhaps I am not really tired.’

‘What then, my dearest?’

She looked at him frankly and answered: ‘I am afraid.’

‘Afraid! But, my love, you shall have the very best attention in Spain.’

‘Do you think that will avail me anything?’

‘But indeed I do. How I long for September! Then you will be delighting in your child. You will laugh at these fears … if you remember them.’

‘Emanuel, I do not think I shall be here in September.’

‘But, my darling, what is it you are saying …?’

‘Dear Emanuel, I know you love me. I know you will be unhappy if I die. But it is better for you to be prepared.’

‘Prepared! I am prepared for birth, not for death.’

‘But if death should come …’

‘You are overwrought.’

‘I am fatigued, but I think at such times I see the future more clearly. I have a very strong feeling that I shall not get well after the child is born. It is our punishment, Emanuel. For me death, for you bereavement. Why do you look so shocked? It is a small payment for the misery we shall bring to thousands.’

Emanuel threw himself down by the bed. ‘Isabella, you must not talk so. You must not.’

She stroked his hair with her thin white hand.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I must not. But I had to warn you of this feeling I have. It is so strong. Well, I have done so. Now let us forget it. I shall pray that my child will be a boy. That I think will make you very happy.’

‘And you will be happy too.’

She only smiled at him. Then she said quickly: ‘Toledo is a beautiful town, is it not? I think my father loves it. It is so prosperous. It is so Moorish. There is everything here to remind my parents of the reconquest; there are more than the chains from Malaga on the walls of San Juan de los Reyes. But my mother, while she exults in the prosperity and beauty of Toledo, feels a certain sadness.’

‘There must be no sadness,’ said Emanuel.

‘But there must always be sadness, it seems, sadness to mingle with pride, with laughter, with joy. Is it not beautiful here? I love to watch the Tagus dashing against the stones far below. Where in Spain is there such a fertile vega as that around Toledo? The fruit is so luscious here, the corn so plentiful. But did you notice how the flies pestered us as we came in? I saw the Rock too. The Rock of Toledo from which criminals are hurled down … down into the ravine. So much beauty and so much sorrow. That is what my mother feels when she rides into Toledo. In this rich and lovely city my sister Juana was born.’

‘That should make your mother love it all the more.’

Isabella took her husband’s hand in hers and cried out: ‘Emanuel, let there be complete trust between us. Let us not pretend to one another. Can you not see it? It is like the writing on the wall. I see it clearly. As I come nearer and nearer to my confinement I seem to acquire a new sensitivity. I feel I am not entirely of this world but have not yet reached the next. Therefore I sometimes see what is hidden from most human eyes.’