‘In such circumstances...’ he went on hotly. ‘But, what amazes me is – how is this possible?’
‘You refer to the King’s flirtation with my woman? I know him; I know her. I can assure you there is nothing to be amazed about.’
‘The King has always been devoted to the ladies.’
‘I had heard that before I came.’
‘It was once understandable. But with such a Queen... Highness, you must excuse me.’
‘Your feelings have the upper hand again. They must be strong and violent indeed to be able to subdue your good manners.’
‘They are very strong, Highness.’ His dark eyes were warm with adoration. She forgave Henry; she even forgave Alegre, because if they had not been so overcome by desire for each other she would not at this moment be accepting the attentions of this very handsome young man.
He was, she congratulated herself, far more handsome than the King; he was younger too, and the marks of debauchery had not yet begun to show on his features. Joanna had always said that if she allowed the King to go his own way, she would go hers, and she could imagine herself going along a very pleasant way with this young man.
‘I would know the name,’ she said, ‘of the young man of such powerful passions.’
‘It is Beltran de la Cueva, who places himself body and soul in the service of Your Highness.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I am tired of looking on at the dance.’ She stood up and put her hand in his; and while she danced with Beltran de la Cueva, Joanna forgot to watch the conduct of the King and her maid of honour.
The Queen was in her apartment, and her ladies were preparing her for bed.
She noticed that Alegre was not among them.
The sly jade! she thought. But at least she has the decency not to present herself before me tonight.
She asked one of the others where the girl was.
‘Highness, she had a headache, and asked us, if you should notice her absence, to crave your pardon for not attending. She felt so giddy she could scarce keep on her feet.’
‘She is excused,’ said the Queen. ‘She should be warned though to take greater care on these occasions.’
‘I shall give her your warning, Highness.’
‘Tell her that if she becomes careless of her... health, it might be necessary to send her back to Lisbon. Perhaps her native air would be beneficial to her.’
‘That will alarm her, Highness. She is in love with Castile.’
‘I thought I had noticed it,’ said the Queen.
She was ready now for her bed. They would lead her to it and, when she was settled, leave her. Shortly afterwards the King, having been similarly prepared by his attendants, would come to her as he had every night since their marriage.
But before her ladies had left her, the King’s messenger arrived.
His Highness was a little indisposed and would not be visiting the Queen that night. He sent her his devoted affection and his wishes that she would pass a good night.
‘Pray tell His Highness,’ she said, ‘that I am deeply concerned that he should be indisposed. I shall come along and see that he has all he needs. Although I am his Queen, I am also his wife, and I believe it is a wife’s duty to nurse her husband through any sickness.’
The messenger said hastily that His Highness was only slightly indisposed, and had been given a sleeping draught by his physician. If this were to be efficacious he should not be disturbed until morning.
‘How glad I am that I told you of my intentions,’ declared Joanna. ‘I should have been most unhappy if I had disturbed him.’
The King’s messenger was ushered out of the Queen’s bedchamber, and her ladies, more silently than usual, completed the ceremony of putting her to bed and left her.
She lay for some time contemplating this new state of affairs.
She was very angry. It was so humiliating to be neglected for her maid of honour; and she was sure that this was what was happening.
What should she do about it? Confront Henry with her discovery? Make sure that it did not occur again?
But could she do this? She had begun to understand her husband. He was weak; he was indolent; he wanted to preserve the peace at all costs. At all costs? At almost all costs. He was as single-minded as a lion or any other wild animal when in pursuit of his lust. How far would he allow her to interfere when it was a matter of separating him from a new mistress?
She had heard the story of her predecessor. Up to the last poor Blanche had thought she was safe, but Henry had not scrupled to send her away. Blanche had had twelve years’ experience of this man and she, Joanna, was a newcomer to Castile. Perhaps she would be unwise to unleash her anger. Perhaps she should wait and see how best she could revenge herself on her unfaithful husband and disloyal maid of honour.
She was, however, determined to discover whether they were together this night.
She rose from her bed, put on a wrap and went into that apartment next to her own where her women attendants slept.
‘Highness!’ Several of them had sat up in their beds, alarm in their voices.
She said: ‘Do not be alarmed. One of you, please bring me a goblet of wine. I am thirsty.’
‘Yes, Highness.’
Someone had gone in search of the wine, and Joanna returned to her room. She had made her discovery; the bed which should have been occupied by Alegre was empty.
The wine was brought to her, and she gazed absently at the flickering candlelight playing on the tapestried walls, while she drank a little and began to plot some form of retaliation.
She was very angry to think that she, Joanna of Portugal, had been passed over for one of her servants.
‘She shall be sent back to Lisbon,’ she muttered. ‘No matter what he says. I shall insist. Perhaps Villena and the Archbishop will be with me in this. After all, do they not wish that I shall soon be with child?’
And then she heard the soft notes of a lute playing beneath her window, and as she listened the lute-player broke into a love song which she had heard at the ball on this very night.
The words were those of a lover, sighing for his mistress, declaring that he would prefer death to repudiation by her.
She took the candle and went to the window.
Below was the young man who had spoken to her so passionately at the ball. For a few moments they gazed at each other in silence; then he began to sing again in a deep voice, vibrating and passionate.
The Queen went back to her bed.
What was happening in some apartment of this Palace between her husband and her maid of honour was now of small importance to her. Her thoughts were full of Beltran de la Cueva.
CHAPTER III
THE BETROTHAL OF 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?’