Those words had their effect on Isabella. It was almost a shock to have it brought home to her that she had never seen Ferdinand. She believed too that she had departed from her usual decorum by talking of him so much. She must remedy that.
But if she did not talk to him, that did not stop her thinking of him. She could not imagine life without Ferdinand.
Because of him she determined to be a perfect wife, a perfect Queen, for she believed that one day Ferdinand would be King of Aragon in spite of his brother Carlos. She mastered the art of the needle and was determined not only to become an expert in fine needlework but to be a useful seamstress as well.
‘When I am married to Ferdinand,’ she once told Alfonso, ‘I shall make all his shirts. I shall not allow him to wear one that is made by another hand.’
She was interested in affairs of state.
She was no longer a child, and perhaps, when she was fifteen or sixteen, she would be married. Ferdinand was a year younger, which could cause some delay, for she would be the one to wait for him to reach a marriageable age.
‘Never mind,’ she consoled herself, ‘I shall have a little longer to perfect myself.’
Now and then she heard news of her half-brother’s Court. Henry was a very bad King, she feared, and her mother had been right, no doubt, to insist that herself and her brother should go away and live like hermits. This was the best way to prepare herself for marriage with Ferdinand.
As she had even as a very small child, she listened and rarely interrupted when she heard the conversation of grownup people; she tried to hide her interest, which was the surest way of making them forget she was present. One day she heard a great deal of whispering. ‘What a scandal!’
‘Who ever heard of such behaviour by an Archbishop!’ ‘And the Archbishop of St James at that!’ Eventually she discovered what this misdemeanour of an Archbishop had been. It appeared that he had been so struck by the charms of a young bride that he had attempted abduction and rape as she left the church after her marriage. The comments on this scandal were so illuminating. ‘What can one expect? It is merely a reflection of the manners of the Court. How can the King censure the Archbishop when he behaves equally scandalously? You have heard, of course, that his chief mistress is the Queen’s own maid of honour. They say she keeps an establishment which is as splendid as that of the Queen, and that people such as the Archbishop of Seville seek her favour.’
‘It is not as though she is the King’s only mistress. The latest scandal is that one of his ladies wished to become an abbess, if you please! And what does our loving King do? He dismisses the pious and high-born abbess of a convent in Toledo and sets up his paramour in her place. It is small wonder that there are scandals outside the Court when they so blatantly exist inside it.’
Isabella began to learn from her mother and her teachers how the state of Castile was being governed; she was made aware of the terrible mistakes which were being made by her half-brother.
‘My child,’ said her pastor, ‘take a lesson from the actions of the King, and, if ever it should be your fate to assist in the government of a kingdom, make sure that you do not fall into like pitfalls. Taxes are being imposed on the people. For what reason? That the King may sustain his favourites. The merchants, who are one of the means of providing a country with its riches, are being taxed so heavily that they are prevented from giving the country of their best. Worst of all, the coinage has been adulterated. You must try to understand the importance of this. Where we had five mints we now have one hundred and fifty; this means that the value of money has dropped to a sixth of its previous value. My child, try to understand the chaos this can bring about. Why, if matters do not mend, the whole country will be on the verge of insolvency.’
‘Tell me,’ said Isabella earnestly, ‘is my brother Henry to blame for this?’
‘The rulers of a country are often to be blamed when it falls on evil times. It is their duty to efface themselves for the love of their country. The duty of Kings and Queens to their people should come before their pleasure. If ever it should be your destiny to rule...’
Isabella folded her hands together and said, ‘My country would be my first consideration.’ And she spoke as a novice might speak when contemplating the taking of her vows.
And always on such occasions she imagined herself ruling with Ferdinand; she began to realise that this prospective bridegroom, who was so real to her in spite of the fact that she had never seen him, was the dominating influence in her life.
Later came news that Henry had decided to lead a crusade against the Moors. There was nothing which could win the approval of the people so surely as an attempt to conquer the Moors. Spaniards smarted in the knowledge that for centuries the Arabs had remained in Spain, and that large provinces in the south were still under their domination. Since the days of Rodrigo Diaz of Bivar, the famous Castilian leader who had lived in the eleventh century and had been known as the Cid Campeador, Spaniards had looked for another great leader; and whenever one appeared who proposed to lead a campaign which was calculated to drive the Moors from the Iberian Peninsula the cry went up: ‘Here is the Cid reborn and come among us.’
Thus, when Henry declared his intention of striking against the Moors, his popularity increased.
He needed money for his campaigns, and who should provide it but his long-suffering people? The riches of the countryside were seized that armies might be equipped for the King’s campaign.
Henry, however, was a soldier who could make a brave show, marching through the streets at the head of his troops, but was not so successful on the battlefields.
Again and again his troops were routed; he returned from the wars, with his dazzling cavalcade making a brave show; but there were no conquests, and the Moors remained as strongly entrenched as ever.
He declared that he was chary of risking the lives of his soldiers, for in his opinion the life of one Christian was worth more than those of a thousand Mussulmans.
This was a sentiment which he hoped would find favour with the people; but they grumbled, particularly those in whose districts the fighting had taken place.
It would seem, said these people, that the King makes war on us, not on the Infidel.
And each day in the schoolroom at Arevalo Isabella would hear of the exploits of Henry, and must learn her lessons from them.
‘Never go to war,’ she was told, ‘unless you have a well-founded hope of victory. Fine uniforms do not necessarily make good soldiers. Before you go to war make sure that your cause is just and that it is wholeheartedly yours.’ ‘Never,’ said their preceptor, instructing Isabella and Alfonso, ‘had a prospective ruler a better opportunity of profiting from the folly of a predecessor.’
The children were told why, on every count, Henry was a bad King. They were not told of his voluptuous adventures, but these were hinted at, and mistresses and ministers were spoken of under one category as Favourites.
He was extravagant almost to the point of absurdity. His policy was to give bribes to his enemies in the hope of turning them into friends, and to his friends that they might remain friendly.
Mistaken policies, both of them, Isabella and Alfonso were warned. Friends should be kept by mutual loyalty, and enemies met by the mailed fist and not by placatory gold.
‘Learn your lessons well, children. There may come a time when you will need them.’
‘And we must learn our lessons, Alfonso,’ said Isabella. ‘For it may well be that one day the people will have had enough of Henry; and if he has no son they will call upon you to take the throne of Castile. As for myself, one day I shall help Ferdinand to rule Aragon. We must certainly learn our lessons well.’