This was a great sadness to the girl, but she accepted it with resignation.
It was the will of God, she told Alfonso; and both of them must accept that and never rail against it.
It would have been comforting if she had a calm gentle mother in whom she could have confided. She could have talked to her of her love for Ferdinand – but perhaps it would have been difficult to talk to anyone of a love one felt for a person whom one had never seen.
Yet, said Isabella, to herself, I know I am for Ferdinand and he is for me. That is why I would rather die than accept another husband.
But how could one explain this feeling within her which was based, not on sound good sense, but on some indescribable intuition? It was, therefore, better not to talk of it.
And in the peace of Arevalo, Isabella had gone on dreaming.
Then came this day, and Isabella had rarely seen her mother look more wild. There was the angry light in her eyes. So Isabella knew that something alarming had happened.
Isabella and her brother Alfonso had been summoned to their mother’s presence and, before they had time to perform the necessary curtsies and bows, the Dowager Queen exclaimed: ‘Your brother’s wife has given birth to a child.’
Isabella had risen to her feet with astonishing speed. Her mother did not notice this breach of etiquette.
‘A girl... fortunately... but a child. You know what this means?’ The Queen glared at Alfonso.
‘Why, yes, Highness,’ said the boy in his high-pitched voice, ‘it means that she will be heir to the throne and that I must step aside.’
‘We shall see,’ said the Queen. ‘We shall see who is going to step aside.’
Isabella noticed that a fleck of foam had appeared at the side of her mouth. That was a bad sign.
‘Highness,’ she began, ‘perhaps the child is not strong.’
‘I have heard nothing of that. A child there is... a girl brought into the world to... to rob us of our rights.’
‘But Highness,’ said Alfonso, who had not learned to keep quiet as Isabella had, ‘if she is my brother’s child she is heir to the throne of Castile.’
‘I know. I know.’ The Dowager Queen’s eyes flashed briefly on Isabella. ‘There is no law to prevent a woman’s taking the crown. I know that. But there are rumours about this girl. You would not understand. But let us say this: Has she a right to the throne? Has she... ?’
‘Holy Mother of God,’ prayed Isabella. ‘Calm her. Do not let the doctors have to hold her down this time.
‘Highness,’ she said soothingly, ‘here we have lived very happily.’
‘You are not going to live here happily much longer, my daughter,’ spat out the Queen. ‘In fact, you are to prepare for a journey at once.’
‘We are going away?’
‘Ah!’ cried the Queen, her voice rising on a note of hysterical laughter. ‘He does not trust us here. He thinks that Arevalo will become a hot-bed of rebellion now. And he is right. They cannot foist a bastard on Castile... a bastard who has no right to the crown. I doubt not that there will be many who will want to take Alfonso and put a crown upon his head....’
Alfonso looked alarmed.
‘Highness,’ said Isabella quickly, ‘it would not be possible while the King my brother lives.’
The Queen surveyed her children through narrowed eyes.
‘Your brother commands,’ she said, ‘that I, taking you two children with me, return at once to Court.’
Isabella’s heart was leaping within her, and she was not sure whether it was with fear or pleasure.
She said quickly: ‘Highness, give us your leave to retire and we will begin preparations. We have been here so long that there will be much for us to do.’
The Queen looked at her eleven-year-old daughter and nodded slowly.
‘You may go,’ she said.
Isabella seized her brother’s hand and, forcing him to bow, almost dragged him from the apartment.
As she did so she heard her mother’s muttering; she heard the laughter break out.
This, thought Isabella, is really the end of my childhood. At Court I shall quickly become a woman.
How would she fare at that most scandalous Court – she who had been so carefully nurtured here at Arevalo? She was a little alarmed, remembering the rumours she had heard.
Yet she was conscious of an intense elation, for she believed that she must now grow up quickly; and growing up meant marriage... with Ferdinand.
CHAPTER V
LA BELTRANEJA
The March sunshine shone through the windows of the Chapel in the Palace of Madrid on to the brilliant vestments of those taking part in the most colourful ceremony Isabella had ever witnessed. She was awed by the chanting voices, by the presence of glittering and important men and women.
She was not unconscious of the tension in the atmosphere, for she was wise enough to know that the smiling faces were like the masks she had seen worn at the fêtes and tournaments which had heralded this event.
The whole Court pretended to rejoice because of the birth of Isabella’s little niece, but Isabella knew that those smiling masks hid the true feelings of many people present at this christening.
There stood her half-brother Henry, looking very tall indeed and somewhat untidy, with his reddish hair straggling out beneath his crown. Beside him stood his half-brother, nine-year-old Alfonso.
Alfonso was quite handsome, thought Isabella, in his robes of state. He appeared to be solemn too, as though he knew that many people would be looking his way on this occasion. It seemed to Isabella that Alfonso was one of the most important people present – more important than the baby herself perhaps – and Isabella knew why. She could never entirely escape from that high-pitched voice of her mother’s, reminding them that, should the people decide they had had enough of Henry, they would turn to Alfonso.
Isabella herself had an important part to play in the christening.
With the baby’s sponsors, of whom she was one, she stood beside the font. The others were the Frenchman, Armignac, and the brilliantly clad Juan Pacheco, Marquis of Villena, and his wife. It was the Marquis who held her attention. Through eavesdropping whenever possible, she had heard his name mentioned often and she knew a great deal about him.
Echoes of conversations came back to her. ‘He is the King’s right hand.’ ‘He is the King’s right eye.’ ‘Henry does not take a step without consulting the Marquis of Villena.’ ‘Ah, but have you heard that... lately there has been a little change?’ ‘It cannot be...’ ‘Oh, but they say it is so. Now that is a joke.’
It was so interesting. Far more interesting here at Court, where she could actually see the people who had figured so largely in the rumours she had overheard at Arevalo.
The Marquis was smiling now, but Isabella felt that his mask was the most deceitful of them all. She sensed the power of the man and she wondered what he would look like when he was angry. He would be very formidable, she was sure.
Now the heavy, dark brows of Alfonso Carillo, the Archbishop of Toledo, were drawn together in a frown of concentration as he performed the christening ceremony and blessed the baby girl who had been carried to him under a canopy by Count Alba de Liste.
There was another whom Isabella could not fail to notice. This was a tall man, who might be said to be the handsomest man present; his clothes were more magnificent than those of any other; his jewels glittered with a brighter lustre – perhaps because there were so many of them. His hair was so black that it held a bluish tinge, his eyes were large and dark, but he had a fine fair skin which made him look very young.