‘The man came to my apartment and made outrageous proposals.’
‘What were these proposals?’
‘They were of an immoral nature. Isabella will bear witness, for she heard all that was said.’
‘He made these proposals in Isabella’s presence then?’
‘Well... she was there.’
‘You mean he was not aware that she was there?’
‘No... he was not. I know, Henry, that you will not allow such outrageous conduct to go unpunished.’
Henry shifted his gaze from his stepmother’s face. He said, ‘He did not... attack you?’
‘He attacked my good name. He dared presume to make immoral suggestions to me. If Isabella had not come from her hiding-place in time... I think it is very possible that he might have laid hands on me.’
‘So Isabella was in hiding?’ Henry looked sternly at his half-sister.
‘I thank the saints that she was!’ cried the Queen. ‘No woman’s virtue is safe when there are such men at Court. My dear son, you will, I know, not suffer such conduct to go unpunished.’
Henry said: ‘Dear Mother, you excite yourself unnecessarily. I have no doubt that you protected your virtue from this man. You are still a beautiful woman. I cannot entirely blame him – nor must you – for being aware of that. I am sure, if you consider this matter calmly, you will come to the conclusion that the best of men sometimes forget the honour due to rank when beauty beckons.’
‘This is carnal talk,’ cried the Queen. ‘I beg of you not to use it before my daughter.’
‘Then I marvel that you should bring her to me when making such a complaint.’
‘But I told you she was there.’
‘She had been concealed... by your wishes, or was it some sly prank of her own? Which was it, eh? You tell me, Isabella.’
Isabella looked at her mother; she dared not lie to the King, yet at the same time she could not betray her mother.
Henry saw her embarrassment and was sorry for her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Do not fret, Isabella. Too much is being made of very little.’
‘Do you mean,’ screeched the Queen, ‘that you will ignore the insulting behaviour of this man towards a member of the royal family?’
‘Dear Mother, you must be calm. I have heard how excited you become on occasions, and it has occurred to me that it might be advisable if you left Court for some place where events which excited you were less likely to occur. As for Don Pedro Giron, he is the brother of the Marquis of Villena, and therefore not a man who can be lightly reprimanded.’
‘You would allow yourself to be ruled by Villena!’ cried the Queen. ‘Villena is important... more important than your father’s wife! It matters not that she has been insulted. It is the brother of the great Villena who has done it, and he must not be reprimanded! I had thought Villena was of less importance nowadays. I thought there was a new sun beginning to rise, and that we must all fall down and worship it. I thought that since Beltran de la Cueva – that most obliging man – became the friend of the King... and the Queen... the Marquis of Villena was not the man he had once been.’
Isabella half closed her eyes with horror. Previously the scenes had been threatening in the private apartments. What would happen if, in the presence of the King, her mother began to shout and laugh!
She longed to take her mother by the hand, to whisper urgently that they should beg permission to go; and only the rigorous training she had received prevented her from doing so.
Henry saw her distress and was as eager to put an end to this discussion as she was.
‘I think,’ he said gently, ‘that it would be well if you considered returning to Arevalo.’
His quiet tone had its effect on the Dowager Queen. She was silent for a few seconds, then she cried out: ‘Yes, it would be better if we returned to Arevalo. There I was safe from the lewdness of those whom Your Highness is pleased to honour.’
‘You may leave when you wish,’ said Henry. ‘I only ask that my little sister and brother remain at Court.’
Those words completely subdued the Queen.
Isabella knew that they had touched her with a terrible fear. One of the worst terrors of her mother’s wild imagination had always been that her children might be separated from her.
‘You have leave to retire,’ said Henry.
The Queen curtsied; Isabella did the same; and they returned in silence to their apartment.
CHAPTER VI
MURDER AT THE CASTLE OF ORTES
There were days when the château of Ortes in Béarn seemed like a prison to Blanche, and her apartments there took on the aspect of a condemned cell.
Within those ancient walls she felt as though assassins hid behind the hangings, that in dark corners they waited for her.
Sometimes, after she had dismissed her servants, she would lie in bed, tense... waiting.
Was that a creak of a floor-board? A soft footfall in her room?
Should she close her eyes and wait? How would it come? A pillow pressed over her mouth? A knife thrust into her breast?
Yet what is my life that I should cling to it? she asked herself. For what can I hope now?
Perhaps there was always hope. Perhaps she believed that her family would repent; that ambition, which had dominated it for so many years and had robbed its members of their finer feelings, would miraculously depart leaving room only for loving kindness.
Miracles there might be, but not such miracles as that.
Here she lived, the prisoner of her sister and her sister’s husband. It was terrible to know that they planned to rid themselves of her, that they were prepared to kill her for the sake of acquiring Navarre. It was a rich province, and many had cast covetous eyes on that maize and wheat-growing, that wine-producing land. But what land was worth the disintegration of a family, and the sordid criminality of its members against each other?
It would have been better, she often thought, if her mother had never inherited Navarre from Charles III, her father.
Often she dreamed that Carlos came to her, that he warned her to flee from this grim castle. In the mornings she was never sure whether she had dreamed that she had seen him or whether he had actually been with her. It was said that his ghost walked the streets of Barcelona. Perhaps the ghosts of murdered men did walk the earth, warning those they loved who were in similar danger, perhaps seeking revenge on their murderers. But Carlos had never been one to seek revenge. He had been too gentle. If he had been less so, he could not have failed to lead the people successfully against his father and his stepmother, and would doubtless now be the heir of Aragon in place of little Ferdinand. But it was the gentle ones who were sacrificed.
Blanche shivered. Her character was not unlike that of Carlos, and it seemed to her that there were warnings all about her that her time must come, as had that of Carlos.
There were occasions when she felt that she wanted to make the journey into Aragon to reason with her father and her stepmother, or to go to her sister, Eleanor, and her husband, Gaston de Foix, and tell them what was in her mind.
To her father and stepmother she would say: ‘What has your terrible crime brought to you? You have made Ferdinand heir of Aragon in place of Carlos. But what has happened to Aragon? The people murmur continually against you. They do not forget Carlos. There is continual strife. And one day, when you come near to the end of your days, you will remember the man who died at your command, and you will be filled with such remorse that you would rather have died before you committed such a crime.’
And to Eleanor and Gaston: ‘You want me removed so that Navarre can pass to you. You desire your son Gaston to be the ruler of Navarre. Oh Eleanor, take warning in time. Remember what happened to Carlos. Do not, for the sake of land, for the sake of wealth, for the sake of ambition – even though this is centred in your son – stain your souls with the murder of your sister.’