Isabella inclined her head. ‘You may return to him,’ she said, ‘and tell him that I am coming immediately.’
As Isabella entered her brother’s apartments she knew that this was an important occasion.
Henry was seated, and beside him was the Queen. Standing behind the King’s chair was Beltran de la Cueva, Count of Ledesma; and the Marquis of Villena, with his uncle the Archbishop of Toledo, was also present.
Isabella knelt before the King and kissed his hand.
‘Why, Isabella,’ said Henry kindly, ‘it gives me pleasure to see you. Does she not grow apace!’ He turned to Queen Joanna, who flashed on Isabella a smile of great friendliness which seemed very false to the young girl.
‘She is going to be tall, as you are, my dear,’ said the Queen.
‘How old are you, sister?’ asked the King.
‘Thirteen, Highness.’
‘A young woman, no less. Time to put away childish things, and think of... marriage, eh?’
They were all watching her, Isabella knew, and she was angry because she was aware of the faint flush which had risen to her cheeks. Did she show the joy which she was feeling?
At last she and Ferdinand were to be united. Perhaps in a few days they would be meeting. She was a little apprehensive. Would he be as pleased with her as, she was certain, she was going to be with him?
How one’s thoughts ran on. They went beyond one’s control.
‘We keep your welfare very close to our hearts – the Queen, myself, my friends and ministers. And, sister, we have decided on a match for you, one which will delight you by its magnificence.’
She bowed her head and waited, hoping that she would be able to curb her joy and not show unseemly delight in the fact that at last she was to be the bride of Ferdinand.
‘The Queen’s brother, King Alfonso V of Portugal, asks your hand in marriage. I and my advisers are delighted by this offer and we have decided that it can only bring happiness and advantage to all concerned.’
Isabella did not believe that she heard correctly. She was conscious of a rush of blood to her ears; she could hear and feel the mighty pounding of her heart. For a few seconds she believed she would faint.
‘Well, sister, I see that you are overcome by the magnificence of this offer. You are a personable young woman now, you know. And you deserve a good match. It is my great pleasure to provide it for you.’
Isabella lifted her eyes and looked at the King. He was smiling, but not at her. He knew of her obsession with the idea of the Aragonese marriage. He remembered hearing how upset she was when she heard that a match had been arranged for her with the Prince of Viana. It was for this reason that he had told her in a formal manner of the proposed marriage with Portugal.
As for the Queen, she was smiling brightly. The match was entirely to her liking. She wanted to see Isabella safely out of Castile, for while she remained there she was a menace to Joanna’s daughter. She would of course have preferred to remove young Alfonso, but that would have presented too many difficulties at the moment. However, the brother would now be weakened by the loss of his sister’s support.
One of them will be out of the way, mused Joanna.
Isabella spoke slowly but clearly, and no one in that chamber remained unimpressed by the calm manner in which she addressed them.
‘I thank Your Highness for making such efforts on my behalf, but it seems that a certain fact has been overlooked. I am already betrothed, and I and others consider that betrothal binding.’
‘Betrothed!’ cried Henry. ‘My dear sister, you take a childish view of these things. Many husbands are suggested for Princesses, but there is nothing binding in these suggestions.’
‘Nevertheless I am betrothed to Ferdinand of Aragon; and in view of this, marriage elsewhere is impossible.’
Henry looked exasperated. His sister was going to be stubborn, and he was too weary of conflict to endure it. If he had been alone with her he would have agreed with her that she was betrothed to Ferdinand, that the King of Portugal’s offer must be refused; and then, as soon as she had left him, he would have gone ahead with arrangements for the marriage, leaving someone else to break the news to her.
He could not do this, of course, in the presence of the Queen and his ministers.
‘Dear Isabella!’ cried Joanna. ‘She is but a child yet. She does not know that a great King like my brother cannot be refused when he asks her hand in marriage. You are fortunate indeed; you will be very happy in Lisbon, Isabella.’
Isabella looked from Villena to the Archbishop and then appealingly at Henry. None of them would meet her gaze.
‘The King of Portugal himself,’ said Henry, studying the rings on his fingers, ‘is coming to Castile. He will be here within the next few days. You must be ready to receive him, sister. I would have you show your pleasure and gratitude that he has chosen you for this high honour.’
Isabella stood very still. She wanted to speak her protests but it seemed to her that her throat had closed and would not let the words escape.
In spite of that natural calm, that extraordinary dignity, standing here in the audience chamber with the eyes of all the leading ministers of Castile upon her, she looked like an animal desperately seeking a means of escape from a trap which it saw closing about it.
Isabella lay on her bed; she had the curtains drawn about it that she might be completely shut in. She had prayed for long hours on her knees, but she did not cease to pray every hour of the day.
She had talked to Beatriz; and Beatriz could only look sad and say that this was the fate of Princesses; but she had tried to comfort her. ‘This is an obsession you have built up for Ferdinand,’ she told her. ‘How can you be sure that he is the only one for you? You have never seen him. You know nothing of him except what has come to you through hearsay. Might it not be that the King of Portugal will be a kind husband?’
‘I love Ferdinand. That sounds foolish to you, but it is as though he has grown up with me. Perhaps when I first heard his name I needed comfort, perhaps I allowed myself to build an ideal – but there is something within me, Beatriz, which tells me that only with Ferdinand can I be happy.’
‘If you do your duty you will be happy.’
‘I do not feel that it is my duty to marry the King of Portugal.’
‘It is what the King, your brother, commands.’
‘I shall have to go away from Castile... away from Alfonso... away from you, Beatriz. I shall be the most unhappy woman in Castile, in Portugal. There must be a way. They were determined to marry me to the Prince of Viana, but he died, and that was like a miracle. Perhaps if I prayed enough there might be another miracle.’
Beatriz shook her head; she had little comfort to offer. She believed that Isabella must now leave her childish dreams behind her; she must accept reality, as so many Princesses had been obliged to do before her.
And since Beatriz could not help, Isabella wished to shut herself away, to pray, if not to be saved from this distasteful marriage, to have the courage to endure it.
There was a movement in her room and she sat up in bed, whispering: ‘Who is there?’
‘It is I, Isabella.’
‘Alfonso!’
‘I came to you quietly. I did not want anyone to disturb us. Oh... Isabella, I am frightened.’
The bed curtains divided and there stood her brother. He looked such a child, she thought, and she forgot her own misery in her desire to comfort him.
‘What is it, Alfonso?’
‘There are plots and intrigues all about us, Isabella. And I... I am the centre of them. That is what I feel. They are going to send you away so that I shall not have the comfort of your presence and advice. Isabella... I am afraid.’