The Marquis of Villena was against Isabella’s marriage with Ferdinand for very strong personal reasons. A great deal of the property which he now held had once belonged to the House of Aragon, and he guessed that if Ferdinand attained influence in Castile, some means would be found of removing that property from the Marquisate of Villena and bringing it into the possession of its original owners.
There was, however, one person in Castile who Isabella believed would welcome the marriage between herself and Ferdinand. This was Don Frederick Henriquez, who was Admiral of Castile and father of the ambitious Joan Henriquez, Ferdinand’s own mother.
The Admiral would naturally support the marriage between his grandson and one who was only separated from the throne of Castile by a few short steps.
There could be no doubt then where the Admiral’s sympathies would lie; and, if anyone in Castile could help her now, this was the man.
Isabella had learned her first lesson in statecraft.
She would send for Frederick Henriquez, Admiral of Castile, a man of great experience; he would be able to tell her exactly how she stood in regard to the suggested marriage with Alfonso of Portugal.
In the great apartment lighted by a hundred torches which threw shadows on the tapestried walls, Isabella came to pay her respects to the visiting King of Portugal.
She held her head high as she walked towards the dais where the two Kings sat; and even though she felt that her wildly beating heart would leap into her throat and suffocate her, she yet managed to retain a certain serenity.
‘I am for Ferdinand and Ferdinand is for me,’ she told herself even at this moment, as she had been telling herself while her women had prepared her for the interview.
Henry took her into his arms and she was held against his scented and jewel-decorated robes of state. He called her ‘our dearest sister’; and he was smiling with what most people would believe to be real affection.
Queen Joanna looked glitteringly beautiful; and of course Beltran de la Cueva was in attendance behind the chairs of the King and Queen, darkly handsome, dazzlingly clad, and... triumphant.
Now she saw the man whom they were eager to make her husband, and she shivered.
He seemed very old and repulsively ugly to the thirteen-year-old girl.
I will not, I will not, she told herself. If they force me, I will take a knife and kill myself rather than submit.
In spite of these wild thoughts her hand did not tremble as it was taken by the King of Portugal.
His eyes were a little glazed as they rested on her – this young virgin, with innocence shining in her eyes. A delectable morsel, thought the King of Portugal, and one who could conceivably bring a crown with her.
There was trouble in Castile. Wicked Joanna! What had she been about? He could guess. And this Beltran de la Cueva was such a handsome fellow that one could hardly blame Joanna. She should have arranged it, though, so that there were no suspicions. Yet why should he regret that! It was very possible that this delicious young girl would one day be the heiress of Castile. There was a young brother, but he might be killed in battle; for there would certainly be battles in Castile before long. And the baby Joanna? Oh, Isabella’s chances were fair enough.
Isabella’s eyes met his and she flinched. His lips were a little wet as though his mouth was watering at the sight of her.
Isabella’s whole being called out in protest, but she respectfully returned the smiles of her brother, his Queen, and the Queen’s brother, who so clearly was not averse to taking her as wife.
Henry said: ‘Our Isabella is overcome with joy at the prospect which awaits her.’
‘She has scarcely slept for excitement since we made her aware of her great good fortune,’ put in the Queen.
‘She is conscious of the great honour done to her,’ went on Henry, ‘and now that she has seen you I know she will be doubly eager for the match. That is so, is it not, sister?’
‘Highness,’ said Isabella earnestly, ‘would you not consider it indecorous of a young woman to discuss her marriage before she was betrothed?’
Henry laughed. ‘Isabella has been very carefully nurtured. She lived the life of a nun before she joined us here at Court.’
‘I know of no better upbringing,’ said Alfonso V of Portugal. His eyes continued to wander over Isabella, so that she felt he was already picturing her in many different situations of intimacy which she could only vaguely imagine.
‘My dear Isabella,’ said the Queen, ‘your brother and I will not be as strict with you as your mother was at Arevalo. We shall allow you to dance with the King of Portugal. You shall become friends before he takes you back with him to Lisbon.’
Isabella forced herself to speak then. She said in a loud, clear voice, which could be heard by those courtiers who were in the room but some little distance from the royal group: ‘We cannot be sure yet that the betrothal will be agreed upon.’
Henry looked surprised, the Queen angry, and the King of Portugal nonplussed.
But Isabella boldly resumed: ‘I know you have not forgotten that, as a Princess of Castile, my betrothal could not take place without the consent of the Cortes.’
‘The King gives his consent,’ said Joanna quickly.
‘That is true,’ said Isabella, ‘but, as you are aware, it is essential that the Cortes also give consent.’
‘The King of Portugal is my brother,’ retorted Joanna haughtily. ‘Therefore we can dispense with the usual formality.’
‘I could not allow myself to be betrothed without the consent of the Cortes,’ Isabella affirmed.
It was the weariness in Henry’s face, rather than the anger and astonishment in those of the Queen and the King of Portugal, which told Isabella how right the old Admiral had been when he assured her that the only way in which the King and Queen dare marry her off would be to do so at great speed, before the Cortes had time to remind them that they must have a say in the matter.
And, the Admiral had added, it was hardly likely that the Cortes would give their consent to Isabella’s marriage with the Queen’s brother. The people had little love for the Queen; they had always considered her levity most unbecoming, and now with the scandal concerning the parentage of her little daughter about to break, they would blame her more than ever.
The Cortes would never consent to a marriage repugnant to their Princess Isabella, and so desired by their weak and lascivious King and his less weak but hardly less lascivious wife.
When Isabella left the audience chamber she knew that she had planted dismay in the hearts of two Kings and a Queen.
How right the Admiral of Castile had been! She had learned a valuable lesson, and once again she thanked God for saving her for Ferdinand.
CHAPTER VIII
OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF AVILA
A brilliant cavalcade was riding northwards to the shores of the River Bidassoa, the boundary between Castile and France, and a meeting-place close to the town of Bayonne.
In the centre of this procession rode Henry, King of Castile, his person glittering with jewels, and his Moorish Guard dazzling in their colourful uniforms.
His courtiers had done their utmost to rival the splendour of their King, although none, with the exception of Beltran de la Cueva, had been able to do so. Still, it was a splendid concourse that gathered to meet King Louis XI of France, his courtiers and his ministers.
This meeting had been arranged by the Marquis of Villena and the Archbishop of Toledo, the purpose of it being to settle the differences between the Kings of Castile and Aragon.