‘But do you not see,’ cried Henry piteously, ‘that I have insisted on his betrothal to Joanna?’
The Queen laughed bitterly. ‘And you think they will allow that? Henry, are you a fool. Do you not see that, once you have proclaimed Alfonso your heir, you will have no say in deciding whom he shall marry? And the very fact that you allow him to be proclaimed your heir can only be because you accept these vile slanders against me and your daughter.’
‘It was the only way,’ murmured Henry. ‘It was either that or civil war.’
He was thinking sadly of Blanche, who had been so meek and affectionate. Physically she had not excited him, but what a peaceful companion she had been. Poor Blanche! She had left this stormy life; she had been sacrificed to her family’s ambition. One could almost say, Most fortunate Blanche, for there was no doubt that she would find a place in Heaven.
If I had never divorced her, he thought now, she might be alive at this time. And should I have been worse off? It is true there is a child now – but is she mine, and what a storm of controversy she is arousing!
‘You are a coward,’ cried the Queen. ‘And what of Beltran? What will he think of this? He deserves to be Master of Santiago, and now you have agreed to deprive him of the title.’
Henry spread his hands helplessly. ‘Joanna, would you see Castile torn in two by civil war?’
‘Would it be if it had a King at its head instead of a lily-livered poltroon!’
‘You go too far, my dear,’ said Henry mildly.
‘At least I will not be dictated to by these men. As for Beltran, unless you wish to offend him mortally, there is only one thing you can do.’
‘What is that?’
‘You have taken from him with one hand; therefore you must give with the other. You have sworn to deprive him of the Mastership of Santiago, therefore you should make him Duke of Albuquerque.’
‘Oh but... that would be tantamount to... to...’
‘To opposing your enemies! Indeed it would. And if you are wise there is one other thing you will do. You will prevent your enemies from plotting your downfall. For, depend upon it, their scheme is not merely to set up an heir of their choosing in place of your own daughter, but to oust you from the throne.’
‘You may well be right.’
‘And what will you do about it? Sit on your throne... waiting for disaster?’
‘What can I do? What would happen if we were plunged into civil war?’
‘We should fight, and we should win. But at least you are the King. You could act quickly now. These people are not popular. Most hate the Marquis of Villena. Look what happened when he and his friends tried to seize Valladolid. You are not unpopular with the people, and you are the rightful King. Have these ringleaders of revolt quickly and quietly seized. When their leaders are in prison the people will not be so ready to rebel against their King.’
The King gazed at his fiery wife. ‘My dear,’ he said, slowly, ‘I think perhaps you may be right.’
The Marquis of Villena was alone when the man was shown into his presence.
The visitor was wrapped in a concealing cloak and, when he removed it, revealed himself as one of the King’s Guards.
‘Forgive the unceremonious intrusion, my lord,’ he said, ‘but the matter is urgent.’
He then repeated the conversation which he had overheard between the King and Queen.
Villena nodded. ‘You have done your work well,’ he said. ‘I trust you were not recognised on your way here. Go back to your post and keep us informed. We shall find means to prevent these arrests which the King now plans.’
He dismissed his spy and immediately called on the Archbishop.
‘We are leaving at once,’ he said, ‘for Avila. There is not a moment to lose. I, with Alfonso, will meet you there. We shall take immediate action. De la Cueva is to be created Duke of Albuquerque in compensation for the loss of the Mastership of Santiago. This is the way the King observes his pledges!’
‘And when we reach Avila with the heir to the throne, what then?’
‘Alfonso will no longer be the heir to the throne. He will ascend it. At Avila we will proclaim Alfonso King of Castile.’
Alfonso was pale, not with the strain of the journey, but with a fear of the future. He had spent long hours on his knees praying for guidance. He felt so young; it was a pitiable situation for a boy of eleven years to have to face.
There was no one whose advice he could ask. He could not reach those whom he loved. His mother’s mind was becoming more and more deranged and sunk in oblivion, and, even if he were allowed to see her, it would be doubtful whether he would be able to explain to her his need. And when he thought of his childhood, his mother’s voice seemed to come echoing down to him: ‘Do not forget that one day you could be King of Castile.’ So even if he could make her understand what was about to happen she would doubtless express great pleasure. Was this not what she had always longed for?
But Isabella – his dear, good sister – she would advise. Isabella was anxious to do what was right, and he had a feeling that Isabella would say: ‘It is not right for you to be crowned King, Alfonso, while our brother Henry lives, for Henry is undoubtedly the son of our father and is therefore the rightful heir to Castile. No good can come of a usurpation of the crown, for, if God had willed that you should be King, He would have taken Henry as He took Carlos that Ferdinand might be his father’s heir.’
‘No good can come of it,’ murmured Alfonso. ‘No good... no good.’
This city enclosed in its long grey walls depressed him. He looked out on the woods of oak and maple and those hardy trees which had been able to withstand the cruel winter.
Avila seemed to him a cruel city, a city of granite fortresses, set high above the plains, to receive the full force of the summer sun and the biting winds of a winter which was notoriously long and rigorous.
Alfonso was afraid, as he had never been afraid in his life.
‘No good can come of this,’ he repeated.
The June sun was hot. From where he stood surrounded by some of the most important nobles of Castile, Alfonso could see the yellowish grey walls of Avila.
Here on the arid plain within sight of the city a strange spectacle was about to be enacted and he, young Alfonso, was to play an important part in it.
He experienced a strange feeling as he stood there. That clear air seemed to intoxicate him. When he looked at the city above the plain he felt an exultation.
Mine, he thought. That city will be mine. The whole of Castile will be mine.
He looked at those men who surrounded him. Strong men, all men who were eager for power; and they would come to him and take his hand, and when they took it they would offer him allegiance, for they intended to make him their King.
To be King of Castile! To save Castile from the anarchy into which it was falling! To make it great; perhaps to lead it to great victories!
Who knew, perhaps one day he might lead a campaign against the Moors. Perhaps in the years to come people would link his name with that of the Cid.
And as he stood there on the plain outside Avila, Alfonso found that his fear was replaced by ambition, and that he was now no unwilling participator in the strange ceremony which was about to take place.
Crowds had gathered on the plain. They had watched the cavalcade leave the gates of the city; at its head had been the Marquis of Villena and beside him was the young Alfonso.
On the plain there had been set up scaffolding and on this a throne had been placed. Seated on the throne was a life-sized dummy, representing a man, clad in a black robe; and on the head had been put a crown, in its hand a sceptre. A great sword of state was placed before it.