Beatriz and Mencia lowered their eyes; and the Queen went past them to the bed.
‘Why, Isabella,’ she said, ‘I am sorry to see you sick. What is wrong? Is it something you have eaten?’
‘It is nothing I have eaten,’ said Isabella.
‘Well, I have good news for you. Perhaps you were a little anxious, eh? My dear sister, there is no need for further anxiety. I have come to tell you that a dispensation has arrived from Rome. Don Pedro is released from his vows. There is now no impediment to the marriage.’
Isabella said nothing. She had known that there would be no difficulty in Don Pedro’s obtaining his dispensation, because his powerful brother desired it.
‘Well,’ coaxed Joanna, ‘does that not make you feel ready to leave your bed and dance with joy?’
Isabella raised herself on her elbow and looked stonily at Joanna.
‘I shall not marry Don Pedro,’ she said. ‘I shall do everything in my power to prevent such an unworthy marriage for a Princess of Castile.’
‘Stubborn little virgin,’ said the Queen lightly. She put her face close to Isabella’s and whispered: ‘There is nothing to fear, my dear, in marriage. Believe me, like so many of us, you will find much to delight you. Now, leave your bed and come down to the banquet which your brother is giving to celebrate this event.’
‘As I have nothing to celebrate, I shall stay here,’ Isabella replied.
‘Oh come... come, you are being somewhat foolish.’
‘If my brother wishes me to come to his banquet, he will have to take me there by force. I warn you that should he do so, I shall then announce that this marriage is not only against my wishes but that the very thought of it fills me with dismay.’
The Queen tried to hide her discomfiture and anger.
‘You are sick,’ she said. ‘You must stay in your bed. Take care, Isabella. You must not over-excite yourself. Remember how your mother was affected. Your brother and I wish to please you in every possible way.’
‘Then perhaps you will leave me now.’
The Queen inclined her head.
‘Good day to you, Isabella. You need have no fear of marriage. You take these things too seriously.’
With that she turned and left the apartment; and when Isabella called Beatriz and Mencia to her bedside she saw from the blank expression on their faces that they had heard all, and that now even they had lost all hope.
Preparations for the wedding were going on at great speed.
Villena and the Archbishop had brought their tremendous energy to the event. Henry was as eager. Once the marriage had taken place, the leaders of his enemies would become his friends.
Henry had always said that gifts should be bestowed on one’s enemies to turn them into friends; he was following that policy now, for there was not a greater gift he could bestow, and on a more dangerous enemy, than the hand of his half-sister on Don Pedro.
There was murmuring in certain quarters. Some said that now Villena and his uncle would be more powerful than ever, and that was scarcely desirable; a few even deplored the fact that an innocent young girl was being given to a voluptuary of such evil reputation. But many declared that this was a way to put an end to civil war, and that such conflicts could only bring disaster to Castile.
Once the marriage had taken place and Villena and his uncle had transferred their allegiance from the rebels to the King’s party, the revolt would collapse; Alfonso would be relegated to his position of heir to the throne, and there would no longer be this dangerous situation of two Kings ‘reigning’ at the same time.
As for Isabella, she felt numb with grief and fear as the days passed. She had lost a great deal of weight, for she could eat little. She had grown pale and drawn because she could not sleep.
She spent the days in her own apartments, lying on her bed, scarcely speaking; she prayed for long periods.
‘Let me die,’ she implored, ‘rather than suffer this fate. Holy Mother of God, kill one of us... either him or myself. Save me from this impending dishonour and kill me that I may not be tempted to kill myself.’
Somewhere in Spain was Ferdinand; had he heard of the fate which was about to fall upon her? Did he care? What had Ferdinand been thinking, all these years, of their betrothal? Perhaps he had not seen their possible union as she had, and to him she had been merely a match which would be advantageous to him. If he heard that he had lost her, perhaps he would shrug his shoulders, and look about him for another bride.
Ferdinand, fighting side by side with his father in his own turbulent Aragon, would have other matters with which to occupy himself.
She liked to imagine that he might come to save her from this terrible marriage. That was because she was a fanciful girl who had dreamed romantic dreams. She could not in her more reasonable moments hope that Ferdinand – a year younger than herself and as powerless as she was – could do anything to help her.
Her great comfort during these days of terror was Beatriz, who never left her. At night Beatriz would lie at the foot of her bed and, during the early hours of morning when sleep was quite impossible, they would talk together and Beatriz would make the wildest plans, such as flight from the Palace. This was impossible, they both knew, but there was a little comfort to be derived from such talk – or at least so it seemed in the dreary hours before dawn.
Beatriz would say: ‘It shall not be. We will find some means of preventing it. I swear it! I swear it!’
Her deep vibrating voice would shake the bed and, such was the power of her personality, she made Isabella almost believe her.
There was great strength in Beatriz; she had not the same love of law and order which was Isabella’s main characteristic. There had been times in the past when Isabella had warned Beatriz against her rebellious attitude to life; now she was glad of it, glad of any mite of comfort which could come her way.
With the coming of each day, Isabella felt her load of misery growing.
‘No escape,’ she murmured to herself. ‘No escape. And each day it comes nearer.’
Andres de Cabrera came to visit his wife. He had scarcely seen her since Isabella had heard that she was to marry Don Pedro.
‘I cannot leave her,’ Beatriz had told him, ‘no... not even for you. I must be with her all through the night, for I fear she might be tempted to do herself some injury.’
Isabella received Andres with as much pleasure as she could show to anyone. He was very shocked to see the change in her. Gone was the serene Isabella. He felt saddened to see such a change; and he was doubly alarmed to see that Beatriz was almost equally affected.
‘You cannot go on in this way,’ he remonstrated. ‘Highness, you must accept your fate. It is an evil one, I know, but you are a Princess of Castile. You will be able to extract obedience from this man.’
‘You can talk like that!’ stormed Beatriz. ‘You can tell us to accept this fate! Look at her... look at my Isabella, and think of him... that... that... But I will not speak his name. Is it not enough that we are aware of him every hour of the day and night!’
Andres put his arm about his wife’s shoulders. ‘Beatriz, my dearest, you must be reasonable.’
‘He tells me to be reasonable!’ cried Beatriz ‘It seems, Andres, that you do not know me if you can imagine I am going to stand aside and be reasonable while my beloved mistress is handed over to that coarse brute.’
‘Beatriz... Beatriz...’ He drew her to him and was aware of something hard in the bodice of her gown.
She laughed suddenly. Then she put her hand into her bodice and drew out a dagger.
‘What is this?’ cried Andres growing pale as her flashing eyes rested upon him.
‘I will tell you,’ said Beatriz. ‘I have made a vow, husband. I have promised Isabella that she shall never fall into the hands of that crude monster. That is why I carry this dagger with me day and night.’