‘It is an act of God,’ she cried.
Andres answered: ‘We can call it that.’
Beatriz took his hand and kissed it; then she laughed aloud and ran into Isabella’s bedchamber.
She stood by the bed, looking down on her mistress. Andres had come to stand beside her.
‘Great news!’ cried Beatriz. ‘The best news that you could hear. There will be no marriage. Our prayers have been answered; he is dead.’
Isabella sat up in bed and looked from Beatriz to Andres.
‘Dead! Is it possible? But... but how?’
‘At Villarubia,’ said Beatriz. ‘He was taken ill four days ago. I told you, did I not, that our prayers would be answered. Dearest Isabella, you see our fears were all for something which cannot happen.’
‘I cannot believe it,’ whispered Isabella. ‘It is miraculous. He was so strong... it seems impossible that he could... die. And you say he was taken ill. Of what... ? And... how?’
‘Let us say,’ Beatriz answered, ‘that it was an Act of God. That is the happiest way of looking at this. We prayed for a miracle, Princesa; and our prayers have been granted.’
Isabella rose from her bed and went to her prie-Dieu.
She knelt and gave thanks for her deliverance; and behind her stood Beatriz and Andres.
CHAPTER X
ALFONSO AT CARDEÑOSA
The Archbishop of Toledo and his nephew the Marquis of Viliena were closeted together, it was said, deep in mourning for Don Pedro.
The chief emotion of these ambitious men was however not sorrow but anger.
‘There are spies among us,’ cried the militant Archbishop. ‘Worse than spies... assassins!’
‘It is deplorable,’ agreed Villena sarcastically, ‘that they should have their spies and assassins, and that they should be as effective as our own.’
‘The whole of Castile is laughing at us,’ declared the Archbishop. ‘They are jeering because we presumed to ally our family with the royal one.’
‘And to think that we have been foiled in this!’
‘I would have his servants seized, tortured. I would discover who had formulated this plot against us.’
‘Useless, Uncle. Servants under torture will tell any tale. And do we need to be led to the murderers of my brother? Do we not know that they are – our enemies? The trail would doubtless lead us to the royal Palace. That could be awkward.’
‘Nephew, are you suggesting that we should meekly accept this... this murder?’
‘Meekly, no. But we should say to ourselves: Pedro, who could have linked our family with the royal one, has been murdered; therefore that little plan has failed. Well, we will show our enemies that it is dangerous to interfere with our plans. The marriage was accepted by Henry as an alternative to civil war. Very well, he has declined one, let him have the other.’
The Archbishop’s eyes were gleaming. He was ready now to play the part for which he had always longed.
He said: ‘Young Alfonso shall ride into battle by my side.’
‘It is the only way,’ said Villena. ‘We offered them peace and they retaliated by the murder of my brother. Very well, they have chosen. Now they shall have war.’
On the plains of Almedo the rival forces were waiting.
The Archbishop, clad in armour, wore a scarlet cloak on which had been embroidered the white cross of the Church. He looked a magnificent figure, and his squadrons were ready to follow him into battle.
Alfonso, who was not quite fourteen years old at this time, could not help but be thrilled by the enthusiasm of the Archbishop. The boy Alfonso was dressed in glittering mail, and this would be his first taste of battle.
The Archbishop called Alfonso to him while they waited in the grey dawn light.
‘My son,’ he said, ‘my Prince, this could be the most important day of your life. On these plains our enemies are gathered. What happens this day may decide your future, my future and, what is more important, the future of Castile. It may well be that after this day there will be one King of Castile, and that King will be yourself. Castile must become great. There must be an end to the anarchy which is spreading over our land. Remember that, when we go into battle. Come, let us pray for victory.’
Alfonso pressed the palms of his hands together; he lowered his eyes; and with the Archbishop, in that camp on the plains of Almedo, he prayed for victory over his half-brother Henry.
In the opposing camp Henry waited with his men.
‘How long the day seems in coming,’ said the Duke of Albuquerque.
Henry shivered; it seemed to him that the day came all too quickly.
Henry looked at this man who had played such a big part in his life. Beltran seemed as eager for the battle as he was for the revelries of the Court. Henry could not help feeling a great admiration for this man, who had all the bearing of a King and could contemplate going into battle without a trace of fear, although he must know that he would be considered one of the greatest prizes that could fall into the enemy’s hands.
It was small wonder that Joanna had loved him.
Henry wished that there was some means of preventing the battle from taking place. He would be ready to listen to their terms; he would be ready to meet them. It seemed so senseless to fight and make terms afterwards. What could war mean but misery for those who took part in it?
‘Have no fear, Highness,’ said Beltran, ‘we shall put them to flight.’
‘Ah, I wish I could be sure of that.’
While he spoke information was brought to him that a messenger had arrived from the opposing camp.
‘Give him safe conduct and send him in,’ said Henry.
The messenger was brought into the royal presence.
‘It is a message I have from the Archbishop of Toledo for the Duke of Albuquerque, Highness.’
‘Then hand it to me,’ said Beltran.
Henry watched the Duke while he read the message and burst into loud laughter.
‘Wait awhile,’ he said, ‘and I will give you an answer for the Archbishop.’
‘What message is this?’ asked Henry hopefully. Could it be some offer of truce? But why should it be sent to the Duke, not the King? Surely the Archbishop knew that any offer of peace would be more eagerly accepted by the King than anyone else.
Beltran said: ‘It is a warning from the Archbishop, Highness. He tells me that I shall be foolish to venture on to the field this day. He says that no less than forty of his men have sworn to kill me. My chances of surviving the battle, he assures me, are very poor.’
‘My dear Beltran, you must not ride into battle today. There should be no battle. What good will it do any of us? Bloodshed of my subjects... that will be the result of this day’s work.’
‘Highness, it is too late for such talk.’
‘It is never too late for peace.’
‘The Archbishop would not accept your peace offer except under the most degrading conditions. Nay, Highness. Today we go to do battle with our enemies. Have I permission to answer this note?’
Henry nodded gloomily, and the Duke smiled as he prepared his answer.
‘What have you written?’ he asked.
Beltran answered: ‘I have given him a description of my attire, so that those who have sworn to kill me shall have no difficulty in seeking me out.’
Henry waited some miles from the battlefield. He had taken the first opportunity to retire when he had heard that the battle was going against his side.
For what good would it be, he reasoned with himself, to endanger the life of the King?