There was the same bewildered look on the groom’s face as there had been on those of the soldiers in the village.
Then a voice from inside the inn which Alfonso had made his headquarters called: ‘What is this? Has the Princess Isabella tired of convent life then, and come to join her brother?’
Beatriz saw Isabella turn pale; and she put out her arm to catch her, for she thought her mistress was about to faint. Could that have been the voice of a ghost? Could there be another who spoke with the voice of Alfonso?
But there was Alfonso, full of health and vigour, running across the courtyard, calling: ‘Isabella! So this is no lie. You are here then, sister.’
Isabella slid from her horse and ran to her brother; she seized him in her arms and kissed him; then taking his face in her hands she stared into it.
‘So it is you, Alfonso. It is really you. You are not a ghost. This is my brother... my little brother...’
‘Well I know of no one else it could be,’ said Alfonso, laughing.
‘But I heard... . How... how could such wicked stories be spread abroad! Oh Alfonso... I am so happy.’
And there, before the wondering eyes of grooms and soldiers, Isabella began to weep, not violently, but quietly; and they were tears of happiness.
Alfonso himself dried her eyes and, putting his arm about her, led her into the inn.
Beatriz walked beside them.
‘It was an evil rumour,’ she said. ‘Avila is mourning your death. We heard that you had died in the night.’
‘These rumours!’ said Alfonso. ‘How do they start? But let us not worry about that now. It is good to have you with me, Isabella. Now you will stay awhile? Tonight we shall have a special feast... as near a banquet as we can muster in this place.’ He called to his men: ‘My sister, the Princess Isabella, is here. Have them prepare a banquet worthy of her.’
Alfonso was deeply moved by his sister’s emotion. The fact that Isabella was usually so restrained made him aware of the depth of her feeling for him, and he was afraid he too would break down. He had to remind himself constantly that he was a King, and not a young boy any more.
He called to the innkeeper.
‘A special banquet,’ he cried, ‘in honour of my sister’s arrival! What can you put before us?’
‘Highness, I have some chickens... very good, very tender; and there are some trout...’
‘Do your best, and let there be a banquet such as you have never served before, because my sister is come, and that is a very important matter to me.’
Then he turned to Isabella and once more they embraced.
‘Isabella,’ whispered Alfonso, ‘how glad I am that we are once more together. Let it be so as often as we can arrange it. Sister, I need you with me. Without you... I am still a little unsure.’
‘Yes, yes, Alfonso,’ she answered in the same quiet and tense tone, ‘we must be together. We need each other. In future... we must not be apart.’
It was a merry supper that was served that night in the Cardeñosa inn.
The trout was delicious. Alfonso commented on its excellence and took a second helping.
Everyone was merry. It was pleasant, they said, to have been joined by the ladies, and they had heard that the Princess Isabella intended in future to accompany her brother on his journeys through his domain.
When they retired, Isabella and Beatriz talked about the day’s doings and marvelled that they could have left Avila in such distress and have found such joy, the very same day, in Cardeñosa.
Beatriz, combing her mistress’s hair, said: ‘Yet it surprises me how such rumours could be started.’
‘It is not difficult to understand, Beatriz. So many people in high places die suddenly that the story of another death is readily believed.’
‘That is so,’ agreed Beatriz and did not pursue the subject, for, she reasoned with herself, why spoil the day’s pleasure?
Yet she was a little uneasy. Avila was only two leagues from Cardeñosa, and the rumour had a good hold on the former. How could it have happened... so close?
But she was not going to brood on that terrible moment, when the news had been brought to her and she realised it was her duty to break it to Isabella.
Isabella awoke early and for a few moments could not remember where she was. Then the events of the day before came back to her mind. That strange day which had begun in such sorrow and had ended in joy.
She was of course in the Cardeñosa inn.
She lay thinking of that moment when Alfonso had come out of the inn and for a few seconds she had thought she had seen his ghost. Now, she thought, I shall always be with him. I shall make it my duty to care for him, for after all he is but a boy and my own brother.
Perhaps she would be able to influence him, to persuade him that he could be no true King while Henry lived. If he were declared heir to the throne, she would be perfectly content; for she believed without doubt that the little Joanna had no right to that title. From now on, she told herself, Alfonso and I will be together.
There was a knocking at her door and she called to whoever was there to enter.
Beatriz came in. She was pale and she looked distraught.
‘Highness,’ she said, ‘will you come to Alfonso’s bedchamber?’
Isabella started up in dismay. ‘What has happened?’
‘I have been asked to take you to him.’
‘He is ill!’
All the fears of yesterday were back with her.
‘They cannot awaken him,’ said Beatriz. ‘They do not understand what can have happened.’
Beatriz flung a robe about Isabella’s shoulders and they went to Alfonso’s chamber.
He lay in his bed, strangely unlike himself.
Isabella bent over him. ‘Alfonso... Alfonso, brother. It is Isabella. Wake up. What ails you?’
There was no response. The room was dark, for it had but one small window.
‘I cannot see him clearly,’ said Isabella touching his forehead. Its coldness startled her. She took his hand; and it dropped lifelessly back to lie on the counterpane.
Isabella turned in horror to Beatriz who stood behind her.
Beatriz moved closer to the figure on the bed. She put her hand to the boy’s heart and kept it there for some seconds while she wondered how she was going to say what she knew she must.
She turned to Isabella.
‘No,’ cried Isabella. ‘No!’
Beatriz did not answer. But Isabella knew that there was no way of turning from the truth.
‘But how... how?’ she cried. ‘But why... ?’ Beatriz put an arm about her. ‘We will send for the doctors,’ she said. She turned angrily on his page. ‘Why did you not send for the doctors before this?’
‘My lady, I came to wake him and he did not answer, and I was afraid; so I came for you. It is but a matter of ten minutes since I came into his room and found him lying thus. I came to you at once, knowing you would say how I should act.’
‘Fetch the doctors,’ Beatriz commanded. The page went, and Isabella looked at her friend with heavy eyes.
‘You know there is nothing the doctors can do, Beatriz?’
‘Dearest, I fear it is so.’
‘So...’ said Isabella, ‘I have lost him then. I have lost him after all.’
Beatriz embraced her and for a little while Isabella remained passive.
The doctors came into the room. Isabella watched them listlessly as they stood about the bed, and they exchanged significant glances with each other.
Beatriz felt her control was snapping. ‘Well, say something!’ she cried. ‘He is dead... dead... is he not?’
‘We fear so, my lady.’
‘And... nothing can be done?’
‘It is too late, my lady.’