Now Villena and the Archbishop of Toledo, with Isabella replacing Alfonso as their figurehead, were asking for a meeting; and a meeting there should be.
He was surprised to receive a visit from Villena on the eve of the meeting. As soon as he was shown into Henry’s presence, Villena begged to be left alone with the King.
Henry was only too willing to agree. The occasion reminded him of so many in the past.
‘Highness,’ said Villena, kneeling before Henry, ‘I have great hopes that all may soon be as it once was between us.’
Ready tears came to Henry’s eyes. ‘Rise, my friend,’ he said. ‘Tell me what is in your mind.’
‘You are going to be asked to agree to certain proposals at Toros de Guisando. Highness, it may be difficult for you to agree to these proposals.’
Villena had stood up and was smiling at the King as he used to in the days of their friendship.
A flicker of weariness crossed Henry’s face.
‘But,’ went on Villena, ‘would you take my advice?’
‘Gladly I would consider it,’ said Henry.
‘Highness, if there should be some condition which seems to you impossible, do not allow it to cause you too much concern.’
‘You mean?’
‘That it is necessary to make peace now. If at a later date you feel that the conditions which were imposed upon you were unfair...’ Villena lifted his shoulders.
Henry smiled. He was delighted to have Villena on his side again. Villena was a man who would take over the direction of state affairs completely, a man who struck fear into all who came into contact with him; it would be greatly desirable to place everything in his capable hands once more.
‘It is desirable, Highness, that we should have peace at this time.’
‘Greatly desirable,’ agreed Henry.
‘Then you will agree to these terms; and afterwards, if we decide they are untenable, we shall re-examine them.’
‘You mean... you and I will do so?’ asked the King.
‘If your Highness would graciously listen to my advice, how gladly would I give it.’
Weak tears were in Henry’s eyes. The long quarrel was over. The wily Villena had left the opposite camp and was his man once more.
The meeting took place at an inn which was known as the Venta de los Toros de Guisando. Toros de Guisando took its name from the stone figures of bulls which had been left on this spot by the invading armies of Julius Caesar, as their Latin inscriptions indicated.
Here Henry embraced Isabella with great warmth and was delighted to see that she was not unmoved by their meeting.
‘Isabella,’ he said, ‘we meet in sorrow. The saints know I bore no resentment against Alfonso. It was not he who put the crown on his own head; others did that. Like you, I long for peace. Is it impossible for us to achieve that for which we so fervently long?’
‘No, brother,’ said Isabella, ‘it shall not be impossible.’
‘I have heard, my dear,’ said Henry, ‘that you have refused to allow yourself to be proclaimed Queen of Castile. You are both wise and good.’
‘Brother,’ answered Isabella, ‘there could be only one monarch of Castile at this time, and you are by right that monarch.’
‘Isabella, I see that we shall come to terms.’
This was very touching, thought the Archbishop, but it was time to discuss practical details.
‘The first and most important item on our declaration is that the Princess Isabella be proclaimed heir to the crowns of Castile and Leon,’ he said.
‘I agree to that,’ said Henry.
Isabella was astonished by his alacrity, for it could only mean that he accepted the fact that his wife’s little daughter was not his.
‘It would be necessary,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘that a free pardon be given to all who had taken part in the struggle.’
‘Gladly I give it,’ cried Henry.
‘It grieves me to say this,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘but the conduct of the Queen is not that which can commend itself to her people.’
The King shook his head sadly. Since Beltran had become so immersed in politics, it was true that Joanna had looked for lovers who had been more willing to make her the first consideration in their lives – and found them.
‘We should require,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘that there be a divorce and the Queen sent back to Portugal.’
Henry hesitated. He was wondering how he was going to face an enraged Joanna after agreeing to this. But he trusted in his ability to shift that responsibility on to other shoulders. After all, Joanna could find lovers in Portugal as readily as she did in Castile. He would assure her that it was none of his doing – if he had to tell her of the discussion.
He met Villena’s gaze and a look of understanding passed between them.
‘I... give my consent,’ said Henry.
‘A Cortes should be invoked for the purpose of giving the Princess Isabella the title of heiress to the crowns of Castile and Leon.’
‘It shall be done,’ said Henry.
‘And,’ went on the Archbishop, ‘the Princess Isabella shall not be forced to marry against her wishes; nor must she do so without the consent of yourself.’
‘I agree,’ said Henry.
‘Then,’ cried the Archbishop, ‘is the Princess Isabella the heir to the crowns of Castile and Leon.’
Beatriz could rejoice that her mistress had now been acclaimed as heiress to the crowns.
This was the surest way to soothe her grief, for Isabella was now suppressing her emotions in order that she might dedicate herself to the enormous task which, should she reach maturity, would almost certainly be hers.
Isabella was determined that under her rule Castile should become great.
She gave herself up to meditation and prayer; she was studying the history of her country and others. This dedication was, said Beatriz to Mencia, like a raft to a drowning creature.
Only thus could she grow away from the terrible shock of Alfonso’s death, which had seemed doubly hard to bear because, after she had heard of his death, she had had the great joy of seeing him alive, only to lose him a few hours later.
Beatriz was determined to watch over her mistress. There would be many, she believed, ready to bring tasty trout to her table. There were the adherents of Queen Joanna and her daughter, who could wish for nothing which would serve them better than the death of Isabella.
But Isabella was not going to die. Beatriz had determined on that, and Beatriz was a very determined woman.
Isabella, heiress to the crowns of Castile and Leon, was not now merely the sister of the self-appointed King Alfonso. Now there were many to seek her hand in marriage.
Ambassadors from England arrived in Spain. They were seeking a bride for Richard of Gloucester, the brother of their King Edward IV, who himself, before his marriage to Elizabeth Grey, had considered Isabella as a possible Queen. Isabella would suit Richard very well.
‘Why,’ said Beatriz, ‘if you made this match, it is possible that one day you might be Queen of England.’
‘But how could I serve Castile if I were England’s Queen?’ demanded Isabella.
There was a suitor from France. This was the Duke of Guienne, the brother of Louis XI; and he, since at this time Louis was without heirs, was next in succession to the throne of France.
‘You would be Queen of France,’ said Beatriz.
But Isabella only shook her head and smiled.
‘You still think of Ferdinand?’
‘I have always considered myself betrothed to Ferdinand.’
‘You have made an image of him,’ Beatriz told her anxiously. ‘What if it should be a false one?’