So the castle was bristling with defences when Ferdinand and his party arrived.
They were very weary and exhausted, for they had ridden through the night and the day without money to buy a meal; and when they came to the castle gates Ferdinand gave a great shout of joy.
‘Open up!’ he cried. ‘Open up! And delay not.’
But one of the guards watching from the battlements, determined to defend the castle against the Count’s enemies, believed that the King’s men were below.
He dislodged one of the great boulders which had been placed on the battlements for this purpose and sent it hurtling down to kill the man who had advanced a few paces ahead of the group.
This was Ferdinand; and the guard’s timing was sure.
Down came the massive boulder.
‘Highness!’ shouted one of the party who was watching Ferdinand, and there was such a shrill note of urgency in his voice that Ferdinand, alerted, jumped clear.
He was only just in time for the boulder landed on the spot where he had been standing, and Ferdinand had escaped death by only a few feet.
Startled into anger, Ferdinand called: ‘Is this the welcome that you promised us? I come to you, I, Ferdinand of Aragon, having travelled far in disguise, and you do your best to kill me after promising me succour!’
There was consternation in the castle. Torches appeared and faces were seen peering from the battlements.
Then there was shouting and creaking as the drawbridge was lowered, and the Count of Treviño himself hurried forward to kneel and ask pardon for the mistake which might so easily have turned the whole enterprise into tragedy.
‘You shall have my pardon as soon as you give us food,’ cried Ferdinand. ‘We are starving, my men and I.’
The Count gave orders to his servants; and across the drawbridge and into the great hall went Ferdinand’s party; and there, at a table laden with food which had been prepared for them, the travellers refreshed themselves and laughed together at their adventures. For the most dangerous part of the journey was over. Tomorrow they would set forth with an armed escort supplied, at Isabella’s command, by the Count of Treviño. Then it would be on to Dueñas, where Ferdinand would cease to be regarded as a humble lackey, and where he would find many noblemen rallying to his cause, eager to accompany him to Valladolid and Isabella.
CHAPTER XIII
THE MARRIAGE OF ISABELLA
In the house of Juan de Vivero, the most magnificent in Valladolid, which had been lent to Isabella on her triumphant entry into that city, she now waited.
This was, she believed, so far the most important moment of her life. For years she had dreamed of her marriage with Ferdinand. But for her own determination she would have long since been married elsewhere. And now Ferdinand was only a few miles from her, and this very night he would stand before her.
It was not easy to control her emotion. She must be calm; she must remember that she was not merely a Princess of Castile – she was its future Queen.
She had a large dowry to bring her husband, and on that account she rejoiced. But in spite of her dignity and position she was anxious as to whether she herself would appeal to Ferdinand, for this was to be the perfect marriage. Not only was it to be a welding together of Castile and Aragon, to make a stronger and all-Christian Spain; it was to be the mating of two people, whose interests and affections must be so entwined that they were as one person.
It was this second factor which gave her cause for anxiety. I know I shall love Ferdinand, she told herself; but how can I be sure that he will love me?
He had lived the life of a man, although he was a year her junior; and she, although she had trained herself to understand state matters, had lived the sheltered life which had been necessary if she were not to be contaminated by her brother’s licentious Court.
The Admiral and the Archbishop had talked seriously to her concerning the impending interview.
‘Do not forget,’ said the Archbishop, ‘that while he can only make you Queen of Aragon, you can make him King of Castile and Leon. What is Aragon compared with Castile and Leon? You must never let him forget that you bring more to this marriage than he does, that it is you who will be Queen, and that his title of King will be one of courtesy.’
‘I do not think,’ said Isabella gently, ‘that a marriage such as this should begin by jostling for position.’
‘I trust,’ said the Archbishop testily, ‘that you are not going to be overpowered by his good looks.’
‘I trust,’ replied Isabella, with a smile, ‘that I am going to be pleased with them.’
The Archbishop regarded her with some sternness. He had admired her very much, and it was for this reason that he had decided to support her, but he wanted her to remember that it was he who was largely responsible for putting her where she was, and if she wanted to retain his co-operation she must listen to his advice – and take it.
He did not intend to allow Ferdinand to assume too much power, to take that place as chief adviser to Isabella which he, Alfonso Carillo, Archbishop of Toledo, had held.
‘It might seem advisable,’ he said now, ‘that Ferdinand should be asked to perform some act of homage – merely to show that, as far as Castile and Leon are concerned, he is in an inferior position.’
Isabella smiled, but her voice was firm. ‘I shall certainly not ask my husband for any such homage,’ she declared.
The Archbishop left her in a far from pleased frame of mind, and prepared himself to receive Ferdinand, who was shortly to arrive from Dueñas with as few as four of his attendants.
It was midnight when Ferdinand arrived at the house of Juan de Vivero.
Clothes had been lent to him, so he came not as the merchants’ lackey but as King of Sicily.
The Archbishop received him and, when they met, Ferdinand was glad that his shrewd father had had the foresight to bestow the title of King upon him, for there was an arrogance about the Archbishop of Toledo which was not lost on Ferdinand. He hoped the man had not imparted the same quality to Isabella. Yet even as this thought entered his mind, Ferdinand smiled. He had a way with women – and Isabella, for all that she was the heiress of Castile and Leon, was a woman.
‘The Princess Isabella is waiting to receive you,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I will conduct you to her presence.’
Ferdinand inclined his head and the Archbishop led the way to Isabella’s apartments.
‘His Highness Don Ferdinand, King of Sicily and Prince of Aragon.’
Isabella rose to her feet and stood for a few seconds, trembling with the force of her emotions.
And there he was – Ferdinand in the flesh, the dream become a reality, as handsome as she had imagined him (no, more so, she hastened to tell herself; for how could any person – imagined or real – compare with this young man who now stood before her?).
Ferdinand, seventeen years old, with fair hair and a complexion toned to bronze by exposure to the sun and air, a grown man in physique, slender and perfectly proportioned! His brow was high and broad, his expression alert; and he was too young and unmarked as yet for that alertness to be construed as cupidity.
Isabella was conscious of a great gladness, for the Ferdinand she saw before her had stepped right out of her dreams.
Ferdinand was gracious; he took her hand, bowed low over it; then he lifted his eyes to her face and there was a smile in them, for he too was not displeased.
What a joyous thing it was, he thought, when a royal person need not take someone who was aged and ugly. Here she was, his Isabella, the best possible match in Spain, and she was only one year older, and looked younger, than he was.