The Archbishop bowed his head. He was a man who believed that when Divine Providence failed to provide the holy miracle, an earthly one devised by shrewd men could be substituted.
In the hall of the house of Juan de Vivero many had assembled to watch the wedding ceremony performed by the Archbishop of Toledo.
The hall had been as richly decorated as was possible, but this might have been the wedding of the daughter of a petty nobleman. It seemed incredible that it could be that of the prospective Queen of Castile.
But it was the best that could be done on borrowed money and in such haste; and if the radiance of jewels and fine brocades was missing, its absence seemed unimportant on account of the shining happiness on the faces of the bride and groom.
They looked beautiful – so young, so healthy and handsome. Surely, said the observers, this hasty marriage was the most romantic that had ever taken place in Spain. And if there would not be the celebrations which usually heralded and followed such ceremonies, what did it matter? At last Castile and Aragon were united; and the townsfolk of Valladolid shouted themselves hoarse with delight when the handsome pair left the house to go to Mass and later dined in public that all might see them and bear witness to the joy they had in each other.
There came that time when they were alone together, and their contentment with each other was not abated.
Ferdinand, experienced young man of the world, and Isabella a little apprehensive, but so ready to follow where he should lead her!
Ferdinand believed that he would mould this woman to his way of thinking. His Isabella was a paragon of many virtues. She was virginal yet passionate; she was possessed of great dignity, yet she was his to command.
‘I did not know,’ he said, ‘that such good fortune could be mine.’
‘I knew,’ said Isabella. And she smiled that slow dedicated smile, thinking of all the vicissitudes of her hazardous life which only her courage and her belief in her future had made victory over those circumstances possible.
No, Isabella was not surprised that at last she had married the man of her choice, and that he promised to be all for which she had hoped.
She believed firmly that it had always been intended that this should be so.
‘Ferdinand,’ she said, ‘we will work together always. We shall be as one. All I have is yours; all you have is mine. Is that not wonderful to contemplate?’
Ferdinand kissed her with rising passion and said that it was indeed – for she had so much more to offer than he had.
‘Isabella,’ he said, ‘my wife, my love! What a truly wonderful thing it is that in addition to all your beauty, all your virtue, you should also have... Castile. But,’ he added, ‘even if you were not the future Queen of Castile, if you were a serving-wench in a tavern, I should love you still, Isabella. Would you love me if I could not bring you Aragon?’
He did not wait for an answer. He was so sure of his ability to conquer her.
But Isabella was thoughtful. She loved him with all her heart, but she did not think it would be possible for the future Queen of Castile to love a tavern man.
Ferdinand had lifted her into his arms. He was so strong that he could do this easily; and his warm breath was on her cheek.
There was no need to answer Ferdinand’s questions, for she was swept into a new adventure which overwhelmed her senses and subdued her dignity and her love of truth – temporarily.
Ferdinand, the adventurer, the man of action, believed himself to be the all-conquering male to whom the weak female must ever be subservient.
Isabella was subconsciously aware of this. Her marriage must be perfect; in the council and in the bedchamber there must be continued harmony.
Thus at the time she was pliant, so eager to learn, so earnestly anxious to please. It was certain that in the bedchamber Ferdinand must be master; he must be the one to lead her step by step along the diverse sensuous paths.
Ferdinand had often told himself that even though Isabella was the future Queen of Castile she was also a woman. He did not know that although she was a woman, she would never forget that she was the future Queen of Castile.
CHAPTER XIV
THE DEATH OF HENRY
The first news of the marriage which reached Henry was brought by Isabella’s messenger.
He read his half-sister’s letter and trembled.
‘But this,’ he moaned, ‘was exactly what we wished to prevent. Now we shall have Aragon against us. Oh, what an unlucky man I am! I wish I had never been born to be King of Castile.’
He hesitated before showing Isabella’s letter to Villena, dreading the storm that it would arouse.
He let the letter drop from his hands, and fell to dreaming. He wished that he had not rid himself of Blanche. He thought of poor Blanche. How dreadful her last days must have been in the château of Ortes. Did she know that plans to murder her were afoot?
‘And if she had stayed in Castile, she would be alive now,’ he murmured. ‘And should I be worse off? I should not have my daughter... but is she mine? She is still known throughout the Court as La Beltraneja. Poor little girl! What trials await her!’
Henry shook his head. It was a sad fate to be born as she had been born, to be the centre of controversy over a throne. There had been Alfonso...
If he had not rid himself of Blanche, if he had tried to lead a better life, he would have been a happier man. Now there was nothing but scandal and conflict.
His Queen, Joanna, had left him and was living scandalously in Madrid. He was constantly hearing stories about her adventures. She had had many lovers and there were several illegitimate children of these unions.
Never had a man so urgently desired to live in peace; never had a man been so consistently denied it.
He could not postpone passing on the news to Villena. The Marquis would hear of it from some other source if he delayed.
He asked the page to bring Villena to his presence, and when the Marquis came, with a helpless shrug he handed him Isabella’s letter.
Villena’s face became purple with rage.
‘The marriage has actually taken place!’ he cried.
‘That is what she says.’
‘But this is monstrous. Ferdinand in Castile! I know what we must expect from that young man. There is none more ambitious in the whole of Spain.’
‘I do not think Isabella would attempt to usurp the throne,’ said Henry mildly.
‘Isabella! What say will she have in affairs does Your Highness think? She will be led into revolt. Holy Mother, on one side this ambitious young husband, and on the other my uncle Carillo who is thirsting for battle. This marriage should have been prevented at all costs.’
‘So far there is little harm done.’
Villena scowled and averted his gaze from the King.
He said: ‘There is one thing we must do. The Princess Joanna is now nearly nine years old. We shall find a suitable bridegroom for her and she shall be declared the rightful heiress of Castile.’ He began to laugh. ‘Then our young gallant from Aragon may begin to wonder whether he has made such a brilliant marriage after all.’
‘But Isabella has many supporters. Valladolid is firmly behind her. So are many other towns.’
‘We have Albuquerque; we have the Mendozas. I doubt not that many others will rally to our cause. Would to God that your Queen would not create such scandal in Madrid! It lends some truth to the slander that the Princess Joanna is not your daughter.’
‘My dear Villena, do you believe she is?’