Now she smiled, for her attendant was announcing that Cardinal Don Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza was begging an audience.
She asked that he be brought to her without delay.
The Cardinal came to her and bowed low.
‘Welcome,’ said Isabella. ‘You look disturbed, Cardinal. Is aught wrong?’
The Cardinal let his eyes rest on those of her attendants who remained in the apartment.
‘I trust all is well with Your Highness. Then all will be well with me,’ he said. ‘Your Highness appears to be in excellent health.’
‘It is so,’ said Isabella.
She understood. Soon she would dismiss her attendants because she guessed that the Cardinal had something to say which could not be said before others; also he did not wish it to be known that his mission was one of great secrecy.
Isabella felt herself warming to this man, and she was surprised at herself.
He was Cardinal of Spain and, although he was the fourth son of the Marquis of Santillana, so talented was he, and to such a high position had he risen, that he was now at the head of the powerful Mendoza family.
To his Palace at Guadalaxara he could draw the most influential men in Spain, and there persuade them to act for or against the Queen.
These were dangerous times, and Isabella’s great desire was to promote law and order in Castile. She had been brought up to believe that one day this duty might be hers; and she, with that conscientiousness which was a part of her nature, had determined to rule her country well. There was one condition which brought a country low and that was war. She wished with all her heart to be able to lead her country to peace; and she believed that she could do so through the support of men such as Cardinal Mendoza.
He was an exceptionally handsome man, gracious and charming. About forty years old, in spite of his association with the Church he had not lived the life of a churchman. He was too fond of the luxuries of life, and he deemed it unwise for a man to deny himself these.
Abstinence narrowed the mind and starved the soul, he had said. Hypocrisy was lying in wait for the man who denied his body the daily food it craved; and the man who indulged himself now and then was apt to be more lenient with other men; he would find a kindly tolerance growing within him to replace that fanaticism which could often find an outlet in cruelty.
Thus he soothed his conscience. He liked good food and wine, and he had several illegitimate children.
These sins, thought Isabella, sat lightly upon him. She deplored them, but there were times – and these would become more frequent – when she must compromise and suppress her natural abhorrence for the good of the country.
She knew that she needed this charming, tolerant and brilliant man on her side.
When they were alone, he said: ‘I have come to warn Your Highness. There is one who, while feigning to be your friend, is making plans to desert you for your enemies.’
Isabella nodded slowly. ‘I think I know his name,’ she said.
Cardinal Mendoza took a step closer to her. ‘Alfonso Carillo, Archbishop of Toledo.’
‘It is hard to believe,’ Isabella spoke sadly. ‘I remember how he stood beside me. There was a time when I might have become the prisoner of my enemies. It would have meant not only incarceration but doubtless in time a dose of poison would have ended my life. But he was there to save me, and I feel I should not be alive, nor be where I am today but for the Archbishop of Toledo.’
‘Your Highness doubtless owes much to this man. But his object in helping you to the crown was that, although you wore it, he should rule through you.’
‘I know. Ambition is his great failing.’
‘Have a care, Highness. Watch this man. You should not share matters of great secrecy with him. Remember that he is wavering now. This time next week . . . perhaps tomorrow . . . he may be with your enemies.’
‘I will remember your words,’ Isabella assured him. ‘Now I pray you sit here with me and read these documents.’
The Cardinal did so, and watching him, Isabella thought: Have I gained the support of this man, only to lose that of one who served me so well in the past?
Impatiently, Alfonso Carillo, Archbishop of Toledo waited.
It was intolerable, he told himself that he should be kept waiting. It should be enough that the Queen knew he wished to see her for her to dismiss any other person that she might receive him.
‘Ingratitude!’ he murmured, as he paced up and down. ‘All that I have done in the past is forgotten. Since that young cockerel, Ferdinand, sought to show his power over me, he has poisoned her mind against me. And my place beside her has been taken by Mendoza.’
His eyes narrowed. He was a man of choleric temper whose personality would have been more suited to the military camp than to the Church. But as Archbishop of Toledo he was Primate of Spain; he was determined to cling to his position; and although he prided himself on having raised Isabella to the throne, if she failed to recognise that the most important person in Castile was not its Queen, nor her Consort, nor Cardinal Mendoza, but Alfonso Carillo, he, who had helped her to reach the throne, would be prepared to dash her from it.
His eyes were flashing; he was ready for battle.
And so he waited; and, when at length he was told that the Queen was ready to receive him, he met Cardinal Mendoza coming from her apartments.
They acknowledged each other coolly.
‘I have been waiting long,’ said the Archbishop reproachfully.
‘I crave your pardon, but I had state matters to discuss with the Queen.’
The Archbishop hurried on; it would be unseemly if two men of the Church indulged in violence; and he was feeling violent.
He went into the audience chamber.
Isabella’s smile was apologetic.
‘I regret,’ she said placatingly, ‘that you were forced to wait so long.’
‘I also regret,’ the Archbishop retorted curtly.
Isabella looked surprised, but the Archbishop considered himself especially privileged.
‘The waiting is over, my lord. I pray you let us come to business.’
‘It would seem that Your Highness prefers to discuss state matters with Cardinal Mendoza.’
‘I am fortunate in having so many brilliant advisers.’
‘Highness, I have come to tell you that I can no longer serve you while you retain the services of the Cardinal.’
‘I suggest, my lord, that you go too far.’
The Archbishop looked haughtily at this young woman. He could not help but see her as she had been when as a young Princess she asked for his help. He remembered how he had set up her young brother Alfonso as King of Castile while Henry IV still lived; he remembered how he had offered to make Isabella Queen on Alfonso’s death, and how she had gently reminded him that it was not possible for her to be Queen while the true King, her half-brother Henry, still lived.
Had she forgotten what she owed to him?
‘I pray,’ murmured the Archbishop, ‘that Your Highness will reconsider this matter.’
‘I should certainly not wish you to leave me,’ said Isabella.
‘It is for Your Highness to choose.’
‘But I choose that you should remain and curb your animosity towards the Cardinal. If you will be the Cardinal’s friend I am assured that he will be yours.’
‘Highness, it is long since I visited my estates at Alcalá de Henares. I may shortly be asking your permission to retire there from Court for a while.’
Isabella smiled sweetly. She did not believe that the Archbishop would willingly go into retirement.