Виктория Холт: Castile for Isabella

‘Andres,’ she said, ‘it occurs to me that, were it not for this man Villena, now Grand Master of St James, there might be an end to this strife.’

‘Ah, my dear,’ replied Andres, shaking his head, ‘there are still the two heiresses. You cannot have peace when there is a division of opinion as to whether the Princess Isabella or the Princess Joanna has the right to the title.’

‘The Princess Joanna – La Beltraneja!’ scoffed Beatriz. ‘Everyone knows she is a bastard.’

‘But the Queen swore...’

‘The Queen swore! That woman would swear to anything, just for a whim. You know, Andres, that Isabella is the rightful heiress to the crown.’

‘Hush, my dear. Remember we serve the King, and the King has given the succession to his daughter Joanna.’

‘Not his daughter!’ cried Beatriz, clenching her right fist and driving it into the palm of her left hand. ‘Nor does he believe it. Did he not at one time make Isabella his heiress? The people want Isabella. Do you know, I believe that if we could bring Isabella to Henry – in the absence of Villena – we could make him accept her as his heiress, and there would be no more nonsense about La Beltraneja. Would this not be a good thing for the country?’

‘And for you, Beatriz, who would have your friend with you.’

‘I should like to see her again,’ mused Beatriz almost gently. ‘I should also like to see her little daughter. I wonder if she resembles Isabella.’

‘Well,’ said Andres, ‘what do you plot?’

‘Henry comes here often,’ said Beatriz.

‘He does.’

‘Sometimes without Villena.’

‘That is so.’

‘What if Isabella were here too? What if we arranged a meeting between them?’

‘Isabella! Come here... into the enemy’s camp!’

‘You would call my house the enemy’s camp? Any who sought to make her their prisoner in my house would have to kill me before they did so.’

Andres laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘You talk too lightly of death, my dear.’

‘It is Villena who rules this land. He rules the King. He rules you.’

‘That he does not. That he never shall do.’

‘Well, then, why should we not invite Isabella here? Why should she not meet Henry?’

‘It would be necessary to ask Henry’s permission first,’ warned Andres.

‘Well, I would undertake to get that... provided he came here without Villena.’

‘You would play a dangerous game, my dear.’

‘That for danger!’ cried Beatriz, snapping her fingers. ‘Have I your permission to speak to the King when he next comes here alone?’

Andres laughed. ‘My dear Beatriz,’ he said, ‘I know that when you ask for my permission it is merely a formality. So you have decided to speak to Henry at the first opportunity?’

Beatriz nodded. ‘I have decided,’ she said.

She knew it would not be difficult.

She asked the King for permission to talk with him when next he came to stay at the Segovia palace and Villena was busy in Madrid.

‘Highness,’ she began, ‘will you forgive my boldness in raising a certain question?’

Henry was alarmed, immediately afraid that his peace was about to be disturbed.

Beatriz ignored his worried expression and hurried on. ‘I know Your Highness, like myself, loves peace beyond all things.’

‘You are right in that,’ agreed Henry. ‘I wish for no more conflict. I wish those about me would accept what is, and leave it at that.’

‘Some would, Highness, but there are others, close to you, who make strife. Yet it would be quite easy to have peace throughout Castile tomorrow.’

‘How so?’ Henry wanted to know.

‘Well, Highness, I am not skilled in politics but I know this: there are two sides in this quarrel. Part of the country supports Your Highness, and the other part, Isabella. If you made Isabella your heir you would placate those who are against you. Those who are with you would still remain with you. Therefore there would be an end to the conflict.’

‘But my daughter Joanna is the heir to the throne.’

‘Highness, the people will never accept her. As you know, I served Isabella and I loved her dearly. I know that she longs for an end of hostilities. She is truly your sister. There is not a doubt about that. But as to the Princess Joanna... at least there are great doubts as to her legitimacy. If you would only meet Isabella... talk to her... let her tell you how grieved she is by the conflict between you...’

‘Meet her! But how? Where?’

‘Highness, she could come here.’

‘It would not be permitted.’

‘But Your Highness would permit it – and those who would not, need not know of it.’

‘If I sent for her they would hear at once.’

‘Highness, if I fetched her and brought her to you they would not hear of it.’

‘If you set out for Aranda, where I understand she is now, the purpose of your mission would be surmised; all would know that you proposed bringing her to me.’

Her eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, but, Highness, I would not go as myself. I would go disguised.’

‘This is a mad scheme of yours, my dear lady,’ said Henry. ‘Think no more of it.’

‘But if I could bring her to you... in secret... you would receive her, Highness?’

‘I could not refuse to meet my sister. But have done.’

Beatriz bowed her head and changed the subject.

Henry then seemed contented; but he did not know that Beatriz had begun to form her plans.

Isabella was lonely in the palace at Aranda. She was thinking of Ferdinand and wondering how long their separation must last.

Sitting by a great fire stitching with one of her women, and periodically glancing up, she saw through the windows the snow fluttering down. The roads would be icy; and she shivered, wondering what the weather was like in Aragon.

She was working on a shirt. She had been true to her vow to make all the shirts which Ferdinand wore. It was a little jest between them.

‘Every shirt of yours must be stitched with my stitches,’ she had told him. ‘No other woman must make such a garment for you... only myself.’

Ferdinand was delighted. He was always deeply touched by such feminine gestures. Isabella sighed. Ferdinand loved her femininity more than her predilection for governing. He would rather see her occupied with stitching than with state affairs.

One of her women, who was seated in the window seat, called out that a peasant with a pack on her saddle-bow had ridden into the courtyard.

‘Poor woman, she looks so cold and hungry. I wonder if she has wares to sell’

Isabella laid aside her work and went to the window. She felt it her duty to take a great interest in all her subjects. She was teaching little Isabella to be considerate of all people. They might be her subjects one day, she reminded her; for if she and Ferdinand should have no sons, that little Isabella might be Queen of Castile.

‘Poor woman indeed!’ she said. ‘Go down, lest they turn her away. Have her brought in and fed. If she has goods to sell, perhaps she will have something that is needed in the house.’

Her woman went away to do her bidding, but she soon came back, consternation on her face.

‘The woman asks if she may see you, Highness,’ Isabella was told.

‘What does she want?’

‘She refused to say, Highness. She was very insistent. And, Highness, she does not speak like a peasant though she looks like one.’

Isabella sighed. ‘Tell her that I am engaged,’ she said. ‘But ask her business and then come and tell me what she says.’

Isabella paused, and held up a hand to stay her woman for she had heard a voice, protesting in loud tones, which held an unmistakable ring of authority. She knew that voice.