Виктория Холт: Castile for Isabella

‘There must be a fruitful union.’

‘I agree it is imperative for Castile... for Henry... and for us.’

‘You have no need to tell me. I know our enemies have their eyes on Arevalo.’

‘Have you heard news of events there?’

‘There is very little to be learned,’ Villena replied. ‘The Dowager is there with her two children. They are living quietly, and my friends there inform me that the lady has been more serene of late. There have been no hysterical scenes at all. She believes herself to be safe, and is biding her time; and, while this is so, she devotes herself to the care of her children. Poor Isabella! Alfonso is too young as yet to suffer from such rigorous treatment. I hear it is prayers... prayers all the time. Prayers, I suppose, that the little lady may be good and worthy of any great destiny which may befall her.’

‘At least the Dowager can do little mischief there.’

‘But, uncle, we must be ever watchful. Henry is ours and we are his. He must please his people or there will be those ready to call for his abdication and the setting up of young Alfonso. There are many in this kingdom who would be pleased to see the crown on Alfonso’s baby brow. A Regency! You know how seekers after power could wish for nothing better than that.’

‘I know. I know. And our first task is to rid the King of his present wife and provide him with a new one. When the heir is born a fatal blow will have been struck at the hopes of the Dowager of Arevalo. Then it will matter little what she teaches her Alfonso and Isabella.’

‘You have heard of course...’ began Villena.

‘The rumours... indeed yes. The King is said to be impotent, and it is due to him – not Blanche – that the marriage is unfruitful. That may be. But let us jump our hurdles when we reach them, eh? And now... here we are.’

The page announced them, and Henry came forward to meet them, which was characteristic of Henry; and whilst this show of familiarity pleased both men they deplored it as unworthy of the ancient traditions of Castile.

‘Marquis! Archbishop!’ cried Henry as they bowed before him. ‘I am glad you are here.’ He waved his hand, signifying to his attendants that he wished to be entirely alone with his two ministers. ‘Now to business,’ he went on. ‘You know why I have asked you here.’

The Marquis said: ‘Dearest Sire, we can guess. You wish to serve Castile, and to do this you have to take steps which are disagreeable to you. We offer our respectful condolence and assistance.’

‘I am sorry for the Queen,’ said Henry, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘But what can I do for her? Archbishop, do you think it will be possible to obtain a divorce?’

‘Anticipating your commands, Highness, I have given great consideration to this matter, and I am sure the Bishop of Segovia will support my plan.’

‘My uncle has solved our problem, Highness,’ said Villena, determined that, while the Archbishop received the King’s grateful thanks, he himself should not be forgotten as chief conspirator.

‘My dear Archbishop! My dear, dear Villena! I pray you tell me what you have arranged.’

The Archbishop said: ‘A divorce could be granted por impotencia respectiva .’

‘Could this be so?’

‘The marriage has been unfruitful, Highness.’

‘But...’

‘There need be no slur on the royal virility, Highness. We might say that some malign influence brought about this unhappy state of affairs.’

‘Malign influence?’

‘It could be construed as witchcraft. We will not go too deeply into that, but we feel sure that all would agree, in the circumstances, that Your Highness should repudiate your present wife and take another.’

‘And Segovia is prepared to declare the marriage null and void!’

‘He will do that,’ said the Archbishop. ‘I myself will confirm it.’

Henry laughed. ‘There could surely not be a better reason.’

He repeated. ‘ Por impotencia respectiva ...’ And then: ‘Some malign influence.’

‘Let us not worry further on that point,’ said Villena. ‘I have here a picture of a delectable female.’

Henry’s eyes became glazed as he looked at the picture of a pretty young girl, which Villena handed him; his lips curved into a lascivious smile. ‘But... she is enchanting!’

‘Enchanting and eligible, Highness, being none other than Joanna, Princess of Portugal, sister of Alfonso V, the reigning monarch.’

‘I can scarcely wait,’ said Henry, ‘for her arrival in Castile.’

‘Then, Sire, we have your permission to go ahead with these arrangements?’

‘My dear friends, you have not only my permission; you have my most urgent command.’

The Marquis and the Archbishop were smiling contentedly as they left the royal apartments.

The Queen begged an audience with the King. One of her women had brought the news to her that the Marquis and the Archbishop had been closeted with the King, and that their discussion must have been very secret, as the apartments had been cleared before it began.

Henry received her with warmth. The fact that he would soon be rid of her made him almost fond of her.

‘Why, Blanche my dear,’ he said, ‘you look distressed.’

‘I have had strange dreams, Henry. They frightened me.’

‘My dear, it is folly to be afraid of dreams in daylight.’

‘They persist, Henry. It is almost as though I have a premonition of evil.’

He led her to a chair and made her sit down, while he leaned over her and laid a gentle and caressing hand on her shoulder.

‘You must banish these premonitions, Blanche. What harm could come to the Queen of Castile?’

‘There is a feeling within me, Henry, that I may not long be the Queen of Castile.’

‘You think there is a plot afoot to murder me? Ah, my dear, you have been brooding about the Dowager of Arevalo. You imagine that her friends will dispatch me so that her little Alfonso shall have my crown. Have no fear. She could not harm me, if she would.’

‘I was not thinking of her, Henry.’

‘Then what is there to fear?’

‘We have no children.’

‘We must endeavour to remedy that.’

‘Henry, you mean this?’

‘You fret too much. You are over-anxious. Perhaps that is why you fail.’

She wanted to say: ‘But am I the one who fails, Henry? Are you sure of that?’ But she did not. That would anger him, and if he were angry he might blame her; and who could say what might grow out of such blame?

‘We must have a child,’ she said desperately.

‘Calm yourself, Blanche. All will be well with you. You have allowed your dreams to upset you.’

‘I dream of going back to Aragon. Why should I dream that, Henry? Is not Castile my home!’

‘Castile is your home.’

‘I dream of being there... in the apartment I used to occupy. I dream that they are there... my family... my father, Eleanor, my stepmother holding little Ferdinand – and they approach my bed. I think they are going to do me some harm. Carlos is somewhere in the Palace and I cannot reach him.’

‘Dreams, my dear Blanche, what are dreams?’

‘I am foolish to give them a thought, but I wish they did not come. The Marquis and the Archbishop were with you, Henry. I hope they had good news for you.’

‘Very good news, my dear.’

She looked at him eagerly; but he would not meet her gaze; and because she knew him so well, that fact terrified her.

‘You have a great opinion of those two,’ she said.

‘They are astute – and my friends. I know that.’

‘I suppose you would put their suggestions to a Council... before you accept them.’