Виктория Холт: Castile for Isabella

‘He is near the end,’ said the Cardinal. ‘Yes, call the King’s Confessor.’

As the Count and Cardinal left the chamber of death Oviedo hurried after them.

‘My lords, may I have a word with you?’

They paused to listen to the secretary.

‘The King has left in my keeping a document which greatly troubles me,’ said Oviedo. ‘It was in Villena’s possession, until he was dying. He then gave it to me to return to the King, but the King told me to lock it away; and this I have done.’

‘What document is this?’

‘It is the King’s last will, my lords.’

‘You should show it to us without delay.’

Oviedo led them into a chamber in which he stored his secret documents. He unlocked the box, produced the will and handed it to the Cardinal.

Had the Cardinal been alone he might have destroyed it; at the moment Benavente was his friend; but men changed sides quickly in Castile at this time, and he dared not destroy such a document while there were witnesses to see him do so.

Benavente read his thoughts, for they were his also.

Then the Cardinal said: ‘Tell no one of this document. Take it to the curate of Santa Cruz in Madrid and tell him to lock it away in a safe place.’

Oviedo bowed and retired.

The Count and Cardinal were silent for a few seconds; then the Cardinal said: ‘Come! Let us to Segovia, there to pay homage to the Queen of Castile.’

On the thirteenth day of December, in that year 1474, a procession consisting of the highest of the nobility and clergy of Castile made its way to the Alcazar of Segovia.

There, under a canopy of rich brocade, homage was paid to Isabella, Queen of Castile.

They had come to escort her to the city’s square where a platform had been set up.

Isabella, in her royal robes, mounted her jennet and was led there by the magistrates of the city, while one of her officers walked before her carrying the sword of state.

When she reached the platform she dismounted and ascended the structure, there to take her place on the throne which had been set up for her.

When she looked out on that great assembly she was deeply moved. This, she felt, was one of the truly great moments in her life, and it was for this that she had been born.

She had two regrets – one disappointing, one very bitter. The first was that Ferdinand was not here to share this triumph with her because he had, only a few weeks before Henry’s death, received an urgent call from his father and had joined him in Aragon; the other was that her mother could not be aware of what was happening to her daughter this day.

And as Isabella sat there on that throne, Queen of Castile by the desire of the people of Segovia, it was her mother’s voice which she heard ringing in her ears: ‘Never forget, you could be Queen of Castile.’

She had never forgotten.

She heard the bells peal out; she saw the flags fluttering in the breeze; she heard the guns boom forth. All these were saying: Here is the new Queen of Castile.

There were many to kneel before her, to kiss her hand and swear their loyalty; and she in her turn told them, in that sweet, musical, rather high-pitched young and almost innocent voice, that she would do all in her power to serve them, her subjects, to bring back law and order to Castile, and to be a worthy Queen.

The voices of the crowd rang out: ‘Castile! Castile for Isabella! Castile for the King Don Ferdinand and his Queen Doña Isabella, Queen Proprietor of the Kingdoms of Castile and Leon!’

She felt warmed by their mention of Ferdinand; she would be able to tell him how they had called his name. That would please him.

Then she descended from the platform and placed herself at the head of the procession, when it made its way to the Cathedral.

Isabella listened to the chanting of Te Deum; and earnestly she prayed for Divine guidance, that she might never falter in her duties towards her kingdoms and her people.

Ferdinand came with all speed from Aragon, and joyously Isabella received him.

Was it her fancy, or did he hold his head a little higher? Was he a little more proud, a little more masterful than before?

In the midst of his passion he whispered to her: ‘First you are my wife, Isabella. Do not forget that. Only second, Queen of Castile.’

She did not contradict him, for he did not expect an answer. He had spoken as though he made a statement of fact. It was not true. If she had never known it before, it had become clear to her after the ceremony in the square and the Cathedral.

But she loved him tenderly and with passion. She was a wife and a mother, but the crown was her spouse, and the people of Castile – the suffering and the ignorant – they were her children.

She would not tell him now. But in time he must come to understand. He would, for he too had his duty. He was younger than she was, and for all his experience he was perhaps not so wise, though not for all the world would she tell him so.

He will understand, she assured herself, but he is younger than I – not only in years – and perhaps I am more serious by nature. It will take a little time before he understands as I do.

His grandfather, the Admiral Henriquez, was delighted at the turn of events.

He placed himself at the service of his grandson.

The day after Ferdinand’s return he presented himself and embraced the young husband with tears in his eyes.

‘This is the proudest moment of my life. You will be King of Aragon. You are already King of Castile.’

Ferdinand looked a little sulky. ‘One hears much talk of the Queen of Castile, little of its King.’

‘That is a matter which should be set right,’ went on the Admiral. ‘Isabella has inherited Castile, but that is because the Salic law does not exist in Castile as it does in Aragon. If it were accepted here, you, as the nearest male claimant to the throne, through your grandfather Ferdinand, would be King of Castile – and Isabella merely your consort.’

‘That is so,’ agreed Ferdinand, ‘and it is what I would wish. But everywhere we go it is Isabella... Isabella... and they never forget to remind me that she is the reina proprietaria . It is almost as though they accept me on sufferance.’

‘It shall be changed,’ said the Admiral. ‘Isabella will do all that you ask of her.’

Ferdinand smiled smugly. He was remembering her passionate reception of him, and he believed it to be true.

‘It shall be done. She adores me. She can deny me nothing.’

Isabella listened in dismay.

He was laughing, his arm about her, his lips against her hair. ‘So, my love, this shall be done. The King and his beloved consort, eh? It is better so. You, who are so reasonable, will see this.’

Isabella felt dismay smite her, but her voice was firm, though sad, when she replied: ‘No, Ferdinand, I do not see it.’

He released her, and his frown was ugly.

‘But surely, Isabella...’

She wanted to cry out: Do not use that cold tone when you speak to me. But she said nothing. Instead she saw again the people in the square... the people who had suffered during the evil reign of her half-brother. And still she said nothing.

He went on: ‘So you hold me in such little esteem!’

‘I hold you in the greatest esteem,’ she told him. ‘Are you not my husband and the father of my child?’

Ferdinand laughed bitterly. ‘Brought here as a stallion! Is that what I mean to you? Let him do what he has been brought for – after that he is of little account.’

‘But how can you say this, Ferdinand? Do I not ask your advice? Do I not listen? Do we not rule these kingdoms together?’