Виктория Холт: Castile for Isabella

Isabella was contented with her nunnery. As long as they could live like this and her mother was quietly happy and not frightened, Isabella could be happy.

Alfonso was developing a personality of his own. He was no longer a gurgling, kicking baby. It was a great pleasure to watch him take his first steps, Isabella holding out her arms to catch him should he stumble. Sometimes they played these games with one of the women; sometimes with the Dowager Queen herself, who occasionally would pick up the little boy and hug him tightly. Then the ever alert Isabella would watch her mother for the tell-tale twitching of the mouth. But Alfonso would utter lusty protests at being held too tightly, and often an emotional scene was avoided in this way.

Isabella missed her father; she missed her brother Henry; but she could be happy like this if only she could keep her mother quiet and contented.

One day she said: ‘Let us stay like this... always...’

But the Dowager Queen’s lips had tightened and begun to twitch, so that Isabella realised her mistake.

‘You have a great destiny,’ began the Dowager Queen. ‘Why, this baby here...’

That was when she picked up Alfonso and held him so tightly that he protested, and so, fortunately, his protests diverted the Queen from what she was about to say.

This was a lesson. It showed how easily one could stumble into pitfalls. Isabella was aghast on realising that she, whose great desire was to avoid hysterical scenes, had almost, by a thoughtless remark, precipitated one of them.

She must never cease to be watchful and must not be deceived by the apparent peace of Arevalo.

There came a terrifying day when their mother visited the two children in the nursery.

Isabella knew at once that something unfortunate had occurred, and her heart began to hammer in an uncomfortable way. Alfonso was, of course, unaware that anything was wrong.

He threw himself at his mother and was picked up in her arms. The Queen stood holding him strained against her, and when Alfonso began to wriggle she did not release him.

‘Highness...’ he cried, and because he was proud to be able to say the word he repeated it. ‘Highness... Highness...’

It seemed to Isabella that Alfonso was shouting. That was because everything was so quiet in the apartment.

‘My son,’ said the Queen, ‘one day you will be King of Castile. There is no doubt of it.’

‘Highness... you hurt me...’ whimpered Alfonso.

Isabella wanted to run to her mother and explain that she was holding Alfonso too tightly, and to remind her how much happier they were when they did not talk about the future King or Queen of Castile.

To Isabella it seemed that the Queen stood there a long time, staring into the future, but it could not have been more than a few seconds, or Alfonso’s whimper would have become a loud protest.

Meanwhile the Queen said nothing; she stared before her, looking angry and determined, as Isabella remembered so well to have seen her in the past.

Then the little girl could bear it no longer; perhaps because it was so long since she had had to restrain herself, or because she was so very eager to preserve the peace of Arevalo.

She went to her mother and curtsied very low. Then she said: ‘Highness, I think Alfonso is hungry.’

‘Hungry, Highness,’ wailed Alfonso. ‘Highness hurts Alfonso.’

The Queen continued to stare ahead, ignoring their appeal.

‘He has married again,’ she resumed. ‘He thinks he will beget a child. But he never will. How could he? It is impossible. It is the just reward for the life he has led.’

It was the old theme which Isabella had heard many times before; it was a reminder of the past; it warned her that the peace of Arevalo could be shattered in a moment.

‘Alfonso hungry,’ wailed the boy.

‘My son,’ the Queen repeated, ‘one day you shall be King of Castile. One day...’

‘Don’t want to be King,’ cried Alfonso. ‘Highness squeezing him.’

‘Highness,’ whispered Isabella earnestly, ‘shall we show you how far Alfonso can walk by himself?’

‘Let them try!’ cried the Queen. ‘They will see. Let them try! The whole of Castile will be laughing at them.’

Then, to Isabella’s relief, she set Alfonso on his feet. He looked at his arms and whimpered.

Isabella took his hand and whispered: ‘Walk, Alfonso. Show Highness.’

Alfonso nodded gleefully.

But the Queen had begun to laugh.

Alfonso looked at his mother and crowed with pleasure. He did not understand that there were more kinds of laughter than one. Alfonso only knew about laughing for amusement or happiness, but Isabella knew this was the frightening laughter. After the long peace it had returned.

One of the women had heard and came into the apartment. She looked at the two children, standing there watching their mother. Then she retired and very soon a physician came into the room.

Now the Queen was laughing so much that she could not stop. The tears were running down her cheeks. Alfonso was laughing too; he turned to Isabella to make sure that she was joining in the fun.

‘Highness,’ said the physician, ‘if you will come to your bedchamber I will give you a potion which will enable you to rest.’

But the Queen went on laughing; her arms had begun to wave about wildly. Another physician had now joined them.

With him was a woman, and Isabella heard his quiet order. ‘Take the children away... immediately.’

But before they went, Isabella saw her mother on the couch, and the two doctors holding her there, while they murmured soothing words about rest and potions.

There was no escape, thought Isabella, even at Arevalo. She was glad Alfonso was so young that, as soon as he no longer saw his mother, he forgot the scene they had just witnessed; she was glad that he was too young to understand what it might mean.

Henry was happy in those first weeks of his marriage. He had arranged ceremonies and pageants of such extravagance as had rarely been seen before in Castile. So far he had not displeased his subjects, and when he rode among them at the head of some glittering cavalcade, towering above most of his retinue, his crown on his red hair, they cheered him vociferously. He knew how to dispense smiles and greetings so that they fell on all, rich and poor alike.

‘There is a King,’ said the people of Castile, ‘the like of whom we have not seen for many a year.’

Some had witnessed the departure of Blanche and had pitied her. She looked so forlorn, poor lady.

But, it was agreed, the King had his duties to Castile. Queen Blanche was sterile, and however virtuous queens may be, virtue is no substitute for fertility.

‘Poor Henry!’ they sighed. ‘How sad he must be to have to divorce her. Yet he considers his duty to Castile before his own inclination.’

As for Henry he had scarcely thought of Blanche since she had left. He had been delighted to dismiss her from his thoughts, and when he saw his new wife his spirits had soared.

He, who was a connoisseur of women, recognised something beyond her beauty... a deep sensuality which might match his own, or at least come near to it.

During those first weeks of marriage he scarcely left her. In public she delighted his subjects; in private she was equally satisfactory to him.

There could not have been a woman more unlike poor Blanche. How glad he was that he had had the courage to rid himself of her.

Behind the sparkling eyes of the new Queen there was a certain purpose, but that was not evident as yet. Joanna was content at first merely to play the wife who was eager to please her husband.

Attended by the maids of honour whom she had brought with her from Lisbon, she was always the centre of attraction, Full of energy, she planned balls and pageants of her own to compete with those which the King gave in her honour, so that it appeared that the wedding celebrations would go on for a very long time.