Spain for the Sovereigns (33 page)

Zoraya and her son, although prisoners, did not suffer any privations. They were surrounded by servants and attendants. Thus Muley Abul Hassan had made it easy for Zoraya to continue to work for his dethronement and the succession of her son, Boabdil.

She sent her spies into the streets to spread abroad the scandals of the palace, to whisper of the bravery of Zoraya and Boabdil whom others sought to rob of their inheritance. Here was a brave mother fighting for the rights of her son; they could depend upon it that Allah would not turn his back upon her.

News was brought to her that the people in the streets were no longer whispering but saying aloud: ‘Have done with the old Sultan. Give us the new!’ And Zoraya judged the moment had come. She summoned all her servants and attendants to her. She made the women take off their veils, the eunuchs their
haiks
.

Then she, with Boabdil and a very few of her most trusted servants, tied these end to end, making a long rope, which they secured and hung from a window.

First she descended the rope, followed by Boabdil.

She had arranged that they should be expected. No sooner had Boabdil reached the ground than several of their supporters were on the spot greeting Boabdil as their Sultan, honouring Zoraya as the great Sultana and mother, a woman whose name, they believed, would be a legend in the history of the Mussulmans, because she, in her maternal love, by her bravery and resource, had delivered their new Sultan from the tyranny of the old one.

There was war in Granada. Thousands rallied to the cause of Boabdil.

In the streets of the beautiful city of Granada, Moor fought Moor and the battle was fierce.

Muley Abul Hassan was taken by surprise, first by the treachery of his family, then by the force of their supporters. And although the fortress of the Alhambra itself remained faithful to him, the city was against him. Chivalry turned the men of Granada to the brave Sultana and her young son.

Prudence weighed the matter and decided that Muley Abul Hassan had had his day and that the times needed the vigour of a young Sultan; and Muley Abul Hassan was driven from Granada, whence he fled to the city of Malaga, which had declared itself for him.

Thus while the Christian armies were gathering against them there was civil strife in the kingdom of Granada.

Isabella was thoughtful as she sat at her needlework. This was one of the rare occasions when she could find a brief hour’s escape from state duties; and it was pleasant to have Beatriz with her at such a time.

Beatriz had her duties to her husband and was not in constant attendance on Isabella, so that those opportunities of being together were especially precious.

Isabella was now thinking of Ferdinand, who had seemed to be brooding on some secret matter. She wondered if his thoughts were with the events in Granada as hers were; but perhaps they were with some woman, some family of his, which existed unknown to her. It seemed strange that Ferdinand might have other families, women who loved him, children who aroused his affection even as her Isabella, Juan, Juana and little Maria did – a strange, disturbing and unhappy thought.

She looked at Beatriz, who, not with any great pleasure, was working on a piece of needlework. Beatriz was too active a woman to find delight in such a sedentary occupation. Isabella would have enjoyed talking of these matters which disturbed her to a sympathetic friend like Beatriz; but she refrained from doing so; not even to Beatriz would she speak of matters, so derogatory, she believed, to the dignity of herself and Ferdinand as sovereigns of Castile and Aragon.

Beatriz herself spoke, for on these occasions Isabella had asked her friend to dispense with all ceremony, and that they should behave as two good wives come together for a friendly gossip.

‘How go affairs in Navarre?’ asked Beatriz.

‘They give us cause for anxiety,’ answered Isabella. ‘One can never be sure what tortuous plan is in Louis’s mind.’

‘Surely even he could not arrange that the vows La Beltraneja has taken should be swept aside.’

‘He is very powerful. And I do not trust Pope Sixtus. We have had our differences. And bribes can work wonders with a man such as he is, I fear.’

‘Bribes or threats,’ murmured Beatriz. ‘Francis Phoebus is, I hear, a beautiful creature. They say that he is rightly called Phoebus and that his hair is like golden sunshine.’

‘Doubtless,’ answered Isabella, ‘they exaggerate. Phoebus is a family name. It may well be that he is handsome, but he is also a king, and the beauty of kings and queens often takes its lustre from their royalty.’

Beatriz smiled at her friend. ‘My Queen,’ she said, ‘I believe your natural good sense is equal to your beauty – and you are beautiful, Isabella, Queen or not!’

‘We were talking of Francis Phoebus,’ Isabella reminded her.

‘Ah, yes, Francis Phoebus, who is as beautiful as his name. I wonder what he feels about marrying the released nun of doubtful parentage.’

‘If that marriage is made,’ said Isabella grimly, ‘there will be many to assure him that there is no doubt whatsoever of her parentage. Oh, Beatriz, the tasks before us seem to grow daily. I had hoped that ere long we should be making war. . . real war . . . on Granada. But now that it would seem favourable to do so, there is trouble in Navarre. If Louis suggests removing La Beltraneja from her convent, having her released from her vows and married to his nephew of Navarre, make no mistake about it, his first plan will be to take Navarre under the protection of France, and his second to win my crown for La Beltraneja.’

‘Even Louis would never succeed.’

‘He would not succeed, Beatriz, but there would be another bitter war. A War of the Succession has already been fought and won. I pray hourly that there may not be another.’

‘That you may devote your energies to the war against the Moors.’

Isabella thoughtfully continued with her needlework.

It was shortly afterwards that Ferdinand entered her apartment. He came without ceremony, but Beatriz, realising that he would not wish her to greet him with the informality which Isabella allowed, was on her feet and gave him a deep curtsey.

Isabella saw that Ferdinand was excited. His eyes shone in his bronzed face and his mouth twitched slightly.

‘You have news, Ferdinand, good news?’ she asked. ‘Please do not consider the presence of Beatriz. You know she is our very good friend.’

Beatriz waited for his dismissal, but it did not come.

He sat down on the chair beside the Queen, and Isabella signed to Beatriz that she might return to her chair.

Ferdinand said: ‘News from Navarre.’

‘What news?’ asked Isabella sharply.

‘The King of Navarre is dead.’

An almost imperceptible look of triumph stole across Ferdinand’s face.

Beatriz caught her breath. She had visualised so clearly the young man known as Francis Phoebus who had been likened to the Sun God himself, and only a few moments ago she had considered him in his golden beauty; now she must adjust the picture and see a young man lying on his bier.

‘How did he die?’ Isabella asked.

‘Quite suddenly,’ said Ferdinand; and, try as he might to look solemn, he could not manage it. The triumph remained on his face.

Beatriz’s eyes went to Isabella’s face, but as usual the Queen’s expression told her nothing.

What does she think of murder? wondered Beatriz. How can I know, when she does not betray herself? Does she accept the murder of a young man, as beautiful as his name implies, because his existence threatens the throne of Castile? Will she say Thank God? Or in her prayers will she ask forgiveness because, when she hears that murder has been done at the instigation of her husband, she has rejoiced?

‘Then,’ said Isabella slowly, ‘the danger of a marriage between Navarre and La Beltraneja no longer exists.’

‘That danger is over,’ agreed Ferdinand.

He folded his arms and smiled at his Queen. He looked invincible thus, thought Beatriz. Isabella realises this; and perhaps she says to herself: Unfaithful husband though you are, murderer though you may be, you are a worthy husband for Isabella of Castile!

‘Now who rules Navarre?’ asked Isabella.

‘His sister Catharine has been proclaimed Queen.’

‘A child of thirteen!’

‘Her mother rules until she is older.’

‘There is one thing we must do with all speed,’ said Isabella. ‘Juan shall be betrothed to Catharine of Navarre.’

‘I agree,’ said Ferdinand. ‘But I have news that Louis has not been idle. He is making preparations to seize Navarre. In which case it may very well be that they will not accept our son for Catharine.’

‘We must act against Louis at once,’ said Isabella.

‘Your short respite is over,’ Ferdinand told her ruefully.

‘I will leave at once for the frontier,’ Isabella replied. ‘We must show Louis that, should he attempt to move into Navarre, we have strong forces to resist him.’

Isabella folded up her needlework as though, thought Beatriz, she were a housewife, preparing to perform some other domestic duty.

She handed the work to Beatriz. ‘It must be set aside for a time,’ she said.

Beatriz took the work, and understanding that they wished to discuss plans from which she was excluded, she curtsied and left Ferdinand and Isabella alone together.

Boabdil rode into battle against the Christian army.

Muley Abul Hassan and his brother El Zagal were fighting their own war, also against the Christians. They had made several attacks near Gibraltar and had had some success.

The people of Granada were beginning to say: ‘It may be that Muley Abul Hassan grows old and feeble, but with El Zagal beside him he can still win victories. Perhaps it is not the will of Allah that we throw him aside for the new Sultan, Boabdil.’

‘Boabdil must go into action,’ cried Zoraya. ‘He must show the Arab kingdom that he can fight as poor Muley Abul Hassan, and even El Zagal, never could.’

So it was that Boabdil rode into action against the Christians. He was confident of success. Brilliantly clad in a mantle of crimson velvet embroidered with gold, he was an impressive figure, for beneath the cloak his damascened steel armour caught and reflected the light and glistened.

Out of the town of Granada he rode to the cheers of the people; and those cheers were still ringing in his ears when he took the road to Cordova.