The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile (21 page)

What I wanted did not matter. Not when so much was at stake.

I looked at the abbess, who’d cared for me with such tenderness, never once advising me yet always affirming by the manner she addressed me—
princesa
, a title reserved for a recognized heir—what she believed I must do.

“I will see them today,” I told her and she nodded, turning away to prepare the room where I would meet my fate. I genuflected and stood.

On this day I would truly become the princess—but only on my terms.

FOUR MEN WAITED
in the receiving room above the cloisters: Carrillo was one, along with Bishop Mendoza, whom I was grateful to see, and a secretary at the table armed with quill and paper. Though Mendoza served as advisor to Enrique, I had not forgotten his kindness toward me. The fourth occupant was none other than Villena, doused in expensive musk and wearing gold-slashed black velvet, his sulfuric eyes alight, as though he were about to receive a reward. Did he actually think I’d be happy to see him, after everything he had done?

Carrillo bustled over to me. “We are so pleased to see Your Highness in good health,” he said, bowing over my hand. His deference took me aback; as I watched the others bow, all of a sudden my confidence vanished. I was not sure I could assert myself before these men, after having been disregarded for so long.

“We were concerned,” said Villena, his solicitous tone at odds with his cold stare. “We feared Your Highness might neglect her obligations indefinitely.”

I recalled the afternoon when he and Girón had stormed into the
sala
in Segovia to menace Enrique, and I knew that he hadn’t come to ascertain whether I’d enter the fray. He was here to gauge my readiness and discover any weaknesses as well as any strengths. No doubt he’d already relegated me to another arranged marriage; I could envision his sneer as he informed me as much. After all, once I was summarily disposed of the road lay open to whatever ambitions he nursed. He had a son, I recalled. Perhaps he had already started to plot a way to wed the boy to Joanna? It was the next logical step, if he had, in fact, bribed someone in Cardeñosa to slip poison into my brother’s cup….

At this thought, my hands clenched at my sides. My words burst from me: “I would never neglect so sacred an obligation as my duty, undeserving as I am. I have not taken this time to indulge but rather to reflect on the events that led me to this pass. Though I mourn my late brother the Infante Alfonso as only a devoted sister can, I tell you now that I’ve searched my conscience and believe with all my heart that
while King Enrique lives, no other can stake claim to his crown. Perhaps if Alfonso had had better counsel, he might have realized the same and this realm would not have been sundered by tyranny, nor its people forced to suffer so much. And Heaven itself would not have seen fit to show its displeasure with these actions, which I believe lent a hand in Alfonso’s demise.”

I paused for breath. Carrillo had recoiled from me, but I saw the subtle approval in Mendoza’s gaze and the smoldering fury in Villena’s.

I continued before anyone could stop me. “And so I ask you now, my lords, with all due humility, return this kingdom to my brother Don Enrique and restore peace to Castile. I am content with the title of princess of Asturias, heiress to the realm, may our sovereign King Enrique long reign over us.”

It was done. I stood with my chin raised, amid deafening silence. Mendoza was the first to speak. “Your Highness is wise beyond her years. Is it truly her wish that we convey these sentiments to our king?”

“It is,” I replied.

He nodded, turning at once to depart. The secretary—with my words on his parchment—hastened out behind him. Villena bowed curtly and followed. I felt assured that Mendoza would do his utmost to convey my true messages to Enrique and not twist my words into another nefarious scheme, as Villena’s devious mind might.

Archbishop Carrillo stared at me with narrowed eyes before he let out an acid chuckle. “That was excellent. You almost convinced me. A diplomat could not have done better—you have bought us the time we need to devise our strategy.”

I moved to the chair vacated by Mendoza’s secretary, sitting with composure as Carrillo extracted a clutch of papers from his satchel and dropped it on the table before me.

“Here are letters from various cities, promising to support your bid for the throne. Segovia remains undecided, of course; but I’m sure that once you declare your intent it will follow suit. Your brother’s cause was just and—”

“I have declared my intent,” I said, without looking at the letters.

He snorted. “To that fool Villena, perhaps, but of course you’ll not
leave undone what we’ve struggled these past four years to attain. Alfonso cannot have died in vain.”

“Alfonso died because God did not allow him to live.” I stood abruptly, facing him. “He was struck down because he sought the throne of an anointed king. It was God’s judgment; I, my lord Archbishop, will not incur the same.”

His mouth tightened. I had a sudden recollection of the day he’d come upon me in the gardens of this convent, of how indomitable he’d seemed. I had been afraid of him then, and I still was, in some ways; but I had learned by now that it would serve me nothing to show it. Carrillo would feed on my fear. His entire existence depended on my subservience.

“Are you telling me you
meant
what you said? You would actually throw everything away to suit some girlish notion of divine wrath?”

“Call it what you will. I will not lie; I will not be the cause of further strife. If I am to succeed to the throne, I must do so in good conscience, not by the blood of innocents.”

“Conscience!” He banged his fist on the table. “What about Enrique’s conscience, eh? What about the lies he’s told, the falsehoods he’s promulgated? He took you from your mother to lock you away at court, elevated a bastard to the succession, and may have had your brother poisoned. Would you leave his harlot queen to steal what is rightfully yours?”

I glanced at his clenched hand. For a paralyzing moment I remembered a scene from my childhood, a chilling memory of a man behind my father’s throne, reaching over to touch his shoulder…. And then I recalled Carrillo himself, setting a hand on Alfonso’s shoulder as the world broke apart around us, steering him away from me, toward revolt, insurrection, civil war, and chaos.

Toward death.

I did not want to end up like my father or my brothers—a puppet ruler, prey to the shadows lurking behind me. Yet that could be my fate, if I did not choose my path carefully from this day forth. Every step I took could lead me to glory or tragedy; every choice I made had a consequence. My fate was in my hands.

“You forget with whom you speak,” I finally said. “I am the heiress of Castile now, and as such, perfectly capable of making my own decisions.” I had already turned to the door when I heard him say through clenched teeth, “If you refuse to espouse our cause, how do you expect me to protect you? For heiress or not, they
will
come after you; they’ll force you into marriage with Portugal and exile you for the rest of your life. You’ll never rule here, not if they have their way.”

I took a long moment before I turned back to him. “If you want to protect me, then negotiate a treaty with Enrique that secures my rights. I want to sign it in person with him, so no one can accuse me of treason. You can also help me set up my own household, separate from the court. I do not wish to reside there.”

His scowl indicated he’d not anticipated taking orders this day. “Anything else?”

I paused, hearing Fernando’s voice in my head, as clearly as if he stood beside me.

Be brave, Isabella
.

“Yes.” I looked the archbishop in the eye. “You say they will force me to marry against my will. What if I stipulate in my treaty with Enrique that both the Cortes and I must first approve any match suggested for me?”

“Approve?” He scoffed. “It’s never been seen before, a princess deciding whom she should wed. Political necessity, not personal desire, dictates the foundation of royal union.”

“I wouldn’t dare argue the point,” I replied. The calmness of my voice surprised me, for my heart was galloping in my chest. For the first time, I voiced aloud what, until now, had been only a secret possibility. “Political necessity is of course my primary consideration. As such, who better to be my spouse than the prince of Aragón?”

Carrillo’s eyes widened.

“He is ideal,” I added. “We’re nearly the same age and share the same blood. He is a fellow Spaniard, not a foreigner who will yoke Castile to his realm. He is a warrior already, one who has led armies in defense of his kingdom; he would protect me, as I could protect him. With Castile and Aragón united, France would think twice about attacking and I would have a leader for my armies, if the need arose. I
may not be permitted to don armor or take to the battlefield, but I wish to be respected as if I can. And surely he is worthy to—”

“Not here,” Carrillo interrupted. “No Aragonese was ever deemed worthy in Castile, not for the position you would raise him to.”

My smile faded. “I deem him worthy. That is enough. Or do you think like the rest of them?”

Carrillo went silent, considering. “If I did,” he said at length, and I almost thought I saw a mordant smile tugging at his mouth, “would it make any difference? You appear to have made up your mind.” He held up a hand, preempting me. “As it happens, I do not disagree. In fact, it is an excellent choice. King Juan has wanted such a match for years, as everyone knows, and Castile would benefit, if the prince himself is of equal mind …?”

“He is,” I said. “I know it.”

“Then why delay?” Carrillo said softly. He inclined his head. “We’ll add the stipulation you suggest to the treaty and send King Juan a private letter. Let fate take its course.”

As he bowed, I resisted the laughter that threatened to erupt from me.

I could hardly believe it, but I’d just issued my first order as Castile’s future queen.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

N
obody knew why the four stone bulls of Guisando had been erected. They were older than recorded history, pagan and aloof, mute symbols of a time when Castile was a fragmented and unconsecrated land.

I found them fitting, nonetheless, the ideal witnesses to my first political triumph, if such it could be called. The bulls were situated a few miles from Ávila in a windswept valley, where covert ambush was impossible. On a balmy September morning, only two months after my brother’s death, this is where I met with Enrique to seal our new accord.

As I rode toward the king, I felt perspiration pool under my elaborate gown, trussed and jabbed in a hundred different places by the excessive finery Beatriz had insisted I wear. She’d returned to me along with the chambermaid Inés de la Torre, who had disavowed her prior allegiance to Mencia and begged entry to my service. I saw no reason to refuse her; Inés had never actually betrayed me and I certainly had need of another pair of capable hands. As Beatriz pointed out with her usual candor, no other lady had volunteered to serve me, not with my future still so unsettled. Moreover, we needed Inés’s skills as a seamstress. My gowns were too tight because I’d been dining on good convent fare and staying on my knees all day; I required an appropriately regal costume for my meeting with Enrique. Together with Inés, Beatriz set herself to letting out the seams of my purple velvet banded in silver filigree and adding a few panels of embroidered silk, along with new green satin sleeves trimmed in pearls. Over it, I wore a short cape lined in ermine—the unmistakable mark of royalty. I left my hair loose under a jeweled bonnet and caul; even my Canela was elaborately harnessed in a gilded halter and tooled leather bridle bearing my initials.

It was all for show, because in truth, I could barely afford the clothes
on my back after having paid for Alfonso’s obsequies, alongside the regular sums that went to the maintenance of my mother. But everyone kept saying I must present the proper image. The treaty Carrillo had hammered out with Enrique would, allegedly, provide me with enough income hereafter.

But I still felt ridiculously overdressed when I spied Enrique among his retinue, wearing a plain black tunic without a trace of finery to distinguish his person. He had aged; deep lines now scored the corners of his eyes, as if he’d been squinting too much in the sun, and his unkempt beard was liberally threaded with white. Nevertheless, he sat astride a magnificent white stallion—his sole concession to luxury—and he faced me without any outward sign of trepidation or fear.

I ordered Carrillo to halt. “You go and greet him. I’ll follow behind with my attendants.”

“No,” hissed the archbishop. “Let him greet you first.”

I shot him an exasperated look, tired of his insistence that we should always appear to hold the upper hand. I dismounted with the aid of a groom, and walked alone across the rocky ground to where Enrique waited. I resisted glancing at Villena and the other grandees who flanked him, certain I’d receive nothing but contemptuous looks in return. The last time Castile had had a queen was over two hundred years before, and she had not fared well.