The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile (8 page)

Villena raised his whip. Alfonso cried, “No, don’t harm him!” and the marquis glowered, spurring his horse to canter forth, leaving Alfonso to order, “No, Alarcón. Go back!” He flung out his arm toward the castle. “Go back home!”

The dog whimpered, sitting on its haunches. Alfonso looked at me; this time, he couldn’t hide the bewilderment in his eyes. “He doesn’t understand. He thinks we’re leaving forever. We’re not going away forever, are we, Isabella? We are coming back, right?”

I shook my head. The time of sparing him was past. “I don’t know.”

Though neither of us looked back again, we both knew Alarcón remained seated at the castle gates, watching forlornly as we disappeared onto the desolate plain.

CHAPTER FIVE

W
e had not traveled further than Ávila before, and as we left the high
meseta
behind, Alfonso’s melancholy began to lift, engaged by the change in scenery and his natural curiosity for anything new. The ochre expanse that we had grown up with slowly gave way to a lush landscape dominated by clusters of pine, majestic gorges, and stream-drenched valleys and meadows, where packs of deer bolted in a lightning dash of russet, causing my brother to strain in his saddle.

“Did you see that stag? It was huge! There must be excellent hunting here.”

“The best,” drawled Villena. “Our king wishes to personally introduce Your Highness to the diversity of our hunting. Boar, hind, bear: he chases them all. His Majesty is a master of the hunt.” As he spoke, he glanced at his brother, who was eating something; Girón groused, “Yes, he likes to hunt all right. He’s an expert with his quiver.”

Villena’s chuckle carried a nasty undertone; I sensed something unspoken pass between him and his brother, some deceit, but I kept my smile on my lips as Alfonso exclaimed, “Bear! I’ve never hunted bear before!”

Around us, the landscape unfurled like verdant tapestry, studded with fortresses of dun- and russet-colored stone. I knew many of these castles were owned by the Castilian grandees, first erected as bulwarks during the Reconquista, the centuries-long war against the Moors. Now, with the infidels pushed back to their mountainous realm of Granada, these castles remained as potent symbols of the immense power held by the nobility, whose wealth and number of vassals eclipsed those of the king.

But as we passed through hamlets huddled under the castles’ shadows, where corpses of bandits hung from gibbets, their hands and feet
severed, I began to feel a strong unease. In the fields, hollow-eyed peasants toiled with eyes lowered. Gaunt livestock fed on thorny grasses, ribs poking against their sagging hides, covered in filth and flies. Yellow-skinned children worked beside parents; even old people in tattered clothes sat on doorsteps carding wool, or trudged with loads of kindling. Palpable despair hung over them, as if every day was an eternity in a life that held no joy, no comfort, no peace.

At first I thought the plague had affected this part of Castile. Rumors of the dreaded sickness had always prompted us to bolt Arévalo’s gates and remain inside until the danger passed, so I did not know what it actually looked like. When I ventured to ask why these people looked so miserable, Villena said, “They’re starving, like all their kind. Laziness is the disease of the
campesino
. But these are not times of plenty; taxes must be paid. Those who do not—they know the price they’ll pay.”

He motioned to a nearby gibbet, where a decaying body festered. “We do not tolerate sedition in Castile.”

Girón guffawed. I stared in disbelief. “But we’ve just ridden through acres of untended land. Why can’t the poor plant there and earn their keep?”

“Your Highness has much to learn,” said Villena coldly. “That untended land, as you deem it, belongs to the grandees. It is for their pleasure, not for some peasant to tear up with his hoe and oxen and parcel of snotty brats.”

“All that land? It all belongs to the nobles?”

Before Villena could reply, Girón spat, “It should be more. We wouldn’t have to use our own retainers to guard these rat-hole towns had we not been forced to compromise, because the king said we received their rents.” He hit his chest with his fist. “I said no, let them fend for themselves; but I was outnumbered by those cowards on the Council.”

I felt heat rush into my cheeks and turned from his contemptuous face. Beatriz arched her brow at me, as if to say these were matters we could not possibly understand. But I understood. I remembered what my mother had said of the grandees’ unquenchable greed and of my half brother’s willingness to do anything to keep them at bay. She had not exaggerated; evidently, the kingdom had been given over to them.

Never had Arévalo seemed as distant as it did in that instant. I almost
cried out in relief when I finally caught sight of the dusky eastern ridges of the Sierra de Guadarrama in the distance, framing Segovia’s sunset-lit spires. The city lay draped in hill-cuddled splendor behind fortified walls, carved by the Eresma and Clamores rivers, and guarded by the proud alcazar on its promontory. As we approached one of the five city gates, I saw scaffolding covering the thrust of the alcazar’s oblong keep, the Torre de Homenaje.

Villena said, “My lord the archbishop has prepared lodgings for you in the
casa real
near the alcazar.” He sighed with dramatic weariness. “With the king’s habitual restoration projects and the grandees’ retinues, I regret there is no extra room in the castle itself.”

I hid my relief, even as I noticed Beatriz’s pursed lips, betraying disappointment that we’d not lodge in the very center of the court. I was tired from the journey and my troubled thoughts. Unlike her, I preferred to collect my thoughts in a place apart, before we were thrust into court life.

We entered the clamor of a city twice as large as Ávila and three times as populated. The streets were narrow, cobblestoned or mud-packed; the ringing of our horses’ shoes echoed against the close-set buildings as Beatriz and I rode behind Alfonso. Villena, Girón, Chacón, and the retainers surrounded us. The smells of horse droppings, smoke, cooking food, foul tanneries, and forgers mingled in the dense air; it took all my concentration to keep Canela from prancing nervously at the din of shouting passersby. The retainers opened a path before us, using halberds to disperse anyone who impeded our way. Some of the townsfolk stopped to stare as we rode past, whispering to each other behind their hands.

What were they saying, I wondered; what did they see? An adolescent girl whose hair was coming loose under her veil and a young boy, the grit of the country under his nails—that’s what they must see: two innocents, brought into a world where they did not belong.

I glanced at Villena. He rode with ease, his gold-edged cloak wrapped about him, his chin lifted as if to avoid the stench of the street. As though he sensed my scrutiny he turned his pale yellow stare to me. We rode under a stone-lace Mudéjar gateway into the royal palace, where Carrillo waited in the courtyard, a frown worrying his brow.

“You’re late,” he said as we dismounted. “His Majesty has asked that the infantes attend him tonight.” He gave me a hasty smile. “My dear, you must be quick. We’re expected in the alcazar within the hour.”

“I hope we have time to bathe,” I whispered to Beatriz. She started to whisper back when a thin man of medium stature emerged from the palace. He wore a simple black velvet doublet of mid-length and impeccable cut, slightly flared at the waist to show off his elegant legs in embroidered hose. Bowing before us, he spoke in a courtier’s modulated voice. “I am Andrés de Cabrera, governor of the alcazar of Segovia. I have the honor of escorting Your Highness to her apartments.”

He immediately made me feel at ease. With his solemn features, receding hairline, and deep-set brown eyes, he reminded me of Pedro de Bobadilla, Beatriz’s father, though Andrés de Cabrera was many years younger. Beatriz also reacted to his presence, her face brightening as she said, “We are most grateful for your assistance, Don Cabrera.”

“It is my pleasure. Please, come this way.” It was only then that I realized Alfonso wasn’t with us. I glanced past the servants collecting our belongings to see Carrillo taking my brother in the opposite direction. Carrying Alfonso’s personal coffer, Don Chacón trudged obligingly behind.

Fear coiled in me. “Where is my brother going?” I asked. Though I tried to sound calm, I heard the ragged edge in my voice.

Cabrera paused. “His Highness has his own rooms, of course.” He offered me a gentle smile. “Do not worry, Your Highness. You’ll see him at the banquet.”

“Oh.” I forced out a chuckle. “Of course, how silly of me.”

It made sense; Alfonso must live as befitted his rank now that we were at court. He’d no longer be just a few doors away; we could not meet up at a moment’s notice. But the suddenness of our separation clung to me as we moved away from the palace and into the labyrinthine
casa real
next door, Beatriz close at my side. We passed under fluted arcades that opened onto citrine patios, our heels clicking on the polished floors of jasper and emerald-tiled
salas
dripping in painted alabaster lace. After the noise of the city, the silence was luxurious, enhanced by the diamond-clear trickle of water in unseen fountains and the soft rustle of our skirts.

I was doubting that I’d ever be able to find my way around this place on my own when we entered a spacious room with fluted windows—framed by carved wooden jalousies—that opened onto an expanse of garden. From somewhere nearby I heard the muted roar of a beast and gave a start. “What is that?”

Cabrera smiled again. “His Majesty’s leopards; they must be hungry. It’s almost time for their feeding.”

“Leopards?” echoed Beatriz, in astonishment. “The king keeps wild animals here?”

“Only two,” said Cabrera. “And I assure you they’re well caged and fed. In his forest lodge of El Balacín in the foothills, he has many more lions and bears, as well as big strange birds from Africa, and an assortment of other creatures. His Majesty is a great lover of animals; here, he usually oversees the leopards himself, but tonight that duty falls on me.”

“And does he use these animals to hunt?” I asked, wondering how close these exotic leopards were to my rooms. “I’ve heard he is quite fond of hunting.”

Cabrera frowned. “On the contrary, His Majesty rarely hunts and never with his own animals. He abhors bloodshed; he’s even forbidden the corrida in Segovia.”

“No bullfights?” Beatriz glanced at me; she had heard Villena tell Alfonso that Enrique wanted to show him the pleasures of the hunt. Apparently, the marquis had misled us. It made me wonder what other untruths he and his uncouth brother had told us, though I was secretly pleased to hear that Enrique disliked bullfights. I did, too, intensely; I had never understood how anyone could find delight in the blood and pandemonium of the arena. Though I’d been raised in a rural area where animals were regularly slaughtered for sustenance, it seemed unnatural to me to turn a creature’s suffering into a crowd-pleasing spectacle.

“Are Alfonso’s rooms far from us?” I asked, unclasping my cloak.

“Not too far,” answered Cabrera. “His Highness will reside in the alcazar, which is rather crowded at the moment. My lord the archbishop thought it best if you resided somewhere more private. However, if you do not care for these rooms, I could try to secure apartments closer to
the infante’s. Alas, they will be smaller. All the large rooms are currently occupied by the grandees who have come to see the new princess.”

“No,” I said, “do not trouble yourself. These rooms suit me fine.”

He stepped aside as two men brought in our clothes chests and set them on the tiled floor. “You’ll find a basin of fresh water and cloths on the stand by the window, my lady. I regret that a hot bath is impossible, given the hour, but tomorrow I’ll have one drawn for you.”

“That would be lovely.” I inclined my head. “Thank you. You are most kind.”

“No need to thank me, my infanta. It is my honor to serve you. Please, do not hesitate to call upon me should you require anything. I am at your disposal.” He bowed. “You, too, my lady de Bobadilla; I am, of course, also at your service.”

As he left, I was amused to see Beatriz flush. “Such a nice man,” she said, “but I didn’t tell him my name, did I? How did he know?”

I didn’t answer her. I was not thinking of Cabrera, whom I sensed was someone we could trust, but of Villena. “Beatriz, why do you think the marquis misled us? First he said the king was a master of the hunt, which isn’t true according to Don Cabrera, and then he said there were no rooms for us in the alcazar. Such petty lies; I hardly see the point.”

“Petty on the surface, perhaps.” She unlaced my outer gown, removing it to leave me in my hose and shift. “But he won Alfonso’s attention with the first lie and effectively separated him from us with the next. And Cabrera also said that
Carrillo
had decided to lodge you here, for privacy’s sake. Might it not be less for privacy and more because he too wants to keep you and Alfonso at a distance?”