The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile (22 page)

The skin under one of his eyes twitched. Alarm crept through me; I suddenly heard the wind as it brushed over the hulking, lichen-spotted bulls, rustling the stunted pines nearby and snapping at the dark cloaks of the watching nobles.

Enrique had averted his gaze. I beckoned to Carrillo. As the archbishop marched to us with the treaty pinned to a portable desk held by Cárdenas, Villena slithered forth to assume his place beside Enrique, like an oily second shadow.

“If we are still in agreement …?” rumbled Carrillo, making it clear that he’d prefer to throw the desk with the treaty aside and brandish his sword.

I looked directly at Enrique. My mouth went dry. For an impossibly long moment, he did not move, did not speak. Then, to my relief, he took up the inked quill.

“I hereby declare the succession of this kingdom for Doña Isabella my sister,” he intoned, “who, by this document, will now be known as princess of Asturias and is thereby entitled to all properties, rents, and customs pertaining to said title. She is my sole legitimate heir, to be
named queen after my death, as this document shall attest and as I shall see declared throughout the realm by proclamation and ratified by the official gathering of the Cortes.”

He bent over the desk to scrawl his signature across the page. Villena produced the signet seal of Castile, stamping it in red wax and affixing it to the document.

“And I, Isabella,” I said, when the quill was handed to me, “for the peace and repose of these realms, do hereby declare that the king my brother should have his title for as long as he shall live, while I, for the present, am content to be known as princess of Asturias, sole heiress of Castile.”

I too signed.

While the seals dried and the ink was sanded, Enrique and I embraced, and then each of the grandees knelt before me to offer their oath of allegiance. I kept smiling, even as I reflected that by this one act, Joanna had been officially declared a bastard, barred forever from the succession. How much harder would Queen Juana’s hatred against me burn, once she learned of this? What would little Joanna think of me, the aunt she had trusted, when she grew old enough to understand exactly what I had done to secure my place?

It was for Castile, I told myself; for our peace and safety, for the memory of my dead brother, and for the royal blood in my veins, which was unsullied by the taint of adultery.

I refused to brood, returning to Ávila at Enrique’s side to dine in the convent and celebrate our newfound accord. But in the back of my mind I kept seeing Alfonso, looking at me as he stood over the bloody corpses of the king’s leopards.

I ESTABLISHED MY
household in the provincial city of Ocaña, in central Castile. It was not a major township; a dusty walled settlement on the edge of the
meseta
, Ocaña boasted a plaza, a parochial church, and crumbling Roman ruins. All in all, the city had barely two thousand inhabitants, but I needed money and its rents were the first I could draw upon as princess, while I waited for the creaking bureaucracy of the royal secretariat to implement my new status. Moreover, while not
as ancient as Toledo or celebrated as Segovia, Ocaña was situated in such a manner that I could travel to either city once the Cortes assembled, yet it remained far enough away that I needn’t guard my every word. Here, there was no threat from eavesdropping courtiers eager to curry favor with Villena or the king.

The city staged a lovely parade to receive me, bringing out its best statue of the Virgin, dressed in blue velvet and lace, to bless my new home—a gracious three-story mansion with exposed timber-beamed ceiling and tiled rooms. The gallery opened onto an enclosed interior courtyard with a fountain, surrounded by ceramic pots overflowing with greenery. I appointed Chacón as my head steward; Beatriz became my maid of honor, with oversight of my chambers, while Inés de la Torre was named my lady-in-waiting. And Carrillo’s seventeen-year-old page, Cárdenas, with his large green eyes and thick blond curls, became my principal secretary.

Thus did I settle into my first household as princess of Asturias.

Beatriz started visiting Segovia on a regular basis, to requisition tapestries, silverware, and other suitable furnishings for our home. I suspected she and Andrés de Cabrera had been corresponding in secret, a suspicion soon confirmed when she returned one evening to inform me that Andrés had finally asked for her hand in marriage.

“And you said …?” I replied, hiding the sharp pang that pierced me at the thought of losing her.

“I told him it was too soon. Maybe later, when Your Highness has less need of me.”

“Beatriz, I’ll always have need of you. If you love this man as much as he obviously loves you, then you must stop making excuses and follow your heart.”

She regarded me with unabashed yearning. I’d never thought I would actually see this day, when my stalwart friend could look so forlorn. I had to curb the urge to tease her when she added, “But we’d have to reside in Segovia. He’s still governor of the alcazar and overseer of the royal treasury, though that devil Villena has tried more than once to oust him from his position solely because of Cabrera’s loyalty to you. And how could I move so far away from you?”

“I daresay it won’t be easy for either of us,” I said softly, “but we’ll manage.” I clasped her hand, adding with a wink, “Besides, having you near the treasury could be a blessing. Who knows when the day will come when I have urgent need of it?”

She laughed. “Andrés will guard it with his life for you!” She embraced me, releasing the tears I had tried to hold back. “Perhaps it will be your turn next,” she whispered. “I am sure that Fernando has not forgotten you.”

As she went to write to Cabrera, I turned to the window, suddenly pensive. It had been two months since Carrillo had sent our proposal to Aragón; all we’d received in return thus far was a formal communiqué from King Juan, whose eyesight had been restored by the perilous surgery Fernando had written about. While he’d expressed keen interest in exploring the proposed union, he had not committed to anything definite. Carrillo assured me the delay had to do with my dowry arrangements. Aragón was perennially short of funds, and to wed a princess of Castile was no trifling matter. I hadn’t liked the way Carrillo sniffed as he said this. I couldn’t have cared less what Fernando brought to our marriage, providing I had his person, but Carrillo insisted on formalities being observed.

Fernando had also written to express his condolences over Alfonso and detail his ongoing struggle to regain the Pyrenean counties that Louis of France had usurped. But to my disappointment he made no mention of marriage. This was proper, of course, as the negotiations had to go through our appointed representatives, but still his omission hurt me far more than I’d expected. His letter seemed stilted and without his usual exuberance—almost as though he were reluctant—when I’d thought his very words would have leapt off the page in joy that I had finally broached the subject of our future together.

I began to fear something was amiss, so much so that I wrote to Fray Torquemada in secret to request his advice. After all, I was breaking my own treaty agreements with the king, because I should have first asked his leave before I even considered a marriage with Aragón. I had to know if I was making a grave error in judgment, if I had offended the Almighty by conspiring to woo Fernando behind Enrique’s back.
Torquemada replied that he had already absolved me of all prior vows of obedience to the king because of Enrique’s own misdeeds. He advised me again to trust in my faith to guide me.

My conscience absolved, I considered summoning Carrillo from his residence at Yepes to demand an explanation for the delay, but I didn’t want him to know how much I had come to depend on this betrothal. I did not want anyone to think I nurtured romantic notions about a prince I’d met only once—notions I found hard to admit even to myself.

I thought of Fernando often, especially in the hours of the night. I wondered what he looked like now, how he fared, and if he ever thought of me. I had no illusion that he remained innocent of carnal knowledge. Men were not held to the same standard as women. While I didn’t relish the idea of him bedding others, I told myself I could endure it, if I was assured he would be faithful to me once we were wed.

Once we were wed …

It had become my litany, my beacon of hope, but as time passed without word from Fernando I began to doubt. Situations changed, and as Carrillo had said, political necessity, not personal desire, dictated the foundation of a royal union. Perhaps, as heiress of Castile, I was destined for a more important match than the penurious heir of Aragón, no matter how appealing he might be to me personally. Perhaps I should be seeking a prince who had enough power and riches to both protect my inheritance
and
help me subdue my enemies.

Yet even as I considered it, I knew I couldn’t envision being anyone else’s wife. Rich or poor, Fernando was everything I needed: Persistence like his could forge nations, and I could rely on his strength, his courage, and his refusal to let anything, or anyone, stand in his way. I could still remember the way he’d beckoned me by the fountain, his daring whisper. In an instance of apparent frivolity, he had offered me a precious gift, one that had sustained me through the tumultuous passage of these years, through danger, fear, and hope.

And, most important, he would be my ally, not my master. He would share my vision of the future yet not seek to relegate me to the background. He understood that I must reign in Castile in my own right, as he must in his realm of Aragón. He would be my king-consort
here, just as I would be his queen-consort there. Together we could unite our realms, yet remain independent, never forced to prove that one of us was stronger.

Fernando had taught me how to trust myself.

And now, God willing, we would trust in each other.

IN OCTOBER 1468
, Beatriz wed Andrés de Cabrera in Segovia. The ceremony was attended by all the prominent members of the court, as well as the king himself, as he wished to honor his loyal servant.

Beatriz looked radiant in a velvet dress of forest green, the color of constancy. Her abundant dark hair was wreathed with fresh flowers under a long silk veil, and my own rope of gray pearls—my wedding gift to her—was clasped about her throat. At her side Cabrera beamed so wide, it seemed the sun shone through him. His happiness caused me a moment of uncharitable envy, for I realized that my Beatriz, my childhood companion and lifelong friend, now belonged to him.

I observed Enrique during the festivities in the alcazar. I’d not seen him since the signing of our treaty at Guisando, and I found his odd darting glances at everyone but me, as well as his overall dishevelment, troubling. He looked as though he hadn’t bathed in weeks and his anxiety was evident in the ceaseless drumming of his fingertips on the table. Villena was at his side, sleek and overdressed as ever, murmuring who knew what deviltry into Enrique’s gullible ears.

When the tables were pulled back for the dancing, the marquis’s reptilian gaze locked on me from across the dais with unmistakable intent. I froze. Would he actually have the temerity to ask me to dance? I’d hoped to use the distraction in the court to approach Enrique and ask about the Cortes, whose assembly, though promised at Guisando, had not yet materialized. Carrillo had refused to come with me to Segovia to discuss this very thing; instead he roared into Ocaña only hours before our departure, after having sent several bristling missives, to shout at me that it was all a ruse and Enrique never meant to gather the procurators together to legally declare me heir.

“If you go,” he warned, “they’ll take you prisoner. I’ve heard that that whore Juana gave birth to another bastard and is trying to wheedle
herself back into Enrique’s good graces. She escaped her captivity to find refuge with the Mendozas and now seeks rapport with Villena because he has the king’s ear. If you go to Segovia, you will regret it.”

I had paid him little attention for I was not about to miss my beloved friend’s wedding. But as Villena sidled up to me on his high-heeled shoes, I braced myself for the worst. While he held Enrique’s favor, I had to contend with him, but I would never let him bully me again, no matter what. The Cortes
must
be summoned. I would not accept anything less than a definitive date for an answer.