The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile (24 page)

Now I waited, walking back and forth across the worn floor, nervously eyeing the door which might bring me my escape—or my doom.

Over the last five months, while Cárdenas carried my covert missives and Ines waged a domestic battle with Mencia, the number of guards about my palace had increased like locusts. It soon began to look as if Villena had dispatched a veritable army to Ocaña. When I was denied permission to visit my mother in Arévalo for Epiphany, I finally ventured to ask Mencia
why
there were so many soldiers in the streets—indeed, outside our very gates.

She replied with a feigned air of indifference, “I believe there’s been an uprising in the south, led by the rebel marquis of Cádiz. His Majesty and Villena must travel to Andalucía to contend with him. Naturally, their utmost concern while they are gone is Your Highness’s continued safety.”

“Naturally,” I said dryly, but inside me, hope flared. Cádiz was a notorious troublemaker, a temperamental grandee with vast swaths of land in Andalucía and a lifelong enmity for his rival, the duke of Medina Sidonia. Together, these two southern nobles had wreaked more havoc than the Moors had. Their quarrel could upset the precarious balance of power in the region, and such a threat to the realm’s stability would preclude meeting with the Portuguese. With Enrique and Villena gone for at least a month—for Sevilla was much farther away from Castile than Portugal—the timing was perfect for me to carry out my escape.

Carrillo must have felt the same, for within days Cárdenas brought word from the archbishop. My valises were packed with essentials; Ines took them to the stables to hide them under the straw. We then spent several anxious weeks pretending to go about our daily activities, overseeing the house, embroidering, reading, and retiring shortly after nightfall to save candles—all of which was calculated to drive Mencia into a state of desperate boredom. When Ines reported that Mencia had taken up with one of the soldiers, a brawny youth with whom she stole off to frolic every night, I had to stifle my rather unseemly delight.

“And she’s a married woman,” Inés sniffed. “Common harlots have more scruples.”

I told myself that the circumstances were extraordinary and Mencia’s lack of scruples could not matter to me, not when her distraction could serve my purpose; and so I feigned utter indifference to the love bites on her throat and her satisfied leer.

Tonight she was once again absent, having slipped out the moment she heard me close my bedchamber door. Inés had hurried downstairs to open the gates; we could only pray that the soldiers who usually patrolled our area had chosen to get out of the cold and seek diversion in one of the plaza taverns. The notches in the candle on my sideboard showed it was past two in the morning. Surely the sentries would not still be outside the palace at this late hour—

I paused, hearing footsteps on the stairs. I went still. The horrifying thought that it was Villena’s men made my blood run cold. Word could have leaked out that I was writing to Carrillo; they were undoubtedly watching him in Yepes, as much as they watched me here. After all, they’d discovered my letters to Aragón.
Dios mío
, what if they had come to arrest me now?

I stifled my gasp when the knock sounded on my door. Then I heard Inés whisper, “My lady? My lady, it is us,” and I unlocked the bolt to reveal her in the corridor, along with two large figures dressed in long hooded capes.

I sighed with relief as they strode in. Both wore Franciscan habits under their cloaks and I immediately recognized one of the men as Chacón. When the larger man tore back the cowl covering his face, I smiled. “Welcome to Ocaña, my lord Archbishop.”

Carrillo snorted, his thick brows drawn together in his habitual frown. “I told you they’d try to do you some harm.” His gaze raked my chamber. “God have mercy, it’s like a pauper’s den in here. Is this the best they could find for the next queen of Castile?”

I found it amusing that after nearly a year of absence, he remained irascible as ever. “It was quite suitable,” I said, “until Villena decided to fill it with informants.”

“Villena is a snake,” he growled, as though the marquis no longer
shared any blood of his. “I’m going to cut him into pieces as soon as I see you settled in your proper state.”

I glanced at Chacón; my steward explained, “Just before we left Yepes, his lordship received warning through my lord the Admiral. Villena actively plots to—”

“Treason!” blasted Carrillo, making me wince. “That mincing lap-dog nephew of mine dares to accuse me of treason! Well, here I am! Let him come arrest me, the shit.” He guffawed. “That is, if our Andalucían friends Medina Sidonia and Cádiz don’t make mincemeat of him first. Or better yet, throw him over the walls of Málaga for the Moors to have their pleasure with.”

“My lord,” said Chacón sternly, “Her Highness is present.”

Carrillo paused. His florid cheeks turned redder. “Ah, yes. Forgive me. I’m a crude old man, lacking in refinement.”

I inclined my head. “It is late. Perhaps we should …?” I let my words linger; I had no idea what their plans were, but even I knew traveling friars did not go about with armed escorts, or, for that matter, refugee princesses. Their disguise wasn’t going to facilitate my escape.

As I searched the archbishop’s expression, my heart sank. “You’re not taking me with you.”

Carrillo paced to the sideboard to pour a goblet. He did not appear pleased that my decanter contained only fresh, clear water. It was one of my whims; whenever clean water could be found (and there was plenty of it in cities with working aqueducts) I insisted it should take the place of wine in my chambers. I disliked how wine affected men’s reason and watched in amusement as Carrillo drank with a grimace. “It’s not advisable,” he said, setting his goblet down. “Not yet. Too many of Villena’s men are still roaming about, not only here, but all over Castile. That bugger seems to have eyes in the back of his head. And the situation with Aragón isn’t resolved yet. There are still several important details to work out.”

“Such as what?” I contained a surge of irritation. “You told me King Juan was outraged that Enrique sought another alliance for me. I thought he’d decided to favor my cause and send a representative to us with Aragón’s full capitulations, formalizing the betrothal.”

Carrillo nodded. “He did, yes. We have his capitulations, but I’m not yet satisfied. We’ve the issue of your dowry yet to settle and the papal dispensation of consanguinity to procure, as you and Fernando are second cousins; not to mention the manner in which you’ll assume the throne. Castile must always hold precedence over Aragón; we cannot afford to be embroiled in their realm’s ceaseless feuding with France or to deplete our treasury in their defense. Such issues take time and—”

“I don’t care about dowries,” I interrupted. “As for the dispensation, surely His Holiness the pope will not refuse us. And as to how I will assume the throne, we can settle that at a later date. God willing, I’m not going to become queen anytime soon.”

The corners of Carrillo’s mouth turned downward. He said in a flat voice, “After everything he has done, you would still grant that spineless worm his right to the crown?”

“He is our king; he has that right until the day he dies. I’ll not wage war on him as Alfonso did. But neither shall I consent to whatever arrangements he sees fit to make for me.” I paused, regarding Carrillo with impatience. “I thought I had made it clear that all I want is to marry the prince I’ve chosen and reside in a safe place without Villena spying on me.”

“Then I suggest you move outside Castile,” he retorted. “For if you insist on upholding Enrique’s right to the throne, there’ll be no safety in this realm for you, not once you marry Fernando.”

My pent-up rage was growing so hot I could practically feel it scalding my throat. I could not believe he had come here merely to chastise me. Was he so arrogant he thought he could browbeat me like a child into doing his will? If so, he was making a grave mistake.

Chacón and Inés had gone still, watching the archbishop and me face each other like combatants. Then Carrillo released one of his dramatic sighs. Reaching into his habit pocket, he removed a messenger’s leather cylinder.

All of a sudden I was holding my breath.

He gave an uneasy chuckle. “No harm in waiting a little at first, eh, just in case Your Highness should happen to change her mind.”

I exhaled through my teeth. Taking the cylinder from him, I went to my desk and opened the lid, tapping out a rolled parchment with
dangling seals. I scanned its long paragraphs, barely registering the convoluted clauses, the agreements and counter-agreements detailing the minutiae of status that underpinned every royal union. Instead, I looked at the bottom of the page. There, scrawled in the handwriting I had come to know so well, was:
Yo, Fernando de Aragón
.

He had signed our betrothal. He still wanted me.

I could not move. The moment I signed this paper, there would be no turning back. Though I had no desire to usurp his throne, Enrique would see this as a declaration of war; he had forbidden me to seek any arrangement without his leave, and once he heard of my defiance, his retaliation would be swift. I was about to risk everything for a prince I had not seen in years—my place in the succession, my future as queen, perhaps my very life.

My hand paused over the quill in my ink pot. “And the dispensation …?” I asked.

“It will be here by the time of the wedding. King Juan and I have already requested it from Rome.” Carrillo regarded me with unblinking eyes. Chacón and Ines were like statues by the door. It seemed as if the entire palace held its breath, the quiet so profound I could hear a dog barking somewhere in the fields outside my walls.

I closed my eyes, invoking my memory of Fernando as I’d last seen him, in Segovia, his brown eyes earnest as he took my hand.
We can bind our realms closer together, restore peace….

I took the quill and inked it, carefully inscribing
Yo, Isabel de Castilla
at the bottom of the page.

It was done. For better or for worse, I was betrothed to Fernando.

I turned to Carrillo. “What of my living arrangements? Under the present circumstances, I can hardly remain here anymore.”

“No, you cannot.” He came to the desk, sanded the ink and blew it off. “I think Valladolid is the best place for you. The city has expressed its loyalty to you and we have trustworthy friends there. We’ll travel first to Madrigal and rest overnight. Hopefully, Fernando’s grandfather the admiral will have summoned his forces by the time we arrive. Valladolid is his domain; he’ll see that you’re protected there while we send the betrothal agreement to Aragón.”

“I see.” I fought back a smile. I should not have doubted him; petulant
and calculating as he could be, no man knew better than Carrillo how to mount a defense.

He cleared his throat. “As I said, I saw no harm in waiting first. If you’d elected to go to battle for your throne, instead of to the altar, the admiral’s forces would have been just as useful.”

“Indeed,” I replied, “if you had your way.”

He met my gaze. “Instead, Your Highness has hers. Now, let us pray it doesn’t bring all of Castile down about our heads.” He rolled up the document for return to the cylinder. “I suggest you fetch your cloak. No time like the present to make your escape.”

THE SADDLED HORSES
were waiting; after Cárdenas assisted me onto Canela, I pulled up my cloak’s fur-lined hood and cast a lingering gaze upon my palace. I’d not lived here long, but it was the first place I had called my own, and I did not want to leave it. I was weary of not being at home anywhere. Since I’d left Arévalo, I had felt like a lost soul in my own country.

At my side Inés said, “I’d give anything to see Mencia’s face when she returns from her rendezvous to find our rooms empty and us gone.”

I glanced at her; as her smile lit up her eyes, I found myself abruptly on the verge of laughter as well. “We can only hope it’ll prove as upsetting to her as she’s been to us.” I took a last look at my palace. “After all, it’s just walls, chairs, tables, and beds. We can always buy new ones.”

We followed the men out. The streets were deserted. A light rain drifted from the black sky. As we approached the city gates I had to remind myself that no one expected me to make my escape, certainly not today or at this hour. Villena had ordered the town surrounded and, to his mind, made enough noise to frighten a cornered princess and her attendants into submission. His guards would be lax, thinking me well in hand. But if anyone did try to detain us, Carrillo had warned me to break into a gallop and not stop until I reached Valladolid.

Three sentries were posted in a makeshift shelter by the gates, huddled with a wineskin over a smoking brazier. They looked up with ill-humored frowns as we neared.

“Didn’t we just let you in?” one of them said suspiciously, looking at Chacón.

My steward replied, “You did, and now we are leaving. As we explained, this lady’s father is gravely ill at our monastery and he has asked to see her.”

The sentry glanced past Cárdenas and Carrillo at me and Inés. I lowered my head, avoiding his stare. “I see two ladies. Are both their fathers dying in your monastery?”

Carrillo growled, “The lady has a maid with her, of course. Or haven’t you ever seen a lady with a maid before, you ignorant son of a swine?”

I tightened my hold on my reins as I saw the sentry’s face harden. It was not the right thing to say, I knew at once. By asserting his authority, Carrillo had only managed to insult the man and rouse suspicion.

“Look here,” the sentry said, “I just follow my orders. His lordship the marquis of Villena commanded that these gates stay closed from sunset to sunrise. I let you in once, against my better judgment—”

“You were paid,” interrupted Chacón, “and quite well, as I recall.”

“To open the gates once.” The sentry exchanged a wink with the others, whose leather-gloved hands had dropped to their swords. It would be hard to draw the weapons from the scabbards; even I knew that much. The cold tended to make blades stick. Still, a pitched fight in the middle of the night by the gates wouldn’t do us any favors, nor was I looking forward to riding over these men, and possibly risking injury to our horses.