The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile (6 page)

“Isabella, my daughter, how you’ve grown.”

My mind raced. What was Archbishop Carrillo of Toledo doing in Santa Ana? Had he come here for some other purpose, just when we happened to be visiting? Something told me it was too much of a coincidence. His presence couldn’t be accidental.

He chuckled. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Surely you hadn’t forgotten me?”

“No, of course not,” I said, flustered. “Forgive me. It’s just that I … I didn’t expect to see you here, of all places.”

He cocked his large head. “Why not? An archbishop often travels
for the good of his brethren and the sisters here have always been kind to me. Besides, I thought it would be best if I met with your mother away from Arévalo. She and I have just spoken at length; when I said I wished to see you, she told me you had come into the gardens.”

“My mother?” I gaped at him. “She … she knew you would be here?”

“Of course. We’ve been corresponding for years. She has kept me informed of both your and your brother’s progress. In fact, I’m surprised to find you alone. Where is Bobadilla’s daughter?” His scarlet cloak with its white cross swirled around him as he looked about, a hand cocked at his brow. The nuns who’d been in the garden had slipped away; now that I was alone with him, he seemed to dominate the very air with his pungent smell of wool, sweat, horseflesh, and another, expensive musky scent. I had never smelled perfume on a man of the Church before; somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate.

“Beatriz went into the city to buy cloth,” I told him.

“Ah.” His smile widened. “But I was told that you and she are inseparable.”

“We were raised together, yes. She is my companion and friend.”

“Indeed. One needs friends, especially in a place like Arévalo.” He went silent, his penetrating gaze fixed on me, his hands folded in front of his rounded stomach.

Without realizing it, I stared. He did not have the hands of a prince of the Church, white and pampered and soft. Against the golden signet ring of his office, his fingers were sunburnt, scarred, his nails soiled like a peasant’s.

Or a warrior’s.

His dry chuckle brought my gaze back to his face. “I see you are observant as well as demure. Such qualities will serve you well at court.”

At court …

The garden receded, like a fragile painted backdrop. “Court?” I heard myself say.

Carrillo pointed to a stone bench. “Please, sit. I appear to have alarmed you; it was not my intention.” He lowered his bulk beside me. When he finally spoke his voice was subdued. “It might strike you as strange, given how much time has passed, but His Majesty the king has
recently expressed interest in you and your brother. Indeed, he instructed me to ascertain your circumstances for myself. That is why I am here.”

Beneath my bodice, my heart leapt. I drew in a shallow breath and tried to compose myself. “As you can see, I am well. So is my brother.”

“Yes. Such a pity the Infante Alfonso could not come, but I’m told he’s been remiss in his lessons and was left behind to study.”

“He’s not so remiss,” I said quickly. “He just gets distracted sometimes. He likes to be outside, riding and hunting and caring for the animals, while I … I like to study more. I like to ride too, of course, but I spend more time with books than he does.”

I could hear myself babbling, as if my torrent of words might forestall the inevitable. The archbishop did not react, though his gaze was attentive. Something in his steady regard disturbed me, though I did not know why. Outwardly he hadn’t changed at all from my childhood memory of him—prepossessing, larger than life, but also benevolent and trustworthy; a man who had protected my mother in her time of need.

Still, I wanted him gone. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

I did not want my life to change.

“I am proud you’ve both fared so well,” he said, “given the circumstances. Nevertheless, our king believes your current situation should be improved. In specific, he has asked that you come to court to visit with him.”

My mouth went bone-dry. I managed to say in a low voice, “I am honored, of course. But I must ask you to tell His Majesty that we cannot, for our mother’s sake. We are her children and she needs us.”

He sat quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I’m afraid that will not do. I did not wish to mention it, but I am aware of your mother’s … indisposition. His Majesty is not, naturally, but should he discover it, he might consider her state too delicate to be further taxed by the care of a son and daughter entering their adolescence.”

I could feel the bones in my hands as I clasped them tighter, to stop them from trembling. “We … we are not a burden to her, my lord.”

“No one said you are. But you are part of the royal family and have lived far from court since your half brother the king took the throne.
He wishes to remedy it.” He gently touched my clenched hands. “My child, I can see you are troubled. Will you not unburden yourself to me? I am a man of God. Anything you say will be held in strictest confidence.”

I did not like the feel of his heavy hand on mine. Unable to stop myself, I said angrily, “For years we’ve lived without word or sign from my brother the king, yet now he suddenly wants us at court? Forgive me, but I cannot help but wonder at his sincerity.”

“I understand. But you must put such misgivings to rest. The king has no ill intentions toward you; he merely wishes that you and Alfonso be with him at this important time in his life. You do want to see your little niece, don’t you? And the queen is eager to welcome you. You’ll have tutors, new rooms, and gowns. Alfonso will have a household and servants of his own. It is time for you both to take your places in the world.”

He was not saying anything I hadn’t considered myself since the king’s letter. It seemed I had always known this day might come. Despite the tragedy that had brought us to Arévalo, far from the world we’d once inhabited, children of kings were not destined to dwell in drafty castles in the middle of nowhere.

“What about our mother?” I asked. “What will happen to her?”

“His Majesty will not deprive you of your mother forever. Once you’re settled at court, he’ll send for her as well. But first the Infante Alfonso and you must come to Segovia to celebrate the Princess Joanna’s birth. The king wants you both present for her christening.”

I looked at him. “When must we go?”

“In three days. Your mother knows; she understands. Doña Clara and her other women and servants will care for her. Your friend Beatriz can accompany you, of course, and you may write as often as you like from court.” He paused; for a fleeting moment I thought I saw reluctance on his face as he stood. “I regret having troubled you but I promise I will see to your comfort at court. I want you to rely on me, for I am your friend. I’ve championed your mother these many years so she could keep you with her in Arévalo, but even I have my limits. In the end, I am but a royal servant and must do as the king commands.”

“I understand.” I stood, kissed his extended ring.

He set his hand on my head. “My dearest infanta,” he murmured, and then he turned and strode off, his cloak billowing about him.

A favor, in exchange for a favor …

As I remembered those cryptic words uttered years earlier, I gripped the edge of the bench. I did not see Beatriz enter the open arcade by the cloisters bordering the garden, did not notice her at all until I turned and caught her sinking into a reverence as Carrillo swept past. As soon as he was gone, she gathered her skirts and ran to me. The moment she reached me, I squared my shoulders, though I felt so disoriented I thought my legs would not hold up under me.

“Dios mío!”
she exclaimed, breathless. “That was Archbishop Carrillo, wasn’t it? What did he want? What did he say to you?” She went still, taking in my expression. “He’s come for you and Alfonso, hasn’t he? He’s taking you to court.”

I stared past her to where the archbishop had disappeared into the convent. I slowly assented. Beatriz started to reach for my hands; I pulled away. “No,” I murmured. “I … I want to be alone. Go, please. See to my mother. I’ll be there shortly.”

I turned pointedly away, leaving her with a wounded look on her face. It was the first time I had issued an order and I knew it hurt her. But I had to do it. I needed her gone.

I did not want anyone to see me cry.

CHAPTER FOUR

W
e stayed the night in Santa Ana, in the accommodations above the cloisters reserved for exalted guests; my mother had her own small chamber while Beatriz and I rested in an adjoining one. I did not say anything about my encounter with the archbishop and neither my mother nor Beatriz asked, though my friend’s searching gaze followed me all evening.

The next day we returned to Arévalo in silence, my mother riding in front, talking to Don Bobadilla, her head held high. Not once did she look in my direction. The moment we reached the castle, she went to her apartments with Doña Elvira hastening behind, laden with the bolts of cloth she and Beatriz had bought in Ávila.

As Beatriz and I entered the hall, Alfonso came bounding down the staircase, his bow and a quiver of arrows slung on his shoulder. “At last,” he declared, his hair tousled and fingers stained with ink. “I’ve been bored stiff waiting for you. Come, let’s go out and shoot at the butts before supper. All I’ve done these past days is read. My eyes hurt. I need to stretch my muscles.”

I tried to smile. “Alfonso, wait a moment. I’ve something important to tell you.” Beatriz began to move away. I set a hand on her arm. “Stay. This concerns you, too.” I led them to the table. Alfonso dropped his bow, sat on one of the hard wood stools. He frowned. “Well? What is it? Did something happen in Ávila?”

“Yes.” I paused, swallowing the knot in my throat. Then I told him everything, watching his face as my words sank in. Beside me, Beatriz went still. When I was finished, Alfonso remained silent for a few moments before he said, “I don’t see that there’s anything to worry about. We’ll do our duty, attend the christening, and then they’ll send us back.”

“I don’t think you understand,” I said, looking quickly at Beatriz. “Carrillo told me he doesn’t know how long we’ll be gone. It could be … we may not return here at all.”

“Of course we will.” Alfonso raked a hand through his hair. “This is our home. Enrique never cared for us before; I hardly think he’ll change now.” He stood. “So, are we going to shoot at the butts?”

I opened my mouth to protest when I felt Beatriz kick my foot. She shook her head. I said to Alfonso, “You go. We’re tired. We’ll go see if Mama needs anything.”

“Fine, suit yourself.” He picked up his bow and walked out; I let out a ragged sigh, turning to Beatriz. “He doesn’t realize what this means. How can I keep him safe if he will not heed me?”

“He’s still a boy,” she said. “What do you expect him to say? Let him think it’s for the best. Let him think he’s going away for a visit and then he’s coming back. You cannot know what the future holds. Maybe he’s right; maybe it will only be for a short while. It is possible, isn’t it? After all, Enrique never wanted either of you at court before.”

“Yes, I suppose it’s possible,” I said softly. “I’m sorry about how I behaved in Santa Ana. I didn’t mean to be rude to you. You are my only friend; I had no right to order you away like that.”

She embraced me. “You don’t need to apologize. You are my infanta. I’d go to the ends of the world to serve you.”

“It feels as if that is where we’re going,” I said and I drew back. “I must see my mother.”

“Go, then. I’ll start packing.” As I moved to the stairs, Beatriz added, “You are stronger than you think. Remember that, Isabella.”

I did not feel strong as I climbed the stairs to my mother’s rooms. Her door was ajar; I heard her voice within, chattering with Doña Elvira. I braced myself for the worst, a scene that would wrench the very stones of Arévalo apart, yet when she saw me in the doorway, she turned to the scattered fabrics on her bed to exclaim, “Look, Isabella. This green brocade will be perfect for your new court gown. It’ll show off your pretty white skin.”

I looked at Elvira; she shuffled sadly from the room. My mother busied herself with the cloth, pulling the rolls apart to extract a length of black damask. “And this one,” she said, holding it up to herself as she
pivoted to the copper looking glass. “This is for me. Widows should wear black but no one says we need look like crows, eh?”

I didn’t respond. She dropped the cloth on the bed. “Why so serious? Do you not like the green? Very well, here’s a lovely blue-gray. This might do nicely for—”

“Mama,” I said. “Stop.”

She went still, her hands buried in the pile. She did not look at me. “Don’t say it,” she whispered. “Not a word. I cannot bear it, not now.”

I stepped to her. “You knew he would be there. Why did you not warn me?”

She lifted her eyes. “What was I supposed to do? What
could
I do? I knew it the moment that letter arrived, and I told you that day they would come. This is the price I must pay: it is my debt. But at least I will pay it on my terms. Carrillo has seen to that.”