Spain for the Sovereigns (10 page)

I
sabella came riding to the Alcazar of Segovia.

More than a year had passed since she had lost her child and raised men and arms to fight the invading Alfonso. It had been an arduous period.

Yet Isabella had quickly recovered from her miscarriage; indeed, many said that it was her spirit which had proved the best doctor. There had been no time during that dark period to lie abed and woo back her health; Isabella had very soon to be on horseback, riding through her kingdom, calling a Cortes at Medina del Campo and by her eloquence moving all so deeply that she had raised the money she so badly needed.

That had been after the disasters at Toro and Zamora, which had both fallen to Alfonso, and when, had Alfonso been wise, he would have thrown in his full force against the inferior Castilian army of Ferdinand and Isabella.

But Alfonso had been timid; he had hesitated again, even when the Archbishop of Toledo, considering Alfonso’s gains at Toro and Zamora to be decisive, not only openly allied himself with the King of Portugal but took with him five hundred lancers to join his new friend in the fight against his old one.

But now the Castilian army had been vastly improved and was ready to do battle with the enemy; and on her journeys through her kingdom Isabella gave herself up to the pleasure of a short respite where she would enjoy the hospitality of her dearest friend.

When the news was brought to Beatriz de Bobadilla that the Queen was in the Alcazar she hurried to greet Isabella, and the two women embraced without formality.

‘This makes me very happy,’ said Beatriz emotionally. ‘I would I had known I might expect the honour.’

‘There would then have been no surprise.’ Isabella smiled.

‘But think of the anticipation I have missed!’

‘Beatriz, it is wonderful to see you. I would like to be alone with you as we used to be in the past.’

‘I will have food and wine sent to us, and we will take it in my small private chamber. I long to hear what has been happening to you.’

‘Pray lead me to that small private chamber,’ said Isabella.

Beatriz laid her hand on the Queen’s arm as they went together to the small room of which Beatriz had spoken.

‘I pray Your Highness sit down,’ said Beatriz. ‘Soon we shall be served, and then . . . we will talk in comfort.’ Beatriz called: ‘Food and wine, for the Queen and myself . . . with all speed.’

Isabella, smiling, watched her. ‘You have not changed at all,’ she said. ‘They all hold you in great awe, I’ll swear.’

‘Why should they not? They are my servants,’ said Beatriz, falling into the familiarity which had often existed between them.

‘And your husband, Andres too – do you still command him?’

Beatriz laughed. ‘Andres obeys me, he says, because he values peace and it is the only way to get it. And Ferdinand? He is well?’

‘He is very well, Beatriz. What should I do without him?’

Beatriz looked at the Queen, her head on one side, a smile playing about her mouth. So, thought Beatriz, she continues to adore that man. But not completely. Beatriz knew that Ferdinand had been disappointed not to have taken full authority from Isabella. Beatriz applauded the Queen’s resistance.

‘He fights for his kingdom as well as yours,’ said Beatrix, ‘for although you are Queen of Castile, he is your Consort.’

‘He has been magnificent. Beatriz, I do not believe there has ever been a soldier in Spain to compare with Ferdinand.’

Beatriz laughed aloud; then her servants appeared with refreshments and her manner changed. Now the utmost respect must be paid to the Queen, and Beatriz dropped the easy familiar manner.

But when they were alone again Beatriz said: ‘Isabella, you are looking a little tired. I hope you are going to stay here for some time that I may look after you, as I used to in the old days when we were together.’

‘Ah, those old days,’ sighed Isabella. ‘I was not a queen then.’

‘But we had some anxious times, nevertheless.’ Beatriz smiled reminiscently. ‘At least we do not have to worry that you will be snatched from Ferdinand and given to some husband who would be unacceptable to you!’

‘Thank God for that. Oh, Beatriz, I am a little worried about this battle that must soon take place.’

‘But you put your trust in Ferdinand.’

‘I do, indeed I do. But there are mighty forces against us.’

‘Ferdinand will succeed,’ said Beatriz. ‘He is a good soldier.’

Beatriz was thoughtful for a few seconds. A better soldier than a husband, she was thinking; and he will be determined to succeed. He will not allow himself to be driven from Castile.

‘I was very sad,’ went on Beatriz, ‘when I heard that you had lost your child.’

‘It seems long ago.’

‘But a bitter blow.’

‘As the loss of a child must be. But there was no time to brood. It was all-important that we should get an army together; and we did it, Beatriz, even though it may well be due to that that the child was lost.’

‘It might have killed you,’ said Beatriz gruffly.

‘But I am strong, Beatriz; have you not yet learned that? Moreover, I am destined to be Queen of Castile.’

‘You
are
Queen of Castile.’

‘I have never really reigned yet. Since my accession there has been this trouble. Once it is settled I shall be able to do for Castile what I always longed to do.’

‘Castile will prosper when you are firmly on the throne, Isabella.’

Isabella’s eyes were shining with purpose. She looked full of vitality at such times, thought Beatriz; it was rarely that those outside her intimate circle saw her so unreserved.

‘First,’ she was saying, ‘I shall abolish this disastrous anarchy. I shall bring law and order back to Castile. Then, when I have a law-abiding country, I shall do all in my power to make good Christians of my subjects. You remember Tomas de Torquemada, Beatriz?’

Beatriz grimaced. ‘Who could forget him?’

‘You were harsh with him, Beatriz.’

‘He was too harsh with us all, including himself.’

‘He is a good man, Beatriz.’

‘I doubt it not. But I cannot forgive him for trying to suppress our laughter. He thought laughter was sinful.’

‘It was because he realised how necessary it was for me to avoid frivolous ways. I remember that one day, after confession, he made me promise that if ever it were in my power I would convert my kingdom to the true faith.’

‘Let us hope that in converting them you will not make them as lean and wretched looking as friend Tomas.’

‘Well, Beatriz, there is another task of mine when all is at peace. I will endeavour to free every inch of Spanish soil from Moslem rule; I will raise the flag of Christ over every Alcazar, over every town in Spain.’

‘I am sure you will do it,’ said Beatriz, ‘but only if you have some little regard for your health. Stay with me a while, dear Isabella. Give me the pleasure of looking after you myself. Please. I beg of you.’

‘How I should enjoy that!’ said Isabella. ‘But there is work to do. I have stolen these few short hours from my duty because I was in the neighbourhood of Segovia and could not resist the joy of seeing you. But tomorrow I must be on my way.’

‘I shall do my utmost to persuade you to stay.’

But Isabella was not to be persuaded; the next day she set out for Tordesillas.

The battlefield was between Toro and Zamora, along the banks of the glittering Douro. The armies were now equally matched; Alfonso was old compared with Ferdinand, but his son, Prince John, had joined him and was in command of the cavalry.

Ferdinand, surveying the enemy, determined to succeed or die in the attempt. Alfonso lacked Ferdinand’s zeal; it was characteristic of him to tire quickly of the causes for which he had originally been so enthusiastic. He had been long in Castile, and his presence was needed in his own country; his men were restive; they too had been a long time away from home. Alfonso had intended to make speedy war in Castile, drive Isabella, whom he called the usurper, from the throne and put his betrothed Joanna in her place. But the affair had been long drawn out; and already he was tiring of it. His son John was enthusiastic, but John had not much experience of war; and Alfonso longed for the end of this day’s battle.

Ferdinand, riding between the Admiral of Castile and the Duke of Alva, cried aloud: ‘St James and St Lazarus!’ which was the old cry of Castile; and those Castilians in the Portuguese ranks who heard it, trembled. It was as though Ferdinand were reminding them that they were traitors.

There was one riding furiously towards the enemy, who cared not for the old cry of Castile. The Archbishop of Toledo enjoyed battle, and he was determined to exploit this opportunity to the full.

The battle had begun, and furiously it raged; it was as though every soldier in those armies knew what depended upon its issue.

Ferdinand shouted to his men. They must fight. In the name of Isabella, they must fight. Their future and the future of their Queen, the future of Castile, depended on them.

There were many who remembered the Queen; they thought of the pregnant woman who had endured great discomfort to come to them that she might move them with her eloquence, that she might remind them of their duty to Castile. They remembered that these men who fought against them were their old enemies, the Portuguese, and those Castilians who had seen fit to fight against their own Queen.

Lances were shattered, and swords were drawn; and men grappled hand to hand with one another in the melee.

And Ferdinand’s heart leaped with joy, for he knew that the outcome of this day’s battle would be victory for him.

But there were a few men in the Portuguese Army who were determined that it should not be so. Edward de Almeyda, the Portuguese flag bearer, was an example to all. He had snatched the Portuguese Emblem from Castilian soldiers who were about to trample it in the dust and, with a shout of triumph, held it aloft, a sign to all Portuguese that the day was not lost for Alfonso.

But even as he rode away a Castilian soldier had lifted his sword and cut off the right arm which held the flag. But as it would have fallen, Almeyda, ignoring the loss of his right arm, had caught it in his left hand.

‘Joanna and Alfonso!’ he shouted as swords hacked at the arm which now held the flag aloft.

With both arms shattered and bleeding he managed to transfer the standard to his mouth; and he was seen riding among his defeated fellow countrymen, armless, the standard in his mouth, for some minutes before he was unhorsed.

Even such heroism could not save the day. Prince John was missing. Alfonso had also disappeared.

Ferdinand found himself master of the field.

In the castle of Castro Nufio, some miles from the battlefield, the young Joanna waited in apprehension. She knew that this battle would prove decisive, and she believed that her affianced husband would be the victor.

Then all hope of a peaceful existence for her would be over. She did not believe that Isabella would ever quietly stand aside and allow her to take the throne.

What would happen to her if Isabella’s armies were victorious she could not imagine; all she knew was that neither solution could bring her much joy; and she greatly wished that she could have been allowed to stay in the Madrid convent, living a life which was governed by bells.