The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile (37 page)

Yet even as our dream of restoring Castile took root, the pain of Fernando’s betrayal calcified within me. Being close to him was agony, though I never showed it. I smiled and heeded his every word, behaving with impeccable propriety when we greeted the ambassadors who arrived from all over Europe at the behest of their curious masters. Every ruler was anxious to gauge our suitability, to seek an advantage over us or weaknesses to exploit. From the spider Louis in France to vile Afonso in Portugal, from the lofty eminence of the Vatican to the embattled Plantagenets of England—a dynasty to which I was related—they all smiled and watched and waited. Our success would be rewarded with
treaties, alliances that would expand our influence and secure our standing. Failure would render us carrion.

With the entire world bearing witness to our first tentative steps as rulers, I knew enough to hide my pain. There was no room or time for personal indulgence. But there were still those moments after dining in the hall when Fernando would turn to me uncertainly, the question in his eyes. Every time, I wanted to nod, to forgive and surrender; I wanted to feel him again, the shape of his body molded against mine. Ashamed by my own carnality, I confessed to Fray Talavera; he advised that I must not let my husband’s transgressions override the sacred obedience I owed Fernando as his wife. Fray Talavera did not go as far as to also remind me of my duty as queen, but his implication was clear: Although our daughter, Isabel, was healthy, I knew better than most how unexpectedly and swiftly tragedy could strike. Fernando and I must safeguard our bloodline; we had to solidify our hold on the throne with more than reforms.

We had to have a son.

But I could not give in. It was as though I dwelled outside myself, seeing and fearing my actions, knowing I accomplished nothing by denying him, yet unable to do otherwise. The fact that he did not implore, did not rage; that he merely turned away to finish his wine and retire to his rooms, became the excuse I hid behind.

When he apologizes, I told myself. When he says aloud he is sorry, then I will forgive; even as I knew that he could not do that any more than I could, that we were not the sort of people to abase ourselves, even to each other. Fernando would only come to me when I let it be known that I was willing to accept him—exactly as he was.

It might have gone on forever, this impasse between us, turning us into sudden strangers who shared nothing but the same roof, if stronger forces had not come into play.

But they did.

IT WAS APRIL 1475
.

We had traveled to Valladolid to attend festivities held in our honor by the formidable Mendoza clan, whose intention was to openly proclaim
their support of our sovereignty and stifle any simmering discontent that might be brewing.

Despite our treasury’s sorry state, I emptied the coffers for the occasion, knowing that only by exceeding the grandees’ luxurious tastes could Fernando and I entice them to our side. With our program of reform gaining momentum, we required every last bit of support.

I remained gracious yet watchful as the nobles clattered into the city to partake of our generosity. Though the Mendozas had the honor of hosting the occasion, I had composed the guest list and most had been deliberately invited because they’d not yet sworn allegiance to us. As they came before our dais, I hid my dismay; the wealth they openly flaunted was staggering, their cloaks lined in cloth of gold, wives and daughters emblazoned with enough gemstones to finance armies. Clearly, not everyone in the realm suffered penury, and I was relieved that I’d decided to risk the expense. It was shameful, a parade of useless extravagance, but one in which we, as Castile’s new rulers, must not be outdone.

On the day of an outdoor joust, I donned an emerald-and-gold-shot brocade that I’d paid for with one of my necklaces, its hanging sleeves lined in crimson and edged in ermine, the cuffs banded with rubies. I added a pearled caul for my hair. Fernando had likewise taken his cue from his counterparts, galloping onto the field in a magnificent suit of Toledo-forged armor; its gold and silver inlay depicted our emblem of the arrows and yoke on the gleaming breastplate. My chest tightened as he bowed from his destrier before the dais, waiting for a token of my esteem, according to tradition. He looked like a knight of legend in his shining metal; biting back a surge of remorse, I proceeded to watch him charge his opponents with a fervor that toppled every last one.

As we rose to applaud, Beatriz said in my ear, “No matter what he may have done, surely you don’t intend to refuse him forever.”

I gave her a sharp look. Though I’d told her time and time again I must be shown deference at all times in public, for only then would the fractious nobility learn I was not a monarch in the mold of my late brother, Beatriz said what she pleased, when she pleased.

“Well?” she added, with hands at hips. “What more do you want?
He just shattered his lance for you. Now, I suggest you offer that lance a sheath, before some hussy does.”

I froze. Then, to my disbelief, a sudden bubble of mirth rose in me and I had to clamp my lips shut lest I burst out laughing in full view of the court.

“Shall I send word to him?” she asked.

I lifted my chin with icy reserve. “Yes,” I hissed. “But do it in private. I don’t want everyone knowing my business.”

THAT NIGHT, I
dressed with painstaking care in azure silk and applied costly lavender oil to my wrists and throat. Inés then proceeded to light enough scented beeswax candles to illuminate a cathedral; finally, I had to tell her that unless her aim was to blind Fernando, she must desist.

I sat before the hearth anxiously, my ladies at my side. We pretended to embroider, but of course we were actually listening to every sound outside the door. When we finally heard his footsteps, we rose in unison.

I didn’t know what to expect until I saw him standing on the threshold, clad in his knee-length tunic from the evening feast, his face in shadow.

My heart started to pound.

He motioned. “Ladies, I would speak with my wife in private.”

Inés and Beatriz hastened out, leaving us alone for the first time in three long months—months that now seemed an eternity as I gazed upon his somber features. His eyes were dull, almost pained, as they rose to meet mine.

“Isabella,” he began, and I nodded. I braced myself for his approach, for the reconciliation I had longed for, but only now realized I’d not been ready to accept because I had felt, somehow, that my surrender would mean I approved of what he had done.

His next words, however, caught me completely off guard, stabbing through me. “There is no easy way to say this. Afonso of Portugal has declared war against us.”

I stared as if he’d said something incomprehensible.

“On us?” I heard myself utter. “But … why?”

“La Beltraneja.” He regarded me without any visible judgment,
though, like Beatriz, he had advised me several times to imprison her. “In exchange for Afonso’s help to conquer Castile, she’s agreed to marry him and make him king. According to them, she is the rightful queen and you have usurped her throne.”

“But Afonso is her uncle! And she is in our custody.”

Fernando let out a worried sigh. “I’m afraid she’s not anymore. She escaped with Villena while we’ve been here, distracted. He has signed an alliance with Afonso, recruited Cádiz in Andalucía and the master of the military orders of Calatrava and Alcántara to join their cause. They have gathered an immense force against us, nearly twenty thousand strong.”

I reached for the back of my chair. Twenty thousand … I could not even begin to fathom it. It was more than anything we could possibly hope to gather without the support of the grandees.

“I’ve spoken with Santillana and the admiral,” Fernando continued. “Santillana of course blames himself; after all, she was supposedly being watched in one of his castles. He says he’ll grant us as many retainers as he can muster. He and the admiral will also speak to the other nobles and urge them to lend us support, but, Isabella, we still need you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You are the queen. You must declare war in return. And you can rally the people. The undecided cities may heed your call. We must conscript as many men as we can if we are to defeat Afonso. We’ve very little time to mount our offensive.”

I looked at my white-knuckled grip on the chair and instructed myself to let go. I must not give in to panic. I understood the gravity of this threat; we could easily be annihilated. Portugal was a small country but strong, untouched by the years of plundering and weak rulers we’d endured in Castile. And Afonso was a seasoned commander who’d routed the Berber Moors and accumulated massive wealth in the process. If we did not act quickly and garner enough support from the grandees to counter him and Villena, we would undoubtedly lose our throne.

“Of course,” I said quietly. “I’ll write to every city this very hour. I’ll send out decrees, offers of full pardon for prisoners and other criminals who agree to join our forces, anything that is required.”

He nodded in assent, as if he’d expected as much. “There is one other thing you should know,” he said, and I went still.

“Carrillo is involved. He helped Villena gain access to la Beltraneja. The letter of conduct that Villena used to enter the castle—it was signed by the archbishop.”

You will regret this….

Rage boiled up inside me. “Then he shall answer for it. I will deal with him myself.”

“No.” He abruptly stepped to me, taking my arm. “Carrillo is dangerous. I do not trust him. I never have.”

I paused. I could feel the heat of his touch through my sleeve. “He’d not dare harm a hair on my head,” I replied, and though I meant to sound bold, I heard the catch in my voice, brought on by Fernando’s proximity and not by any fear I had of the archbishop.

He looked into my eyes. “Isabella, you don’t understand. If anything should happen to you, I … I could not bear it. I wouldn’t survive.”

His unexpected admission thawed the last of the ice in me. I reached up, caressed his clean-shaven cheek. “You would survive; you would have to. What would Castile do without you?”

It was as close to forgiveness as I could offer, and in that moment, my words freed us. Though I knew in a dark part of me that he might stray again, that a man like him might be incapable of doing otherwise, I could no longer hold myself aloof. I wouldn’t go on wishing he were something he was not, nor pretend some miraculous change would overcome him as a result of my exigencies.

Whatever the future held for us, we must face it together, as husband and wife.

“I love you,” I heard him whisper and I felt his tears falling, precious as gems, on my hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never meant to hurt or deceive you.”

“I know.” As I drew him to me, his arms came about me. He wept, quietly, against my chest, and I soothed his hair, feeling the thinning on his crown, his fragility manifested in that one vulnerable place.

I was the stronger one, I thought, as his hands slid to my waist and began to undo the tassels of my robe. I had the conviction of my principles,
which overcame the errant weakness of the flesh. Then I felt his arousal press against me and his lips at my bare throat, burning, ravenous. My own ardor engulfed me.

For a brief few hours, I did not think anymore.

I SAT UPON
Canela on the windswept plain outside the city of Alcalá de Henares. I’d ridden without stop, despite Fernando’s protests and the admiral’s concern that by physically separating, Fernando and I might weaken our stance. But we didn’t have a choice. Someone of sufficient authority was needed to rouse the cities in person; who better than me, their queen? Meanwhile, Fernando—now fully vested with equal powers, granted by me—could issue the declaration of war and begin canvassing the land for the necessary armaments we required to do battle, none of which we possessed in sufficient quantity or repair.

We left Isabel in Beatriz and Cabrera’s care, with strict orders that she be confined to the alcazar. And now I was here, outside Carrillo’s city. If I could force a confrontation, he might submit. But as I watched Cárdenas, whom I’d sent to Carrillo’s palace to announce my arrival, riding back to me through the city gate, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. A gust of wind snatched his cap off his head, tousling his thicket of fair hair; he didn’t react, galloping straight toward me as if hounds nipped at his heels.