The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile (30 page)

“I’ll not let them do her harm,” I said. “I don’t care how disappointed everyone is, they will not make her feel unwanted.” I lifted my gaze to him. “Is there any word from court? I imagine Enrique is beset with relief, even as Villena plans his next attack. Because of this Salic Law, we’re as vulnerable as ever.”

Fernando’s eyes glittered. “Not quite,” he said enigmatically. He leaned to me, silencing my question with a kiss. “You’ve been through an ordeal few men would willingly undergo. Let me shoulder the war for now, while you look after our daughter, yes?”

He left me before I could stop him. I wanted to rise from my bed at once but fatigue overcame me as I snuggled closer to my babe. Though we now had a robust peasant wet nurse, selected for her good teeth, placid temperament, and unassailable constitution, I secretly nursed Isabel in private, easing the ache in my milk-swollen breasts and giving her a reputation for being a finicky eater who nonetheless seemed to grow overnight. I was content to stay with her, cocooned and apart, and let the cares of the world drift by. It was the only time in my life when I’d enjoyed the luxury. And with the winter snows blanketing Dueñas, I could pretend for a time that I was not an embattled princess fighting for her rights but rather an ordinary mother, enraptured by her first child.

And so it went. I oversaw every aspect of Isabel’s rearing and refrained from asking Fernando any questions when he came to dine with us, though I knew he spent hours closeted with Carrillo. I once overheard him and the archbishop through the hall door, shouting at each
other; that same day, Fernando came banging into my chamber with a hot flush to his face, declaring Carrillo a high-handed mule who thought too much of himself and too little of everyone else.

“If he dares quote those blasted Capitulations to me one more time, I vow I’ll not be responsible for my actions! Whatever happened to our
tanto monta
that he dares say I must respect his wiser counsel?”

I went to pour him a goblet of cider, warm in its decanter by the hearth. “We did agree to honor him as our premier advisor as part of our prenuptial agreements.”

“So he keeps reminding me.” Fernando drank. “I should have read those so-called Capitulations more closely.”

I had a moment of apprehension. Carrillo was used to getting his way. He had always believed in his own preeminence, even when guiding Alfonso. But Fernando was not some pliant prince he could dictate to; in my husband ran a streak of willfulness that more than matched the archbishop’s. I did not want them to end up at each other’s throats, not when we still awaited a reply to my countless, increasingly indignant letters to Enrique.

“Perhaps I should start attending these meetings,” I said. “I’m well acquainted with our Capitulations and—”

“No.” He slammed the goblet down so hard it startled Isabel in her cradle. She began to cry. I rushed to her, picking her up and glaring at him. His jaw set. “Let me handle Carrillo,” he said, and he marched out, his shoulders squared with resolve.

I rocked Isabel, murmuring endearments; from the corner where she sat on an upholstered stool, quietly mending one of my skirts, Inés raised a questioning brow.

The next morning I donned my best day gown of gray wool, coiled my hair in a gilded net, and entered the hall to find Carrillo and Fernando facing each other across the table, while Admiral Fadrique and Chacón stood to one side, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“You know nothing of how we do things here in Castile,” Carrillo was saying, his big features tinged scarlet with ire. “This is not the backwaters of Aragón, where you can overtake cities whenever you please.”

Fernando rattled a paper at him. “Look here, old man! This is from the lord mayor of Toro himself; he has
invited
us to overtake his city.
What more do you need, eh? Should we send for engraved proclamations? Will that suit your bloated sense of pride?”

“We need the princess’s approval,” snapped Carrillo, and as I saw Fernando’s fist clench over the paper, I stepped over the threshold.

“And here I am, my lords, so you may request it.”

The admiral’s face brightened with relief; Fernando, I saw at once, was furious—but he contained himself because he had no other choice. Because of our prenuptial agreement, in which he’d agreed to uphold Castile’s superiority over his realm, Carrillo had him in a stranglehold. My instincts had been correct: He needed me here, though he’d never admit it.

I sat at the table, strewn with discarded papers and quills. “What seems to be the issue?” I asked, regarding them placidly.

Con blandura
, I reminded myself. With a soft touch, almost anything can be accomplished—even with men as fiery as these two.

Carrillo bowed. “Your Highness, alas, I’m sorry to disturb you, but it seems His Highness and I are not in agreement over—”

“The issue,” interrupted Fernando, setting the paper before me, “is that my lord the archbishop seems to think we should refrain from asserting our rights, though it’s as plain as the nose on his face that Enrique and Villena are losing ground—valuable ground we should be taking full advantage of.”

“Oh?” I perused the paper. As its implications sank in, my heart quickened. It said that Enrique was seeking to affiance Joanna la Beltraneja to the Portuguese, and had brought the queen herself to Segovia to swear before the altar that the child was his. I looked up in disbelief. “I … I am to be deprived of all rights as princess. He has officially disinherited me.”

“Read further.” Fernando tapped the paper. I tried to focus. Through the pounding haze that overcame me, isolated words jumped out. None made sense. I finally had to whisper: “I cannot read this. Tell me, what does it say?”

Fernando shot a look at Carrillo. “It means that in disinheriting you, Enrique has made his last blunder. The realm is in an uproar; from Vizcaya to Jaén, and every city in between, the people cry out against your disinheritance and take to the streets.” His voice quickened. “Ávila
has thrown Villena’s henchmen out; Medina del Campo vows to fight for you to the death. They say Joanna la Beltraneja is the by-blow of an adulterous whore and that you are Castile’s sole successor. The people want you, Isabella—this paper is an invitation from Toro to enter the city. We’ve received dozens like it from all over Castile, pledging to open their gates to us.”

“Bribed is more like it,” sniffed Carrillo, “with promises we cannot keep.”

“Bribed?” I looked into Fernando’s fervent eyes. “How? We’ve nothing to offer.”

“Only the promise of peace, justice, and prosperity,” he replied. “It’s just as we discussed, remember? This is our
tanto monta
, come to pass. The cities know what we can offer them because I’ve sent personal delegates to tell them so. They cannot abide the starvation, the feuds, the debased coinage and arrogant grandees any longer. The king is despised and we are their only hope for righting the kingdom. This is our time. We must seize it.”

“With what?” Carrillo flung up his hands. “Stewards, pages, and grooms?” He brayed laughter. “Yes, why not? Let’s send Chacón here to claim Toro in your name!”

“I’ll lend support,” said the admiral quietly. Carrillo froze. Fadrique stepped to us—a small, confident figure in elegant dark velvet. “I promised Your Highness my retainers and I can summon more. We can take Toro and Tordesillas, certainly.”

“What of the others?” retorted Carrillo. “What about Ávila? Medina del Campo? Segovia? Will you take all those cities with your retainers, my lord? I hardly think even you, head of the powerful Enríquez family, can summon that many men.”

The admiral acknowledged this with an incline of his bald head. “Indeed. But I understand the marquis of Mendoza will assist us, and the duke of Medina Sidonia in Sevilla has also offered support. Surely between us we can gather enough of a show of force to make the king think twice about putting his decrees into effect.”

“The marquis of Mendoza will assist us?” Carrillo turned slowly to Fernando. “But the Mendozas have always supported the king. How did you …?”

“Easily.” Fernando smiled. “Like every grandee, my lord of Mendoza has an expensive lifestyle to maintain. In exchange for my offer of a cardinal’s hat for the marquis’s brother, the bishop, along with a significant stipend, Mendoza was more than willing to accept our terms.”

“Cardinal’s hat …?” Carrillo stared at him in stunned disbelief, his face chalk-white. “You … you promised that mealymouthed Bishop Mendoza a prize that is mine by right?”

“I did not promise anything.” Fernando’s voice was cold. “Cardinal Borgia of Valencia did. He also promised to send the dispensation you failed to obtain, sanctioning Her Highness’s and my marriage. So, as you can see, she now has no reason not to take a stand.”

Carrillo met Fernando’s stare, his eyes bulging.
“It is mine!”
His roar reverberated through the
sala
, causing the hounds dozing by the fireplace to leap up, growling. “Mine!” He thumped his meaty fist on his chest. “That cardinalship belongs to me. By ecclesiastical law, it should be conferred on me. I am a lifelong servant of the Church in Castile. I am the one who has supported and fought for Her Highness’s cause these many years!”

He was panting, spittle spraying from his lips. I resisted the impulse to beg for civility. All of a sudden, it was as though everyone else in the room had ceased to exist to Fernando and Carrillo as they faced each other like combatants. The rest of us had become part of the backdrop, no more significant than the tapestries and candelabra and snarling dogs, spectators to a battle of wills between the man who’d dominated my life since he had first approached me in Ávila and the husband to whom I had given my heart.

Fernando did not move, did not take his unblinking gaze from Carrillo. He let the throbbing silence between them crack open like an abyss and then he turned to me and said, “My grandfather and I believe a condemnatory letter is in order. If you publicly reject the king’s actions and reiterate your injured stance, it should be enough to gain the cities’ loyalty. We do not need an army, though we will gather it. Your letter posted on every church door and in every plaza will be sufficient.
Con blandura
,” he added, with a smile. “Isn’t that what you always say?”

He had come to know me better in our year of marriage than Carrillo ever had. He understood, as Carrillo never would, that I abhorred
the senseless chaos of Enrique’s reign, that I’d prefer to maintain some semblance of outward peace, even as we paved my inexorable path to the throne. I did not want the people of this realm to suffer any more than they already had. I did not want death and destruction dealt in my name.

I nodded, feeling Carrillo’s stare boring into me. “Yes, that is what I say.” I turned my eyes from Fernando to the archbishop; a pang of sympathy made me want to offer him comfort, for he suddenly appeared so old, so tired. I’d never marked before the broken veins in his face, the watery eyes, the sagging jowls, the dull silver in his thinning mane. He’d been a figure of such tireless brute strength for so long, I’d failed to recognize how time had begun to weigh on him.

“I will do everything I can to ensure your contributions, ecclesiastical and otherwise, are recognized,” I told him. “Rest assured, you remain one of our most trusted advisors.”

He met my eyes for a long moment. I couldn’t read anything in his expression; it was as though something inside him had closed, shuttering his face. It frightened me, his sudden blankness. Before, he had always shown his emotions openly to me.

Then he turned and walked out. No one called him back; even as I started to move to go after him, I felt Fernando’s hand on my sleeve.

“No. Let him go,” he murmured. “We don’t need him anymore.”

I heard the archbishop’s heavy booted footsteps fade down the corridor. The dogs whined, settling back on the frayed carpet by the fire. The admiral waited for us to speak, his face averted. Chacón gave me a stalwart look, one that reflected my own realization that everything had just shifted on its axis.

After a lifetime of his influence, all of a sudden I was free of Carrillo.

I turned to Fernando. “I need a fresh quill and ink,” I said quietly, and I resumed my seat, drawing a clean sheet of paper near.

I had made my choice.

From now on, Fernando and I alone would steer our course.

CHAPTER TWENTY

M
y letter went out, claiming that
“if by passion and ill advice Enrique were to deny my rights as heir, it would be a great insult and disgrace to the realm. God will hold the king responsible for this great evil, while my lord the prince and I will be blameless.”

It was a brazen pronouncement, the closest I’d ever come to insinuating that Enrique endangered the kingdom. And in the months that followed, it generated the very reaction Fernando had predicted. Cities and townships which previously supported Enrique, or remained neutral, posted my letter and came over to our cause, hanging banners from their walls with our entwined initials and declaring: “Castile for Isabella!” When I protested to Fernando that I did not wish to appear as though I sought to usurp Enrique’s rights, he laughed.