‘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.
All day she had waited for news. She had placed herself at a window in the fortified castle where she could command a good view of the surrounding country.
Soon, she knew, a rider would appear, perhaps several; she would know then whether the result of the conflict was defeat or victory for Alfonso.