Free Spain for the Sovereigns by Jean Plaidy

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.
    It was almost dusk when her vigil was rewarded, and she saw a party of riders coming towards the castle. She stood alert, her eyes strained, and as they came nearer she recognised the leader of the party. It was Alfonso, and with him were four of his men.
    She knew what this must mean; for Alfonso did not come riding to Castro Nuno as a victor; it was obvious from his demeanour that he came as a fugitive.
    She hurried down, calling as she went: ‘The King is riding to the castle. He will be here in a few minutes.’
    From all over the castle men and women came hurrying into the hall, and Joanna was in the courtyard when Alfonso and his party rode in.
    Poor Alfonso! Indeed, he looked an old man today. He was dishevelled and dirty, his face grey; and for the first time she felt tender towards him.
    He leaped from his horse and threw the reins to a groom, crying: ‘The army is routed. We must leave almost immediately for Portugal.’
    ‘I am to go to Portugal?’ stammered Joanna.
    Alfonso put a hand on her shoulder. His eyes were suddenly alight with that quixotic expression which was not unendearing.
    ‘Do not despair,’ he said. ‘It is a defeat. A temporary defeat. I will win your kingdom for you yet.’
    Then he took her hand and they went into the castle.
    A few hours later, when Alfonso and his party had refreshed themselves, they left Castro Nuno and rode westward over the border into Portugal; and Joanna went with them.

     
    Isabella was at Tordesillas when the news was brought to her. Ferdinand triumphant! The King of Portugal and his son John in flight! Through great endeavour and fervent prayer she had overcome yet another ordeal which in the beginning had seemed impassable.
    Never before had Isabella been so sure of her destiny as now.
    At the Convent of Santa Clara she gave thanks to God for this further proof of His favour. There in that beautiful building which had once been the palace of a king’s mistress she remained in her cell, on her knees, while she reminded herself that she owed this victory to the intervention of God. The atmosphere of the Convent of Santa Clara suited her mood. She, the triumphant Queen of Castile, was prostrated in humility, in that beautiful building with its Moorish baths which had once been the delight of Dona Maria de Padilla, who herself had delighted Pedro the Cruel; these walls, which must once have been the scene of voluptuous entertainments, now enclosed the refuge of silent-footed nuns.
    Isabella wanted all to know that the victory was due to Divine guidance. All her subjects must understand that she was now the undoubted ruler of Castile.
    The next day, in a loose and simple gown, her feet bare, Isabella led a procession to the Church of St Paul, where, in the greatest humility, she gave thanks to God for this victory which could leave no doubt that she, and she alone, was Queen of Castile.

     
    Although the battle which had been fought between Toro and Zamora was decisive, it did not bring complete peace to Castile.
    Louis XI of France, who had come to the aid of Alfonso, was still giving trouble, and Ferdinand could not disband his