Free Spain for the Sovereigns by Jean Plaidy Page B

shows which way the wind blows, eh?’
    ‘And the Archbishop of Toledo?’
    ‘He will follow doubtless.’
    ‘Then victory will indeed be ours.’
    Ferdinand seized her hands and drew her to her feet. She was comely; she was a woman; and here in the bedchamber he was no longer merely the Consort of the Queen.
    ‘Have we not fought for it, sacrificed for it?’ he demanded. ‘Why, Isabella, you might have lost your life. You were very ill when you lost our child.’
    ‘It is a great grief to me . . . a continual grief. Yet our crown depended on the army I could raise.’
    ‘And all these months,’ went on Ferdinand, ‘I have scarcely seen you.’ He drew her towards him. ‘We are young, eh, Isabella. We are husband and wife. The quickest way to forget our sorrow is to have a son who will replace the child we lost. We have won a great victory, Isabella, and this should not be beyond our powers.’
    Then he laughed and lifted her in his arms. That cold dignity dropped from her as though it were a cloak which he had loosened. And there was Isabella, warm, loving, eager.
    It was during Ferdinand’s stay at the Madrid Alcazar that their son was conceived.

     
    From his residence at Alcalá de Henares, Alfonso de Carillo, the Archbishop of Toledo, grimly reviewed the situation.
    King Alfonso had fled with Joanna into Portugal. There were victories all over Castile for Ferdinand. Many of the Archbishop’s possessions had already passed into the hands of Ferdinand, and very soon he himself would do so.
    Ferdinand would have no mercy on him. Was this the end, then, of an exciting and glorious career?
    His only hope lay with the Queen, and Isabella, after all, was the ruler of Castile.
    He would write to her reminding her of all she owed him. It was true that he had boasted of having raised her up and that he would cast her down. He had been wrong. He had not understood the force of her character. He had believed her to be steadfast and firm in her determination to support what she believed to be right. So she was. But she was shrewd also; or was it that her belief in her destiny was so strong that she forced others to share that belief even against their will?
    The Archbishop of Toledo, statesman and soldier, was forced to admit that he had been foolish in allying himself with the wrong side.
    Now he must humble himself. So he wrote to Isabella offering her his allegiance. He reminded her of all that he had done for her in the past. He asked pardon for his folly and arrogance.
    Ferdinand, who was with Isabella when this plea arrived, laughed scornfully. ‘This is the man who, when you were risking your life to ride about the country pleading for funds, took five hundred lances and rode at the head of them to serve our enemy. He must think we are fools.’
    Isabella was thinking of that occasion when she had called at his palace and the Archbishop had said that if she entered by one door he would go out at the other. It was hard to forget such an insult. It was also hard to forget that occasion when she had been threatened with capture at Madrigal, and the Archbishop of Toledo had come galloping to her rescue.
    She smiled. He was a fiery old man, whose dignity must be preserved at all costs. And he had been piqued by her reliance on Ferdinand and Cardinal Mendoza.
    ‘We should not be too harsh with the old Archbishop,’ mused Isabella.
    Ferdinand looked at her in amazement.
    ‘Public execution should be his lot.’
    ‘Once he was my very good friend,’ she reminded him.
    ‘He was also our very bad enemy. It will be good for the people to see what happens to those who work against us.’
    Isabella shook her head. ‘I should never agree to the execution of the Archbishop,’ she said.
    ‘You are a sentimental woman.’
    ‘That may be, but I cannot forget all he once did for me.’
    Ferdinand snapped his fingers. ‘There was a time, Isabella, when defeat stared us in the face. If Alfonso had been a better general we