CHAPTER IV

ACCESSION OF ISABEL: THE PORTUGUESE WAR 1475–1479

The news of Henry IV.’s death was the signal for Isabel’s proclamation as Queen in Segovia. Riding through the crowded streets, her palfrey led by two of the “regidores” of the city, she came amid the shouts of the people to the principal square. Before her walked four kings-at-arms, and after them Gutierre de Cardenas, bearing a naked sword, emblem of the justice that should emanate from kingship. In the square stood a high scaffold, hung with rich embroidered stuffs, and on it a throne, raised by three steps from the surrounding platform. Isabel ascended these and took her place; and then, a king-at-arms having called for silence, a herald cried in a loud voice: “Castile! Castile for the King Don Fernando and the Queen Doña Isabel, his wife.” Those watching below took up the shout, and amid cheers the royal standard was raised.

Ferdinand was in Aragon; but news had at once been sent him of the King’s death, and in the meanwhile Isabel received the homage of the great nobles and knights who were ready to pledge themselves to her cause. Chief amongst them were the Admiral of Castile, the Cardinal of Spain, his brother, the Marquis of Santillana, and the rest of the Mendozas; while they brought with them Beltran de La Cueva, Duke of Alburquerque, whose fortunes scandal would naturally have linked with the cause of the Infanta Joanna.

Significant was the tardy appearance of the Archbishop of Toledo, once so hot in Isabel’s cause. Now he came in the train of all the rest, with little enthusiasm in his homage or in the oath he took in the hall of the palace, his hand resting on a copy of the Gospels. On the 2d of January he and the Cardinal of Spain rode out to meet the King of Sicily, returning with him, one on either side, amid such crowds that it was past sunset before they reached the palace.

He was a young man of twenty and two years ... [says Colmenares, the historian of Segovia, commenting on Ferdinand’s appearance], of medium height, finely built, his face grave but handsome and of a fair complexion, his hair chestnut in shade but somewhat spare on the temples, his nose and mouth small, his eyes bright with a certain joyful dignity, a healthy colour in his cheeks and lips, his head well set on his shoulders, his voice clear and restful. He carried himself boldly both on horse and foot.

His character, his new subjects could not fully gauge; but the contrast with Henry’s vacillating puerility was obvious. Here at any rate was a man, who would not fail in what he undertook through indecision or lack of courage.

The Cardinal of Spain and Archbishop of Toledo proceeded to draw up “Provisions” for the future government of the kingdom, adjusting the exact relations of the sovereigns on the basis of the marriage settlement. Royal letters and proclamations were to be signed by both, the seals affixed to be stamped with the joint arms of Castile and Aragon, the coinage engraved with the double likeness. Justice was to be awarded by the two sovereigns, when together; by each, when separated. Castile safeguarded her independence by placing the control of the Treasury in the hand of the Queen, and by insisting that the governors of cities and fortresses should do homage to her alone. She alone, also, might appoint “corregidores” and provide incumbents for ecclesiastical benefices, though the nominations were to bear Ferdinand’s signature as well as her own.

[Illustration:

FERDINAND OF ARAGON

FROM “ICONOGRAFIA ESPAÑOLA” BY VALENTIN CARDERERA Y SOLANO ]

It can be imagined that such a settlement would depend for its success largely on the goodwill and tact of those called on to fulfil it; and Ferdinand though he consented to sign his name to the document did so with considerable reluctance. Many of the nobles in Segovia, though mainly those of Aragonese birth, had professed their annoyance that Ferdinand’s position should be in any way subordinated to that of his wife. They declared that the Salic law, excluding women from the royal succession, should hold good in Castile as well as in France; and that, the Castilian House of Trastamara having died out in the male line with Henry IV., the crown should pass directly to the Aragonese branch, in the person of King John and his son, the King of Sicily.

Loud was the indignation of Isabel’s Castilian supporters at this suggestion. The Salic law, they maintained, had never been acknowledged in Castile; on the contrary, cases could be cited in which women had succeeded to the throne to the detriment of the obvious male heir.

Thus, between arguments on the one side and the other, feelings ran high, for Ferdinand himself inclined to a theory that flattered his love of power and independence. Isabel, who had no intention of ceding her rights, at length exerted her influence to win him to her point of view.

“Señor,” she said, after a stormy council-meeting that had in the end upheld her right of succession, “this matter need never have been discussed, because, owing to the union that, by the Grace of God, there is betwixt us, there can be no real disagreement.”

She then alluded to her duty of obedience as his wife; but perhaps to Ferdinand her most convincing argument was the pertinent suggestion that if the Salic law were acknowledged and they should have no male heirs, their daughter Isabel could not lawfully succeed them. It would ill have pleased Ferdinand to leave his possessions to any of his Aragonese cousins. “The King,” we are told, “having heard the Queen’s reasons was highly pleased, because he knew them to be true; and both he and she gave orders that there should be no more talk on this matter.”

The chronicler then goes on to remark on the complete concord that ever afterwards existed between the sovereigns.

And when it was necessary that the King should go to look after affairs in one part of the kingdom and the Queen in another, it never happened that he or she issued a command that conflicted with those that the other gave. Circumstances might separate them, but love held their wills joined.

Ferdinand and Isabel had shown their wisdom in refusing to let the rift between them widen into an open quarrel. In a crisis the least straw may turn the balance; and the condition of affairs required their combined energies in the one scale. It is true that the majority of nobles and knights had either in person, or by deputy, expressed their allegiance; but there still remained a small though powerful group, headed by the young Marquis of Villena, who maintained that the Infanta Joanna was the rightful Queen.

That their objective was rather self-interest than any deep loyalty to the little Princess was obvious from Villena’s letter, mentioning the terms on which he and his followers would consent to submit. For himself he demanded, first his acknowledgment as Master of Santiago, next the confirmation of all lands, castles, and revenues that had belonged to his father, including the Alcazar at Madrid, and thirdly a yearly income of over two million maravedis to be paid by the Crown. The Count of Plasencia, his ally, whom Henry IV. had created Duke of Arévalo with the gift of that town (taken from the widowed Queen Isabel for the purpose), sought also the confirmation of his honours.

With regard to Joanna, whom Villena and his followers styled “Princess of Castile,” they insisted that she should be suitably married; and on this demand all negotiations ultimately broke down. Ferdinand and Isabel were willing to grant the Marquis the Mastership, in spite of the clamours of seven other candidates; they agreed to the idea of Joanna’s marriage; but their stipulation that, while this subject was under consideration, she should be handed over to some trustworthy person, virtually put an end to all hopes of reconciliation. Joanna was the Marquis’s trump card, and he had no intention of playing her until he was certain of his trick, far less of passing her into the hands of anyone, whom her rivals would consider trustworthy.

Dazzled by the schemes he had planned, he believed it would be an easy matter to secure Isabel’s ruin, and in this view he was strengthened by the secret correspondence he had been carrying on with his great-uncle, the Archbishop of Toledo. The latter’s conduct is on the surface inexplicable; for, having maintained Isabel’s cause with unswerving loyalty throughout the negotiations for her marriage, when she was in danger of imprisonment and he of incurring, on her account, not only papal censure but the loss of his archbishopric, he had yet at the end of Henry IV.’s reign reconciled himself to that monarch and his favourite the young Marquis of Villena, to the weakening of his old allegiance. His tardy appearance at Segovia, and the sulky manner he had adopted towards Ferdinand and the Queen, were alike in keeping with a change of policy that in a man of his ambitions seemed as shortsighted as it was unaccountable. The explanation lies in Carrillo’s lack of self-control that made his ambition the plaything of his besetting vice.

Like Juan Pacheco, he loved wealth, the more that he was in secret an alchemist and squandered the revenues of his see in a vain endeavour to make gold; but even the glitter of precious metals lost its charm beside his lust for power and influence. He must be first. This was the motive that had driven him to desert Henry IV., to break with his nephew in the revolt of the League, and now, finally, when the cause for which he had laboured was on the eve of success, to renounce his allegiance to Isabel, because of his jealousy of her new adviser the Cardinal of Spain.

In vain the Queen, who knew his character, tried to dissipate his suspicions. Carrillo’s temperament set his imagination afire at the least glimmer of insult or neglect; his manner grew morose and overbearing, his desire for gifts and rewards every day more rapacious. At length, when Ferdinand ventured to oppose his demands, the Archbishop openly expressed his anger and, leaving the Court, withdrew to his town of Alcalá de Henares, where he began to plot secretly with Joanna’s supporters.

Between them he and the Marquis hatched a scheme, whose success would, they hoped, make them the arbiters of Castile. This was nothing less than a Portuguese alliance by which Alfonso V., married to his niece, would in her name cross the border, and aided by his Castilian allies drive out Ferdinand and his Queen. With this intention, the Marquis dispatched a letter to Alfonso full of showy promises. The most important Castilian nobles, he declared, including himself and all his relations, the Duke of Arévalo, and the Archbishop of Toledo, were pledged to Joanna’s cause; while numbers were only waiting to follow their example as soon as they were reassured by the first victory. Furthermore, he guaranteed the goodwill of fourteen of the principal towns in the kingdom; while, alluding to the factions that convulsed the rest, he prophesied that one side would be certain to adopt the Portuguese cause and with a little help secure the upper hand. Victory was the more certain by reason of the penniless state in which Henry IV. had left the treasury. It was impossible that Ferdinand and Isabel could compete without financial assistance against the wealth and well-known military strength of Portugal.

Such arguments had a surface plausibility; though a statesman might have asked himself if they did not take Fortune’s smiles too much for granted. Was it safe to ignore the deep-rooted dislike that Castile bore Portugal, or to assume the friendliness of the larger towns, on whose possession the ultimate victory must depend? Alfonso V. was not the type of man to ask uncomfortable questions. He saw the object of his desire in a glamour that obscured the pitfalls along the road on which he must travel; and where courage and enthusiasm were the pilgrim’s main requisites he was rewarded by success. Three times he had defeated the Moors beyond the sea; and, dowered with the proud title “El Africano,” he now aspired to be the victor of a second Aljubarrota. The rôle pleased his romantic and highly strung nature for, while posing as the defender of injured womanhood in the person of his niece, he could also hope to avenge on Queen Isabel the slight his vanity had suffered from her persistent refusal of his suit.

Practical-minded councillors shook their heads over his sanguine expectations and pointed out the untrustworthy reputations of the Marquis of Villena and the Archbishop of Toledo. That these same men had sworn to Joanna’s illegitimacy and made it a cause of rebellion against King Henry looked as if love of self rather than love of justice were now their inspiration.

Isabel and the Cardinal of Spain wrote letters of remonstrance to the same effect, begging Alfonso to submit the matter to arbitration; but that credulous monarch chose to believe that their advice arose merely from a desire to gain time, and therefore hurried on his preparations for war.

In May, 1475, having collected an army of 5600 horse and 14,000 foot, he crossed the border and advanced to Plasencia. His plan of campaign was to march from there northwards in the direction of Toro and Zamora, as secret correspondence had aroused his hope of winning both these strongholds. At Plasencia he halted, until the Marquis of Villena and the Duke of Arévalo appeared with his niece, and then he and Joanna were married on a lofty platform in the centre of the city, the marriage awaiting fulfilment pending the necessary dispensation from Rome. A herald, however, using the old formula at once proclaimed the union: “Castile! Castile for the King Don Alfonso of Portugal and the Queen Doña Joanna his wife, the rightful owner of these kingdoms.”

From Plasencia the Portuguese at length marched to Arévalo, where another delay, this time of two months, took place, Alfonso determining to await the troops that had been promised him by his Castilian allies. He had with him the chivalry of his own Court, young hot-bloods, who had pledged their estates in the prospect of speedy glory and pillage. In their self-confidence the easy theories of Villena found an echo; and they loudly boasted that Ferdinand and his wife would never dare to meet them, but were in all probability on the road to Aragon. “Before gaining the victory they divided the spoil,” comments Pulgar sarcastically.

The Castilian sovereigns were far from meditating flight. The war had not been of their choosing, but, since it had been forced upon them, they were ready to prosecute it to the end. For the moment affairs looked threatening. Not only was their treasury practically empty, and a hostile army on the march across their western border, but news came from France that Louis XI., who had at first expressed his pleasure at their accession, was now in league with their enemies and intended to invade the provinces of Biscay and Guipuzcoa; Villena and his companions were in arms; the Archbishop of Toledo sulking in Alcalá de Henares.

To him the Queen determined to go and address a last appeal in person, leaving her husband to watch the movements of the Portuguese from Valladolid. Some of those at Court, who knew the pitch of resentment and fury to which the old Primate had brought his broodings, assured her that her mission would be in vain, saying that it was beneath her dignity to thus humble herself to a subject. Isabel replied that she counted as little on his service as she feared his disloyalty, and that if he had been anyone else, she would most certainly have weighed the matter more carefully, but she added, “I would not accuse myself later with the thought that if I had gone to him in person, he would have withdrawn from the false road he now seeks to follow.”

She then set out southwards, accompanied by the Marquis of Santillana newly-created Duke of Infantado, and the Constable of Castile, the Count of Haro, sending the latter on in advance as they drew near to Alcalá to announce her coming. Carrillo listened to the Constable’s skilful reasoning in uneasy silence; but he was not to be cajoled either by his conscience or by appeals to his vanity, and at length burst into a storm of passion, declaring that it was his intention to serve the King of Portugal, and none should turn him from it. If Isabel entered Alcalá by one gate, he himself would leave by another.

This was plain speaking; and the Queen, who had planned the interview less from policy than out of regard for the old man, whose restless jealousy she knew so well, continued on her way to Toledo, where she intended to make preparations for the defence of Estremadura and Andalusia.

Ferdinand, in the meanwhile, mustered his forces in Valladolid. So great was the hatred of the Portuguese that many of the towns of Old Castile sent citizens equipped at their own expense; while nobles in mail, and _ginetes_, or lightly-armed horsemen, flocked to the royal standard along with Biscayan archers and hardy mountaineers from the north. Joined with the levies of Segovia and Avila, that Isabel had collected on her journey to Toledo, the whole army mustered about 12,000 horse and 80,000 foot, as it advanced to the relief of the citadel of Toro, both that town and Zamora having surrendered to the Portuguese through the treachery of their respective governors. The enthusiasm was general, and Ferdinand himself burned with the desire to achieve some great deed.

Unfortunately Toro, flanked by fortresses in the power of the Portuguese, and protected on the rear by the Douro, whence provisions could be passed into the town, proved altogether too strong for the besiegers. A stormy council-of-war was held in the Castilian camp, it being decided that the only wise course would be to retreat. This rumour spread, gradually taking the shape that the nobles were forcing the King for their own ends to give up the siege; and in a fury the ordinary soldiery rushed to the royal tent, swearing to stand by Ferdinand in whatever act of daring he sought to do, and above all to protect him from traitors. In bitterness of spirit they learned that he also counselled retreat, and in disorderly fashion they shook the dust of Toro from their feet and returned to Valladolid. Their departure resulted in the surrender of the citadel to the Portuguese, with whom the Archbishop of Toledo now openly allied himself, rancorously declaring that he had called Isabel from her spinning-wheel and would send her back to it again.

From Valladolid Ferdinand was summoned to Burgos. The city was almost entirely in his favour, but the fortress and the church of Santa Maria La Blanca were held by the men of the Duke of Arévalo, whose catapults caused so much destruction that the inhabitants declared unless help was given they must surrender. In one of the principal streets alone, over three hundred houses had been burned, while the firing never ceased by night or day.

Ferdinand and his illegitimate brother, Alfonso, Duke of Villahermosa, were soon on the scenes, for Burgos was too important a place to be lost; and earthworks and fortifications were hastily constructed over against the citadel to prevent help reaching it from the King of Portugal. All this, however, cost time, and, still more disastrous, money; for the contents of the treasury in Segovia, handed over by Andres de Cabrera, were exhausted, and the land, impoverished by Henry IV.’s misgovernment, could obviously yield few taxes.

The sovereigns, in deep gloom, called a meeting of the Cortes in Medina del Campo, and laid their monetary difficulties before it. How was the army to be paid? The problem was the harder for the reckless generosity of the Portuguese, who gave fine promises of lands and revenues to all who joined them, the fulfilment depending on the success of the war. One solution was to permit the Castilian troops to provide for themselves by pillage and robbery. This the sovereigns at once rejected, nor would they consent to alienate the few royal estates still remaining to them. A third suggestion was to exact a loan from the Church, and it speaks well for the reputation that Ferdinand and Isabel had already established, that the clergy at once consented to this arrangement. In the end it was settled that the Church should surrender half her silver plate to specified royal officials, and that this should be redeemed at the end of three years by the payment of thirty millions of maravedis.

The war now continued with unabated vigour, not only in the north-west corner, occupied by Alfonso V., but throughout Castile and even across the Portuguese border. On hearing of the proclamation at Plasencia, Ferdinand and Isabel, by way of retaliation, had added to their titles that of King and Queen of Portugal. This encouraged their partisans in Galicia and Estremadura to cross the frontier and seize certain of the enemy’s strongholds, from which they raided the country round, carrying off cattle and burning villages. In the neighbourhood of Toledo, those who were discontented with the over-lordship of Archbishop Carrillo and his nephew the Marquis of Villena took the opportunity to proclaim their allegiance to Isabel, and in the latter’s name threw off the yoke they hated. The Count of Paredes, an old warrior who had fought against the Moors, and who was one of the candidates for the Mastership of Santiago, joyfully went to their assistance with a large body of troops, collecting his rival’s revenues at the point of the sword, until the turmoil forced Villena to leave the King of Portugal and hurry to the protection of his own estates.

He did not attempt to conceal his indignation with his ally, insisting that Alfonso should go immediately to Madrid, that from there he might aid those who had put their trust in him. To this the King replied with equal bitterness that he saw no reason to risk the loss of Toro and Zamora by leaving the north; nor was his conscience burdened with the ill-luck of his allies, seeing that their help had fallen far short of their promises. This was very true. But a small portion of the nobles committed to Joanna’s cause had appeared when expected at Arévalo, the majority of the defaulters not having dared to leave their own territory, where Ferdinand and Isabel’s partisans kept them occupied in the defence of their houses and lands.

Isabel herself from Valladolid placed careful guard over the road to Burgos, that the King of Portugal might not send relief to that citadel. Ever since the beginning of the war, she had spared herself no pains or trouble, in her effort to aid Ferdinand in his campaign. At one time she had journeyed to Toledo to raise the levies of New Castile, at another hastened northwards to rescue Leon from a governor suspected of treachery; then again collected and dispatched troops to the help of Guipuzcoa, where Louis XI. was endeavouring to win a stretch of coveted seaboard. One evil result of the strain entailed by such exertions had been her miscarriage in the summer of 1475. Her daughter Isabel was now doubly precious; and her parents for her better safety had sent her to Segovia, where she remained in the charge of Andres de Cabrera, lately created for his services Marquis of Moya.

While the siege of Burgos still delayed, Ferdinand succeeded in gaining possession of the town of Zamora, after secret correspondence with the captain who had guard of the main entrance, a strongly fortified bridge. The Portuguese King was forced to retreat to Toro, and the Castilians, entering at once, placed siege to the citadel; Isabel supplied troops and artillery from Valladolid, while each day fresh loyalists appeared from Galicia.

[Illustration:

TOLEDO, LA PUERTA DEL SOL

FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY ANDERSON, ROME ]

Alfonso now found himself cut off from Portugal, and, aware that his fortunes had not matched his hopes, began to try and negotiate favourable terms of peace. These were still in keeping with his lofty pretensions; for, in addition to a large sum of money and the permanent surrender of Toro and Zamora, he demanded that the kingdom of Galicia should be joined to Portugal.

These conditions Ferdinand and Isabel indignantly refused; whereupon Alfonso, who had been reinforced by his son, Prince John, and a large body of troops, advanced once more on Zamora, pitching his tents near the river-bank. On the other side was a formidable array of earthworks and ramparts, making communication with the citadel impossible; and after a few weeks he broke up his camp and slipped away one dark night as silently as possible in the direction of Toro.

This was the opportunity for which the Castilians had been waiting, and as soon as they discovered what had happened they swarmed over the fortifications in hot pursuit. The Portuguese had broken up the bridge behind them to cover their retreat, so that long hours were spent in repairing it sufficiently for the transit of the troops. The road also was often narrow, winding between the Douro and the hills, and it was almost dusk before Ferdinand came in touch with the enemy’s rear-guard about three leagues from Toro.

Then the battle began in grim earnest. Prince John of Portugal, who was on his father’s left, by the use of his small ordnance followed by a daring charge, succeeded in shattering the forces opposed to him; but on the centre and right a prolonged struggle ensued, intensified by all the bitterness of national hatred. Here fought the rival kings, and hard by, with a lust of war ill becoming their office, the Archbishop of Toledo on the one side, the Cardinal of Spain on the other. After three hours of hand-to-hand combat, the Portuguese broke and fled. In the darkness and the rain, Prince John sounded his trumpets and, rallying such of his forces as he could, retreated in good order towards Toro. Before him went a mass of flying fugitives who, coming to the city, beat in vain upon the closed gates for admittance.

“Where is your King?” cried those within. “You guarded his person in his room and at his table, in his pleasures and at his feasts, but when his life and honour were most in your care, you left him alone in the battle. Where is your King?”

Those of the royal body-guard that stood without hung their heads in shame and misery. They could not answer. The Archbishop of Toledo appeared, later Prince John, but neither knew aught of Alfonso. The Portuguese looked at their Castilian allies askance. Had these betrayed him? The Castilians returned their glances with defiance. Little good had foreign help ever brought them!

In this suspense the city continued till morning, when messengers came from Castronuño, a small fortress in the neighbourhood, to say that Alfonso had taken refuge there. As easily cast into the depths of despair, as buoyed by main hopes, he had believed all lost when the retreat began and imagined Toro already in Ferdinand’s power. This mood of depression did not last long; for his dispatches to Lisbon narrated a signal victory.

Isabel was at this time in Tordesillas and celebrated her husband’s triumph by a religious procession to the church of San Pablo, where barefoot she gave thanks to God for the mercy He had shown them. She and Ferdinand also founded the magnificent monastery of San Juan de Los Reyes in Toledo in memory of the event.

The battle of Toro did not end the Portuguese war, which was destined to drag on its somewhat uninteresting course for another three years; but it was decisive enough to show with whom the final victory would be. Alfonso, in spite of claiming success, left Toro in the charge of a lieutenant and retired in disgust to his own land. He complained bitterly of his Castilian allies and the failure of their promises, but soon recovered heart in the conception of another scheme. This was nothing less than a personal interview with Louis XI., by which he hoped to persuade that monarch to join with him in an invasion of Castile; and with this intention he left his government and niece to the care of his son, and set sail for France.

Less sanguine of the future, most of his captains in Castile struck the best bargains with their opponents that they could; the citadels of Burgos and Zamora both surrendering at once, while Toro followed their example in the early autumn. Characteristic also of the trend of events was the appearance of the Duke of Arévalo’s son at Tordesillas to beg forgiveness for his father; a petition to which Isabel, who was more anxious to pacify the country than to extort vengeance, readily agreed. The Duke restored to her the town of Arévalo, changing his title to Plasencia.

[Illustration:

TOLEDO, CHURCH OF SAN JUAN DE LOS REYES

FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY ANDERSON, ROME ]

The Marquis of Villena and Archbishop of Toledo, deprived of their friends, also sued for mercy, thinking that it was better to lose a portion of their estates than the whole, but there was little sincerity in the homage they offered. The rift had widened too far between Carrillo and his royal mistress ever to be bridged again by mutual trust; and the Primate remained on his estates brooding over his fallen fortunes.

Ferdinand in the meanwhile, having realized that the crisis of the war was over, had gone to Aragon to see his father. The old King, clear of mind and enterprising as ever at an age when most men have set aside their life work in weariness of spirit, was planning new schemes for gaining Roussillon and Cerdagne, while he worked to keep Navarre, now owned by his grandson Francis Phœbus, from undue French influence. He had fought through his other difficulties, recovered his sight, subdued Barcelona, achieved the Castilian alliance; perhaps time would be given him to realize the rest of his ambitions. If not, there was the son in whom he had always believed to carry on his work; and he greeted Ferdinand, not with the mediæval condescension of father to child, but with the reverence one sovereign offers to another of somewhat higher rank.

From Aragon Ferdinand was called to help the men of Biscay and Guipuzcoa in their struggle against their French invaders; while Isabel, left as sole ruler in Castile, carried on her policy of mingled suppression and reconciliation.

At the beginning of August, 1476, what threatened to be a serious rebellion broke out in Segovia, during the absence of the governor, Andres de Cabrera, now Marquis of Moya. The malcontents, whose disaffection had been roused by his appointment of certain officials, succeeded by a ruse in gaining entrance to the citadel and seized the deputy governor, the father of Beatriz de Bobadilla, while the rest of the garrison were forced to take refuge in one of the towers with the Infanta Isabel.

The Queen, warned by messengers, came in haste from Tordesillas and found the city in confusion, all but one of the gates being in the hands of the insurgents. The latter begged her not to enter by the gate of San Juan, which remained faithful to Moya, nor to take with her Beatriz de Bobadilla his wife nor the Count of Benavente his friend, as such

## actions would be bitterly resented by the mob. To this Isabel sent

prompt reply:

Tell these knights and citizens of Segovia that I am Queen of Castile and this city is mine.... I need not laws nor conditions, such as they would impose, to enter into my own.

Then with the Count of Benavente and the Cardinal of Spain, one on either side, she rode through the gate of San Juan and so to the Alcazar. Behind her surged the crowd, crying death to the Marquis and his adherents. So threatening was their attitude that the Cardinal of Spain begged her for her own safety to have the doors tightly closed and barred; but she, bidding them stay within, went out alone to the top of the staircase overlooking the big courtyard. At her command the gates were flung wide, and the mob surged through them, howling and gesticulating, but at the sight of the Queen their cries died away to silence.

“My vassals, what do you seek?” she demanded, “for that which is for your good is for my service, and I am pleased that it should be done.”

One of the crowd, speaking for the rest, begged that Andres de Cabrera might no longer have command of the Alcazar.

“That which you wish, I wish also,” answered the Queen.

She then bade them go up at once to the towers and walls and drive out all who were in possession, whether of Cabrera’s following or the actual rebels who had since occupied the place.

“I will entrust it,” she added, “to one of my servants, who will guard both his loyalty to me and your honour.”

Her words put an end to the rebellion for, both Cabrera’s adherents and the insurgent leaders being suppressed, the city remained quiet, and Isabel was able to enquire into the true facts of the case. This resulted in the punishment and dismissal of various minor officials, but the Marquis of Moya, whose conduct was cleared, was restored to his responsible post.

When Ferdinand returned from Biscay, the sovereigns, after a short time together, were separated once more; he remaining in the north to watch over the affairs of Aragon and France, while she went south to Estremadura and Andalusia. The civil war was practically at an end. Here and there some strongly fortified place still floated the Portuguese standard; or the nobles, like wild horses bridled for the first time and unable to believe themselves mastered, chafed in secret conspiracies or flamed into spasmodic rebellion. The history of their suppression is connected rather with the work of reconstruction than of actual warfare. For the moment this one change, effected by the sovereigns’ methods, challenges our attention,—that the great cities of the south, lately the scenes of chronic feuds and rebellions, were turning again to be the centres of civilization and justice for their neighbourhoods.

[Illustration:

SEGOVIA, THE ALCAZAR

FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY LACOSTE, MADRID ]

It was in Seville, whose streets had often run red in the faction fights of the Duke of Medina-Sidonia and the Marquis of Cadiz, that Isabel made her headquarters; and here on the 30th of June, 1478, the long-hoped-for heir to the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon was born. John, Prince of Asturias, opened his eyes on a world of fairer prospects than the dangers and doubts that had hung about his sister’s cradle. Not only within their own territories but elsewhere in Europe the sovereigns had begun to make their power felt, and as their influence grew that of Alfonso of Portugal diminished.

His journey to France, so magnificently conceived, had ended in even greater ignominy than the rest of his castles in Spain; perhaps because Louis XI., so necessary a _persona_ of his drama, utterly failed to play the part assigned to him. Alfonso’s reception at Orleans had been all that his heart could desire; citizens had bowed themselves before him, the torchlit streets had been hung with tapestry, feasts and music had entertained him at his lodging. From Orleans he passed to Tours and here Louis XI. met him, and the two sovereigns affectionately embraced. They declared that the one hour in their lives for which they had always longed had come; but when they descended to business the French King showed himself coldly obtuse to his companion’s eloquence. He admitted the heinousness of Isabel’s offence, but protested that he had already shown his indignation by his invasion of Biscay and Guipuzcoa. At present he was too fully occupied with his quarrel with Charles of Burgundy to do more, but when that was settled he would have his hands free to embark on wider schemes. Besides by that time Alfonso would have obtained the dispensation for his marriage and so stand on far surer ground. It would be as well for all concerned to have Joanna’s claims acknowledged by the Papal Court.

The King of Portugal was in no position to apply pressure and could only wait in blind trustfulness for the fulfilment of these hints. He on his

## part did his best to carry out the conditions suggested; and messengers

were sent at once to Rome, who, mainly through French influence, wrung the desired bull from Sixtus IV. Fortune seemed to throw her weight into his scales, for in January, 1477, Charles the Bold was killed at Nanci, and Alfonso now looked eagerly for his ally to turn his attention to Spanish affairs.

[Illustration:

PRINCE JOHN, SON OF FERDINAND AND ISABEL. (FUNERAL EFFIGY.)

FROM “ICONOGRAFIA ESPAÑOLA” BY VALENTIN CARDERERA Y SOLANO ]

Disillusionment followed. Far from having his hands free, Louis XI. was busier than ever. It had been more arduous work perhaps to set pitfalls and traps for the warlike Duke than to attempt the annexation of Biscay and Guipuzcoa; but the profits and interest to be gained from robbing Charles’s daughter and heiress, the Duchess Mary, of her outlying lands and possessions were infinitely greater than any to be found in Spain. Thus the Duke’s death had not only advanced the Portuguese schemes no further, but the French King had begun to look on his royal guest as an unmitigated bore, of whom he was only longing to see the last.

The truth that he was being duped dawned on Alfonso at length, and in abject despair he vowed that he would cast aside his crown and go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, or at least end his days in a monastery. So vehement were the messages that he dispatched to Lisbon to this effect that his people took him at his word; and when, having somewhat recovered his spirits, he landed on his own shores, it was to learn that his son had been proclaimed King in his stead. His adventures had now reached a stage when they might easily have drifted from the ludicrous into the tragic, had not Prince John generously withdrawn his claims in his father’s favour. Alfonso V. reigned once more.

With unabated anger he laid his plans for a new invasion of Castile and allied himself with malcontent nobles of Estremadura. Rebellion blazed again along the border, fomented by the Bishop of Ebora at the head of some Portuguese troops, but it was the last spurt of an almost exhausted fire.

Sympathy at home and abroad were alienated. Louis XI., more hopeful of adding Franche Comté to his possessions than the hostile population of Northern Spain, had come to terms with Castile; Sixtus IV., under pressure from Castile, Aragon, and the Aragonese House of Naples, had revoked his bull of dispensation for Joanna’s marriage; Ferdinand himself, in January, 1479, had succeeded his father peacefully in the three divisions of the western kingdom.

[Illustration:

JOANNA “LA BELTRANEJA”

FROM SITGES’ “ENRIQUE IV, Y LA EXCELENTE SEÑORA.” ]

Circumstances thus urged peace; and Alfonso, bowing to necessity, consented to negotiations which ended in the treaty of Lisbon, signed on September 24, 1479. The sovereigns on either side renounced the titles they had usurped; the King of Portugal bound himself by oath never to marry with his niece; Isabel and Ferdinand agreed to pardon their rebellious subjects. For Joanna there was a choice of three things: either to wed the little Prince of Asturias, sixteen years her junior, when he should have reached a marriageable age; or else to enter a convent of the Order of Santa Clara; failing these, to leave Portugal and its dominions for ever.

Joanna had been given six months, within which to make her decision. She had suffered much in her troubled life from suitors who had asked her hand for their own ends and for the same reason repudiated her. She had found in her mother’s land her only refuge. These remembrances may have coloured her choice, for in the following year she entered the convent of Santa Clara at Coimbra; two ambassadors from Castile being present.

One of these, Isabel’s confessor Fra Fernando de Talavera, while making her a last offer of the hand of the Prince of Asturias, assured her that she had chosen the better part, from which no true friend or adviser would tempt her to turn aside. To this the Princess answered that her decision had been given willingly and without reward; and thus passed for the time being from the pages of history.

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