ISABELLA OF SPAIN.
On the afternoon following his first visit, Castell’s agent, Bernaldez,
arrived again at the prison of the Hermandad at Seville accompanied by
a tailor, a woman, and a chest full of clothes. The governor ordered
these two persons to wait while the garments were searched under his
own eye, but Bernaldez he permitted to be led at once to the prisoners.
As soon as he was with them he said:
“Your marquis has been married fast enough.”
“How do you know that?” asked Castell.
“From the woman Inez, who arrived with the priest last night, and gave
me the certificates of his union with Betty Dene signed by himself. I
have not brought them with me lest I should be searched, when they
might have been taken away; but Inez has come disguised as a
sempstress, so show no surprise when you see her, if she is admitted.
Perhaps she will be able to tell the Dona Margaret something of what
passed if she is allowed to fit her robes alone. After that she must
lie hidden for fear of the vengeance of Morella; but I shall know where
to put my hand upon her if she is wanted. You will all of you be
brought before the queen to-morrow, and then I, who shall be there,
will produce the writings.” Scarcely were the words out of his mouth
when the governor appeared, and with him the tailor and Inez, who
curtseyed and glanced at Margaret out of the corners of her soft eyes,
looking at them all as though with curiosity, like one who had never
seen or heard of them before.
When the dresses had been produced, Margaret asked whether she might be
allowed to try them on with the woman in her own chamber, as she had
not been measured for them.
The governor answered that as both the sempstress and the robes had
been searched, there was no objection, so the two of them retired—Inez,
with her arms full of garments.
“Tell me all about it,” whispered Margaret as soon as the door was
closed. “I die to hear your story.”
So, while she fitted the clothes, since in that place they could never
be sure but that they were watched through some secret loophole, Inez,
with her mouth full of aloe thorns, which those of the trade used as
pins, told her everything down to the time of her escape from Granada.
When she came to that part of the tale where the false bride had lifted
her veil and kissed the bridegroom, Margaret gasped in her amaze.
“Oh! how could she do it?” she said, “I should have fainted first.”
“She has a good courage, that Betty—turn to the light, please, Señora—I
could not have acted better myself—I think it is a little high on the
left shoulder. He never guessed a thing, the besotted fool, and that
was before I gave him the wine, for he wasn’t likely to guess much
afterwards. Did the señora say it was tight under the arm? Well,
perhaps a little, but this stuff stretches. What I want to know is,
what happened afterwards? Your cousin is the bull that I put my money
on: I believe she will clear the ring. A woman with a nerve of steel;
had I as much I should have been the Marchioness of Morella long ago,
or there would be another marquis by now. There, the sit of the skirt
is perfect; the señora’s beautiful figure looks more beautiful in it
than ever. Well, whoever lives will learn all about it, and it is no
use worrying. Meanwhile, Bernaldez has paid me the money—and a handsome
sum too—so you needn’t thank me. I only worked for hire—and hate. Now I
am going to lie low, as I don’t want to get my throat cut, but he can
find me if I am really needed.
“The priest? Oh, he is safe enough. We made him sign a receipt for his
cash. Also, I believe that he has got his post as a secretary to the
Inquisition, and began his duties at once as they were short-handed,
torturing Jews and heretics, you know, and stealing their goods, both
of which occupations will exactly suit him. I rode with him all the way
to Seville, and he tried to make love to me, the slimy knave, but I
paid him out,” and Inez smiled at some pleasant recollection. “Still, I
did not quarrel with him outright, as he may come in useful. Who knows?
There’s the governor calling me. One moment, Excellency, only one
moment!
“Yes, Señora, with those few alterations the dress will be perfect. You
shall have it back tonight without fail, and I can cut the others that
you have been pleased to order from the same pattern. Oh! I thank you,
Señora, you are too good to a poor girl, and,” in a whisper, “the
Mother of God have you in her guard, and send that Peter has improved
in his love making!” and, half hidden in garments, Inez bowed herself
out of the room through the door which the governor had already opened.
About nine o’clock on the following morning one of the jailers came to
summon Margaret and her father to be led before the court. Margaret
asked anxiously if the Señor Brome was coming too, but the man replied
that he knew nothing of the Señor Brome, as he was in one of the cells
for dangerous criminals, which he did not serve.
So forth they went, dressed in their new clothes, which were as fine as
money could buy, and in the latest Seville fashion, and were conducted
to the courtyard. Here, to her joy, Margaret saw Peter waiting for them
under guard, and dressed also in the Christian garments which they had
begged might be supplied to him at their cost. She sprang to his side,
none hindering her, and, forgetting her bashfulness, suffered him to
embrace her before them all, asking him how he had fared since they
were parted.
“None too well,” answered Peter gloomily, “who did not know if we
should ever meet again; also, my prison is underground, where but
little light comes through a grating, and there are rats in it which
will not let a man sleep, so I must lie awake the most of the night
thinking of you. But where go we now?”
“To be put upon our trial before the queen, I think. Hold my hand and
walk close beside me, but do not stare at me so hard. Is aught wrong
with my dress?”
“Nothing,” answered Peter. “I stare because you look so beautiful in
it. Could you not have worn a veil? Doubtless there are more marquises
about this court.”
“Only the Moors wear veils, Peter, and now we are Christians again.
Listen—I think that none of them understand English. I have seen Inez,
who asked after you very tenderly—nay, do not blush, it is unseemly in
a man. Have you seen her also? No—well, she escaped from Granada as she
planned, and Betty is married to the marquis.”
“It will never hold good,” answered Peter shaking his head, “being but
a trick, and I fear that she will pay for it, poor woman! Still, she
gave us a start, though, so far as prisons go, I was better off in
Granada than in that rat-trap.”
“Yes,” answered Margaret innocently, “you had a garden to walk in
there, had you not? No, don’t be angry with me. Do you know what Betty
did?” And she told him of how she had lifted her veil and kissed
Morella without being discovered.
“That isn’t so wonderful,” said Peter, “since if they are painted up
young women look very much alike in a half-lit room——”
“Or garden?” suggested Margaret.
“What is wonderful,” went on Peter, scorning to take note of this
interruption, “is that she could consent to kiss the man at all. The
double-dealing scoundrel! Has Inez told you how he treated her? The
very thought of it makes me ill.”
“Well, Peter, he didn’t ask you to kiss him, did he? And as for the
wrongs of Inez, though doubtless you know more about them than I do, I
think she has given him an orange for his pomegranate. But look, there
is the Alcazar in front of us. Is it not a splendid castle? You know,
it was built by the Moors.”
“I don’t care who it was built by,” said Peter, “and it looks to me
like any other castle, only larger. All I know about it is that I am to
be tried there for knocking that ruffian on the head—and that perhaps
this is the last we shall see of each other, as probably they will send
me to the galleys, if they don’t do worse.”
“Oh! say no such thing. I never thought of it; it is not possible!”
answered Margaret, her dark eyes filling with tears.
“Wait till your marquis appears, pleading the case against us, and you
will see what is or is not possible,” replied Peter with conviction.
“Still, we have come through some storms, so let us hope for the best.”
At that moment they reached the gate of the Alcazar, which they had
approached from their prison through gardens of orange-trees, and
soldiers came up and separated them. Next they were led across a court,
where many people hurried to and fro, into a great marble-columned room
glittering with gold, which was called the Hall of Justice. At the far
end of this place, seated on a throne set upon a richly carpeted dais
and surrounded by lords and counsellors, sat a magnificently attired
lady of middle age. She was blue-eyed and red-haired, with a
fair-skinned, open countenance, but very reserved and quiet in her
demeanour.
[Illustration: ]
A magnificently attired lady of middle age
“The Queen,” muttered the guard, saluting, as did Castell and Peter,
while Margaret curtseyed.
A case had just been tried, and the queen Isabella, after consultation
with her assessors, was delivering judgment in few words and a gentle
voice. As she spoke, her mild blue eyes fell upon Margaret, and, held
it would seem by her beauty, rested on her till they wandered off to
the tall form of Peter and the dark, Jewish-looking Castell by him, at
the sight of whom she frowned a little.
That case was finished, and other suitors stood up in their turn, but
the queen, waving her hand and still looking at Margaret, bent down and
asked a question of one of the officers of the court, then gave an
order, whereon the officer rising, summoned “John Castell, Margaret
Castell, and Peter Brome, all of England,” to appear at the bar and
answer to the charge of murder of one Luiz of Basa, a soldier of the
Holy Hermandad.
At once they were brought forward, and stood in a line in front of the
dais, while the officer began to read the charge against them.
“Stay, friend,” interposed the queen, “these accused are the subjects
of our good brother, Henry of England, and may not understand our
language, though one of them, I think”—and she glanced at Castell—“was
not born in England, or at any rate of English blood. Ask them if they
need an interpreter.”
The question was put, and all of them answered that they could speak
Spanish, though Peter added that he did so but indifferently.
“You are the knight, I think, who is charged with the commission of
this crime,” said Isabella, looking at him.
“Your Majesty, I am not a knight, only a plain esquire, Peter Brome of
Dedham in England. My father was a knight, Sir Peter Brome, but he fell
at my side, fighting for Richard, on Bosworth Field, where I had this
wound,” and he pointed to the scar upon his face, “but was not knighted
for my pains.”
Isabella smiled a little, then asked:
“And how came you to Spain, Señor Peter Brome?”
“Your Majesty,” answered Peter, Margaret helping from time to time when
he did not know the Spanish words, “this lady at my side, the daughter
of the merchant John Castell who stands by her, is my affianced——”
“Then you have won the love of a very beautiful maiden, Señor,”
interrupted the queen; “but proceed.”
“She and her cousin, the Señora Dene, were kidnapped in London by one
who I understand is the nephew of the King Ferdinand, and an envoy to
the English court, who passed there as the Señor d’Aguilar, but who in
Spain is the Marquis of Morella.”
“Kidnapped! and by Morella!” exclaimed the queen.
“Yes, your Majesty, cozened on board his ship and kidnapped. The Señor
Castell and I followed them, and, boarding their vessel, tried to
rescue them, but were shipwrecked at Motril. The marquis carried them
away to Granada, whither we followed also, I being sorely hurt in the
shipwreck. There, in the palace of the marquis, we have lain prisoners
many weeks, but at length escaped, purposing to come to Seville and
seek the protection of your Majesties. On the road, while we were
dressed as Moors, in which garb we compassed our escape, we were
attacked by men that we thought were bandits, for we had been warned
against such evil people. One of them rudely molested the Dona
Margaret, and I cut him down, and by misfortune killed him, for which
manslaughter I am here before you to-day. Your Majesty, I did not know
that he was a soldier of the Holy Hermandad, and I pray you pardon my
offence, which was done in ignorance, fear, and anger, for we are
willing to pay compensation for this unhappy death.”
Now some in the court exclaimed:
“Well spoken, Englishman!”
Then the queen said:
“If all this tale be true, I am not sure that we should blame you over
much, Señor Brome; but how know we that it is true? For instance, you
said that the noble marquis stole two ladies, a deed of which I can
scarcely think him capable. Where then is the other?”
“I believe,” answered Peter, “that she is now the wife of the Marquis
of Morella.”
“The wife! Who bears witness that she is the wife? He has not advised
us that he was about to marry, as is usual.”
Then Bernaldez stood forward, stating his name and occupation, and that
he was a correspondent of the English merchant, John Castell, and
producing the certificate of marriage signed by Morella, Betty, and the
priest Henriques, handed it up to the queen saying that he had received
them in duplicate by a messenger from Granada, and had delivered the
other to the Archbishop of Seville.
The queen, having looked at the paper, passed it to her assessors, who
examined it very carefully, one of them saying that the form was not
usual, and that it might be forged.
The queen thought a little while, then said:
“That is so, and in one way only can we know the truth. Let our warrant
issue summoning before us our cousin, the noble Marquis of Morella, the
Señora Dene, who is said to be his wife, and the priest Henriques of
Motril, who is said to have married them. When they have arrived, all
of them, the king my husband and I will examine into the matter, and,
until then, we will not suffer our minds to be prejudiced by hearing
any more of this cause.”
Now the governor of the prison stood forward, and asked what was to be
done with the captives until the witnesses could be brought from
Granada. The queen answered that they must remain in his charge, and be
well treated, whereon Peter prayed that he might be given a better cell
with fewer rats and more light. The queen smiled, and said that it
should be so, but added that it would be proper that he should still be
kept apart from the lady to whom he was affianced, who could dwell with
her father. Then, noting the sadness on their faces, she added:
“Yet I think they may meet daily in the garden of the prison.”
Margaret curtseyed and thanked her, whereon she said very graciously:
“Come here, Señora, and sit by me a little,” and she pointed to a
footstool at her side. “When I have done this business I desire a few
words with you.”
So Margaret was brought up upon the dais, and sat down at her Majesty’s
left hand upon the broidered footstool, and very fair indeed she looked
placed thus above the crowd, she whose beauty and whose bearing were so
royal; but Castell and Peter were led away back to the prison, though,
seeing so many gay lords about, the latter went unwillingly enough. A
while later, when the cases were finished, the queen dismissed the
court save for certain officers, who stood at a distance, and, turning
to Margaret, said:
“Now, fair maiden, tell me your story, as one woman to another, and do
not fear that anything you say will be made use of at the trial of your
lover, since against you, at any rate at present, no charge is laid.
Say, first, are you really the affianced of that tall gentleman, and
has he really your heart?”
“All of it, your Majesty,” answered Margaret, “and we have suffered
much for each other’s sake.” Then in as few words as she could she told
their tale, while the queen listened earnestly.
“A strange story indeed, and if it be all true, a shameful,” she said
when Margaret had finished. “But how comes it that if Morella desired
to force you into marriage, he is now wed to your companion and cousin?
What are you keeping back from me?” and she glanced at her shrewdly.
“Your Majesty,” answered Margaret, “I was ashamed to speak the rest,
yet I will trust you and do so, praying your royal forgiveness if you
hold that we, who were in desperate straits, have done what is wrong.
My cousin, Betty Dene, has paid back Morella in his own false gold. He
won her heart and promised to marry her, and at the risk of her own
life she took my place at the altar, thereby securing our escape.”
“A brave deed, if a doubtful,” said the queen, “though I question
whether such a marriage will be upheld. But that is a matter for the
Church to judge of, and I must speak of it no more. Certainly it is
hard to be angry with any of you. What did you say that Morella
promised you when he asked you to marry him in London?”
“Your Majesty, he promised that he would lift me high, perhaps
even”—and she hesitated—“to that seat in which you sit.”
Isabella frowned, then laughed, and said, as she looked her up and
down:
“You would fit it well, better than I do in truth. But what else did he
say?”
“Your Majesty, he said that not every one loves the king, his uncle;
that he had many friends who remembered that his father was poisoned by
the father of the king, who was Morella’s grandfather; also, that his
mother was a princess of the Moors, and that he might throw in his lot
with theirs, or that there were other ways in which he could gain his
end.”
“So, so,” said the queen. “Well, though he is such a good son of the
Church, and my lord is so fond of him, I never loved Morella, and I
thank you for your warning. But I must not speak to you of such high
matters, though it seems that some have thought otherwise. Fair
Margaret, have you aught to ask of me?”
“Yes, your Majesty—that you will deal gently with my true love when he
comes before you for trial, remembering that he is hot of head and
strong of arm, and that such knights as he—for knightly is his blood—
cannot brook to see their ladies mishandled by rough men, and the
wrappings that shield them torn from off their bosoms. Also, I pray
that I may be protected from Morella, that he may not be allowed to
touch or even to speak to me, who, for all his rank and splendour, hate
him as though he were some poisoned snake.”
“I have said that I must not prejudge your case, you beautiful English
Margaret,” the queen answered with a smile, “yet I think that neither
of those things you ask will cause justice to slip the bandage that is
about her eyes. Go, and be at peace. If you have spoken truth to me, as
I am sure you have, and Isabella of Spain can prevent it, the Señor
Brome’s punishment shall not be heavy, nor shall the shadow of the
Marquis of Morella, the base-born son of a prince and of some royal
infidel”—these words she spoke with much bitterness—“so much as fall
upon you, though I warn you that my lord the king loves the man, as is
but natural, and will not condemn him lightly. Tell me one thing. This
lover of yours is brave, is he not?”
“Very brave,” answered Margaret, smiling.
“And he can ride a horse and hold a lance, can he not, at any rate in
your quarrel?”
“Aye, your Majesty, and wield a sword too, as well as most knights,
though he has been but lately sick. Some learned that on Bosworth
Field.”
“Good. Now farewell,” and she gave Margaret her hand to kiss. Then,
calling two of her officers, she bade them conduct her back to the
prison, and say that she should have liberty to send messages or to
write to her, the queen, if she should so desire.
On the night of that same day Morella galloped into Seville. Indeed he
should have been there long before, but misled by the story of the
Moors who had escorted Peter, Margaret, and her father out of Granada
and seen them take the Malaga road, he travelled thither first, only to
find no trace of them in that city. Then he returned and tracked them
to Seville, where he was soon made acquainted with all that had
happened. Amongst other things, he discovered that ten hours before
swift messengers had been despatched to Granada, commanding his
attendance and that of Betty, with whom he had gone through the form of
marriage.
On the following morning he asked an audience with the queen, but it
was refused to him, and the king, his uncle, was away. Next he tried to
win admission into the prison and see Margaret, only to find that
neither his high rank and authority nor any bribe would suffice to
unlock its doors. The queen had commanded otherwise, he was informed,
and knew therefrom that in this matter he must reckon with Isabella as
an enemy. Then he bethought him of revenge, and began a search for Inez
and the priest Henriques of Motril, only to find that the former had
vanished, none knew whither, and the holy father was safe within the
walls of the Inquisition, whence he was careful not to emerge, and
where no layman, however highly placed, could enter to lay a hand upon
one of its officers. So, full of rage and disappointment, he took
counsel of lawyers and friends, and prepared to defend the suit which
he saw would be brought against him, hoping that chance might yet
deliver Margaret into his hands. One good card he held, which now he
determined to play. Castell, as he knew, was a Jew who for years had
posed as a Christian, and for such there was no mercy in Seville.
Perhaps for her father’s sake he might yet be able to work upon
Margaret, whom now he desired to win more fiercely than ever before.
At least it was certain that he would try this, or any other means,
however base, rather than see her married to his rival, Peter Brome.
Also there was the chance that this Peter might be condemned to
imprisonment, or even to death, for the killing of a soldier of the
Hermandad.
So Morella made him ready for the great struggle as best he could, and,
since he could not stop her coming, awaited the arrival of Betty in
Seville.