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.