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my father and let him know that what he needs is on its way to him. As for myself and the rest of us, we must leave for Castile without delay.’

Chapter II
     
ISABELLA
     
    I sabella, Queen of Castile, looked up from the table at which she sat writing. There was a quiet pleasure in her serene blue eyes, and those who knew her very well wondered if what they suspected was true. She had been, these last weeks, a little more placid than usual, and through that placidity shone a certain joy. The Queen of Castile could be keeping a secret to herself; and it might be one which she would wish to remain unknown until she could share it with her husband.
    The ladies-in-waiting whispered together. ‘Do you think it can be true? Is the Queen pregnant?’
    They put their heads together and made calculations. It was only a few weeks since Ferdinand had ridden away to join his father.
    ‘Let us pray that it is true,’ said these ladies, ‘and that this time it will be a son.’
    Even as she dealt with the papers on her table, Isabella too was saying to herself: ‘This time let it be a son.’
    She was very happy.
    That destiny for which she had been prepared was being fulfilled; she was married to Ferdinand after years of waiting, after continual hazards and fears that the marriage which had been planned in their childhood might not take place.
    But, largely due to her own determination – and that of Ferdinand and his family – the marriage had taken place; and on the death of Ferdinand’s father, when Ferdinand would be King of Aragon, the crowns of Aragon and Castile would be united; and, apart from that small province still occupied by the Moors, Isabella and Ferdinand could then be said to rule over Spain.
    It was certainly the realisation of a dream.
    And Ferdinand, her husband, a year younger than herself, handsome, virile, was all that she had hoped for in a husband – or almost. She had to admit that he did not accept with a very good grace the fact that she was Queen of Castile and he her Consort. But he would in time, for she had no intention of letting a rift grow between them. Theirs was to be a marriage, perfect in all respects. She was going to ask his advice in all matters; and if it should ever be necessary for her to make a decision with which he did not agree she would employ the utmost tact and try to persuade him in time to agree with her.
    She smiled fondly.
    Dear Ferdinand. He would hate this separation as much as she did. But it was his duty to go to his father’s help when he was called upon to do so. And as her good confessor, Tomas de Torquemada, used to tell her – in those days when he had undertaken her religious instruction – no matter what the rank, duty came first.
    Now she smiled, for her attendant was announcing that Cardinal Don Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza was begging an audience.
    She asked that he be brought to her without delay.
    The Cardinal came to her and bowed low.
    ‘Welcome,’ said Isabella. ‘You look disturbed, Cardinal. Is aught wrong?’
    The Cardinal let his eyes rest on those of her attendants who remained in the apartment.
    ‘I trust all is well with Your Highness. Then all will be well with me,’ he said. ‘Your Highness appears to be in excellent health.’
    ‘It is so,’ said Isabella.
    She understood. Soon she would dismiss her attendants because she guessed that the Cardinal had something to say which could not be said before others; also he did not wish it to be known that his mission was one of great secrecy.
    Isabella felt herself warming to this man, and she was surprised at herself.
    He was Cardinal of Spain and, although he was the fourth son of the Marquis of Santillana, so talented was he, and to such a high position had he risen, that he was now at the head of the powerful Mendoza family.
    To his Palace at Guadalaxara he could draw the most influential men in Spain, and there persuade them to act for or against the Queen.
    These were dangerous times, and