Executions were numerous, and a daily ceremony.

The people were beginning to understand that this woman, who was their Queen, was far stronger than the male rulers of the past years. Four thousand robbers escaped across the frontiers, while Isabella dealt with those who had been caught and found guilty. They would suffer as they had made others suffer, and they should be an example to all.

It was in the great hall of the Seville Alcazar that a party of weeping women, led by the Church dignitaries of Andalucia, came to her and implored her for mercy.

Isabella received them gravely. She sat in regal state, her face quite impassive, while she watched those women in their anguish.

They were the mothers and daughters of men who had offended against the laws of the land.

‘Highness,’ cried their spokesman, ‘these people admit that their loved ones have sinned and that the Queen’s rule is just, but they implore your mercy. Grant them the lives of their husbands and fathers on condition that they swear never to sin again.’

Isabella considered the assembly.

To her there was only wrong and right – completely clear cut. She could condemn malefactors to great suffering and be quite unmoved; Isabella had not much imagination, and it would never occur to her to see herself in another’s place. Therefore she could contemplate the utmost suffering unperturbed.

But her aim was not punishment in itself, but only as a means to law and order; and, as she studied these weeping women, it occurred to her that if they would be responsible for the good conduct of their men she had no wish to punish them.

‘My good people,’ she said, ‘you may go your way in peace. My great desire is not to inflict harsh punishment on you and your folk, but to ensure for you all a peaceful land. I therefore grant an amnesty for all sinners – except those who have committed serious crimes. There is a condition. Those who are freed must give an undertaking to live in future as peaceful citizens. If they do not, and are again brought before myself or any of the judges, their punishment will be doubly severe.’

A great cry went up in the hall. ‘Long live Isabella!’ In the streets, the cry was taken up; and as a tribute to her strength they added: ‘Long live King Isabella!’

From Andalucia to Galicia went Ferdinand and Isabella. Galicia was a turbulent province, ready to give trouble to Isabella as Catalonia had given trouble to Aragon.

But how different was the state of the country! Already there were signs of prosperity where there had been desolation. Travellers no longer had their fear of robbers which had once made travelling a nightmare. The inns were looking prosperous and almost gay.

Isabella felt a wave of exultation as she rode through the countryside and received the heartfelt gratitude of her subjects.

Ferdinand, riding beside her, said: ‘We see a prosperous country emerging from the chaos. Let us hope that soon it will be not only a prosperous but an all-Christian country.’

Isabella knew that this was a reference to her refusal to establish the Inquisition in Castile, but she feigned ignorance of the meaning behind his words. ‘I share that hope,’ she said gently.

‘It will not be until we have defeated Muley Abul Hassan and have set the holy banner flying over Granada.’

‘I fear not, Ferdinand.’

‘He showed his defiance of us when he asked for a peace treaty and refused to pay the tribute I demanded on your behalf. Because he had paid none to your brother, that did not mean that we should allow him to pay none to you. You remember his insolent answer.’

‘I remember it very well,’ answered Isabella. ‘“Tell the Queen and King of Castile that we do not coin gold but steel in Granada.”’

‘An insolent threat,’ cried Ferdinand, ‘made by Muley Abul Hassan because he knew that we were not in a position to chastise him for it. But the position is changing, eh, Isabella.’

She smiled at him. He was restive, always eager for action. It was as though he said: Since we cannot have the Inquisition installed in Castile let us make immediate war on Granada.

She said, continuing her thoughts aloud: ‘We have recently emerged from one war. There is nothing that saps a country’s resources so surely as war, there is nothing so fraught with danger.’

‘This would be a holy war,’ said Ferdinand piously. ‘We should have Heaven on our side.’

‘A holy war,’ mused Isabella.

She was thinking of herself as a young Princess, kneeling with Tomas de Torquemada, who had said: ‘You must swear that if ever you have the power you will work with all your might to make an all-Christian Spain.’ And she had replied: ‘I swear.’

‘I swear,’ now said Isabella the Queen.

In Galicia Isabella dispensed justice with the same severity as she did in Castile. For those who had robbed and murdered she showed little mercy; and she dealt justice alike to rich and poor.

Often Ferdinand would be on the point of making suggestions to her. She did her utmost to avoid this; one of the things she hated most was to have to deny Ferdinand what he asked; yet she never hesitated to do so if she felt that justice demanded it.

It was thus in the case of Alvaro Yanez de Lugo. De Lugo was a very wealthy knight of Galicia who had been found guilty of turning his castle into a robber’s den; travellers had been lured there to be robbed and murdered; and Isabella had judged that his punishment should be death.

She had left the judgement hall for her apartments when she heard that a man was imploring an audience with her on a matter of extreme importance.

Ferdinand was with her, and she asked that the man be brought to her presence immediately.

When he came, he looked furtively about him, and Isabella gave the order for all except Ferdinand to retire.

The man still looked apprehensive, and Isabella said: ‘I pray you tell me your mission. Have no fear, none but the King and myself will hear what you have to say.’

‘Highnesses,’ said the man falling on his knees, ‘I come from Don Alvaro Yanez de Lugo.’

Isabella frowned. ‘The robber,’ she said coldly, ‘who is under sentence of death?’

‘Yes, Highness. He has rich and powerful friends. They offer you a large sum of money if you will spare his life.’

Isabella indignantly replied: ‘How could his life be spared when he has been justly sentenced to death?’

‘How much money?’ Ferdinand had found it impossible to prevent himself asking that question.

The answer came promptly. ‘Forty thousand doblas of gold.’

‘Forty thousand doblas!’ Ferdinand echoed the words almost unbelievingly. ‘Have his friends so large a sum?’

‘Indeed yes, Highness. And it is at your disposal. All that is asked in return is the life of Alvaro Yanez de Lugo.’

‘His is a very valuable life,’ said Ferdinand with a smile, and to her horror Isabella saw the acquisitive light in his eyes.

‘In gold, Highness,’ whispered the man. ‘Half to be delivered on your Highnesses’ promise, the other half when Don Alvaro is free.’

Isabella spoke then. She said: ‘It seems to have been forgotten that this man is guilty of crimes so great that the death penalty has been imposed on him.’

‘That is why,’ explained Ferdinand, not without some impatience, ‘a great sum is offered for his release.’

‘It would seem to me,’ said Isabella quietly, ‘that this money, which is doubtless stolen property, would be highly tainted.’

‘We would wash it free of all taint,’ said Ferdinand, ‘if . . .’

‘We shall not put ourselves to such pains,’ answered Isabella decisively. ‘You may return to your friends,’ she went on, addressing the man, ‘and tell them that this is not the way the Queen of Castile dispenses justice.’