Many of those present began to smile. They could see whither the Archbishop’s plans were leading.

They nodded.

How fortunate, they were thinking, that the Archbishop was on their side. How careless of Isabella to have lost his friendship, when such a loss could lead to a much greater one: that of the throne of Castile.

Alfonso V of Portugal had listened with great interest to the proposals which had been brought to him from the secret faction of Castile, headed by the Archbishop of Toledo.

He discussed this matter with his son, Prince John.

‘Why, Father,’ said the Prince, ‘I can see that naught but good would come of this.’

‘It will mean taking war into Castile, my son. Have you considered that?’

‘You have been successful in your battles with the Barbary Moors. Why should you not be equally so in Castile?’

‘Have you considered the forces which could be put into the field against us?’

‘Yes, and I have thought of the prize.’

Alfonso smiled at his son. John was ambitious and greedy for the good of Portugal. If they succeeded, Castile and Portugal would be as one. There might be a possibility of the Iberian Peninsula’s eventually coming under one ruler – and that ruler would be of the House of Portugal.

It was a tempting offer.

There was something else which made Alfonso smile.

There had been a time when he had thought to marry Isabella. His sister, Joanna, had married Isabella’s half-brother, Henry IV of Castile. Joanna was flighty. He had often warned her about that. It was all very well for a queen, married to a husband like Henry, to take an occasional lover, but she should have made sure that there was no scandal until long after the birth of the heir to the throne. Joanna had been careless, and, as a result, his little niece – another Joanna – was reputed to be the daughter, not of Henry the King, but of Beltran de la Cueva, Duke of Albuquerque; and so strong was this belief that young Joanna had been dubbed ‘La Beltraneja’, and the name still clung to her. And because Joanna had been declared illegitimate, Isabella was now Queen of Castile. But that state of affairs might not continue; and if he decided to go to war it should not prevail.

He had been very angry with Isabella. He recalled how he had gone to Castile to become betrothed to her, and she had firmly refused him.

It was an insult. On one occasion she had declared her unwillingness to accept him as a suitor and had sought the help of the Cortes in averting the marriage. It was too humiliating for a King of Portugal to endure.

Therefore it would be a great pleasure to turn Isabella from the throne and set the crown on the head of his little niece.

John was smiling at him now. ‘Think, Father,’ he said.

‘When little Joanna is Queen of Castile and your bride, you will be master of Castile.’

‘She is my niece.’

‘What of that! The Holy Father will readily give the dispensation; especially when he sees that we can put a strong army in the field.’

‘And but twelve years old!’ added Alfonso.

‘It is unlike a bridegroom to complain of the youth of his bride.’

Alfonso said: ‘Let us put this matter before the Council. If they are in agreement, then we will give our answer to the Archbishop of Toledo and his friends.’

‘And if,’ said John, ‘they should be so misguided as to ignore the advantages of such a situation, it must be our duty, Father, to insist on their accepting our decision.’

Little Joanna was bewildered. From her earliest childhood she had known there was something strange about herself. Sometimes she was called Highness, sometimes Infanta, sometimes Princess. She was never quite sure what her rank was.

Her father had been kind to her when they met, but he was dead now; and she had not seen her mother for a long time when the call came for her to go to Madrid.

When her father had died she had heard that her aunt Isabella had been proclaimed Queen of Castile; and Isabella had said that she, Joanna, was to have her own household and an entourage worthy of a Princess of Castile. Isabella was kind, she knew; and she would be good to her as long as she did not allow anyone to say that she was the King’s legitimate daughter.

But how could a girl of twelve prevent people from saying what they wished to say?

Joanna lived in fear that one day important men would come to her, disturbing her quiet existence among her books and music; she was terrified that they would kneel at her feet, swear allegiance and tell her that they were going to serve her with their lives.

She did not want that and all it implied. She wanted to live in peace, away from these awe-inspiring men.

And now she was on her way to Madrid because her mother had sent for her.

She had heard many stories of her mother. She was very beautiful, it was said; and when she first came into Castile to be the wife of the King, although her manner had been frivolous by Castilian standards, no one had guessed that she would be responsible for one of the greatest and most dangerous controversies which had ever disturbed the succession of Castile.

And she, the Princess Joanna, was at the very heart of that controversy. It was an alarming thought.

She had often met the man who was reputed to be her father. He was tall and very handsome; a man of great importance and a brave soldier. But he was not her mother’s husband, and therein lay the root of the trouble.

When she saw her mother on this occasion she would ask her to tell her sincerely the truth; and if Beltran de la Cueva, Duke of Albuquerque, was indeed her father she would make this widely known and in future refuse to allow anyone to insist on her right to the throne.

It was a big undertaking for a twelve-year-old girl, and Joanna feared that she was not bold or very determined; but there must be some understanding if she were ever to live in peace.

And, now that she was going to her mother’s establishment in Madrid, she trembled to think what she might discover there. She had heard whispers and rumours from her servants of the life her mother led in Madrid. When she had left the King she had kept a lavishly extravagant house where, it was said, parties of a scandalous nature frequently took place.

Joanna had several brothers and sisters, she believed. They, however, were more fortunate than she was. They shared the stigma of illegitimacy, but nobody could suggest that they had even a remote claim to the throne.

She was alarmed to contemplate what sort of house this was to which she was going; and as she, with her little company, rode along the valley of the Manzanares the plain which stretched about them seemed gloomy and full of foreboding. She turned her horse away from the distant Sierras towards the town, and as they entered it they were met by a party of riders.

The man at the head of this party rode up to Joanna and, bowing his head, told her that he had been watchful for her coming.

‘I am to take you to the Queen, your mother, Princess,’ he told her. ‘She has gone to a convent in Madrid, and it would be advisable for you to join her there with all speed.’

‘My mother. . . in a convent!’ cried Joanna; for it was the last place in which she would expect to find her gay and frivolous mother.

‘She thought it wise to rest there awhile,’ was the answer. ‘You will find her changed.’

‘Why has my mother gone to this convent?’ she asked.

‘She will explain to you when you see her,’ was the answer.

They rode into the town, and eventually they reached the convent. Here Joanna was received with great respect by the Mother Superior, who immediately said: ‘You are fatigued, Princess, but it would be well if you came to see the Queen without delay.’