Spain for the Sovereigns by Jean Plaidy Page A

friar.’
    His followers looked aghast, but he saw that they were already aware of his intended abdication; and it was for this reason that they, discovering his hiding-place, had come to him with all haste.
    ‘Highness,’ said one, ‘it is imperative that you return to Portugal with all speed. If there is any delay it may well be that the Prince, your son, will have become King.’
    ‘It is what I intended.’
    ‘There is also the Princess Joanna, who expects to be your bride.’
    Alfonso looked pained. He had allowed the thought of Joanna to slip from his mind. But she was so young, so helpless. She would be a charmingly innocent bride.
    The Franciscan robe lost some of its charm then; thinking of the soft body of the Princess Joanna, he was reminded of the hardship of the hair shirt.
    A princess in distress, and he was sworn to rescue her! How could he desert her?
    He remembered the Court – its balls and banquets, its fetes, all its pleasures. The life of a king was his life; he had been brought up to expect it.
    ‘It is too late,’ he said. ‘I have already written to my son. When he receives my letter he will make ready for his coronation. Once he is crowned King of Portugal, there will be no place there for me.’
    ‘Highness, it is not too late. Louis has offered a fleet of ships to carry you back to Portugal. We should leave without delay. And if we are fortunate we may reach Portugal before the coronation of Prince John.’
    Alfonso shook his head. ‘But no,’ he said. ‘I have decided.’ He smiled. This would be the most quixotic adventure of them all. The charms of Joanna were appealing; the court life had its attractions; but he could not abandon the Franciscan habit as easily as this.
    ‘Highness,’ went on the chief of his advisers, ‘you cannot give up your crown. The Princess Joanna awaits you. She will be longing for your return. All Portugal will wish to see their King again. You cannot abandon the Princess Joanna. You cannot abandon your people.’
    He told himself they were right.
    My beautiful Joanna, my little niece-bride. Of course I could not abandon you.
    Yet he remained aloof from their argument, for his dignity would not allow him to give way too easily.
    They knew that; they also knew that in time they would persuade him to give up this dream of retirement; they would make him see it as the chimera it was.

     
    Ferdinand faced Isabella in that apartment where they were alone with their children. Ferdinand was dressed for a long journey.
    ‘It grieves me to leave you,’ he was saying, ‘but you understand that it must be so.’
    ‘Indeed I understand. You must always go to your father when he needs you . . . as I must to my mother.’
    Ferdinand thought that the one was not to be compared with the other. His father, the great warrior statesman, and Isabella’s mother, the insane creature of the Castle of Arevalo! But he did not comment on this. Isabella was, of course, referring to their duty.
    ‘At least,’ she said, ‘you have happier news for him than when you were last with him. Although we must not forget that we are not yet completely safe.’
    ‘I shall always be wary of Alfonso,’ he said. ‘How can one know what mad scheme he will think of next? The idea of giving up his throne to his son! He talks of going into a monastery!’
    Isabella smiled. ‘He has been humiliated by Louis, and he cannot face his countrymen. Poor Alfonso! He is unfit to wear a crown.’
    ‘You will take care of yourself and our children while I am away.’
    Isabella smiled at him fondly. ‘You can trust me to do so, Ferdinand.’
    ‘Care for them as assiduously as you care for Castile.’
    ‘I will, Ferdinand.’
    ‘There is a large enough force on the frontier to withstand an attack from Portugal should it come.’
    ‘Have no fear.’
    ‘You are a wise woman, Isabella. I regret I must leave my family. But the time is passing.’
    ‘You must say goodbye to the children,’