Read Online The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile by C. W. Gortner - Free Book Online
Authors: C. W. Gortner
Tags: Biographical, Biographical fiction, Fiction, Literary, Historical fiction, General, Historical, Isabella, Spain - History - Ferdinand and Isabella; 1479-1516
Ads: Link
its haunches. Alfonso looked at me; this time, he couldn’t hide the bewilderment in his eyes. “He doesn’t understand. He thinks we’re leaving forever. We’re not going away forever, are we, Isabella? We are coming back, right?”
I shook my head. The time of sparing him was past. “I don’t know.”
Though neither of us looked back again, we both knew Alarcón remained seated at the castle gates, watching forlornly as we disappeared onto the desolate plain.
CHAPTER FIVE
W e had not traveled further than Ávila before, and as we left the high
meseta
behind, Alfonso’s melancholy began to lift, engaged by the change in scenery and his natural curiosity for anything new. The ochre expanse that we had grown up with slowly gave way to a lush landscape dominated by clusters of pine, majestic gorges, and stream-drenched valleys and meadows, where packs of deer bolted in a lightning dash of russet, causing my brother to strain in his saddle.
“Did you see that stag? It was huge! There must be excellent hunting here.”
“The best,” drawled Villena. “Our king wishes to personally introduce Your Highness to the diversity of our hunting. Boar, hind, bear: he chases them all. His Majesty is a master of the hunt.” As he spoke, he glanced at his brother, who was eating something; Girón groused, “Yes, he likes to hunt all right. He’s an expert with his quiver.”
Villena’s chuckle carried a nasty undertone; I sensed something unspoken pass between him and his brother, some deceit, but I kept my smile on my lips as Alfonso exclaimed, “Bear! I’ve never hunted bear before!”
Around us, the landscape unfurled like verdant tapestry, studded with fortresses of dun- and russet-colored stone. I knew many of these castles were owned by the Castilian grandees, first erected as bulwarks during the Reconquista, the centuries-long war against the Moors. Now, with the infidels pushed back to their mountainous realm of Granada, these castles remained as potent symbols of the immense power held by the nobility, whose wealth and number of vassals eclipsed those of the king.
But as we passed through hamlets huddled under the castles’ shadows, where corpses of bandits hung from gibbets, their hands and feetsevered, I began to feel a strong unease. In the fields, hollow-eyed peasants toiled with eyes lowered. Gaunt livestock fed on thorny grasses, ribs poking against their sagging hides, covered in filth and flies. Yellow-skinned children worked beside parents; even old people in tattered clothes sat on doorsteps carding wool, or trudged with loads of kindling. Palpable despair hung over them, as if every day was an eternity in a life that held no joy, no comfort, no peace.
At first I thought the plague had affected this part of Castile. Rumors of the dreaded sickness had always prompted us to bolt Arévalo’s gates and remain inside until the danger passed, so I did not know what it actually looked like. When I ventured to ask why these people looked so miserable, Villena said, “They’re starving, like all their kind. Laziness is the disease of the
campesino
. But these are not times of plenty; taxes must be paid. Those who do not—they know the price they’ll pay.”
He motioned to a nearby gibbet, where a decaying body festered. “We do not tolerate sedition in Castile.”
Girón guffawed. I stared in disbelief. “But we’ve just ridden through acres of untended land. Why can’t the poor plant there and earn their keep?”
“Your Highness has much to learn,” said Villena coldly. “That untended land, as you deem it, belongs to the grandees. It is for their pleasure, not for some peasant to tear up with his hoe and oxen and parcel of snotty brats.”
“All that land? It all belongs to the nobles?”
Before Villena could reply, Girón spat, “It should be more. We wouldn’t have to use our own retainers to guard these rat-hole towns had we not been forced to compromise, because the king
I shook my head. The time of sparing him was past. “I don’t know.”
Though neither of us looked back again, we both knew Alarcón remained seated at the castle gates, watching forlornly as we disappeared onto the desolate plain.
CHAPTER FIVE
W e had not traveled further than Ávila before, and as we left the high
meseta
behind, Alfonso’s melancholy began to lift, engaged by the change in scenery and his natural curiosity for anything new. The ochre expanse that we had grown up with slowly gave way to a lush landscape dominated by clusters of pine, majestic gorges, and stream-drenched valleys and meadows, where packs of deer bolted in a lightning dash of russet, causing my brother to strain in his saddle.
“Did you see that stag? It was huge! There must be excellent hunting here.”
“The best,” drawled Villena. “Our king wishes to personally introduce Your Highness to the diversity of our hunting. Boar, hind, bear: he chases them all. His Majesty is a master of the hunt.” As he spoke, he glanced at his brother, who was eating something; Girón groused, “Yes, he likes to hunt all right. He’s an expert with his quiver.”
Villena’s chuckle carried a nasty undertone; I sensed something unspoken pass between him and his brother, some deceit, but I kept my smile on my lips as Alfonso exclaimed, “Bear! I’ve never hunted bear before!”
Around us, the landscape unfurled like verdant tapestry, studded with fortresses of dun- and russet-colored stone. I knew many of these castles were owned by the Castilian grandees, first erected as bulwarks during the Reconquista, the centuries-long war against the Moors. Now, with the infidels pushed back to their mountainous realm of Granada, these castles remained as potent symbols of the immense power held by the nobility, whose wealth and number of vassals eclipsed those of the king.
But as we passed through hamlets huddled under the castles’ shadows, where corpses of bandits hung from gibbets, their hands and feetsevered, I began to feel a strong unease. In the fields, hollow-eyed peasants toiled with eyes lowered. Gaunt livestock fed on thorny grasses, ribs poking against their sagging hides, covered in filth and flies. Yellow-skinned children worked beside parents; even old people in tattered clothes sat on doorsteps carding wool, or trudged with loads of kindling. Palpable despair hung over them, as if every day was an eternity in a life that held no joy, no comfort, no peace.
At first I thought the plague had affected this part of Castile. Rumors of the dreaded sickness had always prompted us to bolt Arévalo’s gates and remain inside until the danger passed, so I did not know what it actually looked like. When I ventured to ask why these people looked so miserable, Villena said, “They’re starving, like all their kind. Laziness is the disease of the
campesino
. But these are not times of plenty; taxes must be paid. Those who do not—they know the price they’ll pay.”
He motioned to a nearby gibbet, where a decaying body festered. “We do not tolerate sedition in Castile.”
Girón guffawed. I stared in disbelief. “But we’ve just ridden through acres of untended land. Why can’t the poor plant there and earn their keep?”
“Your Highness has much to learn,” said Villena coldly. “That untended land, as you deem it, belongs to the grandees. It is for their pleasure, not for some peasant to tear up with his hoe and oxen and parcel of snotty brats.”
“All that land? It all belongs to the nobles?”
Before Villena could reply, Girón spat, “It should be more. We wouldn’t have to use our own retainers to guard these rat-hole towns had we not been forced to compromise, because the king
Similar Books
