‘Then you shall return to us four hundred Christian slaves for whom we shall pay no ransom.’

‘They shall be yours.’

‘You shall pay annually twelve thousand gold doblas to the Queen and myself.’

Boabdil looked less pleased, but he had known that Ferdinand would require some such reward for his clemency, and there was nothing to be done but to grant it.

‘We must ask you for a free passage through your kingdom, should we wish it while making war on your father and your uncle.’

Boabdil was taken aback by this suggestion. Ferdinand was calmly suggesting that he should play the traitor to his own country; and although Boabdil was ready to make war on his father, he hesitated before agreeing to allow the Christians a free passage through his land.

Ferdinand passed on quickly: ‘Then you may go free; but should I wish to see you at any time to discuss the differences between our kingdoms, you must come immediately to my command; and I shall require you to give your son into my possession together with the sons of certain of your nobles, that we may hold them as sureties of your good faith.’

Boabdil was stunned by these terms. But he saw the need to escape from captivity, and that there was nothing to be done but to accept them.

So Ferdinand took the ransom offered by the Sultana, and Boabdil returned to his people, bewildered, humiliated, aware that he had agreed to act as Ferdinand’s pawn to be moved at his will; and he could be certain that those moves would be made for the aggrandisement of the Sovereigns and the detriment of his own people.

Boabdil, saddened and chastened, wished that he had never listened to his mother’s advice, wished that he was now fighting the Christians on the side of his father.

Ferdinand was saying his farewell to Isabella before he set out on his journey to Aragon.

Isabella was doing her best to be patient, but it was not easy. They had made great strides in the war against the Moors; Boabdil could be said to be their creature, yet they lacked the means to continue the war against the Moors in a way which could be conclusive.

‘Always,’ cried Ferdinand, ‘we are faced with this lack of money.’

Isabella agreed that this was so and, agreeing, forgave Ferdinand his preoccupation with possessions. She knew there was a reproach in his words. She was in a position to replenish the royal coffers, yet she steadfastly refused to act. She was determined that her rule should be just, and that she would give no favours in exchange for bribes. Even though the moment seemed ripe for the attack on the Moors, she would not resort to dishonourable means of raising money. She was certain that God would turn His favour from her if she did.

‘What can we do?’ he demanded now. ‘Merely destroy their crops, merely attack their small hamlets, lay waste their land, set fire to their vineyards! This we will do, but until we have the means of raising a mighty army we can never hope for complete conquest.’

‘We shall raise that army,’ said Isabella. ‘Have no doubt of that.’

‘It is to be hoped that, by the time we do, we shall not have lost the advantage we now hold.’

‘If so, we shall gain others,’ answered Isabella. ‘It is the will of God that we shall rule over an all-Christian Spain, and I have never for a moment doubted it.’

‘And in the meantime we must tarry. We must show ourselves as being too weak, too poor, to prosecute the war.’

‘Alas that it should be so!’

‘But it need not be.’

Isabella gave him that firm yet affectionate smile. ‘When the time comes God and all Heaven will be beside us,’ she said. ‘Why, now your presence is needed in Aragon, so it is no bad thing that we had not planned to make our great attack on Granada.’

Ferdinand was inclined to be sullen. This was one of those occasions when he blamed her methods as the cause of their inability to prosecute the war.

But she was convinced that she was right. She must act honourably and according to her own lights, or she would lose that belief in her destiny. God was with her, she was sure, and He would only support that which was just. If He had been slow in giving her the means of attacking the Moors, she must wait in patience, telling herself that the ways of Heaven were often inscrutable.

She wondered now whether she should tell Ferdinand that she hoped she was pregnant once more. It was early yet, and perhaps it would be unwise to raise his hopes. He would begin to plan for another son. And of her four children only one was a boy, so perhaps her fifth would also be a girl.

No, she would keep this little matter to herself. She would watch him ride away with Torquemada into Aragon, whence reports had come that heretics abounded; Torquemada had been denouncing them and was eager that the methods which were being used in Castile should be put into force in Aragon. Away with the old easy-going tribunals! Torquemada’s Inquisition should be taken to Aragon.

‘It may well be,’ she told Ferdinand, ‘that God wishes to see how we bring tormented souls back to His kingdom, before He helps us to take possession of those of the Moors.’

‘It may be so,’ agreed Ferdinand. ‘Farewell, my Queen and wife.’

Once more he embraced her, but even as he did so she wondered whether, when he reached Aragon, he would make his way to the mother of that illegitimate son, of whom he had been so besottedly fond that he had made him an Archbishop at the age of six.

During that summer Isabella found time to be with Beatriz de Bobadilla.

‘It would seem,’ she said to her friend, ‘that it is only when I am about to have a child that I have an opportunity of being with my family and friends.’

‘Highness, when the Holy War is over, when the Moors have been driven from Spain, then you will have a little more time for us. It will be a great joy and pleasure to us all.’

‘To me also. And, Beatriz, I believe that day is not so far off as I once feared it might be. Now that the Inquisition is working so zealously throughout Castile, I feel that one part of our plan is succeeding. Beatriz, bring the altar-cloth I am working on. I will not waste time while we talk.’

Beatriz sent a woman for the needlework and, when it was brought, they settled down to it.

Isabella worked busily with the coloured threads. She found the work very soothing.

‘How do matters go in Aragon?’ asked Beatriz.

Isabella frowned down at her work. ‘I hear that there is opposition there to the Inquisition, but Ferdinand and Torquemada are determined that it shall be established and that it shall become as effective as it is here in Castile.’

‘There are many New Christians in Aragon.’

‘Yes, and I believe they have been practising Jewish rites in private. Otherwise why should they fear the coming of the Inquisition?’

Beatriz murmured: ‘They fear that accusations may be brought against them, and that they may not be able to prove their innocence.’

‘But,’ said Isabella mildly, ‘if they are innocent, why should they not be able to prove it?’

‘Perhaps torture might force a victim to confess not only what is true but what is completely untrue. Perhaps it is this they fear.’

‘If they tell the truth immediately, and name those who have shared their sins, the torture will not be applied. I expect we shall have a little trouble in Aragon, although I do not doubt that it will be promptly quelled, as the Susan affair was in Seville.’

‘Let us hope so,’ said Beatriz.

‘My dear friend, Tomás de Torquemada, has sent two excellent men into Aragon. I know he has the utmost confidence in Arbues and Juglar.’

‘Let us hope that they are not over-stern – at first,’ said Beatrix quietly. ‘It is the sudden change from lethargy to iron discipline that seems to terrify the people.’