“My lords! my lords! you try my patience too much!” he cried. “Why am I not to have a child like any one of you? Answer! Especially after—” here his voice dropped. They all knew what he meant, but no one believed it. Like every member of his family, Don Enrique was unable to sustain his passions. The awe inspired by his presence had passed. Every eye was fixed menacingly upon him. Each noble recalled the scandal of his life and the treason of which he was guilty in acknowledging the Beltraneja as his heir. Face to face with the king, the indignation they felt blazed out. No words were spoken, but the menace was clear. Don Enrique quailed before it. He stood before the chief nobles of Castile as his accusers. He was judged and found guilty. The expression of their conviction was instantaneous.
Then the archbishop, with dignified calm, became the spokesman.
“Your Highness, we are here to declare that we will never acknowledge Doña Juana as your successor. Civil war will be the result of your insistence. Be advised, my good lord, not to drive your subjects to extremities. Banish that vile adventurer Beltrano de las Cuevas. Call your brother Don Alfonso, and your sister Doña Isabel to adorn the court, and trust to your faithful subjects for the rest.”
The king maintained a stony silence. He had become ashy pale. The hostile bearing of his nobles, the fearless words of the archbishop showed him his danger. Like all weak natures, he was obstinate. Never would he renounce the succession of Doña Juana; never would he dismiss Beltrano. He must temporise, but how? As his eye passed slowly down the ranks of those gathered before him, and he remembered that the most powerful chief among them was not there, a feeling of defeat came over him.
At this moment the Master of Calatrava intervened. The evident distress of the king touched him. Attacked in his life, in his consort, the old feudal feeling came to his rescue as to his chief.
“Cannot some accommodation be found,” were his words, “without imposing too severe conditions on the king? Don Alfonso, his brother, can marry the Infante Juana. This would content all parties.”
The relief this proposal gave to Don Enrique was very plain. His whole aspect changed. Again he was the reckless prince who lived in the midst of revellers, flatterers, and buffoons, and, dissolute by nature, tolerated the licentious conduct of the queen. Here was the opening he longed for, but dared not propose. An accommodation such as this would give him time to defy this outrageous insolence with arms in his hands and an army behind him.
A grateful smile lighted up his face; like all of his family, with large, prominent eyes under sharply curved eyebrows, long, pointed nose and irresolute lips which gave a shifting character to his face.
“I am ready,” he said, “to listen graciously to the desires of my subjects. The House of Trastamare owes much to its supporters. Foremost among them you are, my lord archbishop, and your nephew, the Marqués de Villena, though at the present time one would not say so.”
This shaft, levelled at the archbishop, was met with a severe reprimand.