Isabel of Castile and the making of the Spanish nation, 1451-1504

by Ierne L. Plunket

Throughout the troublous years, spent first at the Court of one brother and then wandering in rebellion with another, she had seen the Crown dragged through the mire. Instinct had taught her that its degradation was largely deserved. The sovereign who fails to keep the respect of his subjects has forfeited the claim even to respect himself; he has truly abdicated his rights.

Isabel’s conscience might suffer no pangs for those she had deceived in the war of politics, but her whole soul revolted from a lowering of her ideal of sovereignty. “The king was the father of his people, the fountain of law and justice.” The pride that insisted on the recognition of this dignity insisted also on a king’s fulfilment of its conditions.

Isabel had been the first to repudiate the notion that the Santa Hermandad should be suppressed directly the crisis of public unrest was ended, but she had no mind that it should earn an evil reputation for the Crown by unbridled tyranny. In 1483 she and Ferdinand held an enquiry into its past administration, and punished not only those who had defied its justice, but also judges convicted of favouritism and officials who had been guilty of excessive demands, or who had appropriated more than their share of the funds.

Such equitable dealing was in marked contrast with the methods of Henry IV., whose practice it had been to farm out the posts of “corregidor” amongst his dissolute favourites and to allow them to recoup themselves for the purchase by what means they liked. In vain the citizens had complained that under this system any robber or murderer could buy his freedom. The “corregidores,” as they released those who bribed them, were ready with the cynical justification that human blood would neither pay the King nor reward them for their labours.

The appointments made by Henry’s successor were based on a totally different standard, that of capability for the office in question. Great was the surprise of men who had supported Isabel in the civil war, when their petitions for royal agencies met with the response that their services would be recompensed in some other way. This promise, we are told, was faithfully kept; but the offices they had coveted passed into different hands. The Queen’s experience had taught her that the loyal soldier is not always gifted with the best business head, nor with the most persuasive tongue.

An instance of the difficulties encountered by the new régime may be seen in the settlement of Galicia at the end of the Portuguese war. That turbulent province had been the prey of tyrant nobles since the days of John II., Isabel’s father. Mushroom fortresses had sprung up to defend the bands of robbers who infested its highways and oppressed the smaller towns and villages. Rents and tithes were collected by those whose only right was the sword with which they emphasized their demand; while even the lands belonging to the monasteries and churches had been sequestered for secular purposes.

In 1481, two officials appeared at Santiago, charged by Ferdinand and Isabel with the Herculean task of restoring peace and justice. In response to their summons the Procuradores of the various towns and country districts came to assist them; but, though all bore witness to the prevailing anarchy, none showed enthusiasm for its cure. Their sole response to the suggestions offered was that “disorder was sanctioned by custom and must therefore be the natural state of affairs.” It is a type of argument that centuries of use have not worn threadbare.

By dint of persuasion and encouragement the royal officials at length discovered the true objection to their mission. The Procuradores could remember the visits of previous officials who had undertaken a like work. Either they had proved worse rogues than those they came to punish, or else they had found their means of justice totally insufficient and had fled, leaving the men who had supported them to face the rebels’ vengeance. Not till the newcomers had taken a solemn oath that they would never desert the province until they had established peace and order there, would those who listened agree to give them aid.

With this mutual understanding a strange day dawned for Galicia. Here were a governor and corregidor established in Santiago, just and incorruptible, who enforced their sentences with a swift certainty that struck terror into the most hardened bravado. Fired by this example the Procuradores, when they went to their own homes, adopted like measures, and within three months over 1500 robbers had been driven from the province to seek fresh fields of plunder. Many of the leaders were dead. They had been unable to believe that money would not save their lives when captured, and eagerly but in vain had made offers of their ill-gotten riches.

Royal agents, both in Galicia and other parts of Castile, might have proved more susceptible to bribery but for the example set by the Queen herself, whose path of justice was not without its temptations. On one occasion, when in Medina del Campo, a poor woman threw herself at her feet and begged for assistance and protection. Her husband, who was a notary, had disappeared and she felt certain he was the victim of some cruel plot. Isabel commanded her officials to make instant enquiry, and the body of the notary was discovered, buried in the courtyard of a certain wealthy noble of the neighbourhood, called Alvar Yañez. At the trial it was proved that Yañez had first induced his victim to sign a forged document, by which he himself hoped to gain possession of a neighbour’s property, and that he had then murdered his witness, never expecting that anyone would dare to lay the accusation at his door, far less that he would be punished if discovered.