6

THIS ROUGH AND WEARY WORLD

It was time for fifteen-year-old Catherine of Aragon to bid her parents farewell. Catherine had caused no grief over this longed-for marriage alliance. Like her siblings, she accepted that her role as princess required parting from her family in order to make a new dynastic alignment with another royal family. Acceptance, though, did not make the last good-bye any easier. Catherine, after all, had been her mother’s faithful companion, the last offspring at home. A child of fine character, she was a mainstay during the family’s most trying years, when death had snatched so many loved ones in so short a space of time. The fateful day, May 21, 1501, at last arrived.

Isabella could not have felt anything but deep sorrow at being parted from her daughter. She had accompanied her other daughters to the borders of Castile as they made their way for their new countries but could not accompany Catherine because the fifty-year-old queen was weak from a fever. Isabella, instead, had to say good-bye at the Alhambra. The parting for mother and daughter was heart-wrenching. Perhaps both had a premonition that this might be the last time they would see each other.

Among the many items Catherine took with her were gowns, jewels, plates, and coins. She “herself packed her own small personal possessions—her missal, her crucifix, her books and her needlework materials, for her mother had stressed she must continue with her embroidery at which she already showed considerable skill.”¹ Accompanying Catherine on the journey were Doña Elvira Manuel, chief lady-in-waiting, and an assortment of servants (numbering 150), including a chief cupbearer.

Catherine and her escorts traveled from the south to Coruña, in northwest Spain, in a journey that took over two months. Intense heat dogged the royal party as they wound their way from the sunny south through the scorching Meseta. Before arriving at Coruña, Catherine visited Santiago de Compostela, one of the most important pilgrimage sites in Christendom. Inside the city’s cathedral, Catherine witnessed the famous butafumeiro being swung. The rope holding the massive censer filled with incense broke. It was an ill omen for the princess, for the story went that whenever the rope of the butafumeiro snapped while the censer was swung, bad luck would follow.

Catherine finally reached the port town of Coruña. She had traversed broad valleys and mountainous passes to reach the Bay of Biscay. From there, she embarked on a ship to take her to her new country. As it turned out, Catherine’s travails did not end at Coruña. Treacherous waters awaited. Boarding their ships in August, the royal party encountered a fierce storm and had to return to Spain. The princess was taken ill again, and when she wrote to her mother, Catherine admitted that “it was impossible not to be frightened by the storm.”² At the end of September, they embarked again for England. Constant thunderstorms thwarted the sea crossing. Finally, on October 2, 1501, Catherine of Aragon landed at Plymouth harbor.

Here was England, a land of rolling verdant hills, hazy skies, and damp, chilly weather, all so unlike the familiar sunbaked plains of Castile. Greeting the bewildered princess was a crescendo of voices in an unfamiliar tongue. Never before had Catherine heard so much English spoken. An excited group of local dignitaries welcomed her, and though she was taken aback by everything, Catherine “set foot on English soil with the proud and regal bearing expected of a Spanish princess. She won the hearts of all who clustered near her as she accepted their greetings with touching modesty.”³ As befitted the pious daughter of the pious Queen Isabella, Catherine’s first act upon disembarking was to attend Mass, to give thanks for her safe arrival after such arduous travels.

Catherine of Aragon’s reception was rapturous. From Plymouth she made her way to Exeter, where nobles and commoners alike strained to catch a glimpse of their future queen. Catherine was enveloped in celebration marked by cheering, fanfare, bonfires, and processions. Two days after landing in Plymouth, one of the Spanish retainers who accompanied Catherine wrote to Queen Isabella with the satisfying news that “the Princess could not have been received with greater rejoicings had she been the Saviour of the world.”⁴

Queen Isabella had wished that her daughter not meet Prince Arthur until their wedding day. However, an impatient King Henry ignored this stricture. He and Arthur met the teenager who was the hope of the Tudor dynasty and the nation. Amid shy glances and formal greetings in foreign tongues, Catherine swept a curtsy to her future father-in-law, who eyed her approvingly. Here at last was the girl of whom the king had told de Puebla, Isabella’s envoy: “He would give half his kingdom if she [Catherine] were like her mother.”⁵

Shortly after the introductions between Catherine and the king, Prince Arthur arrived and came face-to-face with his bride. More polite exchanges in Latin flowed among the dignitaries while the two young people eyed each other hesitatingly. Catherine saw a blond-haired prince who was shorter than she and appeared younger than his fifteen years. There was also a sallow look to the lad, who did not appear as robust as his bride. Relieved to have met the two most important individuals in England, Catherine was emboldened to inject some gaiety into the proceedings by dancing before her august guests. The unfamiliar strains of Castilian music wafted through the English air as Catherine and her ladies moved gracefully through their Spanish dances. With the formalities of meeting done, the trip to London for the wedding was next on the agenda.

Before arriving in London, Catherine met the bridegroom’s mother. Queen Elizabeth’s brothers included the young boys King Edward V and Richard, Duke of York, known to history as the Princes in the Tower. In 1497, Queen Elizabeth had written comforting words to Queen Isabella about Catherine, “whom we think of and esteem as our own daughter.”⁶ The English queen’s kindly disposition made her appear to be the ideal mother-in-law for Princess Catherine. Perhaps once they came to know each other better, Catherine could find, in this new and unfamiliar land, a second mother in the Queen of England.

Queen Isabella did not receive information about the goings-on in England until the beginning of January 1502, when she was relieved to hear that all had gone so well for Catherine. In a letter to Isabella and Ferdinand, Henry VII had told them of his impressions of their daughter and the festivities surrounding her arrival, of his having “much admired her beauty, as well as her agreeable and dignified manners [together with] the acclamation of such masses of people as never before had been seen in England.”⁷

This was in marked contrast to Catherine’s sister Juana’s emerging life in Flanders. After bidding her a tearful good-bye, Isabella never ceased worrying about her most troubled child. If Archduke Philip had been as good as he was handsome, there might have been great hope for the marriage and for Juana. Philip, however, pursued a profligate life, ignoring how this might affect the emotionally fragile Juana. Scenes of raging jealousy mixed with pathetic begging on Juana’s part soon became the talk of the Continent. Juana’s erratic and disturbing behavior scandalized Europe. This tragic family situation was a tremendous blow to Ferdinand and Isabella.

After the deaths of the couple’s eldest child, Isabel, and their son, Prince Miguel of Portugal, Juana’s imbalance took on greater ramifications. Juana was now heir to Isabella’s realm. Reacting to his sudden good fortune, Philip proceeded to bully his wife even more. Despite the violent arguments between them, she remained completely under her husband’s sway. The petulant and unreliable Philip, meanwhile, became more hostile toward Spain and placed Flanders closer to France’s orbit. Queen Isabella increasingly desired that Juana and her infant son, Charles, who would inherit Isabella and Ferdinand’s realms, come to stay for a protracted period with her in Castile.

Back in England, Catherine’s entry into London was tumultuous. In the procession, the princess, who looked fetching with her hair streaming down her shoulders, was escorted by the ever-present Doña Elvira and another member of the Tudor dynasty, ten-year-old Prince Henry. Already a head taller than Arthur and Catherine, Henry was a study in contrast to his delicate older brother. Fair-haired and with a broad frame for his age, Henry showed promise of being a strapping young man. His easy manner and congeniality, evident already, touched Catherine.

Catherine and Arthur were married at St. Paul’s Cathedral on November 14, 1501. Wearing a white gown and mantilla decorated in precious stones and pearls, Catherine was escorted by young Prince Henry, proudly dressed in white velvet. In reading what King Henry VII had to say about the wedding and Catherine, Queen Isabella must have been eager to hear of all that concerned her daughter. “Great and cordial rejoicings have taken place,” notes Henry VII’s report, where he “begs them [Ferdinand and Isabella] to banish all sadness from their minds. Though they cannot now see the gentle face of their beloved daughter they may be sure that she has found a second father who will ever watch over her happiness, and never permit her to want anything that he can procure for her.”⁸ Moreover, “the union between the two royal families, and the two kingdoms, is now so complete that it is impossible to make any distinction between the interests of England and Spain.”⁹ As for Prince Arthur, he sent a reassuring and touching letter to his new parents-in-law telling them that he “had never felt so much joy in his life as when he beheld the sweet face of his bride. No woman in the world could be more agreeable to him.”¹⁰

After celebrating the nuptials with much merrymaking, the young couple were ceremoniously bedded together for the night. According to Catherine years later, nothing happened between her and Arthur that night or over the next several months. Owing to the couple’s youth, neither set of parents pressed their children into fulfilling this delicate obligation. Catherine’s parents let it be known that they would “‘rather be pleased than dissatisfied’ if consummation was delayed for some time, in view of Arthur’s ‘tender age.’ These were the ‘instructions relayed to Doña Elvira, which, as a resolute duenna, she could be trusted to carry out.’”¹¹ No one then knew that decades later Catherine’s future would hinge on one sticking point—the consummation or nonconsummation of her marriage with the Prince of Wales.

There was some talk of Catherine staying with the royal family instead of living with Arthur in his establishment, but by the end of the year, she complied with King Henry’s wish that she accompany her husband to Wales. Ludlow Castle, Catherine and Arthur’s home in Wales, was positioned on a hill by the river Teme. The castle was Norman in origin and built of local limestone, the gray of its stone combining with the frequently raw weather to make this a somber first home for the princess. With mists clinging to the castle’s forbidding walls and pervasive dampness, Catherine and Arthur fell ill in no time. The prince, with his weak constitution, succumbed to sweating fever and on April 2, 1502, died. The news reached Catherine in her chamber, where her faithful Spanish attendants were nursing her back to health. Her husband of less than five months was dead. In the space of just ten months, the teenage Catherine of Aragon had undergone tremendous changes. From the sunny, warm climate of southern Spain, where she lived with her mother and family in the Moorish wonder that was the Granada, sixteen-year-old Catherine was now alone, save for some attendants, widowed, and convalescing in the dank, austere castle of Ludlow in the Welsh Marches. Catherine, who understood barely any English, was completely at the mercy of her father-in-law, the suspicious and crafty King Henry VII.

Prince Arthur’s death plunged King Henry and Queen Elizabeth into deep mourning. The queen sought to comfort her husband. They were still young enough to have more children, she reassured him. And, true to her word, she gave birth in February 1503 to a baby girl. But tragically, the baby was dead. A week later Queen Elizabeth followed her to the grave. Catherine was saddened by the death of her mother-in-law. Queen Elizabeth had shown her kindness and sympathy since her arrival in England. Now the only close adult member of the royal family left was her father-in-law, who increasingly made life difficult for Catherine, the Dowager Princess of Wales. With communications as they were at the time, Catherine could not even turn easily to her mother for counsel.

Back in Spain, Isabella and Ferdinand worried over their remaining children as well as their country’s fate. Not until May 1502 did Juana and Philip visit Ferdinand and Isabella. At the time, Isabella was at Toledo, expecting reports about a battle between her soldiers and the French. There the shocking news of Arthur’s death reached her. Added now to her anxiety over Juana were fears over Catherine’s fate.

These two daughters—both pawns in their parents’ political chess games—were vastly different. On the one hand was Juana, the sultry, irritable princess with the fiery temper and unbalanced mind, whose future could have been so brilliant as the Queen of Castile and wife of the successor to the vast Habsburg domains. Juana, also mother of a male heir, was a stark contrast to her youngest sister. Newly widowed and childless, Catherine was now saddled with an uncertain future. But unlike the difficult and rebellious Juana, Catherine continued to be the obedient child, awaiting instructions from Spain.

Juana’s father-in-law, Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian, was unpredictable. Therefore, the Habsburg alliance that Ferdinand and Isabella had carefully cultivated through the double marriage of their children, was proving to be less reliable than expected. Should Maximilian’s flirtations with France develop into something more concrete, Spain would become highly vulnerable to French ambitions. Should Spain and England become disentangled as the result of Catherine’s widowhood, there would be no stopping France from extending its power at the expense of Spain and the states on the Italian Peninsula, which fell under Spain’s sphere of influence.

Juana’s volatility exacerbated the anxiety. Her husband tired of Spain and his in-laws, and left for Flanders as soon as he could. He also left Juana, who by now showed disturbing signs of insanity, with her parents. Continually tormented by thoughts of her absent husband, to whom she wanted to flee, Juana caused Queen Isabella such worries that one contemporary vividly described the situation as “tearing at her mother’s entrails.”¹² Juana reminded the queen of her own mother, Isabel, who had also suffered from insanity. Juana’s pattern—crying endlessly for Philip followed by silence, then making rude replies to everyone—had an unnerving impact on one and all. Her disturbed mind drove the queen to distraction. Juana and Isabella’s arguments had reached such a point that “there were scenes after which mother and daughter were so exhausted by their reciprocal animosity that both had to go to bed as if stricken with fever.”¹³

Little wonder then that the energy for which Isabella had become legendary started to desert her. Illness and exhaustion grew to envelop the suffering queen. This made it even more difficult to deal with her troubled child, but Isabella continued to do her best with Juana. Isabella also, along with Ferdinand, had governing obligations. She worked well into the night to compensate for the hours lost in the day when she attempted to minister to Juana. Not surprisingly, all this took a toll. At one point the queen’s concerned doctors reported to Ferdinand, then away in Aragon: “We believe that the Queen’s life is endangered by her contact with Madame Princess who staged scenes every day … . [Juana] eats little and at times nothing at all, she is very sad and weak … reason and persuasion do not relieve her … she cries a great deal … and all these worries fall heavily upon the Queen … . We pray humbly that the fire that consumes her Highness [Juana] disappears. Her life and condition has long affected the life and health of our Queen.”¹⁴

Juana’s bizarre behavior was not limited to immediate family or court circles. In one astonishing scene, she clung obstinately for thirty-six hours to the iron gates of the imposing La Mota castle, half-naked and barefoot in the cold November weather, refusing to be coaxed by pleas from her retainers, prelates, and crowds of onlookers. Juana was, according to a chronicler, “like an African lioness … flung against the bars and shook them in impotent wrath.”¹⁵

Isabella tried to convince her disturbed daughter that she and Ferdinand did not wish to separate Juana from Philip. Nevertheless, “a furious scene between mother and daughter” ensued that some believe “helped to cause Isabella’s premature death.”¹⁶ Queen Isabella admitted that she endured insults from Juana “such as I could never have accepted but for the poor state of her health.”¹⁷ Even after Juana returned to her husband in Flanders, her bizarre behavior continued unabated.

Far from enjoying a peaceful life, Ferdinand and Isabella were consumed by anxieties over an unstable Juana, an unreliable Philip, a menacing France, and now Catherine’s uncertain future. The king and queen followed the unfolding events in England after Arthur’s death. They urged de Puebla, their ambassador there, to ensure that Henry VII fulfilled his part of the marriage contract, that “as King Henry retains the marriage portion, he is the more bound to provide for all the wants of the Princess of Wales. It is to be hoped that the English will not act dishonestly.”¹⁸ This was similar to another missive: “It is not to be supposed that such a Prince as the King of England would break his word at any time, and much less at present whilst the Princess is overwhelmed with grief.”¹⁹ King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella pointedly reminded de Puebla that Catherine must not under any circumstances borrow money for any expenses since it was King Henry’s duty to pay for them. The King of Portugal had covered the expenses of their daughter Isabel when she was widowed, while Ferdinand and Isabella did the same for Archduchess Margaret when their son, Juan, made her a widow. Therefore, Henry must follow the custom with Catherine, for it was only right and natural. Ferdinand and Isabella insisted that, if Catherine had to borrow money, “it would reflect great dishonour on Henry.”²⁰ Yet the stingy and indifferent English king was at loggerheads with the cunning and suspicious Ferdinand over Catherine’s monetary situation, and an unseemly squabble over money ensued between the Spanish and English courts. Ferdinand and Isabella knew that the miserly Henry would be more amenable to seeing Catherine betrothed to Prince Henry if under pressure. They asked that the 100,000 scudos they had paid to Henry VII (which was half the dowry promised), her dower rights (which also had a cost), and Catherine herself be returned to Spain. They also were emphatic that Henry honor his part of the bargain by granting Catherine, as Dowager Princess of Wales, revenues from Chester, Cornwall, and Wales. Alternatively, they encouraged the idea that Catherine be betrothed to Arthur’s surviving brother, Henry. There had, after all, been immediate precedent for this within the family when María married her sister Isabel’s widower, King Manoel of Portugal.

Ferdinand and Isabella’s entreaties to their ambassador regarding Catherine were continuous. In May 1502, they told him that she was suffering and needed to be moved from the unhealthy place she was living in. They continued to insist that their daughter be returned to them. Queen Isabella was especially forthright about this, ordering de Puebla and her other envoy to England, the Duke of Estrada, to see that the princess returned. “Press much for the departure of the Princess of Wales, my daughter, so that she may immediately come home” went one missive.²¹ “You must say that the greater her loss and affliction, the more reason is there for her to be near her parents, as well for her consolation on account of her age.”²² Isabella went on: “You shall say to the King of England that we cannot endure that a daughter whom we love should be so far from us when she is in affliction, and that she should not have us at hand to console her; also it would be more suitable for a young girl of her age to be with us than to be in any other place … . Add that we greatly desire to have her with us.”²³ Queen Isabella also expressed her opinion about King Henry’s failure to act promptly regarding Catherine’s financial straits, stating: “We cannot believe that he will refuse to do and perform towards us and the Princess all that he has promised.”²⁴

At the same time, Isabella ordered the duke to promote an engagement between Catherine and Henry, telling him to “bring the betrothal to a conclusion as soon as you are able, and in conformity with the directions given you respecting it. For then all our anxiety will cease, and we shall be able to seek the aid of England against France; for it is the most efficient help we can have.”²⁵ Here, Isabella reveals one of the main reasons behind wanting to see Catherine engaged to Prince Henry: to maintain the Anglo-Spanish alliance so necessary to keep French ambitions at bay. Queen Isabella told Estrada “how great has been the effrontery shown us by the King of France in making war upon us … in sending a large body of troops to our frontiers, with the covetous desire to seize upon our possessions.”²⁶

A year after Catherine was widowed, she still had not left England for Spain. This spurred Queen Isabella to order de Puebla that “preparations must be made for the return hither of the Princess of Wales, our daughter, for there must be no delay about her departure.”²⁷ De Puebla, whom Ferdinand and Isabella did not trust completely, appeared to have wanted to curry favor with Henry VII. With their confidence in him at an ever greater ebb, de Puebla then suggested that Henry VII might wish to marry Catherine himself. The idea intrigued King Henry but infuriated Ferdinand and Isabella. The indignant queen told the Duke of Estrada that “this would be a very evil thing,—one never before seen, and the mere mention of which offends the ears,—we would not for anything in the world that it should take place. Therefore, if anything be said to you about it, speak of it as a thing not to be endured. You must likewise say very decidedly that on no account would we allow it, or even hear it mentioned, in order that by these means the King of England may lose all hope of bringing it to pass.”²⁸ Queen Isabella found the idea of Catherine marrying King Henry unacceptable on several levels. What would be her young daughter’s future if she again became widowed in no time, since Henry, in his forties, was far from robust? If Catherine ended up marrying Henry VII, the best she “could hope for from such a marriage was a brief reign as queen consort, then a long widowhood, commencing perhaps in her twenties, with no political influence. Marriage to Prince Henry would assure her of a far more stable and glorious future.”²⁹

Meanwhile, Princess Catherine—the royal pawn and the subject of all the disputations flying between England and Spain—continued to pray and hope that all would be right in the end. For a while after her widowhood, the teenage princess lived in Durham House in London, where she was watched over like a hawk by Doña Elvira. Once again, the stiff Spanish court etiquette prevailed under the unyielding duenna. All of Catherine’s days, however, were not spent in rigid isolation. Outings on the Thames and visits by the royal children eased Catherine’s isolation. Prince Henry and his young sisters, Margaret and Mary, occasionally enlivened Catherine’s days with their good humor, despite the language gap that still hampered Catherine.

During this time, the all-important question concerning the consummation of Arthur and Catherine’s marriage preoccupied a number of individuals in both the Spanish and English courts. But Doña Elvira, who had close access to the princess, was emphatic. Catherine was still a virgin; she and her ladies would swear to this.

Queen Isabella continued to try to get her daughter back to Spain, telling Estrada, “should the King of England not be willing immediately to settle the betrothal of the Princess of Wales with the Prince of Wales … in that case, the Princess of Wales shall depart at once for Spain. She shall do so, moreover, without waiting to recover the 100,000 scudos of the portion of which the King of England has to make restitution.”³⁰

King Henry VII’s conduct regarding the money exasperated Catherine’s mother, who complained that “it would not be consonant either with reason, or with right, human or divine, but would, on the contrary, be almost barbarous and dishonest proceeding, if the King of England, provided he could, were to keep by force that which the Princess of Wales took with her, and which belongs to her. Likewise, it would be an action the most opposed to virtue that was ever seen, if, over and above the loss and affliction with which God has visited her, and in addition to the great trouble of mind which she had to suffer both on leaving us and on her return, the King of England were to deprive her of whatever consolation and compensation could be given her for her losses.”³¹ Toward the close of her very long letter to Estrada, Queen Isabella again reiterated her wish to have her daughter at her side, indicating both a maternal concern and anxiety over Catherine’s future status. “Take care,” Isabella emphasized, “that there be no delay in the betrothal [between Catherine and Prince Henry], because, in addition to the injury and shame which result, it would cause us combined pain and grief to see her remain in the state in which she is.”³²

After nearly two years of negotiations, the treaty sealing the betrothal of Catherine and Henry, Prince of Wales, was finally signed. In the treaty, Ferdinand and Isabella and Henry VII agreed to try to obtain the papal dispensation necessary for their children to marry. This dispensation was needed owing to the facts that Catherine became related to Henry in the first degree of affinity through her marriage to Arthur and that the marriage was solemnized according to the rites of the Roman Catholic Church. It is interesting that the treaty also stated that Catherine and Arthur’s marriage had been consummated. In a letter to his ambassador in Rome, King Ferdinand mentioned this, saying that “in the clause of the treaty which mentions the dispensation of the Pope, it is stated that the Princess Katharine consummated her marriage with Prince Arthur. The fact, however, is, that although they were wedded, Prince Arthur and the Princess Katharine never consummated the marriage. It is well known in England that the Princess is still a virgin. But as the English are much disposed to cavil, it has seemed to be more prudent to provide for the case as though the marriage had been consummated, and the dispensation of the Pope must be in perfect keeping with the said clause of the treaty.”³³

When the necessary dispensation was granted by Pope Julius II, in December 1503, stability and happiness seemed within Catherine’s reach. Henry, a jovial and strapping youth whose company Catherine enjoyed, was turning out to be an intelligent individual, full of spirit, a gifted musician and mimic. Marriage to him might be an ideal partnership for Catherine. At eighteen years of age, the princess from Castile was showing signs of adapting to English ways, relishing the greater freedoms found in England, and even resenting Doña Elvira’s restricting care. Yet these newfound freedoms proved few and far between. A black cloud soon descended upon Catherine, and it concerned her own mother.

Queen Isabella’s final years were darkened by pain and anxiety. Exhausted by work, incessant travel through difficult terrain, the deaths of her loved ones, Juana’s insanity, and Catherine’s troubles, Isabella’s health finally collapsed entirely. The chronicler and humanist Peter Martyr, who spent time at Isabella’s court, recorded her final days. In October 1504 he wrote that “her whole system is pervaded by a consuming fever. She loathes food of every kind and is tormented with incessant thirst, while the disorder has all the appearance of terminating in a dropsy.”³⁴ In spite of her illness, Isabella continued to work until the end, receiving people while reclining on a sofa. To those who wept at her bedside, she said, “Do not weep for me, nor waste your time in fruitless prayers for my recovery, but pray rather for the salvation of my soul.”³⁵ Peter Martyr, along with other devoted retainers, kept vigil as the illness weakened Isabella. Of the ordeal, Martyr wrote: “We sit sorrowful in the palace all day long, tremblingly waiting the hour when religion and virtue shall quit the earth with her. Let us pray that we may be permitted to follow hereafter where she is soon to go. She so far transcends all human excellence, that there is scarcely anything of mortality about her. She can hardly be said to die, but to pass into a nobler existence, which should rather excite our envy than our sorrow. She leaves the world filled with her renown, and she goes to enjoy life eternal with her God in heaven. I write this between hope and fear, while the breath is still fluttering within her.”³⁶

Isabella knew death was near and signed her will. In it, the queen characteristically called on God, the Virgin Mary, and the saints, and gave specific instructions on her burial. Through these instructions, Isabella also gave insight into her thoughts and feelings about Ferdinand, saying: “Let my body be interred in the monastery of San Francisco, which is in the Alhambra of the city of Granada, … but I desire and command that, if the King, My Lord, should choose a sepulchre in any church or monastery in any other part of place of these my kingdoms, my body be translated thither and buried beside the body of His Highness.”³⁷ Queen Isabella explained that she wanted her body to lie beside King Ferdinand’s “in order that the union we have enjoyed while living, and which (through the mercy of God) we hope our souls will experience in heaven, may be represented by our bodies on earth.”³⁸ The queen also left her jewels to King Ferdinand, “that they may serve as witness of the love I have ever borne him, and remind him that I await him in a better world, and so that with this memory he may the more holily and justly live.”³⁹

Queen Isabella also asked that her daughter and heir, Juana, and her husband, Philip, continue the fight against the Muslims: “I beg my daughter and her husband … that they will devote themselves unremittingly to the conquest of Africa and to the war for the faith against the Moors.”⁴⁰ Three days before she died, Isabella added a codicil. Among the instructions she gave was one pertaining to the Indians in the New World. The queen urged her successors to treat the Indians with kindness and to continue converting them to Christianity. She also wished to ensure that her debts were repaid, that provisions were set aside for the poor and other less fortunate individuals, and that some of her goods be distributed to hospitals and convents.

Shortly before she breathed her last at Medina del Campo, Queen Isabella prayed and consoled those who came to say farewell. Dressed in a Franciscan robe, she received the Last Rites of the Roman Catholic Church. On the morning of November 26, 1504, as the friar intoned the final prayers, “at the phrase, in manus tuas, it is said, she sighed and made the sign of the cross and when he said, Consummatum est, she died.”⁴¹ Queen Isabella was fifty-three years old.^d

The day after, Isabella’s body was brought in a stately procession to begin its journey from Medina del Campo to Granada, her final resting place. Wind and rain lashed at the funeral cortege as it struggled through mud to its destination. Only when the cortege arrived at Granada did the clouds lift and the sun shine. Isabella was buried, dressed in her Franciscan habit, in the cathedral at Granada, the site of her greatest triumph.

King Ferdinand was bereft. He told the chief citizens of Madrid: “It has pleased Our Lord … to take to Himself the Most Serene Queen Doña Isabel, my very dear and well-beloved wife; and although her loss is for me the greatest heaviness that this world held in store … yet, seeing that her death was as holy and catholic as her life, we may believe that Our Lord has received her into His glory, that is a greater and more lasting kingdom than any here on earth.”⁴²

Christopher Columbus, on hearing of Queen Isabella’s death, wrote to his son, Diego, that the queen was gone from this rough and weary world and, since her life was holy, she was likely with God. Peter Martyr wrote eloquently of Isabella to Archbishop Talavera, echoing the feeling of many of her contemporaries: “My hand falls powerless by my side for very sorrow. The world has lost its noblest ornament; a loss to be deplored not only by Spain, which she has so long carried forward in the career of glory, but by every nation in Christendom, for she was the mirror of every virtue, the shield of the innocent, and an avenging sword to the wicked. I know none of her sex, in ancient or modern times, who in my judgment is at all worthy to be named with this incomparable woman.”⁴³