Spain for the Sovereigns (40 page)

I
n the nursery of the Palace at Cordova, Isabella sat holding a child a few months old, on her lap. This was her daughter, Catalina, who had been born in the December of the preceding year. Her hopes had been in some way disappointed, for she had longed to present Ferdinand with another boy. But Juan was still her only son, and here was her fourth daughter.

Isabella could not continue to feel this disappointment as she looked at the tiny creature in her arms. She loved the child dearly and, on the birth of little Catalina, she had made up her mind that she would not allow herself to be so continually separated from her family.

She glanced up at Beatriz de Bobadilla, who was with her once more, bustling about the apartment as though she were mistress of it.

Isabella smiled at her friend. It was very pleasant to know that Beatriz was willing to leave everything to come to her when she was called. There was no one whom she could trust as she trusted Beatriz; and she realised that it was rare for one in her position to enjoy such a disinterested friendship.

She fancied today that Beatriz had something on her mind, for she was somewhat subdued – a rare state for Beatriz; Isabella waited for her friend to tell her what was the cause of her thoughtfulness, but Beatriz was evidently in no hurry to do so.

She came and knelt by Isabella’s side and put out a hand to touch the baby’s cheek.

‘I declare,’ said Beatriz, ‘already the Infanta Catalina bears some resemblance to her august mother.’

Isabella gave way to a rare gesture of affection; she lifted the child in her arms and kissed her forehead.

‘I was thinking, Beatriz,’ she said, ‘how quickly time passes. Soon we shall be thinking of a husband for this little one, as we are for my dear Isabella.’

‘It will not be for many years yet.’

‘For this one,’ said Isabella. ‘But what of my young Isabella? I cannot bear to part with one of them. Beatriz, I think I love my children more fiercely than most mothers do because, since I have had them, I have been able to spend so little time with them. That will not be the case in future. When I go on my travels I shall take my family with me. It is a good thing that the people should know them, as they know their King and Queen.’

‘The children will enjoy it. They hate these partings as much as you do.’

‘Isabella will be leaving us soon,’ said the Queen.

‘But now you have Catalina to take her place.’

‘Once Isabella is married we must think of marriages for the others. I fear they will take them far from us.’

‘The Infanta Isabella will go into Portugal, dearest Highness, but Portugal is not far away. Who will be next? Juan. Well, you will keep him here in Castile, will you not? You will not lose your son, Highness. Then Juana will have a husband and go away, I suppose.’

A shadow crossed the Queen’s face, and Beatriz, following her thoughts, said quickly: ‘But she is only six years old. It will be years yet.’

The Queen was wondering what the years ahead held for wild Juana, and she tried hard to fight her rising fear.

‘As for Maria and this little one,’ went on Beatriz, ‘marriage is far . . . far away. Why, Highness, you are indeed fortunate.’

Isabella said: ‘Yes, I am fortunate. Isabella will be but a few miles across the border. She will be Queen of Portugal, and thus a very desirable alliance will be forged between our countries. Yet . . . her health worries me sometimes, Beatriz. She has that cough.’

‘It will pass. When she begins to bear children she will grow healthy. It happens so with some women.’

Isabella smiled. ‘You are my comforter.’

The baby began to whimper, and Isabella rocked her soothingly. ‘There, my little one. Perhaps you will go away from your home . . . Perhaps you will go to some country across the seas . . . but not yet. . . not for years . . . and here is your mother to love you.’

Beatriz was thinking that now was the time to put her request. The Queen’s mood was softened when she was with her children. Indeed, few were allowed to see her displays of tenderness.

Now is the time, thought Beatriz.

‘Highness,’ she began tentatively.

‘Yes,’ said Isabella, ‘you should tell me, Beatriz. I see there is something on your mind.’

‘I have had news from the Duke of Medina Sidonia, Highness.’

‘What sort of news? Good, I hope.’

‘I think it might be good . . . very good. It concerns a strange adventurer. A man who has impressed him deeply. He begs an audience with Your Highness. The Duke tells me that his attention was called to this man by Fray Juan Perez de Marchena, who is guardian of the convent of La Rabida. He has approached Your Highness’s confessor, but doubtless Talavera has been unimpressed by the man’s story. Talavera has his mind on one thing – ridding this country of heretics.’

‘And what could be better?’ demanded Isabella. She was thinking placidly of the punishment which had been carried out on the murderers of Arbues in Saragossa. Six of them had been dragged through Saragossa on hurdles, and had had their hands cut off on the Cathedral steps before they had been castrated, hanged, drawn and quartered for the multitude to see. One of the prisoners had committed suicide by eating a glass lamp. A pity, thought Isabella, smoothing the down on her baby’s head, for thus he had evaded punishment.

Beatriz said quickly: ‘Highness, this man has a fantastic story to tell. As yet it is but a dream; but I have seen him, Highness, and I believe in his dreams.’

Isabella wrinkled her brows in some puzzlement. Beatriz was by nature a practical woman; it was unlike her to talk of dreams.

‘He came originally from Italy and went to Lisbon in the hope of interesting the King of Portugal in his schemes. Apparently he considers he was cheated there and, because he believes you to be the greatest ruler in the world, he wishes to lay his gift at your feet.’

‘What is this gift?’

‘A new world, Highness.’

‘A new world! What can this mean?’

‘A land of great riches as yet undiscovered. He is certain that it exists beyond the Atlantic Ocean, and that he can find a new route to Asia without crossing the Eastern continent. Time and money would be saved if this were accomplished. The riches of Cathay could be easily brought to Spain. This man speaks to convincingly, Highness, that he convinces me.’

‘You have been caught in the dreams of a dreamer, Beatriz.’

‘As I feel sure Your Highness would be if you would receive him in audience.’

‘What does he ask of me?’

‘In exchange for a new world, he asks for ships which will take him there. He needs three carvels, fitted out for a long journey. He needs the patronage and approval of yourself.’

Isabella was silent. ‘This man has impressed you deeply,’ she said at length. ‘What manner of man is he?’

‘He is tall, long limbed, with eyes which seem to look into the future. Red-haired, blue-eyed. Near Your Highness’s own colouring. But it is not his physical features which impress me; it is his intensity, his certainty that his dream can be realised.’

‘His name, Beatriz?’

‘It was Christoforo Colombo, but since he has been in Spain he has changed it to Cristobal Colon. Highness, will you receive him? I implore you to.’

‘My dear Beatriz, since you ask it, how could I refuse?’

Cristobal Colon was preparing to present himself to the Sovereigns, and in the small house in which he had lived since he came to Cordova, impatiently he awaited the moment to depart. It had been impressed upon him by his patrons that this was a great honour which was being bestowed upon him. Cristobal did not accept this. It was he who was bestowing the honour.

There was a knock on his door. A high feminine voice said: ‘Señor Colon, you have not left yet, then?’

Cristobal’s face softened slightly. ‘No, I have not yet left. Pray come in, Señora.’

She was a pretty little woman, and the fact that now there was a great anxiety in her eyes endeared her to the adventurer.

‘I prayed for you last night and this morning, Señor Colon. May all go well. May they give you what you ask.’

‘That is good of you.’

‘And, Señor, when you return, would it be asking too much of you to step into my house? I will prepare a meal for you. You will be hungry after your ordeal. Oh, I know you will not be thinking of food. But you should, you know. You will need a good meal, and I will have it waiting for you.’

‘You have been a good neighbour to me, Señora de Arana.’

‘I was about to say that I hope I shall always be so, but of course I do not: I hope that you will be successful and that soon you will be sailing away. Pray let me look at you.’ She had a brush with her, and began brushing his coat. ‘Why, have you forgotten that you are to be in the presence of the King and Queen?’

‘It is not my clothes I am taking to show them.’

‘Whatever else you show, you must first show respect.’

She put her head on one side and smiled at him. Then he stooped and kissed her cheek.

She flushed a little and turned away. He took her chin in his hands and looked into her face. There were tears in her eyes.

He thought of this woman who had been his neighbour for some months; he thought of the pleasantness of their friendship. Then he understood; she had treated him with a certain motherly devotion; but she was a young woman, younger than he was.

His head had been so full of his schemes that he had not realised until this moment that those long months of waiting had only been made tolerable by this woman.

He said: ‘Señora de Arana, Beatriz . . . why . . . when I leave I shall be very sad because I must say goodbye to you.’

‘It will be some time before you are able to leave,’ she answered quickly. ‘So . . . the parting will not be yet.’

He hesitated for only a second. He was a man of strong passions. Then he caught her to him, and the kiss he gave her was long and demanding.

She had changed subtly; she was flushed and happy.

‘What now, Señor Colon!’ she said. ‘At any moment you must leave for your audience at the Palace. That is what you have been waiting for.’

He was astonished at himself. He was certain that he was about to achieve that for which he had longed for many years; and here, on the brink of achievement, he was dallying with a pretty woman.

He stood still while she continued to brush his coat. Then he knew the time had come.

He said a somewhat brusque farewell and left for the Palace.

Cristobal stood before the Queen.

Behind her stood Beatriz de Bobadilla, who encouraged him by her warm looks; seated beside the Queen was the King, her husband; and by the side of the King stood the Queen’s confessor, Fernando de Talavera.

Cristobal held his head high. Even Isabella and Ferdinand were not more dignified than he, not more proud. His looks were impressive and, because he believed that he had a great gift to offer, he was lacking in humility.

This was noted by all present. On Ferdinand and Talavera it had an adverse effect. They would have preferred a humble supplicant. Isabella was as impressed by him as Beatriz had been. The man, it seemed, did not behave with the decorum to which she was accustomed in her Court, but she recognised the fine spirit in him, which had so impressed Beatriz, and she thought: This man may be mistaken, but he believes in himself; and in such belief lie the seeds of genius.