The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile (51 page)

My husband glanced up. Red tinged his cheeks; he was evidently in the midst of heated debate with Mendoza over battle schemes. Even at fifty-nine years old, the urbane cardinal was an experienced general who’d led our troops in battle, and he had firm ideas about how best to bring about Málaga’s downfall.

“Navigator? What navigator?” Fernando glared at Mendoza, who sipped from his goblet, unperturbed as ever by my husband’s temper.

“The one patronized by Medina Sidonia, remember?” Even as I asked, I knew he didn’t. He scarcely recalled what we’d eaten for supper; these days all he thought about was the crusade, as if our past year of
victory was not enough to erase his one defeat. He’d never rest until he had Granada on its knees.

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “And …?”

I smiled. “And he’s here, in Guadalupe. He wants to see us.”

Fernando flicked his hand. “Fine, see him.” He returned to haggling with Mendoza; I nodded at Chacón. “I shall receive him. But warn him, I expect him to be succinct.”

Chacón returned with a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a plain black doublet. He’d removed his cap, revealing a thatch of sandy hair with glinting strands of silver; as he bowed, I noted arrogance in his stance, his obeisance executed with the inbred pride of a noble.

When he looked up, I was startled by the intensity in his pale blue eyes.

“Majestad,”
he said, in a deep voice. “I am honored.”

Honored he might be, but he offered no apology for his uninvited arrival. I had to curb my chuckle. He’d indeed spent time with Medina Sidonia. Only close contact with a man of that caliber could have engendered such confidence.

“They tell me you’ve been waiting a long time,” I said. “Perhaps you’d like some mulled wine?”

“No, if it pleases you.” He didn’t remove his gaze from me; even my ladies began to take notice, shifting to stare at him. Most men wouldn’t have looked up without my leave, much less refused my offer of refreshment. “I have much to tell you,” he added, and I was pleased to see a slight flush in his sculpted, otherwise pale cheeks. “I’ve indeed been waiting a long time—over two years, in fact.”

“In the cloister gallery?” piped Beatriz, and he turned his solemn regard to her.

“I would have, if that would have given me resolution,” he said, and I had no doubt he meant it.

“Very well, then.” I settled with deliberate poise against my chair, even as my blood quickened. He was undeniably magnetic; some might have said too much so. With his well-built frame and stark aquiline nose, brooding eyes, and resolute air, he lacked humility for a common-born man, convinced, as usually only nobles are, of his intrinsic worth.
He stood before me with his chin lifted as though I should have been expecting him, as if everything that had come before was but an interlude to this crucial meeting between us.

For a breathless moment, I shared the sentiment.

He launched into his appeal. He had the resonance of an orator; he’d obviously practiced his speech, declaiming his absolute conviction of the world’s spherical shape, of secret maps entrusted to him, and his belief that the Ocean Sea—that vast unexplored expanse—was not nearly as vast as everyone believed. He had no discernible accent, which made me wonder at his claim that he was the son of Italian wool carders, but my doubts faded as he transported me with his tale of being shipwrecked in his youth on the shores of Portugal and of his years spent in Lisbon in the company of mariners and geographers, where the writings of the Egyptian astronomer Ptolemy and Greek mathematician Eratosthenes had opened his eyes to the possibility of distant lands, bursting with spices, jewels, and silk, waiting to be claimed. I found myself swept back to my adolescence in Segovia, where I’d huddled over ancient tomes and marveled at the spirit of adventure that propels men to brave the unknown. It was as though he instinctively knew how to stir those chords in me, employing his bold intent to dissolve the barriers of rank between us.

Of course, his claims were unproven, far-fetched; his demands for putting them into action outrageous; his request for titles and bounty from his discoveries almost delusional. No man had ever come before any monarch asking for so much, while offering so little in return.

Yet when he finished, standing with arms extended and his voice echoing about us, there was utter silence in the hall; even my children had paused in their games to hear him, and I realized I’d unwittingly leaned forward in my chair, so that now I sat with my chin resting on my folded hands, regarding him with rapt attention.

Then I discerned a faint drumming of fingers on wood and turned to see Fernando, his hand rapping the map-littered table. Beside him, his chancellor, Santángel, was wide-eyed and oblivious; Mendoza had a faint smile on his thin lips, as if he were amused.

Fernando snorted. “That was quite a lot of hot air. Perhaps you
could put it to better use blowing up Moorish fortifications for us, navigator.”

I cringed inwardly as Mendoza chortled. To his credit, Master Colón merely inclined his head, as if he understood that he had nothing more than theories to commend him.

“You are aware we are at war, yes?” Fernando went on, betraying that while he’d seemed otherwise preoccupied, he had overheard everything. “Yet you expect us to fund this impossible enterprise on your word alone?”

“Your Majesties’ war is one that will bring the light of God to thousands,” replied Colón. “I can help you bring the same to thousands more, and build you a lasting empire for your children the infantes, one on which our sun will never set.”

“
If
you are right,” said Fernando. “
If
you don’t end up falling off the edge of the world and disappearing forever with our money and ships.”

Colón assented. “There is always risk. But Your Majesties have never seemed averse to such. In fact, some might say your attempt to evict the Moors after centuries of their dominion over Granada, when so many before have failed, constitutes the height of folly.”

“Folly it might be,” retorted my husband, “but we’ll prove them wrong.” He turned his gaze to me. “We’ve important business to attend to. This is not the time for dreams.”

I had to agree. What Master Colón requested, given our circumstances—it was too much. But I didn’t want to send him away unrewarded; deep inside, I shared his passion. I believed that what he said had merit, though I had no justifiable reason why.

“I would speak with him more,” I heard myself say, coming to my feet, and Fernando gave me a terse nod, swerving back to the table to snap his fingers at Santángel, who rushed to refill his goblet. The spell Colón had cast was broken; all of a sudden, daily life resumed, with Catalina waking up and starting to cry, Juana hushing her as Beatriz went to attend them; María playing with her dolls, and the ladies whispering amongst themselves as Isabel resumed her reading and Juan stifled a yawn.

I heard it all and did not heed any of it. Inés fetched my cloak.
Colón kept his eyes fixed on me as I folded the lynx-lined brocade about my shoulders and motioned to him.

“Come,” I said. “We’ll walk in the gallery.”

THOUGH INÉS TRAILED
at a discreet pace behind us, she ceased to exist as I walked with the navigator, subsumed by my keen appreciation of his presence. His height obliged me to crane my eyes toward his strong, aquiline profile. The silence in the gallery magnified the
clack
of his boot heel on the cold flagstone, the rustle of his well-worn velvet breeches; the hall’s subdued lighting had flattered his costume—in the harsh glare outside, I could see his clothes were not new. Again, I was struck by his confidence. Few men I knew would have dared come before their queen in anything but the most costly garb, even if they had to mortgage their estate to buy it.

The cloister gallery enclosed a private garden, filled with topiary and now-bare flower beds. Around us, the enameled spires of the monastery cluttered the azure sky. A lone stork circled a nest high above; as I paused to watch it, Colón murmured, “It is truly a miraculous thing, that they may go so effortlessly to where not even we, for all our superiority, dare venture.”

I glanced at him. “Do you speak of flight or sail, Master Colón?”

He gave me a subtle smile. “To me, they’re one and the same.” He paused. “The Italian artist Leonardo da Vinci believes that one day we can construct machines that will enable us to take to the sky. He says that we will surpass even the birds in our ability to navigate the world.”

“That would indeed be wondrous,” I said. “But won’t it make everything smaller?”

“The world is only as small as we see it, my lady. Imagination knows no limits.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this, or to the fact that he’d dropped my royal title in favor of a most informal, and improper, mode of address.

“My husband the king is right,” I eventually said, as we turned a corner and proceeded down the vaulted corridor. Outside, a light snow
began to fall, the swirling flakes dissolving before they reached the ground. “We are in the midst of a great and arduous crusade, into which we have poured all our efforts.”

My innuendo lingered; I hoped I wouldn’t have to state the obvious: Our treasury could not possibly support a plan as ambitious as his, not while we were at war.

He let out a resigned sigh. “It is not unexpected. Abroad you are hailed as a visionary warrior queen, who, by the strength of your will, shall raise this once-beleaguered nation to power.” He paused, staring out toward the dancing snow. “However, I was warned by some that your vision does not extend beyond your realm’s borders.”

I laughed shortly, though his comment stung. “Gossip was never a concern of mine.”

He turned to me. He did not speak, and I felt inexplicably compelled to fill his silence with my defense. “However, those who criticize me fail to understand my purpose. Indeed, though I have not made it public, I’m in the midst of arranging a match between the Habsburg emperor’s daughter and my heir Prince Juan, as well as one with the Habsburg heir and my daughter Juana. My eldest daughter, Isabel, is already promised to Portugal and I hope to see one of my other daughters wed to England. So, as you can see, I do look beyond my borders, even if for the moment my main concern lies within. I would not be a good queen were it not so. But Castile must come first. That was my vow on the day I took the throne.”

He bowed his head. “I meant no offense. I am privileged beyond words that you consented to see me today, given the circumstances. I realize you have much to do and that time spent with family is a rare luxury.”

All of a sudden, I wanted to touch his shoulder, reassure him somehow. Instead I said, “I do not wish for you to take this proposal elsewhere. Though it is not within our means at this time to grant your requests, I will appoint a committee to look into your claims, headed by my confessor, Talavera, a man of great wisdom. And I would grant you a stipend, enough so you needn’t be dependent on others. Are you alone?”

“No,
Majestad
. I have a son, Diego; he is being taught in the Monastery of La Rábida.”

“And your wife …?”

A shadow crossed his face. “She died years ago, before we left Lisbon.”

“I am sorry,” I murmured. “God keep her. Then I shall make the stipend such that you have enough to care for your boy.” I extended my hand; as he leaned over it, faintly touching his lips to my ring, he said, “Thank you,
Majestad
. You are indeed a great queen, whom I’d be honored to serve with my body and heart.”

To my disconcertion, I felt heat rise in my cheeks. What was it about this man, that he could rouse such emotion in me? If I hadn’t known myself better, I would have feared I was attracted to him, though I knew that physical appeal was too simple an explanation for the depth of feeling he evoked in me. I now believed he was indeed someone I’d been destined to meet, an act of fate I could neither resist nor evade.

I withdrew my hand, took a step back. “You are welcome to travel with our court when we return to the south. But I should warn you, it is hard business we are about; it requires all of one’s faith and endurance, for it is God’s work.”

“I have never been afraid of God’s work,” he replied.

When he turned and walked away, a swagger in his step, without so much as a by-your-leave, I had to smile. He was not one to shirk divine challenge. I’d assumed as much.

Though he had offered nothing save his word, I’d been captivated by this enigmatic stranger, who had given me a glimpse of the world’s larger mystery.

And I vowed that were it ever within my power, I would see to it that he had his voyage.

CHAPTER THIRTY

I
paced the colonnade, sweltering in Andalucía’s unremitting heat, my every sense attuned to the officials and other court servants bustling through the alcazar patio around me. I was waiting for news from the front.

“Where is he?” I asked, for no doubt the hundredth time, as my poor Inés tried to keep up with my erratic perambulations, perspiration dripping off her brow onto her damp bodice. “How long can it take for one messenger to arrive? Fernando and our men left for Loja over two weeks ago; surely, there must be some news by now.”