Spain for the Sovereigns - Plaidy Jean. Страница 20

‘Because,’ said young Isabella, playing with the ornament on his doublet, ‘I shall never wish to leave you and the Queen to go to France and be the daughter of the French King.’

‘You shall not leave us for many years,’ Ferdinand promised.

And Isabella threw her arms about her father’s neck and hugged him tightly.

The Queen, watching them, found herself praying silently. ‘Preserve them both. Bring them happiness . . . the greatest happiness in life. If there are afflictions to be borne I will bear them. But let these two know perfect happiness.’

They seemed to her like two children. Ferdinand, who was so often like a spoilt boy, for all his valour in battle, for all his dignity; and dear Isabella, whose desire at this time was never to leave the heart of her family.

Isabella thrust away her emotion and said: ‘You should not forget your son, Ferdinand. He will wish to take his leave of you.’

‘He is too young to know our father,’ said young Isabella, pouting slightly, not wishing to share her parents’ attention with the baby who, she considered, usually had an unfair portion of it.

‘Yet your father will wish to take his leave of him,’ said the Queen.

So they went to the royal nursery. The nurses curtsied as they approached and stood back from the cradle, where little Juan crowed and smiled as though to show off his prowess to the spectators.

Ferdinand lifted him in his arms and kissed the small forehead, young Juan showing a mild protest; but he was a healthy, happy baby. A quiet baby, thought Isabella exultantly.

And so the farewells were said and Ferdinand left his wife and children to ride into Aragon.

He was shocked to see how his father had aged. John of Aragon was almost eighty-three years old, but, although he looked ill, his mental powers had not diminished in the least; moreover, his agility belied his years.

Ferdinand had no need to complain of any lack of respect shown to him in Aragon. Here his father insisted on treating him not only like a king, but a greater king than he was himself.

‘Ferdinand, King of Castile!’ cried John as he embraced his son. ‘It does my heart good to see you. Oh, no . . . no. I shall walk on your left. Castile should take precedence over Aragon.’

‘Father,’ said Ferdinand, deeply moved, ‘you are my father and always should take precedence.’

‘Not in public any more, my son. And I pray you do not kiss my hand. It is I who shall kiss yours on all public occasions. Oh, it does me good to see you thus. King of Castile, eh?’

‘Consort to the Queen, Father.’

‘That little matter? It is of no account. King of Castile you are, and as such worthy of the utmost respect.’

It was a delight to John to be alone with his son. He would hear all the news. So he was grandfather to two children now. That delighted him. And Ferdinand had a son. Juan! They had thought to delight him to the utmost by giving him that name. ‘May it be long before he comes to the throne of Castile,’ cried John emotionally.

He wanted news of Isabella. ‘She still refuses to allow you equal rights then? She is a strong woman.’

‘To understand Isabella one must be with her constantly,’ mused Ferdinand. ‘And even then perhaps one does not know her really well. She has the strongest character in Castile and the mildest manners.’

‘She is highly respected throughout all Spain, and France too, I believe. It is of France that I wish to speak to you, my son. I have been in communication with Louis, and he is prepared to relinquish his friendship with Portugal, to give no more support to the cause of La Beltraneja and to make an alliance with you and Isabella, that there shall be perpetual peace between France and Castile.’

‘If this could be effected, Father, it would lift great anxieties from our minds.’

‘If it should be effected! Do you not know your old father? It shall be effected.’

Ferdinand felt happy to be in Aragon.

‘There is something in one’s native air,’ he said to his attendants, ‘that lifts the spirits. How I miss my family! I long to see the Queen and my children. But nevertheless I could not be entirely unhappy while I am in Aragon.’

There were certain delights in Saragossa, but Ferdinand must enjoy them in secret.

He left his father’s palace and rode out at dusk. His destination was a house in the city, where he was received by a dignified lady who gave way to expressions of pleasure when she saw who her visitor was.

‘I have business,’ said Ferdinand, ‘with the Archbishop of Saragossa. I pray you take me to him.’

The lady bowed her head and led the way up a staircase. Ferdinand noted the expensive furnishings of the house and said: ‘It delights me that my lord Archbishop lives in a manner fitting to his rank.’

‘My lord is happy to enjoy the benefits of his rank,’ was the answer.

She opened a door on to a room where a boy of about seven years old was taking a fencing lesson.

He did not look up as the two stood in the doorway, but his tutor turned.

‘On guard!’ cried the boy.

‘Pray continue,’ said Ferdinand; and he smiled to watch the boy’s skill with the sword.

The tutor, no doubt thinking that the lesson should be brought to an end, with a flick of his wrist sent the boy’s sword spinning out of his hand.

‘How dare you! How dare you!’ cried the boy. ‘One day I will run you through for that.’

‘Alonso, Alonso,’ said the lady. She turned to Ferdinand. ‘He has such high spirits. He excels at most sports and cannot bear not to shine.’ She signed to the tutor to leave them, and when they were alone she said: ‘Alonso, your father has come.’

The boy stood for a few seconds, staring at Ferdinand; then he came forward, knelt, took Ferdinand’s hand and kissed it.

‘So my lord Archbishop is glad to see his father?’

‘The Archbishop has great pleasure in welcoming the King.’

Ferdinand’s lips twitched at the corners. This boy, with his flashing dark eyes and bold manners, was very dear to him. For his sake he had risked unpleasant scandal by bestowing on him, when he was only six years old, the Archbishopric of Saragossa, with all its attendant revenues, so the child was one of the richest people in Aragon.

‘He would wish,’ went on the boy, ‘that he was more often given the opportunity of doing so.’

Ferdinand smiled at the boy’s mother, who was clearly delighted with her son’s precocity.

‘It is a matter of deep regret to the King also,’ said Ferdinand. ‘But let us endure it, for the time being. There may come a day when we shall be more frequently in each other’s company.’

The boy’s eyes sparkled. His dignity deserted him and he was an eager child begging for a treat. He had seized Ferdinand’s arm and was shaking it. ‘When, Father, when?’ he demanded.

‘One day. Have no fear of that.’ Ferdinand pictured this boy at the Court of Castile. Isabella would have to know. Well, she must accept the fact that kings such as Ferdinand must be expected to have an illegitimate son here and there. He would insist on Isabella’s accepting this fact. Here, under the admiring gaze of his mistress and his son, he did not doubt that he would be capable of dealing with Isabella.

‘I shall come to Court.’

‘Certainly you shall come to Court. By the saints, what a dashing courtier you will make, eh?’

‘I shall be brave,’ said the boy. ‘And I shall be very important. All men will tremble at my approach.’

‘Will you be as fierce as all that?’

‘I shall be the King’s son,’ said Alonso simply.

Ferdinand replied solemnly: ‘You have learned much, Alonso – to strut like a courtier, to fence a little. But there is one thing you have not learned, and that is humility.’