Spain for the Sovereigns - Plaidy Jean. Страница 53
‘Yes,’ said Ferdinand. ‘He left his palace and summoned the justices and grandees. He placed himself at the head of them and rode bravely to meet those who threatened to burn and pillage the city. He is but seventeen, and I fear he endangered his life; but he was very brave.’
‘He should be rewarded,’ Isabella declared.
‘So shall he be,’ answered Ferdinand.
He had moved towards the window as though deep in thought, and that tender smile still curved his mouth.
Isabella turned to Torquemada. ‘You know who this young man is?’ she asked.
‘Why, yes, Highness. It is the young Archbishop of Saragossa.’
‘Oh,’ said Isabella. ‘I believe I have heard of this young man. It was a brave action and one which delights the King of Aragon.’
And she thought: How he loves his son! Rarely have I seen his face so gentle as when he spoke of him; never have I seen him so quickly turned from anger.
She felt an impulse to ask questions about this young man, to demand of Ferdinand how often they met, what further honours he had showered upon him.
It is because of the child within me, she told herself. I am a very weak woman at these times.
Then she began to talk to Torquemada of this terrible occurrence in Saragossa, and how she was in complete agreement with his determination to meet opposition with greater severity.
Ferdinand joined them; he had recovered from the emotion which the mention of his beloved natural son had caused him.
The three of them talked earnestly of the manner in which they would deal with the rebels of Saragossa.
CRISTOBAL COLON AND BEATRIZ DEARANA
In 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.’