Spain for the Sovereigns - Plaidy Jean. Страница 64

Beatriz watched Cristobal uneasily. Once she had been secretly glad that the summons did not come; but she was glad no longer. How could she endure to see her Cristobal grow old and grey, fretting continually against the ill fortune which would not give him the chance he asked.

One day a friend of his early days called at the house.

Cristobal was delighted to see him, and Beatriz brought wine and refreshments. The visitor admired sturdy little Ferdinand – also Beatriz.

He came from France, he said; and he brought a message from Cristobal’s brother, Bartholomew.

Bartholomew wished to know how Cristobal was faring in Spain, and whether he found the Spanish Sovereigns ready to help him in his enterprise.

‘He says, if you do not find this assistance, you should consider coming to France, where there is a growing interest in maritime adventures.’

‘France,’ murmured Cristobal, and Beatriz saw the light leap into his eyes once more. ‘I had thought once of going to France.’

When the visitor had left, Beatriz brought her chair close to that of Cristobal; she took his hand and smiled at him fondly.

‘What is the use of waiting?’ she said. ‘You must go, Cristobal. It is the whole meaning of life to you. Do not think I do not understand. Go to France. Perhaps you will be fortunate there. And if you must wait upon the French Sovereign as you have on those of Spain, then will I join you. But if they give you what you want, if you make your voyage, you will come back to us here in Cordova. Ferdinand and I can wait for you.’

Then Cristobal rose and drawing her to her feet kissed her solemnly.

She knew that he had made his decision.

Ferdinand’s troops were encamped on the banks of the Xenil, and before them lay the city of Granada. A natural fortress, it seemed impregnable, and even the most optimistic realised that its storming would be long and hazardous.

They could see the great walls which defended it on the side which faced the Christian armies; and on the east side the peaks of the Sierra Nevada made a natural barrier.

Ferdinand looked at that great fortress, and he swore to take it.

From the battlements the Moors looked down on the Christian armies; they saw that the fertile land before the city had been burned and pillaged, the crops destroyed; and they vowed vengeance on the Christians.

So the two combatants – Arab and Christian – stood face to face, and both decided to fight to the death.

Ferdinand, who had seen the effect Isabella could have on the troops at the time of the siege of Malaga, had suggested that she should accompany the army. Isabella’s reply was that she had had no intention to do otherwise. This was her war, even more than it was Ferdinand’s. It was she who had made her early vows that, should it ever be in her power to do so, she would make an all-Christian Spain.

So to the battle-front came Isabella. The Prince of the Asturias, although only thirteen years old, was with his father. He already considered himself to be a warrior, for in the spring of the previous year Ferdinand had conferred the honour of knighthood upon him, and the ceremony had been performed on the battlefield.

Isabella had brought with her her children and some of her ladies, for she had determined that she would not be parted from her family again. She believed that the presence of the entire royal family in camp was an inspiration to the army; as indeed it seemed to be.

Isabella herself was indefatigable. She nursed the sick, and even her youngest, the five-year-old Catalina, was given tasks to do. Her eldest, Isabella, worked with fervour; for since the death of Alonso, the piety of the young Isabella had rivalled that of the elder.

Ferdinand was delighted to have his family with him, for where the Queen was, dignity and decorum were not forgotten.

There was neither gambling nor swearing in the camp when the Queen was present; instead there were continual prayers. Ferdinand was quick to realise the importance of a disciplined army, and the dignity of the Queen was more effective in ensuring this than any strict rules he could have enforced.

The weeks passed, but the great battle for Granada did not take place. There was deadlock between the two forces.

The great fortress remained impregnable.

Cristobal had said his farewells. He had left Cordova and travelled westward.

But before he could find his way to France there was one call he must make.

It was six years since he had seen Diego, and he could not leave Spain without seeing his son once more and explaining that he was leaving the country.

Thus it was that on a July day he arrived at the Monastery of Santa Maria de la Rabida, to find at the gate the lay brother who had been there on that day when Cristobal had come there with Diego. ‘I seek shelter,’ he said.

‘Enter, my friend,’ was the answer. ‘It is denied no traveller within these walls.’

And when he had entered, he said: ‘Tell me, is Fray Juan Perez de Marchena at the Monastery?’

‘He is here, my friend.’

‘I greatly wish to speak with him.’

Fray Juan embraced him and took him into the room where they had previously talked.

‘You see a defeated man,’ said Cristobal. ‘Spain treats me even as Portugal has done. I have come to see my son, and to ask you if you will keep him here a little longer, or whether I should take him with me into France.’

‘You are leaving us, Cristobal Colon?’

‘There is no point in staying.’

‘I did not think you were a man who would give in so easily.’

‘I am a man determined to embark on an enterprise.’

‘And you have decided to leave Spain.’

‘I am going to lay my proposition before the French. I have heard from my brother who is there. He tells me that there is some hope that there I might find more willing ears.’

‘This grieves me.’

‘You have been so good to me.’

‘I will send for Diego,’ said Fray Juan.

Cristobal beheld the tall youth with astonishment.

‘Can it be?’ he cried with emotion.

‘I do not ask the same,’ answered the youth. ‘I know you, Father.’

They embraced, and the bright blue eyes of the adventurer were misty with tears.

Finally, Cristobal released his son. He laid his hands on his shoulders and looked into his face.

‘So, Father, you did not succeed.’

‘I do not give up hope, my son. I am leaving Spain. Will you come with me?’

Fray Juan had come forward. He said: ‘We have taken good care of Diego. We have educated him, as you will learn, Senor Colon. If he left us his education would be interrupted. I could wish that you had not decided to leave Spain for a while, and that Diego would stay with us.’

‘My mind is made up,’ said Cristobal.

‘This day I feel prophetic,’ said the Friar. ‘Senor Colon, will you stay with us for a week . . . two weeks? Will you give me your company for that time?’

‘You are hospitable; you have done much for me. One day I shall reward you. If the French support me, one day I shall be a rich man. I shall not forget your kindness.’

‘If you give me riches it would not be what I asked; and of what use is a gift which is not acceptable? I have cared for your son for six years. Give me this now. Stay here with us . . . two weeks . . . three . . . This is all I ask.’

‘For what reason do you ask this?’

‘Obey me unquestioningly. I believe one day you will not regret it.’

Diego said: ‘Father, you cannot deny Fray Juan this.’

Cristobal looked at the earnest face of the Prior.