Виктория Холт - Daughters of Spain

Isabella understood that many of the would-be colonists had been adventurers, hidalgos who had no intention of submitting to any sort of discipline. Poor Colon! His difficulties were not over when he discovered the new land.

And now he was coming to see her again, and she wondered what comfort she would have to offer him.

When he arrived at the Palace she received him at once, and as he knelt before her she gave him a glance of affection. It grieved her that others did not share her faith in him.

She bade him rise and he stood before her, a broad man, long-legged, with deep blue eyes that held the dreams of an idealist in them; his thick hair, which had once been a reddish gold, was now touched with white. He was a man for whom a great dream had come true; but, energetic idealist that he was, one dream fulfilled was immediately superseded by another which seemed as elusive.

Perhaps, thought Isabella, it is easier to discover a New World than to found a peaceable colony.

‘My dear Admiral,’ she said, ‘tell me your news.’

‘Highness, the delay in leaving Spain for the colony alarms me. I fear what may be happening there.’

Isabella nodded. ‘I would I could give you all you need. There has, as you realise, been a heavy drain on our purses during these sad months.’

Colon understood. The cost of the Prince’s wedding must have been enormous. He could have fitted out his expedition on a quarter of it. He remembered how angry he had been during the celebrations, and how he had said to his dear Beatriz de Arana and their son, Ferdinand: What folly this is! To squander so much on a wedding when it could go towards enriching the colony and therefore Spain!

Beatriz and young Ferdinand agreed with him. They cared as passionately about his endeavours as he did himself, and he was a lucky man in his family. But what sad frustration he suffered everywhere else.

‘The Marchioness of Moya has been telling me of your plight,’ said the Queen.

‘The Marchioness has ever been a good friend to me,’ answered Colon.

It was true. Isabella’s dearest friend, Beatriz de Bobadilla who was now the Marchioness of Moya, believed in Christobal Colon as few did. It was she who, in the days before he had made his discovery, had brought him to the notice of Isabella and given him her active support.

‘I am deeply distressed for you and have been wondering how I can provide you with the colonists you need. I think it might be possible to find the money more easily than the men.’

‘Highness,’ said Christobal, ‘an idea has come to me. It is imperative that I have men for the colony. I need them for mining, building and agricultural work. Previously I took with me men who were not primarily colonists. They did not wish to build the New World; they only wished to take from it and return to Spain with their spoils.’

Isabella smiled.

‘They were disappointed,’ she said. ‘The climate did not agree with them, and it was said that they came back so sick and sallow that they had more gold in their faces than in their pockets.’

‘It is true, Highness. And this is why I find it so difficult to find men who will sail with me. But there are some men who could be made to go. I refer to convicts. If they were offered freedom, in the colony, they would eagerly take it in preference to imprisonment here.’

‘And,’ said Isabella, ‘it would not be a matter of choice. That should be their punishment.’

Christobal’s sunburned, weather-scored face was alight with excitement. ‘Out there,’ he said, ‘they will become new men. They will discover the delights of building a new world. How could they fail to do this?’

‘All men are not as you are, Admiral,’ Isabella reminded him.

But Christobal was certain that all men must prefer the adventure of the new world to incarceration in the old.

‘Have I Your Highness’s permission to go forward with this plan?’

‘Yes,’ said Isabella. ‘Select your convicts, Admiral; and may good luck go with you.’

After he had gone she sent for the Marchioness of Moya. It was rarely that she had time to be with this dear friend; each had their duties, and it was not often enough that their paths crossed. Yet each remembered the friendship of their youth, and when they could be together they never lost the opportunity.

When Beatriz arrived Isabella told her of Christobal’s plan to take convicts to the colony. Beatriz listened gravely and shook her head.

‘That is going to mean trouble,’ she said. ‘Our dear Colon will find himself keeping the peace among a set of ruffians. How I wish we could send good colonists with him.’

‘He must needs take what he can get,’ Isabella answered.

‘As we all must,’ added Beatriz. ‘What news of the Queen of Portugal?’

‘They are setting out at once. They must. I would not have Isabella travel later, when she is far advanced in pregnancy.’

‘Oh, how I hope …’ began the impetuous Beatriz.

‘Pray go on,’ Isabella told her. ‘You were going to say you hoped that this time I shall not be disappointed. This time I shall hold my grandchild in my arms.’

Beatriz went to Isabella and stooping over her kissed her. It was the familiar gesture of two friends who had been close to each other. Indeed, the forthright Beatriz, rather domineering as she was, was one of the few who treated the Queen at times as though she were a child. Isabella found it endearing. In the company of Beatriz she felt she could let down her defences and speak of her hopes and fears.

‘Yes,’ said Beatriz, ‘you are anxious.’

‘Isabella’s health was never good. That cough of hers has persisted for years.’

‘It is often the frail plants that live the longest,’ Beatriz assured her. ‘Isabella will have every care.’

‘That is one reason why I can feel glad that it has been necessary to call her home. I shall be at the birth. I shall see that she has every possible care.’

‘Then it is a good thing …’

‘No,’ answered Isabella sternly, ‘it can never be a good thing when there is internal strife in families.’

‘Strife! You call the strutting of this coxcomb, Philip, strife!’

‘Remember who he is, Beatriz. He could make a great deal of trouble for us. And my poor Juana …’

‘One day,’ Beatriz said, ‘you will find some reason to call her home. Then you will explain her duty to her.’

Isabella shook her head. It had never been easy to explain to Juana anything which she did not want to understand. She had a feeling that life in Flanders was changing Juana … and not for the better. Was it possible for such as Juana to grow more stable? Or would her mind, like her grandmother’s, gradually grow more and more wayward?

‘So many troubles,’ mused Isabella. ‘Our poor sad Margaret is like a ghost wandering about the Palace, looking for her happy past. And Juana … But do not let us talk of her. Then there is my frustrated Admiral with his convicts. I fear too there will be great trouble in Naples. Is there no end to our afflictions?’

‘No end to our afflictions, and no end to our joys,’ said Beatriz promptly. ‘You will soon be holding your grandchild in your arms, my Queen. And when you do so you will forget all that has gone before. Isabella’s son will mean as much to you as Juan’s would have done.’

‘You are my comforter, Beatriz, as you ever were. I trust we can spend more time together before we must part.’

Toledo lay before them. Neither Isabella nor Ferdinand, riding at the head of the cavalcade, could help feeling pride in this city. There it stood perched on a lofty granite plateau which from this distance looked as though it had been moulded to the shape of a horseshoe among the mountains above the Tagus. A perfect fortress city, for it could only be reached on the north side by way of the plain of Castile. At every other point the steep rock would prevent entry.

There was little that was Spanish in its architecture, for the Moors seemed to have left their mark on every tower, on every street.

But Isabella was not concerned with her city of Toledo; her thoughts were of the meeting which would shortly take place.

I shall be happy, she told herself, when I see Isabella and assure myself that this pregnancy has not weakened her.

‘You grow impatient,’ Ferdinand whispered, a smile on his lips.

‘And you too?’

He nodded. He was impatient for the birth of the child. If it were a son, the unhappy deaths of Juan and his offspring would be of little significance. The people would be glad to accept the son of Isabella and Emanuel as the heir.

‘If it is a boy,’ he said, ‘he must stay with us in Spain.’

‘Perhaps,’ ventured Isabella, ‘our daughter should stay with us also.’

‘What! You would separate husband and wife!’

‘I see,’ said Isabella, ‘that you are thinking there should be more children; and how could Isabella and Emanuel beget children if they were not together!’

‘That is true,’ replied Ferdinand. His eyes strayed to those three girls in the party – Margaret, Maria and Catalina. If his daughters had but been boys … But never mind, if Isabella had a male heir, this would be some solution of their troubles.

They were entering the town. How could she ever do so, Isabella asked herself, without remembering that it was the birthplace of Juana? That memorable event had occurred on a November day when the city looked different from the way it did this day in springtime. When she had first heard the cry of her little daughter she had not guessed what anxieties were to come because of her. Perhaps it would have been better if the child, to which she had given birth here in Toledo in the year 1479, had been stillborn as poor Margaret’s child had been. She felt an impulse to call Margaret to her and tell her of this. How foolish of her! Her grief was nowadays often weakening her sense of propriety.