Виктория Холт - Daughters of Spain

Therefore he smiled without much concern while Ximenes ranted.

Granada was safe from the fury of the fanatic.

* * *

Isabella held the baby in her arms. The lightness of the little bundle worried her.

Some children are small, she comforted herself. I have had so much trouble that I look for it where it does not exist.

She questioned his nurses.

His little Highness was a good child, a contented child. He took his food and scarcely cried at all.

Isabella thought, Would it not be better if he kicked and cried lustily? Then she remembered her daughter Juana who had done these things.

I must not build up fears where they do not exist, she admonished herself.

There was his wet nurse – a lusty girl, her plump breasts bursting out of her bodice, smelling faintly of olla podrida in a manner which slightly offended the Queen’s nostrils. But the girl was healthy and she had the affection which such girls did have for their foster children.

It was useless to question the girl. How does he suck? Greedily? Is he eager for his feed?

She would give the answers which she thought would best please the Queen, rather than what might be the truth.

Catalina begged to be allowed to hold the baby, and Isabella laid the child in her daughter’s arms.

‘Here, sit beside me. Hold our precious little Miguel tightly.’

Isabella watched her daughter with the baby. Perhaps it would not be long before she held a child of her own in such a manner.

The thought made her uneasy. How could she bear to part with Catalina? And she would have to part with her soon. The King of England was indicating that he was growing impatient. He was asking for more concessions. Since the death of Juan and his child the bargaining position had not been so favourable for Spain. It was very likely that Margaret would be married soon, and her share of the Habsburg inheritance was lost.

Ferdinand had said to her during their journey to Granada: ‘The English alliance is more important to us now than ever.’

So it would not be long.

Ferdinand came into the nursery. He too took a delight in the child. Isabella, watching him peering into the small face, realised that he suffered from none of those fears which beset her.

‘How like his father Miguel begins to grow,’ he said, beaming. ‘Ah, my daughter, I trust it will not be long before you hold a child of your own in your arms. A Prince of England, eh, a Prince who will one day be a King.’

He had shattered the peace of the nursery for Catalina. It was no use being annoyed with him. He could never understand Catalina’s fears as her mother could.

Ferdinand turned to Isabella: ‘Your Archbishop is in a fine mood,’ he said with an ironical smile. ‘He begs audience. I did not think you would wish to receive him in the nursery.’

Isabella felt relieved to leave Catalina and Miguel, for poor Catalina’s face was creased in pitiable anxiety.

‘I will receive the Archbishop now,’ she said. ‘Does he ask to see us both?’

‘Both,’ echoed Ferdinand.

He held out his hand to Isabella and led her from the room.

In a small ante-chamber Ximenes was pacing up and down; he turned as the Sovereigns entered. He did not greet them with the homage etiquette demanded. Ferdinand noticed this and raised his eyebrows slightly in an expression which clearly said to Isabella: Your Archbishop – what manners he has!

‘You have bad news, Archbishop?’ asked Isabella.

‘Your Highness, bad news indeed. Since I entered this city I have received shock after shock. Who could believe, as one walks these streets, that one was in a Christian land!’

‘It is a prosperous and happy city,’ Isabella reminded him.

‘If it is prosperous, it is the prosperity of the devil!’ cried Ximenes. ‘Happy! You can call people happy – you a Christian – when they wallow in darkness!’

‘They are an industrious people,’ Ferdinand put in, and he spoke coldly as he always did to Ximenes. ‘They bring great wealth to the place.’

‘They bring great wealth!’ repeated Ximenes. ‘They worship in a heathen way. They pollute our country. How can we call Spain all-Christian when it harbours such people?’

‘They have their own faith,’ said Isabella gently, ‘and we are doing our best to bring them to the true faith. My Archbishop of Granada has been telling me that he has learned Arabic and has had the catechism and part of the Gospels translated into Arabic. What more could we do?’

‘I could think of much that we could do.’

‘What?’ demanded Ferdinand.

‘We could force them to baptism.’

‘You forget,’ Isabella put in quickly, ‘that in the agreement we made with Boabdil these people were to continue in their own way of life.’

‘It was a monstrous agreement.’

‘I think,’ Ferdinand interrupted, ‘that it would be well if the men of the Church confined their attention to Church matters and left the governing of the country to its rulers.’

‘When an Archbishop is also Primate of Spain, matters of State are his concern,’ retorted Ximenes.

Ferdinand was astonished at the arrogance of this man, but he could see that Isabella immediately forgave him his insolence on the grounds that all he said was either for the good of the Church or State. She had often defended him to Ferdinand, by reminding him that Ximenes was one of the few men about them who did not seek personal advantage, and that he seemed brusque in his manners because he said what he meant, without thought of any damage this might do to himself.

But she was adamant on this matter of the Moors. She had given her word to Boabdil, and she intended to keep it.

She said in that cool, somewhat curt voice of hers which she reserved for such occasions: ‘The treaty we made with the Moors must stand. Let us hope that in time, under the guidance of our good Talavera, they will see the light. Now you will retire, my lord, for there are matters which the King and I must discuss, since shortly we must continue our journey.’

Ximenes, his mind simmering with plans which he had no intention of laying before the Sovereigns, retired.

‘The monk over-reaches even his rank,’ said Ferdinand lightly. ‘Do you know, it would not surprise me if Master Ximenes became so arrogant that in time even you would be unable to endure him.’

‘Oh, he is a good man; he is the best to fill the position. We must perforce put up with his manners.’

‘I do not relish the thought of his company in Seville. The man irritates me with his hair shirt and his ostentatious saintliness.’

Isabella sighed. ‘In time you will appreciate him … even as I do.’

‘Never,’ said Ferdinand, and his tone was harsh because he was thinking of young Alfonso and how grand he would have looked in the fine vestments of the Archbishop of Toledo.

Ferdinand was glad when they left for Seville and Ximenes did not accompany them.

Ximenes was excited. He looked almost human as he waited to receive his guests. He had planned this meeting so carefully and it was to be the first step in a mighty campaign. He had not asked the Sovereigns’ permission to act as he did; he was very glad that they were on their way to Seville. They would be delighted when they saw the results of his work; they would also know that, well as he served them, he served God and the Faith better.

He had had some difficulty with those two old fools, Tendilla and Talavera. They had assured him that his proposed methods would not work. The Moors were courteous by nature; they would listen to what he had to say; they would not contradict his word that the most fortunate people in the world were those who called themselves Christians; but they would remain Mohammedans.

He must understand that these were not savages; they were not as little children to be taught a catechism which they could repeat parrot fashion.

‘Not savages!’ Ximenes had cried. ‘All those who are not Christians are savages.’

He was not going to diverge from his plan in any way. He was the Primate of Spain and as such was in complete authority under the Sovereigns; as for the Sovereigns, they were on their way to Seville and none could appeal to them.

He ordered that bales of silk and a quantity of scarlet hats should be brought to him. He now studied these with a wry smile on his lips. They were the bait and he believed the expenditure on the articles would be well worth while.

When his guests arrived he received them graciously. They were alfaquis of Granada, the learned Moorish priests whose word was law to the Mussulmans of Granada. Once he had seduced these men from their faith, the simple people would be ready to follow their leaders.

The alfaquis bowed low. They knew that they were in the presence of the greatest Archbishop in Spain, and their eyes lighted when they saw the bales of rich silk and the scarlet hats which they greatly admired, for they guessed these were gifts.

‘I am delighted that you should have accepted my invitation,’ said Ximenes, and his face showed none of the contempt that he felt for these people. ‘I wish to talk to you. I think it would be of great interest to us all if we compared our respective religions.’

The alfaquis smiled and bowed again. And eventually they sat cross-legged around the chair of Ximenes while he talked to them of the Christian Faith and the joys of Heaven which awaited those who embraced it; also of the torments of Hell which were reserved for those who refused it. He spoke of baptism, a simple ceremony which enabled all those who partook of it to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.