Виктория Холт - Daughters of Spain

Ximenes then came to the point up to which he was leading them.

‘It is true,’ he said, ‘that there was this Treaty of Granada. But the Moors in Granada have been in revolt against Your Highnesses. By so doing they have broken the treaty, the core of which was that both sides were to live in amity. It was they who rose against us. Therefore, since they have broken their word, there is no need for us to have any compunction in changing our attitude towards them.’

Subtly Ximenes reminded the Sovereigns of the expulsion of the Jews. Much of the property of these unfortunate Jews had enriched the state. The thought of that made Ferdinand’s eyes gleam. For Isabella’s sake he spoke of the great work that could be done in bringing these Infidels into the Christian fold.

Then he cried: ‘They have broken the treaty. You are under no obligation. Any means should be used to bring these poor lost souls to Christianity.’

Ximenes had won his battle. The Treaty of Granada was no more.

An almost benevolent expression was on Ximenes’s face. He was already making plans to bring the Moors of Granada to baptism. In a short time there should be what he called a truly Christian Granada.

Maria her sister Catalina were at the window watching the comings and goings to and from the Madrid Alcazar. The expression of each was intent; and in both cases their thoughts were on marriage.

Catalina could immediately recognise the English messengers, and on those occasions when she saw these men with their letters from their King to her parents she felt sick with anxiety. The Queen had told her that in each dispatch the King of England grew more and more impatient.

Then Catalina would cling to her mother wildly for a few seconds, holding back her tears; and although the Queen reproved her, there was, Catalina knew, a rough note in her voice which betrayed her own nearness to tears.

It cannot be long now, Catalina said to herself every morning. And each day which could be lived through without word from England was something for which she thanked the saints in her prayers at night.

Maria was different. She was as nearly excited as Catalina had ever seen her.

Now she chattered: ‘Catalina, can you see the Naples livery? Tell me if you do.’

Doesn’t she care that she will have to leave her home? wondered Catalina. But perhaps Naples did not seem so far away as England.

There was gossip throughout the Alcazar that the next marriage would either be that of Maria to the Duke of Calabria who was the heir of the King of Naples, or that of Catalina to the Prince of Wales.

Maria actually enjoyed talking of her prospective marriage.

‘I was afraid I was going to be forgotten,’ she explained. ‘There were husbands for everybody else and none for me. It seemed unfair.’

‘I should rejoice if they had found no husband for me,’ Catalina reminded her.

‘That is because you are so young. You cannot imagine anything but staying at home here with Mother all your life. That is quite impossible.’

‘I fear you are right.’

‘When you are as old as I am you will feel differently,’ Maria comforted her sister.

‘In three years’ time I shall be as old as you are now. I wonder what I shall be doing by then? Three years from now. That will be the year 1503. It’s a long way ahead. Look. There is a messenger. He comes from Flanders, I am sure.’

‘Then it will be news from our sister.’

‘Oh,’ said Catalina and fell silent. That which she feared next to news from England was news from Flanders, because news which came from that country had the power to make her mother so unhappy.

* * *

The girls were summoned to their parents’ presence. This was a ceremonial occasion. They were not the only ones in the big apartment. Their parents stood side by side, and Catalina knew immediately that some important announcement was about to be made.

In the Queen’s hand were the dispatches from Flanders.

It must concern Juana, thought Catalina; but there was no need to worry. Something had happened which made her mother very happy. As for her father, there was an air of jubilance about him.

Into the apartment came all the officers of state who were at that time resident in the Alcazar, and when they were all assembled a trumpeter who stood close to the King and Queen sounded a few notes.

There was silence throughout the room. Then Isabella spoke.

‘My friends, this day I have great news for you. My daughter Juana has given birth to a son.’

These words were followed by fanfares of triumph.

And then everyone in the room cried: ‘Long life to the Prince!’

* * *

Isabella and Ferdinand were alone at last.

Ferdinand’s face was flushed with pleasure. Isabella’s eyes were shining.

‘This, I trust,’ she said, ‘will have a sobering effect on our daughter.’

‘A son!’ cried Ferdinand. ‘What joy! The first born and a son.’

‘It will be good for her to be a mother,’ mused Isabella. ‘She will discover new responsibilities. It will steady her.’

Then she thought of her own mother and those uncanny scenes in the Castle of Arevalo when she had raved about the rights of her children. Isabella remembered that she had been at her most strange when she had feared that her children might not gain what she considered to be their rights.

But she would not think such thoughts. Juana was fertile. She had her son. That was a matter for the utmost rejoicing.

‘They are calling him Charles,’ murmured Isabella.

Ferdinand frowned. ‘A foreign name. There has never been a Charles in Spain.’

‘If this child became Emperor of the Austrians he would be their Charles the Fifth,’ said Isabella. ‘There have been other Charleses in Austria.’

‘I like not the name,’ insisted Ferdinand.’ It would have been a pleasant gesture if they had named their first, Ferdinand.’

‘It would indeed. But I expect we shall become accustomed to the name.’

‘Charles the Fifth of Austria,’ mused Ferdinand, ‘and Charles the First of Spain.’

‘He cannot be Charles the First of Spain while Miguel lives,’ Isabella reminded him.

‘Not … while Miguel lives,’ repeated Ferdinand.

He looked at Isabella with that blank expression which, during the early years of their marriage, she had begun to understand. He believed Miguel would not live, and that this which had caused him great anxiety before the letter from Juana had arrived, no longer did so. For if Miguel died now there was still a male heir to please the people of Aragon: there was Juana’s son, Charles.

‘From all reports,’ said Ferdinand, ‘our grandson with this odd name appears to be a lusty young person.’

‘They tell us so.’

‘I have had it from several sources,’ answered Ferdinand. ‘Sources which are warned not to feed me with lies.’

‘So Charles is big for his age and strong and lusty. Charles will live.’

Isabella’s lips trembled slightly; she was thinking of that wan child in his nursery in the troubled town of Granada, where the Moorish population had now been called upon to choose between baptism and exile.

Miguel was such a good child. He scarcely ever cried. He coughed a little though, in the same way as his mother had done just before she died.

‘Ferdinand,’ Isabella had turned to her husband, ‘this child which has been born to our Juana will one day inherit all the riches of Spain.’

Ferdinand did not answer. But he agreed with her.

It was the first time that Isabella had given voice to the great anxiety which Miguel had brought to her since his birth.

But all was well now, thought Ferdinand. One heir might be taken from them, but there was another to fill his place.

Isabella once again read Ferdinand’s thoughts. She must try to emulate her husband’s calm practical common sense. She must not grieve too long for Juan, for Isabella. They had little Miguel. And if little Miguel should follow his mother to the grave, they had lusty little Habsburg Charles to call their heir.

* * *

Ferdinand at this time was deeply concerned over Naples. When Charles VIII of France had been succeeded by Louis XII it had become clear that Louis had his eyes on Europe, for he immediately laid claim to Naples and Milan. Ferdinand himself had for long cast covetous eyes on Naples which was occupied by his cousin, Frederick. Frederick belonged to an illegitimate line of the House of Aragon, and it was for this reason that Ferdinand itched to take the crown for himself.

Frederick, who might have expected help from his cousin against the King of France, had received a blow when his effort to marry his son, the Duke of Calabria, to Ferdinand’s daughter Maria, was thwarted.

Frederick’s great hope had been to bind himself closer to his cousin Ferdinand by this marriage; and Ferdinand might have considered the alliance, but for the fact that the King of Portugal was a widower.

Of all his potential enemies Ferdinand most feared the King of France who, by the conquest of Milan, was now a power in Italy. The situation was further aggravated by the conduct of the Borgia Pope, who quite clearly was determined to win wealth, honour and power for himself and his family. The Pope was no friend to Ferdinand. Isabella had been profoundly shocked by the conduct of the Holy Father, whose latest scandalous behaviour had concerned transferring his son Cesare, whom he had previously made a Cardinal, from the Church to the army, simply because that ambitious young man, whose reputation was as evil as that of his father, felt that he could gain more power outside the Church. Ferdinand, believing that nothing could be gained by ranging himself on the side of the Borgias, joined Isabella in accusing the Pope of his crimes.