Daughters of Spain

Chapter IX ISABELLA RECEIVES CHRISTOBAL COLON

Margaret went about the Palace like a sad, pale ghost. She had lost her Flemish gaiety; she seemed always to be looking back into the past.

Often Catalina would walk beside her in the gardens; neither would talk very much, but they had a certain comfort to give each other.

Catalina had a feeling that these walks were precious because they could not go on for long. Something was going to happen to her … or to Margaret. Margaret would not be allowed to stay here indefinitely, any more than she would. Maximilian would soon be wondering what new marriage could be arranged for his daughter; as for Catalina, her time of departure must be near.

Catalina said, one day as they walked together: ‘Soon my sister Isabella will be coming home. Then there will be festivities to welcome her. Perhaps then the time of mourning will be over.’

‘Festivities will not end my mourning,’ Margaret answered.

Catalina slipped her arm through that of her sister-in-law. ‘Will you stay here?’ she asked.

‘I do not know. My father may recall me. My attendants would be glad to return to Flanders. They say they can never learn your Spanish manners.’

‘I should miss you sadly if you went.’

‘Perhaps …’ began Margaret and stopped short.

Catalina winced. ‘You are thinking that I may be gone first.’ She was silent for a moment, then she burst out: ‘Margaret, I am so frightened when I think of it. I can tell you, because you are different from everyone else. You say what you think. I have a terror of England.’

‘One country is not so very different from another,’ Margaret comforted.

‘I do not like what I hear of the King of England.’

‘But it is his son with whom you will be concerned. There are other children, and perhaps they will not be like their father. Look how friendly I have become with you all.’

‘Yes,’ said Catalina slowly, ‘perhaps I shall like Arthur and his brother and sisters.’

‘Perhaps you will not go after all. Plans are often changed.’

‘I used to think and hope that,’ Catalina admitted. ‘But since the ceremony has been performed by proxy, I feel there is little chance of escape for me.’

Catalina’s brow was wrinkled; she was picturing that ceremony of which she had heard. It had had to be performed in secret because the King of England feared what the King of Scotland’s reaction would be if he knew that England was making a marriage with Spain.

‘In the Chapel of the Royal Manor of Bewdley …’ she whispered. ‘What strange names these English have. Perhaps in time they will not be strange to me. Oh, Margaret, when I think of that ceremony I feel I am already married. I feel there is no longer hope of escape.’

Isabella watched her daughter from a window of her apartments. She was glad to see Margaret and Catalina together. Poor children, they could help each other.

Although she could not see the expression on her young daughter’s face it seemed to her that there was desperation displayed in the droop of her head and the manner in which her hands hung at her sides.

She was probably talking of that marriage by proxy. The poor child would break her heart if she had to go to England. She was thirteen. Another year and the time would be ripe.

The Queen turned away from the window because she could no longer bear to look.

She went to her table and wrote to Torquemada.

‘As yet my daughter is too young for marriage. There has been this proxy ceremony; that must suffice for a little longer. Catalina shall not go to England … yet.’

Queen Isabella of Spain was often thankful that there was so much to demand her attention. If there had not been, she believed that she would not have been able to bear her grief for what had befallen her family. She had borne the terrible blow of Juan’s death, and she had thought at that time that she had come as near to despair as any woman could come; and yet, when she thought of Juana in Flanders, something like terror would assail her.

The truth was that she dared not think too often of Juana.

Therefore she was glad of these continual matters of state to which it was her duty to attend. She would never forget that she was the Queen and that her duty to her country came before everything – yes, even the love which she, as an affectionate mother, bore her children.

Now she was concerned about her Admiral, Christobal Colon, who was on his way to see her. She had a great admiration for this man and never ceased to defend him when his enemies – and he had many – brought charges against him.

Now he wished to sail once more for the New World, and she knew that he would beg for the means to do so. This would mean money for equipment, men and women who would make good colonists.

She would always remember that occasion when he had come home, having discovered the New World and bringing proof of its riches with him. She remembered singing the Te Deum in the royal chapel, praising God for this great gift. Perhaps to some it had not fulfilled its promise. They had expected more riches, greater profit. But Isabella was a woman of vision and she could see that the new colony might have something more important to offer than gold and trinkets.

Men grew impatient. They did not wish to work for their riches. They wanted to grow rich effortlessly. As for Ferdinand, when he saw the spoils which were being brought from the New World, he regretted that they had promised Christobal Colon a share in them, and was continually seeking a way out of his bargain with the adventurer.

Many had desired to follow him on his return to the New World, but to found a colony one needed men of ideals. Isabella understood this as Ferdinand and so many others could not.

It had been a troublous tale of ambition and jealousies which had been brought to Spain from the new colony.

‘Who is this Colon?’ was a question on the lips of many. ‘He is a foreigner. Why should he be put above us?’

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.’