Spain for the Sovereigns

Chapter XI CRISTOBAL COLON AND BEATRIZ DEARANA

In the nursery of the Palace at Cordova, Isabella sat holding a child a few months old, on her lap. This was her daughter, Catalina, who had been born in the December of the preceding year. Her hopes had been in some way disappointed, for she had longed to present Ferdinand with another boy. But Juan was still her only son, and here was her fourth daughter.

Isabella could not continue to feel this disappointment as she looked at the tiny creature in her arms. She loved the child dearly and, on the birth of little Catalina, she had made up her mind that she would not allow herself to be so continually separated from her family.

She glanced up at Beatriz de Bobadilla, who was with her once more, bustling about the apartment as though she were mistress of it.

Isabella smiled at her friend. It was very pleasant to know that Beatriz was willing to leave everything to come to her when she was called. There was no one whom she could trust as she trusted Beatriz; and she realised that it was rare for one in her position to enjoy such a disinterested friendship.

She fancied today that Beatriz had something on her mind, for she was somewhat subdued – a rare state for Beatriz; Isabella waited for her friend to tell her what was the cause of her thoughtfulness, but Beatriz was evidently in no hurry to do so.

She came and knelt by Isabella’s side and put out a hand to touch the baby’s cheek.

‘I declare,’ said Beatriz, ‘already the Infanta Catalina bears some resemblance to her august mother.’

Isabella gave way to a rare gesture of affection; she lifted the child in her arms and kissed her forehead.

‘I was thinking, Beatriz,’ she said, ‘how quickly time passes. Soon we shall be thinking of a husband for this little one, as we are for my dear Isabella.’

‘It will not be for many years yet.’

‘For this one,’ said Isabella. ‘But what of my young Isabella? I cannot bear to part with one of them. Beatriz, I think I love my children more fiercely than most mothers do because, since I have had them, I have been able to spend so little time with them. That will not be the case in future. When I go on my travels I shall take my family with me. It is a good thing that the people should know them, as they know their King and Queen.’

‘The children will enjoy it. They hate these partings as much as you do.’

‘Isabella will be leaving us soon,’ said the Queen.

‘But now you have Catalina to take her place.’

‘Once Isabella is married we must think of marriages for the others. I fear they will take them far from us.’

‘The Infanta Isabella will go into Portugal, dearest Highness, but Portugal is not far away. Who will be next? Juan. Well, you will keep him here in Castile, will you not? You will not lose your son, Highness. Then Juana will have a husband and go away, I suppose.’

A shadow crossed the Queen’s face, and Beatriz, following her thoughts, said quickly: ‘But she is only six years old. It will be years yet.’

The Queen was wondering what the years ahead held for wild Juana, and she tried hard to fight her rising fear.

‘As for Maria and this little one,’ went on Beatriz, ‘marriage is far . . . far away. Why, Highness, you are indeed fortunate.’

Isabella said: ‘Yes, I am fortunate. Isabella will be but a few miles across the border. She will be Queen of Portugal, and thus a very desirable alliance will be forged between our countries. Yet . . . her health worries me sometimes, Beatriz. She has that cough.’

‘It will pass. When she begins to bear children she will grow healthy. It happens so with some women.’

Isabella smiled. ‘You are my comforter.’

The baby began to whimper, and Isabella rocked her soothingly. ‘There, my little one. Perhaps you will go away from your home . . . Perhaps you will go to some country across the seas . . . but not yet. . . not for years . . . and here is your mother to love you.’

Beatriz was thinking that now was the time to put her request. The Queen’s mood was softened when she was with her children. Indeed, few were allowed to see her displays of tenderness.

Now is the time, thought Beatriz.

‘Highness,’ she began tentatively.

‘Yes,’ said Isabella, ‘you should tell me, Beatriz. I see there is something on your mind.’

‘I have had news from the Duke of Medina Sidonia, Highness.’

‘What sort of news? Good, I hope.’

‘I think it might be good . . . very good. It concerns a strange adventurer. A man who has impressed him deeply. He begs an audience with Your Highness. The Duke tells me that his attention was called to this man by Fray Juan Perez de Marchena, who is guardian of the convent of La Rabida. He has approached Your Highness’s confessor, but doubtless Talavera has been unimpressed by the man’s story. Talavera has his mind on one thing – ridding this country of heretics.’

‘And what could be better?’ demanded Isabella. She was thinking placidly of the punishment which had been carried out on the murderers of Arbues in Saragossa. Six of them had been dragged through Saragossa on hurdles, and had had their hands cut off on the Cathedral steps before they had been castrated, hanged, drawn and quartered for the multitude to see. One of the prisoners had committed suicide by eating a glass lamp. A pity, thought Isabella, smoothing the down on her baby’s head, for thus he had evaded punishment.

Beatriz said quickly: ‘Highness, this man has a fantastic story to tell. As yet it is but a dream; but I have seen him, Highness, and I believe in his dreams.’

Isabella wrinkled her brows in some puzzlement. Beatriz was by nature a practical woman; it was unlike her to talk of dreams.

‘He came originally from Italy and went to Lisbon in the hope of interesting the King of Portugal in his schemes. Apparently he considers he was cheated there and, because he believes you to be the greatest ruler in the world, he wishes to lay his gift at your feet.’

‘What is this gift?’

‘A new world, Highness.’

‘A new world! What can this mean?’

‘A land of great riches as yet undiscovered. He is certain that it exists beyond the Atlantic Ocean, and that he can find a new route to Asia without crossing the Eastern continent. Time and money would be saved if this were accomplished. The riches of Cathay could be easily brought to Spain. This man speaks to convincingly, Highness, that he convinces me.’

‘You have been caught in the dreams of a dreamer, Beatriz.’

‘As I feel sure Your Highness would be if you would receive him in audience.’

‘What does he ask of me?’

‘In exchange for a new world, he asks for ships which will take him there. He needs three carvels, fitted out for a long journey. He needs the patronage and approval of yourself.’

Isabella was silent. ‘This man has impressed you deeply,’ she said at length. ‘What manner of man is he?’

‘He is tall, long limbed, with eyes which seem to look into the future. Red-haired, blue-eyed. Near Your Highness’s own colouring. But it is not his physical features which impress me; it is his intensity, his certainty that his dream can be realised.’

‘His name, Beatriz?’

‘It was Christoforo Colombo, but since he has been in Spain he has changed it to Cristobal Colon. Highness, will you receive him? I implore you to.’

‘My dear Beatriz, since you ask it, how could I refuse?’

Cristobal Colon was preparing to present himself to the Sovereigns, and in the small house in which he had lived since he came to Cordova, impatiently he awaited the moment to depart. It had been impressed upon him by his patrons that this was a great honour which was being bestowed upon him. Cristobal did not accept this. It was he who was bestowing the honour.

There was a knock on his door. A high feminine voice said: ‘Señor Colon, you have not left yet, then?’

Cristobal’s face softened slightly. ‘No, I have not yet left. Pray come in, Señora.’

She was a pretty little woman, and the fact that now there was a great anxiety in her eyes endeared her to the adventurer.

‘I prayed for you last night and this morning, Señor Colon. May all go well. May they give you what you ask.’

‘That is good of you.’

‘And, Señor, when you return, would it be asking too much of you to step into my house? I will prepare a meal for you. You will be hungry after your ordeal. Oh, I know you will not be thinking of food. But you should, you know. You will need a good meal, and I will have it waiting for you.’

‘You have been a good neighbour to me, Señora de Arana.’

‘I was about to say that I hope I shall always be so, but of course I do not: I hope that you will be successful and that soon you will be sailing away. Pray let me look at you.’ She had a brush with her, and began brushing his coat. ‘Why, have you forgotten that you are to be in the presence of the King and Queen?’

‘It is not my clothes I am taking to show them.’

‘Whatever else you show, you must first show respect.’

She put her head on one side and smiled at him. Then he stooped and kissed her cheek.

She flushed a little and turned away. He took her chin in his hands and looked into her face. There were tears in her eyes.

He thought of this woman who had been his neighbour for some months; he thought of the pleasantness of their friendship. Then he understood; she had treated him with a certain motherly devotion; but she was a young woman, younger than he was.

His head had been so full of his schemes that he had not realised until this moment that those long months of waiting had only been made tolerable by this woman.

He said: ‘Señora de Arana, Beatriz . . . why . . . when I leave I shall be very sad because I must say goodbye to you.’

‘It will be some time before you are able to leave,’ she answered quickly. ‘So . . . the parting will not be yet.’

He hesitated for only a second. He was a man of strong passions. Then he caught her to him, and the kiss he gave her was long and demanding.

She had changed subtly; she was flushed and happy.

‘What now, Señor Colon!’ she said. ‘At any moment you must leave for your audience at the Palace. That is what you have been waiting for.’

He was astonished at himself. He was certain that he was about to achieve that for which he had longed for many years; and here, on the brink of achievement, he was dallying with a pretty woman.

He stood still while she continued to brush his coat. Then he knew the time had come.

He said a somewhat brusque farewell and left for the Palace.

Cristobal stood before the Queen.

Behind her stood Beatriz de Bobadilla, who encouraged him by her warm looks; seated beside the Queen was the King, her husband; and by the side of the King stood the Queen’s confessor, Fernando de Talavera.

Cristobal held his head high. Even Isabella and Ferdinand were not more dignified than he, not more proud. His looks were impressive and, because he believed that he had a great gift to offer, he was lacking in humility.

This was noted by all present. On Ferdinand and Talavera it had an adverse effect. They would have preferred a humble supplicant. Isabella was as impressed by him as Beatriz had been. The man, it seemed, did not behave with the decorum to which she was accustomed in her Court, but she recognised the fine spirit in him, which had so impressed Beatriz, and she thought: This man may be mistaken, but he believes in himself; and in such belief lie the seeds of genius.

‘Cristobal Colon,’ said Isabella, ‘you have a plan to lay before us. I pray you tell us what it is you think you can do.’

‘Your Highness,’ said Cristobal, ‘I would not have you think that I have no practical knowledge with which to back up my schemes. I was instructed at Pavia in the mathematical sciences, and since the age of fourteen I have led a seafaring life. I came to Portugal because I had heard that in that country I was more likely to receive a sympathetic hearing. It was said to be the country of maritime enterprise.’

‘And you did not find that sympathy,’ said Isabella. ‘Tell us what you hope to discover.’

‘A sea route to Cathay and Zipango. Highnesses, the great Atlantic Ocean has never been crossed. No one knows what lies beyond it. There may be rich lands as yet undiscovered. Highnesses, I ask you to make this expedition possible.’

The Queen said slowly: ‘You speak with some conviction, yet the King of Portugal was unconvinced.’

‘Highness, he set up an ecclesiastical council. He asked monks to decide regarding a voyage of discovery!’ Colon had drawn himself up to his great height, and his eyes flashed scorn.

Talavera’s indignation rose. Talavera, whose life had been lived in the cloister, was afraid of new ideas. He was fanatically religious and deeply superstitious. He was telling himself that if God had wished man to know of the existence of certain continents He would not have made them so inaccessible that over many centuries they had remained unheard of. Talavera was wondering whether this foreigner’s suggestions did not smack of heresy.

But Talavera was on the whole a mild man; it would give him no pleasure – as it would have given Torquemada – to put this man on the rack and make him confess that his suggestions came from the devil. Talavera showed his scepticism by cold indifference.

‘So you failed to convince the King of Portugal,’ said the Queen. ‘And for this reason you come to me.’

Ferdinand put in: ‘Doubtless you have charts which might help us to decide whether this journey would be a profitable one.’

‘I have certain charts,’ said Cristobal cautiously. He was remembering that the Bishop of Ceuta, having been made aware of nautical details, had dispatched his own explorers. Cristobal was not going to allow that to happen again. His most important charts he would keep to himself.

‘We should have to give this matter great thought before committing ourselves,’ said Ferdinand. ‘We are engaged in a Holy War at the moment.’

‘But,’ said Isabella, ‘rest assured that your suggestions shall have our serious considerations. I shall appoint a council to consider them. They will be in touch with you; and if the report they bring to me is hopeful, I will then consider what can be done to provide you with what you need.’ She inclined her head. ‘You will be informed, Señor Colon, of the findings of the committee which I shall set up.’

From beside the Queen, Beatriz de Bobadilla was smiling encouragement at him.

Cristobal knelt before the Sovereigns.

The audience was over.

The Señora Beatriz de Arana was waiting for him on his return. She looked at him expectantly; his expression was noncommittal.

‘I do not know what will be the outcome,’ he said. ‘They are going to set up a commission.’

‘But that is hopeful, surely.’

‘They set up a commission in Lisbon, my dear lady. An ecclesiastical commission. The Queen’s confessor was present at this interview. I did not much like his looks. But there was one there – a maid of honour of the Queen – and she . . . she seemed to think something of me.’

‘Was she handsome?’ asked the Señora earnestly.

Cristobal smiled at her. ‘Very handsome,’ he said. ‘Very, very handsome.’

Beatriz de Arana looked a little sad, and he went on quickly: ‘Yet haughty, forceful. I prefer a gender woman.’

She said: ‘I have a meal waiting for you. Come into my house and we will eat together. We will drink to the success of your enterprise. Come now, for the food is hot, and I would not have it spoilt.’

So he followed her into her house and, when they had eaten the excellent food she had cooked and were flushed with the wine she provided, he leaned his arms on the table and talked to her of voyages of the past and voyages of the future.

He felt then what a comfort it was to have someone to talk to, as once he had talked to Filippa. This homely, comfortable widow reminded him of Filippa in many ways. She came and looked over his shoulder, for he had taken a chart from his pocket and was describing the routes to her; and as he felt her hair against his cheek, he turned to her suddenly and took her into his arms.

She lay across his knees smiling at him gently and hopefully. She had been lonely for so long.

He kissed her and she responded.

It was a strange day for Cristobal – the audience with the King and Queen, the acquisition of a mistress. It was the happiest day he had lived through for years. Diego was being well cared for in the Monastery of Santa Maria de la Rabida, and his mind was at rest concerning Filippa’s son; and here was a woman ready to comfort him. For once in his life he would cease to dream of the future and for a very short time enjoy the present.

Later, Beatriz de Arana said to him: ‘Why should you go back to your lonely house? Why should I be lonely in mine? Give up your house and let my house be our house during the weeks of waiting.’

Ferdinand snapped his fingers when Colon had left and Beatriz de Bobadilla and Talavera had been dismissed.

‘This is a dream,’ he said. ‘We have no money to finance a foreigner’s dreams.’

‘It is true that there is little to spare,’ Isabella agreed.

Ferdinand turned to her, his eyes blazing. ‘We should prosecute the Holy War with every means at our disposal. Boabdil is ours to command. Never has the position been so favourable, yet we are prevented from making war by lack of money. Moreover, there are the affairs of Aragon to be considered. I have given all my energies to this war against the Infidel, when, were I able to work for Aragon, I should make myself master of the Mediterranean. I could defeat the French and win back that which they have taken from me.’

‘If we dismiss this man,’ said Isabella, ‘he will go to France and in that country ask for the means to make his discoveries.’

‘Let him!’

‘And if he should be right? If his discoveries should bring great wealth to our rivals, what then?’

‘The man is a dreamer! He’ll discover nothing.’

‘I think you may be right, Ferdinand,’ said Isabella quietly, ‘but I have decided to set up a commission to consider the possibilities of his success in this enterprise.’

Ferdinand lifted his shoulders. ‘That could do no harm. And whom will you put in charge of this commission?’

‘I think Talavera is the man to conduct it.’

Ferdinand smiled. He felt certain that if Talavera were at the head of the commission the result would be the refusal of the foreign adventurer’s request.

Talavera sat at the head of the table; about him were ranged those who had been selected to help him arrive at a decision.

Cristobal Colon had stood before them; he had eloquently argued his case; he had shown them charts which were in his possession, but he had held back certain important details, remembering the perfidy of the Portuguese.

Then he had been dismissed, while the judges made their decision.

Talavera spoke first. ‘I believe this man’s claims to be fantastic’

Cardinal Mendoza put in quickly: ‘I would not be so bold as to say that anything on this earth was fantastic until I had proved it to be.’

Talavera looked with mild exasperation at the Cardinal, who had become Primate of Spain and who took such a large part in state affairs that he was beginning to be known as the Third King of Spain. It was like Mendoza to side with the adventurer. Lackadaisical in his religion, Talavera believed that, for all his undoubted talents, Mendoza was a menace to Castile. The Inquisition was firmly established, but Mendoza was not in favour of it. He was no zealot for either side, and he made no attempt to pit his love of toleration against the burning fanaticism of men such as Torquemada. He merely turned distastefully from the subject and devoted himself to state affairs.

Friar Diego Deza, a Dominican, who was of the commission, also spoke up in favour of the adventurer.

‘The man has a zeal about him, a determination, which it is impossible to ignore,’ said Deza. ‘I believe he knows more than he tells us. I believe that if he were supported he would at least discover new sea routes, if he did not discover new lands.’

Talavera said: ‘I sense the devil in his proposals. Had God wished us to know of this land, do you doubt that He would have told us? I am not certain that we should not pass this man over to the Holy House for questioning.’

Mendoza inwardly shivered. Not that, he thought. That bold man, stretched on the rack, hanging on the pulley, subjected to the water torture . . . forced to admit . . . what! That he had strayed from the tenets of the Church, that he had committed the mortal sin of heresy?

Mendoza pictured him – boldly facing his accusers. No, no! It must not happen. Mendoza would bestir himself for such a man.

He rejoiced, for the sake of Cristobal Colon, that it was the comparatively mild Talavera and not the fanatical Torquemada who was at the head of this commission, as he, Mendoza, had decided what he would do. He would not press his point here. He would let Talavera have his way. He would agree that the voyage was impracticable and have a word with the Queen quietly afterwards, for Talavera would be contented if he prevented the Sovereigns’ spending money on the enterprise. This unimaginative man would feel he had done his duty, and Cristobal Colon would then be of no more importance to him.

So Mendoza, subduing Deza with a look which conveyed that they would talk together later of this matter, allowed Talavera to carry the day.

The other members, mostly ecclesiastics of the same type as Talavera, were ready to follow him, and the news was taken to the Sovereigns. ‘The commission has questioned Cristobal Colon; they have weighed up the possibilities of success and have found them wanting. It would be quite impracticable to finance such a fantastic voyage which, it is the considered opinion of the commission, could only end in failure.’

Beatriz de Bobadilla put aside her decorum and stormed into the Queen’s apartment.

‘That fool Talavera!’ she cried. ‘So he has turned you against this adventurer.’

‘Beatriz!’ Isabella exclaimed in pained surprise.

Beatriz’s answer was to fling herself at Isabella’s feet. ‘Highness, I believe he should be given a chance.’

‘My dear friend,’ said Isabella, ‘what can you know about this? A commission of learned men has decided that it would be a waste of money we need so badly to finance this man’s expedition.’

‘A commission of idiots!’ cried Beatriz.

‘Beatriz, my dear, I suggest you retire and calm yourself,’ said Isabella quietly and firmly, in that tone which implied that immediate obedience was expected.

When Beatriz had left, the Cardinal of Mendoza arrived.

‘Highness,’ he said, ‘I have come to tell you that I am not in entire agreement with the findings of the commission.’

‘You mean you have given way to Talavera?’

‘I felt the bulk of opinion against me, Highness. May I tell you exactly what I feel?’

‘That I expect you to tell me.’

‘I feel this, Highness. It may well be an impracticable dream, but it is equally certain that it may not be. If we dismiss this man he will go to another country . . . probably France or England. I ask Your Highness to consider what would happen if the King of France or England provided this man with what he asks. If he were successful, if he discovered a world of great riches for them . . . instead of for us . . . our position would be changed considerably. That is what I wish to avoid.’

‘But, my dear Cardinal, the commission does not believe this voyage would be a success.’

‘The commission is largely composed of ecclesiastics, Highness.’

‘Of whom you are one!’

‘I am also a statesman; and I beg Your Highness to consider the possibility of the man’s discoveries passing into hands other than your own.’

‘Thank you, Cardinal,’ she said. ‘I will consider this.’

Cristobal Colon was summoned once more to the presence of the Sovereigns.

Ferdinand was delighted.

‘I knew,’ he told Isabella, ‘that the man was a fanatic, from the moment I saw him. Three carvels! Men to man them! He asked us to provide these that we may waste our substance. So the commission has proved me right.’

‘There were a few voices raised in opposition,’ Isabella reminded him.

‘The majority saw through my eyes,’ retorted Ferdinand.

Isabella said softly: ‘Ferdinand, can you visualise the riches that may exist in lands as yet undiscovered?’

Ferdinand was silent for a few moments; then he snapped his fingers. ‘Better to seek to regain the riches which we have lost than look for those which may not even exist. There are riches within Granada which we know to exist. Let us make sure of the substance before we seek to grasp the shadow.’

Talavera and Mendoza arrived with the members of the commission, and news was brought that Cristobal Colon had arrived at the Palace and was seeking audience with the Sovereigns.

‘Let him be brought to us at once,’ said Isabella.

Cristobal came in. With the air of a visiting king he bowed before the Sovereigns. His eyes were alight with fervour. He could not believe that they would be so foolish as to deny him the money he asked, in exchange for which he would bring them great riches.

‘The commission has given us its answer concerning your project,’ said Isabella slowly.

He lifted those brilliant blue eyes to her face and she felt herself soften towards him. When he stood before her thus he could make her believe in his promises. She understood why he had produced the effect he had on Beatriz and Mendoza.

She said gently: ‘At this time we are greatly occupied with a grievous war; and it is for this reason that we find ourselves unable to embark on this new undertaking.’

She saw the light die out of his eyes. She saw the droop of his shoulders; she saw the frustration on his face, and she went on quickly: ‘When our war is won, Señor Colon, we shall be ready to treat with you.’

He did not answer. He was not aware of the amazement in Talavera’s eyes, of the triumph in Mendoza’s. He only knew that once again he had been bitterly disappointed.

He bowed and left the presence of the Sovereigns.

It was Beatriz de Arana who comforted him.

‘At least,’ she said, ‘they have promised to do something.’

‘My dear,’ he answered, ‘I have heard such promises before. They come to nothing.’

She told him then that she could not understand her feelings. She wept because she loved him and she could not bear to see his bitter disappointment; yet how could she help but rejoice that he was left to her a little longer!

But even as she spoke she saw the speculation in his eyes.

She knew he was wondering whether he might not find more sympathy at the Court of France.

Yet he turned to her and caressed her, and he too would have been sad if they had to part. But she understood. This dream of a great voyage was a part of himself; it must come to fruition. He had parted with his beloved son, Diego, for its sake. So would he part from Beatriz if and when the time should come.

There was at least this respite, she told herself; and as she felt his hands stroking her hair, she knew that all the comfort he could feel at this moment must come from her.

There was a visitor to the little house, and Beatriz ushered him in and called to Cristobal.

Beatriz left the two men together.

‘Let me introduce myself,’ said the man. ‘I am Luis de Sant’angel and I am the Secretary of Supplies in Aragon to King Ferdinand.’

‘I am glad to know you,’ said Cristobal, ‘but what can your business be with me?’

‘I come to tell you that you have friends at Court; there are many of us who believe in your enterprise and are going to do our utmost to persuade the Sovereigns to support you.’

Cristobal smiled wanly. ‘I thank you. And if I seem ungrateful, let me tell you that for many years I have sought to make this journey, and again and again I have suffered the same frustration. I have had friends at Court, but they have not been able to persuade my detractors that I can achieve what I say I can.’

‘Do not despair. Let me tell you, Señor Colon, that you have friends in very high places. The great Cardinal Mendoza believes you should be given a chance. And he is said to be the most important man at Court, and to wield great influence over the Queen. Fray Diego de Deza, who is tutor to the Prince Don Juan, is also in your favour. And there is one other – a lady of great power. You see, Señor, you have your friends and supporters.’

‘I rejoice to hear this, but I would rejoice more if I might be allowed to fit out my carvels and make my plans.’

‘Come to the Palace this day. We have news for you.’

He left shortly afterwards, and Cristobal hurried to tell Beatrix what had happened.

She stood at the window watching him as he left for the Palace; there was a spring in his step. The Aragonese Jew, Luis de Sant’angel, had revived his hopes.

Beatriz turned hurriedly away from the window.

When Cristobal presented himself at the Palace he was taken to the apartments of Beatriz de Bobadilla.

Beatriz, who was now Marchioness of Moya, was not alone. With her were Fray Diego de Deza, Alonso de Quintanilla, the Queen’s secretary, Juan Cabrero, Ferdinand’s chamberlain and Luis de Sant’angel.

Beatriz studied the man who stood before her, and she felt her spirits lifted. She wished in that moment that she could accompany him on his voyage, that she might be the one to stand beside him when he had his first sight of the new lands which he would discover.

I am being foolishly emotional, she thought. Merely because the man has such dignity, such character, such handsome looks; merely because he is a man of purpose, am I to forget my position, my common sense on his account?

It was so unlike her to be foolishly romantic. Yet this man moved her deeply as few men ever had; and she had determined that his cause should be her cause.

She had already begun to work for him, and it was for this reason that she had sent for him.

‘Señor Colon,’ she said, ‘I would have you know that those of us who are gathered here today believe in you. We are sorry that there must be this delay, but in the meantime we would have you know that we are your friends and that we intend to help you.’

‘You are gracious, my lady,’ said Colon, inclining his head slightly.

‘We have no doubt,’ said Beatriz, ‘that many have said these words to you.’

‘It is true.’

‘Yet,’ said Luis de Sant’angel, ‘we intend to show you our regard with more than words. That is so, my friends, is it not?’

‘It is,’ agreed the others.

‘We have therefore,’ went on Beatriz, ‘persuaded the Queen to give you some token of her regard during the waiting period. She has agreed that you shall receive a sum of 3,000 maravedis. It is not to be considered as something towards your expedition. That would be useless, we know. But while you remain here you must live, and this money is to help you, and to show that the Queen does not forget you.’

‘I am grateful to Her Highness.’

Sant’angel touched his elbow. ‘Be grateful to the Marchioness,’ he murmured. ‘It is she who has the ear of the Queen. It is she who will work for you.’

Beatriz laughed. ‘It is true,’ she said. ‘I shall see that in a few months’ time more money is given you. Nor shall I allow the Queen to forget you.’

‘How can I express my thanks?’

Beatriz smiled almost gently. ‘By remaining firm in your resolve. By holding yourself in readiness. It may be necessary for you to follow the Court when it leaves Cordova. I shall arrange that you shall suffer no expense from these journeys. The Queen has given her consent to the proposal that you shall be provided with free lodging. You see, Señor Colon, we are your friends.’

Cristobal looked from one to the other.

‘My friends,’ he said, ‘your faith in me makes me a happy man.’

For a few months his spirits were high. He had friends in high places. More money was paid to him; but the war with Granada went on in a series of sharp attacks and skirmishes. Cristobal knew that it would be long before it was brought to an end.

He would sit at dusk with Beatrix de Arana, looking out on the little street, always hoping that there would be a knock on the door to summon him to Court.

Once as they sat in the darkened room he said to her: ‘This is how it has always been. I wait here as I waited in Lisbon. Here I am happier because you are here, because I know my little Diego is being well cared for in his monastery. Sometimes I think I shall spend my whole life waiting.’

‘And if you do, Cristobal, could you not be happy? Have you not been happy here with me?’

‘It is my destiny to sail the seas,’ he said. ‘It is my life. It sounds ungrateful to you who have been so good to me. Let me say this, that there is only one thing that has made these months of waiting tolerable: my life with you. But for this urge within me I could settle here and live happily with you for the rest of my days.’

‘But the time will come when you will go away, Cristobal.’

‘I shall come back to you.’

‘But you will be long away, and how can I be sure that you will come back? There are dangers on the seas.’

‘You must not be unhappy, Beatriz. I could not bear to think that I have brought unhappiness to you who have brought so much happiness to me.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘remember this. When you sail away – as you must – I shall not be alone.’

He started and sought to look into her face, but it was too dark for him to see it clearly.

‘I shall have my child then, Cristobal,’ she said softly, ‘your child, our child.’