‘Why, Highness,’ he said, ‘it is true the man demands a high price, but if he makes no discovery he receives nothing; and if he succeeds in making this discovery Spain will receive wealth as yet undreamed of.’
Ferdinand listened intently. He had made up his mind that Cristobal Colon must make his discoveries for Spain and no other country.
‘It is, however,’ he said to Luis de Sant’angel, ‘a question of providing the means. You know how the exchequer has been depleted since the Moorish wars. Where could we find the money to finance such an expedition?’
Luis was staring carefully ahead of him, for he knew that Ferdinand did not wish to meet his eyes. As Aragonese Secretary of Supplies, Luis knew that there were ample funds in the Aragonese treasury to finance the expedition. But the affluence of the Aragonese treasury was a close secret which Ferdinand did not wish to be made known at the Court of Castile – and more especially to the Queen.
Ferdinand did not forget for a moment his Aragonese ambitions, which meant as much to him as the conquest of Granada itself. Therefore while Castile groaned in poverty, and the Queen had wondered how they could continue to prosecute the war, Ferdinand’s Aragonese treasury had been in possession of these ample funds.
‘I see,’ said Luis slowly, ‘that the Queen could not find the means to fit up this expedition.’
‘Alas, it is so,’ said Ferdinand, but he was thoughtful.
* * *
Ferdinand had now become convinced that there was too much at stake to allow Cristobal to offer his plans elsewhere.
He said to Isabella: ‘The man’s demands are arrogant, but if he is unsuccessful he gets nothing. What harm would there be in making him our Admiral and Viceroy of lands he discovers? For if he discovers nothing the tide is an empty one.’
Isabella was pleased; she had always been in favour of the man and was delighted as always when Ferdinand veered round to her way of thinking.
‘Then,’ she said, ‘when we can muster the money we will send him out on his voyage of discovery.’
‘When will that be?’ asked Ferdinand. ‘I do not think this man will remain here much longer. He has as good as said that if there is any more delay he will begin his journey into France.’
The thought of the French’s benefiting by new discoveries so agitated Ferdinand that Isabella said: ‘If I had not already pawned my jewels to pay for the war, readily would I do so to finance this expedition. The treasury is very low. I doubt whether there is enough money in it for what he will need.’
Ferdinand, who had been walking agitatedly about the room, stopped short as though he had come to a sudden decision.
‘There is something I have to tell you, Isabella,’ he said. He called to one of the pages: ‘Send for Don Luis de Sant’angel at once,’ he said.
‘You think you know of a means to obtain this money?’ Isabella asked him.
Ferdinand lifted a hand and slowly nodded his head. But he did not speak, and Isabella did not press him.
Within a few minutes Luis de Sant’angel was standing before them.
‘You are very interested in this man, Cristobal Colon,’ said Ferdinand. ‘You feel certain that his voyage will be successful.’
‘I do, Highness,’ said Luis.
‘You talked to me recently about money . . . money you have in Aragon.’
Luis looked rather puzzled, but Ferdinand hurried on: ‘You would be prepared to help in financing this expedition which Colon wishes to make?’
Ferdinand was now looking intently into the face of his Secretary of Supplies, and Sant’angel, after long experience of his master, understood.
Ferdinand wished this voyage to be made; he knew that delay was dangerous. He was gong to finance it from the treasury of Aragon, but Isabella and Castile must not know that, during the time they had been urgently in need of money, Ferdinand had kept amounts of money separate from those of Castile to be used in the service of Aragon.
Any discoveries Cristobal Colon made would be for the good of Aragon as well as Castile. Therefore what Ferdinand was suggesting was that the money should be provided by Aragon, but that it should be advanced in the name of Luis de Sant’angel.
Luis felt a great uplifting of his spirits.
Cristobal Colon, he thought, at last you are about to have your chance!
* * *
‘Since,’ said Ferdinand, ‘you are so generous, Sant’angel, you had better send Colon to us with all speed. We will grant his request, and he shall set about his preparations without further delay.’
Luis retired as quickly as he could and went in search of Cristobal; but the explorer was nowhere to be found.
All through Granada, all through Santa Fe the question was being asked: ‘Have you seen Cristobal Colon?’
At last it was discovered that he had packed his few belongings and had left. He had said that he would not be back; he was leaving Spain, since Spain had no use for him.
Luis was nonplussed. It must not be that, when success was about to come to Cristobal after so many years of waiting, he was to lose it through giving in a day or so too soon. Luis was determined that it should not be so.
He wondered which way Colon had gone. He would go, he believed, in the direction of La Rabida, as he would certainly wish to see Diego before he left Spain. His other son, Ferdinand, had a mother to care for him, but he would want to make some provision for Diego.
Yet perhaps he had decided he could not afford to waste more time and was hurrying northwards to France!
Luis therefore dispatched riders in several directions and one of these overtook Cristobal six miles from Granada at the Puente de Piños.
Cristobal heard the sound of horses’ hoofs thudding behind him as he made his way towards the bridge. He slackened his pace, and hearing his own name called, stopped.
‘Cristobal Colon,’ he was told, ‘you must come back to the Court with all speed. You are to be granted all that you ask, and can make your preparations at once.’
A smile touched Cristobal’s face, and it was so dazzling that it made of him a young man again.
At last. . . success. The long waiting was over.
* * *
The roads to the coast were thick with bands of refugees. Old and young, those who had been accustomed to the utmost luxury, those who had been bred in poverty, now walked wearily together; they had been stripped of all they possessed, for although they had been allowed to sell their property, they had been cynically forbidden to take money out of the country.
This was the exodus of the Jews of Spain. Onward they trudged, hoping to find some humane creatures who would be kinder to them than those in the land which for centuries had been the home of their ancestors.
It was forbidden to help them. It was no crime to rob them.
The shipmasters looked upon them as legitimate prey. Some took these suffering people aboard, extracted payment for the voyage and then threw their passengers, who had trusted them, into the sea.
From all parts of this all-Christian Spain those Jews who refused to conform to the Christian Faith wandered on their wretched way to an unknown future.
Thousands died on many a perilous journey; some of plague, but many of barbaric murder. The rumour, that it had become a practice of these Jews to swallow their jewels in the hope of preserving them, was circulated and numbers of them, on arriving in Africa, were ripped up by barbarians, who hoped in this way to retrieve the jewels from their hiding-places.
Some, however, found refuge in other lands, and a few managed to survive the horror.
Torquemada was satisfied. He had had his way.
He knelt with the Sovereigns and they prayed together for the continued greatness of their all-Christian state.
* * *
In a room over a grocer’s shop in the town of Seville a woman saw the Jews gathering together to leave their homes.
She looked from her window upon them, for she was too ill to leave her room, and she knew that only a
few more weeks of life were left to her.
Those faces, on which were depicted blank despair and bewildered misery, took her mind back to the days when she, a Jewess, had lived in her father’s luxurious house; and with a sudden, terrible fear she began to wonder what part she herself had played in bringing about this terrible crime which was taking place all over Spain.
What if she had not taken a lover; what if she had not been in fear that her father would discover her pregnancy? What if she had not betrayed him and his friends to the Inquisition – would this be happening now?
It was a terrible thought. She had not allowed herself to think of it before, although it had always been there hovering in her mind, hanging over her life like a dark shadow of doom which she could not escape for ever.
If Diego de Susan had not been betrayed by La Susanna, if his conspiracy against the Inquisition had succeeded, who knew, the Inquisition might not have taken hold in Spain as it had this day.
She clenched her hands and beat them against her wasted breasts.
And what a life had been hers, passing from one protector to another, moving down the scale as la hermosa hembra lost her beauty little by little.
At last she had found a man who really loved her – this humble grocer who had known her in the days of her pride, and was happy to be the protector of Diego de Susan’s daughter – he who had been a millionaire of Seville – even though that man had been burned alive through La Susanna’s betrayal of him.
He had looked after her, this little grocer, looked after her and the children she had had. And now this was the end. She could hear the suppressed sobbing of children in the crowd, little ones who sensed tragedy without understanding it.
Then she could bear no more. She stumbled back to her bed, but the effort of leaving it and the agony of remorse had been too much for her. She had shortened her life – but only by a few weeks.
Her lover came into the apartment, and there was anguish in his eyes. Ah, she thought, it is because he does not see me as I am; to him I am still the young girl who sat on the balcony of the house of Diego de Susan, then far out of the reach of a humble grocer.
‘I am dying,’ she told him.
He helped her back to bed and sat beside her. He did not deny the truth of what she said, for he realised it would be futile to do so.
‘Do something for me,’ she said. ‘When I die, put my skull over the door of this house, that all may know it is the skull of one whose passions led her to an evil life, and that she wishes a part of her to be left there as a warning to all. The skull of a woman who was a bawd and betrayer of those who loved her best.’
The grocer shook his head. ‘You must not fret,’ he said. ‘I will take care of you till the end.’
‘This is the end,’ she said. ‘Promise me. Swear it on your Faith.’
So he promised.
And, before the Jews had all left Spain, the skull of the woman who had once been judged the most beautiful in Seville was set up over the door of the grocer’s house.
* * *
The reconquest secure, Isabella and Ferdinand appointed Talavera Archbishop of Granada, and the Count of Tendilla its Governor, and set off on a progress through the country, with their children, to receive the grateful thanks of the people.
They rode with all the splendour of royalty, and always beside them was Juan, the Prince of the Asturias. Isabella felt that all her subjects must agree that one of her greatest gifts to them was this bright and beautiful boy, the heir to a united Spain.
Ferdinand had said: ‘Castile is with us to a man, so is Aragon; but there has always been trouble in Catalonia since . . . the death of my half-brother. Now is the time to show the Catalans that we include them in our kingdom, that they mean as much to us as the Castilians and the Aragonese.’
Isabella agreed that this was so and that now, in the full flush of their triumph, was the time to make the Catalans forget for ever the mysterious death of Carlos, Prince of Viana, who had been removed to make way for Ferdinand to take the throne of Aragon.
So into Catalonia rode the procession.
* * *
Ferdinand had been presiding at the hall of justice in Barcelona, and was leaving the building to rejoin Isabella at the Palace.
He was pleased, for never had he been so popular in Catalonia as he was at this time. Congratulations were coming to him from all over the world. He and Isabella were accepted as the hero and heroine of this great victory for Christianity. He was to be henceforth known as Ferdinand the Catholic, and Isabella as Isabella the Catholic. Even Catalonia, which had for so long set itself against Ferdinand, now cheered him wherever he went.
But no doubt there were some who did not share the general opinion. Ferdinand came face to face with one as he left the hall of justice, and suddenly he found himself looking into the face of a fanatic, while a knife gleamed before his startled eyes.
‘Die . . . murderer!’ cried a voice.
Ferdinand fell forward, and there was a shout of triumph from the man who held up the bloodstained knife.
* * *
Isabella was with her children when she received the news. Her daughter, Isabella, covered her face with her hands; the Prince was as one struck dumb; and the little girls ran to their mother and clung to her in terror.
‘Highness, the King is being brought here to you. It was a madman outside the hall of justice.’
Isabella felt her heart leap in fear.
‘Not now,’ she prayed. ‘Not this. We have come through so much together. There is so much for us yet . . .’
Then she recovered her serenity.
She put the frightened children from her and said: ‘I will go to the King at once.’
* * *
She was at his bedside, for she was determined that no one should nurse him but herself.
She prayed constantly, but she did not neglect to nurse him during those days while his life was in danger.
The would-be assassin had been captured, and had suffered the most cruel torture; but he could not be made to confess that he had had accomplices.
There was one fact which emerged from the torture chamber; the man was a lunatic, for he declared that he was the true heir to the throne of Aragon and that he expected to gain this on Ferdinand’s death.
There came the day when Isabella knew that Ferdinand was out of danger and that this was not the end of their life together, as she had feared it might be. Outside the Palace the people were waiting for news. Never had Ferdinand been so popular in Catalonia as he was at this time. The people saw him as the hero of the reconquest, and they saw also a new life for themselves and their country through the greatness of their rulers.
Isabella was of Castile, and they had at first been suspicious of her; they believed that it was her careful nursing, her constant prayer, which had saved the life of Ferdinand.
The news was conveyed to them: ‘The King will live.’ And Isabella appeared on the balcony before the sickroom while the people shouted themselves hoarse with delight.
‘Isabella and Ferdinand! Ferdinand and Isabella!’ No longer for Castile, for Aragon, for Catalonia. But ‘Isabella and Ferdinand for Spain!’
* * *
She returned to Ferdinand’s bed. He was smiling at her, for he had heard the shouts outside the Palace.
‘It would seem,’ he said, ‘that they love us both with an equal fervour.’
‘They know,’ said Isabella, ‘that we are as one.’
‘It is true,’ said Ferdinand. ‘We are as one.’ And as he took her hand, he thought of the humiliation he had suffered when he had been forced to take second place in Castile; he thought of the women he had loved, so many of them, so much more accomplished in the arts of love than Isabella could ever be. But even as he considered them and all the differences of the past – and all those which no doubt were to come in the future – he knew that the most important person in his life was Isabella, and that in generations to come, when his name
was mentioned, that of Isabella would be for ever linked with it.
She understood his thoughts and she was in complete harmony with them.
She said: ‘They are demanding the most painful death for your would-be assassin. It is to be in public that they all may see, that all may gloat over the agonies of one who might have caused the death of their beloved King.’
Ferdinand nodded.
She went on: ‘I have given orders that he shall be strangled first. Secret orders. They will see his body taken out. They will not know that he is past pain, for he has been greatly tortured. But now I would let him die in peace.’
Ferdinand restrained an oath. She had given orders in Catalonia . . . his province!
Again she read his thoughts, and for a moment that old hostility hovered between them.
Then she said: ‘Can you hear what they are shouting? It is “Ferdinand and Isabella. Isabella and Ferdinand . . . for Spain!”’
The irritation vanished from his face and he smiled at her.
‘We have done so much,’ Isabella said gently. ‘There is so much to do. But we shall do it. . . together.’
* * *
Crowds had gathered in the streets of Barcelona, to take part in one of the great occasions in Spanish history.
It was April and the sun shone brilliantly as through the streets to the Palace came a brilliant procession.
Nuggets of gold were carried by brown-skinned men in robes decorated with gold ornaments; there were animals such as none had ever seen before.
And in the midst of this procession came the Admiral of the New World, Cristobal Colon, his head held high, his eyes gleaming, because now his dream of discovery had become a reality.
Among the crowd was a woman who held a young boy in her arms that he might see the hero of this occasion.
‘See, Ferdinand,’ Beatriz de Arana whispered with pride, ‘there is your father.’
Spain for the Sovereigns Page 30
