Текст книги "Spain for the Sovereigns "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Juana had lifted her head and was staring at her mother pleadingly: ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Please, Highness, no!’
‘Take the Infanta away now and do my bidding. I shall satisfy myself that my orders have been carried out.’
The governess dropped a deep curtsey and laid her hand on Juana’s arm. Juana clung to the chair and would not move. The governess took her arm and pulled and Juana’s face grew scarlet with exertion as she clung to the chair.
The Queen smartly slapped the small hand. Juana let out a great wail; then the governess seized her and dragged her from the room.
There was silence in the nursery as the door closed on them.
The Queen said: ‘Come, my daughters, we have this cloth to finish. Juan, continue to read to us.’
And Juan obeyed, and the girls sewed, while in the distance they heard the loud protesting screams as Juana’s strokes were administered.
The children took covert looks at their mother, but she was placidly sewing as though she did not hear.
They did not know that she was praying silently, and the words which kept repeating themselves in her brain were: ‘Holy Mother of God, save my darling child. Help me to preserve her from the fate of her grandmother. Guide me. Help me to do what is right for her.’
A rider had come galloping to Cordova from Saragossa. There was news which he must impart immediately to Ferdinand.
Isabella knew of his arrival, but she did not seek out Ferdinand; she would wait until he told her what was happening. She herself was determined to remain the ruler of Castile; she left the governing of Aragon to him.
She knew that this trouble might well be concerned with the setting up of the Inquisition in Aragon. The first auto de fe, under the new Inquisition over which Torquemada presided, had taken place in May; this had been followed by another in June. She had heard that the people of Aragon regarded these ceremonies with the same sentiments as the people of Castile had done. They looked on in horrified bewilderment; they seemed stunned; they accepted the installation of the
Inquisition almost meekly. But in Seville their meekness had been proved to be part of their shock; and, when that had subsided, men, such as Diego de Susan, had sought to rise against the Holy Office.
Isabella had warned Ferdinand that they must be equally watchful in Aragon.
She discovered that she had been right, for Ferdinand came quickly to tell her the news. She knew he was anxious and she always rejoiced that in times of crisis they stood together, all differences forgotten.
‘Trouble,’ said Ferdinand, ‘trouble in Saragossa. A plot among the New Christians against the Inquisition.’
‘I trust that the Inquisitors are safe.’
‘Safe!’ cried Ferdinand. ‘Murder has been done. By the Holy Mother of God, these criminals shall pay for their crimes.’
He then told her the news which had been brought to him from Saragossa. It appeared that, as in Seville, the wealthy New Christians of Saragossa had believed that they could drive the Inquisition out of their town. Their plan was to assassinate the Inquisitors, Gaspar Juglar and Pedro Arbues de Epila, who had been working so zealously to provide victims for the hideous spectacles which had taken place in the town.
Several attempts had been made to murder these two men and they, being aware of this, had taken special precautions. They wore armour under their robes, but this had not saved them.
The conspirators had planned to murder their victims in the church, and had lain in wait for them there. Gaspar Juglar had not attended the church because he had become suddenly and mysteriously ill. It was evident that another plan had been put into action concerning him. So Arbues went to the Metropolitan church alone.
‘It was quiet in the church,’ cried Ferdinand in anger, ‘and they waited as bloodthirsty wolves wait for the gentle lamb.’
Isabella bowed her head in sorrow, and it did not occur to her that it was a little incongruous to describe as a gentle lamb, the man who had been hustling the people of Saragossa into the prisons of the Inquisition, into the dungeons where their bodies were racked and their limbs dislocated that they might inform on their friends.
She would have replied had this been put to her: the Inquisitors are working for Holy Church and the Holy Inquisition, and everything they do is in the name of the Christian Faith. If they find it necessary to inflict a little pain on those who have offended against Holy Church, of what importance can this be, since these people are destined for eternal damnation? The body suffers transient pain, but the soul is in danger of eternal torment. Moreover, there is always the hope that the heretic’s soul may be saved through his earthly torments.
She said to Ferdinand: ‘I pray you tell me what evil deed was done in the church.’
‘He came into the church from the cloisters,’ said Ferdinand, his face working with emotion. ‘It was dark, for it was midnight, and there was no light except that from the altar lamp. These wicked men fell upon Arbues, and although he wore mail under his robes, although there was a steel lining to his cap, they wounded him . . . to death.’
‘They have been arrested?’
‘Not yet, but we shall discover them.’
A messenger came to the apartment to tell them that Tomás de Torquemada was outside and implored immediate admission.
‘Bring him to us,’ said Ferdinand. ‘We need his help. We shall bring these criminals to justice. We will show them what punishment will be meted out to those who lay hands on God’s elected.’
Torquemada’s emaciated face was twisted with emotion.
‘Your Highnesses, this terrible news has been brought to me.’
‘The Queen and I are deeply distressed and determined that these murderers shall be brought to justice.’
Torquemada said: ‘I am dispatching three of my most trusted Inquisitors to Saragossa with all speed. Fray Juan Colvera, Doctor Alonso de Alarcon and Fray Pedro de Monterubio . . . all good men. I trust this meets with Your Highnesses’ approval.’
‘It has our approval,’ said Ferdinand.
‘I fear,’ said Isabella, ‘that there will be some delay, and that these good servants cannot hope to arrive in time to prevent the escape of all the criminals.’
‘I shall discover them,’ said Torquemada, his lips tightly compressed. ‘If I have every man and woman in Saragossa on the rack, I’ll discover them.’
Isabella nodded.
Torquemada went on: ‘The people of Saragossa have been deeply shocked by this murder. The whole town is in an uproar.’
‘Yes,’ said Ferdinand; and quite suddenly all the anger went out of his voice, and it was soft, almost caressing. ‘I hear that riots were avoided by the prompt action of one of its citizens.’
‘Is that so?’ said Isabella. ‘An important citizen, he must have been.’
‘Yes,’ said Ferdinand. ‘He left his palace and summoned the justices and grandees. He placed himself at the head of them and rode bravely to meet those who threatened to burn and pillage the city. He is but seventeen, and I fear he endangered his life; but he was very brave.’
‘He should be rewarded,’ Isabella declared.
‘So shall he be,’ answered Ferdinand.
He had moved towards the window as though deep in thought, and that tender smile still curved his mouth.
Isabella turned to Torquemada. ‘You know who this young man is?’ she asked.
‘Why, yes, Highness. It is the young Archbishop of Saragossa.’
‘Oh,’ said Isabella. ‘I believe I have heard of this young man. It was a brave action and one which delights the King of Aragon.’
And she thought: How he loves his son! Rarely have I seen his face so gentle as when he spoke of him; never have I seen him so quickly turned from anger.
She felt an impulse to ask questions about this young man, to demand of Ferdinand how often they met, what further honours he had showered upon him.
It is because of the child within me, she told herself. I am a very weak woman at these times.
Then she began to talk to Torquemada of this terrible occurrence in Saragossa, and how she was in complete agreement with his determination to meet opposition with greater severity.
Ferdinand joined them; he had recovered from the emotion which the mention of his beloved natural son had caused him.
The three of them talked earnestly of the manner in which they would deal with the rebels of Saragossa.
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.’
