Текст книги "Spain for the Sovereigns "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
‘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.’
BEFORE MALAGA
Isabella sat at her sewing with her eldest daughter, the Infanta Isabella. She was conscious that now and then the girl was casting covert glances at her, and that she was on the verge of tears.
Isabella herself was fighting back her emotion. She does not know it, she told herself, but the parting is going to be even harder for me to bear than it is for her. She is young and will quickly adjust herself to her new surroundings . . . whereas I . . . I shall always miss her.
‘Mother . . .’ said the Infanta at length.
‘My dear,’ murmured Isabella; she put aside her needlework and beckoned to her daughter. The Infanta threw hers aside and ran to her mother to kneel at her feet and bury her face in her lap.
Isabella stroked her daughter’s hair.
‘My dearest,’ she said, ‘you will be happy, you know. You must not fret.’
‘But to go away from you all! To go to strangers . . .’
‘It is the fate of Infantas, my darling.’
‘You did not, Mother.’
‘No, I stayed here, but many efforts were made to send me away. If my brother Alfonso had lived, doubtless I should have married into a strange country. So much hangs on chance, my dearest; and we must accept what comes to us. We must not fight against our destinies.’
‘Oh, Mother, how fortunate you were, to stay in your home and marry my father.’
Isabella thought fleetingly of the first time she had seen Ferdinand; young, handsome, virile. She thought of the ideal she had built up and the shock of discovering that she had married a sensual man. She had come to her marriage hoping for a great deal and had received less than she hoped for. She prayed that her daughter would find in marriage something more satisfying than she had thought possible.
‘Your Alonso will be as beloved by you as Ferdinand is by me,’ Isabella told her daughter.
‘Mother, must I marry at all? Why should I not stay here with you?’
‘It is very necessary that you should marry, my darling. A marriage between you and the heir to the throne of Portugal could bring great stability to our two countries. You see, not very long ago there was war between us. It was at the time when I came to the throne and Portugal supported the claims of La Beltraneja. The threat of La Beltraneja has always been with us, for she still lives in Portugal. Now Alonso will one day be King of Portugal, and if you marry him, my darling, you will be its Queen; our two countries would be united and this threat removed. That is what we have to think of when making our marriages – not what good it will bring to us, but what good it will bring to our countries. But do not fret, my child. There is much to be arranged yet, and these matters are rarely settled quickly.’
The Infanta shivered. ‘But they are settled . . . in time, Mother.’
‘Let us enjoy all the time that is left to us.’
The Infanta threw her arms about her mother and clung to her.
As she embraced her daughter, Isabella heard the sounds of arrival below, and she put the Infanta from her, rose and went to the window. She saw a party of soldiers from Ferdinand’s army, and she prepared to receive them immediately because she guessed that they brought news from the camp.
Ferdinand had taken possession of Velez Malaga, which was situated some five or six leagues from the great port of Malaga itself; and the King was now concentrating all his forces on the capture of this town.
The Christian armies were before Malaga, which was perhaps the most important town – next to Granada itself – in Moorish territory. It was a strongly defended fortress, rich and prosperous. The Moors were proud of Malaga, this beautiful city of handsome buildings with its fertile vineyards, olive groves and gardens of oranges and pomegranates.
They were determined to fight to the death to preserve it; thus Isabella knew that it would be no easy task for Ferdinand to take it.
Therefore she was impatient to hear what news these messengers brought from the front.
She commanded that they be brought to her presence immediately, and she did not dismiss the Infanta. She wished her daughter to know something of state matters; she did not want to send her, an ignoramus, into a strange country.
She took Ferdinand’s letters and read that the siege of Malaga had begun and that he feared it would be long and arduous. There was no hope of an easy victory. If the Moors lost the port it would be a turning point in the war, and they knew this. They were therefore as determined to hold Malaga as the Christians were to take it.
The city had been placed in the hands of a certain Hamet Zeli, a general of outstanding courage and integrity, and he had sworn that he would hold Malaga for the Moors to the death.
Ferdinand wrote: ‘And I have determined to take it, no matter what the cost. But this will give some indication of the man we have to deal with. It was brought to my notice that many of the rich townsfolk were ready to make peace with me, in order to save Malaga from destruction. I sent Cadiz to offer concessions to Hamet Zeli and the most important of the citizens if they would surrender Malaga to me. I know that many of the burghers would have accepted my offer, but Hamet Zeli intervened. “There is no bribe the Christians could offer me,” he retorted, “which would be big enough to make me betray my trust.” That is the kind of man with whom we have to deal.
‘Isabella, there is certain friction in our camp which causes me anxiety. There have been rumours of plague in some of the surrounding villages. These are unfounded, but I believe them to have been set in motion to distract our troops. There has been a shortage of water; and, I regret to say, several of the men have deserted.
‘I can think of only one person who could stop this decadence. Yourself. Isabella, I am asking you to come to the camp. Your presence here will lift the spirits of the soldiers. You would give heart to them and, when the news reaches the people of Malaga that you are with us, I feel sure that their anxieties would be increased. They will know that we are determined to take Malaga. Isabella, leave everything and come to our camp before Malaga with all speed.’
Isabella smiled as she read this dispatch.
She looked at the Infanta, who was watching her with curiosity.
‘I am leaving immediately for the camp before Malaga,’ she said. ‘The King requests my presence there.’
‘Mother,’ said the Infanta, ‘you said that we should not be parted . . . that there may not be much time left to us. Dearest Mother, please stay here with us.’
Isabella looked at her eldest daughter and said: ‘But of course I must go. There is work to do in the camp; but do not fret, my daughter. We shall not be parted, for you are coming with me.’
Isabella arrived at the camp, accompanied by the Infanta and several of the ladies of the Court, among whom was Beatriz de Bobadilla.
They were greeted with enthusiasm, and the effect on the morale of the army was immediate.
Isabella’s dignity never failed to have its effect, and when she turned several tents into a hospital and, with her women, cared for the sick and wounded, there was no doubt that her coming had saved a dangerous situation. Those soldiers who were wearying of the long war, who had been telling themselves that they could never conquer the well-fortified city of Malaga, now changed their minds. They were eager to perform feats of valour in order to win the respect of the Queen and her ladies.
Ferdinand had been right. What the army needed was the presence of its Queen.
There was little peace, for there were continual forays by the Moors who crept out of the besieged city under cover of darkness and made raids on the encamped army.
It might well have been that the Christian armies would have been defeated before Malaga, for El Zagal sent forces to help the town. Unfortunately for the Moors, and to the great advantage of the Christians, Boabdil’s troops encountered the relieving force on its way, a battle ensued and there were so many casualties that it was impossible for El Zagal’s men to come to the relief of Malaga.
When Isabella heard this she thanked God for the shrewdness of Ferdinand, who had insisted, instead of keeping Boabdil in captivity, on sending him back that he might do great damage to the Moorish cause.
Poor Boabdil was a bewildered young man. He hated war; he wished to end it as quickly as possible. He sought to placate the Christian Sovereigns by sending them presents, almost as though to remind them that through the recent treaty he was their vassal.
‘We owe a great deal to Boabdil,’ said Ferdinand. ‘This war would have been longer and more bloody for us but for him. I will make him some return to show him that I am his friend. I shall allow his supporters to cultivate their fields in peace. After all, soon this land will be ours. It would be wise therefore to leave some of it in cultivation and at the same time reward Boabdil.’
So the siege continued, and Ferdinand was confident of victory. He trusted his own shrewdness and his ability to get the best of any bargain; he had called his Master of Ordnance, Francisco Ramirez, to the front; this clever inventor with his powder mines could work miracles until now never used in warfare; and there was Isabella, with her dignity, piety and good works.
We cannot fail, thought Ferdinand; we have everything which makes for success.
It was afternoon when the prisoner was brought in. He was dragged before the Marquis of Cadiz; and he fell to his knees and begged the Marquis to spare his life. As the man could not speak Castilian, the Marquis spoke to him in the Moorish tongue.
‘I come as a friend. I come as a friend,’ repeated the Moor. ‘I pray you listen to what I have to say. I will lead you into Malaga. I am the friend of the Christian King and Queen, as is my King, Boabdil.’
The Marquis of Cadiz, who was about to order the Moor’s execution, paused.
He signed to the two guards who stood on either side of the Moor to seize him.
‘Follow me,’ said the Marquis, ‘and bring him with you.’
He made his way to the royal tent, where Isabella was with Ferdinand. She came to the entrance, for she had heard the man shouting in his own language.
‘Highness,’ said the Marquis, ‘this man was captured. He says he has escaped from the city because he has something he wishes to tell you. Will you and the King see him now?’
Isabella looked back into the tent, where Ferdinand, worn out with his recent exertions, was fast asleep.
‘The King is asleep,’ she said. ‘I do not wish to waken him.
He was quite exhausted. This man’s story can wait. Take him into the next tent. There let him remain until the King awakes, when I will immediately tell him what has happened.’
She indicated the tent next to her own, in which Beatriz de Bobadilla sat with Don Alvaro, a Portuguese nobleman, and son of the Duke of Braganza, who had joined the Holy War, as so many foreigners had, since they looked upon it as a crusade.
They were discussing the siege and, when Beatriz heard the Queen’s words, she went to Isabella.
‘I wish this man to be detained until the King awakes,’ said Isabella. ‘He says that he has news for us.’
‘We will detain him until it is your pleasure to receive him,’ said Beatriz; and when the guards, after having brought the Moor to her tent, stationed themselves outside, she continued her conversation with the Duke.
The Moor watched them. She was a very handsome woman and far more magnificently dressed than Isabella had been. He had glimpsed the sleeping Ferdinand, his doublet lying beside his pallet, and he had not thought for one moment that this could be the great King of whom he had heard so much.
But here was a courtly man in garments of scarlet and gold; and here was a lady, queenly in her bearing, with jewels at her throat and on her hands, her gown stiff with silken embroidery.
The Moor remained motionless, watching them slyly as they continued to talk together as though he were not there. He believed they were discussing how they would treat him, what questions they would ask.
He began to make soft moaning noises, and when they looked at him he gazed towards a jar of water with pleading eyes.
‘The man is thirsty,’ said Beatriz. ‘Let us give him a draught of water.’
The Duke poured water into a cup and handed it to the Moor, who drank it eagerly. As the Duke turned away, to put the cup by the jar, the Moor knew that the moment he had been waiting for had come.
He knew that death would doubtless be his reward, but he did not care. This day he was going to perform a deed which would make his name glorious in Arab history for evermore. There were two whose names struck terror into every citizen within the walls of Malaga – and of Granada also: Ferdinand, the great soldier, Isabella, the dedicated Queen.
He slipped his hand beneath his albornoz and his fingers closed round the dagger which he had secreted there.
The man should be first because, when he was dead, it would be easy to deal with the woman. He lifted the dagger as he sprang, and in a few seconds Don Alvaro, bleeding profusely from the head, sank to the floor. Beatriz screamed for help as the Moor then turned to her. Again he lifted the dagger, but Beatrix’s arm shot up and the blow he struck at her breast was diverted.
‘Help!’ Beatriz shouted. ‘We are being murdered.’
Again the Moor lifted the dagger, but Beatriz was ready for him. She slipped aside and the blow glanced off the encrusted embroidery of her gown. She was calling for help at the top of her voice. There was an answering shout and the guards entered the tent.
Again the Moor sought to strike at the woman whom he believed to be Isabella. But he was too late. He was caught by the guards, who seized him and dragged him from the tent.
Beatriz followed them shouting: ‘Send help at once. Don Alvaro has been badly wounded.’
Then she turned back and knelt by the wounded man seeking to stem his bleeding.
Isabella came into the tent.
‘Beatriz, what is this?’ she asked; and she gasped with horror as she looked at the wounded man.
‘He is not dead,’ said Beatriz. ‘With God’s help we shall save him. It was the Moor, who said he had news for you.’
‘And I sent him to your tent!’
‘Thank God you did.’
Ferdinand had now appeared in the tent; he was pulling on his doublet as he came.
‘An attempt, Highness,’ said Beatriz, ‘on the life of the Queen and yourself.’
Ferdinand stared down at the wounded man.
‘You see,’ said Beatriz later, ‘you are in danger here, Highness. You should not be in camp. It is no place for you.’
‘It is the only place for me,’ answered Isabella.
‘That might have been the end of your lives. If you had taken that man into your tent he could have killed the King while he slept.’
‘And what should I have been doing to allow that?’ asked Isabella with a smile. ‘Do you not think that I should have given as good an account of myself as you did?’
‘I was fortunate. I am wearing this dress. I think his knife would have pierced me but for the heavy embroidery. You, Highness, are less vain of your personal appearance than I am. The knife might have penetrated your gown.’
‘God would have watched over me,’ said Isabella.
‘But, Highness, will you not consider the danger, and return to safety?’
‘Not long ago,’ said Isabella, ‘the King was reproved by his soldiers because he took great risks in battle and endangered his life. He told them he could not stop to consider the risk to himself while his subjects were putting their lives in peril for his cause, which was a holy one. That is the answer I make to you now, Beatriz.’
Beatriz shivered. ‘I shall never cease to thank God that you sent that murderer into my tent.’
Isabella smiled at her friend and, taking her hand, pressed it affectionately.
‘We must take care of the Infanta,’ she said. ‘We must remember the dangers all about us.’
All over the camp there was talk of the miraculous escape of the King and Queen, and the incident did much to lift the spirits of the soldiers. They believed that Divine power was guarding their Sovereigns, and this, they told themselves, was because the war they were prosecuting was a Holy War.
The Moor had been done to violent death by those guards who had dragged him from the tent, and there were cheers of derision as his mutilated body was taken to the cannon.
A great shout went up as the corpse was propelled by catapult over the walls and into the city.
Inside the city, faces were grim. Hunger was the lot of everyone and the once prosperous city was desolate.
From the mosques came the chant of voices appealing to Allah, but despair was apparent in those chants.
Some cursed Boabdil, who had been the friend of the Christians; some murmured against El Zagal, the valiant one, who waged war on Boabdil and the Christians. Some whispered that peace should be the aim of their leaders . . . peace for which they would be prepared to pay a price. Others shouted: ‘Death to the Christians! No surrender!’
And as they lifted the mangled remains of the intrepid Moor, an angry murmur arose.
One of their Christian prisoners was brought out. They slew him most cruelly; they tied his mutilated body astride a mule, which they drove out from Malaga into the Christian camp.
Inside the city the heat was intense. There was little to eat now. There were few dogs and cats left; they had long ago eaten their horses. They existed on vine leaves; they were emaciated, and in the streets men and women were dying of exhaustion or unspecified diseases. And outside the walls of the city the Christians still waited.
Several of the town’s important men formed themselves into a band and presented themselves before Hamet Zeli.
‘We cannot much longer endure this suffering,’ they told him.
He shook his head. ‘In time, help will come to us.’
‘When it comes, Hamet Zeli, it will be too late.’
‘I have sworn to El Zagal never to surrender.’
‘In the streets the people are dying of hunger and pestilence. No help will come to us. Our crops have been destroyed; our cattle stolen. What has become of our fertile vineyards? The Christians have left our land desolate and we are dying a slow death. Allah has turned his face against us. Open the gates of the city and let the Christians in.’
‘That is the wish of the people?’ asked Hamet Zeli.
‘It is the wish of all.’
‘Then I will take my forces into the Gebalfaro, and you may make your peace with Ferdinand.’
The burghers looked at each other. ‘It is what we wished to do weeks ago,’ said one of them.
‘That is true,’ said another. ‘You, Ali Dordux should lead a deputation to Ferdinand. He offered us special concessions some weeks ago if we would surrender the town to him. Tell him that we are now ready to do so.’
