A Matter of Pride

by Linda Carlino

  “You make a pretty speech and I may yet be swayed.”

  Quijada gave Carlos one of his fierce stares. “Not while I am here, no matter who comes a‑calling and a‑wooing. There are no captains of ships here. Let that be understood.”

  “You see how he treats me Gomez? I suppose I must do as I am bid. So, having sorted out Felipe’s problems let us move on then to happier subjects. I shall treat myself to some of that delicious Serrano ham and more beer while Gomez tells me of his betrothed.”

  Quijada challenged, “Would there be any point in my suggesting you refrain from this constant eating and drinking?”

  “None whatsoever; especially not today, Quijada. You cannot have your way in everything. Ham and beer!”

  V

  “Hey, José, he didn’t half get his dander up about them men with the gold, didn’t he?” Samuel whispered from between lips that barely moved, his head bent, staring down intently at the toes of his boots. “Fair scared the living daylights out of me, shouting like that.”

  “He can’t stand them merchant fellas, or bankers. Can’t blame him, they all sound like bastards to me. Have you noticed how he’s always ’aving to beg, and after everything he’s done for everybody. A bleedin’ shame, it is.”

  “Doesn’t seem right a king being made to ask. He should just be given what he wants. I mean, he’s more important than anyow come they have more money than him anyway?”

  “’Cause they keep theirs or spend it on themselves while he spends it on looking after everybody, Sam. Got his own back on one of them, at any rate,” he smiled. “Yes he showed him alright.”

  Samuel was curious. “When was that then?”

  “You remember nowt; you. Just after we left Valladolid on our way here. Do you really not remember stoppin’ at that house in Medina del Campo?”

  Samuel screwed up his eyes and nose. “Oh Gawd, that place. Like walkin’ into Heaven it was.”

  José sneaked a glance at him full of incomprehension, “What you mean by that, you daft beggar?”

  “Well it was all gold and shiny, like, beautiful cloths on the walls, and a smashing smell. That’s how Heaven is, seems to me.”

  “I suppose. Anyway the king got so bloody mad about the feller showing off with his gold this, and gold that, even gold braziers and all the rest of the posh stuff, includin’ burnin’ cinnamon in the braziers, that ’e says, ‘Right mate, I’ll get my own back on you’. Well, when I says he said that, he didn’t actually say it; but he might ’ave done cos he gives him this great purse and it’s full of money, bursting it was. Come on, you must remember that.”

  “I do, José, but what had that to do with anything? What has that to do with getting ’is own back?”

  “Gawd, are you thick, or are you thick, Sam? When the king gave him the purse of money it was like telling the bloke he was no better than a regular innkeeper.”

  Samuel thought hard about it for a moment. “Aw, right!”

  Carlos wiped his hands on a napkin, “Gomez, tell me of Ana de Mendoza.”

  “My lord as yet there is not much t tell. I have been betrothed now for four years or more. But I fear it will be some time yet before we marry. There is still much to be done before King Felipe may return to Spain. Perhaps within two years? All I have to cheer my heart is a picture of my intended spouse.” Gomez offered Carlos his treasured miniature.

  “By God, Gomez, you are a lucky man to have found such a young beauty, perfection itself, and at your age too. Look at this Quijada. What would you say, about nineteen, or twenty?”

  “Perhaps, my lord.”

  “She is seventeen.”

  “Only seventeen? Just a child then when you were betrothed. But why the eye patch?”

  “An unfortunate accident, I believe, when very young; fencing.”

  “Makes her look damn mysterious; yes fetching and alluring. I beg your pardon; how ungallant to talk about a lady, your lady, like that. But man, I am taken with this face, the seductive smile on those full, moist lips; wicked I tell you. Dammit, looking and imagining are all that are left in this old frame of mine, sadly, so you are in no danger from me. But had I been younger …”

  Carlos will never sample the delights of the alluring Ana de Mendoza y de la Cerda but his son Felipe most certainly will.

  “You had best help Felipe settle his foreign affairs quickly that you may come home before it is too late for you to enjoy the raptures of the wedding bed. Is that not so, Quijada? God knows you had to wait long enough to have a young wife to warm your sheets!”

  For an instant he saw another young woman, the beautiful Barbara, and, dear God, hadn’t he himself been almost too old by then?

  Quijada sighed, “As you say, my lord, and even now, after only a few years of marriage I have little opportunity …”

  “Then bring your wife here, for God’s sake! Get her a house in Cuacos, it is only a couple of miles down the road. It might help cheer you up, too.” His eyes returned to the miniature. “But this pretty young thing puts me in mind of Ursolina. Did I ever tell you about her, Quijada? She came to my court in Brussels; had a husband at the time, but he died suddenly. I was twenty‑one or twenty‑two? I forget. But she was just the sort of maiden I liked; if you know what I mean,” he wheezed an ancient’s lecherous giggle. “She was beautiful, gay, enchanting, and she needed consoling and comforting. I was damned good at that kind of thing. Unfortunately she became pregnant and that put an end to it all. Then the little madam had the effrontery to go ahead and marry without my permission; without my choosing her husband…”

  “Excuse me, but I thought we were talking about the betrothal of Gomez and not about your beautiful Ursolina and your incontrollable jealousy when she married.” Quijada’s interruption was icy.

  Gomez looked from Quijada to the king, uncomfortable at such boldness, waiting for the ensuing explosion of fury.

  Instead Carlos laughed, “You are right again, Quijada. Gomez, you know, this man is always right, and honest. Speaks his mind readily. I appreciate that, would never have it any other way. Probably the best friend I have ever had. Now let me just tell you about …”

  Let us leave them to enjoy each other’s company while they can. They have some weighty problems to face over the next few weeks.

  “The king’s a right devil for the women, isn’t he?”

  “Strikes me they all are, Sam, and I bet we don’t know the ’alf of it. Struth, there’s one ’ell of a draught coming from somewhere. Can you feel it?”

  “Yeah. It’s like someone is walkin’ over me grave, least that’s what me mother would say. Maybe the door wasn’t shut proper.” He adjusted his collar. “Or maybe we’s getting as soft as the king.”

  June

  An Important Visitor

  I

  Good morning, good morning, how lovely to see you again. I have missed your company. Why, it must be two months or so since we last met. It must be. Yes, it was March and here we are in June; time goes by so quickly. But here you are, and early too; good, for we need a lot of time. There is so much for me to tell you before you meet an important visitor who is staying here at the moment. I also think it would be helpful if you were to have some background information on him.

  As it is such a beautiful day, shall we take a stroll in the gardens? We can take this path with the myrtle hedge and the lime bushes. How delicious the limes look; and over here, these splashes of colour, such magnificent carnations; Carlos has had most of these blooms imported. Of course, he has always been a keen gardener. This is his special garden. When he arrived it wasn’t ready for him. Brother Ortega had promised that everything would be in place but when Quijada came to inspect he found it far from finished, and he was furious beyond words. Be that as it may, you can see the king has worked wonders – directing and instructing from his chair, obviously. The days are long gone when he would have been down on his knees, soil deep under his fingernails.

  Right then; let me bring you up to date
with events following the visit of Ruy Gomez. So much has been accomplished in so remarkably short a time. It is absolutely incredible; would you believe that huge sums of money have been found by enforcing the advanced payments of church tithes and taxes on church rents? Of course the workers on the land will inevitably be the ones who pay for all this.

  Now this is quite ingenious; someone has had the clever idea of increasing the sales of Papal Bulls of Indulgence, under a new and novel title Crusades. I tell you, the emotional appeal rarely fails! It was an added inspiration to suggest that these indulgences must be renewed every three years. That will provide a good steady flow of revenue into the coffers.

  One simply has to marvel at the industry and ingenuity involved throughout all this. By the way, Carlos was asked if he too would accept a promissory note for some of his own gold, but he is fr too wise an old owl to fall for that one!

  And more positive news! The eagerly awaited bullion fleet will be in port within days. All told, the money chests will soon be full, and Spain’s new found fortune will soon be on its way to our armies in France and Italy. Of course this is nothing more than a temporary solution to an ever worsening situation.

  And then there is the useless, wanton waste of life! I beg your pardon I was only intending to refer to the positives.

  The king’s health has not been affected by any of this. Oh no. In fact he is so well these days you would barely recognise him, or rather you would be amazed at the change in him. A few days ago he almost leapt out of his chair with delight when he received a letter from his daughter Juana saying that several of the merchants of Seville had been arrested and imprisoned. His joy seemed boundless when he read that some had even perished on the rack. I must add however, he showed exactly the same emotion over an accompanying package of melon seeds. I find it all very odd.

  I should also mention that as much as his health improves, that of the people about him deteriorates. I have never known of so many ailments, none of them serious. The fact is many of his entourage are downright unhappy living here, and therein lies the problem.

  Here we are; this is the king’s fish pond. A goodly size, but I would have preferred a more natural shape instead of this uninspiring rectangle; all too Roman. Some of the kitchen lads make sure it is always well stocked with trout, and he manages to while away an hour or so, cane in hand. The chair lads are always at the ready should there be a tug on the line. However, it is my opinion that it is unwise to spend any length of time here, in fact I beg you not to linger for the water attracts the mosquitoes in their millions; and they cause such fevers and sweats! Several of the household have already been made quite ill by the little beasts. Of course there are always the lucky ones who go unscathed.

  There above us are the windows to the king’s audience chamber and to the right his private salon. On the left at the end of he gallery are the ramps to these gardens and the pond. Such imaginative designing, it makes it so much easier for the chair lads to get Carlos down here.

  The ground floor apartments echo those of the king’s. They may look attractive from here, but I assure you they are cold, dark, and damp throughout the winter months, disgustingly humid in the summer, and another paradise for those winged brutes I just mentioned.

  Shall we leave and make our way up that hill towards the trees and the little chapel? The views are exquisite and I assure you we will find some welcoming shade there. This way, if you please.

  Ah, yes, every day is washing day. I do feel there is a wholesomeness about washing hanging out to dry. But it is amazing how much dirty linen is created by so few people. Row upon row of white linens of every shape and size, assembled like a vast fleet.

  The young girl, Maria, worked her way along rows of white laundry searching for spaces for yet more wet linens. She set her basket down on the grass put her hands on her hips and rested.

  “Maria! This sheet, she is not clean. Do again,” announced a harsh female voice from behind a line of gently wafting squares and rectangles.

  Maria, her moment’s peace shattered, ducked under some pillow cases to be confronted by a crumpled white bundle looking as pure as the driven snow. Holding it between disdainful fingers was her mistress, a formidable woman in her fifties. Madame Male was tall, thin, grey, and unbending, with ice blue eyes at once searching, critical, and accusing.

  “Maria,” mimicked the girl to herself, taking the bundle from her mistress. “This sheet she is not clean.”

  “This also, she is not clean,” her mistress called from another row.

  Maria dropped the first offending article into her basket then ran to gather the second piece of unacceptable linen into her arms, muttering, “This also …”

  She waited until Madame Male had moved some distance away before giving vent to her anger, “Just what does she expect? Gawd knowI do my best. What’s she think I was doing all morning since break of dawn? I’ll tell her what I was doing. I was scrubbing and rubbing; I was standing sweating over boiling water forever, stirring and stirring.” Scalding tears of hurt ran down her cheeks, she smudged them with the backs of her hands. “But did she say, ‘Maria see how that sheet, so stained when she came, she is now so clean! How that chemise with its bloody marks, she is so clean! How that towel she is clean! How that pillow cover with its dried yellow spittle she is clean!’ Did she? Did she say, ‘These things they are looking like new’? No, she bleeding‑well didn’t; and them looking exactly like they’d never been used.”

  She moved about inspecting these, the finer examples of her work, her lower lip quivering, before stamping her foot at the unfairness of it all. She picked up her basket and hoisted it onto her head.

  “What you doing, Maria?”

  A woman somewhat older than Maria, and very much thinner, hurried from the laundry room, finishing tying a bow to her white apron.

  “Taking this lot back, Ana, that’s what.”

  “What for?”

  “Her ladyship says they’re not good enough.”

  “What for?”

  “’Cause I ’aven’t got all the marks off. You know why? It’s that greasy stuff they paint on the king’s arse.” She dropped her basket breaking into helpless laughter her hurt and anger forgotten, “Oh my Gawd! Fancy kings ’aving arses just like us ordinary folk!”

  “You’re terrible, you are, thinking of things like that,” Ana spluttered into her apron. “It’s true though, it’s not something you expect. You don’t think of them being real people, really, do you; having bodies under them fancy clothes?”

  “And not only ’as this one got an arse, he ’as one that needs fixing.”

  “You get worse, you do.”

  Maria remembered she was furious, “Anyways I tried hard enough. Look at these hands with that hot war hurt andnd powder stuff. If they was any redder you would swear they was bleeding.” She showed Ana her sore hands; angry red, chapped and stinging. “What you doing out ’ere then?”

  “Seeing if anything is dry enough to press.”

  “What I wouldn’t do, Ana, for a job like yours, making everything so neat and being able to wear a lovely white pinafore.”

  “Just so long as there’s no creases in my work, Maria. And I tell you Madame Male has eyes like a lynx, and if there’s the slightest wrinkle it’s all to do again. As if anybody’d notice. Don’t you be in such a rush, anyway; Alonso did good by you, getting you this job. You should be more patient if you ask me.”

  “I know. I keep on pinching meself and reminding meself I should be grateful. It’s nowhere near as ’ard as farm life, really. I don’t have to worry about where the next meal’s coming from. And more important than anything, I can sleep peaceful at night; no stinking animals or forever being pestered by people.”

  “What’s that? Don’t tell me you had to sleep with animals; you couldn’t. It doesn’t seem right.”

  “Nothing right nor wrong about it, it’s what you ’ave to do, especially in winter. Animals are the family’s fortune; yo
u got to bring them in nights. Believe me they are more important than people; not that that makes them stink any less.”

  “You poor thing. Sleeping amongst us women must be lovely.”

  “And I can sleep easy at night knowing I’m not going to be wakened with somebody trying to get up my shift to do you know what.”

  “Why, that’s terrible! I can’t believe my ears. Who would do that?”

  “All of them, Ana. They all pester you: fathers, brothers, sisters’ husbands, the lot of them. No one else bats an eyelid, but I hated it, and it was hard work fighting to shove them off, and them trying to hold me down telling me to lie still and shut up.”

  “Then all the more reason you should be grateful to Alonso, and no mistake. I never knew things like that went on. I guess I was very lucky living with just my widowed mother.”

  “Too right, cos I tell you everybody does it. You don’t know the half! I am grateful to Alonso, honest; I’m just feeling so damned angry with the old cow for not saying something nice about my work and me doing my best.”

  “Oh, Lord, here she comes. I bet her husband feels the sharp end of her tongue often enough, and him such a quiet chap. Can’t see him forcing his way up her shift!”

  They swallowed their giggles.

  Madame Male planted herself before them, arms folded, glowering, “Is this the way the laundry of the king she is done? This talk and talk and talk, this laugh and laugh, this is how? You do not talk, you do not laugh, you do not get the payment to do so. Ah, good, at last a cool breeze, this makes better. Ah, but now she is gone.”

  “I’ve noticed that quite a bit around ’ere, Madame Male.”

  “I do not think I ask you about this, thank you … to work.”