A Matter of Pride

by Linda Carlino

  He nodded his head towards the ambassador to welcome him. “Ah, ambassador; good to see you. And such a splash of colour; gladdens the eye, like a rare bird in these parts, what say you all?” Carlos turned to whisper to Gaztelu, “I might go so far as to say a regular popinjay.”

  The ambassador removed his black velvet bonnet with its dark purple rosette before making three low reverent bows and kneeling to kiss the hand of Carlos. His black jerkin, the sleeves slashed with the same dark purple satin to match that of his bonnet, was complemented by black breeches and hose. He felt ill at ease, “Your majesty, I thought it only fitting to come before you wearing my …”

  “Of course you did, of course. It is we folk who are the dowdy ones. But what have you brought?”

  “Your majesty, I bear two letters from the Regent, Princess Juana. One is for the queen of Portugal, and this one is for you my lord.”

  “Open it, Gaztelu, my fingers are too stiff. Quickly man, break the seal. Give it here. Spectacles, Quijada.” He thrust them onto the bridge of his nose, Quijada assisting with the more complex business of settling them securely over his ears.

  They waited.

  Then came the explosion, “Good God in Heaven! How dare she presume! And she expects me to support her? The stupid, arrogant bitch!” The letter was thrown towards Gaztelu, “Take it, read it, read it!”

  Carlos glared at the ambassador. “Give me the other letter.”

  “My lord? I am the regent’s ambassador. I am to deliver this to Queen Catalina. It would be an offence to my lady …”

  Carlos bellowed, “Give it here, goddamn it! Never mind what the regent might feel, it would be an even greater offence to me not to hand it over.” He snatched at the letter as the ambassador drew it from his pouch. “I can tell you what I am going to do, I am going to read this, then destroy it. As from this moment you will travel to Portugal as my ambassador carrying my letter. What does the stupid … what does she think she is about? You know the contents? Of course you do. It is no fault of yours, you had to follow her orders. But not any more. I am the ruler of this family and I will not tolerate ignorant meddling. Gaztelu, this one, here, open it.”

  “As you command, my lord.”

  “You are damned right, I do command.”

  Juana’s letter was opened and returd to Carlos. He read it then angrily crumpled it before erupting, “Take it, tear it up and burn the damn thing! No one else may see what I have just read. Gaztelu, you will write a letter to Catalina stating the mission of the ambassador. It will say that he bears Juana’s unreserved support for her. You know how to word it, something following along the lines of my earlier letter, a repetition of my sentiments only more so.”

  Gaztelu sat down at a nearby table, put on his spectacles and took up his pen. Faint scratchings of pen on paper told of his progress. Francisco and Quijada guessed that the sentiments in Juana’s letter had been somewhat different to those of Carlos.

  Carlos turned to Francisco, “What was I just saying about my daughters? Nothing but headaches, the pair of them, and Juana the worst. How old did we say Sebastian is?”

  “Not yet four years old.”

  “Four years!” Carlos growled and spluttered, “And the sickly father had to die a few weeks after he was born. By God but my daughter was quick enough to abandon the child in its cradle when Felipe went to England to wed Mary and Spain needed a regent. God was she quick; I tell you there was not a moment’s hesitation when she was told; left in indecent haste, thrusting her child into the arms of his grandmother.”

  Quijada tried to be the voice of reason, “To be fair, she had no choice. She returned because you commanded it; she returned because she was surplus to requirements in Portugal being nothing but a widow.”

  “Nobody asked for your opinion,” Carlos snarled. “And now after four years of not giving a damn she thinks she can just return to Lisbon to be regent there until her son comes of age. I tell you it is outrageous for her to even contemplate such an idea. Who does she think she is to presume to be in a position to bargain with the queen of Portugal, my dear sister, about any rights she may have to the regency? My sister Catalina, should you need reminding, is not only beloved by me but by all Portugal; and King John on his death bed willed that she should be regent during Sebastian’s minority. And yet this daughter of mine intends to contest this. How dare she! The impudence! The arrogance!”<:p>

  Spittle and spume sprayed his beard, his face was livid, his eyes blazed and his swollen hands beat out his fury on the arms of his chair. “Get me up. I have to stand. Bring that chair over here.”

  Francisco and Quijada helped him to his feet, placing the chair that he might lean his weight on its tall back. “You know what it is? You know what it is? I shall tell you what it is!” His rage reached a new level, “She has enjoyed playing regent here for the last couple of years, and, incidentally, causing me one or two problems along the way that I could well have done without, but she knows that Felipe will probably be back in Spain quite soon. So, she sees this regency not lasting much longer, whereas that of Portugal is just starting and will have years to run. That is what she is after; and she dares to seek my support. Well she is in for a rude awakening. Far from getting any help from me she is going to discover exactly what I think of her plans. The idiot cannot see past the end of her nose. She lacks the sense to see that by this one stupid step she would put the unity of the Peninsula in jeopardy. Holy Jesus, this is the only area where we have peace, the stupid, ignorant, bitch! Gaztelu, we will write to the young madam as soon as you have finished that letter. She will get a flea in her ear, by God she will.”

  Father Francisco and the ambassador had kept their heads bowed low, eyes downcast throughout the tirade. They were embarrassed that Carlos had spoken so harshly of his daughter in their presence. It was unseemly, too, that the ambassador should witness such lack of respect for his mistress, the regent of Spain; and what of his predicament when he met Catalina, carrying only letters from Carlos?

  Quijada’s cough attracted the attention of Father Francisco; then a slight movement of a finger suggested they move to the far end of the room to engage the ambassador in conversation to save him and themselves further discomfort while Carlos was occupied dictating his letter to Juana.

  Francisco whispered a quick aside to Quijada, “This is going to complicate matters.”

  “Your majesty the letter you require for the ambassador is ready for your signature.” Gaztelu kept his voice low; afraid that even his words might further offend.

  “Good, now you will sit down and write something to this effect. Daughter, in reply to your letters, let me just say that your ambassador has arrived and I know of your instructions as to what he should do in span>Portugal. However I have directed him as to what he must say and what he is definitely not allowed to say regarding the Kingdom of Portugal and its government during the minority of King Sebastian, your son.”

  He paused, waiting for Gaztelu to show he was ready to continue. “It is not for you to hold or express any opinion on the setting up of Sebastian’s household and the people he must have about him. This sort of interference would create a multitude of problems and I simply will not allow it. In fact the substitute letter I am sending via your ambassador – enclose a copy for her – contains nothing more than your wholehearted support and prayers for Sebastian and Queen Catalina. You should have accepted the fact without my having to tell you. Catalina and I, not you, will deal with everything. We are the ones who know best how to further the other’s cause.”

  He stopped again as if rallying his strength for the final onslaught. “It also appears that I must remind you of your position and that you behave accordingly. You wrote using such disrespectful language to my sister, who is after all your aunt and mother‑in‑law, that I am deeply shamed for you. That should do it, Gaztelu. Over here you others. Come quickly, no dawdling, I have to sit. Dear God the pains in my legs.”

  “A word, my lord?”
Gaztelu hesitated.

  “What is it now?” Carlos winced in discomfort as his bulk was lowered into his chair.

  “If I may be so bold? Perhaps a postscript to your daughter? An apology for its not being a very personal and private letter? She may well feel distressed that other eyes know of its contents. You could use the excuse that the gout in your hands prohibits you from writing yourself.”

  “At this moment I am damned if I care how she feels. She is setting out to destroy the peace between Portugal and Spain, and making it damned awkward for my grandson Carlos’s prospects into the bargain. And you talk of my apologising?”

  Quijada broke in, “You do surprise me, my lord, by sending such a letter at all! Here you are, the one with all those years of experience in diplomacy, with supposedly political astuteness that manonarch would give a fortune for; and yet you are about to fall at this the smallest, simplest of hurdles by allowing your temper to get the better of you. You are going make the princess regent’s position untenable, and all because of your clouded judgement. No, you do not surprise me – you disappoint me.”

  “Good God in His Heaven, Quijada, but you are right. I was blinded by my anger. What would I do without you? Indeed you must write the postscript, Gaztelu. Then she will think that you are the only other person to know. There now, how is that for a concession?” he smiled his magnanimity.

  Quijada shook his head, Carlos had completely missed his point.

  “Will you stay awhile, Quijada, I need a word or two in private.”

  They waited a moment until they were alone.

  II

  “Sit down, sit down. Has there been any news from Ghent?”

  “My lord, there is a reply to the letter of condolence we sent on the death of Barbara’s mother. It is too soon for a response to the pension you sent to the chaperone. Barbara thanks you for the warm and tender words of sympathy and wishes to be remembered to you.”

  “No need for that, she is never far from my thoughts these days. Is that wrong of me? Is it stupid for an old man to look forward to, to hope for letters from someone?”

  “Not at all; and certainly not from Barbara, she was after all very important to you at one time, my lord, playing a significant role in your life.”

  Carlos laughed, “Barbara played more than one, and all to perfection. Do you remember her singing that night?”

  “Oh yes, and how we were all set to cringe at the weak warbling of Katherine’s nervous and reluctant daughter.”

  “Instead we were treated to something divine. She could teach some of this lot in the choir quite a bit I can tell you. A natural gift, Quijada, no training.”

  “And despite having vowed there would be no more charity you gave her the job as your private musician.”

  “Well, could you imagine a more perfect end to the day? To have your ears flooded with such sounds, your eyes dazzled with such beauty, your senses intoxicated with such loveliness.”

  “She was indeed your beautiful blond and blue‑eyed Barbara.”

  “Some men can only dream of such blessings, and there was I, well past my prime, with the unexpected good fortune of having her all to myself.”

  “My lord, many would say it was the other way about, that she was the lucky one. Fortune had smiled on her more than once.”

  “Either way, there we were, just the two of us, with the insufferable, ever‑present chaperone standing on guard at the door.”

  “Old and toothless she may have been, but she had more fight in her than many an infantryman; and I have known many,” laughed Quijada.

  “It was wonderful, and I thank God I have so many memories to fall back on, and just as well, especially when life gets so bloody aggravating, like today.”

  Carlos started to hum, then sang,

  “Good wine makes us gay, let’s sing,

  Forget our troubles, let’s sing,

  While eating a fat ham

  Let’s make war on this jug …”

  Quijada tappe out the rhythm of the music on his knees, remembering Carlos and Barbara laughing and singing.

  Carlos slapped the arm rests of his chair, “You know; that is a damned good idea. I think I shall do that right now. Refreshments are called for!”

  “You are incorrigible, my lord!”

  Poor Juana, only seeking what, after all, are her rights as the mother of the new king. Poor Carlos, only wanting the best for the Hapsburgs. Happily, Barbara appears to have come to the rescue just as in those days long ago.

  An English Marriage

  I

  “Ah, Father Francisco, you have excellent weather this Quijada morning for the start to your journey, it could not be bettered,” called across the yard. “My ride to Cuacos and back was most pleasant. I do enjoy the early hours, the more so if I am alone with my thoughts. I wish you a safe, swift, and successful mission. Aye, dear me,” a groan escaped from him as he lowered himself from his horse. He handed the reins to Manuel then crossed the yard to join the priest who was watching a group of stable lads saddling up the horses and securing the baggage.

  “Amen to that, Quijada, for the sooner this is over the quicker I can return to my more favoured mission. I have little stomach for the world of politics.” He sighed, “I suppose it is as well that Carlos did discover the contents of Princess Juana’s letter or the situation would be worse than it is. Still, it is going to be very awkward. I just pray that everything goes smoothly. On my way I shall be stopping at the college to exchange greetings with the brothers who will be disappointed that I am to be further delayed and still unable to join them. The king’s will, in this instance, must supersede all other demands.”

  “Looking on the bright side at the end of your journey you will have the pleasure of seeing Queen Catalina. I suppose you never thought to see her again. But my goodness, she will have changed considerably from that beautiful youto ydy you watched riding across the bridge and away from Tordesillas.”

  Francisco is in for a rude surprise without question; the beautiful young girl has become an exceedingly plump, elderly lady.

  “You need not remind me of the ravages of time, nor of the frightening speed of its passing when there is so much still to be done.”

  “Nor do I need remind myself Father Francisco. Why, it seems but yesterday that I married, yet years have flown by.”

  “And I suspect you will not have had many opportunities to go home?”

  “You are so right. When you spoke just now of the king’s demands, you never spoke a truer word. I have been absent from my home for months.”

  “Meanwhile your wife remains alone, without you at …?”

  “Villagarcía. You may know of it, it is not far from Arévalo. The village is charming and with such warm and friendly folk. And my home? My wonderful wife Doña Magdalena de Ulloa has turned the castle into the most perfect of homes. Yes, I consider myself the most fortunate man walking this earth. It was an arranged marriage, but I am one of the lucky ones who finds himself blessed with a bride who although many years his junior shows such understanding and wisdom and who showers her love on an old man such as I. I confess that when my eyes first beheld her, I thought it all a dream, that I was unworthy of such providence. So perhaps you can appreciate my frustration?”

  “I do indeed, for I have known the joys of a contented marriage, the love of a good wife, the happiness that children bring to the hearth. But surely, you are not old Quijada?”

  “If sixty‑one is not old, then what is?”

  “You have the bearing of a much younger man.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “That is not one of my weaknesses. But I do sympathise with you; you are here while she is there.” He found himself thinking of the regent, the beautiful Princess Juana, of her kneeling before him making her confession, speaking of her child Sebastian lost to her when she was commanded to return to Spain; widowed at eighteen and within months taken from her child. He saw again her eyes flooded with the tears of a
distraught mother, and it wakened within him tender emotions far beyond those of a priest. He had to blame Carlos for that; it was his fault with those brutal words. He pushed the image aside.

  “But, praise be to God, Francisco, this is all to change. As you heard I have finally been granted permission to visit my wife and home. To be quite frank, I would not care if I were never to return to this place. I know I will feel this even more strongly once I am in Villagarcía. Yes, if I allow myself to think of Yuste I will quickly remind myself of the dreadful weather here; nine months of mire and three months of fire, and I will say to myself, please let there be plenty of good souls about my lord the king that I need not return.”

  “But you are not a man who would disappoint his master. In Villagarcía you will continue to be concerned that those around the king are indeed performing their duties to your satisfaction, and I know that you would rather be here to ensure it.”

  “You are right. I have to admit to a continuing brotherly concern for him, but these days I find myself torn between my love for my wife and home and my loyalty to my king.” Quijada altered his tone to one of resolve, “So, this morning I have been touring the village hoping to find a suitable home for Magdalena that I may have her near when Carlos does need me. There is nothing, of course, in this godforsaken part of the world. But, and it is a large but, with some imagination and effort I think something of a reasonable size could be developed by adapting three vacant houses. A poor substitute for our castle, but I shall have it made as much like a small palace as is possible.”

  “I shall pray for a speedy completion of the project. And meanwhile does your wife have the comfort of children at her knee?”

  “Not of our own, it seems that God does not will it.” His face brightened, “But we do have a foster child whom my wife loves dearly, as dearly as she would if he were her own. He is a good boy and he helps dispel the loneliness caused by my enforced absences. You have known the joys of a family. Until comparatively recently I have not. Mine has been the life of a soldier in close service to the king, which I would not have missed for the world, but now, since this little chap came into our home, it grieves me to be away.”