A Matter of Pride

by Linda Carlino

  “Brother, her grievances have more to do with later events rather than those years of abandonment. There was that first occasion when instead of being the one chosen as Felipe’s betrothed she was passed over in favour of her younger cousin.” Leonor plucked at her handkerchief.

  “Why should she have been expecting to be chosen, for God’s sake? I determine what is to be. In that particular instance a marriage to strengthen the bonds between Portugal and Spain was vitally important, but not with your daughter! No, it had to be with her cousin, because she was the child of the reigning monarchs and not the …”

  “Not the little leftover orphan,” Leonor whimpered. “If, from the very beginning, I had been allowed to choose for myself none of this would have happened.”

  Carlos threw his hands in the air in despair, “We are surely not going to go through this again? I am head of the family. I decide. End of story!”

  “You allowed our sister Maria to make her own decisions. Yes, you permitted her to refuse all suggestions of marriage.”

  Carlos pointed at Maria, “I knew it. You are at the root of all this nonsense.”

  “Not guilty, brother,” was the stern reply. “My only crime, if crime it be, is in being so different from my sister. It appears that she always bent, apparently willingly, before strength whereas I always met force with force.” She turned to Leonor, “You never had the spirit for the fight and now you regret it. Is that not so?”

  “Oh, but I did. I tried. Oh, how I tried. Brother, had you allowed me to marry Count Frederik everything would have been so very different. My life would have taken such a happier course. Maria, how often have I told you how I glowed in the warmth of his love? I was impatient to be in his company; longed to have him touch my hand, to set my heart and head afire.”

  “All this again! God give me patience! The man was only a count and you were a princess. I would accept nothing less than a king or a prince for you,” Carlos tried to brush away the subject with a dismissive wafting of his hands as if to rid himself of a bothersome fly.

  Leonor would not let go, “You will never understand. I never wished for a king or a prince. All I ever wanted was Frederik. How often did I plead? But you forbade him to ever look at me again. And who did you chose for me while flames of passion burned in my breast? You chose an ugly old hunch‑backed cripple, dragging himself through his remaining days dribbling as he went. He was the one I had to receive in my bridal bed.”

  “You refuse to accept that the negotiations failed through no fault of mine. I had intended you to wed his son. You cannot blame me for the father deciding to have you for himself,” Carlos blustered.

  “Oh yes she can. And I certainly do!” Maria boomed. “If only I had been with you sister. Carlos you know well enough you could have insisted that my sister marry Prince John of Portugal. Be honest, it suited you to have her wed a king rather than a prince.”

  “Your tongue has had too much liberty for too long. You speak too freely. However, madam, as you say it suited me to have my sister marry the king; political expediency.”

  Maria shook her head, “Such impatience, you would not have had to wait long for the prince to become king. There was nothing to be gained except, of course, an immediate loan.”

  “I refuse to discuss this further.”

  “So my sister did as she was told, married the old man, and even provided him with a child.”

  “Children,” Leonor interrupted. “I provided Emanuel with two children, the first, a boy, was dead within months, sad little mite, and then my Maria was born.” A long pause then she raised her eyes from the handkerchief she had been tugging at nervously on her lap. They twinkled, and a mischievous smile started to play on her lips, “But I did find a lover, someone to bring warmth and joy to my day and passion to my bed at night.”

  Only the ticking of a clock broke through the shocked silence.

  Samuel and José at their post by the door glanced quickly at each other thinking how many extra drinks this piece of gossip would bring their way.

  Gaztelu and Quijada pursed their lips and stroked their chins also exchanging glances at this quite sensational revelation.

  Maria gave her sister a congratulatory look then turned a challenging eye on her brother.

  Carlos shattered the quiet, “Good God in His Heaven! I refuse to believe my ears. My sister, the daughter of a queen, the sister of an emperor, a queen herself … that, that, that she would dare to cuckold her husband! This is dishonour, madam! We are speaking of lascivious behaviour; lechery! You, my sister, are no more than a whore!”

  “Now that does amuse me, brother,” Maria did not disguise her contempt. “When a man seeks consolation in welcoming arms between warm sheets, no one turns a hair. If a woman chooses the same avenue for comfort she is immediately condemned as a whore.” She admonished him further, “Now listen to me. You got what you wanted when Leonor was crowned Queen of Portugal; you received a massive loan. The fact that she had a lover should be of no consequence whatsoever.”

  “This is monstrous,” Carlos’s words spluttered from a face purple with rage. “To be discussing whoring, with no sense of guilt, no shame. You are no better than soldiers round the beer table boasting of deeds in brothels. Tell me, who was the bastard who dared …”

  “The one who dared, brother, was none other than myself. I was the one to reach out to grasp some moments of love and laughter, of tenderness. And, yes, I allowed my burning desire full freedom during those three years. No one until today has ever known I had a lover. So far as I know, no one knows his name, and it shall never escape my lips. And before you use any more insulting words about an affair which I refuse to have sullied, I will remind you it would not have come to pass had I been allowed to marry Frederik.”

  “Do not try to offer lame excuses for such sinful behaviour. May God forgive you. I never thought I would live to see the day when I could be so shamed by the actions of anyone in my family. Disgusting …”

  Maria stopped him, “I do not think there are many in this room that have the right to cast stones. Anyway you put an end to it all when you recalled Leonor to Spain.”

  “It was as well I did from what we have just heard; or God knows what mischief she would have got into. Emanuel; poor devil; cuckolded!”

  “She came to your summons leaving her child behind.”

  “Fortunate for the child not to have such a whoring mother nearby to corrupt her innocence.”

  Leonor ignored him, “I came as a dutiful sister to be offered in wedlock a second time. And remember Frederik at that time was widowed and free to marry me. But once again you refused.”

  “And did you make that an excuse for further whoring?”

  “No, brother,” she flinched at his words. “If you remember you had decided I was to be the wife of the Duke of Bourbon.”

  “At least a handsome suitor,” Maria smiled.

  “But I was swiftly denied him …”

  “Enough is enough! For the life of me I cannot see why we should pursue this. Political decisions must be made. At that time it was in Spain’s interest that you wed King Francis.”

  “Naturally, as part of the peace treaty with France,” asserted Maria.

  “I do not need your observations but,” he added sarcastically, “if my sister was in search of passion, like some common wench, did Francis not fit the role of gallant suitor admirably?”

  “Oh, how right you are, brother,” sighed Leonor. “A handsome man: tall, strong, gallant, jovial – a veritable seducer – and only four years my senior. Maria, imagine the contrast between Francis and the ancient Emanuel. I was indeed eager enough to have the French king for my husband, and Bourbon was very quickly forgotten. But my brother made us wait almost five years. I travelled to France and to a bridal bed that Francis and I had hungered for the moment we met and exchanged kisses. But everything had changed. Too much had happened. King Francis did fulfil his part of the contract; he came to my bed, consummated
the marriage and left my apartments. He never returned. He never sought to hide from me his hatred of all things Spanish and that included me, his bride. Nor was I able to seek solace in the French Court, the best I could hope for from anyone was indifference. How naive of me to ever have thought that my marriage could have been anything other than doomed from the outset. And then how stupid I was to hope that I could ever have my daughter join me in France as a prospective bride for one of Francis’s sons. Why, the very thought of it was anathema to the French. I lived a life of isolation for seventeen years, brother, until released by my husband’s death. Seventeen years and I never complained. Seventeen years my daughter had to live alone, without a mother.”

  “Dear God, she was not alone. Let me remind you she was brought y our sister Catalina, who I will have you know is decent, God‑fearing, unlike some …”

  “Why was she being raised in a royal court?” Leonor was bitter and resentful. “To what end? To be overlooked every time an eligible husband appeared?”

  Carlos put his head in his hands and groaned, “We are going over this for the umpteenth time. You exasperate me. But go ahead, have your say. Then perhaps I can have some peace.”

  “On that first occasion she was not even given the courtesy of consideration. She was a nobody. It was her cousin who was chosen for your son.”

  Carlos interrupted happy to be on safe ground, “We have agreed that the cousin took precedence being the daughter of King John.”

  “So you say. But let us turn to this latest decision which was downright insulting. My daughter was to be the second wife of your son. Everything was arranged, the contracts had been signed. She was overjoyed. She would be the future Queen of Spain. Then you tore up the contracts! You broke my daughter’s heart. And for some reason she holds me partly to blame,” her tears overwhelmed her.

  Maria gave her a comforting pat on the knee, “You have all my sympathy. I tell you Carlos I am truly concerned about this meeting we are to have with Leonor’s daughter. She is not of a mind to be easily placated. Good Lord it took long enough to get her to come at all. At one point she vowed she would only come if she was en route to marry our widowed brother or …”

  Carlos snapped back impatiently, “God, but it infuriates me that this young woman should presume that she has any right to decide what she will or will not do. Let me tell you this, you should think yourselves damned fortunate that Catalina and I have finally arranged this visit after a great deal of correspondence regarding your daughter’s insufferable truculence. We have at long last got her to realise that her marriage to Felipe had to be sacrificed for the good of our Catholic Faith. We finally persuaded her to see that Felipe marrying Mary Tudor and bringing the English heretics back to the True Faith was rather more important than a mere maiden’s desire for a husband.”

  He was well versed in his arguments for his son’s betrothal to Mary and the sudden breaking of the contract with Portugal. He had gone over them so many times with Gaztelu and Quijada using convenient half‑truths, and sometimes blatant lies, to justify his actions.

  “Come now, brother, you were impatient to have Felipe made King of England,” retorted Maria.

  “And you set about it with such haste,” Leonor added, her voice trembling, “never considering the hurt and embarrassment it caused, discarding my child like some unwanted piece of clothing. All Europe was gossiping, laughing, mocking, ridiculing her …”

  Maria interrupted, fearful that Leonor was heading towards hysteria, “Perhaps, Carlos, had you immediately sought some other prince for her it may just have softened the blow? It must have been devastating for the girl and an affront never to be forgotten.” She took her sister’s hand, “But we are encouraged now that she has decided, after all, to come to see her mother.”

  “And you never know, she might have a change of heart, might wish to stay in Spain,” Carlos feigned optimism. “Perhaps the jewels will help after all.” He knew he shouldn’t have said that, he should have held his tongue.

  “I always thought you cold and scheming, yet I obeyed your every decision; as my sister says, always bending to your will. But I tell you; if you have ruined my chances of spending the remainder of my days with my daughter I swear to God I shall never forgive you, never speak to you again. Sister let us go; I cannot bear to remain in this room a moment longer.”

  They kissed their brother’s hand as a matter of form, without affection, and turned to go. Quijada and Gaztelu followed, Quijada carrying the all‑important jewellery box.

  So there you have it, a most awkward situation for the mother and daughter.

  Poor Leonor, all she ever wanted from life was to love and to be loved, and for the majority of her fifty‑nine years she has had little of either. Count Frederik was the first to stir her heart to thoughts of love, then she and Prince John of Portugal shared those years of clandestine passion. There; I have let you into Leonor’s secret.

  Her hopes were raised once more when King Francis paid court. She overwhelmed the moment she saw him. This was her promised husband: he was tall, handsome, strong, and elegant. When they met for the marriage blessing he put aside her hand, drew her to him and kissed her on her lips. The king’s kiss stirred Leonor’s passionate heart. She was as desirous as he to retire to the bridal bed once the feasting and dancing were at an end. But Carlos would have none of it, insisting that the marriage would only be consummated once all conditions of the peace treaty had been met.

  So Francis had to return to France alone to have the treaty ratified, his two young sons sent to Spain to be held hostage as a guarantee. These two little boys, only seven and eight, passed from the dazzling French Court into a bewildering life of imprisonment in a foreign land, shuttled from one fortress to another. They were placed under armed guard in ill‑lit rooms and always in the most inaccessible parts of the buildings. Their only clothing was the poorest of plain black tunics and breeches.

  At the end of five years, and after a hefty ransom had been paid – most of which Carlos needed to pay off a debt – they returned to France accompanied by Leonor who was now allowed, finally, to go to her husband.

  Not one Frenchman forgave Carlos for the crime of imprisoning those two little innocents. When Francis came to meet them on their return to their homeland, he went straight to their room to waken them from their slumbers. Wave upon wave of unstoppable painful memories burst from them to outrage their father’s ears; his two dear boys had been deprived of their childhood and would carry the scars of those brutal years forever.

  As you heard, the marriage was consummated. Leonor was crowned queen of France, and then promptly ignored. Her husband cruelly told her that to gain the freedom of his children he would have married a mule. In any case he was already deeply involved with his latest mistress. Leonor found herself completely alone, despised by all around her. Could Carlos have expected anything other for his sister? I doubt it. And she would not be freed from that ‘prison’ as she said, for seventeen years.

  iv> Carlos looked up as Gaztelu and Quijada returned, “They have gone then? Good. Glad to have got that out of the way. Silly, sentimental old fools. I need the comfort of some music; yes, some singing to accompany me while I have my lunch will wash away all memory of this morning.”

  A Matter Of Luck

  I

  Carlos sat in isolated splendour at his table squelching and belching his way through the meal set before him. A small group of musicians played and sang intent on filling the room with delicate melodies.

  Partridge in brandy, rabbit in white wine, chicken in almond sauce, cod in wine and parsley sauce, were all being noisily despatched with a swilling of red wine a barbarous challenge to the musicians’ tender refrains of young maids captivating the hearts of young men, other young swains wracked by love’s never‑ending pain, regrets for heroic deeds neglected.

  “These songs are all blasted copies! Heard the very same things years ago. Barefaced robbery, blasted plagiarism,” spluttere
d Carlos, throwing down his knife.

  “Not so, my lord,” replied his master of music, “simply fresh arrangements, variations or transpositions.”

  “Not true! You cannot fool me so easily.”

  Male, Dr. Mathys, Brother Regla and Torriano stood nearby idly chatting. The cook waited at the serving table not once allowing his gaze to shift from Carlos hoping for the merest recognition of today’s culinary masterpieces.

  At the far end of the room by the door the two chair lads stole some time to gossip.

  Samuel whispered, “That was a right old carry on about that Portuguese princess then, eh?”

  José nodded, “I don’t fancy Queen Leonor’s chances much, trying to get ’er daughter to forgive her and all that.”

  “Me neither. Now me, you could easy get me to change me mind on anything for a box of jewels.”

  “Maybes, but then for these folk what has so many already a few more’s not going to change anything. And as for hopin’ she’ll come and live with ’er, why, that’s as good as saying she doesn’t stand a cat in Hell’s chance now of ever gettin’ wed, that she’s going to die an old maid. That plan will go down a right treat, see if I’m not mistaken. What you got to understand is that for rich folk gettin’ wed, and to the right person, is more important than anything else in the world. Believe me.” José impressed Samuel with his knowledge of all such matters.

  “And what was all that about throwing stones? What you reckon Queen Maria meant by that?” Samuel was eager to learn more from his mentor.

  José stretched up tall accommodating his vast wisdom and understanding, “Well, she meant that Carlos shouldn’t say anything about his sister fooling around when he has been doing the same thing, God knows how often.”

  “Right, got yer; like the pan calling the kettle black. And he’s been at it a few times, eh?”