Carlos growled, “I draw the line at that sort of criticism, Quijada!”
“I apologise for speaking out of turn, although my observation is perfectly justified. Still, we shall put an end to the subject.” He folded the letter and tucked it inside his jerkin marvelling once again at the ease with which Barbara received anything she wanted, and often without having to ask!
Regla returned to his book, extremely interested in the hiding of the letter, extremely disappointed in not hearing more about considerable amounts of money being poured into rivers.
There was a polite knock at the door and Male and Zuñiga entered. Quijada greeted his old army friend then begged his leave of Carlos pleading urgent matters in Cuacos. He wanted Zuñiga to have the floor to himself; he knew he would inevitably interrupt if he stayed.
Regla had left his seat too, “My lord, now that Zuñiga is here, perhaps it would be best for me to leave?”
Carlos gave him a piercing look, “Youit still. I will tell you when you are to leave. Welcome, Zuñiga, Quijada told me he had sent for you.”
The king’s old friend and comrade‑in‑arms bowed, “I made every effort to get here as soon as I received the letter. The news of your sister Leonor is most disturbing, have you heard anything further?”
Carlos snapped, “No, I have not!”
“And you, my lord, I understand that your own health is improving.”
“You did not come here to discuss my sister’s health; nor are we going to waste time talking about mine. I know well enough that you have heard about Calais.”
“A sorry business.”
“Sorry business be damned! Dangerous business. God knows what the consequences will be. And was Felipe there? No, he never is there when he should be. The damned fool is forever studying documents, thinking, holding conferences, writing letters to all and sundry, but never ever doing anything. Fat lot of good that does anyone. He is hopeless I tell you.”
“To be fair, he warned Mary of the situation. He wrote as soon as he inspected Calais and saw how weak it was.”
“There you have it. He wrote! He should have done more than write, for God’s sake. If only he were like me; when a job has to be done I set to it immediately, no dithering. Which reminds me, do you have the letter for my daughter?”
“Here, my lord,” Male handed it to Carlos.
“You know as well as any, Zuñiga, that things will not stop with the fall of Calais. This heralds the damned French marching straight on into the Netherlands. And what about Burgundy, eh? Felipe will need money if we are to stop all this. Read my letter. This is the kind of letter that needs to be written, one of authority, none of this damned consensus of opinion rubbish.”
Zuñiga read of Carlos’s insistence that the Cortes despatch funds to maintain a standing army of sufficient strength to protect the Netherlands, urging his daughter Juana to remind them how he had warned the Cortes in the past of the dire consequences of underfunding the army.
“I am being more diplomatic with her this time,” he smiled his benevolence. “I am letting her see that I trust her.”
Zuñiga applauded the final words, reading them aloud,
“… I will have no peace until I have heard that my demands have been complied with.
Excellent, sire. It gladdens my heart to know that you are still issuing commands. I salute you.”
Carlos nodded his acknowledgement.
Zuñiga returned the letter to Male. “So, shall we look at Calais, as experienced campaigners; they say old soldiers …”
“You had best not be patronising me. I am in no mood for it.”
“My lord!”
“Why did Quijada go? I wanted him to stay,” Carlos pouted.
“He is overseeing the work being done on his house,” Male offered. “He has lost patience with everybody; the carpenters, the plasterers, in fact everyone involved. He is infuriated by the delays.”
“Me too, this blasted business is going on for ever; not good enough,” growled Carlos. “The sooner he has his wife by his side the bter for all of us. And I am still waiting to see that boy of his. Quijada promised I would see him soon and that was months ago.”
“Ah, the young Juan. How is the lad doing?”
Carlos brightened, “The boy is doing well. And I am told he is quite a lad, at that. Going to be a soldier, too, no priest’s frock for him. Quijada says he is damned good with the sword, and a skilled horseman. Just as well, the country needs young soldiers. Spain needs someone to take our place, eh, Zuñiga?”
“How right you are. How old is he?”
Carlos scratched at his forehead, “Not sure; about the same age as my grandson; eleven, twelve, thereabouts, I really have no idea. Good God, some soldier my grandson would make. Spanish troops’ lives would be more at risk from him than from the enemy. His temper always gets the better of him. He loses all control; crazy.”
“Shall we talk about Calais?” Zuñiga would prefer not to hear anything about the young Prince Carlos. He’d heard more than enough over the last few years. Much better to discuss the loss of English territory.
“Now there were several enemies, all waiting to strike.”
“Exactly! You saw it friend. I saw it. Why, in God’s name did Felipe not see it?” Carlos ranted.
“Sire, calm and cool is the order of the day. Remember, we are seasoned soldiers. To continue, looking first at enemy number one, the Protestants in Calais, there were too many of them and they were certain to go over to the French sooner or later.”
“Blasted heretics! Why was Mary so stupid as to allow Calais to be governed by heretics? Should have seen to it that there were more Catholics.”
“You are righter one, that was rather short‑sighted of the queen, my lord. Moving onto enemy number two; there were traitors aplenty.”
“Felipe must have known all that, too. That is what is so damned annoying. He could have prevented …”
“Later, my lord. Now to enemy number three, the French; the Duke of Guise to be precise.”
“That blasted name again! God, how long am I to be haunted by that hijo de puta?”
“With permission, Guise was determined to find a way to salvage his own pride and that of France at the same time. So there you have it, simple as that, Calais provided the perfect stage for his victory with not the remotest chance of failure. Calais was doomed.”
“Humph! By God, but it would have been a different tale altogether if I had been there.”
“Without question, my lord; but you chose retirement instead, much to the regret of many of us. Your son has been left to shoulder the heavy burden of the English. Now, had you wed Queen Mary yourself …”
“Impossible. A young stud was needed.” He snorted. “It seems Felipe has failed me there as well. If he were here I would give him a piece of my mind, I can tell you. How could he let me down so badly? Am I to sit here and watch my empire crumble away because of his incompetence? He is a great disappointment. I tell you, this has caused me more pain and anguish than any of my gout attacks.”
“My lord, we must not exaggerate; we are, after all, speaking of Calais, an English possession in no way connected to Spanish or Austrian lands. Now, if you will allow me to speak on behalf of King Felipe. He did everything humanly possible, but the English refused his advice and assistance. There is no blame to be apportioned to him; the bungling English have been the problem all along.”
Carlos uttered a reluctant, “So you say. But I doubt if it helps matters; I can still see us losing …”
Zuñiga interrupted, “Let us consider what Felipe is doing now. He has his troops at the ready in their winter quarters in the Netherlands; excellent forward planning. He is also doing everything in his power to put a stop to any designs the French may have on the English throne.”
“Impossible for him to get anywhere without me. My God, I have had years of experience keeping the thrones of Europe within our family. He should be asking me; seeking my advice. Nor
would England be in such a mess if he had sired a child.”
“Now that is a worry. It would appear that Queen Mary is not going to provide an heir, but I cannot think the fault is Felipe’s, he has a son, after all”
“Dear God, that idiot!”
“Queen Mary is old and ill. If she dies without issue, which she surely will, her sister Elizabeth is next in line, and after her?”
“I have no damned idea, I lose track, and I have no wish to play guessing games.”
“Mary Stuart of Scotland. At the moment she is in France, being raised as a little French princess and about to marry the heir to the French throne. If Elizabeth also dies without an heir, the throne of England goes to the French.”
“Dear God in Heaven!”
“Felipe’s close friend is doing everything he can to persuade Mary to insist upon Elizabeth marrying Savoy; of your family and obviously a good Catholic. England could yet be saved from heretics and the French.”
“Clutching at straws.”
“Perhaps so, but I insist you acknowledge that Felipe is doing all he can. He is acting with all honour towards England to protect her; while furthering the cause of your family and the True Faith. You should give credit where credit is due; to your son Felipe.”
“Perhaps so.” It was half‑hearted and begrudging. “But he should have asked my advice in the first place. I would have found other and better ways around these problems. I know so much more than he will ever know. Male, give me the letter to sign. Must get the money for him. So, Zuñiga, something to eat and drink before you go?”
Carlos has not lost his usefulness. He is still a political force to be reckoned with. The letter he is sending to the Regent Juana will persuade the Cortes to provide more than ample funding for Felipe to maintain a standing army in the Netherlands. Perhaps Felipe will excuse his father’s unsolicited support or interference on this occasion.
Diplomacy
I
We have received sad news; such sad news, very sad. Admittedly everyone had expected it but it still came as a shock. The king has been devastated, sinking into black depths of melancholy.
The death of his sister Leonor has reminded him of his own mortality. He is continually dwelling on the morbid assumption that the eighteen months difference in their age will be exactly that which separates them from the grave. Such maudlin thoughts are most upsetting for thosearound him.
But, good news, his sister Maria has arrived, and Gaztelu is back with us, and once condolences have been exchanged I am sure we will see quite a change in the atmosphere.
Do you recall Carlos offering his two sisters lodging here for a while that Leonor might recuperate? Maria has decided to accept the invitation. She has one of the apartments on the lower floor. Personally, if I were Maria, I would find the honour of staying in close proximity to a dear brother quickly offset by the discomfort of such miserable accommodation. Those rooms are bad enough in summer, but in the heart of winter they must be intolerable. They are dark, dank, and more reminiscent of cellars than bedchambers and retiring rooms. She could not be offered one of the guest rooms adjacent to the new cloister as that area is strictly the domain of gentlemen. Perhaps as compensation, and in a rare show of generosity, Carlos has given his sister the most beautiful quilt I have ever seen. It might just fend off the bitter night air, and she could wear it around her shoulders throughout the day should she find herself having to spend any time in those apartments.
Have you noticed that everyone is dressed in black? Carlos insisted the whole household, from the highest to the lowest in his service, should be in deepest mourning. To many it may not be their favourite choice of colour but, consider this, the clothes are new and not hand‑me‑downs; a rare experience for most.
The door to the king’s bedchamber opened and a priest flew out as if propelled by the bellowing voice from within.
“And you can tell them all, every blasted one of them, to get on with their own business, for I will have none of it!” Carlos picked up the precious crucifix that was once his wife’s, the one she had held to her breast at the time of her passing. He contemplated it for a moment before returning it to its place on the table at his side, barely controlling his fury. He fumbled with a pair of glasses, settled them on his nose then opened his Book of Hours, turning the pages until he got to the hours of the Virgin. The page showed the Holy Mother with the Christ child standing on Her lap, leaning against Her breast. This picture more than any other in the book could stir him to tender thoughts and reminiscences. He sighed and followed the words of the prayer, reciting, “Orato beate Maria Virginus …” then suddenly snapped it shut. “Regla, when will those damn priests learn, once and for all, that I want nothing to do with their blasted affairs? First they pester me to become one of them. Can you imagine it, me a monk? Ridiculous. Now they try to insist I decide who is to be their new prior. Now, I feel as sorry as the next man that poor old Prior Tofino is dead, God rest his soul, but I could not give a damn one way or the other who takes his place. They give me no peace. The whole affair has completely ruined my prayers this morning; put me in a bloody bad temper!”
Regla winced at the intemperance, “My lord, because of your sorrows you have misjudged the priests. Given time for reflection I think you will come to understand that they extended this invitation out of respect for any preference you may hold. After all, the duties of the prior do bring him into your presence a great deal. They realise it would be far more convenient for you to have someone to your liking rather than someone who perhaps you may not feel comfortable with.”
“And I say I will not be bothered by such matters. I have heavier burdens on my mind.”
“Perhaps, too, they sought to occupy your mind in this matter to ease your grief?”
“There is no more to be said!” Carlos warned his confessor.
Gaztelu entered, “You sent for me, my lord?”
“Of course I sent for you. I want to hear about my sister. You should know better than to keep me waiting,” Carlos growled without offering one word of welcome.
“I ask your pardon. I came as soon as I could. The weather was so … My clothing was wet and I was thoroughly chilled … I took a few moments to change into something dry and warm … At my age my old bones …”
“I suppose if you had to, you had to. You may sit. Now tell me how it went. Get straight to the point.”
Gaztelu sank into a cushioned chair allowing himself a second or so to enjoy its luxury.
“My lord, I arrived in time to speak with your sister, the Dowager Queen Leonor. Ah, the sweet, dear, gentle lady,” he sighed. “Although weary of this world and tired of her own suffering she waited with patience and forbearance, as a true Christian, for her time to come and her gentle spirit to be released.” He paused, remembering. “She spoke of her great love for you, made me promise I would emphasise its warmth and depth. She told me of the many joyous times she had spent with you when you were children. She recalled her increasing admiration for you as she grew into adulthood. Before she died she humbly begged that you would do one last favour for her; and that is to protect her daughter, who is her sole inheritor. Yes, the young lady will receive considerable estates here in Spain and in France.”
“Ah, so my sister still had trust in me?”
“Implicit, my lord.”
“She said nothing about the bitterness she felt in her heart towards me when she was last here?” Carlos had been nursing the dread of some final, cold accusation from his dying sister’s lips.
“There was never an unkind thought spoken, my lord.”
With that resolved Carlos could address another important issue. “And did she confess those gross moral sins she committed in Portugal; cuckolding her husband, behaving like a whore?”
Regla swallowed hard, crossed himself and reached for his rosary.
“My lord all words spoken in confession are secret; your sister died a good Catholic, she went in peace to her Maker.”
Gaztelu sat patiently and in silence with his master for a moment or two before suggesting he receive his sister Maria. “Sire, she wishes desperately to be with you, to share your grief. Indeed she has spoken of little else since Leonor died.”
Regla leaned towards Carlos, “And I am here, my lord to offer comfort and support to you both. I shall gladly remain at your side.” Hopefully there would be further information regarding Leonor’s past.
Carlos nodded, “Yes, stay.” He sniffed and wiped away the remaining tears, “I need to be dressed. Gaztelu, organise everything. No point in delaying the inevitable. I just hope she will be gle with me.”
The king will be some time before he is ready to meet his sister Maria. I suggest we follow Gaztelu to the Grand Salon where we will find Quijada.
II
Quijada looked up from the papers he was studying and he smiled. He pushed himself from his chair and came to greet his friend.
“Gaztelu; welcome home! It is so good for this much‑harassed victualler to have his dear friend back again and, I am glad to see, none the worse for enduring such a journey in this dreadful weather. These incessant rains are intolerable, every time I look out of the window all I see is either a wet grey shroud or a curtain of slanting icy arrows. I should not be complaining, you are the one who has had to ride for hours in it. But what a relief it is that after days of my being nothing more than a fishmonger I have you to enlarge the world far beyond the boundaries of cod and herrings.”
A Matter of Pride Page 26