“It is good to see you too, my friend. Dear Lord but I have been too much in the company of women recently.”
“I had every sympathy for you and your undertaking. You are a very selfless man, Gaztelu. How bad was it?”
“At times it was desperately sad. Poor Leonor’s spirit was quite crushed. The daughter, so dearly loved, had cruelly taken her mother’s hopes and dreams and trodden them under her dainty little feet, before turning on her heel and rushing back to Portugal. I had not thought to see Leonor looking so old, so injured, so frail. It was almost as if life had already deserted her. The doctors maintained that it was an attack of asthma that killed her, but I would swear she died of a broken heart.”
“And the king, what did you tell his majesty?”
“I made it sound as positive as I could, all peace and tranquillity; her continued love for Carlos, and a dignified departure from this world for the next. He received my report with tears and a certain satisfaction.”
“Nothing contentious, then?”
Gaztelu shook his head, “No. He tried to draw me on those disagreements when Leonor was last here, about her marriages, about that liaison she had in Portugal; but I would have none of it. However he is to meet Maria in a little while and she will not be so diplomatic. On our journey here she certainly made no secret of her feelings.”
“She is still angry despite her mourning?”
“Angry? I would say furious and frustrated that she had never had the opportunity to support Leonor at those times in her life when she was most in need of a strong sister’s help.”
“Then she is the very medicine that Carlos requires. He has been weeping at the least provocation. He has been wallowing in tales of himself as a child, of ‘little mother’ Leonor, always there to straighten his little gold chain with its tiny gold lamb; ever at his side to ensure his little cap sat just right on his golden curls. As for that dreadful episode when he decided to abduct Catalina, taking her and leaving their mother alone and distraught beyond words; well can you believe he has rewritten that as a romantic tale with Leonor and her heart of gold in the role of some selfless benefactress setting the child free from a wicked and cruel parent. With the passing of each day he has likened her more and more to a saint, that Portuguese love affair quite forgotten. And he speaks of God calling him to join this blessed saint of a sister!” Quijada realised he had raised his voice. “I beg your pardon. But it really is getting out of hand. He will not be diverted from bleak despondency. Dear Dowager Queen Maria please succeed in doing what I have so patently failed to do.”
“Cheer up,” Gaztelu grasped him by the arms. “If I know Maria she will very quickly remind him of how he so mercilessly used his beautiful and gracious sister Leonor. She has repeated it often enough over recent days. She has fumed over Leonor’s long and lonely life; the two appalling marriages, being forced to abandon the beloved daughter to return to do Carlos’s bidding. I tell you, Quijada, Maria has ranted unceasingly about the senselessness of it all. She has even raised the tragic life of their other sister Isabel to reinforce her argument of how meaningless some lives are.” A wry chuckle escaped him, “Regla said he would stay by the king’s side. I think neither he nor the king will be overly pleased to hear some of her observations.”
“Dear Lord, I had quite forgotten that sister; it must be all of thirty years ago. Zuñiga had a few dealings with her husband; he swore the man was crazy.”
“All of Denmark knew he was crazy! More to the point, so did Carlos. Maria has been telling me many a tale. Fortunately, after many years of suffering, Isabel and her children at last found refuge from their tormentor with Maria in the old family home in Mechelin. Now,” he looked about them to ensure they were alone, “Maria’s big questions are: why was her sister Isabel made to marry someone crazy, and why did she then die so soon after her release from his physical and mental abuse?”
“That will certainly shatter his majesty’s self‑indulgent sorrows. My goodness me, the poor man will be torn between defending himself against her accusations of having used those two sisters’ marriages to further his own interests, and terrifying himself over the safety of Maria’s soul and thereby his own. He may well fear she is putting it in jeopardy for even hinting at questions such as why did God allow such things to happen, the more so if she is espousing such ideas in Regla’s presence. We all know of his intolerance of the merest hint of freedom of thought, even amongst fellow priests. Did you know he actually accused one of them of being cunning enough to be a Lutheran. Too bad we cannot be with them to watch the performance.”
Gaztelu waved his hands to dismiss the very idea, “Not for me, thank you, I have heard enough. I might find more interest in your fish.”
He walked towards the window, where the rain lashed angrily against the glass. “Do join me over here. Listen to this,” he whispered. “Maria told me this little anecdote about Isabel’s daughter Christina.”
“Hopefully she is not going to harangue Carlos about that arranged marriage, too, when Christina was, what, just twelve, to that doddering duke in his dotage?”
“No, nor about when she was offered to Henry VIII and she told him that she would only consider it had she been blessed with two heads, but as she only had the one, and she wished to keep it, she would decline.”
“I believe that more than a little of Maria rubbed off on Christina while she was growing up under her protective wing.”
Gaztelu whispered, “Evidently she has grown into an exceptional lady; beautiful, highly intelligent and, what is more, a very popular person in Felipe’s court in Brussels.”
Quijada leaned towards him, “So Ruy Gomez mentioned when he was here, he also said that Felipe had sent her to England as an ambassador to persuade Mary to insist that Elizabeth marry his cousin Savoy. Mary was not disposed to follow Felipe’s suggestions, and a disappointed Christina returned to Brussels.”
“And?” queried Gaztelu.
“And nothing except that now the Duque de Feria is continuing where she left off still trying to have the Princess Elizabeth wed Savoy.”
“Ah, but, there is more.” Gaztelu lowered his voice still further, his words almost inaudible, “Christina’s other duty was to hand over a portrait of Felipe to Queen Mary. Would you believe that Mary destroyed it in a fit of jealous rage?”
“My word, Gaztelu. Are you suggesting that she suspects some romance between her husband and the fair Christina? Well, well, well, and here was I assuming it was a platonic relationship.”
“It is said that he shows her rather more affection than a cousin should, and in public too.”
“Poor Queen Mary, one does have to feel sorry for her. Life can be very cruel. Having lost any looks she may have had, she has been brought face to face with a beautiful young woman, who as ambassador is in regular close contact with Felipe; it is all too sad. I think we should stop there. We will allow Carlos and Maria a few more minutes then we can enquire if the king requires our presence. I can also inform their majesties of today’s exciting Lenten menu; fish, then fish, followed by pickled sardines.”
“Is that truly what we are reduced to these days, Quijada?”
Carlos need not fear for his son leading a dull life in the Low Countries. Christina is one of the many secrets that Gomez guards.
Maria has raised Christina to be a strong willed lady like herself. And so she remains a young widow with no wish to marry. She is quite a merry widow, too.
As for her and Felipe? They make no secret of delighting in each other’s company. You might wonder, inasmuch as Christina is family, why Carlos did not consider Christina a suitable match for Felipe? The answer is quite simply because she does not possess a crown and Denmark is lost and gone. Such a marriage would bring neither wealth nor lands; so no wedding bells there.
I wonder if Carlos is surviving Maria’s onslaught.
April
Tears
I
The halberds standing in the corner w
ere naked, robbed of their tassels and looped ribbons of yellow, white, and red which now lay in dejected satin heaps. Escutcheons which until today had looked proudly down from their positions over doorways and fireplaces leaned against each other disorganised, undignified. Painted wooden two‑headed eagles, castles, lions, all lay haphazard on the floor. Silver and gold plates, tankards, goblets, and cups with their splendid imperial insignia were piled high on the table while ever more pieces were brought from dressers and chests to join them.
“Remember to bring everything bearing his majesty’s coat of arms,” Male ordered the servant.
At that very moment Madame Male strode into the salon with Maria close on her heels. She halted in disbelief at the devastation before her.
Male turned tohinife to mutter under his breath, “It is preposterous that the king should want it all melted down.”
“His majesty is to be persuaded by someone in this house, I think, not to do this dreadful thing. To destroy such work is a very bad action,” she gave her husband a fierce look accusing him of neglecting this very duty.
“We can only hope, my dear. Perhaps when he has had more time to reflect? I hope so. So very sad; not only is it the destruction of the artisan’s craft, it is the fact that his majesty wants his coat of arms wiped out, obliterated, as though they, he, are no more; no longer exist.”
Madame Male dismissed the idea with impatience. “Maria, come here girl. Take his majesty’s colours to my room, and please to give them the respect. Someone who allowed their putting on the floor did not give the respect,” she glared once more in her husband’s direction.
Maria gathered the tangled nests of ribbons carefully one by one into her white apron, hoping that this was showing enough ‘respect’ to the pretty bows and tassels that until a few moments ago had decorated those fierce weapons.
Ideas began to race as to how she might become the owner of some of the shiny red and yellow satin lengths that wanted to slide so delightfully through her fingers. If she worked extra hard, was more than obedient, Madame Male would surely give her some? On the other hand might she not simply borrow one or two for a while and no harm done? They could be put to good use on the hem of a skirt for the fiesta of the noche de San Juan. If the rider Miguel kept his promise to take her to Cuacos, a bit of bright yellow or red trim would make a dress look perfect for the occasion; she wanted to look her best. Madame Male had taught her to make oh so very tiny stitches with the finest of threads and smallest of needles to repair the linens – so different from the large, rusty, squeaky needles of those days in the past – and this skill she could so easily put to a better personal use.
Of more immediate concern was why the house was in such dreadful turmoil. It was disturbing. She closed the door behind her, running quickly to José and Samuel clutching her precious cargo.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“Nothing, really.” José opted for his ‘years of experience and wisdom’ voice. “His majesty’s upset that’s all. By tomorrow everything will be different, just you wait and see.”
“Upset about what?”
“Seems it’s all done and dusted, like. Made all proper.”
“What’s done and dusted?”
“I always ’as to explain everything; it’s like this, you see, his brother is the emperor now. But seeing as ’ow he has been for ages it’s not going to make one scrap of difference to no one. So you don’t need to look so worried. It’s just that it’s finally hit him, his brother gettin’ crowned and all that, and he’s takin’ it a bit hard. He’s like a big kid really if you wants to know the truth, gone right over the top, he has, bleatin’ about being a nobody. Says that now he’s no different and no better’n any of us.”
Samuel leaned towards her, “So you see anything to do with him being an emperor has to be got rid of. Plain and simple.”
Maria was angry. “That’s just stupid that is! His majesty can’t be anything different from the royal person he was yesterday, and taking these ribbons and things off everything doesn’t change anything either. Just like the rest of us! Whatever next?” She stopped, her face blanching, stinging tears threatening her eyes. She bit her lip to stop it trembling. “Dear Mother of God, I hope all this isn’t really because he, they, think he’s going to die? He has been ill all winter, he has, and what with his sister up and dying, well you never know.” She glanced down at the ribbons in her apron and thought how that would definitely put a cruel end to her dreams of the noche de San Juan.
José was about to offer something wise, but Maria’s fear had changed to resolution. She was not prepared to allow anyone, not even the king, to spoil her arrangements. “José, someone should tell the king to snap out of this mood before things get really bad and it’s too late.” On no account could she allow that to happen. Something had to be done.
“I tell you what, Maria, you knock on his door right now.”
He stood aside, pretending to usher her into the room, “Go in and give him a bit of your mind. That should sort him out, good and proper.”
“Don’t be so bloomin’ cheeky. You know what I’m on about. The whole house has changed, gone cold, like, well not cold exactly, not with all the fires and all; but it’s like it doesn’t have a heart no more. It’s just like someone has actually died and everything is piled up ready to be taken away; things that once was somebody’s home. It’s queer and scary, ’cause this is our home too, until …” but she didn’t want to contemplate anything so drastic as an end to her new life.
Yes, you find us a very sombre group today. Carlos once more is wallowing in self‑pity; nursing his hurt, grieving over his younger brother’s lack of fraternal love. Goodness knows why he should have expected any; their relationship has always been strained to say the least.
It goes back many years to 1516 when Ferdinand’s very existence posed a threat to Carlos inheriting the Spanish Crown. Basically Spain wanted a king who was Spanish born and bred, and that was Ferdinand, born when Queen Juana was in Spain to be sworn in as heir to the throne in 1503. The Spanish were also highly suspicious of Carlos, a foreigner. Carlos, not unnaturally, was deeply distrustful of his brother so, when he arrived in Spain, he wasted no time in despatching Ferdinand to Flanders to a new life far removed from Spanish politics.
And today’s turmoil and disruption? News has recently arrived that on March 12th Ferdinand was crowned Holy Roman Emperor. It comes as no surprise, as young José was saying, we all know he had been de facto emperor for years; but it has opened up old wounds.
Shall we go to the small salon? I see Male is already on his way there.
II
Carlos, Van Male, Doctor Mathys, Quijada and Gaztelu were already there: Quijada reading over some papers; Doctor Mathys absorbed in a recently acquired book; Gaztelu fussing at the table checking the contents of the ink pot, inspecting his quills, the quality of his writing paper; Van Male smply waiting should he be needed for further acts of vandalism, as his wife would have it. The only sounds came from the ticking of one of Carlos’s favourite clocks, the turning of pages and the shuffling of papers.
“Are you still not ready, Gaztelu? It takes you forever to get a few bits of paper and a couple of pens organised,” Carlos grumbled at him from his gout chair.
“Almost ready, my lord, I apologise.”
“None of this my lord nonsense! I am Don Carlos from now on, just as you are Don Martín and Quijada is Don Luis.”
“Yes, as you say my lord. But at last I am ready.”
“Good. The first letter is to my daughter. She is to make certain that all despatches to me in future will be addressed to Don Carlos, for I am nothing more, Carlos the emperor and Carlos the king no longer exist. The next letter is to order two new seals to be made bearing only the arms of Spain quartered with the arms of Burgundy. The eagle and the crown are to be removed.”
Gaztelu settled his spectacles on the tip of his nose, dipped his quill in the ink and began his faultless
calligraphy.
Carlos shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers tapping agitatedly on his knees. “What a damn miserable mess the whole affair has become. My brother, who should have had only love for me for all the favours I granted him, has always stabbed me in the back whenever he could. Because of my brother’s scheming my poor son has been forced to watch me throw away so much of his inheritance and now makes no secret of blaming me. Dear God, but I have been sorely misjudged all my life. I have never received an ounce of gratitude for the countless ways I have helped our empire, our country, our family. I have devoted years to serving our people and the Faith. And all the while there have been those in my family sitting and waiting, like goddamn vultures, eager to snatch any scrap they could. I have been unable to do anything but stand by helplessly watching as my family tears itself asunder,” he looked at Male for confirmation of this truth.
“Perhaps, my lord, you might wish to add these observations to your Commentaries?”
Male is assisting Carlos with his autobiography, or rather a book relating all his great deeds and acts during his reign as the Holy Roman Emperor, possibly as a model for lesser mortals. This is something else for Felipe to have destroyed.
He made as if to get pen and paper, but Carlos called him back. “Not now man! And call me Don Carlos! Doctor Mathys, be a good man and bring me some slices of ham, and some beer.”
“Your majesty, if I may suggest, after all those weeks of suffering, and now that you are finally recovering, you should not allow yourself to …”
“Doctor Mathys,” Carlos snarled, “I am unsure which to be the most bloody annoyed about, you calling me majesty or your trying to give me advice. Let me tell you this, my man, you are not permitted to suggest anything. You may be a doctor, but you are of inferior quality. I chose you so that I could give you my instructions and not vice versa. I want you to remember that. Now get me some ham. Some people think that just because I am no longer the emperor I cannot give a simple command without its being questioned. If I can remember my status, then so should the rest of you, for God’s sake!”
A Matter of Pride Page 27