“My lord, I am pleased that you are content with the lad.”
“Refreshments for everyone! Quijada, a private word.” He turned to Juan chuckling mischievously, “How would you like a bowl of cherries, and without having to climb a wall to pick them? There are cherries and lots more on the table. Help yourself. Off you go.”
Such a day! You remember my mentioning celebrating the birthday of another person on the same day as Carlos, someone rather special? Perhaps you do not; it was more than a year ago. I will tell you now that it is this young man, Juan, who shares that day; and I think you must agree he is rather special.
August
Making Decisions
I
Samuel and José waited on the covered terrace sitting on the flagstones and leaning idly against the wall, gentle splashings of crystal droplets in the newly installed fountain, the latest of Torriano’s innovations, adding to the air of general indolence. The king’s chair stood nearby, empty. There would be nothing for them to do other than talk and laze in the shade, deliciously whiling away the afternoon; today Carlos was finally fulfilling his desire to go riding with the young Juan.
After dispensing with more general gossip, Samuel finally introduced his most important question. It was a query he had been guarding for the right moment for it deserved time and opportunity to be explored fully and at leisure instead of via the usual snatched furtive whisperings. Today, now, was the moment.
“So, José, have you made your mind up whose kid he is then?”
A short while ago Samuel had been standing quite close to Juan and had given him as thorough a scrutiny as he dared as he watched him mount his mule to ride out with Carlos. What he would have given to be either Alonso or Manuel who were accompanying them! He would have so much time to study him close up. The boy stood tall; looked strong; was handsome with blond curly hair; he spoke proper, looked every inch like he properly belonged to a rich family.
“I don’t know, Sam, I just can’t fathom it. I mean, if he is royal, where’s the family chin? They all have it, more or less: Carlos more, Felipe less, and the Prince Carlos somewhere in between. No, let’s face it, this lad’s too bleedin’ good looking to belong to the king’s family. I’m still working on what you said, like his being Quijada’s. But no, I can’t see him having it off, he’s not the sort, and then deciding a few years later to look after him, not when he’d just got married, an’ all, and to such a beauty. Nah; but then, if not him, who?”
“Well I changed me mind on that. He’s nowt like Quijada. And don’t forget this kid’s a foreigner, a German. So the way I sees it now is, the king knew somebody important over there who had this kid what shouldn’t have had and decided to do him or her this favour, and keep it really hushed up, like, in a place no one would suspect. That’s why they chose a little village what no one knew even existed. How about his sister, Queen Maria?”
“Nah, Sam, she’s a bit long in the tooth for that sort of carryings on; in fact so’s just ut everyone we can think of.”
“Well maybe that Princess Christina; I heard as how she was, you know, with Felipe a lot, she sounds a bit of a …” he stopped short and leapt up, “Hey up. What the heck! They’re coming back already, just when we was getting started. What’s gone wrong now? I’d better shout for someone to get Quijada and the others.”
He rushed to the door, pushed it open, and called to unseen servants to prepare for the king’s unexpected return. He straightened his black tunic then brushed the dusty seat of his breeches with his hands. José did likewise and then they checked each other.
Manuel was walking alongside the king’s mule, a steadying hand on the bridle. The moment Carlos had growled in pain he had leapt down from his own mount to guide the faithful one‑eyed creature. He led it slowly up the slope where he, Samuel, and José freed the royal feet from the stirrups and gently levered the king up and out of the saddle. Despite their care every move was proving an agony to Carlos. Stabbing pains, worse than any enemy’s dagger, plunged and twisted in every part of his body. He was under a fearsome attack from everything that plagued him: haemorrhoids, the arthritis in his neck, arms and legs.
“Damn and blast these pains! Not even able to bloody ride any more. Godammit!” He muttered and cursed at his agony and frustration. “Sorry young Juan, but if you want to be a soldier you may as well get used to soldiers’ language; just never go repeating it to your father, or I will be in serious trouble,” he put a finger to his lips.
With the help of Samuel and José he hobbled the few paces to his chair to rest against it for a while offering some respite to his burning backside. He apologised to Juan who had dismounted and come to join him. “I have let you down badly. What can we do to make up for it?”
Male and Doctor Mathys arrived, breathless, to discover much to their relief that their master had not been taken seriously ill as had been suggested by the calls of alarm.
Carlos growled, “Before you start, I want no fuss from you two. There is no problem except the old one; pains everywhere. Blasted nuisance, means I cannot ride, and now the boy will be disappointed.”
Juan felt relief rather than disappointment. A ride on a mule was only a ride on a mule after all, and in any case he preferred palfreys or at the very least ponies. Now, with a couple of hours to spare and goodness knows what discoveries to be made in the small salon, this would be infinitely better.
It would have been preferable had bad weather been the cause of their interrupted ride rather than the king’s ill health. First it had been a shock and then he was scared by the king’s distress. Never had he known an adult cry out so, nor seen a grown man crumble under the weight of pain. As he watched Carlos recovering he wanted to tell him that it was of no great importance that their outing had been curtailed, but he didn’t know how without possibly embarrassing someone as important as a king, so he mumbled a few words that he hoped would suffice.
“Perfectly alright sire, another time if you would allow.”
The king shook the supporting shoulders of Samuel and José, suddenly laughing. “I know what we can do. Male, bring me the parrot.” He winked at Juan, “You will enjoy this.”
The hooded cage was quickly found and placed on a table on the terrace. Carlos was helped into his chair and trundled towards it. He removed the cover to reveal the parrot in its full glory of red, orange and green.
Samuel and José whistled with delight.
“Did you ever see such colours? They’s so much brighter out here, aren’t they Sam.”
Juan’s blue eyes grew larger and rounder in wonder. “Sire, what a beauty; I have never seen anything like it.”
“And not only is he a pretty bird, he is very clever. Gather round, as close as you can.” Carlos waited till they were settled then told his parrot, “This young man here, Juan, knows all about King Francis, especially at Pavia. Now I want you to tell him what you think of Francis. Let me get you started; Francis, Francis …”
The black, hooked beak opened, the head bobbed up and down, the scaly claws danced and sidestepped along the perch, squawking, “Francis is froth and feathers; Francis is froth and feathers. Blasted liar, blasted liar, awwh … froth and feathers …”
“What do you think of that then?” Carlos beamed.
“Holy Moses!” Samuel cried out, he and the rest of the small audience were impatient for more.
“This is even better. There was this priest called Luther who was a thorn in my side for many a year, inciting God‑fearing people to break from the Catholic Church. Have you innocent lads ever heard of him? You can be assured that he was evil. Now then, my pretty one, tell us what you think about Luther and his followers; Luther, Luther …” he pushed his face close to the bars of the cage.
The parrot squawked, danced another bobbing dance, “Awwh Luther, Luther, awwh burn all heretics, burn all heretics … incestuous bastard, incestuous bastard … married a nun, married a nun …”
Juan slapped his thighs and gi
ggled. The chair boys nudged each other amazed, fascinated, cries of, “Yeah; gawd almighty!” exploding from both of them.
Carlos revelled in their delight. “This is my favourite. Right, my pretty one, tell us, what do you think of Pope Paul?”
Samuel and José exchanged glances of disbelief. Juan clapped his hands over his mouth.
First a rustling then a furious flapping of wings; next, a raising of one leg followed by a noise for all the world like the parrot was farting and then an enormous dropping splattered onto the floor of the cage. To hilarious guffaws the bird squealed, “Pope Paul is a duplicitous bastard, Pope Paul is a duplicitous bastard …”
“My lord, I must protest,” Quijada admonished, throwing the cover over the cage to stifle any further blasphemies.
Gaztelu and Regla hovered nearby, glaring their disapproval.
The fun was over. Samuel and José shuffled their feet, rearranged their tunics; waiting. Juan felt he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
Carlos growled, “Quijada you are a killjoy every time. It was all good sport. And what harm is there in hearing the truth, you know well enough that the man is not to be trusted; a cheat and a liar; and, after all, if Juan is going to be a soldier?”
“There is more than enough to amuse Juan indoors. Male, go with Juan, have Torriano join you. The two of you will find countless items to interest him; the pocket clocks, maps, charts, astrolabes, compasses, books, mechanical toys. Anything; everything.”
Juan disappeared into the ouse with Male, disappointed that the crude and vulgar entertainment had come to such an abrupt end, holding dear the images of the extraordinary bird. How he would have loved to have seen and heard more.
The chair boys retired some distance away.
Samuel scratched his head, “Bleedin’ unbelievable, eh? A bird what can talk. What a bit of luck us being there, eh? And the little bugger can talk as good as the king. I bet if Quijada hadn’t come along we could have heard some real choice words.”
“And them stories, and that fart! A pity it was all cut short.” José sighed. “Never thought about the king being ordinary neither; you know, making fun of important people. Bleedin’ clever all them tricks.”
When I asked you to arrive at this hour I did not intend your witnessing the outbursts of an uncouth bird; shame on Carlos for teaching it such outrageous remarks. However, as I said, it was important that you were here for what is about to happen. News has arrived from Valladolid. Regla will explain, and believe me he is just the fellow to do it. The reactions of Carlos I am sure will be of equal interest to you.
As soon as Juan and the chair boys were out of earshot Quijada began and he was in a sour mood.
“My lord, Regla has been impatient to talk to you about recent events in Valladolid. The information he has will no doubt anger you, but I do urge caution. Regla, I beg you, do not allow your zeal to colour your report. Again, my lord, I ask you to consider carefully before taking any decisions.”
Carlos, still smarting from Quijada’s rebukes brusquely waved him aside. He joined Gaztelu who had shared his anxiety from the moment the confessor had spoken to them earlier, employing all the fervour of an inquisitor, about action which must be taken, and taken immediately.
“My lord,” Regla began eagerly, “I have had some of my Brothers keeping a watchful eye and reporting regularly on events in Valladolid. I am afraid it is my painful duty to inform yo that the seeds of Lutheranism have been firmly planted there. Yes, even under the very noses of the Regent Princess Juana and the Cortes. These seeds have taken root, and heresy has not only grown, it has blossomed!” He relished his bad tidings. “After all those years fighting the heretic wherever we found him hiding like a sneak thief, after our attempts to crush the Reformation where it dared to raise its ugly head, we find that our efforts have not been enough. It is my belief that from the beginning the punishments have been woefully weak, totally lacking in the necessary severity, and so have proved ineffectual, my lord. Our Christian tolerance has been our undoing, has become nothing less than an affront to God. He must be avenged. These men must be plucked from our midst and burned like pestilential weeds …”
Quijada broke in barely disguising his anger, “The truth of the matter is, my lord, a very small group of reformers has been discovered in Valladolid. Regla, I begged you to show some restraint, to avoid exaggeration.”
Carlos fumed, “Blasted heretics, the lot of them! That blasted Luther, how could anyone have any credence in him or his words. A man not fit to mouth one word of God; he renounced his Holy Orders, persuaded a nun to throw off her veil and marry him. Incest, and yet people listen to the ranting of a man who commits incest.”
“Perhaps profanity would be more …” Quijada ventured a weary sally in a lost battle.
“If I say incest, then it is damned incest. I thank God we have discovered what is going on in Valladolid. I want the Inquisition to be ready to take action immediately. Gaztelu, you will write to my daughter. Tell her she is to follow my orders to the letter. I want all heretics who do not repent to be burnt alive; those who do repent will be beheaded. Every damned one of them is to be sought out and brought to justice! There will be no favour, no mercy granted to anyone. No trials, only judgements.”
Quijada tried the voice of reason, “My lord, I beg you to consider further before demanding such harsh measures. Do you not see there will be those who find this an ideal excuse to be vengeful on those who may have offended them, or for others a way to rid themselves of people who stand in their way?”
Carlos ignored him, “Gaztelu, say that I want the axe taken to this root of evil before it has time to spread further. Write that if she does well she will have my blessing, and the Lord will look kindly on all she does hereafter. She had best see to it that my demands are carried out to the letter or I shall have to leave Yuste and attend to it myself. Dear God in Heaven, did I spend all those years fighting blasted reformists only to have the bastards turn up here in Spain? A black day, a very black day.”
“Exactly, my lord; may I be the first to congratulate you on taking up the sword to champion the cause.” Regla raised eyes filled with joyful tears to his God in Heaven, his hands clasped together in praise and gratitude for making this task, his mission, so straightforward.
Carlos was fired by a newly found enthusiasm, “I will not tolerate the True Faith being insulted by anyone. There will be no straying from the rulings of the Church, because they are not to be questioned. Anyone deviating from its doctrines, in whatever manner, is to be sought out and destroyed. I will not suffer any part of Spain to be contaminated by those not fit to be in our midst, to tread on the same earth, to breathe the same air. Make a copy of the letter to send to Felipe, it should encourage him to take similar action in the Netherlands. By God, but we will rid ourselves of them all. Get to it now. Regla will assist with any wording necessary for the duties of the Inquisitor General, Valdes.”
Quijada begged once more for reason, “My lord, this is overreacting. You are promoting intolerance, encouraging bigotry. Again I say you are appealing to those who bear personal grudges and would find this a perfect opportunity to strike. You also alarm me greatly when you order that there is to be no defence. You must give this matter more consideration.”
“Must? Regla is right, we have been too bloody lenient for too bloody long, and they have taken advantage, seen us as weak. I tell you, if we do not show strength now we are doomed. I say that from this moment no quarter shall be given!”
Gaztelu and Regla left together in silence; one deeply saddened by the task Carlos had given him, the other elated, euphoric.
Fanaticism is such a dangerous path to tread. People become blinded to all common sense in their desire to reach their goal.
Sadly this will prove counterproductive. The Inquisition and then the fierce bloodletting in the Netherlands will drive many thousands away from our Church, and a heavy shadow will hang over the True Faith forever.
II
Quijada handed Carlos a letter, “This arrived earlier, my lord.”
It was quickly scanned then returned, “Good. It pleases me my sister Maria intends to go to the Netherlands to act as governor once more. This means that Felipe can visit us at long last. My eyes and heart long to see him.” He paused for a moment. “You know if she changes her mind then Margaret de Parma will continue; she is a very clever woman, thinks for herself, a damn good Catholic. Lord knows I have been at the mercy of her temper a few times.”
“And every time you were the cause,” Quijada snapped welcoming the opportunity to stand once more on the side of reason and justice. His judgements on this matter were as sound as those he held regarding the Inquisition; this time, however, he had the comfort of knowing he had a better chance of winning his argument. “Remember, when she was still but a child of twelve, you had her marry that vicious, immoral reprobate Medici. And why? Because he was related to the pope and you thought that would be of use to you. The poor girl had to flee for her life. And then, after Medici was assassinated you married her off to a boy, no more than a child, who just happened to be yet another relative of the pope.”
“The young madam had the insolence to write to me complaining about him. I told her she had to be quiet and learn to respect her new husband. Some women do not know their place and other women who do dare to challenge it.”
“And it was only a few months ago that you tried her patience yet again, when you insisted on her young son marrying Leonor’s daughter, who is well into her thirties and he only thirteen or thereabouts, almost the same age as Juan I might remind you. She had no intention of having him sacrificed to ease the problems between mother and estranged daughter!” Quijada applauded Margaret, another of the women in the king’s family who had nerve, passion and resolution, able to stand their ground against Carlos when he was so obviously in the wrong and they so patently in the right.
A Matter of Pride Page 30