A Matter of Pride

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A Matter of Pride Page 33

by Linda Carlino


  “A devout Catholic; made sure the children spent a good deal of time at their devotions. The world needs more like her …” Carlos gazed lovingly at the cameo portrait of his beloved wife. “Oh Isabel, I want to be with you. I am tired and lonely. Quijada tell Regla. Confess …” Carlos closed his eyes, unable to continue.

  I must tell you of one of the most touching pieces she ever penned. “I kiss this sheet of paper with the same warmth and tenderness with which I would kiss your lips if I were with you.”

  Everyone mourned her passing, and they mourned for Carlos’s great loss. There was a lament often heard being sung throughout the whole of Spain:

  ‘Carlos, why do you weep for Isabel

  And why do you still seek her?

  She is not dead, she is well

  She is now the bride of our Maker.’

  And Carlos is soon to join her in Paradise.

  Regla came to the bedside. “I am ready, my lord.”

  “Pray, father, bless me, for I have sinned in thought, word, and deed …”

  “The Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips, that thou mayest truly and humbly confess thy sins …”

  At this point we will withdraw. Confession is a private matter.

  This would be an ideal opportunity to see what is happening at the stables.

  III

  Maria and Alonso were standing by the stable wall having a serious conversation.

  Alonso concluded his frank observations on Maria’s recent attitude towards him by tempering his comments with some indulgent words, “You see, Maria, too many good things happened to you, too quick, like. You just got your head turned. Like as not it’s because you’re young.”

  “And you still spoke up for me, in spite of everything.”

  “I did. It seemed only right.”

  “So it was lucky for me that Don Quijada has decided to take me on, then?” Maria nervously smoothed her white apron.

  Quijada had taken no persuading whatsoever. In fact it was Quijada who had asked Alonso if by offering Maria a position it might create an awkward situation knowing how their relationship had changed. But Alonso saw no reason for telling Maria this, far better for him to take the credit.

  He leaned protectively over her, as he had throughout their lengthy chat about Maria’s expectations and disappointments, one large calloused hand resting against the rough stones the other gently on her shoulder. “Too right you’re lucky, if you thinks about what I’ve been telling you.”

  “And Doña Magdalena is lovely, isn’t she? I expect she’ll be really nice to work for; you know, kind and helpful.”

  “I expect so but, by God, she won’t stand no nonsense neither; can be fearsome strict.”

  Maria then asked the big question that had to be asked; the main reason she was standing there, “And we’d be together again, just like before? I never did anything with that Miguel, you know. We never even touched hands.”

  “That’s as it should be. Yeh; I reckon we probably can get back together.”

  He knew that at last he had got her back, she was his again, and he thanked his lucky stars; but from now on he would decide each and every step they took, she took, before he married her. He would be master.

  “Well, that’s alright then.” But it struck her that he had only said probably, leaving a worrying doubt. “I was scared you might have found someone else.”

  He took his time before answering, “As a matter of fact, no, there’s no one else. Now I think you’d best be getting back or you’ll have Madame Male after you.”

  “You’re right. Well, I’ll be off then.” She held her bonny face with its full, sensual lips up to him; but there was no kiss, only his friendly smile as he turned to go into the tack room.

  Manuel looked up at Alonso as he whistled his way to join him at the table. “I’m sat sitting here still thinking of our good luck, eh, Alonso? Can’t get over it; could’ve done a damned sight worse.” He put down his cloth; resting his hand, stretching cramped fingers, gazing at the remaining lengths of leather reins and traces still awaiting his attention.

  “You’re right. We could’ve been sent to Jarandilla. Can you imagine that, with them pompous bastards that used to come galloping in here like they owned the bloody place? Mind you any job’s better than none. But, like, we knows Quijada, known him years, know how to work for him, what pleases him.”

  “And from what we’ve heard his castle at Villagarcía is a damned sight better than here,” he picked up the waxing rag and resumed his polishing. “And what about Maria, what she ’ave to say about goin’ there? I thou as how she might be wantin’ to go to Jarandilla.”

  “I tell you she can’t be thankful enough.”

  “She upset still about that rider and her not getting to go with him for the noche de San Juan? Couldn’t have come to anything, them two, could it?”

  “Manuel, them lot’s too fancy for her, I mean just look at the way they treated us. I’ll tell you, like I told her, not being nasty nor anything but just the way I sees it, what exactly would have happened. You’ve seen or heard it all, mate. I said to her that if she had gone out with him that night it would’ve meant his havin’ his way with her, and then not botherin’ no more. She’ll soon forget him. But, more important than her missin’ out on her big night out, she was worried sick about the king probably dying an’ all and her havin’ no place to go; and she couldn’t face the thought of goin’ back to her folks, even supposin’ they would want another mouth to feed. Said she could always get a job in a tavern. She has this picture of herself in that bleedin’ white apron of hers servin’ gents like the ones she’s served here. I had to put her straight on that. Them gents in the tavern, I pointed out, would be all for draggin’ her out into the back yard and up against the wall in amongst the stinkin’ heaps of rubbish, other fellers watchin’ when they came out to piss and fart, yellin’ filthy things. Am I right?”

  “Yeh. Dead right. Then she’d get thrown out cos she was goin’ to have a kid.”

  “Anyway this job at Villagarcía came up, and when I told her about it I laid it on a bit thick as ’ow I’d got her the job.”

  “You beggar!”

  “You got to know the best way to play this game, Manuel. Anyway, it’s turning out just right. She sees I’m her best chance for a husband. Mind you, she’s lucky I’ll still have her; I was fair put out with the way she was carrying on there for a while. So, as I say, I guess we’ll end up at the church door.” He picked up a halter he had been working on and walked down the room.

  “I hope as ’ow you ask me to be a witness. Hey, you’ll have to get her some bonny ribbons for her dress, like the ones she fancied for the noche de San Juan!”

  “Won’t hear no more of that, right?” Alonso called sharply over his shoulder. “What’s past is past and best forgotten, unless it’s me what’s doing the rememberin’. Anyway, more to the point as they say, I wonder ’ow long it’ll be before we goes to our new place? Sam and José says as they’ve never known the king be so sick. They’ve had nowt to do for days and days; just hanging about,” he continued, hanging up the halter at the end of a steadily growing row of newly burnished harnesses. “All smart and tidy like soldiers you lot are.” He scanned the ranks of collars, halters, cruppers, all arranged with military precision, wondering how many more times he would be doing this job in these stables.

  “I think it’s the first time he’s been in his bed all the time, so he must be pretty bad. And then, what about all them visitors? Aye, it probably is the beginning of the end. And ’im so chirpy after that young Juan came. A bleedin’ shame.”

  “What I says is, Manuel, you never knows when your time’s up,” Alonso reached for a crupper and slowly wiped it with a fresh cloth. “See, who’s to say this isn’t the last time we does this?”

  José and Samuel ran in as if being chased by the devil.

  “Where’s Pepe?” José panted. “Quijada wants mules and horses and the litter!”

/>   Pepe bustled proudly into the tack room. He had been overseeing the work in the stall where the messenger’s horse was soon to be tethered. It was his responsibility that everything was perfect for a horse belonging to the regent who would, before too long, be his new mistress. He wanted his reputation to go before him. “What can we do for you lads? I take it this is not a social visit?”

  “We need a horse litter, a fresh horse for the messenger and a couple of mules for Sam and me.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going already?” Alonso asked for all of them. But they all knew the answer and the reason. The reality, the finality of it all, engulfed them.

  “I guess it’s just about all over for the king. We’re off to Valladolid with the parrot and then to Jarandilla.”

  Alonso, Manuel and Pepe accompanied the chair boys out to the courtyard.

  “Well, best of luck mates” They exchanged hugs and claps on the shoulders.

  “Enough of that now, there’s work to be done. Horses? Remember? Come on, let’s be havin’ you.” Pepe turned quickly and walked off to secretly wipe away the tears.

  Saying farewell is difficult enough without there being a sad reason for it such as this. Shall we return to the bed chamber?

  IV

  Confession over, Regla told Quijada he would return in a few moments with the consecrated bread.

  “My lord, I strongly advise you not to do this,” Quijada whispered to Carlos.

  Carlos wheezed, “Good provision for my long journey.”

  “Your throat, my lord. You may be unable to swallow.”

  “I shall be able, I know.”

  As the confessor left the room via the short flight of steps up into the church, the door to the bedchamber was opened to admit another priest who rushed to the king’s side, knelt, and kissed his hand.

  This will put some cheer into the king’s heart. This is the Dominican Carranza, The Black Friar of London; the recently appointed Archbishop of Toledo, Primate of Spain. King Felipe has rewarded him with this appointment because of his many years of devoted service.

  “Your majesty I have only just returned from Brussels, from King Felipe, who is in good health. I was on my way to Toledo when I heard you were ill.”

  Carlos smiled his welcome. He knew of the archbishop’s tireless efforts to save the souls of the English heretics. “Welcome, welcome, archbishop. Read to me; read, Out of the depths to Thee I have cried …”

  Carranza read Psalm 130,

  “… Let Isreal hope in the Lord:

  For with the Lord there is mercy,

  And with him is plenteous redemption.

  And he shall redeem Israel

  From all his iniquities.”

  Then holding up his crucifix he announced clearly and firmly, “Behold Him who answers for all. There is no more sin. All is forgiven.”

  Regla, who had returned with the consecrated bread stood at the top of the steps in disbelief, consumed with loathing. He forced his feet to bring him down the steps and across the room to Carranza’s side to hiss in his ear, “Our master, King Carlos, has spent his whole life fighting for the True Faith; yet you dare come here, into this room!” The hiss became a snarl, “Valdes has told me of you and Ortiz and Cazalla; daring to discuss Purgatory; suggesting that through Christ’s death man might be cleansed of venial sin. Whatever you may have done to rid England of heretics I say you offend our Church with your scandalous writings. Get away from here and take your stinking ideas with you. It is the likes of you that will destroy our Church. Let me remind you that contrary to what you think the world is full of sin and it behoves us, each and every one, to make atonement before we come to meet our God. Go! Get out of here!”

  Zuñiga, who along with others whose curiosit drawn them to Regla’s side, ventured supportive mumblings.

  Quijada held his hands over his face; this was neither the time nor the place for this; his beloved king and friend was dying, for pity’s sake!

  Archbishop Carranza spoke quietly, “I did not come here to argue the scriptures or doctrine or anything else. I came here because of my concerns for the king’s health.” He retired into the shadows, but would not leave.

  Moans from Carlos reminded Regla of the reason for his being at the royal bedside. Regla summoned Mathys, “Doctor, ensure that the king’s throat is clear.”

  Doctor Mathys opened the king’s mouth, and inserting a finger cleared away the phlegm that threatened to obstruct.

  They all bowed their heads as Carlos received the Body of Christ. “Lord God of Truth, our Redeemer, into Thy hands I commit my spirit.”

  After a few moments Quijada checked to see that no bread remained. To his great relief his fears were unfounded. He crossed himself, thanking God.

  Fouled linens were carefully removed from the bed and replaced with fresh ones. Carlos was gently bathed and dressed in a clean nightshift.

  The hours passed slowly, heavily. The priests continued their doleful chanting of the Psalms; others in the room found themselves doing what most do when in the presence of someone they know is dying, whispering remembered tales of long ago, when they were all in their prime.

  At some time after midnight the king held his left wrist, tugged at Quijada’s sleeve, “The pulse, weaker. Candles.”

  The large candles, brought specifically for this moment from the Monastery of Our Lady of Montserrat, were lit and placed at the four corners of the king’s bed.

  Regla held the crucifix close to Carlos, “Your majesty came into the world on San Matías’ day and will leave on San Mateo’s day. With these two intercessors, you will have nothing to fear.” He hoped Carranza was taking note heed the fact that all men are sinners and that the help of these two saints would assist Carlos during the time that God would allot for his cleansing and preparation to become pure and holy enough to see Him. “Let your heart turn with confidence to God, who will this day take you to Himself.”

  Carlos checked his pulse once more and shook his head. He signed to Quijada that he wished the taper to be lighted. For a moment he held his crucifix next to his heart. It was Isabel’s crucifix, the crucifix she had held in her final moments. He motioned for Regla to take it from him. Quijada supported his master and placed the taper in his hands.

  “Now it is time,” whispered Carlos. The flickering taper was removed. Carlos leaned towards the crucifix to kiss the feet of Christ. “Ah, Jesus.” With a sigh he dropped back into the arms of Quijada who gently lowered him onto his pillows.

  Quijada fell forward sobbing on the bosom of his king, his friend, his ‘brother’, who was gone from him forever.

  The king is dead.

  The man who for many was generous, was regarded by others as selfish. The man who was loved, was also reviled. The man who was hailed as the mightiest and noblest Christian emperor since Charlemagne, was detested by some as the greediest, most vainglorious of tyrants. The man who loved so passionately and generously, hated many and was the author of despicable acts of brutality. The man who considered himself as a man of high ideals, was judged by others a shameless schemer. The man who saw himself as fair and open‑minded, was regarded by others as a bigot whose heart and mind were filled with ignorant prejudices. The man who considered himself a mighty ruler, was judged by others as incompetent.

  What motivated Carlos; was it pride in country, empire, the True Faith, himself, the Hapsburg Dynasty?

  I will leave you with that question.

  A Return to Yuste

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  Welcome to Yuste once more. It is quite unbelievable that it is more than four hundred years since I greeted you with those very same words.

  What a beautiful October day. I do enjoy the freshness of the early morning.

  Ah, I see you find it quite amazing that everything appears unchanged after four centuries.

  That is the reason for my invitation. Despite what your eyes seem to be telling you this is not the Yuste of old but an exceptional and faithful restoration
that strictly adhered to the plans lodged in the National Archives in Simancas. The work began in 1941 and took fully seventeen years to complete. It might not have taken quite so long had there been some decent roads in the area; however there were none which meant that all materials and equipment had to be brought here using horses and mules over roadways little better than those travelled by our friends in the past. And money was scarce, too; remember Spain was in the process of recovering from the Civil War.

  As I was saying, despite all obstacles and inconveniences the restoration was completed by 1958.

  The best way to approach Yuste without doubt is on foot from Cuacos, sauntering up the winding road, as so many have done before; perhaps pausing to pick wild oregano, or to pass the time of day with an elderly local on his mule as he leisurely rides back down to the village.

  Yes, indeed you are right, one must first get to Cuacos, but that is no problem these days as it is only twenty‑eight miles from Plasencia; less than an hour by car.

  But I digress. Shall we go up the ramp and sit on the wall where Quijada and Gaztelu once rested and chatted?

  May I draw your attention to the plaque on the wall;

  His majesty the emperor, Don Carlos V, our lord, was sitting in this place when he was taken ill on August 31st at four in the afternoon. He died on September 21st at half past two in the morning in the year of our Lord 1558.

  The first date is incorrect; no doubt Quijada would have smiled a wry smile at the monks’ inaccuracy.

  I mentioned the restoration, but my story must have a beginning. I shall start with King Felipe’s visit here not long after the death of Carlos. The first thing he did was order the removal of the Titian painting that hung over the high alter; do you remember it?

 

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