Spain for the Sovereigns (49 page)

So to the battle-front came Isabella. The Prince of the Asturias, although only thirteen years old, was with his father. He already considered himself to be a warrior, for in the spring of the previous year Ferdinand had conferred the honour of knighthood upon him, and the ceremony had been performed on the battlefield.

Isabella had brought with her her children and some of her ladies, for she had determined that she would not be parted from her family again. She believed that the presence of the entire royal family in camp was an inspiration to the army; as indeed it seemed to be.

Isabella herself was indefatigable. She nursed the sick, and even her youngest, the five-year-old Catalina, was given tasks to do. Her eldest, Isabella, worked with fervour; for since the death of Alonso, the piety of the young Isabella had rivalled that of the elder.

Ferdinand was delighted to have his family with him, for where the Queen was, dignity and decorum were not forgotten.

There was neither gambling nor swearing in the camp when the Queen was present; instead there were continual prayers. Ferdinand was quick to realise the importance of a disciplined army, and the dignity of the Queen was more effective in ensuring this than any strict rules he could have enforced.

The weeks passed, but the great battle for Granada did not take place. There was deadlock between the two forces.

The great fortress remained impregnable.

Cristobal had said his farewells. He had left Cordova and travelled westward.

But before he could find his way to France there was one call he must make.

It was six years since he had seen Diego, and he could not leave Spain without seeing his son once more and explaining that he was leaving the country.

Thus it was that on a July day he arrived at the Monastery of Santa Maria de la Rabida, to find at the gate the lay brother who had been there on that day when Cristobal had come there with Diego. ‘I seek shelter,’ he said.

‘Enter, my friend,’ was the answer. ‘It is denied no traveller within these walls.’

And when he had entered, he said: ‘Tell me, is Fray Juan Perez de Marchena at the Monastery?’

‘He is here, my friend.’

‘I greatly wish to speak with him.’

Fray Juan embraced him and took him into the room where they had previously talked.

‘You see a defeated man,’ said Cristobal. ‘Spain treats me even as Portugal has done. I have come to see my son, and to ask you if you will keep him here a little longer, or whether I should take him with me into France.’

‘You are leaving us, Cristobal Colon?’

‘There is no point in staying.’

‘I did not think you were a man who would give in so easily.’

‘I am a man determined to embark on an enterprise.’

‘And you have decided to leave Spain.’

‘I am going to lay my proposition before the French. I have heard from my brother who is there. He tells me that there is some hope that there I might find more willing ears.’

‘This grieves me.’

‘You have been so good to me.’

‘I will send for Diego,’ said Fray Juan.

Cristobal beheld the tall youth with astonishment.

‘Can it be?’ he cried with emotion.

‘I do not ask the same,’ answered the youth. ‘I know you, Father.’

They embraced, and the bright blue eyes of the adventurer were misty with tears.

Finally, Cristobal released his son. He laid his hands on his shoulders and looked into his face.

‘So, Father, you did not succeed.’

‘I do not give up hope, my son. I am leaving Spain. Will you come with me?’

Fray Juan had come forward. He said: ‘We have taken good care of Diego. We have educated him, as you will learn, Señor Colon. If he left us his education would be interrupted. I could wish that you had not decided to leave Spain for a while, and that Diego would stay with us.’

‘My mind is made up,’ said Cristobal.

‘This day I feel prophetic,’ said the Friar. ‘Señor Colon, will you stay with us for a week . . . two weeks? Will you give me your company for that time?’

‘You are hospitable; you have done much for me. One day I shall reward you. If the French support me, one day I shall be a rich man. I shall not forget your kindness.’

‘If you give me riches it would not be what I asked; and of what use is a gift which is not acceptable? I have cared for your son for six years. Give me this now. Stay here with us . . . two weeks . . . three . . . This is all I ask.’

‘For what reason do you ask this?’

‘Obey me unquestioningly. I believe one day you will not regret it.’

Diego said: ‘Father, you cannot deny Fray Juan this.’

Cristobal looked at the earnest face of the Prior.

‘If you would tell me . . .’ he began.

‘I will tell you this. I believe it is God’s will that you stay here. Señor Colon, do not deny me what I ask.’

‘Since you put it like this, I will stay,’ said Cristobal.

Fray Juan was satisfied.

He left father and son together and went to his cell.

He wrote for some time; then destroyed what he had written.

He paced his cell. He knelt and prayed.

Then he made a sudden decision.

He went to Cristobal and Diego and said: ‘I have to leave the monastery on a most urgent matter. You have given me your word, Cristobal Colon, that you will stay here. I want you to promise me now that you will not leave until I return.’

He looked so earnest that Cristobal gave his promise.

And that very day the Prior set out on his mule for the two-hundred-mile journey to Granada.

Isabella lay sleeping in her pavilion. These elaborate sleeping quarters were very different from the tents used by the soldiers, and had been provided for her by the Marquis of Cadiz.

She was weary, for the days in camp were exhausting. She was continually going among the troops, talking to them of their homes, urging them to valour; and as there were constant skirmishes, there were many wounded to be attended to.

But now the night was still, and she slept.

She awoke suddenly to a sense of alarm; it was some seconds before she realised that what had awakened her was the smell of burning.

She hastened from her bed, calling to her women, and as she ran from the pavilion she saw that draperies at one side of it were ablaze and that the fire had spread to the nearby tents.

Isabella immediately thought of her children, who were sleeping near the pavilion, and she found time in those seconds to visualise a hundred horrors which might befall them.

‘Fire!’ called Isabella. ‘Fire in the camp!’

Immediately the camp was awake, and Isabella made with all speed to those tents in which the royal children were sleeping; she found to her immense joy that the fire had not yet touched them, so she roused the children hastily and, throwing a few clothes about them, they hurried with her into the open.

There she found Ferdinand giving instructions.

‘Be watchful,’ he called to the sentinels. ‘If the enemy see what is happening they might attack.’

As Isabella, with her daughters, watched the soldiers dealing with the fire, she noticed that Juana’s eyes were dancing with excitement and that the child seemed even a little disappointed when the fire was under control. Maria looked on with an expression which was almost one of indifference, while little Catalina grasped her mother’s hand and clung to it tightly. Their sister Isabella seemed listless, as she had habitually become since the death of Alonso.

The Marquis of Cadiz joined Isabella and explained that a lamp had evidently caught the draperies of the pavilion and the wind had carried the flame to the nearby and highly inflammable tents.

At length Isabella led the children into one of the tents which had been prepared for them. She lifted Catalina into her arms and the child was almost immediately asleep. She kept them with her for the rest of the night.

The elaborate pavilion and many of the costly tents and their furnishings had been destroyed; and in the morning Ferdinand estimated the damage with a frown. The loss of valuable property always upset him more than any other calamity.

‘Ferdinand,’ said Isabella slowly, ‘this might have been a great disaster. We might have lost our lives, if the saints had not watched over us. How ironical if, on the eve of victory, we should have died through a fire caused accidentally.’