The Shadow of the Pomegranate (14 page)

He thought of the early struggles he and Isabella had endured in order to win Castile, and he longed afresh for his youth. With mingled feelings he remembered Isabella – a great Queen but at times an uncomfortable wife. His Germaine was more pliable; there was no question of her attempting to use her authority in defiance of his – she had none in any case. And yet . . . those days of struggle and triumph with Isabella had been great days.

But she was gone these many years, and her daughter Juana,
Queen of Spain in name only, passed her tragic days in seclusion at the Castle of Tordesillas, roaming from room to room, her mentality so clouded that she talked to those who had died years before, or fell into silences which lasted for weeks; ate her meals from the floor like an animal, never cleaned herself, and constantly mourned the dead husband who had been noted for his infidelity and his beauty.

Tragic for her of course, but not so for Ferdinand, since it was due to Juana’s insanity that he ruled Castile. But for that he would be merely a petty ruler of Aragon realising how much he owed to his marriage with Isabella.

But the past was done with, and the once active, lusty man was feeling his age.

Unless he got Germaine with child, young Charles could inherit everything his maternal and paternal grandparents had to leave. But his younger brother, Ferdinand, should not be forgotten. His grandfather and namesake would see to that. All the same he longed for a son of his own.

He had thought at one time that his wish was to be fulfilled. Germaine had two or three years before given birth to a son; but the little boy had died only a few hours after birth.

Ferdinand sat musing on the past and the future, and after a while he rose and went through the main apartments to a small chamber in which he kept certain important documents.

He opened a cabinet in this room and took out a small bottle which contained certain pills, which he slipped into his pocket.

Unobtrusively he would take one half an hour before retiring. He had proved the efficacy of these pills and would reward his physician if the desired result were achieved.

Germaine would be surprised at his powers.

He smiled; yet at the same time he felt a little sad that a man
who had once been noted for his virility should be forced to resort to aphrodisiacs.

Don Luis Caroz, waiting in an ante-chamber of the Queen’s apartments at Westminster, chafed against this mission which he felt to be an indignity to a man of his position. Don Luis flicked at the elaborate sleeve of his doublet; it was an unnecessary gesture; there was no dust on his sleeve; but it conveyed his fastidiousness and his contempt for the streets through which he had passed.

His garments were more magnificent than those of most ambassadors at the King’s Court; indeed he vied with the King and he assured himself that it was merely because Henry favoured the brightest colours that he appeared to be more dazzling. It was a matter of English vulgarity against Spanish good taste. Don Luis had a very high opinion of himself; it seemed to him that his diplomacy succeeded brilliantly; he lost sight of the fact – if it ever had occurred to him – that it was the Queen who made it easy for him, not only to gain an audience with the King whenever he wished to do so, but, receiving hints of her father’s desires, by preparing the King’s mind favourably towards them before Caroz appeared.

Vain, immensely rich – which was the reason why Ferdinand had chosen him to be his ambassador in England since he could pay his own expenses and thus save Ferdinand’s doing so – Don Luis was determined that his suite should be more grand than that of any other ambassador, and that the Court should not forget that his position was a specially favourable one on account of the Queen’s being the daughter of his master.

It was therefore galling for such a grand gentleman to be kept waiting – and by a humble priest at that. At least he should have been humble; but Caroz had reason to know that there was nothing humble about Fray Diego Fernandez.

Katharine, who was almost as pious as her mother had been, naturally placed great confidence in her confessor, and the friar who held such a position was certain to wield an influence over her.

Don Luis paced up and down the ante-room. How dare the priest keep the ambassador waiting! The vulgar fellow. It was the ambassador’s belief that the little priest was itching to get a finger into the political pie. Let him keep to his post and the ambassador would keep to his.

But Fray Diego’s task was to be the Queen’s confessor – and a woman such as Katharine would consider her actions always a matter of conscience.

Don Luis made a gesture of impatience. ‘The saints preserve us from saintly women,’ he murmured.

At length the priest appeared. Don Luis looked at him – uncouth, he thought, in his priestly robes, a smug satisfaction on his young but clever face.

‘Your Excellency wished to see me?’

‘I have been waiting this last half hour to do so.’

‘I trust you have not found the waiting tedious.’

‘I always find waiting tedious.’

‘It is because you are a man of such affairs. I pray you therefore let me know your business.’

Don Luis went swiftly to the door; he opened it, looked out, then shut it and stood leaning against it. ‘What I have to say is for you alone . . . for Spanish ears, you understand me?’

The priest bowed his head in assent.

‘Our master is eager that the King of England should declare war on France without delay.’

The priest lifted his hands. ‘Wars, Excellency, are beyond my sphere.’

‘Nothing is beyond the sphere of a good servant of Spain. That is what our master thinks. And he has work for you.’

‘I pray you proceed.’

‘King Ferdinand believes that the Queen could help us. She has much influence with King Henry. Indeed her influence must surely be of greater account than that of his ministers.’

‘I doubt that, Excellency.’

‘Then it must become so. If it is not, mayhap it is because the Queen has not worked hard enough to obey her father’s wishes.’

‘Her Grace wishes to please her father and her husband. Her father is far away and did little to succour her when she needed his help. Her husband is here at hand; and I doubt he could be led too far from his own desires.’

‘What do you know of these matters? He is young and ardent. If the Queen used skill, the utmost tact . . . she could win his promise immediately.’

‘It is my opinion that this would not be so.’

‘Your opinion was not asked. And how can you, a celibate, understand that intimacy which exists between a man and woman in the privacy of the bedchamber? My dear Fray Diego, there are moments, I assure you, which if chosen with skill can be used to great advantage. But you do not know of these matters – or do you?’

There was a sneer behind the words, a suggestion that the rumours of a secret life, attributed to Fray Diego, might be true. If such rumours were proved to be true they could cost
him his position, Fray Diego knew; for Katharine herself would be so shocked that, much as she relied on him, she would let him go if she discovered his secret.

The priest knew that the ambassador was not his friend; but he had triumphed over enemies before. He remembered with relish his battle with Francesca de Carceres; she had hated him and had schemed for his recall to Spain. But look what had happened to her! Now married to the banker Grimaldi she was desperately trying to regain her position at Court, whereas he was higher in the Queen’s favour than he had ever been, and so important that the ambassador was forced, though much against his will, to seek an interview with him.

Fray Diego was young; he was somewhat arrogant. He really did not see why he should take orders from Caroz. It was Ferdinand’s wish that he should do so, but he no longer regarded Ferdinand as his master. His influence seemed slight from such a great distance. Ferdinand had neglected his daughter during the years of her widowhood; it was only now that he wrote to her so frequently and so affectionately. Katharine remembered this; and in Fray Diego’s opinion she was more Queen of England than Infanta of Spain.

He was determined therefore that he was not going to allow his fear of Ferdinand to rob him of the ascendancy he felt he possessed over Ferdinand’s ambassador, towards whom the Queen did not feel as affectionate as she did towards her friend and confessor.

‘It is true,’ he said, ‘that I have not your experience, Don Luis, of these matters. But what you ask is for the Queen’s conscience, and for Her Grace to decide.’

‘Nonsense!’ retorted Caroz. ‘It is a confessor’s duty to guide those who are in his spiritual care. A few careful words, spoken
at the appropriate moment, and the Queen will realise her duty.’

‘You mean her duty to her father, I am sure. But there is the possibility that Her Grace might also realise the duty to her husband.’

‘Do you mean that you refuse to obey our master’s commands?’

‘I mean,’ said Fray Diego with dignity, ‘that I will give the matter my consideration and if, after meditation and prayer, I can convince myself that what you ask is good for the soul of Her Grace, I shall do as you say.’

‘And if not . . . ?’ burst out Caroz, fuming with indignation.

‘This is a matter for my conscience as well as the Queen’s. That is all I can say.’

Caroz curtly took his leave and went away fuming. The arrogance of that upstart! he was thinking. A vulgar fellow. It was a great mistake that any but the highest nobility should be entrusted with state matters – and the Queen’s confessor should have been a man of highest integrity and that noble birth which would have kept him loyal to his own kind.

Caroz soothed his anger by thinking of the account he would send to Ferdinand of this interview.

You will not long remain in England, my little priest, he prophesied.

His next call was on Richard Fox, Bishop of Winchester – a man who, he knew, had great influence among the King’s ministers.

Promise them anything, Ferdinand had said, but get in exchange for your promise theirs to work for the English invasion of France.

Here was a man, thought Luis, who could surely be bribed
because as an ambitious man he must be eager for the prizes of power and fame.

Caroz was proud of his ingenuity, for he had made up his mind what he was going to promise Richard Fox.

Fox received him with seeming pleasure, but beneath that calm expression of hospitality there was an alertness.

‘I pray you be seated,’ said Fox. ‘This is indeed both an honour and a pleasure.’

‘You are kind, my lord Bishop, and I thank you. I have come here today because I believe it is in my power to do you some service.’

The Bishop smiled rather ambiguously. He knew that it was a bargain the ambassador would offer rather than a gift.

‘Your kindness warms my heart, Excellency,’ he said.

‘It would not be an easy matter to achieve,’ admitted Caroz, ‘but I would ask my master to work for this with all his considerable power – and he has great power.’

The Bishop was waiting, now almost unable to curb his eagerness.

‘His Holiness plans to create more Cardinals. There are two French Cardinals and it has been suggested that he will present the hat to more Italians and Spaniards. My master is of the opinion that there should be some English holders of the office. I think he would be prepared to consider those for whom he felt some . . . gratitude.’

The Bishop, who had been sceptical until this moment, could scarcely hide the great excitement which possessed him. The Cardinal’s hat! The major step towards the highest goal of all churchmen – the Papal Crown.

Fox had assured himself that he was a man of integrity; he would work for the good of England – but what an honour for
England if one of her bishops became a Cardinal; what great glory if one day there should be an English Pope!

Caroz, exulting inwardly, knew of the conflict which was going on behind the immobile features of the Bishop. What a stroke of genius on his part to think of hinting at a Cardinal’s hat! It was the irresistible bribe. No matter if there was no possibility of the offer’s ever being made; promises such as this were all part of statecraft. How delighted Ferdinand would be with his ambassador when he heard of his ingenuity. It was worthy of Ferdinand himself.

‘I agree with His Highness, King Ferdinand, that there should be a few English Cardinals,’ said Fox. ‘It will be interesting to see if the Pope shares that opinion.’

‘There are few whom I would consider for the office,’ said Caroz. ‘But there are some . . . there is one . . .’

The Bishop said fervently: ‘That man would never cease to be grateful to those who helped him to attain such office, I can assure you.’

‘I will pass on your words to my master. As you know, since the alliance of his daughter and the King he has had a great affection for your countrymen. It is something which he does not bear towards the French. Nothing would please him more than to see our two countries set out side by side to conquer our mutual enemy.’

The Bishop was silent. The terms had been stated. Withdraw your opposition to the project of war, and Ferdinand will use all his considerable influence with the Pope to win you a Cardinal’s hat.