‘We should have to give this matter great thought before committing ourselves,’ said Ferdinand. ‘We are engaged in a Holy War at the moment.’

‘But,’ said Isabella, ‘rest assured that your suggestions shall have our serious considerations. I shall appoint a council to consider them. They will be in touch with you; and if the report they bring to me is hopeful, I will then consider what can be done to provide you with what you need.’ She inclined her head. ‘You will be informed, Senor Colon, of the findings of the committee which I shall set up.’

From beside the Queen, Beatriz de Bobadilla was smiling encouragement at him.

Cristobal knelt before the Sovereigns.

The audience was over.

The Senora Beatriz de Arana was waiting for him on his return. She looked at him expectantly; his expression was noncommittal.

‘I do not know what will be the outcome,’ he said. ‘They are going to set up a commission.’

‘But that is hopeful, surely.’

‘They set up a commission in Lisbon, my dear lady. An ecclesiastical commission. The Queen’s confessor was present at this interview. I did not much like his looks. But there was one there – a maid of honour of the Queen – and she . . . she seemed to think something of me.’

‘Was she handsome?’ asked the Senora earnestly.

Cristobal smiled at her. ‘Very handsome,’ he said. ‘Very, very handsome.’

Beatriz de Arana looked a little sad, and he went on quickly: ‘Yet haughty, forceful. I prefer a gender woman.’

She said: ‘I have a meal waiting for you. Come into my house and we will eat together. We will drink to the success of your enterprise. Come now, for the food is hot, and I would not have it spoilt.’

So he followed her into her house and, when they had eaten the excellent food she had cooked and were flushed with the wine she provided, he leaned his arms on the table and talked to her of voyages of the past and voyages of the future.

He felt then what a comfort it was to have someone to talk to, as once he had talked to Filippa. This homely, comfortable widow reminded him of Filippa in many ways. She came and looked over his shoulder, for he had taken a chart from his pocket and was describing the routes to her; and as he felt her hair against his cheek, he turned to her suddenly and took her into his arms.

She lay across his knees smiling at him gently and hopefully. She had been lonely for so long.

He kissed her and she responded.

It was a strange day for Cristobal – the audience with the King and Queen, the acquisition of a mistress. It was the happiest day he had lived through for years. Diego was being well cared for in the Monastery of Santa Maria de la Rabida, and his mind was at rest concerning Filippa’s son; and here was a woman ready to comfort him. For once in his life he would cease to dream of the future and for a very short time enjoy the present.

Later, Beatriz de Arana said to him: ‘Why should you go back to your lonely house? Why should I be lonely in mine? Give up your house and let my house be our house during the weeks of waiting.’

Ferdinand snapped his fingers when Colon had left and Beatriz de Bobadilla and Talavera had been dismissed.

‘This is a dream,’ he said. ‘We have no money to finance a foreigner’s dreams.’

‘It is true that there is little to spare,’ Isabella agreed.

Ferdinand turned to her, his eyes blazing. ‘We should prosecute the Holy War with every means at our disposal. Boabdil is ours to command. Never has the position been so favourable, yet we are prevented from making war by lack of money. Moreover, there are the affairs of Aragon to be considered. I have given all my energies to this war against the Infidel, when, were I able to work for Aragon, I should make myself master of the Mediterranean. I could defeat the French and win back that which they have taken from me.’

‘If we dismiss this man,’ said Isabella, ‘he will go to France and in that country ask for the means to make his discoveries.’

‘Let him!’

‘And if he should be right? If his discoveries should bring great wealth to our rivals, what then?’

‘The man is a dreamer! He’ll discover nothing.’

‘I think you may be right, Ferdinand,’ said Isabella quietly, ‘but I have decided to set up a commission to consider the possibilities of his success in this enterprise.’

Ferdinand lifted his shoulders. ‘That could do no harm. And whom will you put in charge of this commission?’

‘I think Talavera is the man to conduct it.’

Ferdinand smiled. He felt certain that if Talavera were at the head of the commission the result would be the refusal of the foreign adventurer’s request.

Talavera sat at the head of the table; about him were ranged those who had been selected to help him arrive at a decision.

Cristobal Colon had stood before them; he had eloquently argued his case; he had shown them charts which were in his possession, but he had held back certain important details, remembering the perfidy of the Portuguese.

Then he had been dismissed, while the judges made their decision.

Talavera spoke first. ‘I believe this man’s claims to be fantastic’

Cardinal Mendoza put in quickly: ‘I would not be so bold as to say that anything on this earth was fantastic until I had proved it to be.’

Talavera looked with mild exasperation at the Cardinal, who had become Primate of Spain and who took such a large part in state affairs that he was beginning to be known as the Third King of Spain. It was like Mendoza to side with the adventurer. Lackadaisical in his religion, Talavera believed that, for all his undoubted talents, Mendoza was a menace to Castile. The Inquisition was firmly established, but Mendoza was not in favour of it. He was no zealot for either side, and he made no attempt to pit his love of toleration against the burning fanaticism of men such as Torquemada. He merely turned distastefully from the subject and devoted himself to state affairs.

Friar Diego Deza, a Dominican, who was of the commission, also spoke up in favour of the adventurer.

‘The man has a zeal about him, a determination, which it is impossible to ignore,’ said Deza. ‘I believe he knows more than he tells us. I believe that if he were supported he would at least discover new sea routes, if he did not discover new lands.’

Talavera said: ‘I sense the devil in his proposals. Had God wished us to know of this land, do you doubt that He would have told us? I am not certain that we should not pass this man over to the Holy House for questioning.’

Mendoza inwardly shivered. Not that, he thought. That bold man, stretched on the rack, hanging on the pulley, subjected to the water torture . . . forced to admit . . . what! That he had strayed from the tenets of the Church, that he had committed the mortal sin of heresy?

Mendoza pictured him – boldly facing his accusers. No, no! It must not happen. Mendoza would bestir himself for such a man.

He rejoiced, for the sake of Cristobal Colon, that it was the comparatively mild Talavera and not the fanatical Torquemada who was at the head of this commission, as he, Mendoza, had decided what he would do. He would not press his point here. He would let Talavera have his way. He would agree that the voyage was impracticable and have a word with the Queen quietly afterwards, for Talavera would be contented if he prevented the Sovereigns’ spending money on the enterprise. This unimaginative man would feel he had done his duty, and Cristobal Colon would then be of no more importance to him.

So Mendoza, subduing Deza with a look which conveyed that they would talk together later of this matter, allowed Talavera to carry the day.