When Cristobal presented himself at the Palace he was taken to the apartments of Beatriz de Bobadilla.

Beatriz, who was now Marchioness of Moya, was not alone. With her were Fray Diego de Deza, Alonso de Quintanilla, the Queen’s secretary, Juan Cabrero, Ferdinand’s chamberlain and Luis de Sant’angel.

Beatriz studied the man who stood before her, and she felt her spirits lifted. She wished in that moment that she could accompany him on his voyage, that she might be the one to stand beside him when he had his first sight of the new lands which he would discover.

I am being foolishly emotional, she thought. Merely because the man has such dignity, such character, such handsome looks; merely because he is a man of purpose, am I to forget my position, my common sense on his account?

It was so unlike her to be foolishly romantic. Yet this man moved her deeply as few men ever had; and she had determined that his cause should be her cause.

She had already begun to work for him, and it was for this reason that she had sent for him.

‘Senor Colon,’ she said, ‘I would have you know that those of us who are gathered here today believe in you. We are sorry that there must be this delay, but in the meantime we would have you know that we are your friends and that we intend to help you.’

‘You are gracious, my lady,’ said Colon, inclining his head slightly.

‘We have no doubt,’ said Beatriz, ‘that many have said these words to you.’

‘It is true.’

‘Yet,’ said Luis de Sant’angel, ‘we intend to show you our regard with more than words. That is so, my friends, is it not?’

‘It is,’ agreed the others.

‘We have therefore,’ went on Beatriz, ‘persuaded the Queen to give you some token of her regard during the waiting period. She has agreed that you shall receive a sum of 3,000 maravedis. It is not to be considered as something towards your expedition. That would be useless, we know. But while you remain here you must live, and this money is to help you, and to show that the Queen does not forget you.’

‘I am grateful to Her Highness.’

Sant’angel touched his elbow. ‘Be grateful to the Marchioness,’ he murmured. ‘It is she who has the ear of the Queen. It is she who will work for you.’

Beatriz laughed. ‘It is true,’ she said. ‘I shall see that in a few months’ time more money is given you. Nor shall I allow the Queen to forget you.’

‘How can I express my thanks?’

Beatriz smiled almost gently. ‘By remaining firm in your resolve. By holding yourself in readiness. It may be necessary for you to follow the Court when it leaves Cordova. I shall arrange that you shall suffer no expense from these journeys. The Queen has given her consent to the proposal that you shall be provided with free lodging. You see, Senor Colon, we are your friends.’

Cristobal looked from one to the other.

‘My friends,’ he said, ‘your faith in me makes me a happy man.’

For a few months his spirits were high. He had friends in high places. More money was paid to him; but the war with Granada went on in a series of sharp attacks and skirmishes. Cristobal knew that it would be long before it was brought to an end.

He would sit at dusk with Beatrix de Arana, looking out on the little street, always hoping that there would be a knock on the door to summon him to Court.

Once as they sat in the darkened room he said to her: ‘This is how it has always been. I wait here as I waited in Lisbon. Here I am happier because you are here, because I know my little Diego is being well cared for in his monastery. Sometimes I think I shall spend my whole life waiting.’

‘And if you do, Cristobal, could you not be happy? Have you not been happy here with me?’

‘It is my destiny to sail the seas,’ he said. ‘It is my life. It sounds ungrateful to you who have been so good to me. Let me say this, that there is only one thing that has made these months of waiting tolerable: my life with you. But for this urge within me I could settle here and live happily with you for the rest of my days.’

‘But the time will come when you will go away, Cristobal.’

‘I shall come back to you.’

‘But you will be long away, and how can I be sure that you will come back? There are dangers on the seas.’

‘You must not be unhappy, Beatriz. I could not bear to think that I have brought unhappiness to you who have brought so much happiness to me.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘remember this. When you sail away – as you must – I shall not be alone.’

He started and sought to look into her face, but it was too dark for him to see it clearly.

‘I shall have my child then, Cristobal,’ she said softly, ‘your child, our child.’

Chapter XII

BEFORE MALAGA

Isabella sat at her sewing with her eldest daughter, the Infanta Isabella. She was conscious that now and then the girl was casting covert glances at her, and that she was on the verge of tears.

Isabella herself was fighting back her emotion. She does not know it, she told herself, but the parting is going to be even harder for me to bear than it is for her. She is young and will quickly adjust herself to her new surroundings . . . whereas I . . . I shall always miss her.

‘Mother . . .’ said the Infanta at length.

‘My dear,’ murmured Isabella; she put aside her needlework and beckoned to her daughter. The Infanta threw hers aside and ran to her mother to kneel at her feet and bury her face in her lap.

Isabella stroked her daughter’s hair.

‘My dearest,’ she said, ‘you will be happy, you know. You must not fret.’

‘But to go away from you all! To go to strangers . . .’

‘It is the fate of Infantas, my darling.’

‘You did not, Mother.’

‘No, I stayed here, but many efforts were made to send me away. If my brother Alfonso had lived, doubtless I should have married into a strange country. So much hangs on chance, my dearest; and we must accept what comes to us. We must not fight against our destinies.’

‘Oh, Mother, how fortunate you were, to stay in your home and marry my father.’

Isabella thought fleetingly of the first time she had seen Ferdinand; young, handsome, virile. She thought of the ideal she had built up and the shock of discovering that she had married a sensual man. She had come to her marriage hoping for a great deal and had received less than she hoped for. She prayed that her daughter would find in marriage something more satisfying than she had thought possible.

‘Your Alonso will be as beloved by you as Ferdinand is by me,’ Isabella told her daughter.

‘Mother, must I marry at all? Why should I not stay here with you?’

‘It is very necessary that you should marry, my darling. A marriage between you and the heir to the throne of Portugal could bring great stability to our two countries. You see, not very long ago there was war between us. It was at the time when I came to the throne and Portugal supported the claims of La Beltraneja. The threat of La Beltraneja has always been with us, for she still lives in Portugal. Now Alonso will one day be King of Portugal, and if you marry him, my darling, you will be its Queen; our two countries would be united and this threat removed. That is what we have to think of when making our marriages – not what good it will bring to us, but what good it will bring to our countries. But do not fret, my child. There is much to be arranged yet, and these matters are rarely settled quickly.’