‘Ah,’ said Beatriz, ‘the explorer.’ She smiled almost tenderly. ‘How fares it with him?’

‘He is frustrated, my lady; indignant and angry with Spain and himself. He is no longer a young man, and he bitterly resents the wasted years.’

‘There has been so much to occupy the mind of the Queen,’ she answered.

‘It is true, and a tragedy for Spain. Unless something is done immediately, he will leave the country, and some other monarch will have the benefit of his genius.’

‘That must not be,’ said Beatriz.

‘It will be, my lady, unless there is no more delay.’

Beatriz made a quick decision. ‘I am going to see that you are given refreshment and an opportunity to wash the travel-stains from your person. I will go to the Queen immediately and, when I have returned, I will let you know whether Senor Colon is to be given help from Spain. I promise to let you know how I have fared with all speed.’

The Prior smiled. He had done his part, and there was no more he could do.

Beatrix begged an audience with the Queen. Ferdinand was with Isabella, a fact which dismayed Beatriz.

But Ferdinand was friendly. He was pleased with the way events were moving, and was very much aware of the important part the women were playing before Granada.

‘Highness,’ said Beatriz, ‘I come to you in great haste. Fray Juan Perez de Marchena has arrived in Santa Fe from La Rabida. Cristobal Colon is on the point of leaving Spain.’

‘I am sorry to hear this,’ said the Queen. ‘Was he not told to wait awhile, and that his schemes would have our attention when we had the time to devote to them?’

‘Yes, Highness, he was, but he will wait no longer. He thinks that his expedition is of the greatest importance; and frankly, if your Highnesses will not help him, he has decided to find a Sovereign who will do so. He plans to go to France.’

At the mention of the great enemy of Aragon, Ferdinand flushed with anger. His eyes narrowed, and with a certain delight Beatriz noticed the lights of cupidity shining there.

She went on to talk of the riches which he would bring back if he were successful. ‘For, Your Highnesses, even if he should fail in his discovery of a New World, he will have shown us a new route to the riches of Cathay and the East, of which Marco Polo wrote so glowingly.

‘I thought,’ she finished, ‘that Your Highnesses would wish to stop him before he has an opportunity of bringing to another the riches which, would you but equip his expedition, he would lay at your feet.’

‘Willingly,’ said Isabella, ‘would we equip him for this expedition, but everything we possess must go into the prosecution of the war.’

She looked at Ferdinand.

‘Highness,’ pleaded Beatriz, ‘would it be so costly? It is unbearable to think that all that he might discover may go to another country.’

‘I was impressed by the man,’ said Isabella. She looked at Ferdinand as though expecting him to speak against asking the man to return, but Ferdinand said nothing; his eyes had that glazed look, and she realised that he was seeing the return of the explorer, his ships laden with treasures – gold, jewels, slaves.

Isabella continued: ‘I would be prepared to reconsider what might be done.’ She smiled towards Ferdinand. ‘Perhaps the King would agree with me in this.’

Ferdinand was thinking: The man must be stopped from taking his plans to France. Even if he and the Queen did not fit out his expedition, they must stop him from taking his plans to the enemy.

Ferdinand smiled at Isabella. ‘As usual, Your Highness speaks good sense. Let us recall this man and reconsider what he has to tell us.’

Beatriz cried: ‘Thank you, Your Highnesses. I am sure your munificence will be rewarded.’ She turned to Isabella. ‘Highness, this man is poor. Would you agree that he might be sent money for his journey here, money to buy garments which would make him fit to appear before Your Highnesses?’

‘By all means let that be done,’ said Isabella.

Within Granada conditions were deteriorating rapidly. The effect of the building of Santa Fe was disastrous to the morale of the besieged. The blockade, which the people had hoped would be lifted by the retirement of the Christian army during the winter, continued.

There were some who declared that there must be no surrender, that their fellow Moslems in Africa would never allow them to lose their grip on Spanish soil. But there were others who gazed out on the bustling and efficient fortifications of Santa Fe, who considered the destruction of the crops and knew that the end was near.

One of these was Boabdil. He called on Allah; he prostrated himself in his grief. He felt responsible for the plight into which his people had fallen, and he longed to save his country from the terrible fate which had befallen Malaga.

Under cover of darkness he sent messengers from the city to Ferdinand to ask what terms would be offered for the surrender of the town.

Ferdinand wrote:

‘I am prepared to be magnanimous. Surrender the city, and the inhabitants of Granada shall keep possession of their mosques and shall be allowed to retain their own religion. They shall also retain their own laws and be judged by their own cadis, although there will be a Castilian governor of the town. They may continue to use their own language and the Arab dress. If they wish to leave the country they may dispose of their property on their own account. There would be no extra taxes for three years. King Boabdil would abdicate, but he should be given a territory in the Alpujarras which would be a protectorate of the Castilian crown. All the fortifications and artillery must be handed over to the Christians, and the surrender must take place in no more than sixty days.’

Ferdinand stopped writing and smiled. If Boabdil and his counsellors accepted these terms he would be content. Lives and – what was more important to Ferdinand – money would be saved by a quick surrender. It was by no means certain how long the war would last, even though at the moment the Christians had all the advantages.

Eagerly he awaited the reply.

In his private apartments of the Alhambra, Boabdil read the Sovereigns’ terms and rejoiced. He had saved the people of Granada from the fate which had befallen those of Malaga, and he believed that that was the best he could hope for.

The Sultana Zoraya was going about the town urging the people to stand firm. With flashing eyes and strong words she assured them that the battle against the Christian armies was not yet lost.

‘You lose heart,’ she cried, ‘because you see them encamped outside our walls. But you should not lose heart. Allah will not desert us in our hour of need.’

‘Boabdil deserts us,’ was the answer. ‘So how can we expect Allah to smile upon us?’

They whispered among themselves. ‘Boabdil is a traitor. He is the friend of the Christian Sovereigns. He seeks concessions for himself, and will betray us to get them.’

Revolt was stirring in the city, for it was rumoured that Boabdil was carrying on secret negotiations with the enemy.

Zoraya stormed into her son’s apartment. She told him that the people were murmuring against him.

‘They talk foolishly. They say you are negotiating with the enemy. These rumours do our cause great harm.’

‘They must be stopped, my mother,’ he said.

And later he sent word to Ferdinand.

All his terms were accepted; but there should be no delay. They must come with all speed to prevent revolt within the walls of Granada. If they did not, they might arrive to find their friend Boabdil assassinated, and the treaty flung in their faces.