Elvira often thought of her brother, Don Juan Manuel, whose service to the Sovereigns should not go unrewarded. Isabella, she knew, thought highly of him and he should have had more honors than he had so far received. Elvira guessed that it was Ferdinand who barred his way to success, for Ferdinand was constantly seeking favors for his illegitimate children and, although the Queen insisted on having her way, Ferdinand was full of cunning and often scored in spite of his wife.
If there were no King Ferdinand, Elvira often thought, Juan would receive his dues.
She wished sometimes that she were in Spain; she felt sure that she would have been able to expedite Juan’s rise to favor in the same efficient way in which she was able to look after Iñigo’s in London.
But for the moment she was contented. The Infanta had reverted to her care, and as she was now a widow in a difficult situation, she relied on Elvira. Isabella would soon be sending instructions, and those instructions would come to Elvira.
So life in Durham House took on the pattern of that of a Spanish Alcazar. The English tongue was rarely heard; the English nobles who had held places in the entourage of the Prince and Princess of Wales disappeared, and their places were taken by Spaniards. Don Pedro Manrique was once more the first Chamberlain; Don Juan de Cuero was treasurer; Alessandro Geraldini remained the Infanta’s confessor; and Don Iñigo was at the head of her pages. Elvira ruled the household; but that did not mean that the animosity, which she had engendered in the heart and mind of Geraldini, was abated. Rather it had intensified.
Puebla remembered insults which the duenna did not cease to heap upon him.
Ayala watched mischievously, fearing that soon he might be recalled to Spain and so miss the fun which, he felt sure, must be lurking in such a delicate situation.
AS THE PARTY RODE towards Richmond, people stopped to stare at it.
“Spaniards!” they whispered. They knew, for they had seen Spaniards in plenty since the Infanta had come to England.
Something was afoot. Perhaps the gentleman who rode at the head of that party of foreigners had come to take the widowed Infanta back to Spain.
The party was riding towards the Palace where the King was in residence.
Hernan Duque de Estrada was thoughtful; he did not notice the attention he and his party attracted. He had a difficult task before him, which he did not relish; and it was going to be made doubly difficult because of his imperfect knowledge of the English language.
Beside him rode Dr. de Puebla—a man whom he could not like. How was it possible for an Asturian nobleman to have a fondness for a marrano! The fellow might be clever—it was clear that the Sovereigns thought so—but his appearance and his manners were enough to make a Spanish nobleman shudder.
Ayala was of a different kind. A nobleman to his fingertips, but lightminded. Hernan Duque was not very happy with his two colleagues.
“There lies the Palace of Richmond,” said Ayala, and Hernan Duque saw the line of buildings, the projecting towers, the far from symmetrical turrets. He, who had come hot-foot from the Alhambra, was not impressed by the architecture of the country, and he forgot momentarily that the beautiful building with which he was comparing this Palace was a masterpiece of Arabic, not Spanish, architecture.
“The King is often at Richmond,” Ayala explained. “He has a feeling for the place. It may well be that he likes to be near the river, for Greenwich is another favorite residence.”
Puebla put in: “And so we are to obey you without question.”
“The express orders of the Sovereigns,” Hernan Duque replied.
“It seems strange,” grumbled Puebla. “We, who have been here so long, understand the situation so much better than anyone in Spain possibly could.”
“I have their Highnesses’ instructions. It would go ill with you if you did not do all in your power to help me carry them out.”
Puebla tossed his head. “I do not envy you your task. You will find the Tudor is not an easy man with whom to drive a bargain.”
“It is so unfortunate that the death of the Prince occurred at this time.”
“What is your first move?” Ayala asked.
Hernan Duque looked over his shoulder.
“Let us ride on ahead,” said Ayala. “It is better to be absolutely sure. Although it is doubtless safe enough to talk. The English cannot learn the languages of others. Their secret belief is that all who do not speak English are barbarians and that foreigners deserve the name in any case.”
“An insular people,” murmured Duque. “I pity our Infanta.”
“Why should you? Do you not carry orders from their Highnesses that she is to return to Spain?”
“I brought three documents with me. You have seen the first…that which commanded you to obey me in all matters concerning this affair. The second and third are for the eyes of the King. But he will not see the third until he has digested the second. Nor shall he know at this stage that it exists.”
“And the second?” asked Puebla.
“It demands the return of the hundred thousand crowns, the first half of the dowry, which has already been paid.”
“Do you wish to break the heart of the King of England?” demanded Ayala.
“He will not relish this, I know.”
“Relish it!” screamed Ayala. “The King loves those hundred thousand crowns more than he loved his son. You cannot deal him another blow—one so close on the other.”
“I shall do more. I shall demand those revenues which the Prince of Wales promised to his wife on the day of their marriage.”
“The King will never consent to that.”
“I shall then ask for the return of the Infanta to Spain.”
“With the spoils,” put in Ayala, laughing. “Not so bad—the dowry, one third of the revenues of Wales, Chester and Cornwall, and our Infanta, virginity intact. A pleasant little adventure for the Infanta, and a remunerative one for the Sovereigns. Ah, do you think the King of England will agree?”
“He will not like this, I know,” said Duque. “He will refuse, for I doubt not that he will never be induced to part with the money. Yet what alternative has he except to incur the displeasure of the Sovereigns of Spain? That is why the third document is of such great importance.”
“And this third document?” Puebla asked eagerly.
Duque looked once more over his shoulder. “The King has a second son,” he said quietly.
“Ah!” whispered Ayala.
“Dangerous!” Puebla put in. “He is her brother by marriage. Are we not told in Leviticus that a man is forbidden to marry his brother’s widow?”
“The Pope would give the dispensation. He gave it to Emanuel of Portugal when he married the Infanta Maria on the death of her sister Isabella.”
“That was the dead wife’s sister.”
“The situation is similar. There will be no difficulty if the Pope will give the necessary dispensation. And as it is said that the marriage was never consummated, that should simplify matters.”
“I should like to make sure on that point,” said Puebla. “It is important.” Ayala looked scornfully at the Jew. “Your lawyer’s mind boggles at unimportant details. Rest assured that if the Sovereigns want the dispensation they will get it. Spain is great enough to make sure of that.”
“At first I shall say nothing of this suggested marriage. I wish to alarm the King by demanding the return of the dowry and the transfer of the goods which the Infanta has inherited by her marriage. That will put him into a mood to agree to this second marriage—and it is the wish of the Sovereigns that it should take place.”
“I thought,” said Ayala, “that the Queen would have wished to have her daughter back.”