Chapter Nine – THE END OF THE ADVENTURE

 

When Don Juan reached Barcelona he found that the royal galleys had sailed.

There was no other way to Malta save by the long and tedious journey through France, and by his impetuous flight and haughty refusal of assistance at Frasno, he had left himself without means or escort.

Also Don Juan Manuel was on his path, and, while his disappointment was still keen, came up with him and threatened him with the King’s displeasure if he did not return.

So the high adventure ended.

Juan thought of Aña’s words on that mystical night when they had stood together before the altar cloth.

“You cannot get away from God,” she had said, “nor from the King.”

And now God in Heaven had given him back to the King, who was, after all, God on earth and impossible to escape.

The court was still at Segonia, where it awaited the Queen who had been to see her mother, Catherine de Medicis, at Bayonne, and there was nothing for Don Juan to do but to return there with what grace he might and the hope of another chance to be free again and able to attain to Doña Aña, who seemed now to be remote again and most difficult to achieve.

As he rode back with the sympathetic but triumphant Juan Manuel he was oppressed by the failure of his enterprise and by an overwhelming sense of the power of Don Felipe.

Mostly was he oppressed, as if an armed hand held his throat, by the sense of the power of his brother.

In his humiliating disappointment he reflected on the position of the King, and the dazzle of this position overwhelmed him.

The King could do anything, he was the greatest person in the world, the larger portion of which he governed from his dark cell-like little cabinets hung with devotional images.

Juan knew that his spies, his agents, lurked in every part of the globe; beneath his passive, dull exterior was concealed knowledge of almost everything that was happening everywhere—Juan shivered as he thought that he perhaps knew, even now, of Doña Aña and his own visit to Alcalà. All means were at the King’s disposal, he obeyed no laws, he could do as he pleased, for he was afraid of no one save God and God he served well against the heretics, and the priests had already assured him of eternal salvation. Therefore he was all powerful over the rich kingdoms that owned his sway and over all those millions who owed their obedience.

And no one had any influence over him, he was afraid of no one, no argument, no plea nor threat would ever alter him; this fact was sharply before Juan and seemed to him terrible, for it meant that he must always serve the King as the King wished, and never as he desired.

There was one person, however, of whom Don Felipe was afraid, and who had great influence over him, and that was Aña of Eboli, wife of his minister, Ruy Gomez de Silva; but Juan did not know that. He pictured his brother as impervious to any arts, as a creature without feeling, and he thought that if Don Felipe had decided he was to go into the Church nothing could change him. He did not think much of the Princess of Eboli’s assurances, not being aware that she and she alone could alter Felipe’s gloomy desire to fulfil his father’s wish and make Juan a priest. But though he was filled with this depressing conviction of the power and adamantine firmness of the King, deep down in his hot young heart he resolved that he would not yield, he would not be Felipe’s puppet—he would not become a monk vowed to forego all he was now longing for; he thought that Felipe would force him as he had forced the Queen to witness her own maid of honour perish in the auto-da-fé, and he determined that he would resist as Elizabeth could never resist—never bend if he must break.

For he was this man’s brother, the great Emperor had been his father too; his heart contracted with a curious agony as he reflected that he was wholly in the hands of his own father’s son. For the first time he thought seriously of his mother; he thought that he hated her; he burned to think that he was perhaps like her; he knew that he bore little resemblance to his father’s melancholy features; he did not know, for no one had dared tell him, that he had the Emperor’s bearing and spirit far more than had Felipe.

So, inwardly rebellious and prepared for defiance and resistance, he returned to Segovia from Aragon.

He was utterly disarmed by Felipe’s kind reception; the King embraced him, treated his adventure as a mere commendable show of spirit and told him to wait on the Queen who had just returned from Bayonne.

Elizabeth asked him if he had found the Turks valiant, and smiled at him.

Her gentle raillery astonished him, even though it was uttered in her husband’s presence; he hoped that it meant that she was in a happier mood, and when he closely looked at her he thought that she seemed calmer and more serene.

All her dark, scented garments, her pearls and ruff, her stiff farthingdale and head-dress could not disguise that she was pale and fragile looking as a snow flake.

When she moved away in her billowing skirts with her old women about her, Juan thought she had the weak appearance of a white flower fallen and drooping. He went to his chamber, cold against the world and raging for Doña Aña. Don Alessandro came and would have beguiled him with the tennis court but he would not go.

The Prince of Parma laughed at his humour and expressed his amusement at the attempted escape.

“Dios!” said Juan angrily; “do you mean to spend all your life waiting the King’s pleasure? Have you no wish to make a knightly name?”

The dark Italian face of Alessandro expressed no resentment as he answered—

“I shall use the King as he uses me. I wait, I watch. Yes, I mean to rise. But I shall not use your means.”

“He thinks to put me into the Church,” said Juan.

“No,” answered the young Prince. “The Princess of Eboli has persuaded the King that you will serve him better in other ways.”

“Can she do that?” exclaimed Juan, thinking of his conversation with her.

Alessandro gave him a swift look.

“She can do anything with the King,” he replied, “you had better know it—”

“Surely not anything,” said Juan.

“I think so. She is putting him against Carlos, and against the Queen. But at present she is in favour of you and me.”

“Why?” asked Juan.

“She holds that we can serve the King,” replied the Prince of Parma calmly; “with such as Carlos for heir the throne needs other props.”

“What of the Austrian marriage?”

“Carlos is mad for it. But the King delays, he dare not offend France or the Scottish Queen,” said Alessandro—“besides—” he lifted his shoulders abruptly.

“Well?”

“Elizabeth is dying.”

“Dios!” Juan shuddered.

“And she may leave no son.”

“Carlos is the heir.”

“Oh, Maria! Do you think that Carlos will live either?”

“Well—”

“Well, the King will marry again; he has had the secret offer of Elizabeth’s sister, Marguerite, and of the Austrian—”

Juan drew back.

“The Queen may live,” he murmured, hating Felipe.

“If she lives, then Carlos may get his bride. If she dies I think the King will take her—”

Juan was silent, and Alessandro continued to talk of Carlos, of his increasing ill-health, his violence, his hatred of the King, his wild behaviour, and his excesses.

“You think he will not live?” said Juan gloomily. In a manner he sympathized with the wretched Carlos who was a prisoner like himself within the confines of the King’s will, and who was being coldly robbed of the second fair bride promised him; for Elizabeth de Valois had been betrothed to Carlos before she had married his father.

Alessandro gave him a searching look as he had done when he spoke of the Princess of Eboli.

“No. I do not think that he will live,” he replied briefly, “for he is scarcely sane, and behaves as no man could behave and live.”

He related how Carlos had recently had a servant beaten almost to death for some trifling offence, and that he was now in the town where he commonly spent his time among the lowest company he could find.

“He is, undoubtedly, mad,” concluded the Prince, “and I do not think that he will ever be King of Spain,” and with that he turned away.

Juan was sorry for Carlos; he might be hateful but he loved Juan, and there was a curious claim in that; sordid he was, no doubt, and unworthy to be a knight, but round the commonplace ugliness of his character hung the dignity of tragedy, and Juan, sensitive to these things, was quick to perceive it.

He was aware of the intense hatred between father and son, and he foresaw the utter downfall that it must result in for the son.

He did not leave his apartments that evening, and when it was scarcely dark and the supper spread Carlos came in unheralded and impetuous.

Juan had half expected him and was giving him the ceremonious welcome due to his rank, but Carlos embraced him warmly and kissed him on both cheeks.

“I love you!” he exclaimed; “you escaped and he brought you back! I love you for it. You shall escape again and he will not bring you back.”

Juan felt the childishness of this, but his heart warmed to Carlos, though he did not like the Infant’s close embrace. “Will you have supper with me, Highness?” he asked.

Carlos flung himself down beside the luxurious little table, but declined the food; he appeared to be in a state of some excitement, and Juan observed him narrowly.

He wore a fine but crumpled and soiled doublet of silver tissue, and his huge padded breeches were torn as if in some tussle.

His pale, narrow features looked as if squeezed of all blood and life, his eyes had a sunk, almost dead look; only his thin lips hung open over his sharp teeth and trembled nervously; for the rest he had the drained inhuman look of Felipe; Juan had never seen him appear so like his father. He poured out iced water with a shaking hand and drank it greedily, rejecting the wine Juan offered.

“You have had another quarrel with the King,” said Juan, who was eating heartily and getting good comfort from his food.

Carlos’ agitated mouth twitched.

“He delays my marriage,” he snarled; “he keeps the Archduchess from me; he treats me as if I were his slave.”

“We are all of us,” answered Juan rather bitterly, “little better—”

“I am Infant of Castile!” cried Carlos furiously. “I shall be King of Spain! No man shall thwart me!” Then he fell to biting his nails, and added after a moment’s gloomy reflection, “I have no friends. All day they watch and spy. Eboli hates me.”

“The Queen is your friend,” said Juan.

The Infant’s expression softened into something almost tender.

“Poor Elizabeth!” he murmured. “When I am married to the Archduchess,” he added, “I shall be kinder to her than he is to the Queen.”

Juan looked in silence at the wretched boy and wondered what he was resolving in his unbalanced mind.

“Will you be my friend?” asked Carlos eagerly.

“What use can I be to you against the King?” said Juan wearily. “I am here because I am helpless in his hands.”

The Infant’s glance shifted round the small room that was hung with black and scarlet.

The servants had withdrawn, leaving the small gilt table laden with fruit, ice, and wine.

“I am going to escape,” said Carlos. “I am going to raise a rebellion against the King.”

Juan set down his wineglass; the blood flushed into his face, and he stared silently at his nephew.

“It is all arranged,” continued the Infant hurriedly.

“And even Eboli guesses nothing.” He poured out another glass of iced water and drank it greedily.

Juan was thinking too rapidly to speak; his beautiful vivacious eyes were void of expression.

“You shall help me,” added Carlos, “and when I am King of Spain I will make you Infant of Castile.”

“I have taken oaths to the King,” said Juan slowly.

“You took oaths to me as heir apparent,” returned Carlos. “What has the King done for you that you should remain so faithful to him?”

“He is the King,” returned Juan wearily. “And neither you nor I can do anything against him.”

Carlos gave a cunning laugh.

“Will you be my friend?” he asked again.

“I am helpless to be any man’s friend,” replied Juan with unconscious Spanish subtlety, “for I have neither money nor power.”

“I shall acquire both without difficulty,” returned Carlos with an air of satisfaction. He pulled the dish of fruit towards him and began eating it, including stones and cores, with unnatural avidity.

Juan rose and placed his hands on the back of his carved black chair.

“Highness,” he spoke, with the slight haughtiness that came to him when he was serious, “you have said some foolish things that I will hasten to forget. But do not repeat them. We are both of us subjects to the King (whom God preserve!), and we must do what seems in his eyes good.”

Carlos, who seemed wholly absorbed in devouring the fruit, did not answer, and Juan turned away with pity and with repulsion.

Carlos looked after him sharply.

“You will not help me?” he asked.

“No. And as you love yourself, I charge you desist from these vain schemes.”

“Until he gives me the Archduchess,” answered Carlos, with unsteady passion, “I shall never cease to work against him.” He rose impetuously and followed Juan to the horseshoe-shaped window to which he had moved.

“I love you!” he exclaimed violently. He then thrust a package that he pulled from his bosom into Juan’s hands and dashed from the room.

Juan unfolded the packet and found that it contained a large and costly unmounted table diamond.

This was not the first time that the wayward Infant had thrust valuable gifts on him.

Juan smiled as he reflected that the thrifty King had to pay for these extravagances, and put the jewel away with some satisfaction.