((Private))
This feast was a long time coming. Marti, the late King Alfons VII’s youngest brother, had expected the Crown to have some form of ceremony shortly after Alfons’s death, yet it had taken three years for anything to be arranged. Marti had no doubt his nephew, the new king, was partly responsible. The man was decent enough, but he had no motivation to do anything. While not necessarily a bad thing if he properly delegated responsibilities, it did open the way to manipulation. Marti had no doubt who would be trying to get into the king’s good graces. His sister-in-law, Queen Mother Caterina, had been notorious at times for using her late husband’s position to enhance her own power. Perhaps she hadn’t done anything too detrimental to Hispania, but Marti never felt he could ever truly trust her with the reins of the kingdom in her hand. She was a woman after all, and a foreign one to boot. Only a Trastámara could have the kingdom’s true interests at heart.
It had been ages since he had been at court. Marti’s brother had granted him a title in some part of Castile after it was conquered and he’d spent the time since then lording over his new lands and caring for his now seven children. Quite a rambunctious group of youth, but he loved them all dearly. He’d have to find matches for them soon enough. Having five daughters to marry off would keep him busy for quite some time arranging matches. His wife never really thought of such matters. She spent most of her time attending to the gardens on their estate, since she found that most relaxing. His wife was a tad simpleminded, but she was a lovely woman.
Word had recently reached Marti that his brother Carles, a cardinal in Rome, had passed away. The passing of both his brothers had spurred him into finding a new purpose. As the third son of a king, he had always lived in his brothers’ shadows and never really managed to accomplish much of his own. His family had been his everything. Now he needed something else. The opening for chancellor would make a perfect goal. He knew Caterina well enough to suspect she was already manipulating her way into that position. He wasn’t going to stand by and let that happen. The kingdom needed him.
Relations with France had gone downhill and perhaps it was about time Hispania started planning for a future where that alliance was no longer there. If the French broke it off, Hispania had to be prepared to find allies elsewhere. Of course they’d have to milk that alliance for as long as they could, but there were other options. While that alliance was still in place, Hispania could focus west and go after Portugal. It was about time the other Iberian nation was brought low. Perhaps they could even grant Galicia control of some of Portugal’s provinces, which would surely delight his Galician wife. He knew there were many who coveted Portugal’s colonies, but the Portuguese needed to be broken at home first. At least that is what he’d pursue as chancellor. He’d need someone to back him first. Perhaps there was a noble or two who were looking for a match for their son. He certainly didn’t lack for daughters to marry off. A political alliance at court would prove greatly beneficial to strengthening his position. He’d need to use everything at his disposal if he wanted to outdo Caterina.
((If you’re wondering, here is a list of Marti’s daughters and their birth years: Marta, 1551; Estrella, 1556; Nuria, 1563; Candela, 1567; Joana, 1570.))
Miguel Villanova arrives to the palace, but the palace guard block his path.
"Do you know who I am?" Miguel asks impatiently.
"No, but you look and smell like a dirty peasant!"
"I am Miguel Villanova, the colonist."
"Yeah and I am the Duke of Essex!" The guard glares at the portly farmer standing before him. "I'll let you in if someone from court can vouch for you, got it?"
"Fine." *Miguel sighs, how will anyone remember me, I've been gone for years*
((Public))
Marti arrived at the palace after a long carriage ride from his estate much further inland. The palace looked just as he remembered it as a kid. The guards still looked just as sour and cranky as usual. One in particular was having some sort of spat with a man who looked like he needed a bath. Marti made his way over there out of curiosity.
Marti cleared his throat as he approached. “Excuse me good guard, but what seems to be the matter here.”
“This peasant claims to be some colonist at court. Bah, like the king would ever let such a filthy man near him.”
The man the guard had been speaking to earlier certainly didn’t look like a nobleman, that was for sure. He’d never met the colonist Miguel Villanova, but he suspected that such a man who had spent his years building settlements in the middle of the wilderness wasn’t accustomed to finery. He didn’t look like a beggar looking for a handout either. Marti turned back to the guard and said, “Well if this is the Crown colonist, the king would not be pleased to learn you turned him away at the gates.”
The guard scowled at him and spat down at the ground in front of him. “And who are you to be saying who belongs and doesn’t belong? You one of those upstart Castilian lords that have been flocking to court lately?”
Marti smirked. He supposed his clothing looked more Castilian than Aragonese. He’d started dressing like the people of his province more and more. Standing up straight, he said, “Why I am Prince Marti de Trastámara, and I believe that you should let this man in to enjoy the festivities.”
The guard’s eyes widened noticeably and he started to fidget. “I apologize, Your Highness. I did not recognize you. Of course you and the colonist may enter.” The guard quickly shuffled out of the way for the two.
Marti turned to the colonist and said, “I hope he didn’t bother you too much. It’s so hard to find good help these days.” With that, he entered the palace, ready to enjoy the festivities.