The Day of Atonement

by David Liss

  So it had been a calculated risk. Perhaps I would have failed and the Nobrezas been killed, dragged down and torn apart by an angry mob. Perhaps I would have been killed as well. That would have proved a loss, but not a catastrophic one. The game goes on and on. There is nothing to be won—the goal is to continue playing.

  “Now,” Azinheiro said, “Eusebio will be in your debt. I have driven him into your arms. He will confide his secrets to you, and he will lend you money. With your aid—and with his confessions—he will soon enough be in a position that he cannot ask you to repay it. His property shall become the Inquisition’s, and I give you my word you will not be asked to return the sum. You shall advance, and your creditor shall vanish. This arrangement will work very well, over and over, I should think, until your place in the Factory is secure. And then we shall discuss the menace of Protestant heresy.”

  The priest was cunning. His plan would almost certainly have worked had I been what I pretended. But I wasn’t, and none of those clever machinations would do much good when I stuck a blade in his throat.

  Azinheiro growled irritably at my silence. “You have no answer?”

  “It is not just to deceive a man,” I said. “It is not Christlike.”

  “I shall worry about what is Christlike,” Azinheiro said. “You worry about your choices, for they are stark. You may either grow rich and powerful, or you may become an enemy of this Church. I suggest you bring me something useful soon, Mr. Foxx. I would hate to suspect you of having come under their Judaizing spell.”

  “That is why you’ve brought me here,” I said. “You want to threaten me.”

  “I want to show you what will be your fate should you succumb to the enemy,” Azinheiro clarified. “Let us visit the dungeons.”

  “I do not wish to go,” I told him. I find it is good, every now and again, to say something honest, even in the most dissembling of relationships.

  “I am not inviting you. I am telling you,” Azinheiro answered.

  “No.” I placed my hands upon the table. “This little game of yours has gone on long enough. I am an Englishman, sir, and I shall not be treated this way.”

  Azinheiro stood. “You may either go into the dungeons upon your own volition or carried by soldiers, but go you shall. Other Englishmen have doubted the resolve of the Inquisition, and they spent more time within these walls than they would have believed possible.”

  I doubted that he would imprison me simply for defying him. Azinheiro orchestrated torment and death and useless confessions, but he was not, I believed, cruel for the pure pleasure of it. No, here was a man who liked to watch the wheels turn and the gears grind. And I was the Jesuit’s bait, not his fish. He would not squander what I had to offer simply to prove he could.

  “I refuse,” I said. “Throw me in irons if you like.”

  The priest smiled. “You are very clever, sir. You know I value you too much for that. You are only of use to me if you are free. Mariana Settwell, however, is another matter. She could quite easily be taken away from her father. Yes, I know about your friendship with that drunk. I know everything that happens in this city. Everything, sir. So now I give you another choice—a real choice. You may follow me or you may walk out of this Palace right now, but if you do the latter, your friend will never see his daughter again.”

  I cursed myself and I cursed Azinheiro and I cursed myself again. The Inquisition had been eyeing Mariana since before I had returned to Lisbon—Settwell had told me as much—yet my actions had placed the child in greater danger. My plans were slipping away from me. Innocent people were being caught in the swirling vortex of vengeance. The things I touched were withering. If only I had just killed the priest and fled when I first arrived, none of this would have happened. I had become too bold, too ambitious, and I now had to extricate myself from all of these tangles without further hurting Settwell or his daughter or the Nobrezas.

  My body shook with rage as I rose from my seat.

  Wordlessly, I followed Azinheiro down a series of corridors and another dark stairway. This one was guarded by a single soldier, who recognized Azinheiro and immediately proceeded to unlock a heavy wooden door. I yearned to reach out now, to snap the priest’s neck, but I controlled myself. Soon, I promised myself. I needed only to pass his test and get free. It would be but a matter of days.

  The door opened, and the stink of excrement and rotting food assaulted me. Azinheiro did not seem to notice and, with a thin-lipped smile, gestured for me to step inside.

  The floor here was dirt, and the gloom was broken only by the occasional low-burning torch upon a sconce. A space perhaps the length of three men separated two walls of cages, most of which were unoccupied. Three of them, however, held men who sat alone upon wooden benches that served as beds, staring at us with the wide-eyed expression of broken animals. I forced myself to look, to understand that this was what my father had endured. In one cage sat a familiar-looking man, head down, eyes red-rimmed and hollow. It was the pastry-seller. He’d lost a great deal of weight, and his head wobbled on his neck.

  In one of the cells, a man rose and limped forward. He was dark-skinned, clearly a Moor, and his beard hung long and tangled. Even in the dim light, I could see his hands were covered with cuts and clots of dried blood.

  “What is that man guilty of?” I asked.

  Azinheiro shrugged. “Heresy. He failed to condemn his neighbor for possessing a copy of the Mohammedan holy book, though he knew the book to be there.”

  Unwelcome as this all was, I would not waste a glimpse into the fortress of my enemy. I noted the apparent strength of the cells, the kinds of locks used, the number of guards stationed within. If he would make me look, then I would let nothing be lost.

  “I have seen enough,” I told Azinheiro.

  “But we have only yet begun our tour,” Azinheiro answered. He led me along to the far end of the chamber. There another guard stood before a door, and this led to a similar room but smaller and with half as many cells. All of these were empty save one, which held a frail old woman curled upon on the earthen floor. She breathed loudly and in pained rasps.

  “What is her crime?” I demanded.

  “Heresy, I suppose,” Azinheiro said. “She is not one of mine and I forget the details.”

  “It is obvious she is ill,” I said. “This is no place for an ailing old woman. Have you no doctors to see to her?”

  “It is her soul that is in danger,” Azinheiro answered. “Her body is of no consequence.”

  From there Azinheiro led me out the far door and up another set of stairs. This brought us to a hallway, at the end of which was a large chamber that smelled strongly of urine. Here were three tables with leather straps affixed to them. Chains hung from the wall, and in the corner stood a hellish contraption with a long pole arm, from which dangled straps of leather.

  “If the Portuguese applied the same ingenuity to engines of commerce as they do to those of torture, perhaps you would not be dependent upon foreigners to keep food upon your tables.”

  Azinheiro shook his head. “I don’t think you sufficiently understand the point of this tour.”

  “I understand everything,” I said. “You wish me to see what will happen to me should I fail to cooperate.”

  “Perhaps you do understand. Your secret protects you, but only so much. Your Englishness protects you not at all. I would have every Englishman in Lisbon in these dungeons if I had the power.”

  I turned away. “I see I have no choice but to act as you tell me.”

  “None. You have two weeks to bring me actionable information about Eusebio Nobreza. Otherwise, you will understand the reach of the Inquisition far better than you would like.”

  From the Rossio, I walked directly up toward the Bario Alto. At the Nobreza house, I was shown in at once, and Luis met me in the hall. He took both of my hands in his own and breathed a sigh of relief. Then he embraced me. His tears pressed against my cheek.

  “I’d heard you
were arrested,” Luis said, once he let go. “We feared the worst.”

  “I was taken to the Palace, but nothing more passed. It is perhaps more desirable to frighten an Englishman than it is to take action against him.”

  Eusebio and Gabriela now appeared, and together we all walked into the parlor. Gabriela began at once to pour glasses of Madeira, but all the while she kept her eyes upon me. I tried not to meet her gaze.

  “You saved us today,” Luis said. “That crowd would have torn us apart had you not come to our aid.”

  “He nearly set that crowd upon us,” Eusebio groused, “with that foolish comment denying the miracle.”

  I could not deny the truth of the accusation. “That was a mistake. I sensed a crisis and spoke before thinking. I apologize for it.”

  Eusebio sighed. “No, you must forgive me. Whatever mistakes you made, you had a clear head and a strong determination. I am in your debt.”

  I bowed. “I did what I thought best. It is easy for me, as a foreigner, to take risks you never could. I depended upon my nationality to protect me.”

  “Your Englishness may not be the shield you imagine,” Luis said. “I beg you to be careful for your own sake. You may not be so fortunate next time.”

  “I would be curious to know how you were so fortunate this time,” Eusebio said. “Why did they not detain you further?”

  “I believe they determined there was nothing for them in holding me,” I answered. “It is true they will arrest Englishmen, but only when there is good reason. I am new to this country, with few connections and little wealth available for confiscation. To keep me in the Palace would be to anger the Factory and gain nothing in exchange.”

  Eusebio studied me for a moment, but said nothing. He was clever enough to recognize that even if the Inquisition saw no profit in imprisoning me, it would certainly never neglect an opportunity to exploit a vulnerable Englishman.

  I lowered my gaze. “They asked me to report questionable activities on all New Christians,” I admitted. “Naturally, I agreed, but I shall tell them nothing. I shall always say—truthfully—that I see nothing of the sort.”

  “Hmm,” Luis said. “This could work to our advantage. If they have a friendly agent watching us, one who will never speak ill of us, then are we not safer than if we did not know the identity of the person who might report us?”

  “I don’t know,” Eusebio said. “If we do business with him, the Inquisition will inevitably turn its gaze upon us.”

  “And if we back out now,” said Luis, “the Inquisitors will grow suspicious.”

  Eusebio nodded. “True enough. It’s a damned precarious position.”

  “For my part, I shall protect you any way I can,” I said. “They cannot threaten me with anything to make me falter.”

  “You are in Lisbon, and must protect yourself as we do,” Eusebio said. “If you are arrested in earnest, you shall name anyone you know. You think you won’t, but everyone does.”

  “I do not wish to impose myself on you,” I said. “I can only tell you that I would lay down my own life rather than condemn another man to the Inquisition. They may torment me, but I shall never speak a word against anyone in this house.” I bowed once more and left the room.

  I had just reached the front door when Luis called to me. “Hold, sir. A moment.”

  I paused and turned to face him. “I wish I had not come here. I only wanted to make certain you were unharmed.”

  “Eusebio is angry because you acted the hero before his wife,” Luis said. “His manhood is injured, but he will see the logic and his desire to do business will win out. I promise you. I shall certainly do everything I can to convince him you are precisely the man you say.”

  “I thank you.”

  “In other words,” Luis said in a whisper, “I shall lie to my own son on your behalf.”

  What had Luis learned? “Have I not given you every reason to trust me?”

  Luis smiled. “That you have, but that is not the same thing as being honest. I shall be blunt and tell you I’ve long suspected you were not what you seemed. Your look and your coloring made me suspicious, but I was not entirely certain until you revealed yourself in the church. Your Portuguese is near flawless, hardly the halting speech of a man in the country a few weeks.”

  I said nothing. No one else had noticed, but I had been caught out. The question now was what this meant for my relations with the Nobrezas.

  Luis nodded to himself and looked wistful, as if remembering something. “I will ask nothing more. I do not wish to know. Secrets are never safe in Lisbon, no matter what we may vow to ourselves. I believe you are not here to harm us.”

  “On my honor, that is true,” I said quietly.

  “Then it shall suffice. Perhaps the day may come when there will be no more secrets.”

  “I hope that day will be soon,” I said. I replaced my hat and departed.

  Chapter 21

  When I at last returned to my inn, Franklin heaved himself from behind the bar and waved.

  “Mr. Foxx, sir. You are wanted.”

  I planned to ignore him, but instead I stopped in my tracks. Inácio sat near the innkeeper, drinking Franklin’s beer.

  I looked past Franklin. “Inácio, what do you do here?”

  Inácio rose and walked toward me. “A word in private, if you please.”

  I muttered an incoherent excuse at Franklin and led Inácio up the stairs. Enéas waited there, and looked stunned to see Inácio enter with me, but was wise enough to say nothing. I waved him away and gestured for Inácio to sit.

  I poured him a glass of wine and sat across from him. “I am surprised to see you here. I did not think you were the sort of man who frequented English taverns.”

  “I’m not,” Inácio admitted. “But I heard that you were arrested by the Inquisition, and I wished to make certain you were not detained.”

  This was curious. Was he truly worried for my well-being, or did he merely fear that he might somehow be caught in the web if the Inquisition came after me? “How did you hear it?”

  Inácio snorted. “I hear everything. A man in my position must.”

  “And what would you have done if they had not released me?”

  “What could I have done? Nothing. But if you were released, I wished to know of it at once.”

  “Why?” I asked. “How is that information useful to you?”

  “It is useful to me,” Inácio said, his voice slow with anger, “because you are my friend. Or have you forgotten that? Are you so convinced I played some little game with you about Gabriela that you think I would rejoice to see you taken by the Inquisition?”

  I shook my head. “Forgive me. That you are here is proof enough.”

  “This city makes us all fear our own shadows, but the time to doubt yourself is when it seems a man plots against you when he has nothing to gain.” He grinned. “Now, if toying with your heart had gold at the end of it, then you should mistrust me.”

  I managed a smile. “That is the old Inácio! And I thank you for your concern. It is a complicated business. The Inquisitor I seek is trying to get me to turn against Nobreza.”

  “I thought you were here to kill him, not give him New Christians.”

  “It is complicated,” I said, “and the less you know, the better.”

  Inácio nodded. “Agreed. Tell me nothing else. I shall tell you something, however. I hear things, and it has come to my attention that your barman below is in the Inquisitor’s pay.”

  “I know,” I said. “I have been avoiding him since I found out. No doubt he wants to learn about my plans so he can pass the information along.”

  “Very likely. That priest is the devil himself.”

  “Do you know anything about him?” I asked. “Why does he hate Englishmen so much?”

  “I shall tell you what I’ve heard,” Inácio said, “though I don’t know if it is truth or rumor. They say his father is English, and that he raped his mother.”


  I leaned forward. The explanation might have been pure fancy, but it was certainly interesting. “Who was this man?”

  Inácio shook his head. “A merchant, the stories say. A young man who had too much to drink, and found a fidalgo’s daughter out on the street later than she should have been. Perhaps she was meeting her lover. I don’t know. But he not only took her, he hurt her. Apparently the mother is addled now. Some say she is cloistered in a convent here in the city, though I know not if it is as a nun or in the care of nuns.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “It sounds like a revenge play, but it would explain a great deal.”

  “Your life is a revenge play,” Inácio said. “Who are you to judge?”

  I laughed. “It is good to talk to you again, Inácio.” And it was. I had no intention of giving myself over to trust entirely, but it seemed as though, in his clumsy way, Inácio wanted to look after my interests.

  Inácio picked up his wine. “Tell me. You cannot toy with this Inquisitor forever. Next time he will not let you out of the Palace. You will have to act soon.”

  “I intend to. It may be you can help me with something.”

  Inácio coughed. “I told you that my help must be limited.”

  “No one need know it is for me, or to what it is connected. Can you get me a mule cart and have it left for me at a location I tell you at the time I tell you?” It was, after all, a simple thing, and having Inácio tend to this meant I’d expose myself to fewer people in the city.

  Inácio narrowed his eyes. “You will give me the money in advance?”

  “Of course.”

  “And a small fee to compensate me for my time and knowledge?”

  I inclined my head. “A small fee.”

  “Then it shall be my pleasure.”

  * * *

  When Inácio left the room, Enéas came back in and threw his arms around me. I allowed the boy to embrace me for a moment. “What is it?”

  “I heard that the Inquisition took you,” he said. “I am relieved you are well.”

  I shook my head at the wonder of it. I had come to Lisbon to kill a man, to take one life in the hopes of remaking myself into something less violent. How had all these other things happened instead? How had I come to be a father to this orphaned child?