Carlos lay on the ground and lamented miserably. The elder of the boys came up and kicked him. Carlos sprang to his feet. The two boys rolled on the grass; then the woman appeared. The elder of the boys ran away. Carlos was struggling to his feet when the woman kicked him.
This was too much for me. I pushed the gate with all my might and to my amazement it opened. I ran through. Her attention turned from the child; the woman stared at me and let forth a stream of abuse.
Carlos had stopped screaming and moved behind me; I could feel his hands clutching my skirt.
The woman attempted to seize him, but I held her off, protecting the child. She was ugly that woman—low, atavistic; there was no intelligence in her face, only cunning; and there was cruelty there too—horrible unreasoning cruelty, and this was the woman who had charge of Jake Pennlyon’s son.
Her eyes flashed with sadistic delight. I knew she was planning what she would do to the child. A trickle of saliva dribbled from her mouth. I drew back. She was repulsive and horrible and I would not leave any child to her mercy.
Without thinking what I would do, I picked up Carlos in my arms and walked through the gate. I felt his hands clutching me tightly, his hot dirty face close to mine.
The woman ran after us. I tried to shut the gate in her face, but I was too late, so I hurried with the child into the patio.
I saw then that there was someone there. It was the duenna whom I had heard called Pilar.
Pilar stared at me with those sharp eyes under the straggling brows. I said: “This child is in need of care.”
Pilar came to me and tried to take Carlos from me. He screamed and clutched to me more tightly.
“It’s clear,” I said, “that he is terrified of you all, which is an indication to me of the ill treatment he has received from you. I shall take him to the Hacienda with me.”
Pilar could evidently understand one or two words. “To the Hacienda,” she cried. “No, no.” She screamed something about Don Felipe.
I said: “I care not for Don Felipe!” which was a foolish thing to say when he was the master of us all.
Isabella came into the patio. She took one look at the child and she ran to us. She tried to take him from me.
Carlos began to scream in real terror.
Pilar cried: “Isabella, Isabella favorita.”
I knew that I must protect the child. I knew that I must not let his mother lay hands on him. She was mad. I had never seen a madwoman before. Some would say that she was possessed by devils and if ever I saw possession it was then. She started to scream; Pilar was beside her or she would have dropped to the ground; I saw her lying there and Pilar was forcing something between her lips; she was writhing as though tormented.
I ran out through the gate across the grass back to the Hacienda.
I said: “It’s all right, Carlos. You are with me now.”
Don Felipe was away, which was perhaps well. I knew that everyone in the household was astounded by the enormity of what I had done. I could not have done anything which would have been more outrageous. The terrible tragedy of this house had begun on the day the Rampant Lion came to Tenerife; the shadow of those events had hung across the house for three years; they had changed the way of life of everyone there. And in true Spanish fashion this matter which had changed everything was to be ignored; they were to behave as though it had not happened; even though Don Felipe’s bride lived in a house apart because she was mad, and he had taken an alien woman to complete his revenge. And I—that alien woman—had now brought into his house the result of this disaster. I did not care. I was to have a child of my own and I loved all children. I would not stand by and see them ill-treated to save any Spanish Don’s pride.
It was pathetic to see the manner in which Carlos regarded me. I was clearly a kind of goddess who could do anything. I was the one who had kissed his bruises, who had carried him out of squalor to a beautiful house. I bathed him in my sunken bath and treated his bruises and there were many on his little body and the sight of them aroused my fury to such an extent that I was ready to inflict the same punishment on that evil-faced woman. I soothed him with lotions and wrapped him in a cotton shift; and he slept in my bed. When I awoke next morning he was lying close to me and his hand gripped my nightgown firmly. I believed he had held it while he slept, so terrified was he that he was going to lose me. I knew then I could never fail him.
Oh, Jake Pennlyon, I thought. I am going to fight for your son.
Jennet couldn’t make enough of him. The likeness between her child and this boy was apparent. Though one was fair and the other dark … they were half brothers.
No one in the Hacienda protested, although there was a tension all about us.
“They are waiting,” said Honey, “for Don Felipe to return.”
He came back three days after I had brought Carlos to the Hacienda. By that time the child had ceased to be afraid; he followed me but no longer appeared to feel it necessary to cling to my skirts. Under my treatment the bruises were beginning to disappear from his body and also from his mind. In a short time I hoped those miserable days of his early life would become like a bad dream that disappears with the light of day. That was what I intended should be.
Everyone was waiting for what would happen now. I sensed they believed that my brief show of authority was over.
Nothing happened all day. I was tense, starting every time a servant approached me, waiting for the summons. The one who was least perturbed was the one most concerned: Carlos. He had complete faith in me. Moreover, he had no idea of who he was.
It was early evening when Don Felipe sent for me. I was to go to the escritorio.
He rose as I entered; he looked impassive as ever; there was no sign of anger on his face; but then I had never seen any emotion there.
He said: “Pray be seated.” So I sat down.
I looked about the escritorio at the paneled walls and the emblem of Spain above his chair.
“You show great temerity in bringing the child into the Hacienda. You know full well who he is.”
“It is obvious.”
“Then you will know too that he is an embarrassment to me.”
I laughed angrily. “And do you know that you are diabolically cruel to him? For the last three days that child has been happy for the first time in his life.”
“Is that reason to flout my orders?”
“It is the best of reasons,” I said unflinchingly.
“Because he is your lover’s child?”
“Because he is a child. He is not my lover’s child. Jake Pennlyon was never my lover. I hate that man as much as you hate him. But I will not stand aside and see a child ill-treated.” I stood up, my eyes blazing. I was determined to keep Carlos as I had rarely been determined before. Someone had said of my mother—I think it was Kate—that when my mother had a child she became a mother to all children. Well, I was about to have a child. I had always been fond of children, but now I was ready to lead a fervent crusade on their behalf. Carlos had turned his appealing gaze on me—and even though I was aware of his resemblance to Jake Pennlyon every time I saw him I was going to save him from misery. I was going to make him a happy child no matter what the cost.
Don Felipe said: “You were betrothed to Captain Pennlyon. You would marry him.”
“I would never have done it. You see your plans for revenge have failed. I was betrothed to him because he forced me to it. He would have betrayed my sister and her husband if I had not agreed to it.”
“You are a defender of others,” he said, and I was not sure whether he spoke with a touch of irony.
“He has no compassion, that man. He would have forced me as he forced your Isabella. I eluded him although the betrothal was necessary. Later I feigned to be suffering from the sweating sickness until his ship had sailed. That is what I felt for Jake Pennlyon.”
He was looking at me strangely.
“How vehement you are! How fierce!”
“I
have found it necessary to be so. But know this: You have no call to judge Jake Pennlyon. He has ruined lives through his lust; you will do so through your pride, and I believe one sin to be as deadly as the other.”
“Be silent.”
“I will not be silent. Don Felipe, your pride is so great that you have taken a woman from her home. You are guilty of rape. You have given her a child. Moreover, you have inflicted torture on the innocent result of another man’s lust. And all this to appease your pride. The devil take your pride … and you too.”
“Take care. You forget…”
“I forget nothing. Nor ever shall I forget what you and Jake Pennlyon have done to women and children. You great men! So powerful, so strong. Yes! When suppressing the weak and those who are not in a position to fight you.”
“I see little weakness in you,” he said.
“Do you not when I was forced to submit to your evil motives?”
“Tell me, were you not quickly reconciled?”
I felt a slow flush creeping over my face. “I do not understand you, Don Felipe Gonzáles.”
“Then we will dismiss the subject and return to the reason for my summoning you here. The child must go back. I cannot allow him to be here.”
“You cannot send him back … not now. It would be worse for him than before.”
“There! You see what you have done.”
I went to him and I felt the tears in my eyes because I was thinking of Carlos back in that compound with the evil woman waiting for him. I would humiliate myself a thousand times to save him from that.
I laid a hand on his arm. He looked down at me.
“You have wronged me … deeply. I ask you now. Give me this child.”
“You will have a child of your own.”
“I want this one.”
“You should never have brought him here.”
“Please,” I said. “You have ill used me. I ask you this. It is the only thing I have ever asked of you. Give me the child.”
He took my hand which I had placed on his arm; he held it for a moment and then dropped it.
He turned back to his desk. I went out of the room. I knew that I had won.
It was indeed victory. Everyone was expecting the child to be sent back. That night I was still fearful as I lay with him in my bed; but in the morning he was still with me. For two days I was anxious, but my fears were without grounds. Don Felipe had decided to let the child stay.
I warmed toward him. Once I saw him in the gardens and I spoke to him. I had the child with me, for he still hated to let me out of his sight.
I said: “Thank you, Don Felipe.”
“I hope you will keep the child away from me,” he said.
“I will,” I promised. “But thank you for him.”
I felt Carlos’ hand on my skirt and I took it firmly in mine and we walked away.
I sensed that Don Felipe watched us as we did so.
A few weeks passed. I was noticeably pregnant now. Edwina was taking on a personality of her own—she was a contented baby. I used to look at her in her cradle sometimes and think: Dear little Edwina, chuckling there, who has no notion that her father was murdered by marauding pirates and that her mother carried her precariously through terrifying adventures.
Carlos was already settling into the nursery as though he had lived there all his life. I had had a little pallet brought for him and it was placed in my room beside my bed. He was happy there although he would still come into my bed in the morning and I believed that at first it was to reassure himself that I was still there.
Don Felipe went away again and we resumed our normal life, but before he left he sent for me. I was afraid that he was going to rescind his decision to let the child stay, but I was mistaken. It was another matter of which he wanted to speak.
“I learn from John Gregory that you are not progressing well with your instruction.”
“My heart is not in it,” I told him.
“You are foolish. I tell you it is necessary that you become a good Catholic.”
“Does one ever become good at anything against one’s will?”
He looked at the door. He said: “Keep your voice low. People listen. There are some here who understand English. It would go ill with you if it were known that you were a heretic.”
I made an impatient gesture.
“I do not think you realize what benefit you enjoy under my protection.”
“I have no desire for your protection.”
“Nevertheless, you have it. I have told you before that there are certain forces over which I have no power. I would ask you for your sake and for the child you will have and that other whom you have taken under your protection to be careful of yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“That you could be in acute danger if you do not profit from John Gregory’s instructions. You have enemies. You have made more in the last few weeks. You will be watched, spied on; and as I tell you, it might not be in my power to save you. Think about this. You are impetuous. Have a care. That is what I would say to you.”
I smiled at him and he avoided my smile. It was as though he feared it as something evil.
“I suppose I should thank you,” I said. “You speak for my good.”
“I am anxious that you should bear this child.”
“And when I have borne it you have promised that you will return me to my home.”
He did not answer. Then he said: “There are some months before the birth. In the meantime it will be necessary to take care.” I was dismissed.
It was two days later when John Gregory said that I was to go into La Laguna. It was on the instructions of Don Felipe.
“Why should he wish me to go?” I asked.
“There is to be a spectacle which he wishes you to see.”
“And my sister?”
“You only, I believe. You are to go with me and with Richard Rackell.”
I was puzzled.
It was a warm day and the sun beat down on us as we rode our mules into the town. There were crowds coming in from the countryside, all making their way into the city.
I said: “I have never seen so many people here. It must be a great festival.”
“You will see,” said John Gregory quietly.
I studied him; I had come to know since our sessions together that he was a man with secrets. For one thing he was English. Why then should he have Spanish masters? I had already noted the marks on his cheek and wrists. I had seen another on his neck. Sometimes in his instruction he seemed overfervent, at others almost languid. I had tried to ask him questions about himself, but he was always evasive.
Now I realized that he was deeply moved.
I said: “Has something happened to disturb you, John Gregory?”
He shook his head.
There were crowds of people in the square. Several stands had been erected; I was led to one of these most ornately decorated with an emblem blazoned on it.
I mounted to the platform. There was a bench on which I sat. John Gregory was on one side and other members from the household on the other.
“What is going to happen?” I asked Gregory.
He whispered: “Do not speak in English. Speak Spanish and quietly. ’Tis better that it were not known you are alien.”
A sense of horror then began to take hold of me. I guessed now that what I was about to witness was something so horrifying that I had only visualized such happenings in my nightmares. I recalled those days when the smell of smoke had come drifting down the river from Smithfield. I had now seen the piles of fagots and I knew what they meant. Recalling my last conversation with Don Felipe, I realized now why he had wished me to come here.
I said to John Gregory, “I feel ill. I want to go back.”
“It is too late,” he said.
“This will be bad for my child.”
He only repeated: “It is too late now.”
Never shall I forget that afternoon. The h
eat, the square, the chanting of voices, the tolling of Cathedral bells; the figures in their robes, their hoods covering their faces and their eyes looking out through the slits, menacing and terrifying. None could have been unaware that something horrifying was about to be enacted.
I wanted to shut out the scene. I longed to get up and go. As I half rose in my seat John Gregory’s arm was firm around me, holding me in my place.
“I can’t bear this,” I whispered.
He whispered back: “You must. You dare not go. You would be seen.”
I half closed my eyes, but something within me forced me to open them.
Even now it is vivid in my memory; it is like a kaleidoscope changing first here, first there, until the complete horror was before me.
People had crowded into the square; only the center was left clear for the hideous tragedy to be played out. I looked into that sea of faces and I wondered if any among them had come to look on the dying agonies of a loved one. Were they all “good Catholics”? Did their faith in their religion which was said to be based on the love of their fellowmen blind them to the misery they were about to behold? Could they reconcile themselves to this cruel intolerance because they believed that men and women who thought differently from them should die? I wanted to get up and shout to these people, to rise up against cruelty and intolerance.
And then they came—the wretched victims in the tragic sanbenito—that shapeless gown with flames and devils painted on it—their faces gray from long incarceration in dank foul cells; some had been so cruelly tortured that they could not walk. I was about to cover my face with my hands when John Gregory whispered: “No. Remember you will be watched.”
So I sat there, my eyes lowered that I might not look on this fearful scene.
Suddenly all had risen; they were chanting words which I realized was the Oath of Allegiance to the Inquisition. John Gregory had moved in front of me so that I was hidden from view. I felt sick and ready to faint. My child stirred then as though to remind me that for its sake I must feign to be one of these people and pretend to accept their beliefs. This was why I had come here. It was Don Felipe’s way of telling me in what danger I stood. I could so easily be one of those people below in the yellow sanbenito; I could be led to my pile of fagots to be bound there while they crackled into flame below me.
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