Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold

by Andrew Rowen

  As they awaited the child, the sovereigns witnessed that daily life in Seville and Córdoba was continuously rent with agitation and hostility directed at their converso populations. They recognized that achieving law and order required reducing these tensions.

  In Seville, Fray Alonso de Hojeda13 charged that many conversos secretly practiced Jewish customs and rituals—failing to baptize their children, secretly inviting rabbis into their homes on the Sabbath, and never confessing—and were amassing great fortunes on usurious loans. He advocated that an inquisition be established directed solely at the conversos. Torquemada agreed, arguing that such an inquisition was the only solution to rout the heresy that abounded and protect the faith. Inquisitions had been implemented in Europe to root out heretical sects and dissenters and subjugate conquered peoples, and Aragón and Sicily already had papal authority to conduct one.

  To the contrary, Mendoza and Talavera—himself a converso and now often Fernando’s confessor as well as Isabel’s—cautioned the need for further study of the converso situation. They recommended that, instead of an inquisition, an attempt be made to better educate the clergy on proper adherence to Christian ritual and observance.

  Isabel and Fernando listened. For them, there was one true religion, and the Jews were mistaken to deny Christ’s divinity. Heresy was a terrible religious crime, and they feared failure to punish it could injure the faith, both by losing the soul of the heretic to the devil and by releasing the heretic to infect others. Yet a person became a Christian through baptism and faith in Christ’s divinity, and they had learned that the denial of any person’s ability to become Christian violated Christ’s own teachings—the baptism of any man, including of a Jew to become a converso, prevailed over blood, race, and nation to make a new man. The child growing in her womb reminded them that the Lord afforded every child the opportunity of salvation.

  The worldly situation complicated the spiritual, as their kingdom’s governance and commerce included both conversos and Jews. The royal bureaucracies employed conversos in important positions and contracted with Jews, and Jewish merchants frequently provided loans to the Crown in return for protection. Castile’s leading Jew, its chief rabbi Abraham Seneor, was Castile’s chief tax gatherer. But the general populace was anti-converso and anti-Jewish, and Isabel and Fernando feared their consolidation of control over the kingdom could be impaired, and the social hostilities would continue to boil, if they failed to achieve law and order in a manner that quelled these prejudices. Prior rulers had exhorted the Jews to convert many times, typically under threat of confiscation of property, restriction of freedom or livelihood, or physical harm—to the satisfaction of the general populace.

  The sovereigns decided they wanted more than anecdotal evidence of Hojeda’s and Torquemada’s charges—that thousands, if not all, conversos practiced Judaism—and appointed a commission, chaired by Mendoza, to review what should be done. Seville’s Jews themselves viewed the city’s conversos as Christian, as traitors to their own belief. Mendoza reported the evidence was overwhelming that conversos in Andalusia failed to practice proper Catholic worship and ritual, but he remained uncertain whether the cause was a failure of Catholic education generally in Andalusia as opposed to the Judaizing efforts of Jews or a few bad conversos.

  With a secretiveness that shrouded their intention, Isabel and Fernando determined two courses of action, both intended to assimilate the conversos in Catholic society and reduce the social turmoil occasioned by anti-Jewishness. They authorized Mendoza’s campaign of religious education, and a legion of clerics under Talavera and the bishop of Cádiz’s direction would arrive in Seville to teach its Christians—particularly conversos—proper Catholic worship. As an alternative, they also sought the pope’s authority for an inquisition in Castile directed at the conversos. The pope had been in favor of an inquisition established in accordance with historical precedent— subject to papal control—since Isabel’s coronation. But Isabel and Fernando would defer implementing this inquisition pending the results of the education effort, thereby deferring the inquisition’s punitive nature while warning the conversos to improve their practices. Deferral bought time to strengthen their control of Castile and conclude the Portuguese war before risking a policy that would trigger converso opposition.

  At the end of June, Isabel gave birth to a healthy son, named Juan after both grandfathers. Seville, as well as all of Castile, Aragón, and Sicily, and even Barcelona, erupted in tumultuous celebrations. The prince who would become the king proprietor of all Spain had at last been born. Old Christians, conversos, and Jews alike believed that God had shown mercy on Spain.

  In October, the sovereigns and their two children departed Seville. Fernando and Isabel continued discussions with the Holy See regarding the terms of a papal bull authorizing the inquisition. Fernando was firm: the inquisition had to be an authority of the Castilian crown, not the papacy. Its administrators had to be appointed and compensated by the sovereigns and answer to them, and the fines and property confiscated from those found guilty of heresy had to inure to the inquisition and thereby to the sovereigns. Fernando viewed the potential inquisition, if implemented, as a means for imposing royal authority and securing revenue in Andalusia.

  In November, Pope Sixtus IV issued his bull Exigit Sincere Devotionis, authorizing Isabel and Fernando to conduct an inquisition in Castile to extirpate the heresy among those who had converted from Judaism and those infected thereby. The sovereigns were pleased the inquisition could be directed solely at the conversos and at rich and poor alike because the overwhelming popular sentiment demanded those targets. The pope did disappoint in one respect, however. Traditional church doctrine held that a person whose conversion had been absolutely forced—such as on threat of death—had never truly become a Christian and therefore could not be guilty of heresy, and the bull appeared to recognize that an inquisition would not be directed at such a converso. The sovereigns knew this limitation would disappoint the general populace and wondered how such a converso would be identified and how many might be so exempted. While the bull’s authority to conduct the inquisition extended throughout Castile, perhaps neither sovereign then had a grand vision of its use beyond Andalusia. Fray Torquemada did.

  Isabel understood the inquisition so authorized would take a step she once thought inappropriate. If implemented, it would be directed only at former Jews, not at a single old Christian who disregarded his religion. But a converso could be innocent, it was less than a law subjecting every converso to a subservient status, and the sovereigns’ converso advisers and supporters presumably would not be affected.

  Through nine years of marriage, Isabel and Fernando had made important decisions jointly, and, with the overwhelming press of objectives to accomplish, they had developed a sharing of authority where one sometimes took lead responsibility. Isabel now sometimes deferred to Fernando on military strategy and, when the separate interests of Aragón were significantly implicated, on its foreign policy. But the decision to defer or implement an inquisition in Castile, dealing with the most fundamental issues of faith, conduct, heresy and justice, was for and by them both and within the ambit of Isabel’s strongest convictions. At this time, Isabel chose to continue to rely on Christ’s love rather than his sword.

  GUACANAGARÍ

  Gold Homage, Marien

  One afternoon, after completing Uncle’s responsibilities for the day, Guacanagarí sat in the shade of a tree with his aging Father and Uncle, discussing difficult caciqual decisions and the consequences for the cacique’s soul when it departs the body on death.

  “If a man has been good to others and promoted peace and tranquility, his soul departs to travel on a path that is full of joy,” Uncle began. “If he has treated others badly, his soul’s path will be dark and dreadful. So where will a cacique’s soul travel when, for the good of his people, he instills fear in them or commands that they harm others?”

  Guacanagarí politely paused to refle
ct on the question, although his initial reaction was that the answer was obvious. “It’s the cacique’s responsibility to defend his people and territory from Caribe attack and any other enemy—such as encroachment by Caonabó or the Xaraguáns. War or fighting for that purpose are justified and don’t prevent the cacique’s soul from attaining the path of joy.” He reflected that the answer was not entirely obvious. “There may be times when attacking an enemy first is necessary for protecting one’s people. That’s justified, as well. Sometimes, maintaining one’s authority requires frightening a subordinate cacique to compel loyalty, and that’s justified—particularly if it helps one rule without dissention.”

  “One should be mindful to use force or threats only to the extent necessary, not more, and it’s not always easy to decide what’s necessary,” Uncle cautioned. “Guacanagarí, indulge me for a moment in simple questions. If a storm arose and a Caribe raiding party were passing at sea, not intent on attacking, would you allow it to come ashore for shelter?”

  “Of course not. If they came ashore, you’d kill them on the beach. That’s protecting your people. There’s no issue.”

  “If, instead of the Caribes, it was Caonabó in the canoe, would you let him ashore?”

  “Of course, Caonabó isn’t an enemy. While he may not be a friend, he may visit Marien peacefully. It’d be unthinkable, and a conclusive strike on one’s soul, to prevent him from coming ashore. Preventing him—or for that matter any person other than an enemy—from landing in distress would be wrong, and would be condemned by all. What’s more, when he came ashore, Caonabó would be in your debt, and you’d strengthen the protection of our southern border by such an act.”

  “Now, let me pose a real question, where perhaps the answer isn’t as obvious,” Uncle continued. “Suppose there were a hurricane that floods villages on our common border with Caonabó but which owe allegiance to him, not myself. In their distress, we offer them our fish. Can we withhold the fish unless they pledge their allegiance to us?”

  “Of course not,” Guacanagarí responded without hesitation. “Taínos offer food to friend and stranger alike, freely, whenever people meet. It’d be unthinkable to withhold food from those in distress for an advantage. But, after receiving it, the local caciques might offer us allegiance in reciprocity. They might not, and offer something else in return.” Guacanagarí reflected for a moment. “I think it’d be acceptable conduct, after supplying them food, for you to suggest to the local caciques that you’d be gratified by their allegiance.”

  “I agree,” Uncle replied. “But remember that our cacicazgo has never been as powerful as our neighbors, at least in my lifetime.”

  “Caonabó would view the suggestion as aggression,” Father warned, interrupting.

  “He would.” Uncle gazed at Guacanagarí to ensure his attention. “We usually are better off responding to aggression than initiating it—even when our own aggression would be acceptable conduct. You’ll have to make your own judgments, and it’s important to appreciate that peace and harmony should be disturbed only for the most extraordinary objectives or concerns.”

  Guacanagarí grew circumspect, as Uncle had struggled his entire life to raise their cacicazgo’s esteem and failed, and Guacanagarí knew this failure largely reflected that Uncle himself was perceived as less consequential than other caciques. Uncle wasn’t feared as a warrior, admired for his wisdom, or appreciated as an exceptional taíno, a good man. Guacanagarí suspected Father understood this, but Father had never countenanced any such criticism. Guacanagarí had grown impatient to address Marien’s stature himself as time marched toward his near-certain anointment.

  The men were silent for a moment, and Guacanagarí’s impatience welled and emboldened him. “I believe our esteem would benefit if I established my own military and spiritual reputation.”

  “It would,” Uncle observed.

  Guacanagarí advanced, as if thinking aloud, although the thoughts had preoccupied him for a long time. “I think I might lead a substantial squad of warriors around Marien, reviewing the coastal villages and their preparations for Caribe attack, and then march inland to meet our subordinate caciques in the mountains. I could also lead this year’s gold homage. Both events could be made conspicuous, and the troops and gold homage would be in border areas watched by the Xaraguáns and Maguanans.”

  Uncle and Father glanced at each other, surprised.

  “Marching with a squad of troops isn’t customary, but I think it can be done without appearing menacing,” Guacanagarí added. “Everyone knows we need to improve our defenses against Caribe raid.”

  “Leading troops along the coast is one thing,” Father responded. “But taking troops inland would be perceived much differently. There’s no risk of Caribe raid there, and Caonabó or the Xaraguáns might misconstrue it as a belligerent gesture, although I understand you don’t intend that.”

  “I have no intention of changing or even risk changing our peaceful relations with neighbors. But I do want them to understand I’m comfortable with military action.”

  “I think you’d do better to establish your spirituality rather than a militancy,” Uncle indicated. “Leading the gold homage in exemplary fashion is a fine idea. Guarionex’s stature is principally due to his reputation as a wise Taíno versed in our spirits, not as a warrior. Your civility and generosity are well known, and you’re not known as a warrior.”

  “Uncle, I have no intent or desire to be perceived as militant, but I should be respected as one who is not afraid to be a warrior when necessary.”

  “If the issue is your stature, I think the most pressing opportunity isn’t leading troops or a gold homage, but whether you can secure Anacaona in marriage.”

  “The Xaraguáns know of my desire, our desire, to do so—as well as everyone else’s.” Uncle and Father nodded agreement. “But to secure that marriage, I must augment my stature.”

  Uncle realized his nephew’s thoughts were not casual or tentative or wrong and that his own energy to advance his cacicazgo was fading sharply. “Let me study with the elders the idea of your peacefully marching on the borders with soldiers. But I commend you to lead the annual gold homage.” Uncle looked to confirm Father’s concurrence. “I understand you will dig conspicuously close to our border with Xaraguá, as your focus is to impress its cacique.”

  Guacanagarí led the annual gold homage when the rainy season began. Streambeds in the mountains bore gold dust and nuggets, which were gathered easily when the water flowed, and, as tradition, caciques throughout Haiti bid their male subjects halt work to dig for a few weeks. The gold obtained was embedded in amulets, face masks, and other objects to animate a soul or spirit.

  Guacanagarí and the village behique invoked the homage with a cohaba ceremony, whereupon they accompanied hundreds of their subjects—fasting and celibate—into the highlands to villages bordering Xaraguá, where they were sheltered by local caciques. They dug with their hands in the mud of streambeds for twenty days—still fasting and celibate—trusting the spirits would receive their purity favorably and lead them to the gold, just as Guabonito had bestowed guanín on Guahayona when celibate.

  As the men dug, the behique ambled through the neighboring countryside searching for spirits, and, when villagers showed him a tree moving its roots, he induced cohaba to speak to the spirit within, which revealed itself as an assistant to Yúcahu. Guacanagarí ordered woodworkers and an artisan to carve the spirit from the tree and inlay his eyes, ears, and nose with gold found in the homage. Pleased with the result, Guacanagarí dispatched a messenger bearing the cemí as a gift to the Xaraguán cacique, with the explanation that the spirit had revealed itself as Guacanagarí led the gold homage in a border area, attesting to the unique relationship between their two cacicazgos.

  Uncle weakened and died within a few seasons. Many of his subjects were saddened, as on the loss of any cacique, many were relieved, hopeful of more exemplary leadership. Messengers were dispatched to invite
the paramount Haitian caciques to the funeral ceremonies.

  Guacanagarí arranged gifts of a face mask for each cacique, splendidly adorned with an unusual amount of gold, and lined the village central plaza with a row of warriors—never dispatched to the border areas—as he awaited his guests. Mayobanex and Cayacoa, now anointed as their cacicazgos’ rulers, were unable to attend but sent subordinate caciques. Guarionex and Caonabó arrived with a few nitaínos but without any display of warriors. Behecchio came as his uncle’s representative and explained his uncle was too old for the journey. Guacanagarí waited in vain for a compliment of his prior gift. Behecchio was accompanied by a few nitaínos, but not girls to sing and dance. Anacaona hadn’t come.

  ISABEL, FERNANDO, AND JOÃO

  Treaties at Alcáçovas, Portugal, 1479–1481

  In January 1479, King Juan II of Aragón died at eighty years, whereupon Fernando and Isabel became its king and queen. All of Hispania except Portugal was united under one rule, posing a formidable opponent to any foreign prince with contrary intentions.

  In February, the Portuguese Cortes authorized the Duchess of Viseu Beatriz of Portugal, Afonso V’s and the late Queen Juana’s sister-in-law and an aunt to both Juana and Isabel, to seek a peace treaty with Isabel. Isabel met Beatriz alone in the Castilian town Alcántara at the border to discuss Juana’s fate and peace and pardon terms. Isabel could not secure an acceptable agreement on Juana’s parentage or elimination as an heir to the Castilian throne, and after a week she and her aunt gracefully handed the negotiations to representatives, including Prince João on behalf of Afonso. In September, two treaties were executed in Alcáçovas, Portugal.