‘They are cheats and liars,’ echoed Diego de Merlo.
‘They are murderers,’ went on Ojeda. ‘They poison our wells; and worst of all they show their secret scorn of the Christian faith by committing hideous crimes. Only recently a little boy was missing from his home . . . a beautiful little boy. His body was discovered in a cave. He had been crucified, and his heart cut out.’
‘So these outrages continue,’ said Torquemada.
‘They continue, brother; and nothing is done to put an end to them.’
‘Something must be done,’ said de Merlo.
‘Something shall be done,’ replied Torquemada.
‘There should be a tribunal set up to deal with heretics,’ cried Ojeda.
‘The Inquisition is the answer,’ replied Torquemada; ‘but a new Inquisition . . . an efficient organization which would in time rid the country of heresy.’
‘There is no Inquisition in Castile at this time,’ went on Ojeda. ‘And why? Because, brother, it is considered that there are not enough cases of heresy existing in Castile to warrant the setting up of such an institution.’
Torquemada said: ‘There are Inquisitors in Aragon, in Catalonia and in Valencia. It is high time there were Inquisitors in Castile.’
‘And because of this negligence,’ said Ojeda, ‘in the town of Seville these knaves flourish. I would ask for particular attention to the men of Seville. Brother, we have come to ask your help.’
‘Readily would I give it in order to drive heresy from Spain,’ Torquemada told them.
‘We propose to ask an audience of the Queen to lay these facts before her. Holy Prior, can we count on your support with Her Highness?’
‘You may count on me,’ said Torquemada. His thin lips tightened, his eyes glistened. ‘I would arrest those who are suspect. I would wring confessions from them that they might implicate all who are concerned with them in their malpractices; and when they are exposed I would offer them a chance to save their souls before the fire consumed them.
Death by the fire! It is the only way to cleanse those who have been sullied by partaking in these evil rites.’ He turned to his guests. ‘When do you propose to visit the Queen?’
‘We are on our way to her now, brother, but we came first to you, for we wished to assure ourselves of your support.’
‘It is yours,’ said Torquemada. His eyes were shining. ‘The hour has come. It has been long delayed. This country has suffered much from civil war, but now we are at peace and the time has come to turn all men and women in Castile into good Christians. Oh, it will be a mighty task. And we shall need to bring them to their salvation through the rack, hoist and faggot. But the hour of glory is about to strike. Yes, yes, my friends, I am with you. Every accursed Jew in this kingdom, who has returned to the evil creed of his forefathers, shall be taken up, shall be put to the test, shall feel the healing fire. Go. Go to the Queen with my blessing. Call on me when you wish. I am with you.’
* * *
When his visitors had gone, Torquemada went to his cell and paced up and down.
‘Holy Mother,’ he cried, ‘curse all Jews. Curse those who deny the Christ. Give us power to uncover their wickedness and, when they are exposed in all their horror, we shall know how to deal with them in your holy name and that of Christ your son. We will take them. We will set them on the rack. We will tear their flesh with red-hot pincers. We will dislocate their limbs on the hoist. We will torture their bodies that we may save their souls.
‘A curse on the Marranos. A curse on the Conversos. I hate all practising Jews. I suspect all those who call themselves New Christians. Only when we have purged this land of their loathsome presence shall we have a pure Christian country.’
He fell to his knees and one phrase kept hammering in his brain: I hate all Jews.
He shut his mind to thoughts which kept intruding. It was not true. He would not accept it. His grandmother had not been a Jewess. His family possessed the pure Castilian blood. They were proud of their limpieza.
Never, never would Alvar Fernandez de Torquemada have introduced Jewish blood into the family. It was an evil thought; it was like a maggot working in his brain, tormenting him.
It was impossible, he told himself.
Yet, during the period in which his grandfather had been married, persecution of the Jews was rare. Many of them occupied high posts at Court and no one cared very much what blood they had in their veins. Grandfather Alvar Fernandez had carelessly married, perhaps not thinking of the future trouble he might be causing his family.
Tomás de Torquemada refused to believe it. But the thought persisted.
He remembered early days. The sly knowledge and sidelong looks of other boys, the whispers: ‘Tomás de Torquemada – he boasts of his Castilian blood. Oh, he is so proud of his limpieza – but what of his old grandmother? They say she is a Jewess.’
What antidote was there against this fear? What but hatred?
‘I hate the Jews!’ he had said continually. He forced himself to show great anger against them. Thus, he reasoned, none would believe that he was in the slightest way connected with them. Thus he could perhaps convince himself.
Alonso de Spina, who, almost twenty years before, had tried to arouse the people’s anger against the Jews, was himself a Converso. Did he, Tomas de Torquemada, whip himself to anger against them for the same reason?
Torquemada threw himself onto his knees. ‘Give me strength,’ he cried, ‘strength to drive all infidels and unbelievers to their death. Give me strength to bring the whole of Castile together as one Christian state. One God. One religion. And to the fire with all those who believe otherwise.’
Torquemada – who feared there might be a trace of Jewish blood in his veins – would emerge as the greatest Catholic of Castile, the punisher of heretics, the scourge of the Jews, the man who worked indefatigably to make an all-Christian Castile.
* * *
Ferdinand was with Isabella when she received Alonso de Ojeda and Diego de Merlo.
Isabella welcomed the monks cordially and begged them to state their business.
Ojeda broke into an impassioned speech in which he called her attention to the number of Converses living in Seville.
‘There are many Conversos throughout Castile,’ said Isabella quietly. ‘I employ some of them in my own service. I rejoice that they have become Christians. It is what I would wish all my subjects to be.’
‘Highness, my complaint is that while many of these Conversos in Seville profess Christianity they practise the Jewish religion.’
‘That,’ said Isabella, ‘is a very evil state of affairs.’
‘And one which,’ put in Diego de Merlo, ‘Your Highness would doubtless wish to end at the earliest possible moment.’
Isabella nodded slowly. ‘You had some project in mind, my friends?’ she said.
‘Highness, the Holy Office does not exist in Castile. We ask that you consider installing it here.’
Isabella glanced at Ferdinand. She saw that the pulse in his temple had begun to hammer. She felt sad momentarily, and almost wished that she did not understand Ferdinand so well. He was possessed by much human frailty, she feared. It had been a great shock to discover that not only had he an illegitimate son but that he had appointed him, at the age of six, Archbishop of Saragossa. That boy was not the only child Ferdinand had had by other women. She had discovered that a noble Portuguese lady had borne him a daughter. There might be others. How should she hear of them?
Now his eyes glistened, and she understood why. The Inquisition had been set up in Aragon and because of it the riches of certain condemned men had found their way into the royal coffers. Money could make Ferdinand’s eyes glisten like that.
‘Such procedure would need a great deal of consideration,’ said Isabella.
‘I am inclined to believe,’ said Ferdinand, his eyes still shining and with the flush in his cheeks, ‘that the installation of the Holy Office in Castile is greatly to be de
sired.’
The monks had now turned their attention to Ferdinand, and Ojeda poured out a storm of abuse against the Jews. He spoke of ritual murders, of Christian boys, three or four years old, who had been kidnapped to take part in some loathsome rites which involved the crucifixion of the innocent child and the cutting out of his heart.
Ferdinand cried: ‘This is monstrous. You are right. We must have an inquiry immediately.’
‘Have the bodies of these children been discovered?’ asked Isabella calmly.
‘Highness, these people are crafty. They bury the bodies in secret places. It is a part of their ritual.’
‘I think it would be considered necessary to have proof of these happenings before we could believe them,’ said Isabella.
Ferdinand had turned to her. She saw the angry retort trembling on his lips. She smiled at him gently. ‘I am sure,’ she said quietly, ‘that the King agrees with me.’
‘An inquiry might be made,’ said Ferdinand. His voice sounded aloof, as it did when he was angry.
‘An inquiry, yes,’ said Isabella. She turned to the monks. ‘This matter shall have my serious consideration. I am indebted to you for bringing it to my notice.’
She laid her hand on Ferdinand’s arm. It was a command to escort her from the chamber.
* * *
When they were alone, Ferdinand said: ‘My opinion would appear to count for little.’
‘It counts for a great deal,’ she told him.
‘But the Queen is averse to setting up the Inquisition in Castile?’
‘I have not yet given the matter sufficient consideration.’
‘I had always believed that it was one of your dearest wishes to see an all-Christian Castile.’
‘That is one of my dearest wishes.’
‘Why, then, should you be against the extirpation of heretics?’
‘Indeed I am not against it. You know it is part of our plans for Castile.’
‘Then who is best fitted to track them down? Surely the Inquisitors are the men for that task?’
‘I am not sure, Ferdinand, that I wish to see the Inquisition in Castile. I would wish first to assure myself that, by installing the Inquisition here, I should not give greater power to the Pope than he already has. We are the sovereigns of Castile, Ferdinand. We should share our power with no one else.’
Ferdinand hesitated. Then he said: ‘I am sure we could set up our Inquisition – our own Inquisition which should be apart from Papal influence. I may tell you, Isabella, that the Inquisition can bring profit to the crown. Many of the Conversos are rich men, and it is one of the rules of the Inquisition that those who are found guilty of heresy forfeit land . . . wealth . . . all possessions.’
‘The treasury is depleted,’ said Isabella. ‘We need money. But I would prefer to replenish it through other means.’
‘Are the means so important?’
She looked at him almost coldly. ‘They are of the utmost importance.’
Ferdinand corrected himself quickly. ‘Providing the motive is a good one . . .’ he began. ‘And what better motive than to bring salvation to poor misguided fools? What nobler purpose than to lead them into the Catholic Church?’
‘It is what I would wish to see, but as yet I am inclined to give this matter further consideration.’
‘You will come to understand that the Inquisition is a necessity if you are to make an all-Catholic Castile.’
‘You may be right, Ferdinand. You often are.’ She smiled affectionately. Come, she seemed to be saying, let us be friends.
This marriage of ours has brought disappointments to us both. I am a woman who knows she must rule in her own way; you hoped I would be different. You are a man who cannot be faithful to his wife; I hoped you would be different. But here we are – two people of strong personalities which we cannot change, even for the sake of the other. Let us be content with what we have been given. Do not let us sigh for the impossible. For our marriage is more than the union of two people. What matters it if in our hearts we suffer these little disappointments? What are they, compared with the task which lies before us?
She went on: ‘I wish to show you our new device. I trust it will please you, for it gives me so much pleasure. I am having it embroidered on a banner, and I did not mean to show you until it was finished; but soon it will be seen all over Castile, and when the people see it they will know that you and I stand together in all things.’
He allowed himself to be placated; and she called to one of her pages to bring the piece of embroidery to her.
When it was brought she showed him the partly finished pattern.
She read in her quiet voice, which held a ring of triumph: ‘Tanto monta, monta tanto – Isabel como Fernando.’
She saw a slow smile break out on Ferdinand’s face. As much as the one is worth, so much is the other – Isabella as Ferdinand.
She could not say more clearly than that how she valued him, how she looked upon him as her co-ruler in Castile.
Still he knew that in all important matters she considered herself the sole adjudicator. Whatever their device, whatever her gentleness, she still remained Queen in her own right. She held supreme authority in Castile.
As for the installation of the Inquisition, thought Ferdinand, in time she would agree to it. He would arrange for Torquemada to persuade her.
With Ferdinand on one side to show what material good the Inquisitors could bring them, with Torquemada on the other to speak of the spiritual needs of Castile – they would win. But it would not be until they had convinced Isabella that the Inquisition was necessary to Castile.
* * *
Isabella sent for Cardinal Mendoza and commanded that it should be a completely private audience.
‘I pray you sit down, Cardinal,’ she said. ‘I am deeply disturbed, and I wish you to give me your considered opinion on the matter I shall put before you.’
The Cardinal waited respectfully; he guessed the matter was connected with the visit of the two Dominicans.
‘Alonso de Ojeda and Diego de Merlo,’ began Isabella, ‘are deeply concerned regarding the behaviour of Marrams in Seville. They declare that there are many men and women who, proclaiming themselves to be Christians, cynically practise Jewish rites in secret. They even accuse them of kidnapping and crucifying small boys. They wish to set up the Inquisition in Castile. What is your opinion of this, Cardinal?’
The Cardinal was thoughtful for a few seconds. Then he said: ‘We have fanatics in our midst, Highness. I am deeply opposed to fanaticism. It warps the judgement and destroys the peace of the community. Through the centuries the Jewish communities have been persecuted, but there is no evidence that such persecution has brought much good to the countries in which it was carried out. Your Highness will remember that in the fourteenth century Fernando Martinez preached against the Jews and declared that they were responsible for the Black Death. The result – pogroms all over Spain. Many suffered, but there is no evidence of any good that this brought. From time to time rumours spring up of the kidnapping and crucifixion of small boys, but we should ask ourselves what truth there is in these rumours. It was not very long ago that Alonso de Spina published his account of the evil doings of Conversos. Strange, when he himself was a Converse. One feels that he wished it to be widely known that he was a good Catholic . . . so good, so earnest that he was determined to expose his fellows. Very soon afterwards rumours of kidnappings and crucifixions occurred again. I think, Highness, knowing your desire for justice, that you would wish to examine these rumours with the utmost care before accepting them as truth.’
‘You are right. But should they not be examined? And in that case, who should be the examiners? Should this task not be the duty of Inquisitors?’
‘Can we be sure, Highness, that this desire to set up the Inquisition in Castile does not come from Rome?’
Isabella smiled faintly. ‘It is as though you speak my thoughts aloud.’
‘May I remin
d you of the little controversy which recently occurred?’
‘There is no need to remind me,’ answered Isabella. ‘I remember full well.’
Her thoughts went to that recent incident, when she had asked for the appointment of one of her chaplains, Alonso de Burgos, to the bishopric of Cuenca; but because the nephew of Pope Sixtus, Raffaele Riario, had desired the post it had gone to him. As Isabella had on two previous occasions asked for appointments for two of her proteges – which had gone to the Pope’s candidates – she was angry and had recalled her ambassador from the Vatican. With Ferdinand’s help she had proposed to get together a council, that the conduct of the Pope might be examined. Sixtus, alarmed that his nepotism would be exposed in all its blatancy, gave way to Isabella and Ferdinand, and bestowed the posts they had demanded on their candidates.
It was quite reasonable to suppose therefore that Sixtus would have his alert eyes on Isabella and Ferdinand and would seek some means of curbing their power. How could this be done with greater effect than by installing the Inquisition – an institution which was apart from the state and had its roots in Rome? The Inquisition could grow up side by side with the state, gradually usurping more and more of its power. It could be equivalent to a measure of Roman rule in Spain.
Isabella looked with grateful affection at the Cardinal, who had been thinking on the same lines and who saw the issues at stake as clearly as she did herself.
‘I know Your Highness will agree with me that we must be continually watchful of the power of Rome. Here in Castile Your Highness is supreme. It is my urgent desire that you should remain so.’
‘You are right as usual,’ answered Isabella. ‘But I am disturbed that some of my subjects should revile the Christian faith.’
The Cardinal was thoughtful. In his heart – although this was something he could never explain to Isabella, for he knew she would never understand him – he believed in taking his religion lightly. He was aware that belief – to be real belief – must be free. It was something which could not be forced. This was contrary to the accepted notion, he was fully aware, and for this reason he must keep his thoughts to himself. He wished life to be comfortably pleasant and, above all, dignified. The Inquisition in Aragon, Valencia and Catalonia was, he realised, at this stage a lethargic institution. Its officers lived easily and did not much concern themselves with the finding of heretics. If such were discovered they could, no doubt, by the means of a little bribery and diplomacy, escape disaster.
Spain for the Sovereigns Page 12