Prisoner of the Inquisition

by Theresa Breslin

  I gave him his coin. When he saw that it was gold, he said, ‘Whatever else you need, señor, I, Rafael, am the man to get it for you. I’m attached to the fourth supply unit. You can call on me any time of the day or night.’

  The girl’s chaperon was close beside her, but my tailor’s advice and instruction on the correct form of etiquette flew from my head. I decided to accost them without finding a mutual acquaintance to make the first contact. I made my way across the room. I felt the older woman appraise me closely as I introduced myself to her. But I was not watching the chaperon’s face. It was the girl’s eyes that I fixed upon.

  And she looked back at me. Most directly, without embarrassment or any false coquettishness.

  Clustered around her face, little curls of her hair escaping from the lace snood, made a frame for her features like paintings one sees in churches of angels. It was a very unusual style. Most women wore their hair long, and arranged it with ornate combs to hold it in place. I thought: she isn’t vain, for generally women want to show their hair and put on jewellery to enhance themselves, to bring out the colour of their eyes with sapphires, jet or emeralds.

  Her eyes were steady. A tiny tremor crossed her face.

  ‘You seem interested in this tapestry, Zarita de Marzena,’ I said when her chaperon had finally made the introduction that allowed me to speak to her. ‘It’s a splendid exposition of the lands our monarchs hope to rule.’

  ‘The work is very good,’ she replied in a melodious voice. ‘I’m glad you think so too. It would have taken long hours of toil, and embroidery is a skill that most men don’t value.’

  ‘Yet you do?’ I wondered how she would know of such things. Being rich, she would surely fill her days with idleness. ‘From where did you get your knowledge?’

  ‘In the convent of my aunt.’

  ‘You are a nun!’ I felt as though I’d been struck a physical blow. That explained the hair, her manner, her disregard for finery. Disappointment swamped me. I stepped back.

  ‘No . . .’ She hesitated. ‘Not quite. I took refuge there for a while when family matters overwhelmed me.’

  I waited. After my first brave effort I didn’t know how to continue the conversation.

  ‘I meant no insult to men,’ she went on, ignoring my gaucheness. ‘But it isn’t merely the fine stitching that makes this so wonderful, it’s what’s involved in the planning of the whole piece that perhaps men might not appreciate.’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ I replied, more confidently now. ‘For I am a navigator mariner, and setting out on a sea voyage isn’t just about boarding a ship and casting off. One needs to think out the whole journey first, its purpose and its obstacles.’ As I said this I remembered Captain Cosimo who, despite his bad eyesight, had been a careful planner, a fine mariner and astute in business affairs; I had learned these skills from him. And as I thought of him, I had a sudden ache inside me to escape the stuffiness and restrictions of this place and to be on the water again.

  She noticed the change in me. ‘You seem preoccupied. Did your session with Christopher Columbus and their majesties’ advisers go well?’

  ‘How did you know that myself and Christopher Columbus had been in conference with the court advisers today?’

  ‘My chaperon says everyone at court knows the business of everyone else.’

  ‘It went as well as any session would that consists of a group of men of differing opinion, each with his own agenda.’

  She gave a little laugh. ‘And do you think Señor Columbus will be successful in his aspirations?’

  I thought of what I knew of Christopher Columbus. His confidence in his predictions, his unshakeable faith in the order of the universe under God, his love of life and the elemental forces of the sea, his skill as a mariner, his expertise in the basic navigational skills known to the Phoenicians and Greeks, his ability to improvise and think quickly.

  ‘I am sure of it,’ I replied.

  ‘I heard that they think his calculations are in error.’

  ‘The figures may be slightly inaccurate. The breadth of the Ocean Sea is a tremendously complicated thing to assess. But no matter the arithmetic, the principle is the same. There is land to the west, for the world is round.’

  ‘I can follow that . . .’ She spoke carefully, as if working it out. ‘If there is land to the east, and we know there is, and the world is round, then by definition, there must be land to the west.’

  ‘Bravo!’ I said. ‘Many learned men seem to have trouble grasping that notion.’

  ‘Yet if it is so far away’ – she tilted her head to look up at the map again and I saw her throat and wanted to reach out and touch her skin – ‘and if the winds that blow you west are not strong enough to bring you back, how would you return . . .? Oh, I see!’ she said before I could reply. ‘You might go all the way round.’

  ‘That would require a great deal of thought. And more planning than the construction of a tapestry,’ I added to tease her.

  ‘But it’s so exciting.’ Her voice quickened with interest. ‘Tell me how you think it could be done.’

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Zarita

  DESPITE THE COLD weather the royal reception rooms were hot and full of the loud chatter of hordes of people. It was the eve of the monarchs’ triumphal entry into Granada, and nobles, clergy and merchants wanted to be part of the spectacle. The noise assaulted my senses as Señora Eloisa and I stood under a wall hanging near an outer door.

  Señora Eloisa took in the room before us. ‘Now, if you were searching for a husband, Zarita—’ she began.

  ‘I am not,’ I interrupted her.

  ‘But if you were,’ she continued, ‘it would be crucial for you to meet the right people. There are those who are well connected and very rich, those who have noble blood but are penniless, and those with fabulous fortunes who are of merchant stock.’ She snapped open her fan and waved it briskly before her. ‘Those who have none of these attributes we will of course ignore completely.’

  I was surprised by such rudeness, but then realized my aunt’s friend was using sarcasm as wit.

  ‘My days of the chase are over, so for this excursion into court society it’s up to you to decide which you prefer.’

  ‘I only came for the opportunity to have a short interview with Ramón Salazar,’ I reminded her.

  ‘Indeed, and I will arrange that as soon as I am able. But in the meantime, a woman as stunning as yourself will be the subject of curiosity.’ She looked me over with approval. ‘I must admit I have excelled myself in making over that dress of Beatriz’s. Removing the overskirt of black net to reveal the deep red was inspired. It suits your dark colouring. You are so like her that it’s as if the dress were made for you. And then my genius in covering up your shorn locks with the specially made snood of black lace. Perfect! Perfect!’ she complimented herself. ‘You’ll find that all sorts will come clustering round us wanting to meet you; the informality of this court next to a battleground means we will have to admit them to our presence.’

  Aunt Beatriz had chosen my chaperon well. Eloisa’s health was not good and lately she lived mainly in her estates in the north. But to help her old friend she’d travelled south to meet me, arranged accommodation for us, and was now bravely overcoming her fatigue to escort me around the court. I noticed that she was starting to enjoy herself.

  ‘You will not be in a room for long, Zarita,’ she said, ‘without attracting the attention of a young gallant. In fact I have my eye on one such person who is at this very moment studying you most intently.’ She shielded her mouth with her fan and said, ‘I believe you have caught the eye of the mariner who is with Christopher Columbus, the explorer-navigator who seeks royal financial backing. It’s said they had a difficult interview with the clergy and courtiers this afternoon: they believe he’s miscounted the miles in his proposed expedition. This companion of Columbus cannot take his eyes off you.’

  ‘Where is he?’ I asked. I swivelled ro
und slowly.

  And saw him.

  He stood out among the others by virtue of his height, his bearing and his looks. Where once I would have raised my hand and spread my fan to cover the lower part of my face, now I did not. I met his direct gaze with one of my own as he approached me.

  ‘I beg leave to introduce myself. I am Saulo de Lomas, the mariner who accompanies the explorer and navigator Christopher Columbus.’ He addressed himself to my chaperon but he was looking at me.

  There was something in his eyes; something exciting yet familiar, as though an inner part of me connected in some way with his soul.

  Señora Eloisa glanced at me to ascertain whether I wished to accept his introduction. I indicated that I did, and she replied, ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Saulo the mariner. I am Señora Eloisa de Parada, widow of Don Juan de Parada.’

  Eloisa then went on to chat for an interminable length of time about the weather, the state of the roads, the price of flour, the arrangements for tomorrow’s procession into Granada, the difficulty in hiring an honest servant, again the condition of the roads, until I could have hit her with my fan. Eventually she halted her flow and said to him, ‘Saulo the mariner, allow me to introduce the niece of a friend of mine.’ Eloisa inclined her head in my direction. ‘Zarita de Marzena.’

  He was dressed in a very distinctive way. No hat on his head, no capelet or fancy collar around his shoulders, his hair caught back at the nape of his neck by a loosely tied strip of rough black silk, the top layer of his hair bleached by the sun. His face was tanned, with a fine pale scar showing just below his left cheekbone. His shirt shone white against the black of his tunic, hose and boots. He carried no sword, but had a long dagger of eastern origin in his belt. When he stood by me he didn’t smooth his hair or adjust his cuffs as other men do while assessing the impression they are making. I couldn’t imagine this man preening before a mirror, fretting about his appearance.

  His lips parted and he smiled at me, and something went to my heart with that smile.

  I thought to tell him as soon as I could that I was from a convent, and was ridiculously pleased by the crushed expression that came over his face. Then we fell easily into conversation, and he had humour and wit and fascinating stories and such an open mind. Beatriz would love him, I thought, for his questioning intellect.

  It would have been rude to enquire, but I was sure he wasn’t of noble birth; yet he was well read and knew some Latin and Greek and had travelled extensively.

  We didn’t move from that spot throughout the evening, and were still there when the queen and king left in procession with their attendants and advisers.

  Saulo pointed out the explorer Christopher Columbus to me. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘That is the man who will prove that the world is round.’

  We’d been pushed back to allow the royals to pass and Saulo was very close to me, so close I could feel the heat from his body. I knew that he was identifying Christopher Columbus so that I could be a witness to history, and I was pleased that he thought to do this. But rather than being awed at seeing Señor Columbus, I was more thrilled by the presence of the man at my side.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Saulo

  ‘THAT IS CHRISTOPHER Columbus.’

  I said his name and pointed him out to Zarita as the procession of royals, nobles, clergy and dignitaries went past.

  ‘Yes,’ she said softly, and our faces almost touched. I felt her breath on the side of my cheek and her nearness filled all my senses.

  Queen Isabella was smaller and plainer than I’d imagined, but the aura of authority was about her, in the set of her chin and the cast of her face. I could well believe every tale I’d heard of her: the fierce defence of her throne and of her right to rule Castile, despite being a woman; the call to her troops to defend their land, her kingdom, while riding out, in full armour, to show herself in the midst of battle; gathering up stones herself from the high sierras after fire destroyed the tented encampment and declaring she would build a town here before the walls of Granada rather than lift the siege. The king too looked like a man who had fought hard battles, spending long hours in the saddle galloping between Castile and Aragon to uphold the monarchs’ rule in both kingdoms.

  Towards the end of the retinue I saw the priest who’d questioned Columbus about the globe of the Earth and the location of Heaven and Hell. I recalled his name as Father Besian. He was staring at Zarita, his expression both surprised and angry. She was unaware of him: after ascertaining which man was Columbus, she turned back to me. My gaze followed the priest for another few seconds. After his initial reaction his face had changed. He now bestowed on Zarita a look of calculation and cruel intensity.

  Her chaperon made to take her away. Impulsively I reached out to detain her, and for an instant our hands touched. The contact startled her and she dropped her fan. Quickly I picked it up and returned it to her.

  I whispered, ‘Look for me in the procession tomorrow.’

  That night I went back to my alcove singing.

  I arose early the next day, thinking that it would be a simple matter to ride out and find Zarita and her chaperon. What lay before me on the approach roads before the city of Granada was the largest gathering of people I’d ever seen in my entire life.

  Queen Isabella was mounted on a white horse and dressed in full royal regalia, with a gem-studded golden dress showing tier upon tier of golden skirts caught up to reveal petticoats of silver cloth. A white ermine cloak was clasped about her shoulders, so full and luxurious it swathed the hindquarters of her horse. From her head fell a long white veil, held in place by a golden crown. She sparkled in the winter sun as she sat on her mount like the queen she was.

  The king was astride a black stallion. His clothes blazed out beside her, red and gold velvet and satin, with a fitted tunic and padded coat with slashed sleeves. They were attended by their son, the crown prince Juan, and their daughters rode close behind. Then followed the clergy: cardinals, archbishops, bishops, priests, and lines of monks of different orders – Greyfriars and Blackfriars. And after these came the nobles and merchants, the court officials and servants.

  Ranged on either side was the army, in splendid formation displaying their colours and flags. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and incense, while the shouting of orders, the chatter of a thousand people, the neighing of horses made a tumult of sound.

  My heart squeezed in anxiety. I would never find Zarita!

  Instead of plunging in among the throng I went in search of the fourth supply unit and the servant, Rafael. He wasn’t there but the master of the stores told me where he should be. As soon as Rafael saw me he came running. When I told him whom I sought, he was off, returning just as the signal had been given for the parade to move off. He apologized for the delay and gave me a fix on Zarita’s probable location within the ranks.

  She was wearing a riding habit of midnight blue, close fitting at the neck and waist, with a matching velvet hat. The way she sat on her horse told me she was a true horsewoman, whereas I, more at home on a ship, had difficulty in working my way across to her.

  She acknowledged me with a look of delight, and at once I felt awkward and clumsy and had no idea how to greet her.

  She stretched across her horse and pointed with her whip. ‘You will find it easier to control your mount if you adjust the bit,’ she advised me. ‘You have him on too short a rein. If you want to guide a horse on a certain path, then gentling is the best way.’

  ‘Does that advice hold true for women?’ I asked.

  She blushed. I apologized immediately. She accepted my apologies. I felt she had forgiven me. And I didn’t regret my daring remark, for if she’d cared not at all for me she would have been insulted and angry, not embarrassed and excited. And she was excited. Not only at the spectacle before us, but also I thought, because I was by her side.

  Chapter Forty

  Zarita

  ELOISA AND I were waiting over an
hour for the procession to move off and I began to despair of seeing Saulo.

  I’d spent a sleepless night going over every detail of our conversation, listing the interesting things he’d said of which I wanted to know more. I relived my sensations when I first saw him approach across the reception room. I gloried in visualizing him before me. Lying in my bed, under the fur robes Eloisa insisted on piling upon me to keep me warm, I imagined the whole evening again. Now my throat constricted with worry. Did he feel for me what I felt for him? He was so very good looking. He could have his pick of women, and they’d admire him for his mind too, and for the stories he told of the places he’d travelled. His knowledge of the sea and the stars was immense. Unlike the dry learning I’d acquired from books, Saulo had true experience of what the world was like, and what was happening in it.

  As we lined up with the others in the cavalcade, unhappiness crept over me. Saulo wasn’t coming. He must have met many women more entertaining and sophisticated than a simple village girl. He thought nothing of our meeting. It was a flirtation, that was all. I’d misread the signs. I was an idiot, a fool.

  And then he was beside me and looking at me, and the truth was in his eyes. My mood swung upwards. Instantly I was sure he’d been thinking of me since we’d been apart. He nodded in greeting, and suddenly I felt quite superior, for I saw that he was awkward and nervous and I could be in command of this situation.

  I boldly leaned over and bade him loosen the rein to let his horse have some freedom of movement. I told him it was a mistake to try to bend an intelligent creature to one’s will by force. I cautioned him to be gentle, saying he was more likely to get his way by kind persuasion. He tilted his head, and with his eyes smiling into mine asked if that was how he should deal with a woman!