Prisoner of the Inquisition

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘I cannot go so quickly,’ I told him. ‘I must speak to the navigator Christopher Columbus and let him know that I will be leaving.’

  Rafael looked doubtful. ‘Regarding Señor Columbus and his efforts to win support for his expedition, his position is not as high in favour as it was.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It’s said that he makes too many demands. He wants a grand title and a percentage of any treasure found. And also some matter about his arithmetic.’ Rafael shrugged. ‘No matter the reason, his petition is stalled. When he is informed of this he’ll probably leave too. So you see, you do yourself no favours by waiting.’

  ‘Yes, I understand what you are saying.’

  I thought of Zarita in the basement room. I recalled her face, her mouth, her eyes when she’d confronted me and the soldiers in her bedroom. She had shown courage. She’d been afraid yet had concealed it. But how would she fare if put to the question by the officers of the Inquisition? Without a rich and powerful patron they would show her no mercy.

  ‘She is doomed.’ Rafael caught at my sleeve. ‘There is nothing you can do to help her. Save yourself.’

  Of course, Rafael thought me infatuated with a passing fancy that I could easily forget in the arms of another woman. He didn’t know what was going through my mind; how I was trying to make myself think: Here now is the perfect culmination of my vow of vengeance. The Inquisition will be the instrument of my final act of revenge on the family of the magistrate.

  Rafael looked at me expectantly, awaiting instructions.

  ‘Yes,’ I said again. ‘Yes, you are right. I’ll do what you suggest.’

  I gave him some more money and we discussed our plan of action. I told him that I would wait until morning before departing, for I wanted to explain myself to Christopher Columbus. Then Rafael went off to bribe whoever he needed to bribe to get me out of the palace and the city and on the road to freedom.

  Chapter Fifty

  Zarita

  ‘BEATRIZ!’

  I judged it to be late afternoon of the following day when the door of my cell opened and my aunt stood in the doorway.

  I rushed to greet her but the gaoler ordered me to stand against the far wall. Beatriz had a bundle of clothes over her arm. The gaoler seemed prepared to let her in, but he was very suspicious about the clothing she carried.

  ‘It’s a nun’s habit; all the sisters of my order wear them.’ Aunt Beatriz showed it to him and then begged him in the sweetest tones to let me put it on.

  ‘I don’t know if it’s allowed,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Your prisoner, this young woman, Zarita, is one of my novices. Surely no one can object to a novice nun reclaiming her habit,’ my aunt replied, still keeping her voice peaceable and quiet. ‘I understand that she is to be brought to trial. It would be unseemly in the eyes of God for even a novice nun to appear in public in her night shift. And’ – Beatriz’s voice quickened as if a thought had just occurred to her – ‘she is obliged to wear this grey dress day and night. It means . . . that we do have the problem of disposing of her shift and wrap. I, as a nun with vows of poverty, cannot accept such an expensive gift. Perhaps you would take care of this matter for us?’

  The gaoler looked at me. His eyes took in the heavy velvet dressing gown with its gold and green embroidery and trim of miniver around the neck and cuffs. Its worth was probably twice his annual salary. He took only a few seconds to decide.

  ‘It is permitted,’ he said.

  He hovered by the open door while I changed my clothes. My aunt shielded me with her body, and as I put on the familiar grey dress of her order, I felt a measure of peace. I smoothed my hair under the coif and tied the leather sandals on my feet.

  When the gaoler left clutching his booty, we sat together on the cot bed, holding each other close and talking.

  I asked after Eloisa. Beatriz told me that her friend had taken some kind of seizure but was recovering. Although she wanted to stay, Beatriz had insisted that she go back to her own home.

  ‘Eloisa wrote many notes and pleas to the queen, and also bribed everyone she could think of bribing, yet she couldn’t discover why you’ve been arrested. Do you have any idea what the charge might be?’

  ‘None.’ I shook my head. ‘And I’ve thought of little else since it happened.’

  ‘Eloisa says that Ramón came to supper yesterday evening. Was anything untoward said then?’

  ‘No. Ramón wouldn’t compromise his own position. He is engaged in making a profitable marriage contract for himself. He’d allow nothing to get in the way of that.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Beatriz, ‘you know about his intended wedding. So it won’t break your heart to learn that he left Granada at great speed early this morning to put as much distance as possible between you and himself?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I replied. ‘I found Ramón pompous, overbearing and arrogant. And I decided not to tell him anything about the baby. He would not have cared a scrap for his child. He didn’t even react when I spoke about Lorena’s death – yet he was obviously quite besotted by her at one time.’

  ‘He was always more besotted by himself, that boy,’ Beatriz observed.

  ‘You knew!’ I exclaimed. ‘You knew that Ramón was shallow and deceitful. Yet you sent me to meet him!’

  ‘I had faith in your good judgement, Zarita. The months you spent in the convent weren’t wasted. The world believes that those who choose to shut themselves away from its influences have no knowledge of its doings. Yet in the time we spent together I saw you mature from girl to woman – a woman of grace and wisdom. I was confident that you would see Ramón for what he was, and then it was your choice if you decided that you wished to spend your life with him.’ She cupped my cheek in her hand. ‘Life is very, very precious. One must be careful what one does with it.’

  ‘Well, you were right, Ramón was not for me. But,’ I faltered, ‘there is another.’

  She listened quietly as I told her about Saulo. I began with the exciting and happy part of my great love. And then I related what had happened in my bedroom just before my arrest.

  ‘I can see why Saulo would be angry,’ Beatriz said at last. ‘He would experience twofold rage. One, that you were the girl whom he blames for the death of his father. Two, and very damaging to the pride of a man, not recognizing you, he falls in love with you and then discovers your identity. His fury would be all-consuming.’

  Yes, I thought. It had almost consumed me.

  ‘And yet,’ Beatriz mused, ‘he had the courage to confess to you his part in the death of your father.’

  The gaoler knocked upon the door. ‘The visit must end now,’ he said gruffly.

  Beatriz spoke rapidly. ‘Zarita, you should prepare yourself to face the worst possible accusation, that of heresy. Try to be strong. Once you have been charged, I may not be allowed to visit you again. I will help you all I can. I will petition the queen, and I will pray for you.’

  When my aunt had gone, I stood up and let the rough grey wool of my habit fall into the natural folds of the skirt. It comforted me more than if I were wearing lace and brocade. I welcomed my rough sandals instead of fine satin slippers. I drew the veil across my face and pulled up the cowl around my head. I slid my hands inside each opposite sleeve and clasped them together. There! Now I was cocooned from the outside world. Safe.

  For the moment.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Saulo

  ‘WOULD YOU GRANT me a few minutes of your time?’

  There was a woman in the garb of a nun outside my door. By the similarity of her features I would have known that she was kin to Zarita even before she introduced herself.

  ‘My name is Beatriz de Marzena. I am the maternal aunt of Zarita, the girl recently arrested by the Inquisition. I know you are acquainted with her for I have just visited her prison cell and spoken to her.’

  She stepped inside. Before closing the door behind her, I glanced up and down the passageway. It was
deserted – as were most of the lower corridors this morning when I went to see Christopher Columbus to let him know I was going away. I hadn’t told him all my business, only that a girl I was courting had been seized by the Inquisition and I thought it better to leave as I didn’t want to be associated with her. These words had left a bitter taste in my mouth when I said them.

  Columbus had looked at me shrewdly. ‘I suspect there is more to this affair, Saulo, than you wish to tell me at the moment?’

  I nodded my head miserably. The twin blows of losing my chance to be an explorer and to share my life with Zarita made me too upset to speak.

  Columbus said that he too was thinking of going elsewhere. He’d been told that the monarchs thought his requests for high office and personal benefit from any discoveries he might make too grandiose, and even impertinent.

  ‘I have spent the years of my youth and middle age planning this expedition. I will not do the work and risk my life to be rewarded by some paltry bag of gold.’ Columbus was already rolling up his maps, preparatory to moving on. ‘I’ll find another king or queen, in France or England, who’ll grant me what I want.’

  When I got back to my room I found Rafael waiting,

  ‘Everything is arranged,’ he told me. ‘Let me know when you are ready to depart.’ He’d touched my shoulder as he’d left. ‘Don’t delay too long.’

  But I had delayed. My bag was packed hours ago, with the peacock jacket crushed tightly at the bottom. Now it was almost evening.

  And still I waited.

  I was still waiting when Zarita’s aunt Beatriz came to visit me. I’d thought at first that the knock on my door was Rafael come to bid me hurry up. I ushered the nun into my room and closed the door behind her. She appraised me and I returned her gaze. Her eyes were of the same shape and hue as Zarita’s, and with the skin of her face drawn back and smoothed by her coif she could have passed for an older sister.

  I told myself that I would not enquire as to Zarita’s condition or her spirits. ‘Why have you come to see me?’ I asked, affecting indifference.

  ‘I thought you might be able to find out why Zarita has been arrested. I’ve petitioned the queen but I don’t know if she will reply to me. My friend, Señora Eloisa, has already sent message after message imploring her majesty’s intercession, but to no avail. Some time ago, as young girls, we lived at the royal court and attended court functions where we met Queen Isabella. So many years have passed, the queen may not remember me. Life has changed, and I fear Isabella too has changed. She was always very serious and attentive to her duties, but now she seems to have become more ruthless and is kept under very close advisement. It’s a long time since she knew me; she may not choose to renew our acquaintance under these circumstances.’ The nun paused. ‘I want to help Zarita. If only I knew what was happening – any information at all . . .’

  And, as I didn’t respond, she prompted me further: ‘Zarita told me that you are with the navigator Christopher Columbus and that he moves in the inner sanctum of the court. Perhaps . . .?’ Again she let her voice tail off.

  ‘Has Zarita told you of the history between us?’

  ‘She has.’

  ‘All of it?’

  ‘Yes indeed.’

  ‘Why would I want to help you or her?’ I said brusquely.

  She blinked and didn’t reply.

  ‘Why?’ I repeated angrily. ‘My father was murdered by her father. My mother died too, by reason of his action. Both now lie in unmarked graves.’

  ‘Your mother’s grave is not unmarked.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘The place where your mother lies buried is not unmarked. It bears a wooden cross, and fresh flowers are placed there each day.’

  ‘By whose hand?’

  ‘By the hand of the woman I am asking you to help.’

  ‘Zarita?’

  Sister Beatriz nodded. ‘In the days after your arrest and her mother’s death my niece recalled that when asking her for money in the church your father had mentioned a wife. So she went into the slums and searched for your mother. She found a doctor who was caring for her, and as her end was near, she took your mother to my convent hospital, where we tended to her as she lay dying.’

  ‘What?’ I stared at her. I was so astounded I couldn’t say another word.

  ‘Believe me, it is true.’ Sister Beatriz acknowledged my amazement. ‘I am sorry to say, Saulo, that your mother’s life could not be saved, but towards the end she didn’t suffer. From her own purse Zarita paid for the medicine she needed. When she passed away, my sisters washed her body and laid her out.’ She looked at me. ‘I apologize if she wasn’t of our faith, but with the best of intentions we organized a funeral mass for her. We lit candles, and there were many flowers. Zarita has paid for the grave to be tended and prayers to be said. She often does this herself.’

  Zarita took care of my mother in her last days . . .

  I tried to clear my thoughts, but only said, ‘Your niece is guilty of the downfall of my family.’

  ‘She played a part, yes,’ Sister Beatriz agreed.

  This woman was older, but her eyes had the same dark intensity as Zarita’s, a steady glow of some inner strength.

  ‘Is it your own feelings of guilt that sustain your anger, Saulo?’

  ‘What?’ I snapped. ‘What’s this talk of me being guilty?’

  ‘You caused the death of Zarita’s father. But you have acknowledged that. I was thinking more about your sense of dishonour over the death of your mother.’

  I gasped. ‘My dishonour about my mother?’

  ‘It’s natural to feel anger at the loss of a parent. For whatever reason, when a mother or father dies, a child suffers the experience of being abandoned. It can be many years before that passes, or one matures enough to come to terms with it. The manner in which you were deprived of yours was both shocking and brutal, and that would affect you deeply . . . but—’

  ‘But what?’ I shouted.

  ‘Why were you with your father and not your mother, even though she was so very ill? Zarita told me that when your father asked her for money he didn’t ask for himself, but for his wife who was sick, and his child who was hungry. He was obviously not a professional beggar, else he would have known not to enter the church. Most of them wait outside to intercept those who are coming and going to pray and petition. Your father must have loved his wife and child very much to humble himself like that. And he must have loved you in particular, or he would have sent you to beg on the streets rather than doing it himself, for a child will always attract more charity than an adult.’

  This nun moved closer without taking her eyes from mine. She was slightly taller than Zarita and her face was on a level with my own.

  ‘Your father didn’t do that. He must have known that your mother was dying, so he wouldn’t have left her on her own. Did he bid you stay with her and tend her? Yet you disobeyed him . . . Then you were captured. With your father dead and you gone, you knew that she was left unable to move and with no one to help her. And since that day you’ve borne the burden of your mother’s death.’

  I stared at her. To my horror I felt tears forming in my eyes.

  ‘You do not need to feel guilty,’ Sister Beatriz said gently. ‘Your mother was dying. No medicine could have saved her. In fact, by a bizarre fate, she probably had an easier death in my hospital than if the incident had not happened. But it isn’t your fault that your mother died, Saulo. It may be that the reason you think you cannot forgive another is because you do not forgive yourself. I say again to you that you are not to blame.’

  I swung round abruptly and went to the window. From here I could see the palace gardens. Beyond lay the city of Granada, and beyond that was Spain and the long road to the small town by the sea where I had lost my childhood and the parents who had loved me.

  The nun waited in silence.

  I gripped the window ledge with both hands as shame and self-revulsion threatened to o
verpower my senses. The nun’s observations were painfully accurate. If ever I was to be at peace with myself and others, I needed to recognize this. I felt an infinitesimal easing of my mind. When I had calmed myself enough to speak, I said, ‘Christopher Columbus cannot help us. His application for royal sponsorship is no longer progressing. He is making ready to leave the court.’ I turned round. ‘Is there nothing that you can think of that would have led to Zarita’s arrest?’

  Sister Beatriz frowned. ‘There was something that happened after Zarita entered the convent. I’d accepted her as a novice, not because she sought a religious vocation, but because her family life became difficult and traumatic and she had nowhere else to go. On the day your father was murdered, her mama, my sister, died. Within a twelvemonth her father was married again to a woman called Lorena, who had a selfish and jealous nature. She wished ill to Zarita and conspired to have her driven from the family home. In the circumstances, entering the convent did seem the best option for Zarita, and it was of benefit to her. She matured in grace and wisdom and I enjoyed her company. I love her, but it would have been selfish of me to keep her for that reason alone. We were told that Lorena was expecting a child so I thought I’d wait until the baby arrived and then try for a reconciliation. Lorena escaped from the fire, and although she died in childbirth, the baby was delivered safely.’

  ‘The child lived?’ There was a relief. I’d not destroyed everything that Zarita held dear.

  ‘Yes.’ Sister Beatriz gave a brief smile. ‘But only because Zarita summoned a doctor to help with the birth. The same doctor who’d attended your mother. He was a Jew.’

  ‘Zarita brought a Jew into a convent?’ Even I, with no affiliation to any religion, knew that some would see this as sacrilege.