‘In Granada the Jews have lived peaceably enough within the Muslim communities. Can we not let them do the same among us?’
‘That could be termed heresy,’ a nobleman interjected.
King Ferdinand stared at the man who had spoken.
‘I only say this to advise your majesty,’ the nobleman stammered. ‘I would be a poor adviser if I didn’t give advice.’
‘Isaac Abravanel seeks to protect his people,’ said Queen Isabella. ‘It is an understandable sentiment. And the war has emptied our coffers. Our people are hungry. Perhaps we can come to some arrangement. What sum of money did he mention?’
Suddenly there was a commotion at the main doorway of the hall. A black-cowled figure strode in. His face was contorted, his manner wild and shaking. Above his head he brandished a crucifix of dark wood showing the twisted form of the agonized Christ in palest alabaster.
‘What gathering of wickedness is this!’ he cried out.
‘It is Tomás de Torquemada, the Inquisitor General of all Spain!’ Sister Beatriz said in my ear.
‘Señor Tomás . . .’ King Ferdinand spoke mildly. ‘The queen and I convened a meeting of our council to discuss the state of the finances of the nation. It is not a matter for the Church.’
‘Everything is a matter for Mother Church!’ Torquemada retorted. ‘Body and soul are joined inseparably, and therefore the rulers of a country must take due notice of the Church.’
The king’s jaw tightened. ‘The monarchs make decisions in the best interests of both. We are facing a crisis which, if not resolved, will lead to many deaths.’
‘We must find the means to feed our soldiers and our citizens,’ Queen Isabella interposed.
‘Better they suffer the pangs of hunger than the eternal torments of Hell!’
The queen and king looked at each other.
‘The hand of God is above this place, ready to smash His fist down upon the unclean and the unworthy! Betray not the sacred oaths you have taken! Hark to the words of the prophets! Those who crucified the Christ are among us! And you swore a sacred oath to make Spain a Christian country!’
King Ferdinand face set in a grim line.
Queen Isabella, devout and prayerful, allowed her hand to stray to the cross she wore on a chain around her neck. ‘Isaac Abravanel has managed the affairs of the treasury with excellent skill,’ she said.
‘It is to be expected.’ Torquemada spat these words out.
The king affected not to notice the remark. ‘He has offered a sum of money as reparation to compensate the crown for losses.’
‘That will make you further indebted to the Jews!’
‘Not so. It is money that Isaac Abravanel has earned through his own business.’
‘You are condoning usury, and usury is wrong. Money should not be used to make more money. Money should be earned by work.’
‘He has offered to pay the money over as a gift.’
‘Ha! A bribe!’ crowed Torquemada.
‘Not a bribe!’ the king snapped back. ‘It is a surety for his people. It is a customary and perfectly legal transaction to pay a sum of money in such a fashion.’
‘What sum of money?’ Torquemada demanded.
‘The amount of thirty thousand ducats.’
‘Why not then?’ Torquemada shrieked. ‘Why not accept this Jewish money? After all, was not Christ Jesus our Lord betrayed for thirty pieces of silver?’
And saying this, he raised his hand high above his head and hurled the crucifix to the floor. It smashed down upon the marble slabs, and the figure broke in two pieces. The head of Christ, with his agonized white face and blood oozing from the crown of thorns upon his forehead, broke loose and went skittering across the tiles to end up at the feet of the queen.
‘Jesu!’ Queen Isabella’s complexion drained as white as the alabaster face of the dead Christ.
Torquemada strode from the room. There was a silence, then uproar in the assembly.
The queen slumped back in her chair.
A courtier summoned a servant to pick up the pieces of the crucifix, but the queen raised her hand and spoke. ‘I will do this myself,’ she said, and her voice shook with distress.
She went down on her knees and, lifting the face of Jesus, she kissed it. Then she gathered up the rest of the cross and took the veil from her head and wrapped the pieces therein.
The king drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair but did not intervene.
I had witnessed the power of Torquemada and hopelessness filled my heart, for this man was invincible. If the Queen and King of Spain could not gainsay him in a matter of State, then Queen Isabella would ignore any appeal made by the nun for mercy for Zarita.
‘Now I see how it is with Isabella,’ said Sister Beatriz. ‘The queen will not act to spare Zarita’s life.’ She spoke my own thoughts and in her voice was the sound of my own despair.
The Inquisition would snuff out Zarita’s life like a candle being extinguished.
Chapter Fifty-six
Zarita
RACKED.
I was to be racked.
Put to the question as Bartolomé had been. To be made to confess to something I didn’t do. I recalled his screams of agony the day I’d run to the barn to find him dangling from the rafters with a rope tied to his wrists. I saw again before me the old man led to his execution at the stake, staggering as he walked, his body like a loose-limbed puppet.
I could not bear it. I could not. I did not possess the courage of a martyr. I knew this now for certain. Even the prospect of being shackled in irons and hung from the wall had reduced me to such a fainting condition that my gaoler had to support me when taking me back to my cell.
I remembered what had happened when they’d tortured Bartolomé – the townspeople panicked into betraying each other, myself included. I was responsible for the two women being stripped and scourged, for I had pointed the Inquisition in their direction. This would be much worse. The pain would be so great that I would tell them anything, everything.
I thought of all I might say.
There was my aunt’s collection of medical books depicting surgery upon the human body. They would deem these texts heretical, and brand her a heretic too, for she was studying Arabic and Hebrew in order to read these learned works. They would arrest her, and Father Besian would be glad to do it for he considered her presumptuous.
And what of the convent where my aunt had constructed her own rules to return to the true spirit of the first holy men and women of the Church? The remarks she’d made regarding this could be interpreted as heresy and double heresy. Her sisters would be brought for trial before the Inquisition.
I would betray the doctor who’d attended Lorena. He would be punished for daring to lay hands on a Christian woman even to save the life of a child. I would tell about the child. I would tell who had fathered him. It would destroy Ramón. And although Ramón was foolish, he was not wicked and didn’t deserve to have his life ruined. And it would mean the child too would be at risk. Perhaps they would decide that the Jewish doctor had exchanged the baby for a different one: the innocent babe, now enjoying being spoiled by Garci and Serafina and Ardelia, would suffer too. The immunity that Lorena had been promised for her child in exchange for betraying me and my father would not withstand this damning evidence. As the relative of a heretic, the child would lose his inheritance.
And then there was Saulo. I would say that he wasn’t an independent mariner and man of fortune. I would denounce him as the son of a hanged beggar, who had been sentenced to slavery.
I saw how this would go on and on and on, and it would never end, but consume all Spain.
I must remain silent.
God, let me die now, I thought, let me die tonight. If I had the means I would kill myself. For I believe in the goodness of God and He will give me mercy as He sees fit. I can only do what my conscience directs me to do. And if I died, then it would be over.
And then I thought, in truth, I d
o not care to live any longer in this life. Saulo, whom I love, does not love me. He hates me. He came to my room to kill me. So the happiness I’d anticipated with him was impossible. The life I’d begun to hope to live on this Earth was dust in my hand.
I stayed awake that long night until my eyes burned in the darkness. When I heard the gaoler stirring in the corridors outside, I knew what I must do. I had the power to stop up a small part of the flood of destruction.
And there was only one way I could do this.
I went to the door and called to my gaoler. ‘I would like to speak to Father Besian,’ I said. ‘I wish to confess.’
Chapter Fifty-seven
Saulo
ZARITA HAS CONFESSED to being a secret Jew!
It was Rafael who brought me this news early the next morning. I told him I must find Zarita’s aunt, who’d left me the previous evening to search for a chapel in which to pray throughout the night.
‘The nun already knows,’ Rafael said. ‘She spent the night in prayer on her knees outside the rooms of Father Besian. I was informed that he took great pleasure in telling her that her niece had confessed to heresy. It would seem that he bears Sister Beatriz ill-will and intends to punish her by destroying the girl she loves.’
I went and brought Zarita’s aunt to my own room.
‘Why would she confess?’ I asked her. ‘Have they tortured her? Has she gone mad?’
‘No . . .’ The nun spoke slowly. ‘No, Zarita is not mad. I believe she is thinking about things very carefully. Confessing to heresy means she will not be interrogated again. She knows that if they put her to the question then she will betray us all.’ She raised her head and looked at me directly. ‘Would you care if she were being tortured?’
The idea of Zarita being tortured drove me wild. Pain clawed inside me as if a series of barbed hooks were being dragged through my brain. I put a hand on each side of my head. ‘I cannot bear the thought of it.’
In a voice devoid of emotion Sister Beatriz said, ‘It is small comfort to know that, as she has confessed to observing Jewish rituals, she will avoid torture. Now they will burn her as a heretic.’
‘Burn her?’ I whispered.
‘Yes. It is the punishment for a converso who reverts to Judaism.’
‘For this they will burn her alive?’
‘That depends,’ the nun said woodenly. ‘If she chooses to recant, and she can do this even when the bonfire is alight, then mercy is shown by having the executioner strangle her quickly to save her the agony of death by fire.’
Sister Beatriz picked up a scrap of paper that was lying on the table and, leaning forward, brought the edge to the candle flame. It flared up and then descended into ashes. She contemplated these and then prodded them with her finger. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, half to herself, ‘I see why they choose fire. It leaves nothing behind . . . no evidence of any kind.’
She stared at the flame and went into what appeared to be a trance-like state, and I realized that she was meditating. Then she seemed to come to a decision: she raised her head and looked at me seriously. ‘I did petition the queen but, as I expected, my plea was rejected. As a mark of our previous friendship she has declared that, even though I am a relative of a heretic, I will escape arrest as long as I return to my convent and remain within its walls until I die. I’ve been told that I must quit the city before dawn tomorrow – though she will sign a special pass so that I may visit Zarita one last time. May I stay here for a while before doing that?’
I left the nun to rest on my bed and went to speak to Christopher Columbus. He was the only person I knew at court. I hoped he might have some advice as to what I could do.
‘Would that I could help you, Saulo,’ he said, ‘but I no longer have any status within the court. I am definitely leaving. It’s useless to wait on here. They are wasting my time as others have done before. I am so disappointed, for I thought they were interested enough to invest in me.’
We embraced, and I wished him well in his ventures. He tried to persuade me to come with him, or at least to leave the city, as he intended to do, before the execution took place the following day.
‘You may have been enamoured of this girl, but I urge you to go away now.’
‘I cannot.’
‘There is no hope for her.’
‘I believe you. Yet I cannot leave.’
‘You may put yourself in danger if you remain; if it becomes known that you sought out her company.’
‘I don’t care,’ I said.
‘Be careful, Saulo. I have heard that the monarchs are preparing a decree to expel all who hold to the Jewish faith. The Jews, and everyone associated with them, will lose their property and their goods. You risk being caught up in the purge.’
I thanked him sincerely for his patronage and support, and he made me promise to meet up with him some time in the future. So we parted, Christopher Columbus and I, he in anguish over his lost cause and me in anguish over mine.
Chapter Fifty-eight
Zarita
I AM PRAYING, or trying to pray as best I can.
Will I see Mama again, and Papa too, in Heaven? I hope so. There are many things I want to say to them, to ask their forgiveness and tell them how much I love them.
A priest came and heard my confession. After he left I made another private and more sincere apology to my Maker for the wrongs I’d done in my life. The priest said I could hope for some mercy at the end.
‘I am to die. Is that not true?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘You have been condemned to death at the stake and the sentence will be carried out tomorrow. But, in addition to your confession, there is a final act for you to make. You should call out that you recant. If you do, then, on a signal from the head of the tribunal, the executioner can quickly—’ He coughed and began again. ‘The executioner would end your life speedily and your suffering on this Earth would be over.’
I had not thought to die in such a way.
But I’d made my peace with my God and myself, and only looked forward to seeing my aunt Beatriz and bidding her farewell.
The gaoler told me that she would come one last time after midnight, for she must leave the city before daybreak or her own life would be forfeit. There is only one other person whose face I would want to see again.
Saulo.
My heart became heavy in my breast. I sat down.
How I had wronged him! What stupidity I’d displayed. What a coward I’d been. I should have flung myself in front of Papa and stayed his hand. Saulo’s father would be alive if I had done so, and they would both have been with his mother when she died.
If I am denied Heaven for that, then it is just punishment and I will wait in Purgatory until my soul is cleansed before I enter Paradise.
I hear the keys of the gaoler and his stumbling steps outside my door.
Chapter Fifty-nine
Saulo
WHEN I RETURNED to my room, the nun was on her knees by the window.
I shook my head to indicate that, as we’d suspected, there was nothing that Christopher Columbus could do to help us.
Sister Beatriz stood up. ‘Saulo, as I told you, I have been given safe passage signed by the queen to return to my convent, but only if I leave before daybreak tomorrow. Would you be my escort out of the palace and the city and go with me to Las Conchas?’
‘Me?’ I stared at her. ‘You want me to escort you out of the city?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A woman travelling alone, even in the garb of a nun, might be at risk.’
‘And why choose me for this task?’
‘It was Zarita who told me that you were the one honest man in the court she would trust.’
Zarita had spoken of me as being honest and trustworthy. The truth being spoken by a woman facing death. A sudden annoyance at this nun’s assumption that I would meekly do as she requested made me ask, ‘What makes you think I am trustworthy?’
I folded my arms and stood in front of t
he door, deliberately blocking her exit from the room to indicate that she must answer me or I would prevent her leaving.
She pressed her lips together but did not react as most women would have done by showing fear. It was not pretence. She was truly unafraid.
‘Zarita told me that the only thing of worth that had happened to her at court was her meeting with you, the young mariner who accompanied Christopher Columbus. Any other person hearing that might think it the prattle of a girl struck by the attentions of a handsome man. But I know my niece very well. She has suffered in her life and matured beyond such trivial girlish talk. She must have seen or sensed something in your character that makes you different from others – a nobility of purpose, some steadfastness of soul. And, in any case, can you bear to wait until tomorrow and watch her die?’
‘No,’ I said dully. I dropped my head upon my chest. ‘I will do as you ask.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘Then please arrange with Rafael to have two horses waiting, for there must be no delay. I want to leave immediately after I speak with my niece.’
I looked at the nun. She stood there before me, hands clasped together and hidden in her wide sleeves. There was a certain tension in her stance, but under the coif and cowl of her religious habit her face was serene.
‘Don’t you care for her?’ I asked.
‘Care for whom?’ she replied. ‘Zarita?’
‘Yes. Zarita!’ I shouted.
‘She is the only child of my only sister, and possesses a good and loving spirit,’ she said with a calmness that infuriated me. ‘I care for her very much.’
‘You cannot love her so much: the prospect of the terrible death awaiting her does not appear to upset you.’
‘I love her more than I do my own life,’ Sister Beatriz replied. She raised her head and looked at me directly. ‘The question is, Saulo the mariner, how much do you love her?’
Chapter Sixty
Zarita
Prisoner of the Inquisition Page 23