THERE IS THE light of a lantern outside my cell.
Hushed voices, a scrape of a key, and Beatriz was with me.
We embraced.
‘I want you to take this.’ She leaned forward to speak quietly in my ear, glancing, as she did so, towards the door. There was a man there, standing in the shadows.
‘What is it?’
She took a tiny bottle from under her habit and withdrew the stopper. A sickly smell filled my nostrils. ‘It’s a calming brew. A mixture of my own devising. Camomile and some other . . . herbs. It will steady your nerves for the morning.’ She held it to my lips. ‘Come now. Zarita. Drink this. If only because it’s the last thing I ask you to do,’ she coaxed me. ‘It will settle your mind and help you through your ordeal.’
I drank the thick syrup down. When I’d finished, Aunt Beatriz drew me close to her. ‘Let me look at you one last time. Your face’ – she reached up to touch my cheek – ‘so beautiful, so beautiful you are, and good too. Never forget that you are beloved and good.’
I reached out for her.
‘Ah, you are trembling. That will soon pass.’ She took off her hooded outer cloak. ‘Put this on. It will keep you warm.’
I shivered and then I giggled. I put my hand to my mouth, scarcely believing I’d done so. ‘It seems amusing,’ I tried to explain, ‘that we should worry that I might catch cold, when in a few hours I am to die by fire.’
‘Hush,’ Beatriz chided me. ‘Not so loud, Zarita. I’d rather you were silent. Can you promise me that, Zarita?’
‘What?’ My words were slurring. The thoughts in my head disjointed.
‘That you will remain silent. Please.’
The nun’s vow to maintain regular periods of silence had always been a problem for me. Again it struck me as a funny thing for her to say. There it was again. Lazy laughter bubbling up inside me as my senses whirled. I felt very faint. I mumbled something but had no idea whether I said the words aloud or not.
Beatriz was struggling with me, trying to edge my arm under the canopy of her cloak.
‘Help me here,’ she whispered hoarsely to the man by the doorway. ‘We have so little time.’
Chapter Sixty-one
Saulo
I WENT FORWARD at her command and took in my arms the woman I had vowed to kill.
‘May God go with you,’ the nun said in a low voice.
I hung back.
‘Don’t wait,’ she urged me. ‘All your strength is needed now. Call upon your own resources and the good Lord to help you.’
‘I do not believe in the goodness of your Lord.’
‘Then I will do the praying, Saulo. And you may do the fighting.’ Sister Beatriz smiled and blessed me. ‘Go,’ she said, ‘and don’t look back.’
But I did look round, just once, as we left the cell.
She was already on her knees, where the glow from the lantern light bathed her features in a strange ethereal luminescence.
I hefted Zarita on my arm to support her.
‘Saulo?’ Her voice was hushed in disbelief. ‘My beloved. You are really here?’
‘I am here,’ I said softly.
‘I love you.’
‘As I do you.’ I edged her nearer the door.
‘Wait,’ Zarita said, slow realization of what was intended beginning to penetrate the fog of the drug Sister Beatriz had given her.
‘Be quiet,’ I hissed in her ear. The gaoler, although befuddled with sleep and liquor, could not be completely deaf.
Zarita pulled against me. ‘She mustn’t be allowed to do this. I have already caused too many deaths.’
‘And you will cause more,’ I told her brutally, ‘if you don’t silence yourself. For if this deception is discovered, then we will all surely be executed, as will the man who waits outside guarding the horses that might take us to safety.’
At that she collapsed against me, but began to weep and sob. ‘She cannot die – she cannot – please don’t let her die.’
Which was the most appropriate behaviour for the gaoler to witness as he escorted us away. I imagine he’d seen many similar scenes and would have expected the last visit of a relative to end with a man supporting a weeping female.
He took us through the main chamber and we ascended the stairs to the upper level. But it was a different matter at the entrance to the prison. There had been a change of guard and the new one studied us closely.
‘Your eyes are very distinctive,’ he commented. ‘I think I know your face.’
‘Most likely.’ I yawned, hoping to infect him with my pretence of weariness, for a yawn can be catching and the hour was late. ‘But we don’t have time to chat.’
He glanced again at the papers I’d handed him.
Zarita gave a moan and leaned against me.
The guard looked at her and looked again at the papers in his hand.
A soldier who could read! This we did not want. We needed only a guard who would look at the official seal of the queen, recognize it and, as two people had passed in earlier, allow two people to pass out.
‘I have definitely seen you.’ He was in no hurry. Some minutes of conversation would break the monotony of a long boring spell of duty.
‘I don’t think so,’ I assured him.
He wasn’t convinced. Beside me Zarita stirred again. If we delayed much longer he would see that the girl I supported on one arm was in a drugged state and not suffering a swoon of grief.
‘I am with the explorer Christopher Columbus,’ I said, trying desperately to divert him. ‘You would have seen me at court where we gave our petitions to the queen and king.’
‘I’ve never been so close to court affairs.’
‘But you should know that Señor Columbus has the queen’s favour, so it would be better that you let us pass without delay.’ I said this not too arrogantly so as not to prickle his pride. ‘It is the queen’s seal on this document.’
‘So it is.’ The guard handed it back to me and I tucked it in my doublet. ‘And yet,’ he went on, moving with infuriating slowness to get out of our way, ‘it’s not here that I’ve seen you before. A mariner, you say? I spent some time travelling on ships while our lieutenant looked for the best billet for us as the war progressed. Perhaps that’s where I—’ He broke off and brought the lantern closer to examine my face. He stared into my eyes.
‘Christu!’ he gasped. ‘I have it now!’
And in the instant he recognized me, I recognized him.
It was the red-haired soldier. The one I’d first seen in the compound of the magistrate, Don Vicente Alonso, as he’d helped hang my father from a tree.
Chapter Sixty-two
Saulo
THE SOLDIER OPENED his mouth.
My knife was in my hand and up against his throat before he could utter a word. ‘Do not cry out,’ I warned him.
The lantern wavered but he didn’t lose his composure. ‘And what happens when you kill me, lad?’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ I retorted, ‘but I will not die alone.’
‘And what becomes of her?’ His eyes narrowed and abruptly he snatched the veil from Zarita’s face. Her eyelids were closed but she was obviously not the age of the nun named on the pass before him. He looked at me in puzzlement. ‘You are risking your life to rescue one of the prisoners? Why?’
‘Love.’ I answered the question almost before he’d asked it.
‘How did you manage to smuggle her out of her prison cell?’
‘An older nun, her aunt, has taken her place.’
‘And if the gaoler notices an exchange has been made?’
‘It’s not in his interests for it to be known that he allowed a heretic to escape.’
‘That’s true,’ said the red-haired soldier. ‘Even if he realizes what’s happened, he’ll say nothing and hope that in the chaos of tomorrow’s executions no one will notice.’
‘Her aunt intends to go to the stake fully veiled, and she told me that she will not recant, f
or if the executioner went in to end her life more quickly, her veil might be pushed aside.’
‘That’s courage indeed,’ marvelled the red-haired soldier.
I didn’t add that Sister Beatriz had said that the only person who might be watching closely was Father Besian, and as it was her he truly hated then he would be more than happy to see her suffer. ‘They have a nun to burn tomorrow,’ I added. ‘I’ve not deprived them of their sport.’
The soldier kept staring at me in amazement as I spoke, and I remembered that this guard had been the one who’d ended my father’s agony by pulling sharply on his legs, the one who had given me water when I was almost dying of thirst in the hold of the ship.
‘Twice before I’ve witnessed you cheat Death, boy.’ His voice had a tone of wonder in it. ‘I said that you were born under some special star.’ He crossed himself.
‘Be merciful,’ I urged him, ‘and I’ll ask the sisters of this order to say a prayer for your immortal soul.’
‘Make sure they say more than one.’ He grinned. ‘You have a charmed life, lad, and I’ll not go against whatever god protects you. I’m on execution escort duty tomorrow morning. I’ll make sure that the nun’s head and face are properly covered.’
Rafael was waiting where he said he would be.
He’d been a great help to me but I’d kept back most of the huge payment I’d promised him to ensure that he was there. I’d told him that I would need two horses as I would be escorting Zarita’s aunt out of the city. I let him know that she had permission to go but it would be better if it were done during the darkest hours and as discreetly as possible. If Rafael guessed at the truth of the situation, then he gave no sign. In the event, I had to leave one horse behind, for Zarita could not have stayed upright on hers.
I sat her on the saddle in front of me, and Rafael led the horse, its hooves muffled, through the lanes and alleyways until we came to a remote sally port. He went forward to speak to the soldier on duty and show the passes. I opened up my travel bag and pulled from it a heavy bag full of coins that I’d previously cut from the peacock jacket.
‘This is yours,’ I said, tossing it down to him. ‘Inside you’ll find silver and gold. There is enough there for you to buy a mansion house, fill it with servants to wait upon you and live like a grandee for the rest of your life.’
Chapter Sixty-three
Saulo
THE SUN WAS beginning to climb the eastern horizon as I rode down into the valley.
Zarita slept – probably from a combination of exhaustion, and the lingering effects of the potion her aunt had given her. I was forced to ride more slowly and cautiously than I wanted.
I avoided the army encampments. The road was empty, the countryside still quiet. It was with a shock that I heard the thudding of hoofbeats behind me.
There was nowhere to hide. How many riders? I squinted back along the road. Only one. I increased my pace but knew that I couldn’t outrun him on a horse that carried two. Then I saw a small lake ahead; a few trees – barely enough cover to conceal us from the road. But it might do. I urged my horse on, but as I approached I saw another traveller ahead of me in the road. I was trapped between these two.
I reined in. What to do? I couldn’t fight both of them, and my wits were stretched beyond where I could think clearly.
‘Hola! Saulo!’
My head jerked in surprise. I was being hailed by the man in front of me. I went forward a little and saw that it was Christopher Columbus.
I trotted towards him and he came on to meet me. Neither Zarita’s veil nor her hood were in place. Columbus started as he looked at her. He glanced back as the pursuing rider came into view and understood the situation immediately.
‘Quickly,’ he said. ‘Take the girl there.’ He pointed to the trees. ‘Cover her with your cloak. From a distance he won’t have spotted that your horse bears two persons.’
I slid down from my horse, gathering Zarita in my arms as I did so. Stooping over, I ran over to the group of trees by the water’s edge and laid her gently on the shingle shore. I threw my cloak over her body. Columbus also dismounted and wrenched branches from the evergreen bushes to cover her. I piled a bundle of stones in front.
‘Let’s hope she doesn’t awaken or cry out,’ Columbus muttered. He winked and grinned at me as he straightened up, and I understood some of the reasons why he’d attracted such a significant group of supporters over the years. He was loyal to his friends, resourceful and quick-witted, and relished the challenge of the unexpected. He placed his hand on my shoulder to calm my agitation and we strolled casually back to our horses.
A minute later the rider galloped up.
Columbus walked towards him, obscuring the view of the lakeside where Zarita was hidden. My hand went to my dagger.
‘Christopher Columbus’ – the man spoke as he dismounted – ‘I bring a missive from their majesties.’ From inside his jerkin he took a letter bearing the seal of Queen Isabella.
Columbus waved it away. ‘I am minded to be done with the King and Queen of Spain,’ he said. ‘I intend to go to France or England, where my brother is seeking patronage for us. With both of us there to plead our case, perhaps we will find a monarch who has the foresight to see the true potential of my planned expedition.’
‘Sir’ – the messenger got down on one knee and proffered the letter to Columbus – ‘this contains a summons to return to the court. Their majesties Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand have decided to agree to your terms, grant your demands and fund your expedition.’
Rather than the whoop of joy I expected from Columbus, I saw his face blanch. He placed his hand over his heart. ‘Can it be true?’ His words were barely audible. ‘After all these years, can it really be true?’
I took the letter from the messenger and handed it to Columbus. With trembling fingers he tore open the seal and scanned the contents.
‘It is written!’ His voice broke in emotion. ‘By the hand of Queen Isabella herself! I have her word that she will sponsor my venture!’
As the messenger went off to take his reply to the queen and king Columbus began, at once, to list the things he must do to prepare. ‘I will equip three caravels, buy supplies and recruit a crew right away, for I intend to set off later this very year, when the winds and weather are favourable. It will be the most exciting adventure the world has ever known! Say that you’ll come with me, Saulo!’
‘There is something . . . someone . . . that I have to take care of,’ I told him. ‘I cannot join you.’
‘But you must,’ said a voice behind us. ‘I do insist upon it.’
I spun round. Zarita had woken and was leaning against a tree.
‘Señor Columbus’ – she spoke slowly but distinctly – ‘if the queen and king are going to support your expedition, please be advised that Saulo the mariner will be sailing with you.’
I went to her and told her that I would not be going away, for I believed she would need my help over the next months.
Zarita shook her head. Her face was grey with grief and shock. ‘I must go to the convent in Las Conchas and speak to my aunt’s friend, Sister Maddalena,’ she told me. ‘We will try to comfort each other as we mourn the loss of someone we both admired and adored.’
I took her hands in mine and searched her eyes with my own. ‘Is our love strong enough to survive all that has happened to us?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ Zarita replied, ‘I believe it is.’
And from that moment I too believed.
We watched Christopher Columbus mount his horse and ride back to the city.
Atop the hill, the magnificence of the Alhambra Palace dominated the landscape. The turrets, domes and towers glowed, tinted with streams of gold from the rays of the rising sun.
The nun was like enough Zarita about the eyes to fool even close guards when wearing a veil, I thought. A little taller, but she intended to stoop as they took her out. That wouldn’t have seemed unusual to the watchers, who would a
ssume that the victim was broken in body and spirit. As she was a nun, they would not strip her, and her veil and cowl would remain in place.
I imagined the smell of fresh bread coming from the ovens of the bakers who rise before dawn to light their cooking fires. Then . . . the crow of a cockerel, and the inhabitants stir themselves awake. I think of one person who had most likely slept not at all throughout the night. I squeezed my eyes shut, as if I could somehow blot out the scene from my mind’s eye.
Zarita came into my arms and we clung to each other.
The procession is assembling.
An escort of guards, among them the red-haired soldier. Now the steady beat of a drum as they move off to the place of execution. The populace, obliged to attend lest they attract suspicion upon themselves, edge back to let them through.
They reach the square. The stake is ready. Wood heaped around the foot.
She is led forward.
Chapter Sixty-four
SHE BEGGED FOR a cross to hold.
They would not give her one.
Her body was bound fast with thick ropes to the central pole of the stake. Her arms and hands were free. She brought them together. She laid the thumb of her right hand across the forefinger of her left. She pressed her lips to the intersection of this cross and cried out in a loud voice,
‘In the name of the Blessed Lord Jesus who died for our sins!’
The flames began to rise around her.
Was it true that in some cases they dampened the firewood so that the condemned would roast more slowly? Her figure became obscured by the smoke, her form a writhing shadow within the fire.
She could not be seen, but she could be heard now, screaming; and the crowd called to her: ‘Recant! Recant!’
A young man shouted out, ‘For the love of God, let her die! Let her die!’
It was rumoured that this man was Ramón Salazar, a nobleman and childhood friend who held the woman in high regard.
It sometimes happened that the executioner would go in and swiftly garrotte a heretic before the flames reached them. But she did not recant so she was shown no such mercy.
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