by Helen Bryan
“Perhaps,” said the Abbess, drying her eyes with her sleeve, “it is not quite so bad as it looks.” But it was. Even without the rats, many scrolls had disintegrated, brittle with age or mildewed and illegible. Some crumbled to dust in our hands.
As we sifted through the mess the Abbess sighed. “A letter has come from the Holy Office of the Inquisition that makes me uneasy and I was seeking the Chronicle entry of the last time our Foundress appeared. I believe it was shortly after our Catholic monarchs Isabella and Ferdinand married, and she warned they had vowed to unite Spain under the Christian faith, drive the Moors out and, with the pope’s blessing, would strengthen the Inquisition’s powers to purge the country of heretics and infidels. The Foundress warned of terror to come and advised how to protect the Gospel. That is what I need to know. Because the letter says they will begin a systematic examination of religious houses like ours which enjoy the patronage of the royal family, as ‘the involvement of the royal family requires regular confirmation of the purity of the faith and the absence of heretics.’ They are looking for Muslims and Jews of course, and even if there are none, the Inquisition has methods that will discover them, or at least conversos who are automatically suspect. Bah! It is an evil thing the Inquisition does, to sow division among those who serve God and help the poor. Our order has lived peacefully under Romans and Visigoths and longest of all, our Moorish rulers. We have always held the Prophet Muhammad in great respect, and like both Jews and Muslims, the first Christians attributed all things to God’s will. We have much in common, whether Jew, Muslim, or Christian, only God can judge among us. And yet the church sows dissention and bloodshed. And we must do what we can.” She had made a pile of scraps while she spoke, but it was impossible to see how one of these shreds joined to one another.
Then I made a happy discovery—the most recent scroll, being newer, had fared better, chewed but still partly legible. “Here is something, Abbess. This piece fits with that one. See…one can make some sense of the writing…In the reign of Abu l-Hasan Ali, Sultan of Granada, our Foundress came to us…”
The Abbess exclaimed, “A miracle! Deo gratias. I believe it was in the reign of Abu l-Hasan Ali! Is the rest legible? Can you make it out?”
“Not yet. I will try and copy out what is legible and find the sense of it. But Abbess, I have an idea. Why not use this opportunity to begin a proper Chronicle of our order, as you have always wished? We could use the Abenzucars’ gift.”
The Abenzucars—a bittersweet name, even now—had sent us a very fine gift for the scriptorium: a large book of blank vellum pages, beautifully cured so they were almost translucent, superior to the old scrolls, which stank of goat. It is bound in leather and gold, and even has a gold swallow on the cover. It was sent in thanks for a healing balm of herbs from our garden, herbs that will not grow at a lower height, supplied to the Abenzucars when their youngest daughter would not heal after childbirth and they feared for her life. The girl recovered, Deo gratias. Salome’s aunt. “The book will be easier to protect against rats than the jumble of old scrolls and will last for many years.”
The Abbess nodded and rose to her feet, brushing the dust off her hands. “We must remember, God sends even disasters for a purpose. Yes, use the Abenzucars’ book. It is large, and if you write small and close, it will hold a great deal. And of course, a single book can be protected—and transported—in a way the scrolls cannot. And I see another advantage. Our Gospel is disintegrating; it could be copied into the new Chronicle before it, too, is lost.”
The Gospel! I had not thought of that, but the Abbess was right. Although the rats could not damage it where it is kept in a silver casket, time was destroying it. Though the nuns of course know the Gospel by heart, it is a custom of the order that on the eve of a nun’s consecration, she has a special audience with the Abbess to receive the Abbess’s blessing and words of welcome, and is shown our great treasure, the ancient Gospel. When my turn came I watched nervously as she lifted it from its silver casket. The precious document resembled a bundle of dry leaves, crumbling with age so that flakes of it fell on her lap. In truth its condition, even unchewed by rats, is little better than our poor destroyed scrolls.
The Abbess was right, our Gospel must be copied soon or it will be lost. But it must also be kept from the Inquisition, for the same reasons they must not find this Chronicle with its mention of the Foundress’s appearances and the Abbess’s medal. Both undermine the doctrines and power of a church where men have refashioned God in man’s image, and denied women’s true spirituality. Discovery would doom us all, and the destruction that would follow would prevent the truth ever coming to light, as the Abbess believes will happen someday.
The Abbess rose to her feet and brushed her hands together briskly. “Copy the Gospel into the middle of the book—in Latin, just as it is now—and let our Chronicle be written around it to symbolize our order’s embrace of the holy book. And if everything is together it will make better sense if someone is to read it many years hence. Let the maid tidy the scriptorium, and tell her to put the scraps on the fire when you have finished with them.”
Obedient to the Abbess’s wishes, I worked by day and by candlelight to recover the following account of the Foundress’s last appearance:
1470 Anno Domini. Peace…all who read…reign of Abu l-Hasan Ali, Sultan of Granada…the Abbess a vision…Foundress…news…Infanta Isabella of Castile defied King Henry…Infante Ferdinand…of Aragon…Spain…God’s kingdom…Moors crushed and banished…Queen Isabella…pilgrimage to Las Golondrinas…the Carthaginian road…Beware the Inquisition will…remember the fate of the Cathars…Carcassone…Gran Canaria…a mission the Gospel…the medal.
The Abbess and I interpret this as a warning of the Inquisition’s interest in Las Golondrinas, on the queen’s account. Queen Isabella did make a pilgrimage here after the final defeat of the Moors, and vowed to be a patron of Las Golondrinas to honor the courage of a Christian order that kept the light of faith alive through centuries of the Muslim darkness. Royal ladies are still our patronesses and protectors, but the Foundress surely intended to remind us of the fate of the “heretic” Cathars when the “Catholic” army destroyed Carcassonne, burning and hanging all who would not recant. Was the Foundress warning us that to protect the medal and the Gospel we must establish a mission in Gran Canaria?
But when? And how?
Summer 1509
In spring and summer, when the road up the mountain is passable, the children come. We received two today. They have very fine clothes and are both about one year old. I record the amount of their dowries in the Dowry List. We have no more information to add to the records; they have no names other than the ones we give. They say arrangements are made for the children’s removal from court in great secrecy through a chain of wretches who act as go-betweens, so that none will know the children’s ultimate destination. Most come in the care of peasant nurses who can tell us nothing of their true identities.
Poor nameless innocents. Do the mothers, if living, long for their daughters? I think of being separated from Salome in this way and give thanks to God every day for our refuge. Word has reached me that my father now believes—possibly informed by one of the servants—that I was with child when he left me here. He has sworn to be revenged, but I trust in God’s protection.
Winter 1510
It is a hard winter. Snow has fallen continuously in the mountains. Yet in the pilgrims’ garden, by some miracle, the spring does not freeze.
Salome joins the other girls in the schoolroom and learns her prayers in Latin and her numbers. She plays at “writing” at a makeshift table of wooden planks. She wishes to copy me in everything and sits with her adorable face twisted in concentration, practicing her letters. Then Salome looks up at me and a smile lights her face—the way it once lit her father’s when I entered the schoolroom each morning.
There have been wonderful occurrences. The sky was filled with shooting stars at Epiphany, three ni
ghts in succession. Despite the cold, an almond tree has blossomed out of season and local people report seeing a fiery dragon in the sky. There is much hunger in the villages, and the Abbess and the sister in charge of stores are eking out our supplies of grain, oil, and dried fruit to make sure all have something. The nuns, of course, fast as much as possible—faith is a great sustainer of life—but the children in the orphanage and the patients in our infirmary must eat. We fight a constant battle to protect the food stocks from the rats. May God preserve us all until summer and the new crops.
Spring 1512
A sudden spring thaw during Lent brought disaster to the village last week. As the snows melted, a landslide buried a lower slope where the village’s goats and sheep were grazing. The animals were swept away and five men herding them have been brought to the infirmary, badly injured. The infirmary sisters struggle to save four of them, but the fifth will certainly die; he has a pregnant wife and many children who depend on him and whom we must help.
Our stores are nearly bare at this time of year and the Abbess has used the last of our hoarded sugar and flour to make polvorónes. The dying man’s brother has volunteered to take them to sell in the city via the ancient but steeper mule track through the trees. At Easter our polvorónes are in great demand in the rich households, and the brother can buy as much food as they can spare in the Valley of the Swallows to share out among the hungry villagers. In the convent we are reduced to a thin gruel, but nuns can survive on prayer. Salome has most of my share. She is too thin and her skin has a translucent look.
Summer 1514
News reaches us that the Spanish governors of the island of Hispaniola are criticized for their treatment of the natives there, and in Seville many are dead of the plague. We pray for the priests who have condemned the violent treatment of the Indians and say novenas for an end to the pestilence, for the dead and dying. The Holy Office sent another letter emphasizing the faithful are required to report any suspected of being false Christians. The Abbess was bad tempered for the rest of the day.
The slope below the convent has been terraced, and the apple trees and new olive trees are thriving. Our chickens increase and peck among them, though we must be careful all are shooed into their enclosure at nightfall, on account of the foxes. We will have special Masses said for a good harvest this year.
Spring 1518
Two visiting friars sought permission from the Abbess to speak to me at the locutio in the scriptorium on a medical matter. They were seeking a remedy for the bite of a mad dog. They whispered through the grille in the scriptorium that they had heard there was an infidel remedy that was infallible, and they were desperate for their bitten brother. I ceased my work and went to find the treatise by Avicenna but their furtive urging made me suspect they were Inquisition informers. Since Avicenna was a Muslim doctor, I told them that the remedy I copied out for them was given to us two centuries ago by a Christian hermit who had lived in a mountain cave nearby. Perhaps they had heard of the book written by his acolyte? A very holy man. The remedy had been revealed to him by San Hieronimo. I cautioned them, the remedy would only be efficacious if applied with a pure heart while special prayers to the Virgin and St. Anthony were recited.
The friars cannot read.
September 1520
Late this summer two royal princesses followed in the late queen’s footsteps and paid a visit, accompanied by many noble ladies. Their entourage made a great spectacle. Their coaches were drawn by pure-white mules, and they were accompanied by outriders with colorful banners, a large mounted guard in livery, and many Jesuits. The princesses had a requiem Mass said in the chapel for their grandparents, Isabella and Ferdinand, and their widowed mother, Queen Juana who is confined to a convent in Tordesillas. The gossip among the ladies-in-waiting was that ever since being widowed many years ago, she keeps her husband’s preserved corpse in her cell for company and is greatly disturbed in the mind. Others said that the story of her husband’s corpse is a fabrication, that she is sound of mind and kept prisoner against her will. Poor lady, a woman is powerless against the might of the church and secular authorities who will declare her mad or weak or both to justify their disposal of her.
The princesses stayed for three days, taking part in the daily life of the convent at Mass, prayers, and meals, and even donning straw hats to pick vegetables in our garden. The orphanage children sang an anthem for them, quite beautifully we thought, and afterward they gave each child a gold coin, including Salome whom they assumed was one of the orphanage girls. The princesses renewed their grandmother’s promise of patronage and made a generous gift to the convent before departing. The Abbess was quite exhausted afterward.
Salome sits by my side half the day. She finishes her lessons before the other girls, and grows restless. She is quick with her Latin and Greek and can read Italian and a little French. I require her to sit still and practice her writing, stressing the importance of a neat, even, and legible hand, with no ink blots—despite her tearful protests that this is impossible. She stamps her foot when I oblige her to recopy mistakes, but she is learning to write with a beautiful, even hand.
The Abbess assigns Salome small scribe’s tasks, sharpening quills or preparing the ink, and since Salome is conscientious and always washes her hands before she touches a book, the Abbess allows her to look at our beautiful illuminated missals. Some very fine ones were donated by our royal patronesses, with gold lettering enclosing holy pictures in the most beautiful detail of saints and angels and the Virgin, castles and knights, animals so finely drawn that even their little whiskers are discernible, fields and forests, sun and moon and stars, a glowing glimpse of a heavenly world. Salome loves them as much as the Abbess and I do, and has developed a fine sensitivity to the paintings in the convent, too.
She dislikes many of those donated by the pilgrims—compared to our beautiful manuscript they are often quite badly drawn, a triumph of faith over skill, but the Abbess insists we must hang all such gifts. The dark corridor we pass through on our way to the sala de las niñas each morning is full of the worst ones.
But finer paintings occasionally come to us with an orphan’s dowry, and Salome helps the Abbess choose which to hang in the sala de las niñas. There are paintings of the Virgin and infant Christ and of child saints, showing the gentle influence of the Italian school with lovely rich colors, sensitive faces, and exquisite perfect landscapes in the background exuding the warmth of divine grace. They make the sala de las niñas a kindly room for the orphanage children.
At fifteen Salome is tall for her age, with her father’s dark-blue eyes and my gold hair, before it was shorn. She does not see why she may not have a novice’s habit yet. I tell her all in good time, though my heart is in turmoil for her future. Although I have found peace and contentment as a nun, because I was in love once I perceive that my daughter has an equal capacity for passion. I would not like her to be obliged to take the veil like the orphanage children, yet I do not see how she is to experience life outside the convent, or marry. And of course I would not send her away alone. When I ponder what is best for Salome, I imagine Alejandro and I had managed our escape to Portugal. We would now be discussing the future of Salome and our other children by the fire of a long winter’s night. But it is ungrateful to repine. Salome’s life will be as God wills.
Summer 1521
Salome is sixteen and has finally acquired the novice’s habit she longed for. She thinks it is a promotion from the schoolroom, and that it makes her the equal of the other girls who enter the novitiate at sixteen. She is lively and affectionate and full of mischief.
April 1523
Such a thing has happened! Yesterday evening the Foundress appeared to the Abbess in the cloister, so quickly that the Abbess scarcely had time to realize what was happening before the Foundress delivered her instructions and disappeared. The Inquisition will come to Las Golondrinas, though when is uncertain, and the Abbess must prepare now to send our medal and Gospel away
for safekeeping. A mission convent of our order is to be established in Gran Canaria. The Abbess must select twelve to go: four professed sisters, four novices who have not yet taken their final vows, and four middle-aged beatas chosen for their health and good sense. The most senior nun shall be authorized to act as Mother Superior to hear confessions, and one of the party must act as a scribe and write an account of the journey. In due course, other members of the order would follow.
Dictating all this to me for the Chronicle, the Abbess paced the scriptorium. “I do not know whether we are meant to send the medal and Gospel at once or wait until the mission is ready and send them with a later party. What if they were lost because I acted too hastily?”
“Perhaps too cautious is the preferable course,” I replied. “Remember the damage the rats caused here, and how we have had a special metal-lined casket built in the wall of the scriptorium to protect the Chronicle now. We should wait until we know there is a similar safe place to keep the Chronicle in Gran Canaria. Who knows what conditions the mission will find in Gran Canaria, or how they will find a suitable building. Perhaps it is best to wait for word that all is ready, and then the medal and the Gospel can go.”
“Yes, I think that is best, Sor Beatriz. We will wait until the mission has prepared a place for them.”
June 1523
The convent threw itself into the preparations, and two months later all is ready. The Abbess sent two men from the village to Seville to arrange passage for the missionaries on a ship bound for Gran Canaria. They returned with news that the ship’s captain served with the explorer Columbus, and our party will be in good hands. Next came the matter of choosing who was to go.