“So your own mother had a scar upon her breast!” the senior inquisitor returned sarcastically. “Let us have this Francesca stripped for torture, then, and see whether she also has a scarred breast!”
“And if she does not?” exclaimed Don Felipe. “Will you work the pulleys yourself, with your own hands and arms and back, as you did upon that poor wretch Fidenzo?”
“If necessary in the work of God!” Fray Junípero shot back. “For lack of any competent and willing torturer, I will! By God! In Castile there would be no difficulty finding workers for the field!”
In Castile, where torturers were trained to work for the civil courts, which was forbidden in Aragon by ancient privilege.
“But why did she fail to identify this charge, along with the others?” asked Fray Juan. “Was it not mentioned in the last Edict of Faith?”
“She cannot read,” Fray Clemente, who seemed himself to have read the case more carefully than had his fellow consultor, reminded Fray Juan. “And she missed its public reading—which absence she dutifully if mistakenly listed among the charges—due to nursing her sick husband.”
Don Felipe said, “For the details of that edict, she relied upon the very neighbor who accused her of the irregularity with the knife.”
“She had three accusers,” Fray Junípero grumbled. “And named only the other two as personal enemies.”
“Scripture itself,” said Don Felipe, “counsels us to caution before passing judgment upon the word of a single witness.”
Fray Clemente asked, “This woman comes of Old Christian family, does she not?”
“So far as can be proven,” Fray Junípero grudgingly admitted.
Fray Roberto, the jurist, spoke. “I see no reason to proceed even as far as the threat of torture. Let us emulate our Lord in His mercy rather than His justice, and suspend this case with no further action. You can always reopen it should the woman indulge in any suspicious actions not related to her diet.”
That did not end the argument, for Fray Junípero was like an angry dog with a bone it would not relinquish willingly to anyone. When at last he admitted the vote to be taken, even his own fellow Dominican voted simply that Francesca Cascajo appear in the coming Act of Faith and be made to abjure de levi, while Fray Clemente voted along with the jurist for immediate suspension of the case and release of the prisoner. Don Felipe hesitated in his mind, for the woman was far from young, and abjuration de levi would at least put a more final period to her present case than would mere suspension. Yet it would also leave a blacker mark against her name, so when the ordinary voted for suspension, Felipe did likewise, outflanking the senior inquisitor for the second time that day.
Had they uncovered in Francesca Cascajo’s bloodline any ancestors converted from the creed of either Moses or Mohammed within the last century, it would have gone less gently with her. Moreover, Don Felipe reflected, having been thwarted of two public examples for the next Act of Faith would render Fray Junípero all the more ferocious concerning those cases yet to be discussed.
As far as touched the brigand Manuel, Don Felipe had yet to determine in his own mind whether to use or oppose the temper of the senior inquisitor—whether to accept the chance for revenge that God might be offering him on a silver platter, or to resist what could equally as well be diabolic temptation and preserve his own honor.
But between the earlier cases and Manuel Urtigo’s came that of the hapless printer of Calamocha.
Whether he was still in God’s eyes Mehmoud Aben Fazoud, Don Felipe did not know—thus far, he had given his name simply but stubbornly as Maestre Juan de Calamocha, and meekly but stubbornly refused to voice or pen any speculation whatever upon his own case. No doubt his earlier experiences with the Papal Inquisition had given him a certain caution of the Royal…but perhaps also, Don Felipe feared, a less than justified confidence in his present chances to escape once again relatively unscathed.
Following the completion of his apprenticeship with Maestre Micer de Calatayud, he had returned to set up his own printing shop, partially funded by his father, in his native town. The elder Juan Delgado de Calamocha, while ever both honorable and loving, had begun to fail in health, and could say with certitude only that his son had never, to his knowledge, received the sacrament of Baptism in or near their town of Calamocha—whether he might have received it in Calatayud or elsewhere during his years as apprentice, the father could not testify.
This time, the witness against Juan-Mehmoud was a printed pamphlet from his own shop. Ostensibly a lampoon upon certain abuses of royal power and injustices in secular courts, it would have held no interest at all for the Inquisition but for one passage, called to Fray Junípero’s attention by a courtier of King Fernando, in which Saint James, showing the unnamed narrator a place of burning, asked how mortal men dared suppose that their fierceness mirrored the temper of God, or that whom they condemned to brief fire on earth, the merciful Christ would condemn to eternal fire in Hell.
In this passage, the senior inquisitor of Daroca saw heretical dogmatizing, for which the author, baptized or not, could himself be burned. Thus, it became even more important to ascertain the exact nature of the printed words than the sacramental estate of their author.
“I suppose there is no doubt,” Fray Junípero’s fellow Dominican remarked, reaching for the last dried date, “that printer and author are indeed one and the same?”
There was no doubt in Don Felipe’s mind: he saw in the pamphlet the zeal of El Santon’s Contrefuero, joined with the imaginative power, matured now, that he still remembered from Mehmoud’s youthful Vision of San Juan de Calamocha. For the moment, however, the junior inquisitor remained guardedly silent.
“Fray Pablo,” said the senior inquisitor, referring to the tribunal’s notary (not now present, for the Council’s freedom of discussion) “has drawn up a complete list of all the authors named in works from Maestre Juan’s press. All, without exception, are either long deceased or, so far, of unquestioned orthodoxy. It is unlikely that the printer himself has penned every pamphlet from his shop, but he has named for us none of the anonymous providers of fodder for his press. In his continued silence on all matters touching his own situation, we have no choice but to hold him equally guilty, if not identical, with the author.”
As his senior paused for breath, Don Felipe put in, “I have it on the word of Maestre Micer de Calatayud, a printer of unquestioned loyalty to Holy Church, that in the mysteries of their craft printers often concern themselves so thoroughly with the texts they set letter by letter and word by word, as to lose all sense of the meaning of the whole.”
Fray Junípero retorted, “They must read and understand these texts before deciding to print them!”
“Not necessarily,” Don Guillen replied. “An author may bring his manuscript to the printer, along with the required sum of money, and the printer, being hard pressed with work and desirous of payment, may set it into print without first reading it.”
“Maestre Juan did not scruple to set his imprint to it,” said Fray Juan.
In almost the same moment, Fray Clemente asked, “And what of printers who set books in Latin and Greek without themselves knowing these languages?”
“For them,” Fray Junípero declared, answering the Benedictine rather than his own creature, “they must rely on the guidance of orthodox scholars, and be held accountable for any heresy they may print through failure to obtain the same.”
Don Guillen muttered, “That is arguable.”
Seeming not to notice the ordinary’s words, Fray Junípero continued, “But the pamphlet before us is in the vernacular, leaving its printer no cover of excuse whatever! Even assuming that he is not also its author—and, if he is not, he must be made to tell us who is!”
“First,” said Don Felipe, “we must ascertain whether or not the words are truly heretical—”
“Can anyone question—” Fray Junípero began.
But for once Don Felipe continued his own sp
eech without deferring to his senior’s interruption. “It is, after all, a mere lampoon on the secular power, with never a word touching upon the spiritual.”
“Can anyone question,” Fray Junípero demanded, “that the author intends this burning-place as a slanderous reflection upon our own Holy Office?”
“I can question it,” said the ordinary. “On grounds that the Inquisition burns no victims, but rather protects them as long as she can from the vengeance of the secular arm, always and ever begging it to temper justice with mercy when at last she has no other choice but to relax them.”
The jurist nodded. “It is the State that tears out the weeds. The Church merely relinquishes them in sorrow and grieving.”
“But, my brothers in Christ,” said Fray Clemente, “I have sifted this passage, pondering it deeply and prayerfully, with close attention to all the works in our library, and, for myself, I find in it no heresy.”
“It reeks of heresy!” cried Fray Junípero.
“Hear me out, brother,” the Benedictine insisted. “True, put into the mouth of Saint James, and naming God and Christ directly, these lines are certainly intended in a religious sense, and as such have no place in a secular lampoon. As for the proposition itself, rash and scandalous it may well be, even impious, and, possibly, ill-sounding. But heretical in the strictest sense, no.”
“I call it blasphemous, schismatic, insulting, and, at the least, savoring of heresy if not actually heretical,” Fray Juan said around a mouthful of raisins.
“Blasphemous it certainly is not,” Fray Clemente argued, “for in no way can these words be construed as an insult to God or Christ. Insulting to king and queen, justicia, secular judges, and various other officials it undeniably and intentionally is—many of them even by name—and it is true that they are good Christians; but, in context, the insult is aimed at their secular authority and not at their religion.”
“You will at least admit schismatic, savoring of heresy, and erroneous, will you not?” Fray Junípero demanded, tempering his wrath with sarcasm.
“Not without first settling the question of whether there is any heresy here at all,” Fray Clemente insisted. “And I repeat: for my part, I find none!”
“It is blatant apocatastasis,” said Fray Juan. “For which Origen was condemned by the Council of Constantinople.”
“Origen was condemned for various points,” argued the Benedictine, “but not for the belief that all would eventually be saved. Else the great Jerome himself, as well as Gregory of Nazianzus, Titus of Bostra, and my own namesake Clement of Alexandria would likewise have been condemned.”
Fray Juan frowned. “Condemn Jerome, and we risk calling the Vulgate itself into question.”
“If this devilish opinion were to be tolerated and broadcast about like good seed,” cried Fray Junípero, “we would soon have each man and woman freely committing every sin they pleased, on grounds that God condemns no one to Hell!”
“We would still have the fear of the secular arm to hold them in check,” said Don Felipe.
Fray Junípero snorted his opinion of the fear of the secular arm.
Fray Clemente said, “It is for that reason I admit the proposition to be rash, scandalous, impious, and—possibly—ill-sounding. The opinion that God will, in the fullness of His own good time, bring all souls unto Himself, even from out of the depths of Hell, is hardly a leaven that any prudent person would wish to see widespread throughout the bread of Christianity as a whole. Nevertheless, privately held by souls of sufficient learning, prudence, and piety, it is not in itself heretical.”
“And do you call publishing it in print either private or prudent?” Fray Junípero exploded. “Or do you credit for one moment this printer and author as a soul of sufficient learning, prudence, and piety to thumb his nose at the holy wrath of God?”
The ordinary, who had been examining a copy of the lampoon, observed, “He does not actually deny the just wrath of God or the existence of Hell. He merely remarks that no mortal ferocity can adequately mirror the justice of God, and that God need not necessarily condemn to Hell the identical individuals whom man condemns to the stake. To question either of these propositions would put us in risk of presuming to know the mind of God, which presumption is in itself mortal sin.”
Fray Junípero persisted, “But mere presumption is not the deadly sin of heresy, nor does it imperil—as this heretic does—the salvation of the whole people!”
Fray Clemente threw up his hands. “Ask the author what he intended! As for the printer, it is my opinion that condemning him would imperil your own salvation.”
Fray Junípero returned to his alternate weapon of sarcasm. “Indeed! And might we have your kind permission to question the printer as to the identity of the author?”
“That much,” said Fray Roberto, “might be permissible. But only to the second degree. The nature of the offense does not merit going further, even to ascertain the identity of the author.”
“It may be heresy,” exclaimed Fray Junípero, “and you say its nature merits nothing more than showing the man the implements of torture?”
“It may or may not be heresy,” the jurist replied quietly. “The element of doubt is too great to justify proceeding to the more extreme measures.”
“We have difficulty enough,” Don Felipe pointed out, “finding men both able and willing to apply torture in any degree.” He looked directly at Fray Junípero. “It is hardly fitting that an inquisitor should work the pulleys or tip the jug with his own hands!”
“And I tell you,” the senior inquisitor thundered, “that when there is work to be done for the glory of God, then be damned to these human notions of ‘befitting’ and ‘dignity’!”
Finding his hands on the table as if to help push himself to his feet, Don Felipe looked around at his fellow churchmen, beginning with the ordinary. “My brothers in Christ! What would the Suprema say to this?”
“And what would the Suprema say,” Fray Junipero demanded before any others could speak, “to the fact that this heretic whom you would obviously coddle has twice already been under investigation by my doddering predecessor of the ancient Inquisition, with the able assistance—I might better say connivance—of Felipe de Granada himself, then ordinary to his reverence of Daroca!”
With conscious care, Don Felipe relaxed his hands and removed them from the table, feeling his palms damp. What hours must Fray Junipero have spent in sifting through the all but uncatalogued archives of the ancient Inquisition of Daroca?
But the eyes of the four other men around the table had all turned from his senior to himself. Drawing a deep breath, the secular priest explained, “It is true enough, so far as it goes. The first instance took place when this man was still little more than a child, and had written a childish romance of Heaven and Hell, which he had unthinkingly shared with a Christian playmate. Being unbaptized and uninstructed himself, he had embellished his tale with certain erroneous details. His playmate, however, understood only the illuminations, in which there was nothing unorthodox. We burned his book and committed young Mehmoud, with such penances as could be applied, back into the authority of his father, a good and stern man.” (Thank God, Felipe thought, that we burned that book! and pray there were no other copies to stray by mischance into the hands of this fierce zealot whom God in His mysterious purpose has set here to serve the Holy Inquisition.) “The second instance,” he went on aloud, “occurred when the man was an apprentice. Still unbaptized and imperfectly instructed, but aflame with the hasty zeal of youth, he let slip a few words of heresy into what was, in its essence, a political protest.” (Tread gently here: some copies of the Contrefuero might still exist, if not in actuality then in the memory of witnesses.) “At that time, he came forward himself for pardon under the Terms of Grace.”
Fray Junípero sneered. “And so, in the wisdom of tired old Fray Potbelly and a raw, unschooled lay priest, you gave the notorious El Santon a free pardon and permitted heretical dogmatizi
ng to go unchecked!”
“He reprinted his sheet at once and redistributed it without the offending words,” Don Felipe protested. “As for my own education, true, it was shaped by no one monastic order, but I studied in Rome herself, under teachers drawn from many Orders, and I was made priest under the patronage of no other than his Eminence Cardinal Borja, now Pope Alexander the Sixth!”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then, at length, Fray Roberto said, “I think, in light of this printer’s history, it would be permissible to go so far as stripping and binding in order to make him reveal the authorship of the present lampoon and whether or not he is himself baptized now. As far as that,” the jurist emphasized, glancing at Fray Junípero. “No farther. Surely you can find men willing to do that much, without sullying the hands of an inquisitor.”
The ordinary nodded. “In that light, I would cast my vote in conspectu tormentorum.”
And so the vote was taken, Don Felipe siding with Don Guillen to make the majority that would stop Fray Junípero from further argument, and comforting himself with the hope that Mehmoud-Juan, who had once written so imaginatively of hellish torments, might draw salvific experience from coming so near to earthly ones.
At last they reached the case Don Felipe had most ardently desired and dreaded: that of Manuel Urtigo, murderer and brigand, called “The Scourge of Axtilan.”
“Accused,” Fray Junípero reminded his fellows, glaring around at them, “of denying the omnipresence of God, the virginity of Mary, and the existence of Heaven and Hell alike; of speaking scandal of both churchmen and holy inquisitors, and of invoking demons for the purposes of currying their favor and paying them the honor due to God and God alone. Well, brothers? God knows we have few enough examples so far with whom to honor Him and edify His people at this coming Act of Faith!”
Don Felipe drew a deep breath. Much though he had prayed for God’s guidance in this very matter, he hardly knew himself—perhaps because of his own grievous and hidden sin—what words were about to issue from his mouth. “This man has named as personal enemies all of his accusers save one.”
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