Lion Triumphant

by Philippa Carr

  I turned sharply and looked into a pair of fanatical eyes which looked straight into mine.

  “Pilar,” I said.

  “Witch,” she hissed. “Heretic witch.”

  I started to tremble. Crowds in this plaza brought with them such hideous memories.

  I said to Felipe: “I saw the woman Pilar in the town. She hates me. I could see by the way she looked at me.”

  “She was devoted to her charge. She had been with her since her birth.”

  “I think she believes that I am responsible for her death.”

  “She is distraught. She will grow away from her grief.”

  “I have rarely seen such hatred in any eyes as was in hers when she looked at me. She called me a witch … a heretic witch.”

  I was unprepared for the change in Felipe’s expression. Fear was clearly to be seen as his lips formed the word “heretic.” Then suddenly that control which was so much a part of his character seemed to desert him. He took me into his arms and held me tightly against him.

  “Catalina,” he said, “we are going to Madrid. We must not stay here.”

  A terrible fear had begun to overshadow me. When darkness fell I would often fancy I was being watched. I could not specifically say how. It was just that I would hear footsteps which seemed to follow me; or the quiet shutting of a door when I was in a room, so that it seemed that someone had opened it to watch me and then quietly shut it and gone away. On one or two occasions I fancied someone had been in my room. Some familiar object had been moved from its place and I was sure I had not done this.

  I admonished myself. I was allowing my imagination to take possession of my good sense. Since Isabella’s death and my marriage—the one a natural sequence of the other—the tension had been gradually rising. I could not forget Pilar’s face when she looked at me and whispered those words: “Witch. Heretic witch” and in my mind had conjured up such horror as I dared not brood on.

  It came into my mind that there was hatred around me. Some evil force was trying to destroy me. I knew this was so when I found the image in my drawer.

  I had opened it unsuspectingly and there looking up at me was the figure. It was made of wax and represented a beautiful girl with black hair piled high and in that hair was a miniature comb. Her gown was of velvet and the resemblance struck me immediately. Isabella! It could not be meant to resemble anyone else.

  I picked it up. What horror possessed me then, for protruding from her gown, at that spot beneath which her heart would have been, was a pin.

  Someone had put the thing in my drawer. Who? Someone had made that thing in the image of Isabella. Someone had stuck a pin through the heart and put it in my drawer!

  I stood there with it in my hand.

  The door had opened. I looked up startled and saw a dark reflection in the mirror.

  To my relief I realized that it was only Manuela.

  I held the figure crushed in my hand and turned to her. I wondered whether she noticed how shaken I was.

  “The children are ready to say good night,” she said.

  “I’ll come, Manuela.”

  She disappeared and I stood staring at the thing in my hand; then I thrust it to the back of the drawer and went to the nursery.

  I could not listen to what the children were saying. I could only think of that horrible thing and its significance.

  Who had put it there? Someone who wished me ill. Someone who was accusing me of bringing about Isabella’s death. I must destroy it with all speed. While it was there I was unsafe.

  As soon as I had tucked the children in and kissed them good night I went back to my room.

  I opened my drawer. The figure had disappeared.

  I told Felipe what I had found and I was immediately aware of the terrible fear this aroused in him.

  “And it was gone?” he cried. “You should never have put it back in the drawer. You should have destroyed it immediately.”

  “It means that someone believes I killed Isabella.”

  “It means,” he said, “that someone is trying to prove that you are a witch.”

  I did not have to ask him what that meant.

  “I was accused of that on the ship,” I said. I shivered. “I came near to a horrible death.”

  “Some of the sailors must have talked. We must get away from here quickly.”

  He speeded up preparations for our departure.

  Fear had certainly entered the Hacienda. The great shadow of the Inquisition hung over us. Sometimes I would awaken shouting, having dreamed I was in that square. I was looking on from the box … looking on at myself in the hideous sanbenito. I could hear the crackle of flames at my feet. I would awake crying out from my dream and Felipe would take me in his arms and comfort me.

  “Soon,” he said, “we shall be safe in Madrid.”

  “Felipe,” I asked, “what if they should come and take me … how would they come?”

  He answered: “They come often at night. There would be the knock on the door. We should hear the words: ‘Open in the name of the Holy Office.’ Those are the words none dare disobey.”

  “And they would take me away then, Felipe. They would question me. I should answer their questions. What have I to fear?”

  “All have something to fear when they fall into the hands of the Inquisition.”

  “The innocent…”

  “Even the innocent.”

  “If they believe you to be a witch they would take you,” he said. “If they should come by night I shall hide you. We must pretend that you have disappeared, that you are indeed a witch and you have invoked the Devil to aid you. There is a secret door in the bedchamber.” He showed it to me. “You will hide in here until such time as I can save you.”

  “Felipe, would Pilar inform against me?”

  “It may well be,” he answered. “And if she does they will come for you.”

  “Do you believe she has?”

  “I cannot say. People are wary of going to the Holy Office even to lay information against others, for it has happened that in so doing they have become involved themselves. We will pray that Pilar has not said to others what she has said to you.”

  I trembled in his arms and he said soothingly: “It is not like you to be afraid, my love. We will outwit any who come against us.”

  “If you hid me, Felipe,” I said, “would that not be an act against the Inquisition?”

  He was silent.

  I went on: “You would act against the Inquisition for my sake? You would preserve a heretic in your house because you love her?”

  “Hush. Do not say that word, Catalina, even when we are alone. We must be watchful. I will speed on our departure. Once we have left this place we shall be safe.”

  The days passed. We were waiting for a ship. When it came we would say good-bye to the Hacienda and Honey, Don Luis and little Edwina. I had prevailed upon Felipe to allow Carlos to come with us. Manuela would accompany us too, with Jennet and young Jacko.

  I was desolate at the thought of leaving Honey; but I knew that from now on I was in jeopardy and the tension created by the realization that at any moment there might be that knock on the door was such that one must long to escape from it at all costs.

  I heard that Pilar was sick and had taken to her bed. I sent Manuela over to see her. Manuela had been a good and faithful servant and grateful to me for rescuing Carlos whom she adored. I thought that she might discover how far Pilar had gone with her accusations.

  When she came back I summoned her to my bedroom where we could talk without being overheard and asked her what she had found.

  “Pilar is indeed sick,” she said. “She is sick of heart and sick of body.”

  “Did she talk of Isabella?”

  “All the time. The maids told me that she wanders about the Casa Azul at night calling for Isabella, that she will not allow them to touch the dolls. She has them there in her room.”

  I nodded.

  “Manuela, I wish
to know all,” I said, “no matter what. I know that she hates me because I married Isabella’s husband. But Isabella was no wife to him. You know that.”

  “Always she talks,” said Manuela. “She goes from one thing to another. She curses Edmundo. ‘All for a cross,’ she said, ‘a ruby-studded cross. You remember it, Manuela. She wore it so seldom.’”

  “You did remember it, Manuela?”

  “Yes, I did. It was a beautiful thing. I noticed it particularly, for I have a special liking for rubies. And it was not found either.”

  “Edmundo gave it to someone, I believe that was the assumption. A woman he loved.”

  “Who was this woman? They never found her.”

  “You would not expect her to come forward. She would be afraid to. Or it may be that he hid the cross somewhere. Perhaps he buried it in the garden. He would have to hide it I suppose. But what does the cross matter?”

  “Edmundo was such a gentle man. It seems strange that he should kill for a ruby cross.”

  “One never knows what people will do. Perhaps he loved someone and wished her to have the cross. Who can say? And he did it on an impulse and then he was caught and his future threatened. They would hang him for stealing a valuable cross. So he killed to save himself.”

  Manuela shook her head. “It was awful when she cursed him. I wanted to run out. But then she talked of you, Mistress.”

  “What did she say of me, Manuela?”

  “She said that she wished to see you. She said that she would have come to you but because she is ill you must go to her.”

  “I will go,” I answered.

  Manuela nodded.

  I did not tell Felipe I was going. I thought he might prevent me. But I knew I had to speak to Pilar. I must try to explain. I wished I had done so during our encounter in the street, but I had been too taken aback to do so then. I wanted to ask her what she meant by calling me a witch. I wanted to assure her that I was no such thing.

  It occurred to me that she knew something about the image. Had she put it there? How could she have done so? She did not come to the Hacienda. Perhaps she had people working for her there, people who hated me as much as she did, who wanted to prove that I was guilty in bringing about Isabella’s death.

  I packed a basket with some delicacies from the kitchen and went to see her.

  As I opened the gate a terrible revulsion came over me. It was as though my whole being were crying out a warning to me. There was the patio. There was the window and the balcony at which I had seen Isabella with her doll. Here Edmundo had picked her up so gently when she fell. In my mind’s eye I saw Edmundo’s lifeless body hanging from a rope in the plaza of La Laguna.

  How quiet it was! I pushed open the door. I could scarcely bear to look. There was the staircase. I pictured her poor broken body lying at the bottom of it.

  I stood hesitating.

  Go away, said a voice within me. Run … while there is time. Leave this place. You are in imminent danger.

  Someone was standing behind me. One of the servants must have seen me enter the house and followed me.

  She looked at me, her eyes wide. I could see that she was afraid of me.

  I said: “I came to see Pilar.”

  She nodded and turned her eyes as though she feared she might be contaminated by some evil.

  She started to run up the stairs. I followed her.

  On a landing she opened a door. I went in.

  The room was dark, for it had been built to keep out the sun. On the bed lay Pilar; her hair streaming about her shoulders gave her a wild look.

  I took a step toward the bed and tried to speak normally.

  “I’m sorry you are ill, Pilar. I have brought you these. I heard that you wanted to see me.”

  “Do you think I’d eat anything that came from the Hacienda … that house of sin? Do you think I’d eat anything you brought me? You … witch! You have done this. You have cast your spells. You lusted for him and you bewitched him. And her death is at your door.”

  “Listen to me, Pilar. I am no witch. I know nothing of witchcraft. I was not here when Doña Isabella died.”

  Her laughter was horrible, cruel and sneering.

  “You knew nothing! You know everything. You, and those like you, are wise in the ways of the Devil. You marked her down, my innocent child. Had she not suffered enough? Nay. You wanted him. You cast a spell. And she died … my poor innocent lamb … my poor sweet child.”

  “I cast no spells…”

  “Don’t tell me your lies. Save them for others … when the time comes. They’ll not believe you any more than I do.” She thrust her hand under the pillow and when she brought it out she was holding something. To my horror I saw that it was the figure of Isabella.

  “Where did you get that? Who gave it to you?” I demanded.

  “I have it. The evidence. This will prove to them. And you will die … die … even as she died … and more cruelly.”

  “Where did you get that?” I repeated. “I saw it but once when I found it in my drawer. You put it there, Pilar.”

  “I? I have not left this bed.”

  “Then someone working for you…”

  “Tell them that when you stand before the tribunal. Tell them that when you feel the flames licking your limbs.”

  I could not bear to stay longer. I knew there was nothing I could say to her. I turned and ran out of the room, down the staircase and out into the fresh air. I did not stop running until I reached the Hacienda.

  Felipe was horrified when he heard what had happened.

  “If she has informed against you they will strike at any time. We must be ready as soon as the ship comes.”

  And so the uneasy days passed. One cannot live at such high tension day after day. One grows accustomed even to that.

  Felipe said: “I can’t understand it. If she had informed against you they would have come by now. It is because she is sick that she has taken no action. While she is confined to her room she cannot move against us. While she is ill we are safe. And the ship will be here any day.”

  I visualized the life which awaited us in Spain.

  We should live in Don Felipe’s country estate. He would be in attendance on the King at times and have to pay his visits to the gloomy Escorial and perhaps be sent off on missions to other lands, in which case we should accompany him.

  It would be a life not dissimilar to that which I had led at the Hacienda. I should never grow accustomed to Spanish solemnity, for I could never become a part of it; nor did I believe that Felipe wished me to, for he had loved me as I was and perhaps because I was so different from the women of his land.

  I must try to forget England. I was married to a Spaniard; my son was half Spanish.

  If I could but hear that my mother was safe and well and that she knew that I was, I suppose I could in time become reconciled and I wondered often what had become of John Gregory.

  Soon the ship must come and we would leave this house in which I had experienced so many emotions. I would try to start afresh when I left it—as I must.

  I talked a great deal to Honey of the future. She had adjusted herself more easily than I. She was less tempestuous—or perhaps she was more successful in disguising her feelings. Just as she had appeared to be completely happy with Edward now she seemed so with Luis.

  Her attitude was that we must accept life and do our best to be happy in it.

  Our parting would be a bitter blow to us both, but we must accept it. We must think of our reunion which both Felipe and Luis had promised us should come in time.

  My fears were almost lulled to rest when on that never-to-be-forgotten night there came the knocking on the door.

  The candles had been lighted. We sat in that gracious room—myself and Felipe, Honey and Luis. Honey was playing the lute; and how beautiful she looked with her graceful head bent a little and her eyes downcast so that her thick lashes made a dark shadow against her skin—Honey of the indestructible beauty wh
ich no hardship could impair.

  She was singing a Spanish song. We did not sing the English ones, only when we were out together in the open where none could hear.

  Then we heard the sound from without.

  We started up. Felipe came swiftly to my side. He put his arm around me. He wanted me to go up to our bedroom so that he could hide me there.

  But already we could hear the voices and knocking on the door in the portico. Someone screamed and then there were the sounds of footsteps.

  The door of the salon was flung open. I saw John Gregory and a great joy swept over me.

  “He comes from England,” I cried.

  And then I saw the man I had pictured so many times, his eyes flashing blue fire and there was mockery and murder in them. Jake Pennlyon had come to the Hacienda.

  He was looking at me and he laughed triumphantly when he saw me. “I’ve come for you,” he cried. “Which is the fellow who took my woman?”

  He was terrifying, magnificent and invincible. How many times, when I had first been brought to Tenerife, had I imagined his coming just like this.

  He had turned to Felipe. Some instinct seemed to tell him that he was the one. Then I saw Felipe throw up his arms and fall to the floor.

  “Oh, God,” I cried, for Jake’s sword was dripping with blood. I felt sick with horror. Jake had seized me.

  “Did you doubt I’d come?” he cried. “God’s Death, it’s been a long time.”

  How difficult it is to remember the details of that bewildering and horrifying night. My thoughts were dominated by one terrible truth. Felipe was dead and Jake had killed him.

  When I shut my eyes I can see the salon—the bloodstained tapestry, the bodies of men, bloody and inert lying on the mosaic tiles. Honey’s husband was among them; he lay close to Felipe. I was aware of Jake’s men stripping the walls and I realized they were taking away all objects of value.

  As I stood there staring down at the body of Felipe whom I knew now I had deeply loved, I thought of the children and ran out to the stairs which led to the nursery. Jake Pennlyon was beside me. It was so long since I had seen him, I had forgotten the power of the man.