‘I went in secret, Holy Prior.’
‘Your penance must be harsh.’
‘It may be, Holy Prior, that my sin will be readily forgiven me because had I not gone in secret I should never have discovered the evil that was going on in the house of my mistress.’
Ojeda’s voice shook with excitement. ‘Pray continue,’ he said.
‘This is Holy Week,’ went on the young man. ‘I had forgotten that it was also the eve of the Jewish Passover.’
‘Go on, go on,’ cried Ojeda, unable now to suppress his eagerness.
‘My mistress had secreted me in her room, and there we made love. But, Holy Prior, I became aware of much bustle in the house. Many people seemed to be calling, and this was not usual. There were footsteps outside the room in which I lay with my mistress, and I grew alarmed. It occurred to me that her father had discovered my presence in the house and was calling together his friends to surprise us and perhaps kill me.’
‘And this was what they were doing?’
‘They had not a thought of me, Holy Prior, as I was to discover. I could no longer lie there, so I rose hastily and dressed. I told my mistress that I wished to leave as soon as I could, and she, seeming to catch my fear, replied that the sooner I was out of the house the better. So we waited until there was quietness on the stairs, and then we slipped out of her room. But as we reached the hall we heard sounds in a room nearby, and my mistress, in panic, opened a door and pushed me into a cupboard and shut the door. She was only just in time, for her father came into the hall and greeted friends who had just arrived. They were close to the cupboard in which I was hidden, and they did not lower their voices; so I heard all that was said. The friends had arrived at the house to celebrate the Passover. My mistress’s father laughed aloud and jeered at Christianity. He laughed because he, a professing Christian, in secret practised the Jewish religion.’
Ojeda clenched his fists and closed his eyes. ‘And so we have caught them,’ he cried; ‘we have caught them in all their wickedness. You did right, my friend; you did right to come to me.’
‘Then, Holy Prior, I am forgiven?’
‘Forgiven! You are blessed. You were led to that house that you might bring retribution on those who insult Christianity. Be assured the holy saints will intercede for you. You will be forgiven the sin you have committed, since you bring these evil doers to justice. Now tell me, the name of your mistress’s father? The house where he lives? Ah, he will not long live in his evil state!’
‘Holy Prior, my mistress . . .’
‘If she is innocent all will be well with her.’
‘I would not speak against her.’
‘You have saved her from eternal damnation. Living in such an evil house, it may well be that she is in need of salvation. Have no fear, my son. Your sins are forgiven you.’
* * *
The Marrano family was brought before Ojeda.
‘It is useless,’ he told them, ‘to deny your sins. I have evidence of them which cannot be refuted. You must furnish me with a list of all those who took part with you in the Jewish Passover.’
The head of the house spoke earnestly to Ojeda. ‘Most Holy Prior,’ he said, ‘we have sinned against the Holy Catholic Church. We reverted to the religion of our Fathers. We crave pardon. We ask for our sins to be forgiven and that we may be taken back into the Church.’
‘There must have been others who joined in these barbarous rites with you. Who were these?’
‘Holy Prior, I beg of you, do not ask me to betray my friends.’
‘But I do ask it,’ said Ojeda.
‘I could not give their names. They came in secrecy and they were promised secrecy.’
‘It would be wiser for you to name them.’
‘I cannot do it, Holy Prior.’
Ojeda felt a violent hatred rising in his heart. It should be possible now to take this man to the torture chambers for a little persuasion. Oh, he could stand there very nobly defending his friends. How would he fare if he were put on the rack, or had his limbs dislocated on the hoist? That would be a very different story.
And here am I, thought Ojeda, with a miserable sinner before me; and I am unable to act.
‘Your penance would be less severe if you gave us the names of your friends,’ Ojeda reminded him.
But the man was adamant. He would not betray his friends.
Ojeda imposed the penance, and since these Marranos begged to be received back into the Christian Church, there was nothing to be done but admit them.
When he was alone Ojeda railed against the laws of Castile. Had the Inquisition been effective in Castile, that man would have been taken to a dungeon; there he would have been questioned; there he would have betrayed his friends; and instead of a few penances, a few souls saved, there might have been hundreds. Nor would they have escaped with a light sentence. They would have been found guilty of heresy, and the true punishment for heresy was surely death . . . death by fire that the sinner might have a foretaste of Hell’s torment for which he was destined.
But as yet the Inquisition had not been introduced into Castile.
* * *
Ojeda set out for Avila, where Torquemada was busy with the plans for the monastery of Saint Thomas.
He received Ojeda with as much pleasure as it was possible for him to show, for Ojeda was a man after his own heart.
Ojeda lost no time in coming to the point.
‘I am on my way to Cordova, where the sovereigns are at this time in residence,’ he explained. ‘I have uncovered certain iniquity in Seville which cannot be passed over. I shall ask for an audience and then implore the Queen to introduce the Inquisition into this land.’
He then told Torquemada what had happened in the house in the juderia.
‘But this is deeply shocking,’ cried Torquemada. ‘I could wish that the young Guzman had gone to the house on a different mission – but the ways of God are inscrutable. In the cupboard he heard enough to condemn these people to death – if as much consideration had been given here in Spain to spiritual life as has been given to civil laws. The facts should be laid before the Queen without delay.’
‘And who could do that more eloquently than yourself? It is for this reason that I have come to you now. I pray you accompany me to Cordova, there to add your pleas to mine.’
Torquemada looked with some regret at the plans he had been studying. He forced his mind from a contemplation of exquisite sculpture. This was his duty. The building of a Christian state from which all heresy had been eliminated – that was a greater achievement than the finest monastery in the world.
* * *
Torquemada stood before the Queen. A few paces behind her stood Ferdinand, and behind Torquemada was Ojeda.
Ojeda had recounted the story of what the young man had heard in the cupboard.
‘And this,’ cried Torquemada, ‘is an everyday occurrence in Your Highness’s city of Seville.’
‘I cannot like the young man’s mission in that house,’ mused Isabella.
‘Highness, we deplore it. But his discovery is of the utmost importance; and who shall say whether or not this particular young man was led to sin, not by the devil, but by the saints? Perhaps in this way we have been shown our duty?’
Isabella was deeply shocked. To her it seemed sad that certain of her subjects should not only be outside the Christian faith but that they should revile it. Clearly some action must be taken.
She did not trust Sixtus. Yet Ferdinand was eager for the setting up of the Inquisition. She knew, of course, that his hope was that by its action riches would be diverted, from those who now possessed them, to the royal coffers. She knew that many of the New Christians were rich men, for the Jews had a way of enriching themselves. She needed money. But she would not so far forget her sense of honour and justice as to set up the Inquisition for the sake of monetary gain.
She hesitated. Three pairs of fanatical eyes watched her intently while the fate of Spain hu
ng in the balance.
Ojeda and Torquemada believed that torture and death should be the reward of the heretic. Isabella agreed with them. Since they were destined for eternal Hell fire, what was a little baptismal burning on earth? Ferdinand was a fanatic too. When he thought of money and possessions his eyes flashed every bit as fiercely as Torquemada’s did for the faith.
Isabella remembered the vow she had once made before Torquemada; he was reminding her of it now.
An all-Christian Spain. It was her dream. But was she to give the Pope more influence than he already had?
Yet, considering her recent victories over him, she believed she – and Ferdinand with her – could handle him, should the occasion arise. Therefore why should she hesitate to set up the Inquisition in Castile that the land might be purged of heretics?
She turned to Ferdinand. ‘We will ask His Holiness for permission to set up the Inquisition in Castile,’ she said.
The waiting men relaxed.
Isabella had decided the fate of Spain, the fate of thousands.
Chapter VI
LA SUSANNA
It was spring in Toledo. Isabella rode through the streets between the Moorish buildings, and with her was Ferdinand and her two-year-old son, Prince Juan.
This was an important occasion. The Cortes was assembled in Toledo.
Isabella, so simple in her tastes on ordinary occasions, displayed the utmost splendour when she took her place at affairs of state. Now she was dressed in crimson brocade which was embroidered with gold, cut away to show a white satin petticoat encrusted with pearls; and seated on her horse she made a beautiful picture.
The people cheered her. They did not forget that she had brought justice into the land. They recalled the reigns of her father and half-brother, when favouritism had ruled in the palace and anarchy on the highway. Yet this young woman with the serene and gentle smile had been responsible for the change.
The sight of the little Prince in brocade and satin, as fine as that worn by his parents, warmed their hearts. There he sat on his pony, smiling and accepting the applause of the crowd as though he were a man instead of a very small boy.
‘Long live Isabella and Ferdinand! Long live the Prince of the Asturias!’ cried the people.
The citizens of Toledo were sure that this little one, when he reached manhood, would be as wise as his parents.
Into the great hall they went, and the first duty of that Cortes was to swear allegiance to the young Prince and proclaim him heir to the throne.
Isabella watched her son, and her smile became even more gentle. She was so proud of him. Indeed, she was proud of all her children. She wished that she had more time to spend with them. It was one of her greatest regrets that her duties called her so continually from the company of her children.
But she was dedicated to a great task. She was already achieving that which she had set out to do; she had made of Castile a law-abiding state. Galicia and Leon were following Castile. Once she had made them a Christian state, perhaps she would be able to think a little more frequently of her own family. For the time being she must leave them in the care of others; and only on rare occasions could she be with them.
Now little Juan was the recognised heir to the thrones of Castile and Aragon. Isabella determined that, before he reached these thrones, she and Ferdinand would have done their duty, so that it would not only be Castile and Aragon that he inherited but the whole of Spain, including the kingdom of Granada.
The Cortes then discussed the finances of the country; and it was agreeable to realise that these had been placed on a much firmer foundation than had existed when Isabella had inherited the throne.
But the most important edicts of that Cortes were the rules against the Jews, which were being reinforced.
These were unanimously adopted.
‘All Jews in the kingdom to wear a red circle of cloth on the shoulders of their cloaks that they may be recognised as Jews by all who behold them.
‘All Jews to keep within the juderias, the gates of which shall be locked at nightfall.
‘No Jew is to take up a profession as innkeeper, apothecary, doctor or surgeon.’
The persecution had been renewed.
* * *
Alonso de Ojeda was on the scent. As he walked through the streets of Seville he promised himself that very soon these carefree citizens would see sights to startle them.
The Jews did not believe that the laws were to be taken seriously. They had found living easy for too many years, thought Ojeda grimly.
They were to be seen without their red circles; they continued to practise as surgeons and doctors, and many people patronised them – for they were noted as being very skilled in these professions. They were not keeping to their ghettos.
They shrugged aside the new law. They could be seen sunning themselves under the palms and acacias, or strolling with their families along the banks of the Guadalquivir.
They had not realised that the old sun-drenched life was fast coming to an end.
One of Ojeda’s fellow Dominicans brought a pamphlet to him and, as Ojeda read it, he smiled cynically.
Some Jew who was a little too sure of himself had written this.
What, he demanded, were these new laws but an attack on the Jewish community? The country was under the spell of priests and monks. Was that the way to prosperity? The Christian religion sounded impressive in theory; but how was it in practice?
‘Blasphemy! Blasphemy!’ cried Ojeda, and hurried with all speed to Torquemada, who, when he had read the pamphlet, was in full agreement with Ojeda that something must be done immediately.
He went to see Isabella.
* * *
Isabella, reading the pamphlet, shared the horror of the Dominicans.
She sent for Cardinal Mendoza and Torquemada.
‘You see, Cardinal,’ she said, ‘your plan of persuasion has failed.’
The Cardinal answered: ‘Highness, dire punishment will prove no more effective than persuasion, I feel sure.’
Torquemada’s fiery eyes blazed in his emaciated face. ‘Persuasion has undoubtedly failed,’ he cried. ‘We will at least try dire punishment.’
‘I fear, Cardinal,’ said Isabella, ‘that the time has come to do so.’
‘What are Your Highness’s orders?’ Mendoza asked.
‘I desire,’ said Isabella, ‘that you and Tomás de Torquemada appoint Inquisitors; and as the town of Seville would appear to be more tainted with heresy than any other in our dominion, I pray you begin there.’
Tomás de Torquemada flashed a glance of triumph at the Cardinal. His way was to be the accepted one. The catechism had proved fruitless.
The Cardinal was resigned. He saw that there was nothing he could do to hold back the tide of persecution. That Jew and his pamphlet had caused his race a great deal of harm.
The Cardinal had no alternative but to go with the stream.
‘My lord Cardinal,’ said Torquemada, ‘let us obey the Queen’s command and appoint Inquisitors for Seville. I suggest two monks of my order – Miguel Morillo and Juan de San Martino. Do you agree?’
‘I agree,’ said the Cardinal.
* * *
In the narrow streets of Seville, dominated by the buildings of a Moorish character, the people lounged. It was warm on that October day, and ladies wearing high combs and black mantillas sat on the balconies overlooking the crowds gathering in the streets.
This was in the nature of a feast day, and the people of Seville loved feast days.
A man and his family sat on the balcony of one of the handsomest houses in the town, overlooking the streets. With them sat a young boy strumming a lute and another with a flute.
People paused to glance at the balcony as they passed along the street. They had been looking at Diego de Susan, who was known as one of the richest merchants in Seville.
They whispered of him: ‘They say he owns ten million maravedis.’
‘Is there so muc
h money in all Spain?’
‘He earned it himself. He is a shrewd merchant.’
‘Like all these Jews.’
‘He has something besides his fortune. Is it true that his daughter is the loveliest girl in Seville?’
‘Take a look at her. There she is, on the balcony. La Susanna, we call her here in Seville. She is his natural daughter and he dotes on her, they tell me. She is well guarded; and needs to be. She is not only full of beauty but full of promise, eh?’
And those who glanced up at the balcony saw La Susanna beside her father. Her large black eyes were slumbrous; her small face an enchanting oval, her heavy black hair caught up with combs which sparkled in the sunshine; her white, ringed hands waved the scarlet and gold fan before her exquisite features.
Diego de Susan was much aware of his daughter. She was his delight, and his great regret was that she was not his legitimate child. He had not been able to resist the temptation to take her into his household and bring her up with all the privileges of one born in wedlock.
He was afraid for La Susanna. She was so beautiful. He feared that the fate of her mother might befall her; and so he guarded her well. This he intended to do until he could make a brilliant marriage for her, which he was sure he would do, since she was so beautiful and he was so rich.
But now his attention was turned to the events of this day.
He had felt a little uneasy when he had heard the proclamation read in the streets.
Great suspicion had been aroused concerning the secret habits of certain New Christians – those Jews who had embraced the Christian religion only to revert in secret to their own faith. This, went on the proclamation, was the worst sort of heresy, and Inquisitors had been appointed to stamp it out. It was the duty of all citizens to watch their neighbours and if they discovered aught that was suspicious they must report it to the Inquisitors or their servants with all speed.
Spain for the Sovereigns Page 14
