Before I could answer, Fray Hojeda leaned forward. “This is Marisol García de Hojeda, Your Majesty,” he said quickly. “My sister-in-law.”
Isabel eyed him skeptically. “Your sister-in-law? Really?” Neither mentioned the word conversa, but both were thinking it.
“Yes,” Hojeda replied eagerly. “My brother, Gabriel—your civil prosecutor here in Seville—saw that she was in need of protection. I, of course, granted them permission to wed.”
Looking unconvinced, Isabel moved into the room, her steps mincing, as if her shoes pained her. Once she was no longer braced by the doorway and Dominican friars in black, her thick waist and wide rib cage were visible, but other than the fold beneath her chin, there was no excess fat on her. Several other monks, including the two who had appeared at the town square for the Edict of Grace—Fray Morillo and Fray de San Martín—surged into the room behind her, along with a scattering of elderly nuns, until Antonio’s little office was overcrowded.
“Well, doña Marisol García de Hojeda of Seville, you must explain to your husband that you are going tonight to the Real Alcázar, the Royal Palace, to perform at the court of Isabel, your queen. Your voice is lovely and pleases us. Where do you live? We will send a coach this evening. Come hungry.”
I hesitated, but not overlong. “Off San Pablo Street, Your Majesty. On the Calle Hojeda.”
“I and my brother will make sure she is ready, Your Majesty,” Hojeda proffered quickly, apparently seeking an invitation.
But it was not forthcoming. “Very good,” the queen said, pointedly refusing to glance in Hojeda’s direction; his expression did not change, but his eyes narrowed at the snub. Her Majesty continued to address herself to me. “My coachman will come for you. I’m in the mood for cheerful music and will see you later this evening, doña Marisol. Bring your lute.”
Still frozen in the curtsy, I caught my breath. It was presumptuous to speak to royalty unless given permission. Fortunately, doña Isabel noticed my desire to say something and hesitated the instant before turning away.
“Yes?” She lifted her dark, rust-colored brows at me; I forced myself not to quake at the faint impatience in her tone.
“I don’t play the lute, Your Majesty. It isn’t mine.”
“Then bring your lute player,” she said, with a swift gesture at Antonio, and turned her back to me dismissively.
“Your Majesty,” Fray Tomás said, and waited until she nodded for him to speak. “The lute player happens to be the young man I mentioned to you—Antonio Vargas of Seville. Don Antonio recently received his degrees in both canon and civil law from Salamanca.” Sotto voce—just loud enough for Hojeda to hear—he added, “The one I recommended replace the current civil prosecutor.”
Replace Gabriel, that is. Hojeda directed a spiteful glare at Fray Tomás. It was humiliating enough that the queen had failed to invite Gabriel or Fray Hojeda to the palace; Fray Tomás’s comment added fresh injury.
“Ah, the lad with the double degree,” Isabel said, warming a bit as she addressed herself to my lute player. “Impressive. We’ve heard good things about you and look forward to seeing more of you during our visit, don Antonio.” Her tone grew faintly sarcastic. “So he must be the reason you led me back to this closet, Fray Hojeda?”
She turned to smile at Hojeda.
“I did not expect to find him here with my sister-in-law unescorted,” Hojeda countered. “Your Majesty.”
The queen’s smile never wavered. “The fault lies not with don Antonio, then, but with your brother, does it not? He should learn to be a more conscientious husband.”
Hojeda flushed scarlet.
“I’ve seen enough,” the queen told him. He bowed, nodding so vigorously that the waddle of flesh beneath his chin jiggled.
Isabel sailed past him. As he moved toward the door after her, I caught the look he shared with her confessor. Unnoticed by the queen as she stepped into the corridor, Fray Tomás lingered, regarding Hojeda with an air of contemptuous superiority, while Hojeda, his lips still curving in a frozen smile, shot the other monk a purely hostile look.
Fray Tomás turned his back to the abbot Hojeda with pronounced dismissiveness, and instead glanced at Antonio, who still clutched the lute.
“It’s good to see you again in the flesh, don Antonio,” the Inquisitor said, his tone far warmer than his manner toward the local abbot. “I trust your journey here was unremarkable?”
Admirably poised, Antonio gave a single long, gracious nod that served as greeting and answer. “I trust yours was as well, Fray Tomás, although I must admit I’m surprised to see your traveling companion. No one told me Her Majesty was coming.”
The corners of the monk’s lipless mouth curved upward, revealing small gray teeth like jagged merlons against a black sky, but the muscles around his eyes never moved. “I look forward to speaking with you tonight,” he said silkily, “after you perform for Her Majesty.”
“It will be my pleasure, sir,” Antonio replied. Although he treated the Dominican with the courtesy due a stranger, the familiarity in his tone disturbed me.
“Fray Tomás!” the queen called sweetly out in the hallway. When the monk failed to respond at once, her tone grew faintly irritable, her manner of address less polite. “Torquemada! I am waiting!”
Even then, the Dominican’s features failed to shift. He neither tensed nor hastened but glanced back at Hojeda to hold his venomous gaze an instant longer, his own once more so breathtakingly cold and predatory that I lowered mine rather than risk meeting it.
I’d heard the surname before. The famous Dominican cardinal, Juan de Torquemada, had died when I was a little girl. I knew of him because he was greatly admired by my parents and Antonio and his family. That Torquemada had vigorously defended the conversos in the northern city of Toledo, successfully reminding Catholic officials in Spain that, under the church’s own ancient laws, recent converts and Old Christians were equal in the eyes of God. Juan de Torquemada admitted that converso blood ran in his family.
I looked at Fray Tomás’s hazel eyes and dark complexion and decided he was likely related. The name was an uncommon one.
“Torquemada!” Isabel snapped again. Only then did the monk respond by walking slowly out into the corridor to join his queen, his movements as regal and unhurried as hers, his air one of such limitless power one might have thought he was the monarch, not she.
* * *
With a dark glance at Antonio, Fray Hojeda held the door open as the others filed out; the tiny office emptied almost as quickly as it had been filled, leaving the two of us and poor Máriam, still owl-eyed and stiff after holding a low curtsy for so long. Hojeda shut the door behind him with a resounding slam.
My lute player and I remained silent until the footsteps receded into silence.
“The Hojedas are using you, you know,” Antonio said with quiet anger.
I studied him coldly. “How so?” Admittedly, I had decided that Fray Hojeda had permitted the marriage only because Gabriel would inherit my father’s property one day—but I was confused by the friar’s sudden eagerness to claim me as a relative.
“Isabel’s official reason for not appointing Hojeda as Grand Inquisitor—for not giving him any position, in fact—was that he is too radical. He claims all conversos are heretics by virtue of their ‘unclean’ blood. As King Fernando is a converso, Her Majesty took offense.”
“So,” I said slowly, “Hojeda was trying to prove to her he’d changed.”
Antonio nodded. “Especially since she’s traveling with Fray Tomás—Torquemada. Rumor has it she’ll soon appoint him Grand Inquisitor—the position Hojeda thinks he deserves.”
I believed Antonio but lifted a brow and pretended to be unconvinced. “Why should I believe you?” I countered. “Obviously, you’re trying to take Gabriel’s job away.”
“Not I. Neither Fray Morillo nor Torquemada feels Gabriel is competent—and of course, there’s bad blood between the Hojedas and Torquemad
a, who has the queen’s ear.” He paused. “The real question you should be asking is why Gabriel chose to bring you here at precisely the time Isabel was touring this building. And why Fray Hojeda brought Her Majesty back to this office when there is nothing to see but a clerk and his files.”
“To see me, I suppose,” I answered.
“And to show me neglecting my duties by entertaining a young married woman. With the door closed.”
When we were sweethearts, I’d rarely heard Antonio utter a negative word; to hear him speak about such disgusting politics made me want to cover my ears.
“I’ve heard enough about the Hojedas and Torquemada,” I said stiffly. “The queen has commanded us to perform for her tonight. Shouldn’t we be preparing?”
Something very like embarrassment rippled over his features. “You’re right, of course,” he said softly.
Antonio and I didn’t share another unnecessary word. The unexpected encounter with Isabel and the realization that I had just received a royal summons to perform left me too shaken to cling to my rage, despite the fact that my tutor’s friendship with the Dominican Fray Tomás disturbed me deeply. Instead, Antonio and I agreed on what songs we would play that evening for the queen and quickly rehearsed the tunes and lyrics. Antonio admitted that he had twice been at the queen’s court in Valladolid, a day’s journey from the university at Salamanca, and instructed me on the basics of proper behavior around Her Majesty. By the time my husband’s driver returned to take me home an hour later, I had yet to deal with my sense of shock over all that had happened.
Máriam and I retreated to my chambers, where she immediately stripped me of my mourning gown, helped me bathe, and unbraided my hair. I was dazed during the process; seeing Antonio reopened an old hurt that made me want to weep. Together with my still-raw grief and my nerves over the thought of singing for the queen, it made me want to run across the street to my real home and find comfort in my father’s arms—but those were now closed to me.
Instead, I fought to steel myself and listened to Máriam rattle on about whether I ought to dispense with black mourning, as it hardly seemed appropriate for a royal performance; I nodded without really hearing what I was agreeing with. Before I knew it, she had pulled out a dark blue velvet dress—one I’d had made back in the fall intending to wear this past Christmas—and spread it out on the bed to ease the wrinkles.
At one point, I found myself sitting in one of the rickety chairs in front of the basin in the antechamber, staring into the mirror as Máriam brushed out my hair. By then, I was dressed in my finest white silk chemise and Máriam had convinced me to put on my mother’s sapphire teardrop earrings. A knock came at the door, and Máriam answered it to tell Blanca that I would be coming down for dinner that evening with don Gabriel, as I needed to speak with him about the summons from the queen.
Out in the corridor, Blanca let go an ear-shattering squeal. “The queen? Queen Isabel?” She peppered us with questions: How did Isabel look? What did she say? What was she wearing? Did she have a gold crown, or, as the simple and pious rumored, a halo like the Madonna? Was she as saintly as everyone said? Who was with her?
Blanca leaned forward in the doorway, watching as Máriam pulled out a long strand of my loose hair, holding it at the ends in order to gently brush the tangles out. Reflected in the mirror above Máriam’s shoulder, Blanca’s pale face was flushed, her features animated with excitement. For some reason, the sight made me break from sheer strain: Pampered and primped, my hair black tentacles in Máriam’s fingers, I dissolved into wracking sobs, unsure precisely which emotion—heartbreak, rage, grief, anxiety—had pushed me over the edge.
I remember Blanca’s eyes in the mirror, round and blue and thoroughly puzzled, as she recoiled quietly back into the hall. I was far from the joyful creature she expected, and she disappeared as I dropped my chin and let my tears drip onto the breast of my fine silk chemise.
Even then, Máriam was undeterred in her preparations. Once my damp emotional storm quieted, she put a cloth soaked in cold water on my face and made me lie quietly for several minutes. In the end, I saw myself transformed from a red-eyed, hiccuping girl into the same sort of gorgeous dark-haired, velvet-clad creature my mother had become the night of her death.
* * *
Gabriel was late coming home that evening. Half an hour after he was due, wheels rumbled against the cobblestones outside my bedroom window. I parted the curtains with my fingers and peered down at the black coach riding in through the gate. At first I worried that Isabel’s carriage had arrived early for me, but before it passed out of sight, I glimpsed the crest painted on the door: the black-and-white fleur-de-lis formed into a cross above the motto Laudare, Benedicere, Praedicare. Dressed in the dark blue velvet gown with seed pearls lining the stiff matching cap and a few pearls woven into my uncovered braid, I stepped from my bedroom through the antechamber and peered from the covered loggia across the courtyard. Fray Hojeda—a great, thick blur of white topped by a black cape—hurried along the covered loggia from the driveway to the dining hall at a rate of speed admirable for his size. Even at that distance, the slam of the heavy dining-room door betrayed his mood. Gabriel wasn’t with him.
I let Máriam put a matching blue cloak around my shoulders—it wasn’t particularly cold, but the sky was overcast and a few halfhearted raindrops splattered against the dust—and hurried off across the desolate courtyard to the halls. I left Fray Hojeda undisturbed in the dining chamber, choosing to linger in a nearby sitting room with the door open so that I could watch my husband pass by when he returned home. The sitting room was off the kitchen; with the door pulled one-quarter ajar, I was hidden in shadows, able to see only the dining-hall entrance and hear those inside. I listened as Fray Hojeda called impatiently for wine; Lauro’s lumbering steps in the kitchen followed, along with the tinkling of glass and liquid, and finally his shuffling progress into the dining hall.
“When will Gabriel be home?” Fray Hojeda demanded, and Lauro gave an inaudible reply. This was followed by Hojeda’s insistence that Gabriel come immediately to the dining chamber upon his return and not stop to wash his face and hands for supper.
Lauro shuffled back to the kitchen.
By then the sun was beginning to set, taking the heat with it. My tiny sitting room lacked a fireplace, and I jiggled my legs to keep them warm, unwilling to close the door and block my ability to hear what transpired between the brothers. A quarter hour later, a second carriage rumbled onto the brick driveway. Soon Gabriel emerged onto the covered loggia, his head down, his mood dark and distracted. He would have turned toward the courtyard to head for his chambers first, but Lauro came out of the back kitchen entrance to intercept him.
Lauro stood a dozen strides away with his back to me. His stooped spine made him the shorter, allowing me full view of my husband’s pallid, scowling face set atop a gladiator’s too-thick neck and shoulders. Lauro’s words caused Gabriel’s scowl to deepen; he let go a hiss of frustration before turning and entering the dining hall.
Within an instant of Gabriel disappearing behind the door, Fray Hojeda began to speak earnestly, in a low, steady tone.
Not another sound came from Gabriel, however, until he rang for Lauro a few minutes later and asked him to summon me. Rather than wait for Lauro, I hurried to the dining-hall door and knocked timidly before entering and bowing to my husband and his brother.
Gabriel was standing staring into the fire, still in his cloak. Hojeda stood an arm’s length away facing his brother’s shoulder. At the sound of my approach, Gabriel turned; when he saw me, he let go a soft gasp. I was beautiful and knew it. I lifted my skirts and twirled slowly around so that he could enjoy Máriam’s handiwork, thinking of how my mother had so often done the same for my appreciative father.
I smiled at my husband and greeted him cheerfully.
Carnal appreciation glimmered in Gabriel’s eyes. “You look lovely, Marisol.”
As the friar turned toward me,
Gabriel went to the long dining table and sat down. Hojeda pulled a chair from the table across from Gabriel and gestured for me to sit as well. I did, and forced myself not to flinch or recoil as the friar put a hand on the back of my chair and lowered his round, massive head to the level of mine.
“You do look quite nice my dear,” Hojeda said, but there was little sincerity in his tone; it galled him to treat me kindly. His breath smelled of raw garlic and the sour wine resting in his goblet on the mantel. “It’s modest enough to suit the queen. But have you decided yet on what you’ll perform for her?”
I nodded and explained that Antonio and I had taken advantage of our lesson period to rehearse what we would sing at court. I even mentioned the songs.
Hojeda listened carefully and gave a grudging nod. “You must understand,” he said, “you’ll be going alone. Not even a chaperone from your household.” Squeezing the wooden edge of my chair, his fingers twitched at the notion.
I understood, all right. Fray Hojeda, who was most responsible for convincing Queen Isabel of the need for an Inquisition in Seville, wasn’t invited to court tonight, even though his conversa sister-in-law was. His clouded gray-green eyes, the whites yellowed from years of excess, were narrowed with frustration at not being able to control my every move in front of the queen.
“That’s why it’s important that you remember everything,” Hojeda said. It took all of my resolve not to turn away from his sour breath. “This Fray Tomás, this Torquemada…” He spat out the name, then forced his tone to become more pleasant, though his words were anything but. “He’s an interloper, trying to steal power that doesn’t belong to him. He was abbot of the Dominican monastery in Segovia, and quite by luck became the queen’s confessor. He had nothing to do with the Inquisition—but now he’s trying to steal everything, to become Grand Inquisitor, by manipulating Her Majesty’s sincerity for the faith. Do you understand?”
I nodded; I knew raw jealousy when I saw it.
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