Ledicia promised she would.
Mamá followed us down to the street and astonished me and probably everyone else by hugging me. “The Almighty sent you to comfort this family.” She stroked my cheek before she stepped away.
And He had sent Pero to torment and frighten us.
The sun had already set and night had fallen when we reached Segovia. After Belo greeted the city guards and gave them a purse, we passed through the city gate. Once inside, we hastened to Don Solomon’s house.
Our host was already asleep, but his nosy daughter greeted us and turned from me to Papá. “This one is still traveling? She isn’t betrothed yet?”
Belo said he was tired.
She led Belo and Papá away and then returned to take me to a bedroom and a bed shared by her three granddaughters. I stretched out on the edge, taking as little space as I could. I prayed to be surrounded by God and His angels, counted my many worries, and finally slept.
Early in the morning, in the dining room, Belo told Don Solomon what had befallen Pero. A warm breeze wafted through the windows. The long trestle table was laid with bread and white cheese.
“Please—” Don Solomon gestured at the food and helped himself to a wedge of cheese. Then he sat on the bench that was drawn up to the table, with his back to it.
We served ourselves. Belo sat next to Don Solomon, and I sat next to Belo. Papá took a folding chair by the fireplace.
After we thanked God for the food, Don Solomon said, “Your grandson picked a bad time. I doubt you’ll get His Excellency’s help.” He told us that the bishop’s parents and his grandmother, who were dead, had been determined to have Judaized. The Inquisition wanted to burn their bones to punish them.
I shuddered.
“His Excellency is treading carefully in hopes that Their Majesties will keep that from happening.” Don Solomon flecked a speck of cheese off his scarlet robe. “You’d have done better if you’d gone to Ávila.”
Belo said, “Torquemada is there?”
The grand inquisitor.
Don Solomon nodded. “He’s directing the questioning from the priory there, but your grandson is here.”
Belo turned to me. “Loma, the inquisitors will find Pero innocent if Torquemada tells them to.”
Belo and Papá decided not to rush to Ávila in hopes of seeing Fra Torquemada before sunset, when the Sabbath would begin.
“Once we see Pero,” Belo said, “we may know what to say in Ávila.”
Don Solomon said he’d take us to the house where Pero was being held. “I know the inquisitors.”
Papá put his bowl on the table. “Let’s see what they’ve done to him.”
My chest tightened.
The Inquisition was being conducted in a private house that had been rented to the inquisitors. In silence, Papá and I walked side by side through the city. Ahead of us, Belo strolled with Don Solomon, setting a slow pace that irritated me. They talked, and once—I could hardly believe it—Belo laughed. I began to count steps.
Why did the Inquisition care that Pero had gambled, which was probably his offense? Gambling was a crime, not heresy.
One hundred and thirty-two steps. Why had he been brought here and not tried in Alcalá de Henares?
My worries revolved from fears for Pero to fears for us to fears of the sights I would soon see and the screams I would hear.
We left the judería. Ahead, bells clanged from a church, announcing nine in the morning. Soon we reached it, with a horseshoe-arch entryway and long porch lined with more arches, each of them reminding me of gaping mouths waiting to swallow Jews.
I reached for Papá’s hand. He clasped mine, but his was hot and sweaty and brought little comfort. I hung on, though, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
Finally, we reached a sad little triangular plaza—no fountain, no trees.
Don Solomon stopped and gestured across the plaza at a long house, three stories at one end, tapering to one story at the other. The doorway arched, reminding me of the church we’d just passed. The door knocker was a foot-long iron lizard.
An omen! I touched Bela’s amulet.
Don Solomon raised the knocker and let go, producing a clank.
26
A friar answered the door. When he saw Don Solomon, he smiled, revealing two missing lower teeth. We were ushered in.
The domed vestibule ceiling made me feel like we really had entered a mouth. The air was hot and still, as it would be inside a leviathan. I heard no screams.
Archways to the left and right led to seemingly endless corridors of arches. Across from us and against the wall on our right rose a stone staircase with sixteen steps that ended in a second-story balcony. On the wall next to the stairs hung a tapestry of a blue beast with a horse’s head.
The friar welcomed us with a long paragraph of words, like honored, occasion, delight, extraordinary. I caught a whiff of incense.
Don Solomon introduced us and explained why we’d come.
The friar said we couldn’t see Pero. “The questioning is at a delicate phase. Regrettably, no one may see him. Perhaps in a week. Can you forgive us?”
Pero would stop expecting us in a week! My breath felt shallow. This very friar could be examining us soon. He was tall and appeared strong. Would he flog us and apologize while he was applying the lash?
“No forgiveness is necessary.” Belo held out both hands, palms up. “We respect the Holy Office.”
That was what the Inquisition was called.
Don Solomon stroked his beard. “Don Joseph and I were talking earlier about the beauty of your monastery. I told him that last year I was allowed to contribute a silver candelabrum. He—”
Belo broke in. “I said I wished for such an honor. I’ve added to the majesty of the cathedral in Alcalá de Henares.”
The friar said nothing.
“I share my father’s wish,” Papá said, “for myself and for my daughter from her dowry.”
Which I was unlikely to need.
The friar stroked his shaved chin. “I’ll ask my superior if an exception may be made.” He began to turn away from us.
Belo held up a hand. “I hope you’ll also allow a physician to visit my grandson at our expense if we believe one is required.”
“I’ll see.” The friar climbed the stairs, the keys at his waist tinkling. His sandals slapped the steps.
We waited without speaking. The floor was tiled in brown- and rose-colored squares. I started to count, but I had only reached twenty when the friar returned.
“I’m so very pleased to be allowed to oblige you. A physician will be permitted as well, if you think that necessary. Come.”
He led us into the corridor to the right of the entrance. On our right, the arches were inset with windows that looked out on the plaza. On the left, a pattern repeated itself: below every third arch was a closed wooden door.
At the fourth door, he stopped and chose a key from nine others on his belt. “We haven’t prepared him for visitors.”
The stink! I raised my sleeve to my nose, which failed to block the smell. Pero had soiled himself. There was also the acrid odor of vomit.
The friar bustled in and raised the two windows, which looked out on the courtyard, where a fountain spouted glittering water.
Papá rushed to Pero, who drooped on a bench against the wall to our left, and embraced him despite the stench, blocking him from view. “Son, are you all right?”
Belo and I waited just inside the door. Don Solomon left entirely, murmuring that he’d be in the corridor.
Papá straightened and went to the window. Pero wore only his shirt and hose. His left arm rested naturally on his knee, but his right arm twisted at the elbow, and his hand stuck out unnaturally.
Tears ran steadily down his cheeks. His face was pasty, grayish, with dark smudges under his eyes. They must have taken his jewelry. Of everything, that awakened my pity.
“You came, Loma.” He beckoned me with his left hand.
<
br /> Holding my breath, I went to him, and he whispered, “Lizard, I gambled that you’d bring Belo to save me, but if luck hadn’t gone my way . . .”
He hadn’t betrayed us so far, but he still would if we didn’t get him released.
I whispered back, “We’ll bring you home as soon as we can.” Please understand it won’t be today. I stepped away.
In an ordinary voice, he said, “I can’t move my right hand and I can’t feel it. My elbow is in agony.” On a rising note, he added, “They left me like this.”
Papá said, “We’ll come back with a physician. Be brave.”
Belo opened his hands again. “Father, is there a message we can carry for you to Fra Torquemada? We’re calling on him after the Sabbath.”
Belo was so clever! The inquisitors wouldn’t dare torture or interrogate Pero again until they knew how the wind blew from the grand inquisitor. Pero would also understand what we were up to.
The friar said, “Wish him good health and say we’re toiling to do Christ’s work.”
We returned in an hour with clean clothes from Don Solomon and a converso physician known to Don Solomon, because Christians weren’t allowed to be treated by Jewish doctors.
Hamdun came, too, to wash Pero before the physician examined him. I waited outside the chamber while he was cleaned and examined, because I couldn’t see my brother’s nakedness.
How kind Hamdun was. I heard him say, “There. Ah, I see that must hurt. There. You’ll feel better when you’re clean. Almost finished.”
Hamdun came out with dirty washcloths and soiled clothing, and the physician went in.
After a minute or two, Pero screamed. I winced. My heart-hatred, seemingly, didn’t keep me from feeling along with him.
I learned later that he’d been flogged, and his shirt had stuck to the drying blood. The scream had come when the shirt was removed.
Papá came to the door and waved me in. The air was better already.
The doctor probed Pero’s elbow, producing squeals from the patient and fresh winces from me. I caught Belo watching me.
“I have to move your elbow back to where it should be. It will hurt.”
Pero shrieked, moaned, then fell silent.
The physician waited.
In a surprised voice, Pero said, “It feels better.”
A few minutes later, we left. We spent the Sabbath with Don Solomon and his family, and not even Papá returned to Pero before we left for Ávila.
We sat in the meeting room of the monastery of Santo Tomás, four of us clustered on leather folding armchairs. I was between Belo and Papá. Across from us, the grand inquisitor pressed his fingertips together close to his chest. Behind him stood a marble statue of a monk. Above the statue’s head hung a painting of a haloed Christ floating in the air, flanked by two other haloed figures. Below them, a skeleton extended its arms and legs over a jumble of naked people, seemingly suffering in hell.
Belo had explained why we’d come and had ended by protesting Pero’s innocence. “I’m sure his conversion was sincere. His worldly future would have been more promising if he’d remained a Jew.”
The grand inquisitor said nothing.
On the journey here, Belo had told me that Fra Torquemada was known for refusing bribes. I wondered why he’d need money anyway, since the Inquisition took everything that belonged to an accused. He’d have an endless supply.
If he didn’t want money, what could we offer him?
He didn’t look rich. His robe was brown wool, which must have been horrible in this heat. The cross that hung around his neck was wood and the chain brass.
We waited. My heart thumped.
He was older than Belo, with furrows between his eyebrows, a pushed-in nose, and fleshy cheeks. The hair in his tonsure was curly. His power, I thought, emanated from his small, sharp eyes.
Finally, he spoke—to me. “Are you wed, child?”
Even the grand inquisitor wanted to know! I fought hysterical laughter, swallowed, and said I wasn’t.
“Betrothed?”
“No, Your Excellency.”
“I am Fra Torquemada, not Excellency.” He turned to Papá. “Why not?”
“She’s devoted to her grandfather.”
“Is this true?”
I nodded.
“You’re to be commended, child.” He fell silent again.
I tried to think how I could use his approval for Pero’s sake.
“We’re a virtuous family.” I breathed shallowly and wished my heart would settle. “Pero tried to persuade me to convert, too.”
I sensed Belo’s focus shift to me.
“What did he say?” Fra Torquemada asked.
“That the Almighty has turned His favor to the Christians, which God proved by sending His Son.”
He nodded. “You disagreed?”
I couldn’t argue with the grand inquisitor! Or tell him I hated Christians for their cruelty at Málaga and for making Belo have spells and for thinking we would poison their wells and for kidnapping me when I was a little girl.
I opened and closed my mouth like a fish. At last, words came. “I wasn’t sure.”
He raised bushy eyebrows. “Your brother may yet teach you to believe.”
I nodded. Let him think so.
“When he was named in this case,” Fra Torquemada said, “I suspected malice.”
Who had named him?
Fra Torquemada turned to Belo. “Your aid to the Church has been noticed.”
Belo thanked him and turned his palms up in his lap. “I intend to continue, and my son will as well.”
The grand inquisitor did take bribes!
Papá said he would. “And Loma will exert the influence she has.”
“As the Lord wills,” Fra Torquemada said. “I might have traveled to you if you hadn’t come here. I’m involved in a secular matter.”
“Just tell me,” Belo said, “and I’ll do what I can.”
“Torquemada in Palencia—you know it?”
Belo nodded. “Charming town. Your namesake. The beautiful river, the old church, the new church.”
“But suffering. Taxes are suffocating the good Chris—”
Belo raised his upturned palm. “No more. They mustn’t struggle.”
“We are righting wrongs today. I will give you a letter saying that I’ve concluded your grandson is innocent of heresy.” He turned to me. “Instead of a dowry, I gave my sister a home in a cloister. She lives a pure life. I wish you a pure life, too, and when you die, heaven with Christ. Spend time with your virtuous brother.”
The hysterical laughter threatened me again.
Papá leaned forward. “May I ask: Of what was Pero accused?”
“There was a conspiracy. That’s all I may say.”
“May I ask a favor?” Belo said.
“I’ll grant it if I can.”
“Expunge Pero’s name and all in our family from the records of the trial. I would not have the shame follow him.”
The grand inquisitor nodded. “It will be in the letter.”
After reading Fra Torquemada’s letter, the friar in Segovia returned Pero’s jewelry and released him, saying, “I’m happy you’ve been proven innocent.”
I wondered how innocence or guilt would be discovered in any accused who didn’t have someone like Belo to help them.
Pero said piously, “By God’s grace.” His health was much improved. Though his arm was swollen, he could open and close his hand and wiggle his fingers.
We rode out of Segovia in a blanket of silence as heavy as the summer heat.
A flock of sheep passed us, driven by their shepherd. I counted as many as I could see and wondered how they could bear their own wool during the summer.
Few people were on the road. I asked myself how often my brother would need rescuing in the future, since he’d certainly keep gambling. If he were pulled in again by the Inquisition, we had nothing else the grand inquisitor wanted, and I doubted he’d be c
onvinced twice of Pero’s innocence.
Papá broke the silence, speaking in Latin, which the four of us knew and which the guards and any passersby probably wouldn’t. “What were you accused of, son?”
He answered in Latin, too. “They don’t tell you. If I knew, I could have defended myself.” His tone was resentful.
“Who accused you?” I said.
“I don’t know that, either.”
“Someone you gambled with?” I asked.
“Belo paid my gambling debt.”
“I paid it,” Papá said.
Belo spurred his horse to Pero’s side. “You’re safe. We’re your family.” He was using his velvet tax-farming voice. “If we don’t know everything, we can’t protect you. Was there more debt? Did you owe someone else when you converted?”
Pero looked a question at me: Had I told Belo or Papá about his threat?
I shook my head.
“Yuce Franco.”
Papá frowned. “Who?”
“From Tembleque. He came to the judería for his cousin’s wedding and then left again. I saw him in the corridor in Segovia.”
Belo said, “Yuce is a Jew?”
“He is. I was a Jew then.”
I understood. The inquisitors must have asked Señor Yuce if he’d had help committing whatever he was accused of, and he’d named my brother—taking revenge on Pero for not paying his gambling debt.
Belo must have understood, too. “Anyone else? We’ll pay.”
Pero named the judería’s late candlemaker, who’d died of a stomach ailment around the time Pero had declared his decision to convert.
In a shocked voice, Papá said, “Did you poison him?”
Pero cried, “No!” sounding just as shocked.
I said, “But his death was lucky for you.”
“Loma,” Belo said, “I haven’t heard your promised anger at Pero—to be angry once he’s safe.”
In a voice I didn’t recognize—hoarse and deep—I said, “I’ll be angry and I’ll love him again when he’s a corpse and we have nothing more to fear from him.”
27
Pero cried, “Ai!” Then: “Fire salamander!”
Poisonous lizard.
“You speak that way to your sister?” Papá said. “Your abuelo wouldn’t have helped you if not for her.” He turned to Belo. “Thank you.” He turned to me. “You speak that way to your brother?”
A Ceiling Made of Eggshells Page 14
