BELOW ME, AS Zarita began to sway, I leaned over involuntarily.
Swiftly her aunt placed herself in front of me to block my lunge forward, but for the first time she lost her own composure. At the mention of the rack she put her hand to her face. Now she gripped her fingers over her mouth so that her knuckles gleamed white.
‘This man, Besian, had her condemned before trial.’ With difficulty I kept my voice muted. ‘It won’t matter what Zarita does or does not confess to. He intends to find her guilty.’
Sister Beatriz let out a quiet sob of torment. ‘What can we do? Saulo, what can we do?’
As they half carried her from the hall, the sun fell on Zarita’s face. She raised her gaze to its light and dragged her feet and I thought I sensed why. Her cell would be dark so she was trying to remain in the sunlight for as long as possible. She attempted to straighten up as the soldiers hustled her from the chamber.
I turned to go.
‘Stay,’ Sister Beatriz quietly but forcefully commanded me.
For what? I wondered. The scribe monk had finished writing in his book, the other gathered some documents, then, with the head of the tribunal, Father Besian, they stood up to leave.
‘The queen and king are using this hall for their conferences,’ Sister Beatriz whispered to me. ‘If I had insight into Isabella’s current mood, it would help me to judge how much, if any, sympathy she might show me.’
I thought about this woman, Isabella, Queen of Castile and Aragon and would-be Queen of all Spain. I recalled that she’d ordered the creation of the town of Santa Fe, hewn out of solid rock so that the siege could remain in place through the winter. I doubted if she was capable of showing mercy to a young girl accused of heresy.
We didn’t have long to wait before Queen Isabella, King Ferdinand and their retinue arrived. Among the latter I recognized some of the advisers who’d been present at the session I’d attended with Christopher Columbus. The discussion began. It concerned the proposal to officially expel the Jews. The name of one of their chief financial advisers was mentioned, a Jew called Isaac Abravanel, who’d appealed to the monarchs not to issue the edict of expulsion. He’d offered to pay surety for the Jewish people to remain in Spain.
‘Isaac Abravanel has worked very well for us and the good of Spain,’ King Ferdinand declared. ‘He helped to raise funds for the army. Now our siege here at Granada has been successful and the war is almost over.’
‘Therefore we have no more need of him,’ pointed out a sly courtier.
‘In Granada the Jews have lived peaceably enough within the Muslim communities. Can we not let them do the same among us?’
‘That could be termed heresy,’ a nobleman interjected.
King Ferdinand stared at the man who had spoken.
‘I only say this to advise your majesty,’ the nobleman stammered. ‘I would be a poor adviser if I didn’t give advice.’
‘Isaac Abravanel seeks to protect his people,’ said Queen Isabella. ‘It is an understandable sentiment. And the war has emptied our coffers. Our people are hungry. Perhaps we can come to some arrangement. What sum of money did he mention?’
Suddenly there was a commotion at the main doorway of the hall. A black-cowled figure strode in. His face was contorted, his manner wild and shaking. Above his head he brandished a crucifix of dark wood showing the twisted form of the agonized Christ in palest alabaster.
‘What gathering of wickedness is this!’ he cried out.
‘It is Tomás de Torquemada, the Inquisitor General of all Spain!’ Sister Beatriz said in my ear.
‘Señor Tomás . . .’ King Ferdinand spoke mildly. ‘The queen and I convened a meeting of our council to discuss the state of the finances of the nation. It is not a matter for the Church.’
‘Everything is a matter for Mother Church!’ Torquemada retorted. ‘Body and soul are joined inseparably, and therefore the rulers of a country must take due notice of the Church.’
The king’s jaw tightened. ‘The monarchs make decisions in the best interests of both. We are facing a crisis which, if not resolved, will lead to many deaths.’
‘We must find the means to feed our soldiers and our citizens,’ Queen Isabella interposed.
‘Better they suffer the pangs of hunger than the eternal torments of Hell!’
The queen and king looked at each other.
‘The hand of God is above this place, ready to smash His fist down upon the unclean and the unworthy! Betray not the sacred oaths you have taken! Hark to the words of the prophets! Those who crucified the Christ are among us! And you swore a sacred oath to make Spain a Christian country!’
King Ferdinand face set in a grim line.
Queen Isabella, devout and prayerful, allowed her hand to stray to the cross she wore on a chain around her neck. ‘Isaac Abravanel has managed the affairs of the treasury with excellent skill,’ she said.
‘It is to be expected.’ Torquemada spat these words out.
The king affected not to notice the remark. ‘He has offered a sum of money as reparation to compensate the crown for losses.’
‘That will make you further indebted to the Jews!’
‘Not so. It is money that Isaac Abravanel has earned through his own business.’
‘You are condoning usury, and usury is wrong. Money should not be used to make more money. Money should be earned by work.’
‘He has offered to pay the money over as a gift.’
‘Ha! A bribe!’ crowed Torquemada.
‘Not a bribe!’ the king snapped back. ‘It is a surety for his people. It is a customary and perfectly legal transaction to pay a sum of money in such a fashion.’
‘What sum of money?’ Torquemada demanded.
‘The amount of thirty thousand ducats.’
‘Why not then?’ Torquemada shrieked. ‘Why not accept this Jewish money? After all, was not Christ Jesus our Lord betrayed for thirty pieces of silver?’
And saying this, he raised his hand high above his head and hurled the crucifix to the floor. It smashed down upon the marble slabs, and the figure broke in two pieces. The head of Christ, with his agonized white face and blood oozing from the crown of thorns upon his forehead, broke loose and went skittering across the tiles to end up at the feet of the queen.
‘Jesu!’ Queen Isabella’s complexion drained as white as the alabaster face of the dead Christ.
Torquemada strode from the room. There was a silence, then uproar in the assembly.
The queen slumped back in her chair.
A courtier summoned a servant to pick up the pieces of the crucifix, but the queen raised her hand and spoke. ‘I will do this myself,’ she said, and her voice shook with distress.
She went down on her knees and, lifting the face of Jesus, she kissed it. Then she gathered up the rest of the cross and took the veil from her head and wrapped the pieces therein.
The king drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair but did not intervene.
I had witnessed the power of Torquemada and hopelessness filled my heart, for this man was invincible. If the Queen and King of Spain could not gainsay him in a matter of State, then Queen Isabella would ignore any appeal made by the nun for mercy for Zarita.
‘Now I see how it is with Isabella,’ said Sister Beatriz. ‘The queen will not act to spare Zarita’s life.’ She spoke my own thoughts and in her voice was the sound of my own despair.
The Inquisition would snuff out Zarita’s life like a candle being extinguished.