Torquemada (8 page)

The two horsemen reined in close to Alvero and saluted him, the way common men salute a Spanish gentleman. They were clerical soldiers, employed by the Inquisition, fat with overeating and too little exercise. Their hair was tangled and their body odour lay around them like a thick cloud. They sat on their horses, grinning at Alvero, and he in turn sat on his horse in silence and watched. Meanwhile, Van Sitten stumbled towards Alvero, moving his mouth silently. He opened his mouth and closed his mouth again and again. While Alvero was well aware that he was attempting to speak, no sound come out of Van Sitten's mouth. His mouth was too swollen and dry for the words to pass his lips; but to Alvero, his silence was a part of the greater silence – and through that silence came Van Sitten's terrible silent scream for help, for mercy, for some sort of intervention.

But Alvero could not intervene. Alvero could not move. Mentally he drew his sword and laid on to the two soldiers and rescued Van Sitten and took Van Sitten home with him and gave him fresh clothes and a fresh horse and then sent him on his way to escape. All this happened in Alvero's mind, as a sort of mental exercise, but in real life nothing at all happened; except that after an appropriate interval the two Church soldiers spurred on their horses, dragging Van Sitten away along the dusty road.

Long minutes passed. Alvero's horse kicked at the dust and moved restlessly and finally Alvero groaned. He heard his own groan as if from a great distance, a groan of worse agony than would have come from Van Sitten had Van Sitten been able to find voice. Then suddenly Alvero drove his spurs into his horse, raked him with his spurs until the horse was racing across the fields in a wild and frantic gallop.

Time ceased for Alvero. He rode the horse in a great circle, spurring it and whipping it and giving it no rest until at last the exhausted horse lost its footing and fell. Even as it stumbled, Alvero flung himself clear, hitting the ground and rolling over and over, and then finally lay with his face in the dirt, but unharmed. When he got to his feet a peasant stood a few feet away from him, watching him; but the peasant said nothing and made no move to help him. Alvero walked over to the horse, which was trembling, its mouth dripping lather, its hide hot and wet. Alvero took the reins and led the horse on as darkness fell, and he found the road with only enough light left to see its dim outline. Then Alvero mounted and rode back to Segovia.

Alvero was empty now. The emptiness was dry and terrible and he felt weak and nauseous. He felt that his soul had left him and all inside his body was dead, a dead weight upon his belly and his groin.

When he was only a little distance from his home, someone hailed him and he turned to see Juan Pomas trotting through the darkness to join him. There was a rising moon, enough light for Pomas to see his condition. The expression on Alvero's face was such as to keep Juan from making any comment. They came to the stables together and dismounted, and the stablehand, taking their horses, remarked to Alvero,

“You rode hard, master.”

Alvero stared at him without replying. Then Alvero said to Juan almost harshly, “Go inside and tell them that I am here. I go to change my clothes.”

With that Alvero turned on his heel and walked off. In his own chamber, he stripped off his clothes and Julio came to him with water and a sponge. Julio sponged him in silence, and then Alvero dried himself and put on black hose, black breeches and a white shirt. Over all this, he donned a long, black robe. He said nothing to Julio but walked out of the room and went downstairs to the gallery. At the entrance to the gallery he paused, hearing Catherine's voice – high-pitched and filled with the excitement that was a part of her. She was telling Maria about her day – about her visit to a woman called Carlotta, who had a reputation in Segovia for making the best pepper cheese. Maria disliked pepper cheese, which she considered a food of the poor and unworthy of service at a gentleman's table, but Catherine had acquired a taste for it from the servants. She had apparently established the fact that she bought the cheese over Maria's annoyance and protests by now and was telling her mother about a fight that Carlotta had been having with her husband. Catherine had witnessed the fight. With awe and excitement she said,

“—a terrible fight, Mother. She was screaming at him and accusing him of sleeping with two other women. He's ugly as sin anyway and I can't understand how a man so ugly would find two other women to have an affair with—”

“And you stayed and listened!” Maria cried. “How could you? Don't you have any pride?”

“Mother, it was not a question of pride, believe me, and I'm a grown woman. I know about those things. They don't shock me. I have heard the servants have worse fights and say worse things to each other. I was buying cheese, that's all, and if you want good pepper cheese, you must go to Carlotta—”

“Pepper cheese!” her mother exclaimed, “why must you be so obstinate always?”

“Mother,” Catherine said, “we've been through all that about the pepper cheese. Don't you want to hear what happened?”

“You might as well finish,” Maria said.

“Well, Carlotta called his mother a whore and his grandmother a whore and his great-grandmother a whore, and then she picked up that long knife she uses to cut the hard cheese, and she ran after him, all around that big table where they squeeze the curds, and then she saw me; but she didn't stop running, Mother, she never stopped running and she never paused and she screamed at me, ‘Darling, you're a grown woman. Otherwise I would never permit a thing like this, or a miserable wretch like this man in the same room with you.' I mean, Mother, that she said something like that, but the astonishing thing was that she never stopped running and he never stopped running—”

At this point Maria saw Alvero and went towards him. Catherine was laughing. She was laughing so hard now she was unable to speak. She ran to her father and kissed him, as Maria demanded.

“Where were you? The dinner will be cold and spoiled.”

Now Alvero entered the gallery and saw Juan standing a little distance away. Catherine stopped laughing, let go of her father and went over to Juan. The three of them stared at Alvero now. There was a difference in him that could not be accounted for by the way he was dressed. He felt the difference and said to them, almost rudely, that it was time they ate.

In the refectory, the meal was served and eaten almost in silence. This dining room was smaller than the gallery, austere in the manner of the time, and lit by a chandelier containing thirty candles. Alvero loved the plain white plaster walls and the dark woodwork that framed the walls. In the centre of one wall he had mounted a beautiful, round Moorish shield of brass – one of the finest pieces of brasswork he had ever seen, and which he himself had picked up on a battlefield twenty years before. The table was laid with white linen – as was always the case when they sat to dinner – and the plates were of silver, inlaid with gold. At this time, the knife and fork as twin table instruments had only newly been introduced to Spain. Those at Alvero's table were of iron, but the spoons were solid gold in the manner of the time. Alvero himself was unable to eat. The very thought of placing food in his mouth was impossible to him, and when Maria commented that he was eating nothing, he said only that he had a different kind of hunger.

“What happened today?” Maria demanded. “Where were you?” She would not be satisfied by the evasion of a question. She only repeated the question over and over again.

“I was riding,” Alvero replied. Watching him closely, Catherine said that it was perfectly reasonable. She knew how much her father loved to ride and how he would use a horse to battle with whatever problems weighed upon him. Tuan was silent and uneasy, and now and again Catherine smiled at him and nodded her head to comfort him and reassure him. A family storm was brewing and Catherine pitied Juan for being caught in the centre of it.

“Yes, you were riding!” Maria exclaimed. “That answers everything, doesn't it? You were riding. I don't have to ask you where you were, what you did, who you saw. Your answer is that you were riding. You leave your food untouched and when I ask why, you answer me in riddles—”

“Our whole existence is a riddle,” Alvero said softly. He was very thirsty. He emptied his wine glass and now Julio appeared and poured wine into the glass until it was full again.

“What nonsense!” Maria snorted. “How can you speak such nonsense in front of Juan? We are a family. Juan is practically a part of our family. He came in and told us that your horse was wet and trembling with exhaustion.”

“I ride hard!” Alvero snapped.

“When we need you,” Maria said, “a horse takes the place of your family.”

“Why do you need me? What happened here today?”

“While you were gone, the Prior was here,” Maria replied.

“Torquemada?”

“I wasn't here,” Maria said defensively. “He spoke to Catherine.”

Alvero turned to Catherine now, who said placatingly, “Father, he only asked me why you wear a silver ampule on the chain around your neck. So you see what a small thing it was?”

Very gently Alvero said, “And what did you tell him, child?”

“I told him that you had always worn it.” Catherine shrugged, and then asked him what it was. “You see, I don't know what it is, Father, or why you wear it. Why do you wear it?”

“It's only a memory,” Alvero answered. “I shed myself of most of my memories but no one can cast away all of them. No one, not myself – not Torquemada.” Alvero felt under his collar, found the chain and passed it over his head. He laid it down on the table in front of him, the cross and the ampule extended towards Catherine; and dryly and harshly Maria demanded of him.

“Alvero, what are you doing? What kind of a grotesque joke are you making of this whole thing? Torquemada came here to ask about that. Don't you have any sense?”

“I know that Torquemada came here to ask about it.” Alvero nodded. “The good Prior extends his knowledge. There must be no mysteries for him. I am sure he has guessed what I wear about my neck. Have you never guessed, Maria? Have you never asked yourself why I wear this and what it is? Really, Maria – never once?”

Juan Pomas rose uneasily. Gripping the table, he attempted to excuse himself. He explained to Alvero that what was happening here now was a family matter and, while he would some day be a part of this family, he was not yet such a part. “So you will pardon me,” he said. “I think I should go now.”

“Not yet!” Alvero said coldly. “Sit down, Juan. You will leave when I tell you to leave.” Then Alvero turned to Julio and said, “That's enough, Julio. We will be alone.”

Julio bowed gravely and walked out of the room and then for a long moment the four of them sat in silence, while Alvero's hands played with the cross and the ampule. Catherine watched his hands, thinking about how strong and competent and long-fingered they were. Why had that never occurred to her before? Juan had collapsed into his chair and now sat staring at the table. Maria, annoyed and troubled, demanded to know why Torquemada had come to their house today. When Alvero did not answer her, she pointed to the ampule and cried.

“What is that thing, Alvero?”

“You ask me now – after twenty-two years?”

“Father,” Catherine said, “for God's sake, what did happen today?”

“I don't know. I am not sure. Something happened but I am not sure. How can I explain that to you. This—” Now Alvero held up the ampule. “This thing belonged to my father and, before him, it belonged to his father. What is it? Like the cross, it is a holy thing. Inside of it there is a tiny piece of parchment, and on the parchment, a few words are written—”

“Stop! Enough!” Maria cried shrilly.

As if he had not heard her, Alvero turned to Juan and asked him whether he understood. Did he follow Alvero's meaning? Juan shook his head. He was puzzled and frightened.

Watching him, Catherine could only think of a trapped beast – and yet Juan was not a beast – far from it. A chicken in the slaughterer's hands; a dog with his foot in the trap; or a man drained of manhood. Catherine wanted to cry, to weep, to go down on her knees and plead with her father to stop this thing and let Juan go. But she said nothing.

Her mother rose and announced coldly, “I will not have this! I will not! I will not!”

Softly but bitterly Alvero said, “Sit down, Maria, sit down! Do you understand me? I said you are to sit down, Maria.” Alvero nodded as his wife obeyed him and resumed her place at the table. “What will you not have? The Jew in you? The Jew in me? The Jew in Catherine? The Jew in Juan?”

Juan shook his head fiercely. He opened his mouth to speak, licked his lips and then shook his head again. His skin had become white as paste, and to Catherine it seemed that his dark eyes were staring out of a sort of death's head mask.

“What? Come, Juan Pomas,” Alvero whispered. “Do you deny this?”

Totally unnerved, Juan sprang to his feet, leaned over the table towards Alvero and demanded pleadingly, “What are you doing, Don Alvero? In God's name, what are you doing to me? I am a Christian. You know that I am a Christian.”

“A Christian?” Alvero asked, smiling. “Of course you are a Christian, Juan Pomas. Do I deny that? But your great-grandfather, Jacob Pomas, was a rabbi. Will you make a Christian of him?”

“I am a Christian,” Juan pleaded.

Maria rose now, her face dark as the night, stormed away from the table towards the door of the refectory, halted then, turned back to Alvero until she was close enough for him to hear her whisper. She whispered to him hoarsely, “You are mad! You have lost your mind! You are mad! You are insane! You are a thing that they bind and put away!”

“Am I mad?” Alvero asked tiredly. “Really, Maria, do you think I am mad or am I simply practical? Is there a noble family in all of Spain without Jewish blood? Is there, Maria? Was your own mother half-Jewish or not?”