Spain for the Sovereigns

‘Readily would I give it in order to drive heresy from Spain,’ Torquemada told them.

‘We propose to ask an audience of the Queen to lay these facts before her. Holy Prior, can we count on your support with Her Highness?’

‘You may count on me,’ said Torquemada. His thin lips tightened, his eyes glistened. ‘I would arrest those who are suspect. I would wring confessions from them that they might implicate all who are concerned with them in their malpractices; and when they are exposed I would offer them a chance to save their souls before the fire consumed them.

Death by the fire! It is the only way to cleanse those who have been sullied by partaking in these evil rites.’ He turned to his guests. ‘When do you propose to visit the Queen?’

‘We are on our way to her now, brother, but we came first to you, for we wished to assure ourselves of your support.’

‘It is yours,’ said Torquemada. His eyes were shining. ‘The hour has come. It has been long delayed. This country has suffered much from civil war, but now we are at peace and the time has come to turn all men and women in Castile into good Christians. Oh, it will be a mighty task. And we shall need to bring them to their salvation through the rack, hoist and faggot. But the hour of glory is about to strike. Yes, yes, my friends, I am with you. Every accursed Jew in this kingdom, who has returned to the evil creed of his forefathers, shall be taken up, shall be put to the test, shall feel the healing fire. Go. Go to the Queen with my blessing. Call on me when you wish. I am with you.’

When his visitors had gone, Torquemada went to his cell and paced up and down.

‘Holy Mother,’ he cried, ‘curse all Jews. Curse those who deny the Christ. Give us power to uncover their wickedness and, when they are exposed in all their horror, we shall know how to deal with them in your holy name and that of Christ your son. We will take them. We will set them on the rack. We will tear their flesh with red-hot pincers. We will dislocate their limbs on the hoist. We will torture their bodies that we may save their souls.

‘A curse on the Marranos. A curse on the Conversos. I hate all practising Jews. I suspect all those who call themselves New Christians. Only when we have purged this land of their loathsome presence shall we have a pure Christian country.’

He fell to his knees and one phrase kept hammering in his brain: I hate all Jews.

He shut his mind to thoughts which kept intruding. It was not true. He would not accept it. His grandmother had not been a Jewess. His family possessed the pure Castilian blood. They were proud of their limpieza.

Never, never would Alvar Fernandez de Torquemada have introduced Jewish blood into the family. It was an evil thought; it was like a maggot working in his brain, tormenting him.

It was impossible, he told himself.

Yet, during the period in which his grandfather had been married, persecution of the Jews was rare. Many of them occupied high posts at Court and no one cared very much what blood they had in their veins. Grandfather Alvar Fernandez had carelessly married, perhaps not thinking of the future trouble he might be causing his family.

Tomás de Torquemada refused to believe it. But the thought persisted.

He remembered early days. The sly knowledge and sidelong looks of other boys, the whispers: ‘Tomás de Torquemada – he boasts of his Castilian blood. Oh, he is so proud of his limpieza – but what of his old grandmother? They say she is a Jewess.’

What antidote was there against this fear? What but hatred?

‘I hate the Jews!’ he had said continually. He forced himself to show great anger against them. Thus, he reasoned, none would believe that he was in the slightest way co

Alonso de Spina, who, almost twenty years before, had tried to arouse the people’s anger against the Jews, was himself a Converso. Did he, Tomas de Torquemada, whip himself to anger against them for the same reason?

Torquemada threw himself onto his knees. ‘Give me strength,’ he cried, ‘strength to drive all infidels and unbelievers to their death. Give me strength to bring the whole of Castile together as one Christian state. One God. One religion. And to the fire with all those who believe otherwise.’

Torquemada – who feared there might be a trace of Jewish blood in his veins – would emerge as the greatest Catholic of Castile, the punisher of heretics, the scourge of the Jews, the man who worked indefatigably to make an all-Christian Castile.

Ferdinand was with Isabella when she received Alonso de Ojeda and Diego de Merlo.

Isabella welcomed the monks cordially and begged them to state their business.

Ojeda broke into an impassioned speech in which he called her attention to the number of Converses living in Seville.

‘There are many Conversos throughout Castile,’ said Isabella quietly. ‘I employ some of them in my own service. I rejoice that they have become Christians. It is what I would wish all my subjects to be.’

‘Highness, my complaint is that while many of these Conversos in Seville profess Christianity they practise the Jewish religion.’

‘That,’ said Isabella, ‘is a very evil state of affairs.’

‘And one which,’ put in Diego de Merlo, ‘Your Highness would doubtless wish to end at the earliest possible moment.’

Isabella nodded slowly. ‘You had some project in mind, my friends?’ she said.

‘Highness, the Holy Office does not exist in Castile. We ask that you consider installing it here.’

Isabella glanced at Ferdinand. She saw that the pulse in his temple had begun to hammer. She felt sad momentarily, and almost wished that she did not understand Ferdinand so well. He was possessed by much human frailty, she feared. It had been a great shock to discover that not only had he an illegitimate son but that he had appointed him, at the age of six, Archbishop of Saragossa. That boy was not the only child Ferdinand had had by other women. She had discovered that a noble Portuguese lady had borne him a daughter. There might be others. How should she hear of them?

Now his eyes glistened, and she understood why. The Inquisition had been set up in Aragon and because of it the riches of certain condemned men had found their way into the royal coffers. Money could make Ferdinand’s eyes glisten like that.

‘Such procedure would need a great deal of consideration,’ said Isabella.

‘I am inclined to believe,’ said Ferdinand, his eyes still shining and with the flush in his cheeks, ‘that the installation of the Holy Office in Castile is greatly to be desired.’

The monks had now turned their attention to Ferdinand, and Ojeda poured out a storm of abuse against the Jews. He spoke of ritual murders, of Christian boys, three or four years old, who had been kidnapped to take part in some loathsome rites which involved the crucifixion of the i

Ferdinand cried: ‘This is monstrous. You are right. We must have an inquiry immediately.’

‘Have the bodies of these children been discovered?’ asked Isabella calmly.

‘Highness, these people are crafty. They bury the bodies in secret places. It is a part of their ritual.’

‘I think it would be considered necessary to have proof of these happenings before we could believe them,’ said Isabella.

Ferdinand had turned to her. She saw the angry retort trembling on his lips. She smiled at him gently. ‘I am sure,’ she said quietly, ‘that the King agrees with me.’

‘An inquiry might be made,’ said Ferdinand. His voice sounded aloof, as it did when he was angry.