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Juan had returned with the governess, who looked very frightened to have been summoned thus to the presence of the Queen.
Isabella, still holding her daughter against her, acknowledged the governess’s deep curtsey and said in a clear expressionless voice: ‘Is it true that the Infanta Juana has not been attending church?’
The governess stammered: ‘Highness, it was unavoidable.’
‘Unavoidable! I do not understand how that can be. It must not happen again. It must be avoided.’
‘Yes, Highness.’
‘How many times has this occurred?’ asked the Queen.
The governess hesitated, and the Queen went on quickly: ‘But it is enough that it has occurred once. The soul of the Infanta has been put in jeopardy. It must never occur again. Take the Infanta away now. She is to be beaten severely. And if she attempts to absent herself from church again, I wish to be told. Her punishment then will be even more severe.’
Juana had lifted her head and was staring at her mother pleadingly: ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Please, Highness, no!’
‘Take the Infanta away now and do my bidding. I shall satisfy myself that my orders have been carried out.’
The governess dropped a deep curtsey and laid her hand on Juana’s arm. Juana clung to the chair and would not move. The governess took her arm and pulled and Juana’s face grew scarlet with exertion as she clung to the chair.
The Queen smartly slapped the small hand. Juana let out a great wail; then the governess seized her and dragged her from the room.
There was silence in the nursery as the door closed on them.
The Queen said: ‘Come, my daughters, we have this cloth to finish. Juan, continue to read to us.’
And Juan obeyed, and the girls sewed, while in the distance they heard the loud protesting screams as Juana’s strokes were administered.
The children took covert looks at their mother, but she was placidly sewing as though she did not hear.
They did not know that she was praying silently, and the words which kept repeating themselves in her brain were: ‘Holy Mother of God, save my darling child. Help me to preserve her from the fate of her grandmother. Guide me. Help me to do what is right for her.’
A rider had come galloping to Cordova from Saragossa. There was news which he must impart immediately to Ferdinand.
Isabella knew of his arrival, but she did not seek out Ferdinand; she would wait until he told her what was happening. She herself was determined to remain the ruler of Castile; she left the governing of Aragon to him.
She knew that this trouble might well be concerned with the setting up of the Inquisition in Aragon. The first auto de fe, under the new Inquisition over which Torquemada presided, had taken place in May; this had been followed by another in June. She had heard that the people of Aragon regarded these ceremonies with the same sentiments as the people of Castile had done. They looked on in horrified bewilderment; they seemed stu
Inquisition almost meekly. But in Seville their meekness had been proved to be part of their shock; and, when that had subsided, men, such as Diego de Susan, had sought to rise against the Holy Office.
Isabella had warned Ferdinand that they must be equally watchful in Aragon.
She discovered that she had been right, for Ferdinand came quickly to tell her the news. She knew he was anxious and she always rejoiced that in times of crisis they stood together, all differences forgotten.
‘Trouble,’ said Ferdinand, ‘trouble in Saragossa. A plot among the New Christians against the Inquisition.’
‘I trust that the Inquisitors are safe.’
‘Safe!’ cried Ferdinand. ‘Murder has been done. By the Holy Mother of God, these criminals shall pay for their crimes.’
He then told her the news which had been brought to him from Saragossa. It appeared that, as in Seville, the wealthy New Christians of Saragossa had believed that they could drive the Inquisition out of their town. Their plan was to assassinate the Inquisitors, Gaspar Juglar and Pedro Arbues de Epila, who had been working so zealously to provide victims for the hideous spectacles which had taken place in the town.
Several attempts had been made to murder these two men and they, being aware of this, had taken special precautions. They wore armour under their robes, but this had not saved them.
The conspirators had pla
‘It was quiet in the church,’ cried Ferdinand in anger, ‘and they waited as bloodthirsty wolves wait for the gentle lamb.’
Isabella bowed her head in sorrow, and it did not occur to her that it was a little incongruous to describe as a gentle lamb, the man who had been hustling the people of Saragossa into the prisons of the Inquisition, into the dungeons where their bodies were racked and their limbs dislocated that they might inform on their friends.
She would have replied had this been put to her: the Inquisitors are working for Holy Church and the Holy Inquisition, and everything they do is in the name of the Christian Faith. If they find it necessary to inflict a little pain on those who have offended against Holy Church, of what importance can this be, since these people are destined for eternal damnation? The body suffers transient pain, but the soul is in danger of eternal torment. Moreover, there is always the hope that the heretic’s soul may be saved through his earthly torments.
She said to Ferdinand: ‘I pray you tell me what evil deed was done in the church.’
‘He came into the church from the cloisters,’ said Ferdinand, his face working with emotion. ‘It was dark, for it was midnight, and there was no light except that from the altar lamp. These wicked men fell upon Arbues, and although he wore mail under his robes, although there was a steel lining to his cap, they wounded him . . . to death.’
‘They have been arrested?’
‘Not yet, but we shall discover them.’
A messenger came to the apartment to tell them that Tomás de Torquemada was outside and implored immediate admission.
‘Bring him to us,’ said Ferdinand. ‘We need his help. We shall bring these criminals to justice. We will show them what punishment will be meted out to those who lay hands on God’s elected.’
Torquemada’s emaciated face was twisted with emotion.
‘Your Highnesses, this terrible news has been brought to me.’
‘The Queen and I are deeply distressed and determined that these murderers shall be brought to justice.’
Torquemada said: ‘I am dispatching three of my most trusted Inquisitors to Saragossa with all speed. Fray Juan Colvera, Doctor Alonso de Alarcon and Fray Pedro de Monterubio . . . all good men. I trust this meets with Your Highnesses’ approval.’
‘It has our approval,’ said Ferdinand.
‘I fear,’ said Isabella, ‘that there will be some delay, and that these good servants ca
‘I shall discover them,’ said Torquemada, his lips tightly compressed. ‘If I have every man and woman in Saragossa on the rack, I’ll discover them.’
Isabella nodded.
Torquemada went on: ‘The people of Saragossa have been deeply shocked by this murder. The whole town is in an uproar.’
‘Yes,’ said Ferdinand; and quite suddenly all the anger went out of his voice, and it was soft, almost caressing. ‘I hear that riots were avoided by the prompt action of one of its citizens.’
‘Is that so?’ said Isabella. ‘An important citizen, he must have been.’