The Compendium of Srem (3 page)

Still, the tribunal had not been convinced.

But now… now they had him.

Or did they?

After Abdel was removed, to be freed again to the streets, Tomás said, “What accusation can be leveled against Asher ben Samuel?”

“Heresy, of course!” Ramiro said.

“Who will accuse him?”

Adelard said, “We will.”

“On the word of a disreputable Morisco street merchant who will have to admit to thievery to make the accusation?”

They fell silent at that.

“I have an idea,” Ramiro said. “In which are we more interested: exposing a crypto Jew, or learning the origin of this hellish tome?”

Tomás knew the answer immediately. “I think we can all agree that the
Compendium
presents a far greater threat to the Faith than a single
converso
.”

“It surely does,” Ramiro said. “Although in my heart I believe that Asher ben Samuel is guilty of many heresies, we have not caught him at a single one. But in the course of our attempts to catch him over the years, we have kept too close a watch on him to allow him the opportunity of fashioning this book without our knowing.”

Tomás reluctantly agreed. “You are saying that if the book did not originate with him, he must have bought it from someone else.”

“Exactly, good Prior. Each owner and subsequent owner is a stepping stone across a stream. Each one brings us closer to shore: the heretic who fashioned it. And so I propose that Brother Adelard and I confront Asher ben Samuel in his home with the book and learn where he obtained it.”

“That is most irregular,” Tomás said.

“I realize that, Prior,” Ramiro said. “But if we wish to limit knowledge of the book's existence, we cannot keep bringing suspect after suspect to the monastery. Who knows how many we will have to interrogate before we find the fashioner? Eventually the other members of the tribunal will begin to ask questions we wish not to answer. And by our own rules of procedure, each accused is allowed thirty days of grace to confess and repent. If the trail is long, the fashioner will have months and months of warning during which he can flee.”

All excellent points. He was proud of Brother Ramiro.

“But how will you induce him to speak in his home? The instruments of truth lie two floors below us.”

Ramiro shrugged. “I will tell him the truth: that we are more interested in finding the heretic behind the
Compendium
than in punishing those through whose hands it happened to pass. Asher ben Samuel is a wealthy man. He has more to lose than his life. He knows that if brought before the tribunal he will be found guilty, and then not only will he face the cleansing flame at the stake, but all his property will be seized and his wife and daughters cast into the streets.” Ramiro smiled. “He will tell us. And then we will move on to the next stepping stone.”

Tomás nodded slowly. The plan had merit.

“Do it, then. Begin today.” He tapped the
Compendium
's strange metal cover. “I want this heretic found. The sooner we have him, the sooner his soul can be cleansed by an
auto da fé
.

From within the sheltering cowl of his black robe, Adelard regarded the twilit streets of Ávila. He was glad to be out in the air. He left the monastery so seldom these days. Spring had taken control, as evidenced by the bustling townspeople. When summer arrived, the heat would slow all movement until well into the dark hours.

Brother Ramiro carried the carefully wrapped
Compendium
between his chest and his folded arms as they crossed the town square. Adelard glanced at the trio of scorched stakes where heretics were unburdened of their sins by the cleansing flame. He had witnessed many an
auto da fé
here since his arrival from France.

“Note how passersby avert their eyes and give us a wide berth,” Ramiro said.

Adelard had indeed noticed that. “I don't know why. They can't know that I am a member of the tribunal.”

“They don't. They see the black robes and know us as Dominicans, members of the order that runs the Inquisition, and that is enough. This saddens me.”

“Why?”

“You are an inquisitor, I am a simple mendicant. You would not know.”

“I was not always an inquisitor, Ramiro.”

“But you did not know Ávila before the Inquisition arrived. We were greeted with smiles and welcomed everywhere. Now no one looks me in the eye. What do you think their averted gazes mean? That they have heresies to hide?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then you are wrong. It means that the robes of our order have become associated with the public burnings of heretics to the exclusion of all else.”

Adelard had never heard his friend talk like this.

“What are you saying, Ramiro?”

“I am saying that we are not an order that stays behind its walls. We have always gone out among the people, helping the sick, feeding the poor, easing pain and sorrow. But the order's involvement in guarding the Faith seems to have erased all memory of our centuries of good works.”

“Be careful what you say, Ramiro. You are flirting with heresy.”

“Are you going to accuse me?”

“No. You are my friend. I know that you speak from a good, faithful heart, but others might not appreciate that. So please watch your tongue.”

Adelard was surprised at Ramiro's familiarity with the people of Ávila. He had imagined him spending all his time in the library or tilling the monastery's fields. He changed the subject.

“I've known you for a number of years now, Ramiro, but I don't know where you are from.”

“Toro. A province north of here.”

“Do you still have family there?”

“No. My family was wiped out in the Battle of Toro. I was just a boy and barely managed to survive.”

Adelard had heard of that—one of the battles in the war for the crown of Castile.

“How did you come to the order?”

“After the horrors I'd seen, I wanted a life of peace and contemplation and good works. And that is what I had until the Inquisition changed everything.”

Adelard had come to the Dominicans for very different reasons. The order provided him a place to pursue the philosophy of nature and to write papers explaining God's Creation and how what he had learned bolstered the doctrines of the Church. Sometimes he had to stretch the truth to avoid censure, but in general his papers were well received and seen as a cogent defense of doctrine. As a result, when the pope decided that the Spanish Inquisition needed outside influence, he assigned Adelard to be one of the new inquisitors.

But concerns about doctrine faded as the
Compendium
took command of his thoughts, much as it had since he'd opened it yesterday and begun reading. The ability of its text to appear written in the reader's native tongue certainly seemed sorcerous, and yet… and yet it seemed so congruent with the civilization described within.

Since his youth, Adelard had been fascinated with the philosophy of nature. When his father would bring home small game from the hunt, he would insist on gutting them, but doing so in his own way—methodically, systematically, so that he might understand the inner workings of the creatures. And even now he had reserved a room in the monastery where he could mix various elements and record their interactions.

He wondered if there might be a natural explanation for the marvels described within the
Compendium
and for the wonder of the tome itself—something that would not violate Church orthodoxy.

He would have to ponder this alone. He could not discuss it with Ramiro, who had not read it, and he might be risking his position, perhaps even his life, if he broached the subject with the Grand Inquisitor.

They reached the large plot of land on the edge of town where Asher ben Samuel lived, and started down the long path that led to his house.

“Does it seem right that a Jew should have such fortune?” Adelard said as they passed through a grove of olive trees.

“He is a
converso
—no longer a Jew.”

Even though they professed to be Christian,
conversos
were mistrusted and even held in contempt. Especially someone with the financial influence of Samuel. Was his “conversion” simply economic pragmatism, or had he truly rejected his old beliefs? Adelard suspected—nay, was convinced—of the latter. The problem was proving it.

“You are so naïve, Ramiro. Once a Jew, always a Jew.”

“I have Jewish blood. And so, no doubt, do you.”

“You lie!”

“There's hardly an educated person in Castile who does not carry Jewish blood.”

“I was raised in France.”

“Probably the same there. Even our own prior—were you aware that a grandfather in the Torquemada line was a Jew?”

Tomás de Torquemada, the Hammer of Heretics, the Queen's confessor… had Jewish blood? How was this possible?

“That can't be true!”

“It is. He makes no secret of it. He has said that the purpose of the Holy Inquisition is not to stamp out Jewish blood, but to stamp out Jewish practices.”

“All right, then, if the Prior says it is true, I accept it as true. But even so, his Jewish blood and yours are different from Asher ben Samuel's.”

“How?”

“The prior and you were raised in the Faith.
Conversos
like him were not.”

At the end of the path they found the high-walled home of Asher ben Samuel.

Ramiro said, “It reminds me of a fortress.”

They stopped before the wrought iron gate and pulled the bell cord. An elderly footman exited the house and limped across the gap between.

“Yes?” he said, his eyes full of fear.

“We have come to see your master,” Ramiro said.

“On a matter of faith,” Adelard added.

The old man turned away. “I must go ask—”

“Open immediately!” Ramiro said. “Members of the Tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition do not wait outside like beggars!”

With trembling hands, the old man unlocked the gate and pulled it open. He led them through a heavy oak door into a large, tiled gallery that opened onto a courtyard. And there sat Asher ben Samuel, reading under a broad chandelier.

A squat man of perhaps fifty years, he rose and came forward as they entered. “Friars! To what do I owe this honor?”

Adelard wondered why he didn't seem surprised or upset. Had he seen them coming?

“We will speak to you in private,” he said.

“Of course. Diego, go to your quarters. But first—can I have him bring you some wine?”

Adelard would have loved some good wine, but he would accept no hospitality from this Jew.

“This is not a social call,” he said.

Still apparently unperturbed, Samuel waved Diego off and then faced them. “How may I be of service?”

Ramiro pointed to the large illuminated manuscript that lay open on the table behind Samuel. “You can first tell us what you are reading.”

Samuel smiled. “The Gospel of Matthew. It is my favorite.”

Liar, Adelard thought. He
had
seen them coming.

Ramiro unwrapped the
Compendium
and placed it on the table. “We thought this would have been more to your liking.”

Finally Samuel's composure cracked, but only a little.

“How—?”

“How it came to us is not the question. How did it come to you?”

He backed a step and sat heavily in a chair. “I collect books. This was offered to me. Since it was of such unusual construction and written in Hebrew, I snatched it up.”

“Written in He—?” Ramiro began, then frowned. “Oh, of course.”

“When I began to read it I realized it was a very dangerous book to have in one's possession.”

“Why did you not bring it to the tribunal?” Adelard said.

Samuel gave them a withering look. “Really, good friars. For years you have been trying to find a reason to drag me before you. I should provide you with such a reason myself?”

“You know as well as we that many
conversos
pay only lip service to the Church's teachings and hold to their Jewish ways once their doors are closed. One cannot shed one's lifelong faith like an old coat.”

“Ah, but you forget that I am a Castilian as well. If my queen and her king want to rule a Christian land, then I become Christian. It is not as if I am forsaking the Jewish God for a pagan idol. As I am sure you know, Jesus was born a Jew. The Old Testament of the Jews leads to the New Testament of Jesus. We worship the same God.”

He possessed a persuasive tongue, this Jew; Adelard would give him that.

Ramiro said, “So, instead of bringing this book to the tribunal, you packed it in a trunk. For what purpose?”

“You seem to know so much…”

“Answer the question!”

“I intended to throw it in the river. I did not want such a dangerous text in my library, nor in anyone else's.” He spread his hands. “But when I reached the river, I could not find it. It was gone, as if by magic.”

Not magic, Adelard thought. A thieving Morisco.

“Who sold it to you?”

Samuel said nothing for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I hesitate to condemn another man to the rack. Do you understand that?”

“We understand,” Adelard said. “We wish to find the author of this heresy as soon as possible. If you assist us in locating him, I have the authority to overlook the time the book was in your possession.”

Asher ben Samuel tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair as he pondered this. He knew the enormous cost to him and his family to withhold the name.

Finally he looked up and said, “You will make the same offer to the man I name?”

“We offer you absolution and you dare to bargain with us?”

“I merely asked a question.”

Adelard hated conceding to the Jew, but they had to stay focused on their ultimate goal.