Torquemada (5 page)

“Which I feel,” Aleppo, the Italian, said, “is what is behind the growing power of your Inquisition – which seems to me to partake less of holiness than of greed. When you find a heretic, King and Church confiscate his property and worldly goods and divide them. Now this may enrich the King and enrich the Church, but believe me, Alvero, the effect is temporary and in the end you lose. You're eating your own flesh.”

“Precisely.” Van Sitten nodded. “You look to Amsterdam for the money. Is that so, Alvero?”

“Amsterdam and Milan.” Alvero nodded.

“As far as Milan is concerned,” Aleppo put in, “you can dismiss that. You can also dismiss Duke Sforza. If my words may be held secretly and in complete trust.”

“In complete trust,” Alvero said. “Believe me, my friend, what we say here goes no further. There is too much that we talk about that could be a noose around one man's throat or another's.”

“Very well, then,” Aleppo continued. “My own considered opinion is that the Duke of Sforza cannot and will not resist a French invasion. As far as the invasion itself is concerned, the King of France thinks and dreams of nothing else. The French are poor merchants and it is a simple fact of history that the less talented the merchant, the more often his thoughts turn to banditry.”

“Nevertheless,” Lopez put in, “it would seem to me that you are underestimating Sforza. Milan remains the richest city in Italy. Sforza can hire more mercenaries than Louis can. It's a simple matter of francs and florins.”

“Not quite that simple,” Cordoza put in. “Milan is rich, but believe me, friends, Milan does not generate enough money for Sforza to spend. At the same time, let us not forget that Sforza has a hundred thousand florins of our own money – at eight per cent, through Abraham Benalaph, the Jew of Amsterdam. I move that we persuade him to call in the loan.”

Alvero said quickly, “He has not defaulted. This would make an enemy of Sforza and Sforza still rules Milan, whatever the King of France plans.”

“Which is exactly what Abraham will say, gentlemen. He will not call in a loan of Sforza's. Every Jew in Europe would be at his throat if he did. Anyway, to my mind, Milan is less of a risk than Spain. There is a very good possibility that the King of France will honour Sforza's debts, even if he takes Milan. On the other hand, the King of France himself has been pleading for money and I suggest that we satisfy him to the extent of two hundred thousand florins at twenty per cent interest. That means that in three years the interest alone will cover whatever loss we incur with Sforza. We can act through the Jews in Paris and in Milan itself. On the other hand, if war is delayed, we stand to profit handsomely—”

“In so many words,” Alvero said, “you suggest that we advance no money to the Queen of Spain. Isn't that the meaning of what you are saying, Van Sitten?”

“You tell me, Alvero, old friend, tell me yourself. They have made Torquemada the Grand Inquisitor now. Where does Spain go from here? Do you imagine that the Inquisition will ever be satisfied? Now, mind you, I talk among ourselves and only among ourselves – but, Alvero, is there a Spanish nobleman who cannot find a little bit of Jewish blood, if not in his mother and father, in his grandparents; if not in his grandparents, in his great-grandparents? Where does the Inquisition stop? What is a surety worth? What is a guarantee worth? My own grandmother was half-Jewish. Now I come to Spain as I would come to an enemy land—”

For Alvero, the sunlight went away and the morning turned cold. By rote, he took part in the conversation and did what he had to do. But the zest had gone. They finished their meeting and said their farewells and all except Van Sitten left. Van Sitten remained to lunch with Alvero. They were old friends. At the luncheon table, Van Sitten was very much the man of the world. He had travelled farther than anyone Alvero knew and he entertained Catherine and Maria with his tales of faraway Russia, of the Holy Land, of the wild Turks and the half-savage Bulgarians. When the talk turned to Columbus, Alvero found him agreeing with the contention of Columbus that the Indies could be found by sailing westward. Yet he held that the distance was, in all probability, so great that no ship existed large enough to carry the men and provisions all the way. In Amsterdam, Van Sitten said, there were Jewish geographers who had estimated the distance around the world. It was much greater than the Italians imagined.

“Curiously enough,” Van Sitten said, “these are your Spanish Jews. You've been sending us Spanish Jews for two hundred years now, Alvero.”

And then, seeing the expression on Maria de Rafel's face, Van Sitten asked her whether it troubled her to have him talk so openly about Jews. “The thought of them is not pleasant to me,” Maria said.

“Then I will not mention the name again,” Van Sitten apologized.

Afterwards, Alvero walked with Van Sitten to the stables where Julio held his saddled horse. Before he mounted, Van Sitten said to Alvero,

“I have seen you in better spirits, old friend. I wish I could help you.”

“Thank you. I am afraid no one can help me.”

“As bad as that?” asked Van Sitten. Alvero shrugged and Van Sitten said slowly, “It's two years since I was last in Spain, Alvero. What has happened since then?”

“You named it before—the Inquisition.”

“Oh.” Van Sitten studied Alvero thoughtfully for a long moment before he said, “Your Jews should have remained Jewish. They became Spanish noblemen here. In Holland they remained Jews and we live well with them. Here they are God's own temptation.”

“You think God deals in temptation?”

“You Spaniards brood too much about God, Alvero. Too much about God and too much about Jews.”

“Both are our particular problem,” Alvero said. “You see, old friend, as you pointed out there isn't a nobleman in this cursed country who isn't Jewish – all Jewish, half Jewish, one-quarter Jewish, one-eighth Jewish. We all call ourselves Christians now but only dig the surface a little—” His voice died away and he found himself staring at Julio, who was holding Van Sitten's horse a few paces from them.

“And you trust no one,” Van Sitten said. Suddenly Alvero thrust out his hand at Van Sitten, took the Dutchman's hand and held it tightly. “Make this your last visit to Spain,” he said softly.

“Then come to us,” Van Sitten said.

Alvero stared at him without replying. Van Sitten mounted. Alvero took his reins and waved Julio away. Slowly, with great formality, Alvero walked the horse to the gate. Alvero said nothing more and, a moment later, Van Sitten rode off.

5

AS VAN SITTEN RODE AWAY
,
STANDING BY THE HORSE
gate, Alvero saw a man approaching his house. The man walked with slow dignity and around him there circled half a dozen ragged children, who pelted him with clods of dry dirt. For a moment Alvero did not recognize the Rabbi Mendoza and it occurred to him that he apparently lacked the ability to see the rabbi immediately as he was – as a rabbi and a Jew. But this time AlVero did not go to his aid; instead Alvero drew back behind the post of the horse gate and watched Mendoza approach the house. He remained hidden there in silence while Mendoza walked through the garden toward the front entrance – and then Alvero went quickly around the stables, approaching the house from the other direction. He stood at the edge of the gallery, outside and invisible to those within as Julio opened the door for Mendoza. Julio stared at the rabbi with astonishment – at first simply stood and stared while Mendoza faced him, and then somehow found his wits and moved aside and nodded for the Jew to enter.

Now, for a few steps, Mendoza's progress was invisible to Alvero. Catherine and Maria were at the other end of the gallery. Maria had cut some fabric that Alvero had brought back with him from Seville into a pattern for an overdress, and Catherine was helping her join the seams and pin them together. Both women were intent upon their work and therefore they did not see Mendoza as he entered the long gallery. He took a few paces which brought him into Alvero's area of vision and then he stopped. There he stood, his hands pressed together, his wide-brimmed hat on his head. It was evident to Alvero that Mendoza was unable to speak, unable to announce himself or to command the attention of the women – or afraid to, which would amount to the same thing. Now Julio joined him, looking at the Jew peculiarly and wondering, certainly, what his own role was to be in this affair. Alvero asked himself why he didn't go inside and put things at ease; yet, like Mendoza, he was frozen where he was, unable to move, unable to speak. Julio was only a servant. He finally shuffled down the gallery and stood in front of the women. Still they did not look up.

“Señora,” Julio said.

Catherine was sitting to face the rabbi. Maria looked up at Julio, who pointed in the other direction and then Maria turned slowly. Both women then stared at Mendoza, both of them silent and unmoving as if gripped with enormous astonishment that was not unmixed with fear and repulsion.

To Alvero it was like witnessing a play, a scene on stage. He felt detached and strangely objective about his wife and daughter. Their astonishment angered him; their fear annoyed him and to a degree disgusted him; yet he too was unable to move or speak.

Now, with the women watching him, Mendoza took a few steps toward them and bowed slightly. He was without courtliness or grace in a land that set high esteem by them. He kept his hat upon his head. His voice, however, was rich and his Spanish strangely beautiful as he said, “I am the Rabbi Benjamin Mendoza. I took the liberty to come here. I know that this was a great liberty to take with you two noble ladies and I mean no annoyance – no pain to you – I mean no difficulties for you—”

Maria found her voice. She sounded shrill and defensive. “What do you want here?”

“Only to see Don Alvero, noble lady. Only to see him and to speak with him.”

As if aware of the shrillness of her voice, Maria controlled it and turned it cold and flat as she asked, “Have you an appointment with him?”

“No, I am afraid not. You see, how could I make an appointment with him – unless I came here myself? I could not send another Jew here – you understand that. Who would I send here? I know that I am an intruder, but I had to come myself.”

“Then I am sure Don Alvero will be unable to see you,” Maria said.

“I can understand that. I mean I can understand that he would not want to see me. I am trying to say to you, noble lady – I know you to be his wife – that I am not wholly a fool. There are many things implicit in my coming here, but more important than that is the fact that Don Alvero de Rafel saved my life. He has a vested interest in me, so to speak, and we are a people peculiar about such things.”

Now Maria rose and turned to her daughter and asked her to leave the room. Something was happening in Catherine that Alvero could almost feel physically. She tried not to look at her mother, who said, “I asked you to leave, Catherine, please.”

“I want to stay.”

“I don't care what you want. I asked you to leave, Catherine. Please leave.”

Catherine shook her head, then suddenly her resistance collapsed. She got up and ran into the house. Maria was white and shaking with controlled anger, and now she turned to the rabbi and demanded of him,

“Who saved your life? Are you trying to tell me that my husband saved your life? What do you mean?”

“Only that he saved my life,” the rabbi said.

“I heard you before. I heard you say that before. Who sent you here? Why did you come here?”

The rabbi shook his head and spread his hands. He was bewildered and amazed and unable to cope with the situation and he pleaded with her as he said, “If you came to my house, Doña Maria, I would welcome you but I would not ask you why you had come.”

Maria took another step towards him. “That I should come to your house, Jew, is inconceivable, inconceivable. It is more likely, to my way of thinking, that the sun will not rise in the morning. Inconceivable, do you understand me?”

Alvero could stand no more of this. He ran into the room, crying out, as in pain, “Maria!”

Perhaps the agony in his cry brought Catherine back. She stood at the far end of the gallery, half in the room, half hiding. Julio too could not pull himself away and stood watching – as if the outcome of all this were so unpredictable that life and death might depend on his being there.

Maria stared at her husband, then said to him with great calm, “This Jew asked to see you. He claims you saved his life. I told him that for him to have any reason to be here is inconceivable.”

“This Jew,” Alvero whispered. He went to Mendoza but could find no words for what he wanted to say. Then he walked over to his wife and whispered to her, “Maria – Maria – why don't you put a knife into my heart? A man comes into our house. The man is the Devil. He comes into our house. Then I say he is a guest. He is under our roof. Do we whip him? Do we insult him? Do we make him a thing of contempt?”